November again, huh?
It sure doesn’t seem like it,
But the month of tricks and treats,
For this year is deceased,
It’s time now to prepare,
For the famous,
First-class November fare.

It seems to get less attention,
Than October’s demon playday,
Or Christ’s birthday,
That’s just one month away,
But if we tried to pass it by,
It’s guaranteed that wouldn’t fly.

Silly it seems,
And even dumb to some,
But it is tradition,
And most people follow it,
Of their own volition.

Tearing into turkeys,
And wrestling for wishbones,
The biggest worries being,
Whose closet skeletons,
Will come out for seeing,
And will we gain a pound,
After this meal is downed? 

Luckily the meal has evolved,
It now includes alcohol,
Which is a perfect something,
To round out the apple and the pumpkin.

Pilgrims there may not be,
But we will have friends,
We’ve formed into a family,
And really nothing’s better,
Than an excuse,
For us to have a get-together.

Thanksgiving, Under The Influence Of Jameson And Fireball

I think sometimes it’s actually easier,

To list the things for which I’m ungrateful,

Than to think of some, 

For which I am thankful.


But today being what it is,

I’ll do my best to turn that around,

And prove to the world,

I’m not completely upside down.


I’m happy with my loyal friends,

Who are my actual family,

Despite the fact that my blood,

Tends to treat me like crud.


I’m happy I’ve moved on,

From psycho ex bastards,

Despite the fact that if I’m not careful,

It will lead straight to my next disaster.


I’m happy to be a stunning beauty,

Boasting both muscles and femininity,

Despite the fact the nasties in nightclubs,

Sicken me by blatantly grabbing my booty.


I’m happy that the weekend,

Is always guaranteed to come around,

Despite the fact that it always ends,

With another hellish week,

Waiting right around the bend.


I’m happy to have my doggie,

To keep away the dangers,

Despite the fact that she also scares away,

Some who are far from strangers.


I’m happy I live,

In a land with endless summer,

Despite the fact that all the sweating,

Is a real bummer.


I’m happy I have talent,

That is artful and creative,

Despite the fact that all the left-brainers,

Think of me as insane.


I’m happy my pony,

Awaits me in Heaven,

Despite the fact that thinking of her,

Makes the Earth seem slightly lonely.


I’m happy I have a job,

That pays enough to buy a good life,

Despite the fact the hellhole,

Is so full of strife.


I’m happy I’m not easily brainwashed,

By the leftist media,

Despite the fact that blindly believing,

When they pout and shout,

Would be an easy way out.


I’m happy I live in the age,

With plastic surgery,

Despite the fact that recovery,

Is temporary misery.


At the moment,

This is all I see,

Maybe there is more,

But at present,

This is all that is transparent.














The World’s Wrong Turn


Another Thanksgiving,

About to come to a close,

And it may leave you in awe,

That all I did was doze and watch shows.


I did not have a celebration,

Hey don’t worry though,

I’m suffering from neither,

Sadness or starvation.


The worst part it seems,

Of this once-revered holiday,

Is the way people fall prey,

To what’s known as Black Friday.


One minute they’re lazily,

Sitting around,

With friends and family,

All stuff their faces,

And name off the year’s blessings,

Then low and behold they race,

From place to place,

Completely losing any trace,

Of their earlier grace.


But I won’t be bothered,

With such a shopping slaughter,

It does not matter,

How good is an offer.


When the fuck did people’s views,

Become so skewed?

This is about the farthest,

From a celebration of harvest,

That the world could have moved.


When did Friday,

Start to begin on a Thursday?

And when did shopping,

Become paramount to turkey,

And popcorn popping?


It has become commercialized,

And so full of fucking lies,

No longer is it just the start,

To a time of giving,

And don’t kid yourself,

We’ve all played a part,

In the season’s right reasons leaving.







Yeah, You Wish………..

You can start with “I wish”,

And end it however you like,

But it’s just a thought,

And will help you naught.




If only a wish,

Wasn’t just a wish,

If we could cast a line,

Then reel it in,

Like one does a fish.


If only wishes,

Blew in on the wind,

If we could just open up our arms,

And they’d be ours for the taking,

Free for just embracing.


If only wishes,

Could really be granted,

We could search high and search low,

Til we sought out a genie,

And our wish he’d bestow.


