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04-22-2013, 03:35 AM | #46 |
Don't Be A Dick
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Doesn't look like a poem, but is listed as one, so I think it is.
Our Deepest Fear by Marianne Williamson “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” |
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04-22-2013, 04:16 AM | #47 |
ON CP YOU’RE SOMEBODY’S BITCH!
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My favorite "serious" poem is about as cliché as they come. "The Raven," by E.A.P. Admittedly, I haven't really gotten around to reading much poetry at this phase in my life. It just hasn't struck my interest, YET.
With that said, my favorite poem is a hilarious one by a random humor blogger I encountered on a blogging message board. The blog is titled, "The Problem with Young People Today is..." and the author goes by the name of Don Mills. He writes as if he is a cynical, grouchy old man with hilarious observations of the world as he sees it, especially what pisses him off about it. I suspect that he is actually younger than he claims to be and this old man, Don Mills, is a character he created. If not, he is seriously the funniest old man on the planet. I discovered him for I have been off and on in the humor blogosphere myself. It's pretty well-known to people from my area, but that's not saying much, considering I am from a low populated region in Iowa. At it's peak, it was getting a pretty decent amount of daily traffic, primarily by social means (facebook, twitter, stumbleupon, digg, etc.) The theme of my blog, was basically crude, goofy, quirky and cringe-worthy true stories and observations pertaining to my personal experiences. What makes mine unique from others is that I have something that I call a "blog mascot" that I attempt to tie in at the end of every story. This "mascot" is an absurd cut-off t-shirt and cut-off jean shorts-wearing mullet man who makes a living by beating up neighborhood kids for their lunch money and generally represents everything that is idiotic. The epitome of idiocy. Hate to brag, but out of the thousands of humor blogs I have read, I am the only one I know of who has a mascot/trademark. It's been fun. At one point (right before I created my CP account), I was averaging roughly 2000 views per day and was ranked in the top 10 in the humor category of blogtoplist and blogrankings. I kind of let it go for a while and CP is a huge reason for this. If you were to view my site, you would notice that the frequency of my posts decreased substantially for a long period of time after September of 2011, when I created my CP account. Here is why. When I created my account and began posting, I discovered that not only was my Chiefs football knowledge not as vast as I originally thought (to the rural Iowans I normally discussed Chiefs football with, my knowledge WAS vast compared to them, but not you guys), but some of the people who post on here are such good writers, that it prompted me to take a break from the blog and observe and learn what you guys were writing, not only in terms of Chiefs football, but how you wrote in general. In terms of writing, I learned a lot from you guys during that break. No joke. I just recently began posting semi-regularly again, but am taking the SEO/HTML route opposed to commenting on a bunch of other blogs that I have no interest in. So now, I am trying to build my HTML/SEO skills to promote it because I refuse to comment on shit blogs, regardless of how many daily readers they have who would discover my blog through my comments. And my traffic has totally dwindled since creating my CP account, taking a break and focusing on SEO. I'm only averaging 200 or so hits per day now. Shitty. So I discovered this guy by means of browsing other humor blogs and commenting on their blogs...this is an excellent method of increasing traffic to your own blog. Now that I am posting again, I refuse to utilize this strategy, for the majority of other "humor" blogs I stumble on are complete shit or carbon copies of another more popular blog. However, every once in a while, you'll run into another blog that is straight up hilarious. That is the case for this guy. His URL is http://crabbyoldfart.wordpress.com. If you like to laugh, check his site out, you won't be disappointed. The poem he wrote, which I consider my favorite poem of all time, is titled, "The Alphabet Poem of Damned Young People who Annoyed Me Today." Here is is: "The Alphabet Poem of Damned Young People who Annoyed Me Today," by Don Mills aka "Crabby Old Fart" A is for the Assclown who was standing on my grass, B is for the Bonehead with a tattoo on her ass. C is for the Crackhead who was passed out on the street, D is for the Dimwit with his pants around his feet. E is for the Emo with his ever-present pout, F is for the Fatso who at 14 has the gout. G is for the Goof-off who approached me for some cash, H is for the Homeys and the gang signs that they flashed. I is for the Ingrate, who gave his mother guff, J is for the Junkie and the reefer that he puffed. K is for the Kiddies riding skateboards after dark, L is for the Losers trading hickeys in the park. M is for Moron with the backwards baseball cap, N is for the Numbskull in his car and blaring rap. O is for the Oddball with the pins stuck through his lip, P is for the Punkers who think mohawks make them hip. Q is for the Question – Is that a girl or boy? R is for the Reprobates who no one will employ. S is for the Simpleton who kicked over my trash, T is for the Tramp who sports a most suspicious rash. U is for the Unemployed who gather in the malls, V is for the Vandal spraying paint upon the walls. W is the Wailing Goth who is all angst and gloom, X is for the X-box kid who’s never left his room. Y is for Young People, I see them all day long; and Z is for the Zoo in which they damn well all belong. * Funny shit if you ask me. On a sidenote, just tonight I googled what comes before ".com" on my site, which is my nickname, "ricoswaff." I clicked on "images," and you wouldn't believe what showed up down a few rows. I SHIT YOU NOT, it was this pic: I have NO IDEA why the HELL that pic would show up in the images section after googling, "ricoswaff." This pic of Sam Cassell also shows up: Again, not sure why....maybe I responded to those photos when my username was "ricoswaff" on here and google made some sort of connection to it. I have no clue, but thought it was funny. |
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04-22-2013, 06:58 AM | #48 |
Veteran
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If called by a panther,
Don't anther.
