Tag: poetry

Wimp Heaven

by doitalldadyear, posted in poetry, technology, writing

I wonder if Kevin Smith used a Fountain Pen with red ink when he got hired on the down low to rewrite Good Will Hunting. I know only Seinfeld is allowed to crack wise. Interesting fact, Walt Disney preferred tobacco brown ink, over black. You don’t say? According to Walt, black ink didn’t give much texture to each stroke. Wasn’t the Constitution written in black ink? I know ancient, outdated relic of yesteryear, totally get it. But black ink doesn’t give much texture to each stroke? Ice Cube, feel free to chime in anytime you want, anyone out there, Mueller, Mueller. But Walt Disney only favored tobacco brown over black ink for mere aesthetic reasons only. Sure, and bug on stick trucks in Davos this year won’t clean up. Black ink doesn’t give as much texture to each stroke. Tell that to Ice Cube’s Raider’s gear in the eighties. Even today, those throwback Raiders jerseys exude more layered in your face attitude than Tony Gwynn in Padres pinstripes ever did is all I’m saying. Wimp Heaven lives, Challah. Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Price Of Promiscuity

by doitalldadyear, posted in relationships, sex, writing

I wish the price of Promiscuity wasn’t so high.

That’s why masturbation is our last safety rail left.

Plus, your dick never bitches about not filling up your wife’s car because you’re too busy unloading on your phone again.

Miraculously that’s only happened to me once considering my sheer amount of time in the pump and dump position.

Companies would clear themselves of sexual harassment lawsuits on their hands. If they only created a safe space bathroom for jerking it, jerking, jerking it well. So you’re not dragged out the bathroom stall by your legs. As the office security guard croons in his best Tom Petty voice, “You don’t come around here no more.”

I think kids today should be banned from sporting Steph Curry jerseys unless they identify with having to high step over the shit lined streets of San Francisco. Or boast a mother that’s hot enough to win Miss Washington Heights. Who could charge the price of Hamilton tickets in exchange for some high end Chlamydia.

Did you know that that heart shape symbol of love is based off an ancient plant called Silphium used to treat Syphilis and anal warts according to Pliny the Elder. They even used it as a form of birth control. Plus, the heart shape was modeled after the shape of a David’s throbbing buttock.

The seed pods from this miracle STD ointment plant were associated with heart shaped seed pods. That they crushed up and snorted like Ritalin in Ancient Greece.

They even put the pod shape on coins in ancient Greece for Christ’s sake. Anal wart ointment was so money and gender fluid generals knew it. Seriously according to Pliny the Elder, this ground up Roman herb was used to treat warts in the seat. So you bet your ass it cost more than gold. Between a gold bracelet for your wife’s birthday or a frictionless railing from behind, what would you pick, Prick?

If I can avoid any Fungi outgrowth of my anus hole, I’ll do it. I’d wipe my ass with Benjamin’s used as poop paper in a bat cage made in Wuhan used for to launch biochemical warfare if it got the job done.

In summary, Heart shaped seeds that cured the clap is why we celebrate Valentine’s Day today. So, Nero could fiddle in the spa without his anus-hole burning.

To make matters worse, I can’t stare at my daughter’s new Teacup with a heart on it without thinking.

I better start selling her on the upside of Lesbianism.

Matilda, being a lesbian is good. For starters you can’t get Aids. Plus, you can take a licking and keep on ticking.

Price of Promiscuity, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Blown Load Blues

by doitalldadyear, posted in humor, poetry, writing

Valentines Day growing up was weird. My dad never celebrated it, because he already blew his love load on my mother the day before on her birthday.

Chances are that my mom made a stink one year and never dared to rock the boat again.

Mom says, “So what are we doing for Valentine’s Day tonight dear?”

Dad says, “We just went out for your birthday. Plus, we normally only go out once a week. So, don’t be a greedy bitch about it. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be eating Squirl kabobs in Kentucky for dinner, versus Veal stuffed with prosciutto, off the Grand Concourse in the Bronx. Look at it this way dear, if we went out to eat tonight, I’d just cut you off from ordering a 3rd glass of Chardonnay like I do on your birthday. So, what difference does it make?”

Hillary Hammer Time Cankles sours the mood again.

Blown load love lives, Challah.

Thank you very much.

Michael Kornbluth

Flirter With A Cause

by doitalldadyear, posted in beauty, creativity, entertainment

Yesterday, my son asks, “What did you learn at work today? I say, “I learned that Chili is the best place for stargazing on the planet.” He says, “Isn’t that the Northern Lights.” I say, “Have you seen Bjork with no makeup on? They don’t call her warmup act the Shrieking Seals for nothing.” Your submission was made yesterday. We presented you as a UX/UI Designer with breath taker designs to show, without using the actual expression breath taker, but you get the gist. It brought me pleasure to put your portfolio in a turn on position. Best Always, Joshua K P.S. Loved Bjork in the movie Dancer In the Dark.