If only wishes,

Weren’t just our imaginations,

If they could be rained upon us,

We’d fill a bucket to the top,

The next time the clouds let it drop.


If only wishes,

Could be bought,

We’d work our hands to the bone,

Then we’d use all our pennies,

To buy many.


If only wishes,

Struck from out of nowhere,

We could head out in a storm,

And with luck its eyewall,

Won’t pass us by.


If only wishes,

Could be given as gifts,

It would seem always like Christmas,

We’d eagerly pass them around,

Hoping by Karma we’d be found.


If only wishes,

Could be planted,

We’d plant giant gardens,

Then from our land,

We’d farm them by hand.


If only wishes,

Weren’t just daydreams,

It would be nice to pick them,

To keep on hand,

For if we get stranded.


If only wishes,

Could be earned,

We could labor with a smile,

For that would be worth our while.




If you think about it,

It makes no sense,

To wish upon a star,

That will only fall,

Far away,

From wherever you are.


I’ve come to the conclusion,

That wishes are worthless,

I’d say I wish that wasn’t true,

But that would be pointless.










Turkeys Hate Thanksgiving

Tucker Turkey here,

And I’ve just learned that people,

Have a funny way of showing they are thankful,

And I think that it is dreadful.


They must be mad,

I hear a feast is had,

And turkey meat,

Is the main fare on to eat.


Who decided we are good to eat?

Who came up with stuffing us,

And calling it a treat?


I won’t accept this fate,

I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!

Sorry Mr. Farmer,

If your plans are shattered,

But I won’t be being roasted,

And presented on a platter,

I don’t care if you starve,

It won’t be me you carve!


I thought I had the good life here,

I am so very fond,

Of my lazy days spent by the pond,

I’d not have guessed,

There were plans to kill me off,

Like one of the poison pests.


In one week to the day,

Light will dawn,

On their holiday,

So I must fly away,

To prevent becoming prey.


I think I’ll be a city bird,

In a paradise,

Where the weather’s always warm,

And killing their own meal,

Is not the people’s norm.


I’ve been told Miami’s marvelous,

And L.A. is lovely,

I wonder if the Sahara,

Would be satisfying?

To which of these places,

With year-round sun,

Should I run?




I ended up in Vegas,

Where I soon became famous,

So shove it farmer,

‘Cuz it looks like it is certain,

That for me it’s not yet curtains.


I like the casinos and the shows,

And how at night,

Everything glows,

Each day I feel excitement,

Here is so different from the country,

Where it was mostly silent.


Yes this city’s full of charm,

And I do not miss the farm,

But yes Mr. Farmer,

I most definitely do,

Wish you harm!






Where’s Your Sock?

Stockings are not always hung,

‘By the chimney with care’,

As there are some that just don’t care,

If even they are there.


There are Hard-Hearted Hannahs,

These bitches are mean as the Grinch,

And hurting you or I without reason,

Won’t even make them flinch.


Though their stockings may be hung,

The care is definitely not there,

From when they were very young,

Other’s holiday cheer,

Always would perish,

When they would draw near.


Then also we have Scrooges,

These fuckers are privileged but blind,

All they want they’ve got,

But for others,

Not a thing will get bought.


Their stockings will never be hung,

And more thoughtless words,

Could not be flung,

Though they are transparent,

They think we do not know,

That inside their heads,

Only praises to themselves are sung.


Remember too the god damned Indifferent,

They should not be forgotten,

These mediocre people,

Most are so unenthusiastic,

And a lot tend to be sarcastic.


Still some have stockings hung,

And it makes them feel fantastic,

The ones who don’t may be mistaken,

By a stranger for a Scrooge,

But those they’re close to know,

That stranger is a stooge.


Yet the ones who most don’t care,

If even they are there,

Are our four-legged furry friends,

The Most Exquisite Creatures,

To walk upon this Earth.


For sure their stockings would be hung,

If they knew they should be there,

Unfortunately they look to be ones who just don’t care,

If even they are there,

But they would care the most,

If they knew they should be there.











Santa Claus’s Cookie Paws

You all know of Santa,

You know of his Deer and his Elves,

But there’s something I doubt you’ve yet heard,

He’s added another to North Pole’s herd.


She is long and she is low,

Her fur is red,

With a little white,

And she loves Mr. Santa,

With all her might.


