The REAL Reason I’m Mad At My Dog

This isn’t MY dog; she’s my friend Diane’s dog. But she’s cuter than, and frankly much friendlier, than my dog, so she’s the star of this post.

The REAL Reason I’m Mad At My Dog

I’ve been mad at him ever since I learned from both

A) The Groomer and
B) My Mother
(Basically, the only two people he’s EVER around other than ME)

That the whining pathetic noise he ALWAYS makes to communicate with me (the only sound he’s EVER used) he also ONLY uses
only WITH me
and ON me.

I’m not even upset with him for blatantly attempting to manipulate me. Good for him for trying! Nice try, buddy.

What I’m mad about is that He’s NEVER ONCE tried to reason with me logically, illogically ASSUMING that the only appeal capable of REACHING ME would have to be (and apparently CONTINUES TO BE) an emotionally-cloying, not to mention noisily-annoying, solely-heartstrung and overly-sentimental one.

The Modern-Day Poet

Most certainly not doing It in the car!

THE MODERN-DAY POET

She must talk to herself
ALL of the time,
And by her Own iPhone,
She must have been driven blind.

She ALLSO must ALLWAYS speak in Rhyme
(I know, I can’t stomach it Myself most of the time),
And A More Creative Method of Spelling
NO one should Never happen upon and find.

If that’s all set up,
Then “The Words Said By She”
Can NOW, Automatically,
Travel nonstop and
Highly-Targeted-Directly
From Word-to-Text
And Bot-to-Blog,
Then Blog-to-‘Gram
And back again,
To once again
Wordplay with Those
Who Jest The Best❣️

And please don’t breathe a
Word of This to Anyone,
But she could do “It Driving”

If IT wasn’t so dangerous!

Singing out of Toon

PLEAS EXCUSE MY QUESTIONABLE GIFT OF SPEAKING IN CARTOON

I’d love to munch on a bunch of Bug’s Buddies,
But I shy away from getting too wily with Coyote,
Especially since HIS idol is Casper the ghost.

I’d like to fly high with Superman,
But I’m too busy being a Wondrous Woman.
Come closer, but don’t leave your Delusions behind.
Can you keep a secret?

Here it is, and it’s coming from
A Sponge sitting Squarely in his Pants:
I can Scooby Doo!
Can You?
I can even Scrappy and Shaggy, too
!

Those “Blasted Kids”
Have always been
My favorite ‘Toon to Do.

Urban Dwelling

Says the girl world NEVER abide in the country!

Urban Dwellings & Stuffings

Warrens of Lapin-ity,
Cosms of Urbanity
Sources of Insanity

But No
Dwellings for Humanity

REGARDING HUMOR


REGARDING HUMOR

If You’re Sanguine, you’re good at it; you improvise and socialize.

If You’re Choleric, you’re okay: you’re simply getting childhood trauma off your chest. Since your barbs are so sharp, don’t overdo the snark.

If You’re Phlegmatic, you’re Where Boring starts and Insipid ends, but you’re a most agreeable audience. You perform Excellent Impersonations of Yourself.

If You’re Melancholic, you suck at it; you’re dour and dire and your delivery is catatonically dry.

As for me, I’ve never been a 25% Chance of Anything!

OLD BUT SMOKING HOT

OLD BUT SMOKING HOT

I may be old,
Or so I’m frequently told,
Yet I Remain:

Young at heart,
Equally smart,
And the very sight of me
Is easy on the eyes.


It’s true I’m still a slow-poke,
But I only blow my Own Smoke
When my ambient “Smoking Heat”
Chokes and Overwhelms Me.

TRIFLES FOR DESSERT

CHEWING CUD

I’m fed up with all your cries for food!
I know you can’t wait to masticate!
And that chewing cud is what you want to do,
But I can’t stop to start chewing it for you,
So I won’t be doing it for you.
You’ll have to chew your cud all by yourself
Or chew your cud with someone else.

DATED BUT STILL FLEXIBLE


DATED BUT STILL FLEXIBLE

I can clash with the clatter of consonance and alliterate with the sonorous songs of sibilance.

I can sky myself high in metaphor and literally drop to my knees to kiss the ground.

I bilabial to enfold myself within the warmth of a well-fleshed innuendo as well as be blatantly direct.

So yes, I’m still Flexible.

HIDDEN MOTIVES

HIDDEN MOTIVES

I think the fact
You know my name
Shows your plays
To run The Game.

Surely numbers, too,
Are known by You
And then withheld
And Undisclosed:
This controls
The Info Flow.

How do I know These Things?
I do not know.
I just know
There’s NOTHING
I don’t know
When it comes
To what I know
About Motives:
1. Declared,
2. Unspoken, and
3. Unknown.

[Its ESP, or so I’m told].

Lying About My Age, “Mature”

LYING ABOUT MY AGE, “MATURE”

I don’t mind if you call me “sexually mature,”

But don’t you DARE call me mentally or emotionally mature!

I’ll have you know I am immature, shallow, and narcissistic.

You can’t believe a WORD I say, whether in agreement or to the contrary!

Be deceived, but DON’T take me for my word.

More Hair Talk


WORDS ABOUT HAIR NEVER SPARED

June 30 is when I get my hair done and
Venture again into the sun,
Emerging with locks which stun;
I’d suggest you race not run
From coverage gray and ashy-dun;
It’s a battle which can be won,
But you’ll invest a tidy sum.

NETFLIX & CHILL

NETFLIX & CHILL

You’ll get carved up and
burnt to cinder at
the hellish meat market
known as Tinder.

OK Cupid’s pretty stupid,

But you can always give a jingle
Over on Christian Mingle.

I’m told Bumble keeps one humble.

The freshest catch is pretty stale
At Plenty of Fish,
but You can sail for free
should other efforts fail.

If you still can’t find Her,
I’d suggest you try Grinder.

That’s the best advice that I can grant
When cyber-searching for your better half.

This poem’s inspiration
Is my OWN degradation
And pathological hating
Of internet dating!

Regarding Taste

REGARDING TASTE

It may be a cliché,
but it’s true all the same
When pencil-pushers state:
“There’s no Accounting for Taste.”

Not being a snob here, but the first example I could find on short notice
Exhibit B; I just need it explained to me. Then again, neither of has the time to waste, and we’ve already agreed there’s no accounting for taste, so this silly meal probably only tastes good TO ME – at least in probability,
MY SNARKY EXHIBIT C; forgive me, I can’t help myself.