Who are these people,
These lines of numbered squares?
How do they feel
As the world around them stares?
As they’re moved from chalk outlines
Into their waiting coffin
We wonder why they’re murdered
On playgrounds so often…
Tag Archives: Weird
Death: A Children’s Book
🤕
This is Stan.
Stan is dead.
Stan’s dead ’cause he hit his head.
😢
When you hit your head you cry
And sometimes you, like Stan, will die
👻
But if you don’t, don’t feel blue…
There are other ways to quit life too!
😷
You can die from a disease
Passed on by friends or mice or fleas.
🤑🎆
You can be killed by overwork
Or even by a firework!
🤡
A clown can kill you at a fair
(Though I’ll admit that’s rather rare)
🦘
Or you can die by kangaroo
(Though I’ll admit that that’s rare too).
❤️
Most folks die of heart disease
From not eating their broccolis.
♋️
Cancer kills a lot of folks
And it’s the butt of many jokes.
💯
Everybody’s going to die
But there’s no need for you to cry,
😤
But if you keep crying soon you can
Meet our head wound idol, Stan!
🤕
Filed under Poems
Bachelor Life
Sometimes
When I see a beautiful woman
I feel compelled
To approach her,
Take a sip of champagne,
Gargle it loudly for 12.5 seconds
Then just walk away
‘Cause I don’t need all that drama.
Mississippi Family Reunions
She said “My name is Margaret.”
He said “My name is Jake,
“And may I say, dear sister,
“You smell different when you’re awake.”
Filed under Poems
When The Light Goes Out Things Get Dark
There is one green light bulb
From an old Christmas tree
In the upper-left-hand plastic ring
Of the thingy that holds together
A six-pack of generic-brand cola,
Reclining in an Ohio landfill,
Never again to be lit
Or decorate a house
Or hold public office,
But the bulb is happy
Because it will outlast the family
Who chucked it in a hefty bag
And forgot all about it.
The bulb remembers.
The bulb is patient.
The bulb is all out of mercy…
Filed under Poems
Bad Romance
I love you
Like Japan loves tentacles,
Like psychos love murder
And goth teens love pentacles.
I love you
Like Chris Pratt loves his raptors
And people with Stockholm
Syndrome love their captors.
I love you
Like a farmer loves cattle,
Like that one guy you know
Loves leather and a paddle.
I love you
Like Tarantino loves gore
And it’s for these reasons
I can’t see you no more.
Filed under Poems
If “The Red Wheelbarrow” Is Good, Why Isn’t This?
Her love made me warm and fuzzy
Like a bit of french cheese
Left in a sauna over the weekend
But, alas, she had fleas.
Filed under Poems
Especially If Her Name Is Daisy
My favorite flowers are daisies.
My favorite black president is Obama.
My favorite meal and my favorite animal
Both are the same: They’re yo’ mama.
Filed under Poems
You Didn’t Eat Your Broccoli, Thus…
Satan wants to eat your soul for breakfast.
Yeah, that’s a thing that Satan wants to do.
His mouth’s already watering
At the prospect of slaughtering
That tasty human spirit that is you!
Satan wants to eat your soul for breakfast.
I heard him to his Mrs. Satan say
“Hey, why don’t you and me go
“Have some eggs and Human Ego
“As a nutritious snack to start the day!”
Satan has a hunch
That it’s too soon for lunch
And, by that logic, also too soon for dinner.
But they don’t sleep-in in Hell
And to start his day off well
You are the perfect portion size of sinner!
(Everybody)!
Satan wants to eat your soul for breakfast.
He wants to fill his belly with your Id.
I hope you’ve read your Dante
‘Cause you’re what Satan wants. Hey!
That’s what you get for being a naughty kid!
When You Should Have Stopped After The First Weird Limerick
If you grew a six-foot long beard
You’d probably think it was weird
But after a while
You’d probably smile
And think “This ain’t as bad as I feared.”
And if a six-foot beard grew you
It would not know what to do
Because shaving’s a pain
And beards don’t have a brain.
These dilemmas are why I’m not a jew.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 