Poem Without Plot

I wrote these lines without any plot
And can’t say what this is, only what it’s not

This isn’t an ode to the ‘beauty’ of ‘true love’
Nor one in praise of ‘powers above’

This isn’t a tale of maidens fair
With oversized towers and bleached blonde hair

War, peace, and all the rest you won’t find here
You’ll have to look elsewhere for those, my dear

Beyond mere babble, what lies within?
Nothing at all, neither virtue nor sin

Its lack of content I won’t obscure
Of that, my friend, you may be sure

This does, however, have an annoying rhyme
Which you can attribute to an excess of free time

Meter and thought, must they be done?
Not at all, these lines ain’t got none

Yeah, that was pretty crappy, I know
But I’m just playing for space…ho ho?

Ah, yes, ’tis truly a curse,
To be able to think in nought but verse

Such are the effects of Geography class
When mixed with a mind most vulgar and crass

Okay, I’ve run out of things to say
But I’ve got stuff to do anyway

So here I go, off I trot
Thus comes to an end, my poem without a plot

Poor Chicken

i live my life in gloom
i'd like to use the word doom, but it'd rhyme
being a goth who loves to moan in open verse
i can't
bleak existence
the sun hates me
i want to eat black cheese and die

my life
so short
my wrists
so red
is there any point?
will this go on forever?

i can't think of any lines
my life sucks
i love sniffing black nail polish
it goes so well with my black douche
why do i have a black douche?

woe
woe
woe is me
for i slept with my math teacher
and he's not even a she

oh crap
i rhymed
oh no
black doom
death and destruction upon the pretty little butterflies
color is meaningless
black is the only constant
and that theme ran away
woe

here i sit
a pool of red blood
not mine
marks on my wrist
people will think it is
poor chicken
feathers are murder to clean up



Alright, alright, it's not the most politically correct thing to post, but what the hell. I felt like poking a little fun at emo poetry; y'know, the open verse kind. Or whatever you call it. Yes, it's probably mean to some people, but so's most humor. Boo hoo. Let's all go cut our wrists in shame and sorrow. Oh, woe is us.

Roach. Cock Roach.

Cockroaches are cool.

I was thinking this to myself as I watched the cockroach on my bathroom floor get up yet again after I'd whacked it the 10th or 29th time with a flyswatter. Yeah, I know I'm supposed to be all nice and stuff to animals, but when it comes to mosquitos and cockroaches, they started it.

But while mosquitos are annoying and weak, cockroaches are cool. They're tough. I've stomped them, swatted them, smashed them, burned them, stabbed them, and used Raid on them, but a lot of the time, they just get back up. And then I step on them, hard(and twist), and then they die. But they're still cool.

This thought reverberated in my skullpan for a few minutes after I'd successfully transformed the cockroach into a steaming smear on my floor (they're enemy agents, I swear), and walked away with my trusty flyswatter holstered. The thought was promptly lost as I saw that I'd left a box of Oreos on my bed.

After making a nice and proper pig of myself (not a crumb dropped, I'll have you know), the thought came back. Why did I find cockroaches so goshdarned cool?

Maybe it was because of their armor/shape scheme; they look sorta like living brown Batmobiles. With all that shiny, sleek armor, and the way they just *poof* jet across the floor (don't believe me? try getting down there and pounding one with your fist. ain't as easy as it looks, is it?), and the fact that they've got those serrated little things on their arms like Batman does...heh. I've this idea that Bob Kane actually meant to make him Roachman, but the execs up at DC didn't like it. "Roachman, striking disgust, loathing, and a desire for a can of Raid into the hearts of housewives everywhere" would probably do wonders for Raid, but wouldn't help comic sales very much, methinks.

So I took the idea a little further, and it hit me - Holy Superspies, true believer, EVERY superhero is based (at least partly) on cockroaches! Think about it: super strength? Cockroaches are kinda strong for their size. Invulnerability? Cockroaches are pretty damn durable. The whole secret agent James-Bond-y schtick? You tell me, what do cockroaches do in your house, if not sneak around and cause trouble? Flying? Cockroaches can fly. You name the power, cockroaches probably have some variant of it. Ok, sure, other bugs were used as well, but I think the main inspiration came from cockroaches. I can imagine the brainstoming they would've done in the beginning -

Guy 1: "Hmm...how about 'The name's Roach. Cock Roach'?"
Ian Fleming:"Naw, we need something less misogynistic. Something the women will love. How's about a compulsive womanizer named..."
*Ian Fleming notices a small stack of "James' Finest Illegal Bond Paper! For the BEST forgeries around!", that appeared out of nowhere to serve as a plot device*
Ian Fleming:"That's it! We'll call him Illegal Forgeries!"
Guy 1:"Uhh...ok..."
Or something like that. Whatever.