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I haven’t slept for ten days straight… because that would be way too long. |
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04-22-2013, 07:16 AM | #49 |
Rookie
Join Date: Aug 2012
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This poem's for my wife,
In her pretty red shoes, She smokes all my cigs, And she drinks all my booze, She doesn't have her cherry, But that's no sin, Since she still has the box, That the cherry came in.
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If two wrongs don't make a right, try three. |
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04-22-2013, 07:21 AM | #50 |
MVP
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Roses are red
violets are blue this thread is lame so are you |
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04-22-2013, 07:43 AM | #51 |
In Search of a Life
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Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse
They **** you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were ****ed up in their turn By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one another's throats. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don't have any kids yourself.
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In this world of sin and sorrow there is always something to be thankful for; as for me, I rejoice that I am not a Republican. - H. L. Mencken |
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04-22-2013, 08:05 AM | #52 |
Wearing ballistic dog goggles.
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Location: In the box.
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When things go wrong,
As they usually will, And your daily road seems all uphill. When funds are low, And debts are high, You try to smile but can only cry. When you really feel You’d like to quit, Don’t run to me I don’t give a shit.
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Like "Cool Hand" Luke I'm busting rocks. __/|_/[___] |/ \\_| ---OllllO _( ))~-( ))-0--)) |
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04-22-2013, 08:35 AM | #53 |
Wearing ballistic dog goggles.
Join Date: Mar 2001
Location: In the box.
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Like "Cool Hand" Luke I'm busting rocks. __/|_/[___] |/ \\_| ---OllllO _( ))~-( ))-0--)) |
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04-22-2013, 08:41 AM | #54 |
The pizza king of kansas
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roses are red violet are blue your sister is hot and a good screw.
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When it's grim, be the grim reaper and go get it. Adopt a chiefs Travis Kelce. You woke up the wrong mother****er! |
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04-22-2013, 08:44 AM | #55 |
You think you can get by this?
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I'd look up some stuff by Shel Silverstein or Edgar Allan Poe. Two completely different styles, but you'd probably find something you like between the two.
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04-22-2013, 08:50 AM | #56 |
Mammoth penis
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Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard To fetch her old dog a bone When she bent over Rover took over And gave her a bone of his own |
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04-22-2013, 08:53 AM | #57 |
Mammoth penis
Join Date: May 2006
Location: Springfield
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Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet, Eating her curds and whey; Along came a spider, Who sat down beside her, And said "Hey! What's in the bowl bitch?!" |
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04-22-2013, 09:05 AM | #58 | |
"You like to drink?"
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Quote:
Also, 'nother submission: anyone lived in a pretty how town by E. E. Cummings anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then)they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes. Women and men(both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain
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Chiefs 2016 Opponents: Home: JAX, TEN, NO, TB, NYJ. Away: HOU, IND, ATL, CAR, PIT Chiefs 2017 Opponents: Home: BUF, MIA, PHI, WSH, AFC North. Away: NE, NYJ, NYG, DAL, AFC South |
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04-22-2013, 09:15 AM | #59 |
Can these boys not play?
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A lot of my favorites already in the thread. Here is another by Pablo Neruda I always liked:
I can write the saddest lines tonight. Write for example: ‘The night is fractured and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’ The night wind turns in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest lines tonight. I loved her, sometimes she loved me too. On nights like these I held her in my arms. I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes. I can write the saddest lines tonight. To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her. Hear the vast night, vaster without her. Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass. What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her. The night is fractured and she is not with me. That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off, my soul is not content to have lost her. As though to reach her, my sight looks for her. My heart looks for her: she is not with me The same night whitens, in the same branches. We, from that time, we are not the same. I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her. Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses. Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes. I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her. Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long. Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms, my soul is not content to have lost her. Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer, and these are the last lines I will write for her.
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- Mark |
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04-22-2013, 09:33 AM | #60 |
Keep doubting J MFing Houston
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Little Miss Muffet sat on tuffet eating her curd and weys(? Lol no idea) along came a spider and sat down beside her and said hey b**** what's in the bowl.
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