The girls and I were playing with their Disney dolls and we started thinking about what came after the “Happily Ever After” stuff. You know, after the honeymoon, a few years of marriage, a few kids, a mortgage, fun stuff like that. (I’m sure even castles have mortgages). And they thought fighting dragons was tough!
The princesses of course try to be good mommies but sometimes the girls have to get out, and who better to watch the kids then the princes, right? Well we happened to install a camera, and the footage isn’t good. Observe:
Yeah, so the TV was on, and it was football, and what were they supposed to do? I mean, the kids were still alive right? Let’s take a closer look.
Oh, wow, Cinderella’s not gonna be happy about that. You know how hard it is to find slippers that shatter these days?
Yes, that’s our academic Belle’s daughter beating the tar out of Ariel’s kid. On the plus side, it was a disagreement on a book.
As usual, Rapunzel’s husband Flynn hands off his responsibility to a friend. Who is not much better. Oh, well, at least he’s not stealing the silverware again.
We’re having a lot of fun playing the Princesses of Disneyland County. What else would you like to see happen to our domestic princesses and their hubbies? Let me know in the comments below.
“Writing poetry is like making an awesome dessert. There’s a fine line between just enough sugar and diabetic coma.” – Mental Mama
I got a lot of interest in the Bad Poetry Society post, by which I mean more than three people responded! Woot! We even have two of our board positions filled. Queen: Me, Alice because I made it up and Grand Wizard: Goldfish cause she has it on her resume. Every poetry society needs a wizard. I would like to give Merbear a position as well for the inspiration, but I’ll have to let her choose. I’m thinking maybe Chief Unicorn or something. Note: As Queen of this society, I am also Chief Literary Critic which is even MORE pretentious than the most pretentious poet, so this should be great fun.
Several of you gave some awesome poetry entries. These are totally deserving of a badge, or possibly something even better like a shirt from ES’s shop!* Observe!
My dog likes to poo
I drink Mountain dew
Then I use the loo
Would you like fries with that?
-Merbear (future Chief Unicorn?)
The Queen speaks:
Merbear’s poem involves animal bodily functions, a toilet, a death defying drink, and McDonald’s. I think what she’s trying to say here is that life is poo, and then you work in food service.
I don’t like salad
But love the roughage
Kale is fine
But kind of toughage
The Queen speaks:
Ross’s poem is a passionate argument against vegetarianism, for man was not meant to eat plants because toughage.
How do I love thee?
Let me barf the ways
Your flaxen hair shines in the glow of the street lights
When we make out in the back of my Chevy
What do you mean it was my responsibility to get condoms?
The Queen speaks:
This poem is reminiscent of many of the Great Writers I was forced to read in English, like Hemingway and Faulkner, in that it is partially unintelligible yet misogynistic, and full of fantastical visuals (flaxen, glow, barf) yet based in gritty reality (condoms, bastard, Chevy).
Roses are red
Violets are blue
This poem’s so bad
I’m not even going to finish it.
The Queen Speaks:
One would call this poem “like so done before” but List of X turns it on its head by adding the irreverent “I’m not even going to finish it.” This shows he is above this stinking poetry, and should propel him to poetry fame in no time.
Mer’s dog likes to poo
that is so ewwww
I don’t like mountain dew
I think I’d like chicken broth
I’d have to think about the sloth
The Queen Speaks:
Clearly this poem is full of deep . . . meaning. It’s obvious that by referencing broth, mountain dew, sloth, and dog poo, he is referring to your average lazy American who sloths on the sofa ignoring the dog poo while eating heated Campbells soup, drinking Dew, and yelling at people on reality shows. It’s a slice of American life, like a literary Norman Rockwell. Or he’s just stoned.
Looks like we have an excellent group going for a possible Bad Poetry Slam. Now for more bad poetry tips (again feel free to add your own)
6. Forced Rhyme
Ross demonstrated the forced rhyme (roughage / toughage). It’s that word a poet is determined to fit in a poem even if it just kind of sounds like the other word, or is the same word, or is a made up word. Poetry is toughage, guys.
