Damned If You Do…

I’m getting sick of Mary’s selfies
Who’s she think she is
I’m getting sick of Violet’s nonstop
Pictures of her kids

And Danny with his attitude well
He deserves a punch
And thanks but I don’t want to see
What Linda had for lunch

Don’t really want to hear Faye’s Af-
firmations or reflections
Or see all Grace and Justin’s public
Displays of affection

And Sal we know you love your dog
More than words can say
There’s no need to remind us of that
Every single day

And Micah’s updates range from simply
Boring to mundane
And Val, just post a picture once
Your weight loss goal’s attained

Don’t want to know how much Kaye’s daughter
Loves the One Direction
Or watch the Blake’s soap opera unfold
In the comments section

And Jenna rants political
And Jon is downright odd
And Donna I don’t think I need
To go get right with God

And Dan’s son is the next Cobain
So he’d have you believe
As Miles posts up articles
That no one ever reads

But nobody has problems with
What I post on my wall
Of course that just might be because
I never post at all.

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What Would Lemmy Do?

This is another poem I converted into a song for my family band The CheeseBergens. You can see the lyric video my husband made here. It’s pretty funny!

Our ode to Lemmy Kilmister, in loving memory:

Lemmy he don’t really walk on water
But he just might sleep with your daughter
And gonna save your soul
He might save rock n’ roll

He came to earth on a motorcycle
And when he did he chose he disciples
Then they went to rehearsal
Philthy Phil and Wurzel

What would Lemmy do? 3x
Whatever he’d do, he’d do it better than you

Lemmy will save us from terrorist attacks
With just a pipe and a shot of Jack
He don’t use no nukes
He wears his Daisy Dukes

And Lemmy he might never make it to heaven
He’s got a Marshall amp that goes to 11
Try nailing him to a cross
And he’ll tell you to get lost

What would Lemmy do? 3x
Whatever it is, he’ll do it better than you

But Lemmy’s he’s a good man
He’ll give you the shirt off his back
He can make the starving a feast
From a burger and a shot of Jack
And when he speaks wisdom comes
That is so true so amazing
It frees your soul though you’d admit
You’ve no freakin’ clue what he’s sayin’

Lemmy wasn’t born in 4 BC
It was a few years later you see
And now he’s living in sin
With Mary Magdalene

And there was no immaculate conception
He’s probably on his 3rd resurrection
He’s coming back from the dead
To tour with Motorhead

What would Lemmy do? 3x
Whatever it is he’d do it better than you.

And continuing the theme of blatant self promotion, you can subscribe to our Youtube channel or like us on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/TheCheesebergens/

 

The Great Ice Cream Caper: A Horror Story

The eggs fry on the sidewalks Mother
Nature has a fever
Dismayed am I at the abyss
That is my empty freezer

On days like this when forecasts for
The week just say ‘real hot!’
It seems a bit of ice cream would
Be best to hit the spot

So off in my jalopy I
Head to the grocery store
To thus procure a pint or two
Or maybe three or four

Transaction done back in the car
Scarce time for my seat belt
Priority to get these darn things
Home before they melt

With burning rubber hit the gas
And out the lot I swerve
But there comes old Ms. Flannery
Can you believe the nerve?

Totally oblivious
To my sweet dairy needs
She crosses right before my car
At a turtle like speed

I honk the horn she startles and
Then scurries out the way
I’m glad she didn’t fall I might
Have been there the whole day

And now on to the avenue
I near taste sweet cold bliss
But push the brakes into a halt
Oh what fresh hell is this?

I honk the horn and target a
New source for my aggression
For now I see I’m in back of
A funeral procession

Maneuvering I nearly nudge
A long sleek darkened limo
And squeeze myself right in between
The hearse and grieving widow

I tell her that condolences
Are very deeply felt
Now could she get out of the way
My ice cream’s gonna melt

But still slowly they crawled along
Despite my aggravation
I tell you that these people just
Have no consideration

And finally I’m almost there
The sweat seeps on my brow
I’m so close I tell you I can nearly
Taste the ice cream now

But suddenly my hopes and dreams
Just slowly start to droop
For now it seems a little waif
Sits crying on my stoop

She sniffs out a narration clogged
With snot proceeds to tell
Some story of skinned knees or is
Timmy caught in a well

I tell her “Child I have no time
To help you with your plight
There’s ice cream in the car might melt
Before I get a bite!”

She looks at me in disbelief
And then scurries away
So so much so for the compassion
Of these kids today

But ‘nough lamenting the misfortune
Of the little punk
For I’ve got more important things
Awaiting in my trunk

But as I open it I stare
In utter disbelief
And in just minutes go through all
The five stages of grief

Because inside my car there is
No ice cream that I see
In all my haste guess I forgot
To take it home with me

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The Retirement Of Maybelline May

It was Mabelline May’s retirement day
It came on the first of September
And may or may not go down in history
As a day to vaguely remember

Some photos were posted on Facebook
The crew sitting round looking dumb
Centered round congealing Entenmann’s cake
And slightly obscured by a thumb

Would show them all awkwardly gathered
Their postures were stiffened with fear
To crouch clumsily to be caught in the shot
But hopefully not get too near

Conversations attempt reminiscing
Around a pathetic potluck
The best they could do was come up with
The time that the stapler was stuck

And everyone said they were hoping
She’d stop by once a here and now
But everyone knew that she wouldn’t
Or wanted her to anyhow

And so the clock ticked well past noontime
She stared at a gluey croissant
And thought of strained hugs, sticky kisses
She hoped not to offer nor want

Anxiety crept in her chest then
Until the point of downright scary
She scurried to the nearest restroom
Neath the sign that said See Ya Mary

Resolved she rushed right past the stalls and
Past mirrors and sinks she’d continue
And without a pause she proceeded
To crawl right out the bathroom window

And once her feet met with the pavement
Without a turn back she moved on
Cheap champagne flowed in the office
They never realized she had gone

This blog is dedicated to Bitter Ben, even though he’s not retiring, just flying the coop. Nevertheless, I imagine his goodbye party to be something like this.

