DAIRY MAID, MONSTER SUCKLER
by biped

Down the street, and up the block
Near the solid-waste processing plant
Lives a little girl named Dairy Maid
Who smells like Cary Grant.

Her dreams are filled with bovine love
Of cows in torrid tongue-swept smooches
Swapping cud with swarthy farmers
'Midst droppings left by bitter pooches.

And when the sun bursts through the clouds
And shines it rays upon her hump
Then Dairy Maid jumps up and down
Upon the corpse of Forrest Gump.

The bloody corpse of Forrest Gump
The gory, oozing, rancid corpse
That Dairy Maid shines heat lamps on
Until it shrivels, pops, and warps.

But as the cows in lip-lock swoon
Their teats unmilked, as passion mounts
She dreams of Carrot Top's "equipment"
On which she'd love to jump and pounce.

Milk, and cheese, and chicken eggs
Milton Berle, and Seth Green's legs
The smell of Raymond Burr's behind
Go swirling through her fevered mind.

And now the farmers and the cows
Have mutant children in their lust
That Dairy Maid will volunteer
To suckle with her ample bust.

This has potential to be something I wouldn't want to be a part of.

No, it doesn't.

Three buckets,
Filled with chum,

Sharks are happy,

...

...

uhh...

erhm...

(let's see here, think, think)

...

hm...

(oh, got it!)...

Chrysanthemum!

I saw some kitty cats playing in the yard one day, so I decided to take the next logical step: to compose a cute song about them to the tune of "Bridge Over Troubled Water."

BOWL FILLED WITH YUMMY WATER
by biped and Paul Simon

Little kitty cats
In the yard
They're running 'round, and play-ing,
So har-ar-ard

But now they're tired
And ohh, so thirsty, too

(chorus)
And so they take...a...drink
From their bowl filled with yummy water
They will take a drink

Play on, kitty cats
With all your heart
And...if you catch...a bird...
Go on and ri-i-ip it apart

The salty blood
Whoa, makes you thirsty again

(chorus)
And so you take...a...drink
From your bowl filled with yummy water
You will take a drink
From your boooowwwlll filled with yuh-huh-my water
You will taaaake a driiiiink

JEFF, JEFF, THE ORGAN DONOR
by biped

Jeff, Jeff, the organ donor
Driving down the street
In his mustard-colored Volvo
With a case of potted meat.

"Oh, boy!" the little children sing
They skip and dance and prance and play and cavort and jump around
crazily and make strange noises and have an unpleasant burning
sensation in their inner ear canals and shout and sing and do
cartwheels and somersaults and dangerous stunts involving horses
and motorcycles and people from the Swedish government in their
native attire because it's Saturday
And when the Volvo toodles by
They say "It's Jeff! Hooray!"

Jeff, Jeff, the organ donor
Screeches to a stop
His clothes are in a disarray
His hair looks like a mop!

"Help me, kids!" he sputters then
"Oh, please call 911!"
The little kids dance round the car
They've never had such fun!

"I've been attacked!" Jeff next affirms
"My internal organs stolen!
They took my liver, kidneys, spleen,
Intestines, lungs, and colon!"

The children are beyond such thoughts
They float around and flitter
For such proximity to Jeff
Has left them all a-titter.

And now, as Jeff will soon expire
And "Barney"'s on TV
The little children hurry home
To create a better world, for you and me

Oh yeah
To create a better world
I said a better world
For you and me

This poem was written in class by me today. The assignment was to take a headline from a tabloid and then write a poem about it.

So here we go.

PHOTO OF ELVIS
WEEPS REAL TEARS,
BEGS FOR FOOD!
by
Ethan "Possums" Stravinsky

November twenty-second in a photograph museum:
Someone started cryin' and it sounds like ad nauseum.
When I went to go investigate I saw a big surprise:
The King of Rock N' Roll was there, with water in his eyes!
The photograph of Elvis P. was crying real tears!
His whiney, hi-pitched voice was ripping at my virgin ears.
He said that he was hungry, so I offered him a cheeto.
He said, "No thank you, baby; what I want is a burrito."
So I went down to a restaurant and bought him what he sought.
I gave to him the tasty treat that I so kindly bought.
He claimed that he was happy and he gave me an LP.
I gave him many thank-yous, though I wanted a CD.