And one more I just thought of, that kind of goes along with twisty straw poems
7. Pretty colors, fonts, italics, wing-dings!
These always add to the poetry, especially if you also print it on a pretty meme or paper. It works for prose as well. I once had a student who printed his narrative about death and rape in blood red font. He sure made an impression on me!
Remember to continue to add your own poetry peeves and/or poetry samplings in the comments or a post of your own! I will post them for all to see! Also let me know if you want to be on the Poetry Board and what position.
* ES has no idea about his shirt give-a-way. But wouldn’t that be a nice gesture?
Yes, I know, most commercials are merely annoyances you have to wait through to get to your show. Unless you’re one of those people who knows how to work Netflix or something and then shut up cause I don’t. Anyway, every once in a while I take a break from the Internet and watch commercials. That is, watch commercials with a few minutes of actual programming (this episode of Secret Addictions, some lady puts hamsters in her mouth!) added in here and there.
So all are annoying but some are just . . . so so awful I cannot switch the remote fast enough because THERE IT IS and of course they repeat the worst ones over and over again. Why? Do they really think these commercials will make us want to buy their products? Have you ever bought anything based on a commercial? Like, say, those stupid bears talk about how the toilet paper totally doesn’t stick to their furry butts so you say “HEY, I must get toilet paper.” Whatever brand that was, because by now you’ve forgotten because you just saw cartoon bears merrily discussing bodily emissions.
I just picked ten of the worst ones I can think of off the top of my head. Get ready.
1. The Halos Oranges commercial
I actually like oranges, but this commercial makes me want to slap children. Specifically the ones who are snatching oranges away from their parents’ hands and mouthing off because these oranges are for KIDS, not parents. Well, by golly, Suzie, guess who bought those oranges? MOM. And Mom’s gonna lock you down in the basement for a little quality time with a wolverine while she eats every single one. Deal.
2. Blah blah insurance.
I hate insurance commercials. Like that one for State Farm where the guy pops in out of thin air to solve whatever problem the person has immediately? Even if it’s saving people from wild animals? If you think this insurance is so great, try calling these people when you’re being chased by a wild hyenas. They’ll get back to you, your call is very important.
Then there’s Flo. I know some people like her perky little psychotic smile, but I don’t. She is way, way too obsessed with insurance, and probably needs to be institutionalized before someone gets hurt for trying to buy State Farm instead of Progressive and call on the State Farm people to save them and she KILLS THEM ALL and wait, maybe that could end those commercials for good.
Just leave the Gecko. He’s the most tolerable, and I’m pretty sure I could smash him into the ground if he bugged me too much.
3. Lawyer commercials
Have you had bladder sling, pelvic mesh, gotten man boobies, had a child who didn’t make straight As, used any sort of medication, had any surgery, or even simply driven by a doctor’s office in the last year? Then you can sue! We’ll help by taking most of the settlement, saying it ever arrives. Also, have fun explaining to junior what pelvic mesh and E.D. mean.
4. Pill popping commercials
I am so freaking happy they let people advertise random drugs on TV, because your average viewer is totally qualified to go tell their doctors what drugs they need. No cigarette advertisements allowed except the ones with the people with voice boxes croaking about how their lives are over which will effect no one but people who don’t smoke anyway, but hey, why not advertise a product that directly says its possible side effect is DEATH while showing people merrily dancing around having fun. Try closing your eyes and listening to the side effects or just watching the commercial with no sound. One of these things is not like the other. I don’t care how happy that woman looks, she’s ten seconds away from possible cardiac arrest and explosive diarrhea.
5. Cleaning product commercials
You know what I love? How even in 2014 most cleaning product commercials not only appear during shows women supposedly watch, but they also primarily show women ecstatic about crap like a Swiffer sweeper. The only time I am excited about cleaning products is when someone else is using them. I especially love the one with the sweet old couple where the man says “I don’t clean” and grins and I want the old lady to shove the swiffer right up his . . . moving on.
