Tag Archives: rhyming violence

The Squirrel

 

 

Dear reader, did I hear you say,

“Why, ‘tis a lovely sunny day”?

Oh reader, let me now confide

What happened when I stepped outside.

 

I had my book, a comfy chair,

A plan for happy hours there.

 

But soon enough I came to sense

A presence on the nearby fence:

A specimen Sciuridae

He seemed a friendly little guy,

Who turned and bowed as if in greeting

And tempted me away from reading.

 

I felt an idle need to capture

This interspecies backyard rapture.

So poised my phone to take a pic,

And in that breath ere camera click,

My thoughts a thousand tales were spinning

Of this our friendship, just beginning.

 

What exploits might befall a gal

And her new charming squirrel pal?

 

I dreamed perhaps we two might spend

Our afternoons as friend and friend.

He’d forage acorns as I read,

And when he felt himself full fed,

He’d simply bask in nearby rays—

And that is how we’d spend our days.

And though there’d pass no words between us,

You’d know us friends had you but seen us.

 

And for that moment, eye to eye,

I failed to factor: squirrels fly.

For all these dreams aside were swept

When in that breath, the squirrel…he leapt.

 

Dear reader, hast thou aught experience

With airborne rodent interference?

Turns out my skills with puck and ball

Work not on squirrel. Not at all.

 

A twisty, turny grey torpedo

Launched at me as if I were tree, though

Nary leaves nor roots have I;

Instead of bark, my noble cry,

“SWEET HOLY JESUS WHAT IS HAPPENING!?”

Accompanied by flap and swing,

Did nothing to dissuade his flight,

Sailed past my limbs and did alight

Upon my shirt and clung securely.

 

So I responded, quite maturely,

With calm command, “Now down, Squirrel. Sit.”—

 

Just kidding, y’all: I lost my shit.

 

I tugged and flapped and spun and reeled,

I grunted, cursed, I cried and squealed.

(Neighbors who this whirlwind viewed

Might rightly guess I’d come unglued.)

 

The words I used can’t be repeated,

But in the end, my foe retreated.

 

And that, dear friends, is why I need

Four walls around me when I read.

Victorious, but psyche scarred,

I dare not set foot in the yard.

I tell this tale now safe inside,

If Squirrel comes back, please say I died.

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Arguing with Assholes in My Head

Slightly more obscure source material for this “song”–here’s the original:

 

Aaaaaand my Monday-inspired madness:

 

Rage is here, rage is here.

Life is violence and life is beer.

I think the stuff that’s the hardest to cage

Is the rage—I do; don’t you? Bite me.

 

But there’s one thing that fuels my hostility,

That ruins my shaky civility…

 

All the world needs a punch—

Not just one, but a bunch—

When I’m arguing with assholes in my head.

 

Random moments you’ll see

Sudden outbursts from me

When I’m arguing with assholes in my head.

 

It starts with a moment to ponder my circumstance

And ends with Banana transformed to Ms. Grumpy Pants.

 

Oh you’ll soon find me in

Some secure loony bin

When I’m arguing with assholes in my head.

 

I’ve gained reputation

For threat’ning castration

Of each aberration

Whom I’ve met.

My imagination

Drifts toward mutilation

For every occasion

I dream I might get.

But it’s not based in any reality;

Just a spiritual abnormality.

 

So if one day you see

Something maddening me

I’m just arguing with assholes in my head.

 

And maybe I’ll dream

Of a nice peaceful stream—

Or I’ll argue with assholes in my head.

 

I’ll fight with them all amid building insanity.

It’s not just a few; it’s the whole of humanity.

 

My mind will be spinning

As phantoms are winning

The fights I’m creating—

It’s quite irritating—

When I’m arguing with assholes in my head.

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My Ragingest Things

A song. (Alternately titled LOOK AT ALL THE FUCKS I GIVE!)

God-awful drivers and steaks that have gristle,
Empty beer bottles and people who whistle,
All of the bitching that one mistake brings,
These are a few of my ragingest things.

Short-pour bartenders and chewing-gum smacking,
“Girl, you should smile more” and other crap macking,
Asking for drumsticks and just getting wings,
These are a few of my ragingest things.

When the boss calls,
When the glass breaks,
When I’m seeing red,
I simply remember I can’t go to jail
And go to the bar instead.

Whiffing a slap shot and mold in my shower,
Racists on Facebook and morons in power,
Deafening cell phones with stupid-ass rings,
These are a few of my ragingest things.

Stains on my trousers and gay-marriage bannings,
Tebow and Crosby and most of the Mannings,
Emotional crises with unending stings,
These are a few of my ragingest things.

When the jerk brags,
When the child screams,
When I want to kill,
I simply remember it’s 15 to life,
…and sometimes I’m raging still.

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