Poem of the Week: Another Rant against Minooka

Another Rant against Minooka
October 16, 2017

Minooka’s at it again.
They’ve come back ‘round the bend—
Back out of their slumber
With a new number,
Harassing us to no end.

They play ring-a-ling ditch with ease
Day after day as they please
With the balderdash
Of collecting cash
For various charities—

That is, of course, unless they
Hang up on one right away
Upon one picking up,
And if that ain’t enough
To ruin their victims’ days,

One can’t even call them back
To tell them “Knock off the attacks!”
For on the other end
Is a robo voice, friend,
To feed callers vapid flack

Of how they’re DNC exempt
And shame on them for the attempt
To launch a complaint
At them ‘cause they ain’t
Having it, no matter how one’s spent.

Now, I’ve railed against these creeps before
And the reality that’s in store
For those foolish enough
To give in to their stuff
And send money to their door.

I’ve mentioned, too, how I won’t fall
For their shtick, should they ever call,
And how one would think
They’d learn their act stinks,
So why should we bother at all

Pestering folks like they still do?
Give it up, Minooka! You’re through.
We’re not falling for your crap,
So shut your trap,
For we’re all now on to you.

We all know ‘bout the games you play
And the price that people pay
One way or another,
And they’ll have not, brother,
So stop this nonsense right away.

You’re not getting another dime
From any wallet, including mine,
For we all now know
What you do with the dough
You might rake in at any given time:

You pocket the lion’s share
And leave but a handful to spare
For X and Y charities,
Making profit as you please
For your “services” without care.

You don’t give a damn at all
‘Bout the needy or how they’ll fall
Without cash for their needs,
Which you prove through your deeds,
And it’s driving me up a wall.

To my call blocker I add one more
Number, for I can take no more,
So take the hint and see
That you must let me be,
Lest you want the feds at your door

To take you to prison at last,
Which would fit your criminal past.
Maybe that’ll be the way
You learn to rue the day
You first sought people to harass.

Good riddance for good, then, Minooka!
We’ve for far too long knew ya,
But when you meet your end
At long last, friend,
You’ll hear but two last words from me” Screw ya!

Then, when you’ve disappeared,
We’ll all grin from ear to ear
‘Til the next sack of scum
Just like you comes
And repeats that which we’ve come to fear.

*****

 

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

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Poem of the Week: Know-it-Alls

Know-it-Alls
September 15, 2017

Experts in their own minds in one thing or another,
Eyes cast down, their noses in the air,
Criticizing all us “philistines” in this and that way, brother,
All with a sense of self-important flair.

Their needle-nosed arrogance so deeply gets under our skin
That it creeps and crawls across our musculature
Until we feel the need to somehow punish them for their sins,
Even if doing so makes us look immature.

After all, what do these jerks know in the grand scheme of things?
On what grounds do they have the right to act
Like everyone should kiss their feet and worship the words they sing?
To Hell with these egomaniacal brats!

They only know so much about topics X, Y, and Z
With the Internet being their chief info source.
Sometimes, they even cling on to each other desperately
‘Cause only one can stand another, of course,

And when one sits on another’s lap, you can truly tell
Just how insecure and dumb the bugger is
And how superior he or she needs to feel at all well
While helping the other feel like an utter whiz.

It’s a lot like bullying in a sense with one hiding behind another,
And when it’s done on the ‘Net, it’s even worse,
For hiding behind a screen only proves one’s cowardice, brother,
And hiding ‘hind others as well further proves one’s curse

Of forever having no backbone on top of being a flake—
Neither of which anyone of sense aims to be,
Especially in a day and age when folks tend to hate what’s fake
And the inauthentic is plain to hear and see.

Take the hint, then, know-it-alls of the world. We’re on to you,
And we’re not going to take your crap anymore.
Go suck your airs of superiority back up your chutes of poo
And take your condescension with you back out the door.

Either gain some ground on which to base the knowledge you claim to own
Or shut your mouths and go away for good.
We’re done with your egos and how they’ve cut our spirits to the bone
And no longer want you in our neighborhood.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Yet Another Minooka Telemarketing Poem

Yet Another Minooka Telemarketing Poem
June 17, 2017

Ring, ring, ring! Who can it be again
After we’ve been solicitor-free since Time knows when?
Quarter past one on a weekday afternoon,
Second week of summer. Who’d be calling so soon?

Well, son of a gun! Look at the Caller ID.
Is that the word “Minooka” flashing back at me?
The number may be different, but the name’s the same
As that of the solicitors that last year drove me insane.