6. Commercials for other “feminine” products
It’s really hard to advertise something like this without upping the gross factor. So better to show how they work by using blue liquid like they do in diaper commercials. Or simply ignoring the entire thing and showing women who are suddenly free and able to sky dive and stuff because of a certain tampon. I especially like the one where the mannequins come to life. So that’s what happened with Kim Cattrall in Mannequin!
7. That Fiat commercial
I dislike car commercials in general (sometimes it takes the entire commercial to realize a car is involved) but the latest Fiat one is the worst. Who thought employing Peter Gabriel’s Sledgehammer technique would be a good idea. When I see that car bounce back and forth from big to small and drive around that guys head to that quirky music I feel like I’m going to have a seizure. Thanks, Fiat.
This one does not have Mr. Crew Cut but it’s even stupider. It’s like an endlessly blinking gif, and you know how I love those.
8. Local yokel commercials
If regular commercials, designed my advertisers paid millions for their “expertise” often stink, then you can only imagine how wonderful the ones done with a home video camera and Bob “Corky” Johnson are. They often involve sickening camera angles, horrific acting, and the shameless exploitation of small children related to the owner. I mean, little Suzie says I should buy that car – who can’t trust an 8 year old eating oranges? I’m sold!
9. Political commercials
Hi, I’m Jim Everyman Esquire and I understand the needs of your average Joe. Why I once sent one of my servants to a grocery store! I love babies, animals, and wildlife unless any of these are in the way of new building projects. I think we should help the rich, who are at the mercy of the poor who demand stuff like living wages and fifteen minute breaks and birth control for their wild parties. I believe in Jesus who said follow me and carry a big automatic weapon. Oh, and by the way, my opponent, Bob Wimpwagon, is the Devil. This commercial approved by Jim Everyman Esquire.
And now I saved the worst for last.
10. Sad Puppy shelter commercials
You know the ones. The poor little dogs with those impossibly sad eyes staring at you through the bars of their cages while Sarah McLachlan plays in the background and just off screen, somebody holds a gun to the puppy’s head. What did they do to these dogs to make them so sad? Did they force them to watch that one scene in Old Yeller over and and over? And why, with all her money, doesn’t Sarah go save the puppies? She could do it. I don’t have enough room in my backyard for more than a dozen, which is over code (though you can have over a dozen children – go figure). But – for goodness sakes, don’t shoot the doggie!
Seriously, I cannot watch more than two seconds of that commercial without diving for the remote or heading for cover. Too many of these things, and I may just start buying all the drugs advertised on TV and popping them like candy.
The other day I was reading some bad poetry. In other words, like at least 80 percent of the poetry that’s out there right now. See, while there are many people who think they can write prose that can’t; there seem to be even more people who are not poets and do not know it. Prose and poetry aren’t the same. Poetry is much, much harder – if you do it right. I don’t, which I why I only write stupid poems. Thing is, I do it on purpose and other people . . . don’t.
Now there are some awesome poets out there, like Merbear for instance, and several others. Being a good poet does not disqualify you from being in the Society, though. Even good poets can be bad. All a person has to do to join is write the worst poetry they can. Or if you’re like me, just write poetry. For some ideas, I have collected a list of the most obnoxious (in my opinion) poetry faux pas.
1. Seuss-i-fying your poetry
I love Dr. Seuss. But there’s only one Dr. Seuss, and unless you are writing poetry for children, having it rhyme in a sing-song every other line sort of way makes your poetry sound juvenile no matter what your subject. For example:
I have a stalker
He is really strange
He follows me always
And has lots of mange
See? Serious topic = stalking. But I want to take that poem and add goofy drawings to it. Like Marmaduke creepily staring in someone’s window or something.
This is not to say that you can’t rhyme in a poem. One of my favorite poets, Edgar Allen Poe, does rhyme, but he has a flow to his poetry. Real rhyming poetry is every beautiful song you’ve ever heard. It has a melody. Which leads me to example two.
