The definition of “early” should be
A picture of a sleeping dog,
With one eye opened (barely),
Looking up as you get out of bed,
And thinking “You’re kidding, right?”
I hate early morning meetings.
I really hate those early meetings
That I fight rush-hour traffic to attend,
Only to find they aren’t actually happening.
People would be violently punished,
But I’m too tired to move.
I think they know this, otherwise,
The meeting would have happened.
How was your weekend?
Too short.
Ready for the meeting?
Ugh. I need coffee first.
Ready for the executive visit?
Is that this week? Nooooo!
How is the report coming?
I have to get off the phone, first.
You know it’s top priority.
Along with sixteen other items.
Just try to get it done today.
Along with sixteen other items.
Ready for lunch?
I’m ready for a martini.
Can we go early? I have a meeting.
Will New York ever learn we’re not all on their time zone?
Of course not. They’re idiots.
Don’t say that too loud.
I may call it a day a bit early.
Me, too. I have to pick up the kids.
I have to pick up the laundry.
Yours is lighter! Ha ha ha!
Wow, save some jokes for Tuesday.
You never had a sense of humor.
See you tomorrow.
Not if I see you first.
Stop it! I’m not in the mood.
I hope you’re less cranky tomorrow.
Don’t forget the executive visit.
Nooooo!
Sunday is a day for family.
Time to spend together, chilling.
This is why God invented wine.
It’s to help prevent the killing.
It’s a time to recall old stories.
Reenact them with force.
Reopen some old wounds.
Then, the pasta course.
I’m not sure the term for
A loud, three-way argument.
There’s the same mutual respect
As in the Houses of Parliament.
There’s lots of good food,
So many emotions to tap.
After eating and discussing,
There may be time for a nap.
Sleep with one eye open.
Just sayin’.
A birthday party is for the young,
When you discuss hopes and dreams.
As you get older, the topics change,
To aches and pains and schemes.
Somewhere about that special time,
A person gets his first real job,
Much of the magic disappears.
As work makes your head throb.
“What are you going to be when you grow up?”
Is a happy question, full of hope.
“Is this what you’re doing the rest of your life?”
Just doesn’t have the same scope.
Also, the toys get much more expensive,
So, the gifts just aren’t as nice.
Eventually, you don’t get toys at all.
You get petty cash or just advice.
A youngster gets his first bike,
And the world becomes his yard.
An old fart gets a generous check,
And thinks, “Pay off Visa or MasterCard?”
Eventually, you discuss deaths.
Remembering the deceased is so much fun.
When the only party guests are family,
You begin to think you’re almost done.
A birthday party for an old fart
Is just a dinner party with cake.
The cake may be sugar or gluten-free,
But, at least you get some cake.
Today is Good Friday.
A holy day for many,
A holiday for even more.
A day of fasting and abstinence,
Which I remember after I order
My cheeseburger for lunch.
Reflect on gifts from the Lord.
Give praise as you see fit.
Then, you should ask yourself –
Is there such a thing as a Bad Friday?
Ripped from the headlines
I hate my old lady,
She makes me sick.
I got so damn angry
Gonna cut off my …
Hey! What rhymes with “sick”?
That’s why I can’t be a rapper. Too dangerous.
Walking down the Seco Creek,
Searching for my dreams.
They’ve dried up, like all this sand,
Like so many other streams.
Wondering where I went wrong,
And what I could have changed.
I’m at the age where it’s too late,
For my life to be rearranged.
Maybe the secret is to settle,
Just accept what’s done is done.
Your dreams may all have passed away,
But there’s still time to have some fun.
I still don’t feel old,
I guess I really should.
I’m writing my life lessons,
I told myself I would.
I shouldn’t waste money,
But I just can’t be a miser.
I’m another year older,
And another Budweiser.
Salesmen can be useful,
Those just aren’t the ones I get.
Lawyers can be honest,
It’s just not the way to bet.
You can fall in love,
You can fall in really deep.
But whomever you may find to love,
No-one beats a good night’s sleep.
It’s too late to be on the stage,
I’ll just stand here by the riser.
I’m another year older,
And another Budweiser.
Lots of (funny) failures,
Very occasional success.
I’ve tried to be myself,
Just never to excess.
I made fast food in high school.
Burgers, fries and all.
So, I’m an unemployed chef
Whenever Food Network calls.
I won’t ever be a King.
I won’t even be the Kaiser.
I’m just another year older,
And another Budweiser.
Ouch.
Damn.
I hate April 15th.
I don’t mind paying for NASA.
We need all our armed forces.
We need trains and highways.
We should protect our resources.
Some of the rest is a waste.
The TSA is worthless.
They don’t make us feel secure.
Tell airlines, “It’s your problem.”
That could be a cure.
Need a job?
Don’t shed another tear.
Go be a farmer in Mexico.
(All their farmers are here.)
The best way to save money?
How to shrink the budget’s girth?
It’s really very simple.
Just pay Congress what they’re worth.
I’ve got dogs.
I’ve got family.
I’ve even got a wife.
I’ve got office shit (like many.)
it’s a complicated life.
I just can’t get it started.
I just can’t get out of bed.
I can’t even write this poetry.
it’s just sticking in my head.
There’s too much all around me.
I can’t keep track of time.
The world will keep on spinning,
While I slowly lose my mind.
I’ve tried to have a latte,
I’ve tried to drink green tea.
Neither one is very calming,
They just flow right out of me.
I need a good vacation.
I need some time alone.
The problem with vacation,
Is that you have to come back home.
I shouldn’t be complaining.
I’ve got all kinds of stuff.
I just can’t find my inner peace.
It must be buried in the fluff.
I just can’t get it started.
I just can’t get out of bed.
I can’t even write this poetry.
it’s just sticking in my head.
Someday, I’ll be at peace.
I’m sure I’ll find a way.
Until then, I’ll have depression.
It’s back to bed to stay.
Unfiltered Thoughts 