Tag Archives: humor

When we were Pirates

Remember when we were Pirates?


You swung a cutlass, and I cried ‘Yaarrrrr’

At the tide and the swelling sea.

You looked me in the eye,

(the good eye, the one without the patch on it)

And said ‘I suppose it’ll be hard tack for supper again’

And we laughed.


We buried treasure on the island,

and promptly forgot where,

leaving fifteen dead men to guard it.

I want to know where it is now, though, when I need it.

Things matter now that didn’t then, when we were pirates.


On the deck you said to me,

‘Yaaarrr, isn’t this a beautiful sunset.’

It looked the same as every other sunset.

I wish I’d have paid more attention now.


We drank rum in ports,

And chased women and dreams

The women now faded, the dreams more so.

Washed up in the tides and the swell.


They didn’t know whether to hang us or give us medals then,

We sailed in and out of ports with no repercussion

Most of those ports have long since closed down

The medals have tarnished, the nooses frayed.


God what I’d give for a cannonball right now.


Please don’t be upset, but I always hated your parrot.

It didn’t fly off like I said.

It’s at the bottom of the ocean.


I spend these days telling stories about those days.

The pirate days.  They say I have a twinkle in my eye–

(the good eye, the one without the patch on it)

–when I speak of it, but my voice is barnacles and rust, iron gone to rot.


I hear your new crew is stalwart and lusty,

shouts louder than we ever did.

They say you’ve got shanties written about you,

And your name brings dread to all that hear it.


Marks the spot

Of those days we  buried long ago.


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Folk Wisdom for the Modern Age

Folk sayings.  We all grew up with them, and our grandparents repeated them over and over again till we wanted to punch them in their geriatric, oatmeal cookie-ish, wrinkled old people faces.  Sure, they’re chalk full of wisdom, but they aren’t exactly relevant to today’s world, now are they?  Here are some brand new Folk Sayings for our Modern World.

The longest journey begins with a single metal detector, a security pat-down, and possibly an anal cavity search.

A Stitch in time will cost you approximately $23,215.53, provided your HMO agrees to co-pay.  Plus the ambulance.

Beauty is in the eye of the holder of the Botox.

A penny saved is worth absolutely nothing.

Every cloud has a silver lining, which conveniently covers up THAT HUGE WHOLE IN THE OZONE YOU MADE.

God helps those that send me a check for $100 so I can build a great church in his name. Ignore that hooker. Can I get an Amen?

What goes around, comes on Tiger Woods.

If at first you don’t succeed, fail miserably, write a self help book, get on Oprah, and tell us all about it.  We’d love it.  Seriously, we fucking would.  Can’t wait.

Necessity is the mother of internet porn.

People who live in glass houses usually also have solar panelling, drive SMART cars, eat vegan, recycle everything, and shit in compost heaps because they’re ‘helping the earth’.  In short, people who live in glass houses are Total Dicks.

The best laid plans of mice and men oft get completely fucked up in the Senate.

The early bird catches AIDS.

An Apple a Day, makes you a pretentious graphic designing bastard.  No one cares about your iPod, your iPhone, or your iPad.  Get a man’s PC, art fag.

If the shoe fits, think fondly of the 8-year old Korean who made it with his little, bloody hands.

A friend in need is a friend who needs you to send him some seeds or something stupid thing on Farmville and keeps posting about it.  God, hate him!  Hate Farmville.  Stop sending me things, Nelson!  Tard.

A fool and his money are soon leading a war on Iraq.

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Kid’s Book Friday

Lines from the beginnings of my failed children’s books.

“Once upon a time, in the happy land of Rabbiton, there lived a tiny little bunny named Hitler. He believed in hopping, eating carrots, and genocide.”

“Kids with peanut allergies are like you and me, only you can cause them to turn blue with just one, simple trick.”

“What does that sign say? It says ‘No Irish.'”

“Everybody poops…blood.”

“Prancy the Rooster was sick of this shit. “I’ll show them,” he thought, reaching for his sawed off shotgun.”

“And so Uncle Bob opened up a Facebook account, so he could touch all the other children, in the same way he touched you.”

“Blue ball. Yellow stain. Rubber Room. Black Gimp Mask. Double Dong. Slide this lever.”

“Where’s Daddy? Daddy’s in the shit. Where’s the shit? It’s in Afghanistan. Uh-oh Daddy, IED. Boom!”

“Look. It’s Nurse Nancy. Nurse Nancy takes care of Grandma. Nurse Nancy is standing over Grandma, with a pillow. Grandma is very still. Good job, Nurse Nancy.”

“First thing in the morning, as the sun was rising softly over the farm, Higgildy Piggildy killed a man in cold blood.”

“When your new baby sister comes,” said Mommy, “we won’t be paying much attention to you anymore.”

“Hooray! It’s My First Axe!”

“Bitches sometimes be talking shit. It’s okay to smack that ho. How else, she gonna learn?”

“Uh-oh. Little Billy forgot to wear sunscreen! Look how red he is! That’s cancer.”

“Mommy and Daddy loved each other very much at one time, now they’re only staying together because of you.”

“The psychotropic drugs helped, but Chicken Little was still convinced the sky was doing something fucking freaky.”

“Look at the size of the universe! Do you now understand how insignifigant you are, puny mortal?”

“Little Sandy cried. And no one cared.”

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The Dirty Smurfette Poem

Alright…I’m back, after far, far too long.  These things happen, and both you readers will have to forgive me.   I wrote and performed this one about three months ago, in a fevered state (quite literally, I think close to 102 degree fever), and I think it really reflects that.  But seriously, fever or no fever, who hasn’t wanted to bang Smurfette.

