After 12 months, or three hundred sixty five days,
We all celebrate in our various ways,
Break out balloons, gifts, and streamers and hats,
Friend invitations, can’t argue with that,

But the best scene of all, the b-day main attraction,
The time when everyone expects the action,
Is when the ole pastry gets put to the fire,
The frosting and filling, mouths full of desire,
When song has been sung and the candles blown out,
We all gather around to see what it’s about,
Will the one-year-old dive in and ravage and plunder?
Or will the day’s tire steal the cake makers thunder?

The kids coyly touch the chocolate topping,
Sev’ral times pulling back and then starting then stopping,
The one takes a scoop and then yawning he passes,
His finger all over his nose and eyelashes,
From the top of his cheek to back of his head,
Cocoa streaks like a gangster all pumped full of lead,
Not really concerned at all in consuming,
Very quickly exhausted with what he is doing,
The cake is an obstacle that only will keep,
His big one-year head from just falling asleep,

His sister is dainty, she makes none more progress,
Her right hand explores like a clever-clawed tigress,
But the torte never makes it’s way full to her mouth,
The right hand just chunks all the way down the south,
All the time never touching or soiling the rest,
With nary a crumb on her cheek or her chest,
As the lil’ princess with the cake raking claw,
Lays waste the dessert, that’s what we all saw,

Not too long thereafter, we all did agree,
It was time to give up, let the kiddies go free,
With a wipe of the cloth, maybe more for JD,
The event was now over, nothing more here to see,

What I’ll say, in the end, of the birthday cake matter,
When excited to whip lots of chocolaty batter,
My word to the wise, cuppin’ cakes is the tactic,
So kids don’t leave parties so anticlimactic,
In the end there is nothing but love, hugs and kisses,
Happy birthday out there to all Bro-Bros and Sisses!

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Everyone poops, so says the good book,
I’m about to give you an inside look,
With two to deal with and care for and love,
A pair of poop machines sent from above,
In the relative short time that I’ve been a dad,
I could fill many diapers with the good times I’ve had.

It didn’t take long for my boy to catch on,
Minutes into the world he had filled his bonbon,
Sis followed suit, initiation complete,
As many will tell, these first fruit are not sweet.
From the hospital room, the only fresh pair of legs,
It was my duty each time to clean up the dregs.
After two nights with nary a wink,
From the useless recliner, amidst all the stink,
I was already in need of some kind of break,
“Grandma, come save us for heaven’s sake!”

At home I continued to hone my skill,
Proud I could get through without feeling ill.
With more help around, my duty decreased,
I could often get a couple hours of peace.
But new wrinkles began to come about now,
“How did so much poop come from a little girl? WOW!”
Explosives, projectiles, rainbows and stains,
Diapers and wipes, butt paste and butt pains,
Delirious, 3am, taking two at a time,
Cleaning sneaky, deep cracks of the gooey, brown grime.
And then there’s the buckets, don’t e’en get me started,
These special doohickeys are completely retarded,
Tying thin bags that last only a couple of hours,
Getting the smelly blue worms from their plastic poop towers,
There has to be a better way to dispose,
We could fill a small dumpster each month I suppose.

I’ve gotten used the job now and become a pro,
I can usually hog-tie them in a few seconds or so,
But look forward to a day when my duty will change,
And my twin children’s poop is removed from my range,
Potty training will be hard, but worth all the splash,
Buying diapers, wipes and creams is depleting my cash!

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The Demon

Let me tell you a tale of a terrible force,
Of my late night run-in with Demon Charlie, the Horse,
And the terror that coursed through my every leg vein,
In excruciating, thundering, terrible pain.

I was lying in bed, with dreams gently brewing,
Not minding what anything around me was doing,
I’d just kissed my wife, and wished her good night,
When came the most horrible, God-awful fright.

My leg seized a-sudden with dreadful death grip,
And paralysis set from my toe to my hip,
A knotting and twisting in the back of my calf,
I couldn’t move, but that wasn’t the half.

I let out a yelp, so my wife came awake,
She asked me, “What’s wrong? What sense can you make?”
I replied through gritting and clenched teeth and jaw,
“It’s the Demon Horse Charlie, and he’s killing me. AAAAAHHHHHH!”
When the answer came, “Stretch it out, stand on it, hurry!”
“But I can’t! Chuck Dog’s got me with all of his fury!”

To guard you against this great demon’s attack,
I’ll describe how you’d notice him and send him back,
He comes from a hell where they take pride in the fact,
They can torture man’s muscles with no sense of tact,
His long jet-black mane runs the length of his height,
And his blackness is camouflage in the night,
He’s most likely to sneak when you’ve worked or run hard,
And your muscles are weary and you’ve let down your guard,
He sneaks up the cover and up through your jammies,
And seizes your calf, or your thigh, or your hammies.

