Stupid Punk Song (CheeseBergens’ Video Release)


Hello followers and friends! If you are reading this, you probably already know that I have passed on, which is precisely why I haven’t been around the blogosphere much to read your blogs lately. As I look into this batch of molten chocolate that will seal my fate, I contemplate the meaningless of life and all that comes with it.

This video is one of the few things I will leave behind to mark my legacy. If you like or comment, my soul may become light, giving me one last chance to ascend to heaven. Otherwise I am doomed to rot in hell for all eternity, but who am I to make your feel guilty?

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

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


Photobombed In Brooklyn

Archie hated people. He didn’t want to talk to them, he didn’t want to live with them, and he certainly didn’t want to work with them. As a result, he shunned society by living in a cardboard box under the L on 86th St. in Brooklyn, and that suited him just fine.

One day, when Archie was out scavenging for food, he caught sight of Alice. He wasn’t sure what it was about Alice…perhaps the disproportionate amount of doughy flesh on the backsides of her arms, but she reminded him of his dear mama who he’d last seen when she told him he was birthed in a dumpster in the back of the Coney Island AppleBees. That was right before she ran off with Mario from Mario’s Pizza and Doughnuts on the M75 to fulfill her dreams of becoming the Donut Queen of Long Island. But in any case, his heart, which he hertofore had dismissed as no longer capable of doing much more than keeping him alive, albeit in the flimsiest of manners, skipped a beat. He felt an undeniable urge to bond with this human Alice of the Fleshy Arms and he began running towards her.

It just so happened that Alice was just in the middle of snapping a picture with her cousin Mavis who she hadn’t seen in a dog’s age (her words not mine). Archie came close but never did quite make it to Alice, who he was hoping to embrace, by the time the picture was taken.

Now, unbeknownst to Archie, Alice was on the the tail end of a 15 minute bout of fame spurred when a Youtube video of her laughing maniacally at a wind up parakeet that shouted out swear words in Chinese somehow went viral.

Also unbeknownst to Archie, the photo of her and Mavis would end up on Alice’s Facebook page bearing the caption #photobombedinbrooklyn.

So while this picture of Archie photobombing Alice was getting shared, tweeted and retweeted, Archie’s heart strings were still acting up. He hence ended up photobombing many, including a man who’s balding pate recalled memories of his favorite uncle, Heroin Harry and a particularly photogenic chihuahua who reminded him of the feral cat who used to claw through his dumpsters til old ma threw a shoe at it.

So Archie’s fame rose in social media circles by fans who called him Photobombing Phil, (because they didn’t know his name was Archie) and all sorts started to line up on 86th St. outside Archie’s cardboard box, taking photos that they hoped Archie would photobomb. The masses included washed up actresses wishing to revamp their careers, hipsters who found Phil delightfully ironic and debutantes who decided being Photobombed by Archie would be the height of slumming it. There were even some who brought their sick relatives believing Archie had strange and magical healing powers. Bootleggers sold shirts that said things like I Got Photobombed in Brooklyn and I Took A Still With Phil!

But all efforts were in vain as Archie soon decided that his misadventures were due to telepathic messages coming to his brain through iPhone batteries as well as a bad case of acid reflux from the subway fumes. So Archie decided to relocate to an abandoned industrial warehouse in Williamsburg were he was killed in an unfortunate accident involving a button holing machine he wrongly assumed was inoperative. His body was never found.

This is a picture of me and my cousin with my kids in Brooklyn getting photobombed. It inspired the blog which is otherwise fictionalized and, no, my cousin does not have disproportionately fleshy arms.

This is a picture of me and my cousin with my kids in Brooklyn getting photobombed. It inspired the blog which is otherwise fictionalized and, no, my cousin does not have disproportionately fleshy arms.

A Fly On The Wall

Ms. Chesterfield lifted a feathery hand
As on her death bed she did lie
She said “children I have just one final wish
And that’s to come back as a fly”

Her kids looked around with their brows furrowed deep
With queries abuzz in their heads
But nary a question could any to ask
Because by that time she was dead

Her mister he mourned for a day and a half
Though some called him cad and some heathen
He dared them all down to see what was around
Now that he had found his new freedom

And boldly he ventured with every young thing
And drove around town quite undaunted
A mistress once hid in a Motel 6 bed
He now would have quite proudly flaunted

And so to the best restaurant he did take
His passion of greatest amor
A sweet 26 to his arm he’d affix
And let’s call her his babe du jour

But just as a waiter was pouring their drinks
And put out their basket of bread
The two were harassed by a winged insect pest
Who persistently buzzed by their heads

And landed on lips, flitted to fingertips
And even left plenty of poop
But imagine the luck of that dear fly had struck
When the waiter did bring out the soup

Because oh that fly gave it the college try
To extract her revenge on a cheater
To the cruel world goodbye as she hastened to dive
And the second death was that much sweeter


One Day I’ll Find A Body

When every leaf is a dead body
Of the rodent caste
And each discarded rag a pigeon
That has long since passed