Don’t forget to order a custom poem from Poetry To Go!

Audio Transcript of that time I had sex with Smurfette.

(0:00-2:22 – Fumbling noises)

Oh, oh yeah.

Oh Willie, that’s good.

You make me feel so…so smurfy.

Take off my dress—oh yeah.  Am I the bluest woman you’ve ever been with?

Now smurf me.

You know how this goes.

Smurf me.  Hard.

Just like that.

You’ve been a naughty little boy—naughtier than Gargamel.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, smurf me there.  Smurf me there!

(3:08 – sound of electrical buzzing)

Now smurf me with this!

Ah, yeah, ah yeah, smurf me harder!

Smurf me! Smurf me! Smurf me, Handy!

(3:47 – sounds of footsteps leaving.)

No!  I didn’t mean Handy—I mean Willie.  Come back.

(3: 58 – sounds of footsteps returning)

Smurf me, Smurf me, Smurf me, Smurf me

Jesus Smurfing Christ!

Smurf me in the ass, you mothefucker!

I’m smurfing! I’m smurfing!

Now Take it out and smurf in my mouth!

That’s good.  That’s s0 good. You are so much better than Papa.


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Tips for Surviving the Robot Apocolypse


Tips for Surviving the Robot Apocalypse

Of all the types of horrible possible futures,

The Robot Apocalypse scares me the most

Let’s face it, a zombie apocalypse would be the worst,

But it’s pretty straightforward, survival wise.

A)Grab shotgun

B)Shoot Zombies

C)Run out of ammo and die horribly.

This I can handle. It might even be fun.

Holing up in shopping malls

Shooting Zombie celebrity chefs and politicians.

BAM! I just shot Zombie Jane Goody.

That’s how we do it downtown!

And I’m content to push a cart to the sea after the nuclear holocaust,

With a pistol and despair, fighting cannibals.

But the Robot Apocalypse is the great unknown

Because we made them, for the love of god


This is why, after hours of research on the internet

And episodes of The Sarah Conner Chronicles

I share with you, dear friends,

Tips for surviving the Robot Apocalypse

Tip #1

DO know the difference between a robot and a cyborg.

A Robot is entirely mechanical,

whereas a cyborg is a mechanically enhanced human.

Number Five is a robot

The Six Million Dollar Man is a cyborg.

Always kill the robots, and win over the cyborgs.

Because, hey, if you get tired of him, you can always sell the Six Million Dollar man,

And that’s six extra million dollars

Six million dollars

To survive the Robot Apocalypse

Tip #2

DON’T sleep with human resistance fighters sent back from the future to save you.

It may be hard, I know.
They may look like Micheal Biehn or Keira Knightly

They may have a picture of you from the past and tell you a story of how they fell in love with it.

They may even tell you, We don’t need protection, baby, in the future everyone’s sterile.

It’s lies, all lies, and you’ll make a baby that will be

a fucking ridiculous time paradox conundrum.

And you may well feel cheap in the morning.

Tip #3

DO locate your nearest steel processing and metal crushing plants.

The robots will be so intent on killing you, they won’t notice when you lure them in

And then it’s a simple matter of pushing them into the melted steel or car crusher.

Those most concerned with the Robot Apocalypse should consider a move to the industrial North.

Sure, that’s bleak,

But then so is the ROBOT APOCOLPYSE.

Tip #4

At every opportunity, make sure to mutter profoundly

There’s a problem, with the robots.”

You may not sound quite like Will Smith

But you’ll still sound pretty cool.

Tip #5

Run diagonally. Robots hate that shit.

Tip #6

Carry a magnet. Point it at the robot. Not sure if this will work or not,

but it did a helluva job on my PC.

Tip #7

Lobby government robot making agencies to create robots with Apple Mac based systems.

PC’s are full of war games, which will train the robots to kill.

You can’t play shit on an Apple Mac, so instead, you’ll have a future of robots that are

GREAT at graphic design and video editing, but shit at exterminating humanity.

Tip #8

Make sure you have a geek on your survival team. Preferably one with a crazy mad scientist father.

The more insufferable the better. They may be awful, but you need somebody to tell you

If we can simply cross-denigrate the Central Processor Matrix, the ensuing ionic interference will be enough to disengage the robot’s datamatric manifolds!”

Tip #9

When he says that, nod.

Tip #10

Broker a peace between the pirates and the ninjas. It will be difficult, but you will need them. Pirates are death at sea, and ninjas are death on land, and together, you will have TOTAL ROBOT DEATH.

And finally Tip#11

Don’t ever, EVER, have a half-naked, strobe lit, techno dance party when you think you’re winning. This will not only irritate you and the robots, but also the people who paid eight pounds to see that piece of shit that was Matrix Revolutions.

And so, with that, I bid you good luck,

And hope surviving the coming Robot Apocalypse.

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Back from a break–and not one from my penis

Famous World Leaders, Alive or Dead, that would also be good nicknames for my Penis, if it wasn’t already named Juan Domingo Valdez

Vlad the Impaler

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Herman Van Rompuy


(Igor) Chudinov

Ghenghis Khan

King Abdulla

Maxmillien Robespierre

Mizengo Pinda

Alaric the Goth

Sergei Bagapsh

Angela Merkel (for the ladies)

Geronimo (for the Native Americans)

Pope Benedict the 16th (inches)

Mr. Pushkin

Anerood Jugnauth

El Cid


Peter the Great

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Binary Love Poem (for when you care enough to compute the very best)


11110010110111101110101, girl.



the whole world.

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