I warn you, beware Demon Charlie and pray,
That you don’t end up as I did, the end of that day,
Crippled and crumpled, the Charlie Horse debtor,
But, ten minutes later you’ll prob’ly be all better.

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Air on a Spring String

FlipFlops_web.jpgSpring a ding dong,
Beautiful time at your door,
Go outside in a thong,
Probably should wear more,
But it’s hot outside,
You’ve been cooped up all year,
Give the G-string a ride,
You’ve got no thing to fear,
No matter the bum,
With the cottage cheese dimples,
Give the old string a strum,
So you’ve got a few pimples,
You’ll feel free and renewed,
After long winter’s cold,
Some might say it is lude,
I say it is bold,
You deserve some fresh air,
And a bound through the grass,
Get some breeze through the hair,
In the crack of your…back,
Not a care in the world,
As they rubberneck by,
With your glory unfurled,
Let your spirits fly high,
The only drawback may be,
As you wake the next day,
You may find a small fee,
The police make you pay,
I guess I forgot,
I’ll mention in closure,
You could just get caught,
For indecent exposure!

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Plumb Tired

Plumbing is rotten, Plumbing is hard,
Whenever I Plumb, I feel like a tard,
I never used to fear water this way,
But talk about Plumbing, and you’ll ruin my day.

It’s not that I can’t, you see I am handy,
I hammer and cut and screwdrive just dandy,
But something about pressured pipes in my home,
Makes my stomach turn flips and my mouth get a foam,
It has something to do with the facts as they are,
That if I don’t hurry, my home will expire,
Under a deluge of water, and sewage and rot,
All because of leaky, wet spot.

I think of the times of peasants and castles,
Did they have these same, home Plumbing type hassles?
I think it was simpler, just head to the well,
With a bucket of water, from out in the dell,
And go do your duty in hole I suppose,
Cover up with some dirt, and lace up your clothes,
And be on your way, all merry and free,
Frolic with townfolk, maybe climb a tree,
I guess there were problems like Bubonic Plague,
Or really bad BU that sends you to the grave,
So I guess there’s a good and a bad to both times,
But right now I’m complaining, so let alone my small rhymes.

I guess the next time that I have to fix pipes,
I should think of the comfort, and quit all my gripes,
And be happy I have a nice porcelain throne,
And hot and cold water I can turn off and on,
Next time I’ll let it take care of itself,
A little venting is usually good for my health!

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Football season is upon us,
Like hobo on ham sandwich,
So much football on the weekend,
That I just can barely stand it,
With my HDTV ready,
And my surround speakers blaring,
My wife is yelling something,
But I’m not really caring.

See, there’s something that wells up,
In a football lover’s soul,
When the offense is a-driving,
And they’re headed for the goal,
It’s a feeling of excitement,
For the battle for the thrill,
Whether weather is 100,
Or an early winter’s chill,
Warriors locked in battle,
On the gridiron green,
Every piece works together,
Like a big complex machine.

So Break out the air-filled sofa,
Chips and salsa are essential,
If you’re wife wants to join you,
Then explain some fundamentals,
Just be wary of the times,
When you’re heavily investing,
And your team’s not doing well,
When your fanship gets a testing,
No amount of screaming at the TV,
Can make your team be whole,
When the other team comes up,
With a heart-breaking, miraculous, gaming-winning field goal!
Honestly, can’t anyone tackle out there!!??

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Why does getting fit have to be hard?
I try to be fit, but I end up a lard,
I’m pudgy and droopy and all around fat,
And why, you ask, am I proud about that?
I’m not, so why don’t you get off my back!
I’m aware that I’ll soon have a heart attack!
But it’s hard to work out, and run and be healthy,
I think I’ll just wait to be rich and wealthy,
And pay some smart docs to just go to town,
Get my belly tucked up, and my LDLs down,
But for now I guess I should get out and jog,
And stop laying in bed like a bump on a log,
Keeping after it week after week comes around,
And hope to lose maybe a half of a pound,
But don’t get me started on diet and food,
Cause thinking about it puts me in a mood…
To eat like a rabbit and hear tummy growl,
Is enough to make anyone grumpy and foul,
So it’s no wonder people spend all kinds of dough,
For quick fix diet pills that make their fat go,
Cause it’s hard, like I’ve said, and there’s other fun stuff,
Eventually it’s about how you look in the buff,
And I guess if you can’t even fit through the door,
Then you’d probably better start doing the chore,
Of getting in shape and becoming all fit,
I guess both ways you can’t avoid feeling like poopoo!

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