From the beginning of time,

‘Til a few hundred years ago,

Santa needed just Reindeer and Elves,

To keep toys piled high,

On the Royal Toy Factory’s shelves.


Then came a day,

When Santa got bored,

He thought to himself,

“I deserve a reward.”


“I need someone to share the cookies,

I need someone who’ll always be available,

When the Deer and the Elves,

Are completely unbearable.”


So there is the reason,

For this lovely Christmas town,

To have welcomed a dog,

Appearing to be a dachshund.


Named Cookie Paws,

By Santa himself,

For peanut-butter caramel cookies,

The yummiest treats,

To pass through his jaws.


Miz Cookie has become,

An everlasting fixture here,

Reindeer, Elves, and Santa,

All are happier with her near.


This little beast is loved,

She fits in very well,

No one she meets,

Is immune to her spell.


Cookie  Paws proves very useful,

As Santa’s Main Companion,

She keeps him feeling youthful.


Always for them,

A grand time is had,

And sometimes their activities,

Are just this side of bad.


Taste-testing all the cookies,

With Santa at her side,

Is a daily entertainment,

And luckily for Cookie Paws,

North Pole is a Fairy Town,

So this will not affect her size.


Twice-weekly practice,

For the famous Christmas Eve Run,

Is quite a lot of fun,

Mr. Santa hitches up his sleigh,

To help keep boredom in the barn at bay.


Across the sky they shoot,

Invisible when airborne,

Where they will go,

Only the Deer know.


When the chosen rooftop has been reached,

And Santa Claus has parked,

The Reindeer get fed hay,

So Santa Claus and Cookie Paws,

Can be on their way.


“Because” reasons Santa,

“Damned if I’ll waste this trip!

It’s not often I get to explore,

When I’m parked in this zip.”


Cookie Paws at his side,

Both rested from the ride,

So much for them to see and do,

When they’re amongst me and you.


Mr. Santa’s pretty clever,

Once they’re on the ground,

His famous Red Suit,

Disappears without a sound,

So now he’s just like us,

And there will be no fuss.


Around the city they go,

To the beaches and shops and malls,

They tour until Cookie Paws is about to fall.


Then some evenings there are Cocoa Dances,

In the massive Field Of Nuts And Chocolates,

At the center of this Field,

There is a tremendous run-in,

With open sides to let the sun in.


Located between Santa’s Palace and the Royal Toy Factory,

All of North Pole gathers in harmony,

With its barbeque pit,

And marble floors,

For one and all,

The Cocoa Dances are a hit.


Mr. Santa grills dinner for everyone,

And the Elves load up on spiked hot chocolate,

Then they dance the night away,

With Miz Cookie as deejay.


After all of these activities,

It’s time for home and bed,

They need cookies and they need rest,

Ten hours is best,

So they’ll have energy to be around,

Long after we are dead.








Family Gathering

Thanksgiving is here,

For some a time of cheer,

For others a time of fear,

Because family is near.


They come from all over,

From their little sections of Earth,

To spend time by your hearth.


This can be fun,

Or a reason to run,

I guess it depends,

On if you are friends.


There is food and there is drink,

Tempers are on the brink,

The things some will say,

May make you throw up in the sink.


Just try to endure,

And with any luck,

There will be alcohol,

To help it go by in a blur.


Perchance you are of a family,

Who actually has fun,

How strange this is,

For us who’d rather run.


You’ll have turkey,

You’ll have pie,

No one will tell a lie,

Everyone just eats their fill,

And then sits back with a sigh.


But for the majority,

That’s just wishful thinking,

Day’s end will have them feeling,

Like a minority,

The day will be long,

And so many things will go wrong.


Dad will be rude,

He’ll eat way too much food,

Brother will mean well,

But still he’ll make you feel like Hell,

Mom and sister will do their best,

But won’t be able to prevent,

The inevitable unrest.


Voices will be raised,

And feelings will be hurt,

With all that goes awry,

It’s fortunate that fists don’t fly.


So this is Thanksgiving,

It’s what it has come to,

Imagine the Pilgrims of long ago,

What would they think,

Of our little zoo?


Flash back to that 17th Century Feast,

Year 1621,

This shit just wasn’t done,

Their meal was scant,

Just their own harvest and fowl,

Still they were joyous,

Not one wore a scowl,

If they were to come back,

Surely we’d give them a heart attack.