BAD POETRY, Pt. 5
The Pansy
I gave a girl a pansy,
I told the flowers about her.
All around her, roses grow wild,
fragrant petals at her feet.
Standing in her oyster shell,
she yawns and stretches
with the passing sun.
And yet still,
with the thought of pansies,
she’ll smile and think of me.
If a person wanted to test bicycles, would that make them a Pedallurgist, a Cycle-analyst, or merely a Spokesman?
Next week: You say you want a resolution? We all want to change the world.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Hey, Merry Christmas everybody. This year, the family has opted for a nature-themed card. I found this pristine spot in the heart of Zions National Park. I had lots of other pics taken, but I liked this one the best. Mostly because I don't look as fat as I really am. Please note that I am only giving out a limited number of these. I took the wrong file to Kinko's. Then I printed them out the wrong size. And on the wrong paper. No offense to anyone, but if you don't get one, it is not because I don't think you are totally 'da bomb'. It is because the subject matter is lacking.
Oh...
I had a request to for me to show previous years cards. So here ya go.
and...
Thursday, December 15, 2005
The Flavor Waster*
A little Public Service Announcement:
Once upon a time best friends Jimmy and James went to a raging frat party at Iota Eta Pi. This party was important to Jimmy because Nancy was going to be there; and well, by golly, Jimmy sure had a thing for her. As Nancy descended down that grand spiral staircase, she caught the attention of every fellow there. However, Jimmy was ready. Jimmy had all new puns and he was wearing the perfect amount of TAG body spray. They talked for a while. Jimmy was ready to get her number when…Steve entered the room.
Steve walked in, tied his sweater with the University logo around his waist and turned on the radar. Since Nancy was twice as hot as any other girl there by a factor of ten, that is where Steve was headed. As Steve made a bee line across the party, he suddenly found himself intercepted by James. James said “Hey there Steve, where you going?” “I was going to get a drink and..” James interrupted, “No you are not. You were going to talk to Nancy.” Steve retorted, “So maybe I was…” James jumped in again. “Well Steve, my friend Jimmy is talking to her now. Jimmy likes her a lot and he certainly wouldn’t want you going over there and wasting his flavor. So take a hike. Am-scray!”
The moral of the story: Be like James and be a Flavor Saver. How are guys like Jimmy (myself included) ever going to get married if we can't get a date? And how can we get a date if we can't get in a word in edge-wise?
*many of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
A little Public Service Announcement:
Once upon a time best friends Jimmy and James went to a raging frat party at Iota Eta Pi. This party was important to Jimmy because Nancy was going to be there; and well, by golly, Jimmy sure had a thing for her. As Nancy descended down that grand spiral staircase, she caught the attention of every fellow there. However, Jimmy was ready. Jimmy had all new puns and he was wearing the perfect amount of TAG body spray. They talked for a while. Jimmy was ready to get her number when…Steve entered the room.
Steve walked in, tied his sweater with the University logo around his waist and turned on the radar. Since Nancy was twice as hot as any other girl there by a factor of ten, that is where Steve was headed. As Steve made a bee line across the party, he suddenly found himself intercepted by James. James said “Hey there Steve, where you going?” “I was going to get a drink and..” James interrupted, “No you are not. You were going to talk to Nancy.” Steve retorted, “So maybe I was…” James jumped in again. “Well Steve, my friend Jimmy is talking to her now. Jimmy likes her a lot and he certainly wouldn’t want you going over there and wasting his flavor. So take a hike. Am-scray!”
The moral of the story: Be like James and be a Flavor Saver. How are guys like Jimmy (myself included) ever going to get married if we can't get a date? And how can we get a date if we can't get in a word in edge-wise?
*many of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
So I thought I'd take a break from studying for finals and the various books I am trying to read or write, and maybe watch a little of the tube. Soon as I turned it on, a puppy wished me a happy holiday. This peppy puppy represented the Cottonelle toilet paper company. And on the behalf of the company, a puppy sent his holiday best. Next, the fine folks at Jello brand gelatin also wished me a happy holidays. Should I be touched by this sincere holiday salutation? At least Smith & Wesson isn't wishing me a happy Mother's Day.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Mark’s Detective Story
It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting in my office waiting for some excitement to fall into my lap. My name is Frank Freely. I’m a Private Eye.
It was looking to be another quiet night. I had been in my office for twenty minutes. I knew I had been there for about twenty minutes, because since I got there, I had boiled two three-minute eggs, three two-minute eggs, made seven servings of Minute Rice and sixty servings of instant pudding. I was thinking about killing some more time by watching Gone In 60 Seconds in real time or maybe just catching a 4 hour cold.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I looked at my watch. It was eighteen minutes until 10:32. “Come in”, I muttered under my breath. That’s when she walked back into my life. Or, into my office. You know, that was just a figure of speech. But I didn’t figure on her speech. Or rather, her figure stopped my speech. Anyhoo, there she was.
