Category Archives: Bad Poetry

Bad Poetry Vol. 5: It’s All Fun & Games

The Traffic Stop

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
the cop asked me.
“More than a thimble and less than a gallon,” I said.
The cop told me to step out of the car.

The cop handed me a Rubik’s cube.
“Make one side all one color,” he said.
I twisted it a bunch but it was all fucked.

Finally I got tired and took the stickers off.
“There,” I said. “It’s all black.”
The cop shot it.

“Here,” he said. “Breathe into this.”
I started breathing.
“More,” he said. “Keep going. More.”

Finally, I was out of breath.
The cop took his balloon back
and bent it into a funny shape.

“What does this look like to you?”
“A giraffe,” I said.
“But a weird one. Maybe it’s crippled or something.”
“Yeah, crippled giraffe, you got it,” the cop said.

He gave me a written warning for speeding and left.
Thank God he didn’t ask about the bank robbery.
I was so drunk I probably would have confessed.

We’re Not Related

“So… How do you two know each other?”
I asked Jesus and the Easter Bunny.

Dead Presidents

Abraham Lincoln rolled a six
and moved his piece to ‘Go’.
“Honest Abe my ass,” I said.
“You’re on Boardwalk. That’s $2,000.”
Abe paid me but in Confederate dollars.
I gave him a dirty look.
“I hope you have fun at the theatre tonight,” I said.
I knew he wouldn’t though.
Hamilton just isn’t the same
without Lin Manuel Miranda.

Show Stopper

It was the summer of 2016
when the clowns first appeared.
They’d linger in the woods, trying to lure people in.
Society did not take the clown threat seriously.
What’s left of it now knows better.

I drag on my cigarette once more.
My rifle is fixed on the tent.
One clean shot at Jelly Beans. That’s all I need.
Just one shot… That’s all I need…

Most Eligible Bachelor

The headline blared:
“Is This Frumpy Bald Guy Baltimore’s Biggest Playboy?”
The cover was a picture of me shrugging.

“I gotta hand it to you,” Jesus said.
“This is good press.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty soon I’m gonna catch you!”
Jesus laughed, but I could tell he was jealous.

The next time we hung out Jesus was bald
and a little overweight.
Some people just crave the spotlight.

The BitchMobile

I pulled my wagon up to the bus.
“Here,” I said. “Can you use all this?”
“Oh my God!” the woman shrieked.
“No! Where did you get all of that?”

I said: “That’s none of your business.”
It was none of her business.

“I’m calling the cops,” the woman said.
“Go ahead,” I told her. “Tell them J-Money is here.”
“In the meantime, you should really change your name.
Don’t call it the BloodMobile if you don’t want blood.”

Then I thought for another second.
“Maybe you should call it the BitchMobile instead.”

I went to high five someone,but no one else was there
to witness my savage burn.
So I just left.

Anyway, does anyone need any blood?

Bad Poetry Vol. 4: Peace of Mind

The Water Cooler Incident

I went to the water cooler to get water.
When I got back,
the hot, 20-year-old intern looked at me and smiled.
I felt like a pimp.

When I sat down,
I saw I’d spilt a bunch of water on my pants.
It looked like I peed myself.

St. Patrick’s Day

I love St. Patrick’s Day.
It’s the only day I can drink
with my Leprechaun,
Blarney McShackleton,
without being asked a ton of questions.

Fuck Your Selfie Stick

Fuck your selfie stick.
Suck my selfie stick.
Fuck your selfie stick.

The Donald (Part 2)

Donald Trump laid quietly on the sofa.
“Sasquatch,” he said unprovoked.
“I know him. Good guy.”

I knew this was a lie.
I met Bigfoot years ago.
And he’d never hang out with Donald.

“You know I have a time machine,” he said.
This was a lie, too.
There’s only one time machine on earth,
And I have it.

One more minute went by.

Finally, he blurted out:
“I have sexual fantasies about my daughter!”

Finally, the truth.

“Our time’s up,” I said.
“This was a big breakthrough though.
I’ll see you next week.”

Donald Trump is my most deranged patient.


