Tag Archives: True Story

Downside? Nazi Riots. Upside? Easy Day For Bad Poetry.

Everyday I seek to write

A really lousy poem

Where life is hard and then the good guys lose,

But today I can be lazy

And write this poem instead

‘Cause my narrative is just Virginia’s news.

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Dear Internet: Why The Exception?

You can’t mock someone ’cause they’re fat,

Ugly, stupid, stuff like that.

You can’t make jokes about a race

(At least not to somebody’s face).

You can’t gay-bash, slut-shame, or mock

The way one laughs or thinks or talks.

But you can defame or spew hate at

Those with neckbeards or a fedora hat.

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Logic, American Dream Style

Monday through Friday

My heart’s only dread

Is that midmorning song

That says “get out of bed.”

Yet come days of Satur

And as well days of Sun

My heart sings in the morning

‘Til the day is all done.

For when clocks of alarm

Cracks serenity’s hold

And says “put on your clothes

“And go do what you’re told”

My vigor and pep

Aren’t what they used to be

Like when I was a child

And still blissfully free.

When instead of alarms

To the sun I awaken

And instead of my job

I get pancakes and bacon

My bliss flows more freely

And I feel stronger.

From now on I’ll work weekends

And be miserable longer.

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Elegy For My Youthful Vigor

‘Tis late! ‘Tis late!

‘Tis nearly dark!

I really should be snoring.

You say “it’s fine,”

But it’s nearly 9:00

And, oh my God, I’m boring!

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Summertime In Washington State

When in the Summer

Humid, hot,

You’re AC’s working…

Wait, it’s not.

You’re sweating, panting,

Hope has died,

Your thoughts have turned

To homicide…

My days are filled

With thoughts like these.

Can you believe

It’s 78 degrees?

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Best Wishes From Everything You’ve Ever Signed

I lay in bed one humid eve

When through the window came

A mysterious hooded figure

With neither face nor name.

He tied me to my bedframe,

Shaved my head and ate my food,

Downloaded my shopping preferences

And data about my mood.

He stole my cash and passwords

And he burned all my receipts

Then showed me banner advertisements

For Sprint and flannel sheets.

He listened to my phone calls

And sold recordings to Taiwan.

These unusual torments

Lasted all the way ’til dawn.

He changed my LinkedIn profile

And made me look inept,

Then left a calling card which said

“Read before you click Accept.”

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The Kinda-Mostly-True Life of Bobby Fischer

I was a child prodigy,

A master at young age,

A Grandmaster at age seven,

A prepubescent sage.

Yet time passed by and I got old.

My skills increased as well,

Yet now that I’m a grown-up guy

I’ve lost the magic spell.

Instead of great, unique, and wise

I’m seen as “kinda lame,”

Forty years old, I’ve spent my life

Playing an old board game.

So what happened? What really changed?

Is greatness not enough?

When I was young my life was ease,

But now my life is tough?

It seems as if flying around,

Moving pawns on a board,

Winning trophies and title bouts

Is more impressive when you’re four?

Well then, screw that! I’m done with chess!

I’m moving far away

To be a scary racist hermit

And with myself I’ll play!

But now they call me back to play

A world championship game.

The cold war hinges on my success;

Such is the price of fame.

But afterwards I’m gone again

And that’s just fine with me.

My only hope’s that they will make

A movie about searching for me.

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