That was beautful, man. *sniff*

*snap snap snap*

This is quite possibly the cutest poem ever written.

KITTY-BEAR AND UNDERWEAR
by biped

One day, as little "cutie" cats
Were frolicking, in search of rats
They came upon the secret lair
Where "Pup-Dog" hid his underwear.

Hidden deep within the trees
And guarded by a swarm of bees
The underwear of "Pup-Dog" lay
In piles as tall as Doris Day.

"Meow!" the happy kittens cried
As one by one they ran inside
To play amidst the underwear
And sing the song of Kitty-Bear.

(kitty cats singing)

Oh, a million underwears
And kitty cat is there
To help the underwear

Oh, the underwear is fun
And kitty is the one
Who helps the underwear

Yes, the underwear and Kitty-Bear
The kitty cat will always care
About the underwear

Oh, a million underwears
And kitty will prepare
A place for underwear

Oh, underwear "at bat"
And "catcher" kitty cat
Will catch the underwear

Yes, Kitty-Bear and underwear
Will always judge you fair and square
Inside the underwear

And underwear and kitty-o
Will plant potatoes that will grow
Inside your underwear!

poop is good, poop is fun, *ahem* uhhhhhhhhhhhh,

yeah.......
ummmmmmmmm........
HOT DOG BUN!

I like the way you rhymed "fun" with "bun."

Did you ever read Voltaire's "Candide?"
He says live life at Benny Hill freak out speed
Not a quote of what he wrote but a paraphrase
Make it up as you go Keyser Soze
Highlights yes but don't underline 'em
Just live for N.O.W. like Gloria Steinem
Life is like Marion Berry
It's not all that it's cracked up to be
Like Fred Sanford when the big one comes
Find the meaning of life is there is none
It's twenty-four hours when you call it a day
Be Frank and say I did it "My Way"
Don't give a Flying Nun no don't give a Gidget
Just have more fun than a well-oiled midget
If life were picture perfect you could frame it
But the world is a diaper so let someone else change it

Life is an aimless drive that ya take alone
Might as well enjoy the ride take the long way home

All born equal unless you're Canadian
Then halfway through decay like Uranium
You define what's death defying
Get the most out of life or at the least die trying
Are you Evil Knievel jumpin' a train?
Or runnin' with scissors like Frasier Crane?
Have really good times doin' really bad things
'Cause the show ain't over 'til the fat lady sings
Like Elton John with his "Candle In The Wind"
It's hard to blow out a flame as big as him
But we've all got to Wang Chung with the Grim Reaper
Whether you're Einstein whether you're Beaker
Death is certain so it's definitely worth flirtin'
Don't expect a bright light no just curtains
Life is like a penis most people don't know it
But most people suck so they usually blow it

Life is an aimless drive that ya take alone
Might as well enjoy the ride take the long way home

Life is an aimless drive that ya take alone
Might as well enjoy the ride take the long way home

Oh wait. Did you say original?

Did you ever read Voltaire's "Candide?"
He says live life at Benny Hill freak out speed
Not a quote of what he wrote but a paraphrase
Make it up as you go Keyser Soze
Highlights yes but don't underline 'em
Just live for N.O.W. like Gloria Steinem
Life is like Marion Berry
It's not all that it's cracked up to be
Like Fred Sanford when the big one comes
Find the meaning of life is there is none
It's twenty-four hours when you call it a day
Be Frank and say I did it "My Way"
Don't give a Flying Nun no don't give a Gidget
Just have more fun than a well-oiled midget
If life were picture perfect you could frame it
But the world is a diaper so let someone else change it

Life is an aimless drive that ya take alone
Might as well enjoy the ride take the long way home

