And Now, A Poem…

I call this one, Strawberry Mojito.

Ahem.

When people don’t think you’re funny

Even when you kind of are,

The angry one that lives alone

Drinking box wine and playing Grand Theft Auto Four,

Dreams of finding twelve kittens (and just one litter box)

to leave on your back porch step.

But not cute kittens.

Not funny kittens.

Those ugly, freaky kind.

Mutant Chernobyl cats with two tongues and eight butts and six eyes

To watch you while you sleep.

But the nice me,

Who smiles with teeth and doesn’t throw stones,

Says that that is frowned upon some or most of the time.

And people will think we are crazy,

Which is apparently bad, too.

And so, when they don’t think you’re funny,

just go key their car buy flowers and tell them they’re pretty.

Because they won’t get the joke.

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