No matter how I’ve managed to sin
Since my life, long ago, did begin
Please forgive me enough
(Even take all my stuff),
Just don’t leave me at the Woodway Inn!
It’s my birthday.
The Seahawks lost.
You may or may not draw
An accurate conclusion
Of my happiness (or lack thereof)
Based on that information.
Such a travesty is BC Hwy 99I think the guys who built it were blind
Or perhaps were very drunk
This road doesn’t make sense to a duck.
The road was built for Mario Cart
Level one is 340 degree turns
Level two is curves that lead to un-marked one-lane bridges
Level three add turning trucks
And if that isn’t more than enough
Level four the deer are suicidal.
Level five we take away the road signs
Level six adds falling rocks
Level seven adds the rain
Level eight is and 15% grade
Level nine is 10 km/hr on that grade
I don’t want to reach level ten —
Not even the Buddha has that level zen.
Now it all makes sense!
And at the village intersection
As the clock strikes midnight,
We pass the bloody Grim.
And across a bridge we go
To be warned of washout conditions.
I have 99 problems
And this road is all of them.
Imagine for a moment a world in which the typical person lives about sixteen years before being enslaved by corporate overlords and enduring fifty years of ever-increasing toil simply to stay alive.
In this world there is an individual who has escaped the never-ending cycle of despair, and each day he renews the hope of a few hundred people via moments of free, digitally-published, frequently-rhyming silliness. He is a beacon of cynical optimism, a daily reminder that you don’t have to be perfect (or even reasonably good) to make a difference.
Would you be willing to give 6-12 seconds of your wages to keep the beacon of hope alive?
OF COURSE YOU WOULD!
Well, I have a confession: The in-no-way-a-metaphor-for-this-writer protagonist in the suspiciously-similar-to-real-life fantasy world is actually me! (M. Night Shyamalan, feel free to use this as inspiration for your next film’s inevitable plot twist).
I’ve been thinking about monetizing this blog for a while. I hate ads, and I will never willingly force you to suffer through ads to access this content. Instead of that, I want to give you the chance to financially support me as much or as little as you want via Patreon.
For those of you unfamiliar with Patreon, it’s a membership platform that makes it easy for creators of great stuff to get paid, and gives you (the patrons) some fantastic rewards for your generosity.
This blog has just shy of 900 followers as I write this. If each of you contributed fifty cents a month (less than two cents a day), it would pay my rent for the month. If each of you gave one dollar a month it would almost double my annual income (actually true). [Yes ladies, I’m single]. So if you’re willing to help keep the light of silliness alive in an increasingly dystopian society of “those other guys” for less than the cost of gas station sushi (financially and otherwise), please consider supporting me via Patreon when it launches on September 24th.
Humanity thanks you, as do I.
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.
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.