All born equal unless you're Canadian
Then halfway through decay like Uranium
You define what's death defying
Get the most out of life or at the least die trying
Are you Evil Knievel jumpin' a train?
Or runnin' with scissors like Frasier Crane?
Have really good times doin' really bad things
'Cause the show ain't over 'til the fat lady sings
Like Elton John with his "Candle In The Wind"
It's hard to blow out a flame as big as him
But we've all got to Wang Chung with the Grim Reaper
Whether you're Einstein whether you're Beaker
Death is certain so it's definitely worth flirtin'
Don't expect a bright light no just curtains
Life is like a penis most people don't know it
But most people suck so they usually blow it

Life is an aimless drive that ya take alone
Might as well enjoy the ride take the long way home

Life is an aimless drive that ya take alone
Might as well enjoy the ride take the long way home

Oh wait. Did you say original?

quote:

---

Oh wait. Did you say original?

---

I DROP MY PANTS
by biped
_____________________________________
Whenever I am in the mood
Or have a certain attitude
I drop my pants and run around
Sometimes all the way to town

Downtown
Where I love to fly around
In and out of shops
With my pants down

Downtown
I'm not your clown
Just because I run around
With my pants down

And speaking of clowns, I hate them all
Especially the one who balances a ball
On the end of his nose
As I take off my clothes
And run around the circus in my mother's pantyhose

Downtown
Where I love to fly around
And not be your clown
With my pants down

Downtown
Oh look what I found
A reflection of me
With my pants down

I drop them in an Aston-Martin
I drop them in a kindergarten
I drop them at the old folks' home
I drop them in the Astrodome.

I drop them in your kitchen, Mom.
I drop them in your office, Tom.
I drop them in your workshop, Santa.
I drop them for you, Indiana.

I drop them when I'm in a luge
I drop them in a centerfuge
I drop them on the frosty loam
Of Juno, Anchorage, and Nome.

I drop them on the local news
I drop them on a Princess cruise
I drop them at a live beheading
I drop them at your sister's wedding.

So hear's the thing I meant to say
I pull my pants down every day
And hop around, and skip, and dance
It's lots of fun to drop my pants.

LEAVES AND GRASS (a medieval pagan chant)
by biped

Fill your ass with leaves and grass
Set them afire, to the tune of a lyre

Dance and jangle
Lance at an angle
Bramble bush tangle
Berries dangle

Fill your hole with smoldering coal
Feel it burn, a lesson you'll learn

Flail and amble
Tippy-toe ramble
Flit and gambol

Signed,

Glen Campbell

This is called "THE MOST OUTRAGEOUS GAME SHOW POEM 4"

Oh, Wink Martindale
game show host supreme
I'd pay a hundred dollars
to watch you pose and preen
you asked me to bend over
but I said "no thanks"
I'm saving my anal virginity
for Mister Bob Eubanks.

Alex Trebek, I see you're back
to get into my pants
but every time I tell you no
you do the Hammer dance
And your other annoying tendency
that I forgot to mention
is that when I moan your name in bed
you say, "Put it in the form of a question."

And now I fade into the night
before I get off track
I just got fifty dollars
to go blow Pat Sajak.

That was lovely. As a long-time Wink Martindale fan, I especially enjoyed the part with him in it.

THE MIGHTY BIFF
by biped

Whenever Biff pulls into town, the people find it grand
They shout, "There's Biff, O Mighty Biff, the mightiest in the land!"
When Biff stops by the liquor store, to buy a case of beer,
The little children gather 'round, and raise a hearty cheer.

Whenever Biff gets stinking drunk inside the local bar
The patrons gaze with wonder as he staggers to his car.
They bet on just how far he'll get before he hits a wall
And crashes through the windshield, to the merriment of all.

Whenever Biff puts on a dress and waltzes down the street
He's welcomed by the local cops as they patrol their beat.
They take him to the station and prepare a special cell
In which he bounces off the walls until his mind gets well.

Whenever Biff gets out of jail, he finds it worth the wait
Because the Ladies' Social Club invites him to a fete.
A festive meal is followed by a speech from Mrs. Welch
To which the grateful Biff responds with lo, a mighty belch.

