the second worst poetry in the Universe

While I slept on pillow softly,
Plans were made to destroy my awfully

The gnomes and trolls snuck into my bed
and shoved a car jack inside my head

They keep stomping down onto the lever
To destroy someone this way is very clever

A few more stomps and my skull will crack
And then the world will fade to black

 

He put a spike on my forehead
And brought the hammer down
I got no rest last night in my bed
I am loopier than a clown.

Stupid head cold.

My DVD Collection
has suffered from dissection.
Donnie has flown the coop.

Tyler is missing in action
With Clerks, I get no satisfaction
Vincent Vega is also among the missing group.

I used to have every classic at my finger tips
I kept all the cases and kept the sleeve and slips
But now, I have to suffer with Duece Bigalow, European Gigalo

All the good films are gone
and I am left with the couch and ottoman
and B films that aren’t even ironically funny

She took the pots and pans and coffee table
She did leave the microwave!
But I’m sure that would have gone too if she were able
So I sit on the floor and watch The Underground Comedy Movie and Other People’s Money
 

I do not like Whistler’s mother
for, she gave birth to the whistler.

I do not mind a happy tune
But why whould whyou whimsically whistle while whizzing?

WHEALLY!

And I do not mind snapping to a jazzy arrangement.
Except for the jazz part, it’s a fine endeavor.

But snipping and snapping is such a sanctimonious sign, saying “Sir, Seriously sir, swiftly steam your espresso so I can spill my Sanka!”
It sizzles my spine so  sufficiently and substantially that I want to slaughter all snappers.

And that Miss Clappy McClapperson
I wish mishap upon that hapless person.

Slapping your meat fists together with every second step pretending that you are the half wit in the marching band who could only be trusted to smack two giant sheets of metal together but you are even to dumb for that so all you get to do is flutter your flubber cakes together and … CLAP.

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, Snap.

Snap, CLAP, snap snapple snap CLAP.

Whistle, Snap Clap.

Oh dear.
The worst of them all.
To this tremendous beast, even this hero may fall.
The Whistle-Snap-Clap Dragon from days of yore.

STOP CLAPPING AND SNAPPING AND WHISTLING.  Your mother is a whore!

I do not like Whistler’s mother.

It all makes sense to someone out there I hope.
Have no false idols but worship the pope.

Their talk is mastering incongruity
They mock brilliance and ingenuity

They sit and bitch and discuss how they would have done it
But they ran like scared weasels  when given the chance to run it

The meek will inherit the earth once it reaches a state of total annihilation
Today the leaders of industry rack up another parole violation

Once upon a time in America the major stress was getting home to watch Cheers at nine
Now the stress is the credit card bill from buying enough TVs to watch 57 channels all at the same time.

This poem was started a week ago and I forgot what the point was
The ringing in my ears has turned all my thoughts into disjointed fuzz.

I think I wanted to explore the idea of mass hypocrisy.
And find faults with the crass theocracy

But I was distracted by life and art fell by the wayside
Oh, look, a marathon featuring the kids of Bayside!

I hope this one simple fact is clearly understood:
You have all beaten up and destroyed my childhood.
I used to rush home from school  wearing backwards baseball hats
To watch animated cats infuriate dogs and painted mice  aggravate other cats.

Now for cartoons we have to wait for prime time so they can snort cociane
Or rape an alien, shoot their mother, destroy the planet or sell propane.

Cartoons were all morning Saturday
Prime time was for Cosby and Cliff Claven
Now prime time is reality
And Saturdays were something about a Raven

I know that show is over and long since deceased
And she  has come from the closet with her pant suit pleated and creased.
But Disney killed the Gummi Bears, Chip and Dale, and Duck Tales
And put on High School musicals because the merchandise had better sales.

I remember a Sesame Street that didn’t have Elmo motor boating Katy Perry,
Just a giant bird, some monsters, and a vampire that was far from scary.
A vampire, who by the by, did not shimmer and shine
He just counted.  Yes he counted all the time.  Ah ah ah.

