Dear Mister Kim

Dear Mister Kim
I’m at it again
Love you to pieces
You sack of raw feces

You think you’re King Kong
‘Cause you’ve got The Bomb
But remember Kong’s Fate
He fell from Emp’ State

Shot down from a ‘bye’-plane
Not even an eye strain
We shot his dumb ass
Took only one pass

And Rat-a-tat-tat
Then he went splat
In flames he did tumble

No King of the Jungle

Your last act’s the same
We’re tired of your game
So here’s our fair warning
You will be in mourning

For loss of your State
And we’ll think that’s great
Goodbye North Korea
And that’s panacea

Our simple solution
To speed execution
No biplane comes knocking
Yet something more shocking

Is heading your way
You will rue the day
My rhyme’s now concluded
But don’t be deluded

The ending draws nigh
So say your goodbye
Your death’s coming soon

Mister Jong Un

God’s Favorite Mistake

singsongsm.png

“Lil Kim’s got the hydrogen bomb”
His news bitch announced in singsong
“He’ll mount it one day
“And launch it your way
“Then smartly fuck off to Hong Kong
So rong!”

***

There once was a boy name of Kim
Who decided to act on a whim
He launched a big bomb
In the direction of Guam
And that was the ending of him!

***

In a Loon we call Kim Jong Un
The World sees a silly buffoon
But he put up his Dukes
Oh Fuck me; They’re Nukes!
And The World is now singing new tunes!
(So soon?)

Bonus Track: ‘A Celestial North Korea’

Zen and the Art of Commentary Maintenance

Likes and Loves and Laughing Faces
Thumbs up Thumbs up
We’re off to the races!

A cheap thrill sensation
Brings joy and elation
With so much emoji
We’ll never be lonely

But cheap thrills ain’t lasting
Only forecasting
A sugary crash
Just a quick flash

It’s comments we want
No matter the font
Comments are golden
They fling the door open

Provide inspiration
Never inflation
True comments auspicious
And very propitious

Writers need feedback
Not smiley Prozac
If compelled to emoji
Don’t do that only

Take some small time
Drop a thin dime
Comment away
Make someone’s day

 

SHITTY PITY PARTY

Lance walks into his ‘physic’ therapist’s office and slumps down…

“Hello” too effusive psychotherapist says. “And how are WE today?”
“Shitty,” I answer.
“Oh no!!” he says. “We can never feel ‘shitty’, as you say. WE are always ‘happy’.”
“Fuck you,” I say.
“Mister Marcom. WE do not talk this Way.”
“Fuck you Doc, I talk this way AND I am paying you so I CAN talk this way.”
“OK, why then are you “shitty” as you call it?”
Leaning back… wondering how long this court – ordered bullshit must go on, I decide to hit him with it:
“I am shitty ‘cause I have written some good shit on my blog and no one is reading it.”
“Please do go on.”
“Well… there is that one about Southpark
“You mean J.R.’s ranch?”
“Do you have a degree, Doc?”
“Of course, right over there on the wall, see it?”
“What’s it in, your degree?”
“Phycology.”
“Yeah, guess that makes some sense; knew it wasn’t in Pop Culture, Pops.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Never mind.”
“Let us get back to your problem and away from my credentials, shall we? No one reads your ‘shit’, but why?”
“‘t-l-d-r’ in the vernacular.”
“Tee el dee r’? I’m afraid I do not understand your meaning here.”
“’Too Long; Didn’t Read’ Asshole.”
“Mister Marcom, I must implore you not to continue to abuse me with such language; I am merely attempting to help you here. Why is it too long? Do you hate your mother?”
“Well, it took days and days to write… And who ARE you? Do you even know what it is ‘to write’?”
“Let us focus on ‘your problem.’ shall we?”
“Doc, let us focus on yours: I don’t want to be here and THAT is YOUR problem. I just want folks to read my shit.”
“I cannot help you there, Son. Perhaps though if I may proffer a suggestion?”
“Sure. Fire away.”
“Write some better ‘shit’, as you call it.”