The sidewalks telling stories of
A jaded negativity
A rope sentenced as guilty for
Weird sexual activity

A pair of old discarded boots
Left lonely in the street
I’m sure each hold their designated
Now dismembered feet

All typical of just another
Walk on my work day
When I see an old used condom and
Just ponder “How cliche”

A bit of a departure for me but a true rendering of my break-time outings at work ever since my office moved from an upscale neighborhood in Sherman Oaks to an industrial ghetto in Van Nuys. Highlights have included a rat scurrying under my sandaled feet and a man driving by who pulled up to me to ask if I was ‘working’. The image below is an actual street view, but the office is buried all the way in the back of the lot and I think the picture doesn’t near do the disgustingness of the place justice. Maybe next time I can embed the smell.



I Faked My Death On Facebook

I faked my death on Facebook
Forged up a sham account
And posted that I got stuck in
A chocolate vat and drowned

And came outpourings of concern
From family, friends and bosses
Along with 50 mediocre
‘Sorry for your losses’

And Jane who one day stopped liking
My posts all of a sudden
What did it mean? She heard the news
And just pressed the like button

Or my in laws that said “Too bad
To hear of this but look
Maybe now you’ll find someone
Who actually can cook”

But really just a lot of love
Was the all over trend
10 people that I hardly knew
Claimed they were my best friend

And commemorated me just like
I was the latest fad
Wrote lovely posts with memories
I’m sure I never had

And for three days I was the hottest
Trending news by far
Til Cam’s dog had to go and get
Run over by a car.


My Imaginary Friend

I had a best friend helped me out
Of sticky situations
Even though her origin
Was my imagination

At crowded movies if the seat
Right next to me was bare
I’d say “sorry my imaginary
Friend is sitting there”

If conversations were a bore
And went on with out end
I’d be saved by a call from my
Imaginary friend

If I was eating ice cream someone
Thought was meant for two
“I’m sharing with my unseen friend
Who’s come down with the flu”

Some people didn’t like her but
I think they were plain evil
Haters with something against
Imaginary people

So besties we were for some time
Til hit with rotten luck
My imaginary friend was run down
By a big Mack truck

I did my best to save her flattened
There in the concrete
Guess the driver didn’t see her when
She was crossing the street

And now my friend is dead and gone
And my whole world is black
I never could imagine how
I’d try to bring her back

And days go by still don’t know
How I’ll go on without her
For I despise to socialize
Perhaps I just won’t shower.

This post is dedicated to and partially inspired by Bitter Ben and our countless blogversations about imaginary everything.


Seven Urns

The Widow Foust lived in a house
On her sill 7 urns
Each for a spouse now dead and gone
And posthumously burned

But time went on the widow set
Her sights on new romance
And really she just needed some
More space to put her plants

For the urns she thought she could
Just dump them in a box
Or put them in that drawer where she
Kept all her unmatched socks

But with the ashes thought she might
Be more commemorative
What to do she’d not a clue
She had to get creative

Remodeling supplies were short
She needed help posthaste
So there went Dan the handyman
Into wallpaper paste

And Arnie loved Fido so much
She thought he wouldn’t quibble
To be the little bits she served
There mixed in with his kibble

And Joe he was a plumber yes
He had the magic touch
She knew just what to do that night
The toilet wouldn’t flush

So down into the pipes he went
And with a giant splat
So there you go, her toilet flushed
Much better after that

And drummer Josh, he had the beat
To hold it all together
Now he’s camped inside an amp
(It seems to sound much better).

And Audrey loved the laundry so
I’m sure she would be pleased
She’s mixed with the detergent and
Then small bits in the bleach

Jen was a cosmetologist
The widow bid adieu
Now she’s in an eyeshadow
A favorite shade of blue

And Jason was a garbageman
So fitting that his ash
Was easily disposed of with
The Tuesday evening trash

And so with each spouse aptly placed
Each one she held so dear
A weight is lifted from her mind
Her conscience almost clear

For if they saw their final digs
Sure they’d rejoice quite gladly
And forgive her for just why
It had to end so badly


The Curse of the Black Thumb

The weather warms as my sweet children
Volunteer to take
The thriving healthy classroom plant
Home with them on spring break

But what my kids were thinking well
That I can’t rightly tell
But history dictates that this
Can really not end well

I think of lima beans to sprout
At merely 3 days old
When ours just turned an eerie black
And yielded deadly mold

Petrified petunias and
Non-breathing baby’s breath
The sickening sunflowers that
We swear became possessed

A tulip that apparently
Died of self immolation
A cactus that managed somehow
To pass from dehydration

And so the school plant’s blackened stem
A sign to me for sure
I say “Babies you might not need to
Water this no more”

Another added to the list
Of poor unwitting plants
In my defense they had to know
It never had a chance

And so on their spring break I guess
This clearly puts a damper
They should be glad they didn’t choose
To take home the class hamster

Thanks to Michelle at Lipstick and Laundry and her blog Grow Baby Grow for inspiration.