And we never tried to pass off rhyming a word with itself.
And to find a rhyme or synonym we had to look upon the shelf.
I remember getting in fist fights with other kids, not redundant text arguments from an iPad.
I remember bicycles without the helmets and skateboarding without a pad

I remember when rolling eyes were met with belt or paddle
The same fate befell on any kid who would tattle
And when Suess was king because he rhymed words with words when they were pronounced correctly
Now, you can go far and be a star, just slur your speech a bit  and tell the kids to break a neck, G!

Only a few toys needed batteries and none required a power pack
My Lincoln Logs built ground up from my wooden stack
I built by Legos piece by piece reds upon the green
Now my Legos walk and breath upon the 52 inch screen

I am sure all of the kids will look back in twenty years and feel so much humbler
It will be easy for them to remember since all their memories are now gifs on tumblr.

I forgot your birthdate, I am irresponsible.
The rent check is late, I am irresponsible.

It isn’t that I have overextended.
It’s just that my brain has been chopped up and blended.

I am not good with routines.
The number of things I forget on a regular basis is obscene.

If you give me a task, I have to do it right now.
This is my mantra, this is my tao.
I am irresponsible.

My brain is empty when my belly is full.
Every time I sneeze I lose a million thoughts.
How long ago did we load the oven with tater-tots?

I am irresponsible, by this you should not be amazed.
Which restaurant would you like to dine at, for now my kitchen is all ablaze.

She looked deep in my eyes
Then she spread both her thighs
I saw a glimpse of white
My jeans got a bit tight
she smiled as the bell rang
this is the song I sang

I want to take you to the dance
Please will you just give me the chance
I want you to take off my pants
I would die for just one more glance

Thoughts of her racked my brain
This led to more groin pain
Oh god, did she mean it
Was I meant to see it
Math class went on too long
I sang this damn dumb song

Oh, Let me take you to the dance
Thoughts of you have me in a trance
I think I saw a bit of France
I would die for just one more glance

Her heart gave out in gym
Dove in to have a swim
did not come up for air
The kids all stood and stared
She sunk like she was lead
That girl is cold and dead

I did not take her to the dance
Looks like I will not get the chance
I wish I could have one more glance
I would die for just one more glance

She showed what was up her skirt
I think that was her way to flirt
I would die for just one more glance
Oh, she had me in such a trance
I would die for just one more glance

I am not stalking you, I am simply keeping score.
Your new husband is in jail, my worse sin is that I snore.
Sure I was arrested for possession of coke.
I was acquitted, so now that’s just an office joke.

You gained weight, practically doubling your size.
(And this is after I commented on your sizable thighs).
I dropped 165 pounds while quitting cigarettes
This meth diet rocks, but I think I have developed tourettes.

You’ve gone through a slew of men, each one ending in disaster
I’ve gone through a slew of women… and I have learned how to dump them faster.
You have had 4 children fathered by five different guys
I’ve been vasectomized
(all that really means is that the women that sleep with me intending to have my baby are all thoroughly surprised)

You are a horrible person and you deserve the life you have ended up with.
I have ended up with a life that will be the material for a myth.

My chauffeur Stan
traveled to Amsterdam
And, He bought a t-shirt that had nothing but an ampersand
And, While hiking he ate canned, stirred yams
Top with gravy made of clam cured Spam.
And, He tried riding the hamster tram,
but they would not let him on it.

The little bastards said he would crush the cars because the tram was made for tiny little hamsters and he’s about six foot two inches tall.

Hamsters are selfish.

And clams are shellfish.

In the center of town Stan dropped a penny and made a well wish.
And, He met a girl named Rita who looked like Bjork, you know, kind of elfish.
And they walked hand in hand through the market square.
And they were robbed by a pickpocket there.

And they had soup on the street, in a bowl, filled with meat.
And, Stan sat in something pink and it stained his seat.

It was probably something strawberry.
Their waitress was nicknamed Bogota Mary.
She had a mole on her cheek that looked kind of fake.
And Mary thought that Rita’s purse was hers to take.

And,  what the thief from earlier did not steal away,
Mary took later that day.
And the two broke lovers had to dine and dash,
the choice may have seemed a bit rash.
And they were arrested and tried and convicted.
And they were confined to a cell and restricted.

And I’d like you to meet my new driver Sam.