Pigskins and Ponies

We were on our way to the My Little Pony convention.
I was dressed as Twilight Sparkle
And Jesus was dressed as Rarity.
I wanted to be Rarity but Jesus won the coin toss.

We bumped into some drunk guys.
They were dressed up, too.
“What pony are you?” I asked.

“I’m not a pony fag,” the guy said.
“We’re going to the Broncos game.”

“But you ARE dressed up like a horse,”
Jesus pointed out.

“Yeah but not a gay horse,” he said.

Jesus and I were confused.
Then a guy with a painted face chimed in.

“You guys need to grow up,” he said.
Then he burped some beer onto his football jersey.

Jesus wanted to fight them, but I talked him out of it.
“Let it go Jesus,” I said.
“Ponies don’t settle disagreements with violence.”

“You gentlemen enjoy your game,” I said.

Jesus and I spent the rest of the day taking ecstasy
And dancing at a pony rave.

It was awesome.



NFL Fans:

NFL Fans

The Hitler Question

When I finally finished my time machine,
I knew what I had to do.

I got in and went back to 1907
and I found Adolf Hitler.

He was still a teenager
and his mother had just died of breast cancer.

I knew he’d be vulnerable.

“Hey Hitler!” I said.

Hitler looked startled and scared.

“I just wanted to tell you I really like your paintings,” I said.
“I want to buy one.”

I paid Hitler for his watercolours.
We joked around a little bit.
Then I hugged him
and got back in my time machine.
As I stepped in, I looked back.

I said:

“Your future is a blank canvas, Adolf.
Don’t spoil it by painting something ugly. ”

When I got back to the present,
I stumbled into an art shop in Munich.

There was an old man behind the counter.
He recognized me.
I smiled and nodded.
He smiled, too.

His paintings were bad,
but they could have been worse.

Hitler Painting

Bad Poetry Vol. 3: Inside Out

This poetry’s so bad, it broke out of jail and knocked up the warden’s wife….

The Best Captain

“We’re trying to settle an argument,” the nerd said to me.
“Who was the best captain – Kirk or Picard?”
I looked at the nerd incredulously.
“The best captain,” I said, “is Captain Caveman.”
The nerds just looked at me…
“He’s the world’s first superhero… The first.” I said.
“He had three teenage girlfriends.
They went on hilarious and sometimes scary mystery missions.”
The nerds kept staring. After a long pause one asked:
“What about Captain America?”
“What about fucking yourself?” I said.
Then I walked away.
Fucking nerds. They don’t know anything.


Agent Franks

The scientist handed Agent Franks a pipe
and he smoked it.
Immediately he felt a rush. It was amazing.
“This is incredible!” he shouted.
“I feel like Mickey Mouse is giving me a reach around!”
“Right?” the commander said.
“What are we gonna do with it?” Agent Franks asked.
“That’s the thing,” the commander said. “I don’t know.”

After thinking for a minute, Agent Franks got an idea:
“Let’s give it to black people,” he said.
Everyone laughed.
“Why would we do that?
Why should they get this miracle drug?”
“Just look at all they’ve been through…” Franks said.

For the next 3 hours and 27 minutes
Agent Franks recounted the country’s history of racial oppression.
“So, you see,” he said in closing. “They deserve this.”
Everyone in the room applauded.
In their hearts, they knew Agent Franks was right.

A few weeks later,
the first shipment of crack hit California.
Things did not go as planned.
Agent Franks was given a promotion.

Drag King

Chuck Norris zipped up his dress and blotted his lipstick.
“Chuck Norris isn’t a drag queen,” he said to himself.
“He’s the Drag King.”

Child Star of Bethlehem

“Hey Jesus,” I said.
“Whatever happened to that stuff the three wise men gave you?”
“What?” Jesus asked.
“The gold, frankincense and myrrh…
What happened to it?”
“Oh,” Jesus said trying to act nonchalant.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Then he frowned and looked sad.
That’s when I knew…
“Your parents took it didn’t they…”
“I have to go,” Jesus said.
Then he left the room.

