Author Archive



– 2

A haiku:

My arms are jelly.
Surprise burpees make me die.
Kill me. Kill me now.

The Teacher of Grammar

– 2

[An original limerick written for Whiskey-Pissing Unicorns: How to Lose or Quit Your Job and Become a Badass Writer.]

There once was a teacher of grammar
Who with edits in red was enamored.
When she marked a new line
On the precinct’s door sign
She — alas! — ended up in the slammer.

I Am The Very Model of a Modern Pinterest Fucker-up

– 2

With apologies to W.S. Gilbert’s libretto for I Am The Very Model of a Modern Major General.

[This spoof originally appeared on]

I am the very model of a modern Pinterest fucker-up
I’ve done ‘em all from modpodgey to recipe to Jello cup
I read the right instructions, but I often do not follow ‘em
I post ‘em up for folks to read, but they can barely swallow ‘em
I’m very well acquainted, too, with people who are humorless
I understand that they are just the loser-y of loser-est
But those who stick around to read leave comments so hysterical
That managing a coffee sip without a snarf’s a miracle

The Different Indifferent

– 2

With apologies to John Donne’s The Indifferent.

I can love both wheat and white;
That which the oven melts, and that served slightly chilled;
That which needs provolone, and that with pickles dilled;
That which is deep fat fried, or which is lite;
That with tuna, and that with meat;
That which delights with peppers’ heat,
And that which has honey’d mustard sweet;
Sandwiches many, I will gladly eat.

Will no other food content me?
Will it not serve to eat a burger, or whatever?
Or have I so, on bread and meat, become fixated ever?
Or doth a fear of foods so new torment me?
Oh, sandwiches are good, I know.
I eat them because it is so.
Rob me, and bind me up, and be my foe,
But do not take my sandwiches from me,
Or make me eat each new food that you do see.

Subway heard me sigh this song,
And by marketing scheme, big moola, it swore
If I would write it down, and then make the poem a whore
To sell, commercialled, to the fast-food throng.
I said, “Hell yes! Some four or three
Or even two hundred will be
Enough to ‘stablish a bargain with me.”
I did not tell them that mere sandwich whole,
Or even a half sandwich would have bought my soul.

The Lady Whines a Lot

– 2

With apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s The Lady of Shalott.

Buried in the pillows lies
A tired student, about to cry.
She memorized 100 lines
(Or will have, when the hour is by)
For stupid, stupid English class.
And up and down her hall-mates go
Gazing blankly, walking slow
While exams do suck and blow
And they all feel like ass.