Today's poems [5.2.17]
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Father, don't I have to work?
No, my lucky son.
We're living now on Easy Street,
on dough from Washington.
We've left things up to Uncle Sam,
so don't get exercised.
No-one has to give a damn.
We've all been subsidized!
But if Sam treats us all so well,
and feeds us milk and honey,
please, Daddy, tell me what the hell
He's going to do for money?
Don't worry, Bub, there's not a hitch
in this-here noble plan.
We merely soak the Filthy Rich
and feed the Common Man.
But, Daddy, won't there come a time
when they'll run out of cash?
And we'll have left, then, not a dime
and things will go to smash?!
My faith in you is shrinking, son,
you nosey little brat!
You do too damned much thinking, son,
to be a Democrat!
Politically Correct Santa
'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves",
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the north pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their roof-tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called "Unenlightened."
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseball, no football...someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even you.
So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
"May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth."
Notice: This poem is copyright 1992 by Harvey Ehrlich. It is free to
distribute, without changes, as long as this notice remains intact.
All follow-ups, requests, comments, questions, distribution rights, etc
should be made to email@example.com . Happy Holidays!
Here I sit
What a caper
I have to shit
But I'm out of paper
A hermit who had an oasis
Thought it the best of all places:
He could pray and be calm
'Neath a pleasant date-palm,
While the lice on his ballocks ran races.
I'm Glad I'm a Man
I'm glad I'm a man, yes I am, I am king
I don't live off of berries, bob-bons, and rings
I don't brag to my girlfriends about my infections
I won't talk to the blind man, concerning directions.
I'm glad I'm a man, I'm so glad I could yell
I don't shave my hair, wax, or use gel
I don't buy wonder bras, or girdles or such
and I don't beg for money to enlarge my bust.
I'm glad I'm a man, of that I am proud.
I'm not all bitchy, annoying and loud.
I won't try to squeeze in jeans three sizes too small.
My crdit card is still good when I leave from the mall.
Yes, I'm glad I'm a man, a man you see
I can pee standing up, sitting down, or in a tree
I don't believe every ad with the word free
I won't drink diet coke, or eat a rice cake.
There's no silicone here, my chest isn't fake.
My face isn't "lifted," my bra isn't stuffed,
I do what's proper, I leave the toilet seat up.
It doesn't take hours to fix up my hair,
I don't see the need to use the bathroom in pairs.
I won't throw a tyrade and then blame PMS.
I'm a man, and I'm glad I can deal with my stress.
I have intuition, I never get lost.
I share household duties, I won't try to be boss.
I'm a man and with that comes a high sense of class.
I won't wear a swimsuit that rides up my ass.
I won't go out at night in a black leather skirt,
Then slap anybody who just tries to flirt.
You crazy women scare me, you have lots of gall,
To make Lorena a hero for hacking off balls.
I won't cry like a baby when Bambi gets shot
I don't make up false places, like the infamous "G-spot."
I'm a man of high faith, its my right to command.
The bible and God say all women must serve under man.
I'm a man by chance and I'm thankful it's true--
I'm glad I'm a man and not a woman like you.
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