College boy blues.Hipster supremoCoffee shop nebbishUndeniably emowhy don't you see me.She doesn't love youwhy bother tryingYou're just a fradoa sheep in wolf's clothingYou love to complainin the right punctuationI'm going insanefrom this side of the phone lineWhat else am I butyour awkward stage hangoverTranscendental washoutthe cynic left to sufferSo write in your journal andbrag about crying andDeep inside, we'll both knowthat you're lyingJust to be existentialto defy your upbringingSo brag about cryingi'll brag about singing.
SqueakDear friends! my brothers and sisterstake arms against your sea of troubles.And embrace - let us all embraceOUR PRETENSIONS!All my friends are pencils and pens.And I feel crazy, living out thisElla Fitzgerald fantasy.Don't call - she'll just hang up.So sue me.There's a pig in the White House.And it's eating the Lincoln bedroom.And it's eating Times Square.And it's eating Malaysia.This is our weapon of mass destruction.My soul is an earthquake my face is the moonGive me seratonin so I can be happyGive me a nosejob so I can feel rightStick it to the man!If everyone craves normalcy no one will create.If common sense was common they'd all be bored blind.We'll all be sorry for the human race.I don't mind being misunderstood as long as you speak my languageIf you comprehended this poem then it would be worthlessThis is years and years and years and yearsof sweet repressed rage.Violence ain't the cure, it's the disease.Let us all be White Anglo Saxon weird
Something to think about.Roses are redViolets are blue.I am an old womanI live in a shoe.
Mother Nature's RevengeThe radio in Stuart's tiny Japanese automobile was staticky and almost incoherent: "Massive grshgrshwkksh route wrkshhh highway krrrsh. DO NOT TRRRRRRK!! Repeat, do not be WRRRRKSSSHK!"Grumbling, Stuart flicked the radio off and strained to see the road ahead of him. Perpetual rain played prisms on the windshield, and though the effect was dazzling and kaleidoscopic, it didn't improve driving conditions in the slightest. The sound of timpani drums rolled through his hearing, derailing whatever was left in his train of thought. Stuart bit his lip anxiously, not appreciating the splendour and natural beauty of the storm. In this weather, and especially in the dark, there was almost definitely an accident on route wrkshhh, and he knew that he wouldn't be driving back into the District anytime soon. Stuart sighed and pulled the yellow coupe to the side of the road in a suburban area that he didn't recognize.