I’m At It Again

That’s right, just when you thought it was safe to go back in the proverbial blogging water, here I am with my hand out again. I’m trying to get votes for my son’s band. “What?” you say, “We already voted for your son’s band!” you say. Well this is yet another contest and I could bore you with the details but, it may just be better to say, cast a vote for Diabology here:

combatrecs.com

and then read the details if you’re truly interested.

By the way, you can vote as many times as you are able until the contest ends on Dec. 30, so anything you can do is greatly appreciated. Also, because there are so many voters, the site keeps crashing making it even more annoying. It’s usually busiest in the evenings.

In other news, since I have my hand out so often, I hear that there is a poem about me circulating around the internet. You guys don’t think it’s true, do you??

There’s once was a blogger Marissa
Whose poems were really a pisser
She had quite a noggin
But then she stopped bloggin’
And some said they really did miss her

Then one day her blog reappeared
But readers found it a bit weird
‘Twas only the labor
Of asking a favor
Of all of her put upon peers

So politely disguised as a comedy
And sometimes with a lame apology
Here’s another she’s wrote
To elicit a vote
For her son’s metal band Diabology

So be you not fooled by her ditties
Her words may be clever and witty
But she’s really quite sad
And perhaps a bit mad
But at least cast a vote out of pity.

Diabology

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No Man’s Land

 

This one, inspired by my son’s birthday today.

Creepy spiders, badger’s nest, perhaps dinner for two
A wizard and a warlock and of course a witch’s brew
An amulet, a cigarette, those keys you never found
Spare coins, the remote control, the pet you thought had drowned
The wallet years gone missing though you never knew to where
Amazing the things you will find while combing Jesse’s hair.

Happy Birthday Jesse!

P.S. Thank you to everyone who voted for my son’s band in the Metal Devastation Band of the Month poll. They actually won! They got a blog spot featured here and will be in heavy rotation on the station all month as well as being featured on their Facebook page. I’m sure my son would be overjoyed if, as a birthday gift, you would give his band a like on Facebook or follow them on Instagram.

https://www.facebook.com/diabologyband/

https://www.instagram.com/diabologyband/?hl=en


Hello From the Gutter (Please Vote)

Forgive me bloggers, for I have sinned. It has been over four months since my last blog entry and about 3 years since I changed my profile picture. I don’t even look like that any more.

And now I’m only back because I need something! I need you to vote for my son’s band who is competing in the same contest my illustrious band, The CheeseBergens competed in some months back….but they actually have a chance of winning! So let me put in this plug for them before I give you a reason for my despicable actions.

They are called Diabology and here’s the link:

Diabology

http://metaldevastationradio.com/battle-of-the-bands/poll/8/who-wants-to-be-band-of-the-month-november-2017

By the way, for those who are wondering why I’ve been absent, it’s because instead of filling my dull, senseless hours  at work by blogging, I’m now doing freelance writing which I’m actually getting paid for.  It’s been a difficult choice, but blogging just ain’t paying the bills! (By the way, If you want to do the same, I suggest you check out Upwork.com.)

And now, to make this post just a bit less self-serving… a poem…

Look at me
A senseless hack
Gone too long
But now I’m back
Not for the good
Or for the greater
But just to ask
You all a favor
Surely I
Do not deserve
And you’ll all say
I have some nerve
Unfollow me
And call me damned
But maybe vote
For my son’s band.

Voting goes through the end of October only!!

Vending Machine Imodium

Out on the road a week now
And oh, the travelers fate
To suffer consequences
Of what I might have ate

That makes my bowels a liquid
I sit here turning blue
Suspect the eggs from Denny’s
On Route 82

Can’t make it to the drug store
If you know what I mean
I’ll get that cut-rate stuff
From the vending machine

Cost me seven dollars
My stomach’s still a jerking
Why am I not surprised?
This stupid stuff ain’t working

Vending machine Imodium
Oh you’ve done me wrong
Vending machine Imodium
That’s why I sing this song

I don’t know what I done
Stole cheated and lied
It feels like Satan’s minion
Crawled in my guts and died

And though I don’t deserve it
Of that I have no doubt
I’d give anything
If he’d get the hell out

Maybe get some cyanide
To help and get me through it
Because I’ll tell you one thing
This Imodium won’t do it

But out of this is some advice
If you’re traveling please do
Pack Imodium and avoid the Denny’s
On Route 82

Vending machine Imodium
Oh, you’ve done me wrong
Vending machine Imodium
That’s why I sing this song

Written in response to Cold Hand (Craig) Boyack’s Blog: https://coldhandboyack.wordpress.com/2017/06/15/i-could-write-a-country-song/comment-page-1/#comment-27548

Thanks for getting me writing again!

My Girl Left Me For Satan

My girl left me for Satan
She said it was transcendental
When she saw him at the potluck
At the New Satanic Temple
Well she left me with the dog and I
Am cooking all my food
But I guess I must admit that he’s
One charismatic dude

Chorus:

My girl left me for Satan
And I guess it’s just as well
Though it’ll be kind of awkward when
We’re all burning in hell

Well it just ain’t been the same now that
My life became unfurled
Since my baby left me for the king
Of the underworld
I’m tired and I’m beat up and
Well most of all I’m bored
And I’m strongly thinking I should just
Go and worship the lord

Chorus

Well he stole my soul and now I guess
He stole my girlfriend too
But I guess the bathroom mirror should
Have given me a clue
Cause the steam don’t cover lipstick
And the truth is rather mean
But it’s very clearly written there
Says, ‘Satan loves Erlene!’

Chorus

I’m strongly considering forming a Satanic country band. Who’s in?

A Late Lunch

I was bringing Ms. James her Meals on Wheels
She didn’t come to the door
I went on in and there she was
Lying dead right on the floor
I called the proper authorities
They showed up minutes later
To find me eatin’ her fried chicken
And her mashed potaters