Whenever Biff decides he's had enough of city life
He hops behind the wheel and motors home to greet his wife.
"Come back anon!" the townsfolk cry with everything they've got
To which the Mighty Biff responds politely "Well, why not?"

You scream and cry and ask me why,
You bawl and throw your shoe.
But you were cheatin on me,
so thats why I'm leaving you.

You screwed around with my neighbor Lilly
You screwed around with my best friend Bob.
You've even screwed my goldfish,
My cat, my ferret and dog!

What you did wasn't fair,
My dear, you're a blatant rat.
And now I want you to say hello,
To my little friend, Mr. Baseball bat!

That was very moving.

Noonie, that little poem is remarkably Shel Silverstein-ish.

He was my idol.

quote:

---

Noonie, that little poem is remarkably Shel Silverstein-ish.

He was my idol.

---

Playboy used to publish a lot of his stuff. I know, because every time I found a new Playboy under my big brother's bed, I would think, "Oh boy, more Shel Silverstein."

Playboy published some of his more ribald stuff, but I love it all. The dirty, the clean, the funny, the sad. I grew up reading his work and modeled my poetic style after his.

The Tale of Colonel Colostomy Bag

--------------------------------------

The tale of Colonel Colostomy Bag
Is one that's rarely heard
He wasn't a jock and hardly a fag
He certainly wasn't a bird.
While sailing the ocean in search of a key
a key made of shiny bright gold
He caught the crap infected in me
He also caught a cold.
He puked and he pyaked and vomited stuff
and had to take a long rest.
He watched JFK and other fine snuff
He also saw Hepburn's breast.
Then he had colitis and started to die
He was sure this was the end
But high! An angel from the sky
caught his crap like a very good friend.
And so goes the story of CCB,
the story I've finally told.
Did CCB ever find that key
the key that was made of gold?
The answer is no, I'm sorry to say
But here's some uplifting news:
Colostomy Bag had gotten his way
Now patients don't sing the blues.

Stop it, I'm bagging you.

Get it? "Bagging", as in "colostomy bags."

Yes, you used that term an unhealthy amount of times in "From Bags to Riches."

There once was a man named Phil
Young girls he loved to kill
He slashed their wrists with a butcher knife,
fucked them as they lost their life

now some haikus

Hartman and Farley
are dead, but Carvey is not.
But his career is.

The Cubs will win it
I am lying, the cubs won't
The Cubs always lose

I hate you asshole
You are a fucking dicklick
kill yourself shithead

I HAVE TO GO URINATE
by biped

I'm getting that feeling, that won't go away
I know I must go, though I'd much rather stay
I don't want to rise, from this nice, comfy chair
But I'm starting to fidget, and they're starting to stare

I have to go urinate
It's ever so urgent
The act is impending
The result is emergent
My bladder is bursting
I'm starting to fret
If I don't do it now
Then my shorts will be wet.

This internet porn, is commanding my actions
It somehow emits, such magnetic attractions
Yet not even this thing, which I find so compelling
Can distract from my bladder's voluminous swelling

I have to go urinate
I cannot deny it
My innards, in turmoil
Are starting to riot
And if I remain
And continue this dance
There will be a huge stain
Down the front of my pants.

I'm enjoying this movie, that I've waited to see
But pause it I can't--it's on cable TV
My mind conjures visions, of a welcome commode
If I tarry much longer, then I fear I'll explode

I have to go urinate
It's long overdue
I'm far past the point
Of a stroll to the loo
So sprint now, I must
As a person aflame
And the sign of my passing
Is a trail of my shame.

bending
the nail cannot obey the carpenter
having bit so far and struck a knot
still the hammer falls
the nail, caught between
wood and iron
can only yield
itself
"if my ear was a pussy, I'd fuck it"
burma shave

THE PUPPIES ARE NOT BEAUTIFUL

by biped

You told me to come over
To your house, at once -- you said:
"Our Woofy just had puppies
Of auburn, black, and red."

