:::Bongo Drum Beats:::
Hey there all you hep cats and hep kittens. Come on down to the East Randomtown Java Bean, where the poets always stink and the cups are never clean.
Next on the mic is the one and only Search Engine Optimized Poet…the only rhyme-smith whose beats bring in the Googler’s feets, ya dig?
Playboy Mansion! Whoa, Playboy Mansion!
Who in the hell purchased you?
Is Hugh Hefner’s reign really though?
I heard Hugh’s neighbor bought you.
To combine both properties and make one out of two.
Your new owner owns Twinkies, the snack cake filled with cream.
I feel like with that mansion, there are jokes to be made about cream.
Dare I dream?
No it would be too obscene.
He probably would have liked to live there.
I hope I don’t get eaten by a bear.
What is the best brand of underwear?
Can I go to IKEA to buy a chair?
At BQB’s web hits as they go up.
Why does that guy at Starbucks write my name on my cup?
I know who I am. I don’t need to be told twice.
If I borrow my friend’s hat, will I come down with lice?
Nice. Is that a good way to be?
I wouldn’t know.
I spend all my time up a tree.
Yippee. It’s time to take a snooze.
Can someone tell me what is the best brand of mattress to use?
I suppose whichever one I choose.
What is happening in the daily news?
I should give it an inspection.
To determine the country’s ultimate direction.
Wait a minute. I just found my old playboy mags and got an erection.
Damnation. This whole poem needs an entire course correction.
Confection. It’s a sugary snack.
Can you believe that Jon Snow is back?
I’m the worst poet ever. Truly, a hack.
Talent is something that I utterly lack.
Will Fox ever bring Firefly back?
What are the lyrics to Love Shack?
It was the B-52’s greatest hit.
Back in the 90’s. So long ago. I can’t believe it.
Holy shit. Where did the time go?
Can anyone recommend a site that will teach me to sew?
I don’t know. But I know I ripped my pants.
Because I watched So You Think You Can Dance?
And fooled myself into thinking, “Yes. I do think I can dance.”
Like Lady Gaga, I’m trapped in a bad romance…
…with myself. I don’t know how to leave me.
I have dumped myself a thousand times but I inevitably go back to retrieve me.
I shouldn’t take myself back. I will only deceive me.
Perhaps myself and I should get a divorce.
I could drive away. Myself could leave on a horse.
The Norse. Aren’t they from Norway?
I have hit rock bottom. I have nothing left to say.