I pulled out my notebook
and went to the page marked “Xmas List”
I wrote “Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh” under “Jesus”
“I hope it’s not too cliche,” I thought.

Then I wrote down “New Sandals” just to be safe.
It’s good to get your Christmas shopping out of the way early.
Less stress around the holidays.

Cake Monster

It was my birthday and all the boys bought me giant cake.
Suddenly a topless woman popped out.
“Cake Monster!” I yelled.
I punched her in the face.
It was then that I realized the cake was hollow inside.
“We’re too late,” I said. “She already ate all the cake.”

Zarlor’s Lament

Zarlor the Lizard Man got home
and took off his Donald Rumsfeld mask.
His wife Cynthia peaked her head in from the kitchen and asked:
“Is it almost done? Have we enslaved the human race yet?”
Zarlor was frustrated.

“Not yet Cynthia… God, you know, I just got home.”
“Okay,” Cynthia said. “I just thought it’d be done by now.”
“Yeah. I know. I thought so, too,” the Lizard Man snapped.
“But this kind of thing takes time.
You wouldn’t believe the level of bureaucracy involved.
It’s maddening.”

Cynthia paused for a minute. Then she asked:
“Do you want to refurbish the dwelling this weekend?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake Cynthia!” Zarlor shouted.
He stormed over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

“Well, you keep putting it off…”
The Lizard Man said nothing. He just drank faster.
Then he turned.
“I need some fresh air,” he said, whipping the door open.
“Zarlor!” Cynthia shouted.
The door slammed shut.

Zarlor got in his car and put it in reverse.
As he did, Zarlor Jr. ran from the house screaming.
“Daddy!” he shouted.
Zarlor hit the brakes and looked his son in the face.
Then he pulled out of the driveway and headed down the block.

“I’ll come back,” he thought to himself.
“I just need to take a drive and clear my head.”
Deep down he knew it was a lie. Zarlor just kept driving.

Bad Poetry Vol. 2: To Hell with Justice

Just as asinine, every bit as bad as Vol. 1

The Donald

I walked into Donald Trump’s office,
and found him shaving a red-assed baboon.
He was bald and oily, and he looked startled.
The Donald, I mean. Not the baboon.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“That I’m shaving this baboon,
and that I’m going to use its hair as a toupee.”
I frowned and nodded my head ‘yes’.

“Well, that’s not it,” he said.
“I’m shaving this baboon to have sex with it.”
“Oh,” I said. “I guess I’ll leave you two alone then.”
“No,” Donald Trump said. “Stay.”

I stood there for another 47 seconds.
We made silent eye contact the whole time.
It was awkward.

I came back a few hours later
to deliver the bankruptcy papers.
As I came through the lobby
I saw the red-assed baboon leaving.
He was wearing a trenchcoat and sunglasses.
He looked ashamed.

I don’t think the money was worth it.


(Pictured: A red-assed baboon. Though not necessarily the red-assed baboon I saw Donald Trump have sex with.)


Kanye West won the award for Best Celebrity.
He walked up to the microphone and said:
“First, I’d like to thank our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ
through who all things are possible.”

I looked over at Jesus angrily.
He kept his eyes on the TV, refusing to acknowledge my glare.
I was about to say something like “Way to go” or “Nice one, Jesus.”
But then Kanye said:
“Psyche. This is all about me tonight. Me and Beyonce.”

Jesus breathed a sigh of relief.

Next up was a tribute to flood victims
who died in the Great Asian Tsunami.
Jesus got up to get more popcorn.
I didn’t say anything.

The 4th of July

The 4th of July fireworks were beautiful.
They really took the edge off the sacrifices that would come next.
“Don’t worry,” my mother whispered in my ear.
“They’re not like us. They’re just ants.”
It was hard to think of it that way, but I got used to it.
After all, the Antpeople had landed five years ago,
and they sacrifice humans everyday.


