Would anyone drink craft beers, I’m wondering, at all
if they lacked the punch and joy of simple alcohol?
I can make a slushie out of bugs and hair of pooch,
but who the heck would drink it sans a touch of bootleg hootch?
And I would never think of selling water from the Meuse
as a bottled bev’rage if it didn’t have some booze.
These crafty brews are hotdogs; their ingredients debased;
used for drinking whiskey when the bite must needs be chased.
My son, beware the college that is small and lightly staffed.
Otherwise your education threatens to be gaffed.
For smaller institutions, though they’re full of signal scholars,
are strapped for cash and just might close for lack of any dollars.
In this day and age of ROI and bottom lines
it’s best to stick with colleges that emulate gold mines.
That have a rich alumni and a bond rating supreme.
In other words, forget the dregs and lap up all the cream.
Of course you’ll have to borrow large amounts, and without shyness.
And when you can’t repay your credit rating is D minus.
Russia, Iran and Iraq knocked on my door recently;
they said they had come to help and finally rescue me.
I let them come into my quarters, invited them to take a seat;
they shot up the walls and blew up the couch, yelling “No Defeat!”
They looted the kitchen and bedroom, taking my wallet and jewels.
They kidnapped the dog and said they’d teach it better housebroken rules.
I’ll never get rid of these leeches — they ignore all my orders to scram.
But I’m not complaining, cuz with them remaining, at least there is no Uncle Sam!
For more information: http://bitly.com/1xnZH0E
Modern tech is wonderful, is wonderful to me;
it provides the ads and then the way to make them flee.
Nevermore must I await a webpage for an hour;
killing ads is giving me a sense of awesome power!
Since you can rid me of such irritation that is cyber,
how about for other things? I’ll be your first subscriber!
Can you block my in-laws from discovering my door?
Can you block the speech of Donald Trump forevermore?
Will you kindly find a way to block the bill collector
from calling me (and how about a quiet smoke detector?)
Block that Adam Sandler from a movie cam’ra, please —
and I will go down to you on my swollen, scabby knees!
Block Ms Jenny Craig and all those other diets flawed —
and you will be my one and only living worshipped god!
To celebrate the company that sold us but a fag end
of diesel car, the past tense verb has now become ‘Volkswagened‘.
As in, the purchase of a car we think will pass inspection
but turns out to be hiding just a pile of imperfection.
I think this new word that I’ve coined has got some staying power;
more than Volkswagen seems to have, with customers so dour.
South Africa has given me another distant cousin,
a hominid with curving fingers (two less than a dozen).
Apparently his brain was rather smaller than my own
(but maybe his old skull was so much thicker in the bone).
Dear cousin, I am sorry that your grave has so much traffic —
but modern man must have his National Geographic.
from a story in the New York Times
I’d like to be an artist and examine questions deep;
I’d like to be an artist on the subject of good sleep.
I’d nap away the hours like a Rembrandt or Degas;
Snoring so I’d be compared to Klimt or old Renoir.
My expertise on snoozing just might bring me a Grand Prix,
a Nobel Prize for Forty Winks or Sawing Wood — whoopee!
I’d teach a master class on shuteye policy and craft,
and students would be lining up to give me their bank draft!
O, I can just imagine the intense artistic throes
when I am creating a siesta or a doze.
Forsooth, the mundane ebb tide of this life I soon will chouse
by focusing on slumber as I pursue a drowse!