Poetry: "Pension"

Poetry: "Pension"

Don't mention

Your bloated pension

If you go to work

You'll just inspire jealousy

In people who are jerks... (tbc?)

Poetry: "My Toaster" A work in progress

Poetry: "My Toaster" A work in progress

My toaster became self-aware

It burned my face, my hair, my easy chair.

It also burned my bread

And ignited my blankets and bed... (tbc?)

Poetry: "Don't Get Killed On Craigslist"

Poetry: "Don't Get Killed On Craigslist"

Don't get killed on Craigslist

Don't respond to ads

Where you might get ambushed

By people that are bad

Don't click on e-mails from strangers

You know it is a scam

Or it could be a virus

Which ruins computer RAM.

Poetry: "Just Give Thanks"

Poetry: "Just Give Thanks"

Just give thanks

To the New York Yanks

Whenever they do lose

When they win

It's not a sin

That is just bad news

Don't take bets

On the New York Jets

When they play the Pats

We'll beat them almost every time

On gridiron flats.

Poetry: "Broken Drier"

Poetry: "Broken Drier"

My laundromat has a broken drier.

At least the lint has not caught fire.

The drier salesman is a liar.

I'm wasting my change when times are dire.

A repairman my landlord will have to hire.

When my laundry is cleaned of mire.

The machine should die inside a pyre

[Then] a chorus of joy would be sung by a choir.

This happens so often it ought to be retired

Or, if not, [it] should be rewired

Our laundromat's drier is broken

It won't accept quarters or tokens

My clean laundry is all asoaken

At night my neighbors aren't awoken

My Goddamned drier won't dry.

To it we should say goodbye

In agony I could cry

The machine ought to be replaced or to die

Shakespeare would say of it "Fie".

I am one ticked off guy.

I put the machine thrice on high

Another drier's not nigh.

For clothing of even one ply.

All I can do is just sigh

or yell and swear to the sky.

Poetry: "Maynard G. Krebs" A work in progress

Poetry: "Maynard G. Krebs" A work in progress

I'd rather be a ne'er-do-well

Than have to go to work.

I'd much rather drink the wine

Than have to pull the cork.

Sure I'm still thankful I'm alive

But mention "work"

And like a jerk, I break out in hives.

Poetry: "Keeping Up With E-Mail"

Poetry: "Keeping Up With E-Mail"

Keeping up with e-mail

Is really quite a chore

Every time I turn around

My inbox has some more

Ninety-Nine per cent of it is

What is known as "Spam"

I ought to just delete it all

But all I say is "damn".