(Pictured: Antpeople- Left: Shaman, Right: Garth)

Fear Itself

“We have nothing to fear, but fear itself… How’s that?” FDR asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m afraid of clowns.”
FDR looked angry.
“I’m just saying, I’m not afraid of being scared.” I said.
“I’m afraid of clowns. Clowns and polio.”
Now FDR was really angry.
“Look, write what you want,” I said. “I’m going bowling.”
I bowled a 230. It was pretty cool.

Bargain Hunting

The Wal-Mart clerk handed me the gun from behind the counter.
“Are you sure you should be selling these?” I asked.
“All the people in here look like suicide risks.”

The clerk thought for a minute and said:
“Yeah. But they’re the type that kill themselves slowly…
With Twizzlers, Coca-Cola, and poor life decisions.”
It was a fair point, I thought.

I took the gun and started aiming it.
“So what are you planning on doing with that gun?” he asked.
“Me?” I said. “I hunt people for sport.”
We both laughed.

“Seriously, though… Lock the doors.” I said.

The Bag Trap

“I’d sell my soul for a doughnut right now,” Greg said.
Nothing happened.
“Try something else! Think big!” I shouted.
“A doughnut? What are you Homer Simpson? Sell it!”
Greg took a minute and tried again.
“I’m just sooooo poor,” he moaned. “I’d do anything for money…
Even sell my soul…”

Suddenly the room filled with smoke
and The Devil appeared.
“Rrrrreeealllyyy?” he hissed.
“Now Jesus! Now!” I yelled.
Jesus jumped from behind the couch
and sprang at Satan with the bag.
But it was too late.
He was gone with a poof.
“Damn. Don’t worry Jesus.
We’ll get him next time.” I said.

Justice Is Served

When we entered the juror room,
half of us thought the defendant was innocent.
The other six thought he was guilty.

We argued until we got hungry.
When it came time to get food, half us wanted pizza.
The other six wanted Chinese food.

“I’ve got a compromise,” I said.
“If you six agree to get pizza,
then we’ll agree the defendant is guilty.”

In the end we got pizza.
And I was the best jury foreman ever.


(Pictured: Pizza with a Side of Justice)

The Deer Hunter

I was hunting a deer with the new gun I’d bought at Wal-Mart.
I was about to shoot it when it shouted “Stop!”
I was like: “Whoa! Deer, did you just talk?”
It was all: “Yeah. Don’t shoot me, okay?”
I asked why not. After all, I’d come that far.

The deer answered with a question of its own:
“Why do you want to shoot me?”
“Gotta shoot something,” I said.
“Are you going to eat me?” it asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” I said.
“Am I really that delicious?”
“Well, I mean, not as delicious as cow, or chicken,” I said.

Then we both yelled in unison:
“Then why don’t you go kill a cow or chicken?!”
(I knew I’d walked right into that one.)
“Because that’s too easy,” I said “Cows and chickens don’t run.
They’re too slow and duh-.”
I was cut off by the sound of a double-barrel shotgun being cocked.

“Don’t fucking move,” a voice said from behind me.
I looked at the deer grinning.
“Who’s slow and dumb now?” he asked.
He took my gun and then tied me naked to a tree.
I just had to stand there and watch
as the cow, chicken and deer left with my stuff.
“At least we’re not gonna eat you,”
the cow said as they walked away.
“Boc-Boc- Bah- Bah-Bitch!” the chicken said.

I’m a vegetarian now.

Bad Poetry Vol. 1: It’s a Small, Weird World

When I talk to people about writing I usually tell them that I can write anything… except poetry.

I just never developed a knack for it. To this day, I don’t understand what an iamb is. And I’ve looked it up at least a half-dozen times. I don’t know what meter is. I don’t understand it, and I get frustrated thinking about it.

Given this ineptitude, I’ve avoided poetry for most of my life.

But no more.

Rather than running, I’ve declared war on the form, with this newest Drunk & Humble Feature: Bad Poetry.

Please enjoy…

Jesus Rides Behind Me

I was riding my motorcycle through the Nevada desert, 
By Area 51.
When I saw Jesus on the side of the road.
I wasn’t looking for him, like so many people are.
He was just there, standing in the dust and the sun.
“Jesus Christ!” I shouted, in disbelief.
Jesus smiled sheepishly and waved.
You’re not supposed to yell out the names of famous people when you meet them.
I felt embarrassed and started to drive on.
Then I turned back.