2. Speed-bump poetry
Poetry needs to flow. Even, actually especially, free verse poetry. Since there’s no set line length, or rhyming, it’s up to you to figure out how to make the words flow together. When reading a poem, I don’t like starting and stopping. I call it speed bumps. Each time the word doesn’t flow – there are way too many syllables, or the word somehow doesn’t fit, or the poem loses focus – I feel a bump. I’m shaken out of the reverie. An example:
She’s like the wind
Through a forest of tall tall trees
She rides the night train to Georgia
Next to Runaround Sue
Bump, Bump, BUUUUUMP
3. Emo Poetry
There’s only so much angst over that girl from high school that done did you wrong we can take. Keep it up and you’ll sound like a Taylor Swift song, and no one wants that.
4. Twisty-straw Poetry
It’s still a dumb song even when I make cute connect-the-dots pictures with it.
5. Pick a style, any style poetry
Whatever you choose to do, just stick with it. If you want Seuss, do Seuss. If you want speed-bump, throw out the speed bumps. But please don’t combine a half dozen styles in a single poem.
Dashing through the snow
On a one-horse reindeer whatever
Laughing all the way until we’re shot on sight
By that girl who’s like the wind
In the trees.
I’m sure you can name lots of other problem poetry. Let me know in the comments, or write your own bad poetry post. I’ll link to it and maybe we can make a horrible poetry book. We could call it Twilight Sexy Times Poetry Suck. It would be a bestseller for sure. Or I’ll just do it myself and rake in all the profits.
I’m also thinking of designing a badge. You know for me and my followers, or possibly just for me and all the invisible flying elves. What do you think should be the badge for a Bad Poet’s Society?
They have my house surrounded. Some of them have already infiltrated. It looks like this might be the end. But wait – there’s Indiana Jones! With that keen eye and sharp moves and cute little shell, surely I’ll be saved!
In case you didn’t pick up on it, I’m referring not to the Harrison Ford Indiana Jones, but to the turtle Indiana Jones. And the enemy surrounding me are not Nazis but crickets. Scoff all you want, these are no ordinary crickets – they are highly trained ninja crickets that torture you with this steady CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP that gets louder and louder until you get close and then bang, they vanish.
Luckily for me, Indiana is no ordinary turtle either. My husband assumed Indiana was a boy because like he can tell. So Thing Two named it Indiana Jones, cause what else would you name a turtle? Then one day I got home and Thing Two excitedly told me that Indiana Jones had laid an egg. You don’t hear that everyday. So Indiana’s a girl.
But that turtle’s no sissy. Sure she’s smaller than my shoe, but in her mind she’s like Gamera (that was a giant monster turtle in Japan – no seriously look it up). Put anything in front of her mouth and she will open those tiny freakish jaws impossibly wide and chomp. Frankly, she scares me just a little, but fascinates me at the same time. Her favorite meals are dandelions, worms (the massacre is NOT pretty but still cool), and those cherry tomatoes. She likes those so much she once mistook a little tomato shaped egg timer for one. Boy was she frustrated, and boy was I sorry I couldn’t find the camera.
But what does this have to do with the cricket scourge? One day Thing Two caught one of the crickets and dropped it in Indiana’s enclosure because I have twisted little children. Turns out, Indiana thought it was GREAT and ate it. I have new found love for this turtle, much more so than past pets like the guppies that chowed down on their babies or the hermit crab that escaped its shell and I just really don’t want to go into that one.
So this morning, after yelling pointlessly at the crickets to SHUT UP before I blew up the house just to kill them, I had an idea. You see, I’m terrified of crickets because once I was dropped in this giant vat of them. Not really. I just hate all bugs cause they’re creepy.
But Indiana’s not scared. So I sat her down by the refrigerator where the loudest noise was coming from. And for a minute that cricket shut up. Then Indy walked away. So I put her back. And she walked away again, after giving me her usual “Don’t make me bite your finger off” expression.
Still, I have hope. I’ve left her loose in the house in the hope that she will eventually get hungry and live up to her name as Indiana Jones: Adventurer and Nazi cricket eater. Let the Crusade begin.
