If the job was all mine, and thankful it’s not,
And BP allowed me to give it a shot,
I’d dive down so deep, stuff that billowing pit,
With golf balls and golf clubs and all kinds of shit.
If that didn’t work, I’d use heavier things.
Anvils, and airplanes, and thick leaden rings.
It just seems to me if you crammed it all in,
There’s no way that oil could soil more fins.
I’d pile on tractors and pieces of trash.
I’d jam in old cars and cigarette ash.
I’m sure before long the flow would slow down.
The king of well-plugging, I’d wear the gold crown.
And speaking of gold - of course, the black kind.
The amount that it’s spewing is blowing my mind.
Thousands of gallons of crude every day.
The poor, stupid sea life just gets in its way.
It’s heading for shore with no visible slowdown.
Sea birds, sea monkeys, and fish it will mow down.
Covered in goo, like a small newborn child.
The slick, you might say, is going buck wild.
Subsea dispersants and huge concrete caps.
Those fine BP douchebags have still left huge gaps.
So back to my plan, how I’d cap that well’s ass.
I’d use crazy glue and some balls made of brass.
Force it all down there, far out of reach.
The oil stays put, we can all hit the beach.
And BP will pay for the havoc they wreak.
A well clogged with golf balls and dirt will still leak.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Ways to Cap The Gulf Oil Spill
Friday, July 09, 2010
The King James Bible - an excerpt
The river will burn, the people will die.
Dogs will run wild, kids will get high.
Fans will stay home, the mayor will cry.
The Browns will still suck, they won’t even try.
The state’s a disaster, they soon will declare.
The National Guard by sea and by air.
Tax revenues plummet, I don’t really care.
I’m not the one living way over there.
He’s now in Miami, which has some hot ladies.
Which leads to one thing: illegitimate babies.
I’m sure before long he’ll come down with scabies.
Or maybe his dog will fall victim to rabies.
I actually hope that his dog is okay.
In South Beach some places are totally gay.
Not a thing wrong with that, as I always say.
I’ve heard that the Heat provide pretty good pay.
So now that it’s over, the decision’s been made.
Plans for the future, for one, have been laid.
A city in ruins, they wish he had stayed.
At least one guy’s happy. His name? Dwyane Wade.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Jayson Werth's Big Ol' Beard
Jayson’s beard has a life of its own.
It covers his cheeks, his chin, and jawbone.
He usually shaves to keep the team winning.
But his beard has grown back before the 5th inning.
His coaches get mad when his beard stays out late.
Whether drinking, or dancing, or out on a date.
But Jayson himself has such little control,
Over what his beard does - it has its own soul.
You’d think that its name might be Nathan or Nick.
Or Oscar, or Reggie, or Wallace, or Rick.
Or even Miguel, or Dylan, or Bruce.
Well actually, no, its friends call it Zeus.
Zeus was a god - the god of them all.
Upon Mt. Olympus, a great marble hall.
Pillars of granite, and floors solid stone.
A lap pool, a hot tub, and of course a huge throne.
The mighty of mighties, the all-seeing eyes.
Huge big-ass arms, well-muscled thighs.
Lightning from Heaven and flames from below.
A mortal’s life lost with each thunderbolt throw.
His thick thatch of growth, like stone to a mason.
Mysteries told, fitful children are chastened.
We all know to fear the unknown as from birth.
The beard or the man - Is Zeus Jayson Werth?
He’s big and he’s strong and throws bolts from the field.
His prodigious blasts, as if tree trunks he wields.
And back to the beard, whether mortal or not.
When it’s 102 on the field, that shit must get hot.
Go Phillies!
Monday, July 05, 2010
A WIFE - Part 1
pretty
lady-like
size 9 shoes
elastic hairbands
low blood pressure
expensive handbags
enamored of diamonds
voted for barack h. obama