“Hey, Jesus,” I said. “Do you want to join my motorcycle gang?”
He held his hands up and shook his head.
“C’mon. It’ll be fun,” I said.
Jesus looked down.
I could tell he was uncomfortable.
After a pause I said: “You don’t know how to ride do you?”
I smiled a little so he knew I wasn’t judging him.
He smiled a little too.
He knew he’d been busted.
“Here,” I said, tossing him my helmet.
“Climb on back.”
Jesus looked up at me, still smiling, and put my helmet on.
He got on back of my bike and we rode off.
Jesus had his arms around my waist.
It was a glorious day.

Groundhog’s Day

The Oracle emerges every February 2.
He blesses us with an early spring or curses us with more winter.
Our prayers and offerings weren’t enough this year, and the little bastard cursed us.
He crawled from his hole, stroked his beard thrice and said:
“You will spend another six weeks shivering in winter’s cold, unforgiving shadow.”
Then his eyes glowed white and he went back inside.
One woman screamed and killed herself on the spot.
It’s an ugly affair, Groundhog’s Day.
But without it, there’d be no order.

 Fuckin’ Weird

I was walking through Monument Park.
Sometimes I go there to read.
By one of the benches, there was a mime and a clown.
The mime was playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on a saw.
It made me uneasy.
One phrase just kept repeating in my head: “Fuckin’ weird.”
I walked past them and found a separate bench.
A few minutes later, they came by.
They were throwing a ball to people who would throw it back.
I couldn’t concentrate on my reading.
I just kept praying they wouldn’t engage me.
Thankfully they didn’t.
Eventually, I walked away chuckling to myself.
Again thinking “Fucking weird.” over and over again.
Who wants to be a mime? Why are people clowns?
Did they meet as a mime and a clown?
Or did they make that choice together?
Either way.
Fuckin’ weird.

The Pope Goes Nuclear

Jesus and I sat in the fallout shelter eating cans of peaches.
It’d been three years since the pope declared thermo-nuclear war.
I could hear the mutants roaming above.
“Maybe you could talk to him,” I said.
Jesus finished chewing his peaches, swallowed, and said:
“Funny thing is, I don’t really know the guy.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well maybe your dad then?”
“Mmmm,” Jesus said grimacing. “We’re not really on speaking terms.”
“Oh,” I said.
I was out of ideas.
“Yeah, to be honest, He abandoned you guys a few thousand years ago.
Just gave up, and walked away.
He’s got a new planet now. That’s why you guys had, like, Hitler and AIDs and stuff.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m gonna give it another hour.
Then I’m gonna go womp those mutants with this crowbar.”

The Break Up

I was lying in bed next to a girl I’d been dating.
We’d just had sex.
I farted really loudly.
It shook the bed.
My cat laughed.
I laughed, too.
“Like it or lump it,” I said to the girl.
She laughed.
Then she farted really loudly.
“Ew. Gross.” I said. “That’s not funny.”
We broke up.

 In the Army

Of all the officers in the Army,
Sergeant Jazzhands was the toughest.
“It’s almost like he’s compensating for something,”
one private said to me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I bet he has a small penis.”

 Road Rage

The parking lot was crowded, but I’d found a space.
I was just about to pull into it,
when another man with a truck cut me off.
He took my space.
I got out to confront him and a heated argument ensued.
Then, out of nowhere, aliens landed about 10 feet away.
I felt so small.
Here I was in a country with racism, inequality, and The Bachelor.
In a world full of famine, war, and suffering.
In a universe so vast, aliens with foreign technology travel billions of miles to investigate a distant planet,
Just to find me arguing with some asshole over a parking space.
As I was paralyzed by this moment of clarity, the alien emerged from its ship.
“I come in peace,” it said.
I looked at the man I’d been arguing with.
We both kind of laughed.
And then I shot him.
It was my parking space.
I handed the gun to the alien before the police showed up.
That’s how I started the war with the aliens.