Foul Mouth Parrot

I bought a parrot but he has a foul mouth.

I let him loose so that he could fly South.

But he came home again.

This proves that I can't win.

He says the F word two hundred times a day.

He offends everybody and drives them away.

Nobody will take this bird even though I offer to pay them.

I'm going out of my mind, it looks like I'm stuck with him.

I have the only parrot on Earth that's a sinner.

If he doesn't shut up, he's going to be my dinner.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a fictional poem.

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The Flying Nun Flies No More

Last week was the Flying Nun's last flight.

Last week she flew to an amazing height.

She flew into outer space and collided with the Sun.

It was the worst case of sunburn, she was well done.

She only weighed 90 pounds and she could fly because she was so thin.

But when we look up in the sky, we won't see Sister Bertrille ever again.

If she had survived, she would've screamed "Ouch!" because she would've been so sore.

The Flying Nun flew but she flies no more.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is a parody of the TV show.

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Don't Eat Welsh Rarebit!

I know what you want to order for dinner, Welsh Rarebit.

But if you order it again, I swear that I'll have a fit.

You sleep in the buff and the Welsh Rarebit makes you walk in your sleep.

As you walk through the neighborhood butt naked, the men always peep.

When you last ate Welsh Rarebit, you got your gun in your sleep and blew off two of my toes.

I cried like a baby as I called 911 because the Emergency Room was where I had to go.

I have a short fuse and if I blow my top in public, you won't like it.

But that's exactly what is going to happen if you order Welsh Rarebit!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a fictional poem.

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I Got A Rock

On Halloween I always get a rock everywhere I go.

I decided to retaliate by throwing their rocks through their windows.

I never even get one piece of candy, that really blows.

I'm so ignorant that I cut my costume full of holes.

I look absolutely ridiculous and dorky in this stinking sheet, I don't even look like a ghost.

I'm paying people back for their unkindness, especially Lucy because she deserves it the most.

Last week Lucy told me to kick the football but I kicked her in the head.

She told her father and he started choking me, I thought I was dead.

When he got through strangling me, I dropped two Cherry Bombs down his pants.

I blew off his privates and now when he wants to give his wife some loving, he can't.

When people used to do mean things to me, they would laugh.

But now they treat me with respect to avoid my terrible wrath.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is a parody of the Peanuts Comic Strip.

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Oh! The Horror!!!!




                 Edward Iacona



It’s Halloween time once again and

There’s the question some parents fear.

As their children are may surely ask,

What shall I go as this year?


The standard fare of witches and Ghosts

Have become very cliché you know

And even vampires and zombies

Have movies or a T.V. show


One can’t go as a bum or hobo

That does not show them respect.

A fierce Indian is also taBOO.

It is now not politically correct.


A proper Halloween haunt takes a unique knack.

If one wants a sweet snack for their tummy

As even a little kid knows the plain fact

That no one will want their mummy.


Now going as a terrorist

Might be an idea that’s hot           

But, who would want to give one treats

And it might just get one shot.


A mysterious visitor from outer space

With a little odd twist because

Who would refuse an alien treats when

It’s holding a GREEN CARD in their claws.


So, if your child comes to you

With this annual costume question;

I will submit this rather simple idea

For a fine costume suggestion.


What is needed is a genuine monster

That is blood thirsty, ruthless and cruel.

A creature that is nasty and vicious

And has the morals of a true life ghoul.


Just put them in a nice dress or suit

With a briefcase to take on their journey

And they will comeback with it full of goodies

Going trick or treating as an attorney.


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I'm Eric Cartman

I'm Eric Cartman and I'm an evil little bitch.

My mom is poor, she certainly isn't rich.

She posed nude in a magazine because she's a Crack Whore.

She couldn't afford to buy me an IPad and that made me sore.


After I lied on DR. Phil, Apple was about to give a Human CentiPad.

But they got an order to disassemble it and that really made me mad.

I started cursing God and he struck me with lightning.

I won't ever mess with him again, he's too frightening.


Many people hate my guts because I'm a racist punk.

When I offended a girl classmate, my ship was sunk.

She beat me up because she's a tough little Lass.

I tried to fight back but she kicked my sorry ass.


I certainly don't have a heart of gold, I'm a terrible lad.

People wonder how a nine year old boy can be so bad.

If you do something bad, I'll rat you out because I'm also a snitch.

I will not change my ways, I'll continue to be an evil little bitch.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is based on the South Park cartoon.

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I always thought it was impossible for a person to reincarnate but I learned that they can.

After I died, I reincarnated but I didn't come back to life as a man.

I came back to life as a dog and my wife is my owner.

Even though I'm a dog, she still gives me a boner.

I was shocked when I looked in the mirror and saw that I'm a Saint Bernard.

Some times my wife tries to date men but I chase them and I bite them hard.

When I was a Human, I had elegance and class.

But last night I bit a chunk out of a man's ass.

Certain things put me in a bad mood.

One of which is having to eat Dog Food.

Being near my wife is intoxicating and it's sure to please.

But I'm about to itch to death because of these damn fleas.

I'll stop my wife from dating men until I die, that's what I'll do.

If you ever try to date my wife, I'll take a big chunk out of you.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a fictional poem.

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Fantasy Island

I went to Fantasy Island but my fantasy didn't come true.

I beat up Mister Roarke and I also tried to beat up Tattoo.

When Roarke refused to give me a refund, I went berserk.

I stomped him but when I tried to whip Tattoo, it didn't work.

He kicked my ass just like Mini-Me whooped Austin Powers.

I'm ashamed to say that that little person made me cower.

I have some valuable advice that I want to give to you.

If you go to Fantasy Island, don't try to fight Tattoo.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is a parody of the TV show.

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No Soup For You!

People loved my soup but they hated me.

Everybody referred to me as the Soup Nazi.

I was strict with people and they feared me because I'm scary.

I scream my head off, that's why I've never been able to marry.

Everybody knew something that was certainly true.

When people pissed me off, I yelled "No soup for you!"

I refused to sell soup to a woman for kissing her boyfriend while standing in line.

My rules were going to be obeyed, I don't care that enforcing them was unkind.

I refused to sell soup to a bald man because he wanted free bread.

When a woman found my recipes in my armoire, I wanted to be dead.

Just because I treated her like dirt, she published them and put me out of business.

I had to close my restaurant and return to Argentina, my life truly is a mess.

I demanded discipline, breaking my rules was what I didn't allow.

I will one day return to America and slaughter Elaine like a cow!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was inspired by a Seinfeld episode.

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