I think I’ve mentioned before how much I love dolls. I loved them as a kid, and I love them now. My favorite thing to do was to play with Barbie and her house and her furniture and her clothes and her car (shoes suffice if you cannot afford the Corvette) and her red-headed friend Midge who had to get married cause Barbie’s weddings are all dream ones, great ornamental boyfriends with dead zombie eyes, and all those sisters, Skipper (who recently acquired tiny boobs), and Stacie and Kelly who became Chelsea cause I have no idea. There’s even a baby, except the baby is totally not hers, it’s another little sister. Even though Barbie’s like at least 25. Suuuure, Barbie, we totally believe you. By the way, have you contacted Duke from G.I. Joe for support payments? Just wondering.
And therein lies the fun of playing house when you’re older. You can sneak in all that real-life stuff that goes on behind the dream house. In other words, you can make Barbie’s life just as dysfunctional as your own. At least that’s what the girls and I like to do. I am so glad I had girls so that I can say I’m totally buying this crap for them. Though, really, why be ashamed? ES has ponies! And lots of people collect stuff. It keeps us young. And immature. And for a little while, you forget about your real laundry or real toilet or real job.
Cause Barbie does it all. I love that they recently gave that chick a washer and a dryer. She had to have Cinderella come over to show her how to use it. On the plus side, she loves pink, so not knowing how to sort works out well for her. And if the clothes are totally wrecked, she just buys more on the credit card she took out in Ken’s name that he doesn’t know about yet.
She’s had roughly 300 careers or so, probably cause she is constantly fired once they realize her resume is full of fake stuff like “Totally went to the moon once” and “good with children and zoo animals.” Still, she manages to keep up appearances by owing about half the national debt and otherwise hitting up various boyfriends for nice presents. Like Paris Hilton, only Barbie’s not quite so plastic.
One of Barbie’s most recent careers is “Entrepreneur” – she comes with an Ipad, a cellphone, and of course a purse. My brother snorted and said she couldn’t even spell entrepreneur much less be one, but she also ran for president a while back, and that doesn’t require spelling or even knowledge of geography, so I figure she’ll be just fine. Maybe she’ll open an account on Etsy and fill it with clothes she ripped off from her friends. Midge is a married crone now, so she will never miss all the nice stuff she used to wear.
Barbie’s friends come and go, probably because she’s a selfish twit. On the other hand, she might be sneakier than we know, and have them buried under her dream house. Now that would be an interesting new career: serial killer. More realistic than cop (though this would be the best cover-up) or pilot (I would not get on her plane).
Anyway, since she can’t keep Barbie friends, she hangs with the Disney princesses, cause all those gals are catty. Sure they look nice in the movies, but you didn’t see when Sleeping Beauty (Aurora) went out with Prince Charming (I saw someone say his name was Adam but I really think it was Charming cause his father was a moron)- there was a nasty fight there. But as it turned out, it was all a simple mistake. Aurora was drowsy and those princes are so hard to tell apart anyway. So all was forgiven. After Cinderella let her mice out in Aurora’s castle.
Anyway, we’ve had some fun playing Life after the Fairy Tale with Barbie and her Princess Posse. Not that surprising – remember we glittered the crap out of a pony. Anyway, if you’re feeling down, grab a Barbie and relive your childhood. Giving her a mohawk is a good first step.
To Dion’s (a la Runaround Sue) “Dream Lover”
I bet Dion’s mommy made him all those sweaters.
Every night I hope and pray a dream mother will come and stay
A mom to do my all my chores so I can lay back and snore
Because I want, a mom, to take care of me
I want a dream mother, so I don’t have to be an adult
Dream mother, where are you?
This life is more than I can chew
I want your hand to hold
Like when I was a ten-year-old
Because I want, a mom, to pay my bills
I want a dream mother, so I don’t have to go to work
Some day, I don’t know when
I’m gonna be a kid again
So what about Thing One and Two?
Well, she can be their mom too
Because I want, a mom, to do my laundry
I want a dream mother, so I don’t have to wash undies
Dream mother, you aren’t real
How am I supposed to feel?
I can’t take care of me
Maybe I can get a nanny?
Because I want, a mom, to live my life
I want a dream mother, so I can finally take a nap
I was gonna write a post about this today, and like how I haven’t posted or answered comments or anything. Meh. Maybe next week.
How I see my life . . . (Click to Enlarge)