Tag Archives: Work


All good things have symbols,

Logos, and/or icons.

The golden M is Micky D’s.

The word”Nikon” is Nikon’s.

Now this is great for products

And for things you buy and sell,

But have you once considered

Other ways this works well?

Take a dollar symbol,

Which stands for money that we make.

Have you ever noticed

That it’s a pole-dancing snake?

Or how about the three curved lines

That indicate Wi-Fi.

They’re nothing but a magic drill

Descending from the sky.

What’s a symbol for your workplace?

A necktie does the trick

Because it’s both a hangman’s noose

And an arrow towards someone’s dick.

If I were a symbol

I’d be this guy: & Yup.

(I originally wanted to be an 8

But some artist messed up).

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Thanks People!

This poem’s for the people

Who work lousy hours

Slaving away

For the “that be”-ing powers.
These rhymes are for tellers

And checkers and chaps

Who wear store-logo polos

And maybe ball caps.
This verse is for plumbers

And sellers of pot.

Thanks for doing your thing

So that I need not.

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Working for Myself

I had a lunch hour at my old job,

But that just wasn’t enough.

I need some time in the middle of the day

To just relax and stuff.

I told my boss about my plight.

Now I take two hours instead

To eat my meal and check my mail

And generally clear my head.

Still, my malaise remained in place,

Even when I took

My two 15-minute breaks

Before and after my lunch nook.

Now my lunch is 16 hours

And I’m darn pleased to heck.

Self employment’s really something,

But I wish they’d send my check.

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He Loves His Work

My best friend is a hired gun.

At first I thought his job was fun,

But changed my mind when came the year

He worked the job as a volunteer.

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I complained about my cubicle,

Saying it was too small,

And since it was rectangular

Was not a cube at all.

Now I’m living in a box

In back alley, USA.

I guess complaining didn’t help,

But my box is a cube, so yay?

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Made in China?

I took a trip to the great wall
On my quest to see it all.
I enjoyed myself a bit more than a little.
Stupid you might call it,
But I’m afraid I left my wallet
Somewhere between the ending and the middle.

To make up for such bad luck
I had to make a buck
To get back to my home, off in Regina.
That’s how the story goes:
To solve my money woes
I was forced to be a maid in China.

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Not What I Expected

I became a mafioso
As a way to pay my bills,
As well as for the infamy
And the less-than-legal thrills.
I thought I was a renegade,
Far away from “nine to five.”
As it turns out a life of crime
Is a fairly blasé jive.

I wake up in the morning
And I drink my coffee black
While I eat a few calzone
And plan the day’s attack.
Then I hop into my auto
And I collect the cash
From those under my “protection”
And the guys who sell my hash.

I rob some banks, but get no thanks.
I work weekends all the time.
I cause some wrecks and stack the decks
But I’m un-fulfilled by crime.

At the end of the day we wise-guys,
Goodfellas, and Made-men
Sleep off our indiscretions
And then do it all again.
So here’s my two weeks notice
With all this crook’s respect.
I’m getting out, just hoping
Papa Gino don’t object.

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The Fisherman’s Dilemna

They say I’m a workaholic

‘Cause I spend twelve hours a day

Away from Mabbs (my wife) and kids.

It’s the commercial fishing way.


Truth is, work gives me joy

That I just don’t get from Mabbs.

At work I catch the lobsters,

But with her I catch the crabs.

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