Ask any man “Would you marry?”
And the man will most-likely say “Sure.”
He’d wear a gold ring for the rest of his days
To announce his commitment to her.
Ask any girl “Would you marry?”
And she’ll smile and say “Yes” with glee.
“And he’d wear a gold ring for the rest of his days
“To announce his commitment to me!”
Filed under Poems
“The devil plays the violin,
The instrument of mortal sin.”
I told her this, then said hello.
#How to not pick up girls who play cello
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I wonder who first got the notion
That to enhance one’s beauty and grace
And inspire mens’ loving devotion
They should stick some hardware in their face.
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If I were to pick a peck of pickled peppers
Peter Piper’d have a bone to pick with me?
But if I gave Ol’ Pete a peck
He’d want to bone, ’cause “what the heck”
And I needn’t pay the Piper… He’d pay me!
Filed under Poems
As the lovers grew older
Much to the wife’s delight
Her husband looked much like Sean Connery.
The husband didn’t say it
(For he didn’t want a fight)
But he couldn’t help but think it: So did she.
Filed under Poems
The marriage rate is going down
And many tears are falling.
The good men left and left behind
Some eyes bloodshot from bawling.
Men no longer mentor
Any women that they pay
Because they fear the power
Of what said women might say
And smart men will no longer talk
To strangers in a skirt
‘Cause they’re one false “j’accuse” away
From sleeping in the dirt.
Cats think that this circumstance
Is surely heavensent:
They live with 30-something women
Whose exes pay the rent.
Meanwhile the men rebuild themselves
From fighters into monks
And leave the chasing women
To the inner-city punks.
The West now walks on eggshells.
There is no doubt about it:
The feminists have made their beds
And now they lie about it.
Filed under Poems
If you look I think you’ll find
That women are mean to their own kind:
They’ll criticize you if you’re pretty.
They’ll be mean if you look shitty.
They’ll tease you if they can’t see your butt
But if they can then you’re a slut.
They’ll mock you if you’ve got one pal, though
If you are popular they’ll call you shallow.
They’ll fill your life with only hate
But I’m a man. How ’bout a date?
Filed under Poems
