“You know those days
Where everything’s bad,
Everything hurts,
Everyone’s mad,
Nobody’s happy,
And nothing is true?
I don’t, but you’re nodding,
So it sucks to be you!”
Tag Archives: Work
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.
Filed under Poems
Find What You Love and Get Paid For It
I used to be the leader
Of a bunch of nasty thugs
Who cut on people’s bodies
And sold a lot of drugs.
But now I’ve finally realized
That those things aren’t cool.
Now I’ll use my skills to prosper
At Harvard Medical School.
Filed under Poems
Symbolism
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).
Filed under Poems
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.
Filed under Poems
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.
Filed under Poems
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.
Filed under Poems
Cubism
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?
Filed under Poems
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.
Filed under Poems
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.
The Daily Travesty 