I slowly looked her over, starting at her feet, the way a small boy would dig into a quart of light strawberry yogurt, only to find it kept getting better, until at the end he finds a toy frog. Her skirt was generous and her blouse was consecutive. She wore real pearls on a fake string around her slender neck. Her long lashes draped over her Disney eyes. Wow, she was symmetrical. She didn’t take my breath away, she put it back. I realized I hadn’t been breathing right for a very long time.
There was something familiar about the way her shinny brown hair was tied in a bun behind her head, like an old 1860’s school librarian. That’s when it hit me. Kind of like when you step on a rake and the handle slaps you right between the eyes. I’d known her before, all right. A long time ago, back when things were different. Back when Country was different than Western, back in simpler times. Back when things were a little more innocent between us. Back when I loaned her all that money. You remember those days.
She looked kinda like Nicole Kidman, except really pretty. She was quite a dish. But with a mug like that, how could she be otherwise. And she certainly wasn’t flatware. She wasn’t supposed to be. But there was something about that mug I just couldn’t put a handle on. I remembered the first time I tried to pick her up. She was sitting in this coffee shop. I noticed her curves and her steamy attitude. She was hot. She told me to get a grip, but she eventually slipped through my fingers. I hate getting burned.
I told her it was dangerous out and that I should walk her home. She said “sure” and I paid for her drink. Since she was feeling generous, I paid for her groceries. And a pedicure. And the balance on her credit card. As we walked we talked about all sorts of things. I mentioned her smile and her beautiful deep eyes, how they looked like two doughnuts with those rainbow sprinkles floating in two buckets of whipped cream, only smaller and not as fattening. It must have been lunch time.
As we walked, she said she felt like slipping into something more comfortable. I was all for that, because yesterday, I bought some new insoles, and buddy, I tell you, I feel great. So she goes into this lingerie shop, and that’s where she gave me the slip. And that was her victorious secret. Boy, I really felt like a panty-waist.
But that was years ago. Here she was now, standing in front of me. “Are you P. I. Freely?” she asked with that sultry voice. “That’s close enough”, I blurted out. She sauntered into the office and dropped into one of the oversized bean bags in the corner. “I must be frank…” she started to say. “No, you’ve got us mixed up again.” I interrupted. She told me to stop being curt. “Surely, I didn’t mean it. You are ‘Freida’ tell me anything you want. Speak freely.” She said, “Sally over here and I’ll tell you about it”. I about leaped over the desk just to be next to her.
I dropped into the bag of beans next to her and felt my hands grow clammy. I thought about showing off my muscles, but I didn’t want her to get crabby. I tried to act coy, but instead, I just floundered for words and just felt kelpless. Holy mackerel, I was in over my head. Being next to her set my head swimming. I was feeling under a lot of pressure. I felt like we were sole mates, but who was I squidding. A shrimp like me didn’t have a chance.
She looked into my eyes and leaned forward. She licked her lips and moved closer. I looked deep into her eyes and down to her mouth and back again. I felt the warmth of her breath on my nose and she moved closer still. Our lips locked together and we slowly kissed. Ever since the invention of the kiss, there have been five which were judged the most romantic. This one would have been about three million, two hundred and seventy one thousand, one hundred and thirty eight. The best I have ever had.
She said to herself, “Hmm, pudding.”, as she licked a small blob of it off her lips. To me she said, “I am sorry I was acting so monstrously to you. I guess I had a Jeckel complex I was trying to hide”. I smiled and said, “At least it wasn’t a vampire thing. That would have sucked”. After an awkwardly sharp pause, and although I felt like howling at the moon, I wolfed down the rest of the instant pudding. Then I broke the silence by asking, “You said you needed to be frank and…something?” “Oh yes”, she responded.
She looked around quickly and took a deep breath. “I think I am being watched.”, she blurted out. “I just don’t feel safe. Maybe I am a little paranoid, but there are times when I can feel eyes burning into the back of my head”. I told here that it certainly seemed likely that any guy would like to look at such a beautiful woman. I offered to take her out to buy her a hot chocolate and we could discuss the case in more depth. Besides, I left the binoculars on the filing cabinet and had to get her out of the office.
I hurried her out into the hall. I then asked if we could spend a little time together off of the clock. She said we’ve got nothing in common, no common ground to start on. I said, “Well, what about breakfast? At Tiffany’s?” She thought about it and said, “Well that’s one thing we’ve got”.
(I wrote most of this myself, but I also stole some ideas as well)
It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting in my office waiting for some excitement to fall into my lap. My name is Frank Freely. I’m a Private Eye.