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Hannah The Curmudgeonly Hippie

Maybe her pilates bands
Were on a bit too tight
Perhaps it was her wind chimes that
Did keep her up all night

She lost a game of hacky sack?
There really is no telling
Maybe the scent of compost heap
Was getting overwhelming

Perhaps it was the harvest moon
Conflicted with the tides
Or maybe she had just found out
Jerry Garcia died

Or maybe her last tie dye session
Got a bit precarious
Perhaps she’s bummed she missed out on
The Age of Aquarius

Or maybe the misfortune to
Have a bad dreadlock day
But something put the nasty right
Into her namaste

Or could it be that peace and love
Just didn’t sound so good
Or that she got nag champa when
She wanted sandalwood

Or the smell of the patchouli which
Despite washings did linger
But I flashed her the peace sign
And she gave me the finger.

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Words of Advice

Mothers don’t coddle your children
And send them off early to bed
With a sure solid thump
On the back of the rump
And for good measure one round the head

Mothers don’t coddle your children
You may not have chanced to observe it
But they’re up to no good’n
A week without puddin’
They’ve prob’ly done some to deserve it

Mothers don’t coddle your children
And teach them a valuable lesson
If they cuss then they’ll cope
With a mouthwash of soap
That never killed none, so I’m guessing

Mothers don’t coddle your children
And call out their rotten behavior
They may cry and look coy
But it’s all just a ploy
So assure them that they’ll thank you later

Mothers don’t coddle your children
You might think they’ll end up just fine
And call me absurd
Or take in stride my words
But if so then don’t send them to mine

SpoiledChineseKids

Playdate Chicken

The time was exactly 4:56 and 43 seconds on Friday July 22. Mrs. Kleinfeld had one hand on the stem of her glass, the other on the neck of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. She willed the hands of the clock to move faster. After the week she had, she needed sweet oblivion at any cost.

It was at that time that Little Ignatia skipped into the kitchen. “What are we doing this weekend?” Ignatia asked. Mrs. Kleinfeld looked into her daughter’s big blue eyes and somehow knew she was not going to take “Sleeping as late as possible and recovering from a hangover” as an answer. “We’ll see baby,” she said. Ignatia seemed to accept this answer as she skipped away.

This exchange caused Mrs. Kleinfeld to seriously consider her original plan and it was then that she came up with a great idea. If she could arrange a playdate for Ignatia perhaps she could sleep on the couch while Ignatia and her friend played. She texted Mrs. Cornheiser.

Hi Mrs. Cornheser! Is Annabelle available tomorrow? I was thinking that maybe we could get the girls together for a playdate.

That sounds terrific! Do you think that they would like to go to the zoo? I have year round passes.

Yes, I’m sure Ignatia would love that!

Mrs. Kleinfeld could not believe it. She had hit the golden ticket of playdates! Mrs. Cornheiser was going to take Ignatia to the zoo while leaving Mrs. Kleinfeld to throw up into the toilet to her heart’s content. Then the next text came.

Why don’t you come meet us at 10AM by the front gate?

Mrs. Kleinfeld’s heart sunk. Was she expected to accompany them to the zoo? She could think of no more hideous of a way to spend her Saturday afternoon. But what could she do? She couldn’t very well say that she would only accept the invitation for Ignatia on the condition that she be able to stay home and nurse her sure to be aching head. She had to think fast.

Sure, but you know, with the lines and all…maybe we should meet at 9.

Oh yes, didn’t even think of the lines, maybe 8 is even better!

Was this woman crazy? Was she actually thinking of getting there at 8AM? Maybe, maybe not, but that was a chance Mrs. Kleinfeld wasn’t willing to take. She decided to switch tactics.

Sounds good. Maybe we should also invite Little Bertie Kaminsky!

Ha! Take that Mrs. Cornheiser! Nobody liked that little glue eater.

Oh, that would be great! Maybe we should also invite the Rodriguez triplets?

How about we just invite their entire 3rd grade class?

Sure, and how about their teacher Mrs. Lipshitz as well?

Great!I love Mrs. Lipshitz.

Mrs. Kleinfeld could hardly believe what she had just written. She didn’t even think Mrs. Lipshitz’s mother loved Mrs. Lipshitz. But she was seriously getting in over her head now. She was 2 zip in the bottom of the ninth, whatever that meant, and she needed another tactic. Back to her phone she went.

I think we should pack a picnic too!

Okay, I’ll bring along some sushi in my cold and hot super duper cooler heater thingamabob!

Oh no, I’ll just whip up some filet mignon and serve it in mini sandwiches with the crusts cut off!

Okay, see you then.

Now Mrs. Kleinfeld really needed a glass of wine. She gulped the first one down and then poured herself another. She went to sit and think about how she was going to get herself out of this one. She could not show up…but then she considered all the times she would have to hide in the bushes to avoid awkward conversations in the schoolyard. Would it be worth it? Perhaps…

It was then that Ignatia skipped back into the room. The sight of her carrying on her own dialogue between two of her Barbie dolls caused Mrs. Kleinfeld’s heart to sink. She knew it was time to put on her big girl boots. She took to her phone once again.

Hi Mrs. Cornheiser! It’s me again. Something’s come up for tomorrow morning. Do you think you can just bring Annabelle by at 1:00 tomorrow afternoon?

Better make it 2.

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