Marshmallow Squares

Potato smiles,
marshmallow squares,
I'm almost as awkward as
panties on a bear.

Do The Bill Cosby

Do the Bill Cosby,
or whoever that guy was
that played Bill Cosby
on the Cosby Show.
Though, I have to warn you
it's the hardest dance I've tried.

You really have to concentrate-
like to the extent that your
entire face will be sweating.
Make believe your studying
for the BAR exam, and then
actually study for it,
because doing the Bill Cosby
requires intense legal action
to perform.

I've tried doing the Bill Cosby
my entire life, and I've only ever
done half of it.

I have heard, however, that
finishing it leaves you
subtlety bold and amazingly
enlightened, as if you've
gazed into some higher
beings book of dances
and you've stolen his
choreography.
It's even better than the Fox Trot.

I'd compare doing the Bill Cosby
to a pilgrimage into a rainforest
where uncertainty
and waterfalls chocolate pudding
are the only highlights and afterwards
you come home with a rash;
it's that time time consuming.

And like a jungle adventure
it's for everyone.
So just say "Hi" to the children,
let loose a big fart,
and flail your little arms around.
Do the Bill Cosby.

Things Are What You Make Of Them

If bandits steal your wallet be thankful for what you love,
because even if they park their car on your chest
you'll at least have a view of the starry sky above.

Riding The Subway

Riding the subway gives me all these weird sensations.

I mean, you'll probably be familiar with the first one:

that sort of uneasy, tense, nervous feeling.

This sensation hits me the most when I realize I'm

commingling with the tattered;

the lower class.

Every miscreant

and ragamuffin

the cold streets

have, they're sitting around me;

they're in my

presence

at this very moment.

Uhh, I hate this sensation.

But when this 1^st sensation set's in I have

to act fast because

even showing a little sign of fear

on a subway is enough to incite violence,

and hysteria on a subway

is a fast-burning fire.

A fast-burning fire of fear

is what it's called,

sometimes.

But what ever you call it,

it's always around this

part of my subway voyage

that I experience

the second one,

the second subway sensation:

the artificial high of

smoking crack cocaine

out of a spoon

After that sensation the rest of the train ride
is actually pretty good.

 

Matchbox Bushido

I want to bring my sword to school

but mom says I shouldn't

do it, even if the bullies

are bigger and scarier than

me; cause it's illegal.

She says I need to use my WORDS!

I need to stand DEFIANT!

I need to start SHOUTING

on the PLAYGROUND!

So I wrote a speech of defiance one day

to stand up to them, and it sounded like this:

You think you can pummel Poseidon?

LORD OF THE SEA?

You haven't met me... apparently!

I'll skewer all your

shish-ka-bobs on souflaki spikes

and make a

Twizzler Pull n' Peel

out of your

soda-pop

you soda-jerk.

Not to mention I'll

cold shank

your face in a cemetery

just to bury your stench

with my socket-wrench

which I brought with me

for the express purpose of

fixing your ugly stupid... face!

It was awesome,

totally liberating,

and 100% earth shattering,

and when I yelled it

at the top of my lungs in defiance

I actually managed to drop the phone right before

that part about his ugly face.

I'd like to think I was being merciful,

like a Samurai.

 

Music Project

I got this idea,
while I was sitting
and thinking,
that I could become a country music sensation.
It was a kinda' spur of the moment thing.

I'd be called the Candy Coated Cowboy,
and what I'd do with my lyrics is...
compare woman to... ice cream.

A song like,
"You'll be my rocket pop!"
would be my greatest hit,
and I'd tour the world with
a guitar that I play with a spoon
hanging slack outa' my lips,
and people would follow me just to know where
I was going,
and when I got where I was going It would just be at some sort
of trailer home.
My fans would be 
disappointed often.

But they would love me deep down
for my whimsical charm.
They'd say things like,
"We appreciate your whimsical charm!"
To which I'd give a nod, or a tip of a hat
like I assume all country music sensations do.

I'd have a huge selection of hats too,
as I assume all country music sensations do.
It would be massive!
And towards the end of
every song I'd drive an ice cream truck
on stage; yeah that would just about be the best.

"Screwball Salvation," and "Chipwich Crush"
would see me a great deal of success after the initial board-buster smash
and "Sherbert Heartbreak" and "My Choco-Taco Emotions"
would be equally as heartfelt.


I'd sell out shows at expensive venues,
meet the president,
sign peoples things,
and when they'd ask me how I became so famous
I could give a modest response
that only I could give-
one that kind of means something
but kind of not-
something like, "much obliged,"
and then I'd just walk away,
as I assume all country music sensations do.

Tepid Coffee

I like my coffee semi-warm,

like jacket weather on an extended vacation.

Java that's been sitting around,

beats Joe

burning on a stove top-

I mean 'cmon, poor Joe,

he's been burning for hours.

Let the heretic off the fiery stake,

I want to peer into Galileo's genuine

telescope: a caffeine enriched magnifying lens

of amazing that goes down smoother

then silk.

Stuff that's been steeping for

an hour or two seems better to me,

than an instant tongue scalding

at four hundred degrees

So

I purposely wait for my cup to cool.

My mother will ask, "Why drink tepid coffee?"

But with so much excitement in the morning

already, it's nice that my

coffee can at least be relaxed.