As usual, I think this all leads up to a...(say it with me now, kids...) conspiracy! I think the cockroaches are out to get us with their massively superior prototype-superpowers. The only way to stop this is by destroying the Spice Girls once and for all. What's that, teeny-bopping(what's that mean, anyway?)-kid-who-had-to-have-this-read-to-him/her sitting over there? The Spice Girls are good, you say? "Zigazig Ha" actually means something, you say? Don't believe me, you say? Fine. You just wait. One day, when a nuclear missile is accidentally launched at China (or wherever), and a nuclear war starts, and cockroaches mutate into giant, 60-foot-tall Spice Girls, don't come crying to me. You go on listening to your stupid Britney Spears on your crappy pink iPod, you teeny-bopping(there's that phrase again...)...teeny-bopper! Yeah, that's right! Run home to mommy, you wuss! Damn straight, go whine to your huge(heh) daddy who's been in the army and served 2 tours in Vie-...oh fuck.

Shit. I gotta run. But please, heed my warning! Don't waste time! Kill the cockroaches! They walk among us! They must be eradicated before it's too late!

*Shiny Butter Knife runs off stage, away from a homicidal maniac firing a huge assault rifle.*


TV Voice: "That's all for today's rant, kids! Tune in next time for another exciting episode of 'Stupid Doom-Saying Rants That Make No Sense!', with your host, Overpaid TV Voice!
And now, a message from our sponsors!"

*Voice offstage says something unintelligible. Don't they always?*

TV Voice: "Whaddaya mean we got no sponsors?! Then who the hell is paying for me?! Say what?! Did you just say downsizing?! Why're you looking at me so funn...oh. Crap."

*A sigh is heard, followed the sound of footsteps, a pistol being cocked, and a shot. Starving kids in Russia rejoice, serving someone else's plot device. Footsteps again. The mic is switched off.*

Do Shaved Legs Get Lice?

Period films are fun to laugh at.

I mean, look at them; there's people in ugly clothes, with nasty haircuts, and they act/talk all funny. Which is true of all Van-Damme/Arnold movies too. But they don't count because Van-Damme and Arnold are big and will asplode your head if you look at them funny. Back to the topic. My favorite period films are mid-1800's and before. If you thought your grandpa looked funny in that suit in that old picture, wait'll you see these guys. Especially the medeival ones. The guys have long hair, the ladies wear elaborately frilly dresses, and...their nails are all trimmed!

Not to be condescending or anything here, but how's that possible? I'm pretty sure they didn't have nail cutters back in the Dark Ages. And even if they did, what's with the cuts being so neat? I use a nice sharp new nail cutter, and I still mess up; how'd they do it back in the days before processed cheese? (Processed cheese is the benchmark against which all potential civilizations may be measured.)

So as I was paying attention to this, I noticed something else - the women's legs are always covered. Now, call me a sexist pig if you will (really, you don't have to), but men tend to have a thing for shaved legs. And like most of our preferences, they've been groomed into us for a long time after starting out somewhere as an odd/sick fetish (two words: high heels). So when did shaved legs start? And how?

I was thinking about all this, when I decided I'd better not. Some things just aren't meant to be questioned, and nail cutters and shaved legs are among them. New topic. Lice: little annoyances or friendly companions? The poor sods just want a home, y'know? And here we are, killing, murdering, and systematically eradicating them, as if they have no lives, or hopes, or dreams, or families. It's sick and cruel, is what it is. I'm going to start a society on the lines of the ASPCA, dedicated to protecting lice.

Y'see, having lice on our head can be a good thing; as long as we're friends with the Lice, the Mice won't dare attack us. Lice are the number one killers of Mice, even deadlier to them than Rush Limbaugh or even (*gasp*) Kenny G are to us. And that's a good thing. A very good thing indeed. (To be ranted about at a later date)

Before you ask, no, I haven't got any lice on my head. I've got reasons. Like the fact that my hair stays short, which supposedly (according to my mom) keeps lice away. (I'd like to have longer hair, but that's a story for another day) Or the fact that I wear processed cheese on my head (the answer to your first question is shaddup) on occasion. Or maybe it's just because it's my head. But whatever it is, the beggars have chosen. And they've left me outta the loop. Not sure whether I should be overjoyed or crushed...


Anyhow, anonymous guy commented about Michael Richards. You probably know him better as Cosmo Kramer. Well, here it is: the end of his career



Y'know, I think we're all a little (or more than a little) racist, and that we tend to say/do stupid things when we're angry. Yet again, an issue for another day.