It was looking to be another quiet night. I had been in my office for twenty minutes. I knew I had been there for about twenty minutes, because since I got there, I had boiled two three-minute eggs, three two-minute eggs, made seven servings of Minute Rice and sixty servings of instant pudding. I was thinking about killing some more time by watching Gone In 60 Seconds in real time or maybe just catching a 4 hour cold.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I looked at my watch. It was eighteen minutes until 10:32. “Come in”, I muttered under my breath. That’s when she walked back into my life. Or, into my office. You know, that was just a figure of speech. But I didn’t figure on her speech. Or rather, her figure stopped my speech. Anyhoo, there she was.
I slowly looked her over, starting at her feet, the way a small boy would dig into a quart of light strawberry yogurt, only to find it kept getting better, until at the end he finds a toy frog. Her skirt was generous and her blouse was consecutive. She wore real pearls on a fake string around her slender neck. Her long lashes draped over her Disney eyes. Wow, she was symmetrical. She didn’t take my breath away, she put it back. I realized I hadn’t been breathing right for a very long time.
There was something familiar about the way her shinny brown hair was tied in a bun behind her head, like an old 1860’s school librarian. That’s when it hit me. Kind of like when you step on a rake and the handle slaps you right between the eyes. I’d known her before, all right. A long time ago, back when things were different. Back when Country was different than Western, back in simpler times. Back when things were a little more innocent between us. Back when I loaned her all that money. You remember those days.
She looked kinda like Nicole Kidman, except really pretty. She was quite a dish. But with a mug like that, how could she be otherwise. And she certainly wasn’t flatware. She wasn’t supposed to be. But there was something about that mug I just couldn’t put a handle on. I remembered the first time I tried to pick her up. She was sitting in this coffee shop. I noticed her curves and her steamy attitude. She was hot. She told me to get a grip, but she eventually slipped through my fingers. I hate getting burned.
I told her it was dangerous out and that I should walk her home. She said “sure” and I paid for her drink. Since she was feeling generous, I paid for her groceries. And a pedicure. And the balance on her credit card. As we walked we talked about all sorts of things. I mentioned her smile and her beautiful deep eyes, how they looked like two doughnuts with those rainbow sprinkles floating in two buckets of whipped cream, only smaller and not as fattening. It must have been lunch time.
As we walked, she said she felt like slipping into something more comfortable. I was all for that, because yesterday, I bought some new insoles, and buddy, I tell you, I feel great. So she goes into this lingerie shop, and that’s where she gave me the slip. And that was her victorious secret. Boy, I really felt like a panty-waist.
But that was years ago. Here she was now, standing in front of me. “Are you P. I. Freely?” she asked with that sultry voice. “That’s close enough”, I blurted out. She sauntered into the office and dropped into one of the oversized bean bags in the corner. “I must be frank…” she started to say. “No, you’ve got us mixed up again.” I interrupted. She told me to stop being curt. “Surely, I didn’t mean it. You are ‘Freida’ tell me anything you want. Speak freely.” She said, “Sally over here and I’ll tell you about it”. I about leaped over the desk just to be next to her.
I dropped into the bag of beans next to her and felt my hands grow clammy. I thought about showing off my muscles, but I didn’t want her to get crabby. I tried to act coy, but instead, I just floundered for words and just felt kelpless. Holy mackerel, I was in over my head. Being next to her set my head swimming. I was feeling under a lot of pressure. I felt like we were sole mates, but who was I squidding. A shrimp like me didn’t have a chance.
She looked into my eyes and leaned forward. She licked her lips and moved closer. I looked deep into her eyes and down to her mouth and back again. I felt the warmth of her breath on my nose and she moved closer still. Our lips locked together and we slowly kissed. Ever since the invention of the kiss, there have been five which were judged the most romantic. This one would have been about three million, two hundred and seventy one thousand, one hundred and thirty eight. The best I have ever had.
She said to herself, “Hmm, pudding.”, as she licked a small blob of it off her lips. To me she said, “I am sorry I was acting so monstrously to you. I guess I had a Jeckel complex I was trying to hide”. I smiled and said, “At least it wasn’t a vampire thing. That would have sucked”. After an awkwardly sharp pause, and although I felt like howling at the moon, I wolfed down the rest of the instant pudding. Then I broke the silence by asking, “You said you needed to be frank and…something?” “Oh yes”, she responded.
She looked around quickly and took a deep breath. “I think I am being watched.”, she blurted out. “I just don’t feel safe. Maybe I am a little paranoid, but there are times when I can feel eyes burning into the back of my head”. I told here that it certainly seemed likely that any guy would like to look at such a beautiful woman. I offered to take her out to buy her a hot chocolate and we could discuss the case in more depth. Besides, I left the binoculars on the filing cabinet and had to get her out of the office.
I hurried her out into the hall. I then asked if we could spend a little time together off of the clock. She said we’ve got nothing in common, no common ground to start on. I said, “Well, what about breakfast? At Tiffany’s?” She thought about it and said, “Well that’s one thing we’ve got”.
(I wrote most of this myself, but I also stole some ideas as well)
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