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251. Most of my verses are just meant to be silly.
A crazy thought pops into my head willy-nilly,
and then, yearning to be a clown,
I just write the loony lines down.
So, really — don't go overthinking them, Billy.
252. This morning, my yard was hopping
with squirrels and rabbits busily shopping
for pine needles, berries, and cones,
and alluringly flowery perfumes and colognes,
to entice partners for this evening's bebopping.
253. He never thought — therefore, he would never be,
according to René Descartes' philosophy.
He was a complete nonbeing,
never hearing, never seeing,
like most of the rest of humanity.
254. I saw a tear in the old mermaid's eye.
Her beloved porpoise was about to die.
So, I sent a quick wish
to Angelica, the angelfish,
to help the old mermaid give her porpoise a fitting good-bye.
255. When I heard of your demise,
I was at McDonald's eating a cheeseburger and fries.
And when the newscaster said
you’d died when an elephant shit on your head,
it didn’t come as any big surprise.
256. Stars were twinkling each time that I kissed you
at sundry bars, where I was unable to resist you.
And you kept saying in the world's sweetest voice,
"Hope you know, you're definitely one of three boys
whom tonight I would love to say 'Yes' for a tryst to."
257. I asked her why she was so stingy with her kisses.
She said, "That's the prerogative of any Miss or Mrs.
If a girl don't wanna kiss,
that's just the way it is."
I said, “It's bunk, that's what that is.”
258. "I presume you're the lady of the house?
May I ask you to please put on a blouse?
I'm here to inquire
about a call that came in about all smoke but no fire.
Did that call come from you ─ or was it perhaps from your partner ─ or your spouse?"
259. She said, “Why are you in such a deep funk?
You used to be such a fun-loving hunk.
But now when I grab hold of your rudder,
all your engine does is go sputter, sputter, sputter,
and then stalls out with a clattery clunk-a-dee-clunk.
260. The survey asked me to rate you from one to ten.
But ─ I forgot ─ what am I rating you for again?
For the way you tried to fix
my broken fiddlesticks?
But they’re not fixed! They still only work every now and then.
261. The first time I had sexual relations with Karri,
I readily admit, it was a little bit scary.
In the process of being naughty,
I found she was completely robotty,
with electric circuits, where she shoulda been hairy.
262. I allow the dog that I got
to do and get away with a lot —
to me, he can do no wrong.
Except when I'm in bed
trying to make love to my new girl, Ivette,
and he immediately starts humping along.
263. On the night we fell in love
you said, “Let’s go outside and count the stars above.”
And after you’d counted twenty,
you said, "Okay, that's probably plenty,"
and I said, "Are you kidding! That's hardly any — sort of!"
264. As a final word, I’ll say goodbye,
and hope I can see you after I die.
And if yes, I promise I’ll visit only
when you’re in your bedroom sad and lonely,
and not when you’re in the arms of my replacement guy.
265. Famed guitarist, Carlos Santana
never wrote a song about a yellow banana.
But the rumors are rife
he never made love to his wife
without wearing a big, bright, yellow bandana.
Famed writer, George Santayana
never wrote anything about a yellow banana.
But the rumors are rife
he never made love to his wife
without wearing a big, bright, yellow bandana.
266. Why do so many old folks no longer french?
Is it because of bad breath ─ is it the stench?
Or is it because the tools of lust
in them have gone completely bust:
the hammer, the screwdriver, and the monkey wrench.
267. This is not why we did love you,
and learned to think the whole world of you ─
just so you could sneak out the back door,
never to be seen anymore ─
except in visions ─ with a coyote looking down from above you.
268. You know what's really insane?
It's when you're drifting down memory lane,
and there's nobody there
with whom a memory to share,
and you wonder ─ am I even in the right brain?
269. I'm at the entrance of you,
and I don't know what to do.
I don't know where to begin
to try to find my way in
without making an indelicate miscue.
270. Oh, grab me by the face,
and guide it down onto your white, frilly lace.
Let me see the whole of your bottom,
oh, Hillary Clinton Rodham,
and tell me about every potentate who’s come to visit this sacred place.
271. Just let her.
Don't do anything to upset her,
if, as you say, you love her, and all.
Let her make her girly noise,
with her retinue of giggly boys,
who make her feel like the belle of the ball.
272. So, yeah, hi ─ I'm the girl from Peru.
And I've written a limerick too.
Here's to all of you jerks
who made fun of my quirks:
a deeply sincere and heartfelt "fuck you!"
273. To friends and kin, I was a living legend
till I fell and struck my head.
Doctors couldn't save me ─ and I was ever so glad ─
cuz I was so enjoying ─ finally being dead.
274. On the 13th day of Christmas
my cruel love gave to me
a big, fat ol’ whacking,
a thunderous shellacking,
and a black eye through which I still cannot see.
275. I can now wholly admit that Santa doesn't exist,
although when I first heard it, I was totally pissed.
All that parental pretending,
and lies never ending.
Should I also cross God off my list?
276. When I saw the Grim Reaper
pull out his peeper
and piss on the fallen mistletoe,
I yelled, "Hey Jack!
Can't you use the facilities out back?
That's what normal people do, you know.