And how you gushed about them!
With gusto, glee, and fussing
For they, you said, were so beautiful
It was beyond discussing.

So hastily I showered
And donned my nicest duds
I didn't want such puppies
To think me raised by cruds.

I leapt into my Volvo
And drove as one insane
With thoughts of beauteous puppies
Cavorting through my brain.

And when, at last, I reached your house
And pounded on the door
I crumpled to my knees, and wept
For I could wait no more.

The door was opened, you appeared
In robe and fuzzy slippers
I grabbed you by the hair and screamed
"Where are the little nippers?"

You led me down a darkened hall
Into the laundry room
And there, inside a basket lay
The fruit of Woofy's womb.

Frantically I pushed you down
Expecting to see beauty
Instead, my bulging eyes were met
By walking piles of doody.

Alas! The ugly puppies
That greeted me that day
Were so horrible to look at
I had to turn away.

To behold them was a nightmare
A visual offense
Their overwhelming ugliness
Assaulted every sense.

And so I set your house on fire
And hung you by your pecker
And stomped on all the records by
Your beloved Chubby Checker.

I shaved your wife Delores bald
Which seemed my only option
And then I rounded up your kids
And put them up for adoption.

Buffy went to Uruguay
Biff Junior, to Peru
The twins, I dressed as pandas
And donated to a zoo.

And with your house burnt to the ground
And your family dispersed
And you hoist by your own petard
As though by voodoo cursed

It suddenly occurred to me
The pups were kind of cute
And I, with growing joy, declared
Each one of them a beaut.

I danced around the smoking ruins
A puppy in each hand
And screamed: "You're right! These puppies
Are the cutest in the land!"

And so, I took the puppies home
With Woofy in the trunk
And gave them bowls of whiskey
Until all of them were drunk.

I put the puppies in the trees
So they could fly around
And with each dawn, they sing to me
Oh, what a joyous sound!

the all caps title made that for me. plus it didn't hurt i read it to the beat of Twas the Night before Christmas. nothing like someone getting hoisted by their own petard in rhythm to a seasonal favorite

Yes, that's exactly the effect I was so fervently striving for.

I'm writing this poem for you

On account that you're feeling so blue

To make this thing rhyme

And keep in its time

Is something I can't always perform

PHYSICAL BURT
by biped

Burt's not a ghost, he's physical
And also very quizzical
He yearns to know the story
Of the girl named Hunky Dory.

Burt has not the skill to fly
Nor spooky cry, as of a ghost
He's physical, our hardy Burt
He's just as real as Donny Most.

Burt tracks down the vital facts
The hidden truth, the background scoop
Of Hunky Dory's hack attacks
That turned his precious files to poop.

"Hacky" Jack will well attest
That Hunky Dory is the best
At hacking into your computer
She's an information looter.

Burt's not made of ectoplasm
Poke his knee, he'll have a spasm
Ghosts, of course, cannot orgasm
But as for Burt, he sometimes has 'em.

Burt would never haunt a house
Nor scare your spouse, as ghosts are apt
Quite solid is our Burt's physique
And safe within, his spirit trapp'd.

"Hacky" Jack has talked to Burt
And placed him on a red alert
That Hunky Dory's still at large
And lurks offshore, upon a barge.

And now, whenever Burt's online
He seeks a sign, of things amiss
But any evidence of this
Is lost across the salty brine

Where Hunky Dory's barge sets anchor
There, her cyber deeds to plot
And fill Burt's aching heart with rancor
With each taunting forum bot.

poetry poems:
If sex was all words
and love was just turds
then we'd have sex with poop everyday

If we all wore crocs
all dumb without socks
Id fucking kill everyone in a murderous spree because theres nothing I hate more than fucking crocks, I will KILL YOU! this is a fucking written threat to you, hillbilly joe.

If color or creed
was just chicken feed
then chickens wouldnt be so hungry

If I just wore slacks
and looked at asscrack
Id be gay.

quote:

---

biped wrote:

What the hell is that kid in back of Barney doing?