277. Sometimes when I think back
on the brainpower that I obviously did lack,
I wonder how, in heaven's name,
I managed to acquire all this fame,
just by painting this pure white onto that pure black.
278. I'm sitting on needles and pins,
waiting till the next performance begins ─
my older sister and brother ─
in the role of my father and mother ─
in an updated skit about our family's most intimate sins.
279. Our love was about a third of the way to its end,
But how could we have known that, my friend?
So, we kept going merrily along,
thinking that nothing could ever go wrong,
till our love was about a third of the way from its end ─ my friend.
280. Brooding at the bar, Wishy was being a little bit washy.
The whiskey had made his speech a little bit sloshy.
I said, "Wishy, I have no idea ─
what is it you want me to say?"
He moaned, "Trishy was never really Wishy's, now was she?”
281. When you stood on the street à la Marilyn Monroe,
I'm sure your boyfriend will be glad to know,
that no one saw your panty ─
cuz you weren't wearing any ─
as, with a feigned embarrassment, you sang out ─ "Hwhoa!"
282. Let me make it perfectly clear ─
there are no crazy people here.
No, I don't mind if you look there ─ in fact, feel free to look anywhere.
But let me make it perfectly clear ─
there are no crazy people here.
283. At a point of no return,
I saw some fallen angels burn.
And from across the smoky abyss,
I heard the voice of the devil hiss:
“Don’t worry ─ you'll get your turn."
284. When Shakespeare was in school learning his grammar,
under his breath, you could sometimes hear him stammer,
"Who are these fools
who teach you to write by these rules?
They might as well teach you how to screw in a screw with a hammer!"
285. Whenever I think I’m getting sick, the best ointment
is to go ahead and make an immediate doctor's appointment.
Because from that moment on,
all the symptoms will be gone,
which, for a hypochondriac like me, is a real disappointment.
286. A dollop of tenderness with a dollop of love,
a dollop of hope from the heavens above,
a dollop of kindness with a dollop of care,
and a dollop of friendship with the promise to share
each of these dollops ─ with everyone ─ everywhere.
287. Sinners in the hands of an angry God,
giving the body, not the spirit, the nod ─
always surrendering to undeniable urges
that through each of their bodies surges ─
willingly doing ─ what God so roundly outlawed.
288. It was to no avail.
No one bought anything at my recent yard sale ─
not the wife, not the kids
(did everyone know they were little shits?
And was my wife's face just too pale?)
289. Her body was big and so attractive.
And the best part of all ─ it was totally interactive.
No matter with which part you played,
you got a free lemonade ─
homemade.
290. When I see you in heaven,
will you still be eleven?
Or will you have grown into a man ─ dark, handsome, and tall?
And when we converse,
will you be able to expound on the universe?
Or will your thinking still be eleven years small?
291. Tweedledee and Tweedledum
Two, cool cats from the town I'm from.
One went into business, the other into law ─
Two, fine, upright fellows, according to my ma,
who hates me ─ for having followed in the footsteps of my pa.
292. At my age, I try not to look too far into the future,
for fear that, at any time, any weakened suture,
straining to hold my life together,
might pop, tear, or sever,
and give me over to Death, that blood-sucking moocher!
293. The wolf pup wasn't hungry in the least,
as her parents made her sit down to a sumptuous feast
of a fawn they'd just killed
whose young heart hadn't quite stilled,
and whose brown eyes were fixed in a gaze so starkly triste.
294. Beware of a bear with no hair —
like the one you see over there.
You may think she’s smiling to charm you,
but she's here only looking to harm you,
by trying to steal your warm coat to wear.
295. I felt an excruciating itch that I just couldn't scratch,
starting up in the middle of my snatch,
just as I began a lucrative livestream
for a company selling a new anti-itch cream.
And the critique was — I gave my presentation with too much dispatch.
296. The challenge was to burn a candle at both ends.
Those are the kind of silly games played between two bosom friends.
And when the flames came racing towards the middle,
the dare was — be the last to douse the flames with a piddle.
And then our toes almost got fried ─
and then we almost died.
297. The wish I made upon that star
hasn't come close to coming true thus far.
Do you think I should wish upon another?
Or do you think I shouldn't even bother,
cuz making the same wish upon more than one star is just too bizarre?
298. I told my teacher I didn't want to compete
against those know-it-alls, Jill, Beth, and Margriet.
I didn't want to give it all that I had,
just so I could end up feeling stupid and bad
by getting so thoroughly beat by those know-it-alls, Jill, Beth, and Margiet.
299. On an early dog walk, I see winter mist rising over the houses.
And I wonder ─ how many partners are still snuggled up warmly in bed with their spouses?
And how many will soon be awakening, sad and alone,
with first-things-first ─ the reaching for their cellphone,
hoping and praying for a message that arouses?
300. Nearly the end of May, and it's still colder than shit.
Every warm-blooded person I know is getting so damn sick of it.
Why can’t the globe heat up by another 1.5 degrees
so I don't have to be walking my dog in this virtual deep freeze?
Mr. Exxon and Mr. Shell ─ can you take care of it please?
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Comments, suggestions, or questions? Please email Rio Jansen at rio_jansen@hotmail.com