Well, newsflash! I’m not picking up for them. No way!
I refuse to let these Minooka jerks ruin my day
And insist I donate to some charity they won’t name.
I’m far too wise to that trash to try to play that game.

I know that charity collectors who collect over the phone
Take the brunt of the donations made to them for their own
And give what pennies are left to whatever charities
They represent, not caring if the recipients are on their knees,

Begging for the relief that they deserve directly
And not over the phone from the likes of you or me,
Especially if the handlers end up pocketing the cash
For their own benefit, adding it to their private stash.

Worse yet is how “Minooka” just won’t leave us alone,
Even after we’ve told them bluntly to stop calling us on the phone.
For a while, matters seemed alright ‘til they rang us up again
Using this other number, which I’m sure they had way back when.

So much for a call blocker, then, for those who used such a thing
To protect themselves from one number only for their phones to ring
When Minooka calls from this other line, persistent as they are.
Well, guess what: When it comes to us, they won’t get us too far.

I’m on to you, Minooka, and if you call us again,
I’ll turn you in to the FTC to have you shut down by them.
Let’s see you earn your money then with no one to harass
And no charities to exploit once they’ve locked away your ass.

Good riddance, then, Minooka, and hopefully once and for all.
After all the times you’ve troubled us, I hope you finally fall.
You’re nothing but a greedy pest begging to be put down,
And I doubt I’ll be alone cheering when you’re no longer around.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: A Somewhat Poetic Rant about 21st Century Brats who Find Humor in Others’ Pain and Suffering

A Somewhat Poetic Rant about 21st Century Brats who Find Humor in Others’ Pain and Suffering
April 3, 2017

For too long I’ve been angry. For too long I’ve learned to hate
The people in this messed-up world as they further degenerate
Into immature, spiteful narcissists all wrapped up in themselves,
Mocking others’ misfortune while wallowing in their self-made hell,
Peeved over often petty things, unable to adjust
To a world that’s always changing, whether for benefit or bust,
Concerned with material crap, not giving a single damn
About any altruistic virtue, and outraged I still am,
For I’ve been taught since I was born to show consideration
Towards those other than myself, no matter the situation.
Sadly, many have proven themselves inconsiderate
Of those less fortunate than they are, which throws me into a fit
And makes me want to lock these fools all together in a cell
A thousand leagues beneath Earth’s crust, hoping they suffer hell
Away from all their precious toys and other material gains,
Having none but each other with whom to cope as they drive each other insane
With the same childish, disrespectful behavior for which they’re known,
And should they turn on each other and cut each other to the bone,
Leaving a mass of corpses soaking in their own blood and waste,
I’d show no surprise when even their families show no haste
In mourning their losses, for honestly, why the hell should they?
These heartless, selfish bastards and bitches should all be made to pay
For ridiculing the beleaguered and the situation
That put them in their place without thought or consideration.
After all, would it have killed these twits to have opened their eyes
And put themselves in the others’ shoes and come to realize
The pain with which they’ve had to cope from Day One up to now?
It seems so, judging from their careless words, though I don’t know how
These brats find humor in others’ pain on account of tragedy.
Alas, such is the case of certain kids these days, apparently,
Only caring ‘bout the here and now, no matter the weather,
Not giving a rat’s ass ‘bout trying to change anything for the better—
Not even for themselves, which I find to be irony.
Well, fine, then! So be it. Redefine the term “tragedy”
So that when you take the world over from us, it’ll just all the more
Suffer from whatever stupidity you have in store
For it and whatever denizens it may still have by then
Who’ll only be wishing all the more to traverse to Way Back When,
When life was simpler and stupid brats weren’t so blatantly PI
Smearing their heartless “humor” all over to reach all ears and eyes.
Keep dreaming, though, all you little creeps, for your day to come,
For we grownups still have a chance to save Earth from becoming dumb
As in dumber than it already is, no thanks to twerps like you,
And we’ll work hard to put it back together and see it through.
Who knows? Maybe a new golden will happen to rise
In which morals as corrupt and ass-backwards as yours are cut down to size
And the just can live in peace and harmony ‘til the sun burns out.
Until then, enjoy your says in the sunshine, you infantile little clouts,
For rudeness and disrespect can only take you so far in life
‘Til they finally catch up with you, and soon the pain and strife
Of growing up will at last sink in one way or another
And you’re forced to adapt or perish in the name of your divine mother.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
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                         Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: Minooka…Again!

Minooka…Again!
February 16, 2017

10:28 this morning, just trying to do my thing
And get things done when suddenly, I hear my telephone ring.
Ring-a-ling-a-ling! Once again, ringing off the hook.
Damn it all! Can’t anyone simply let me finish my book?

So I check my Caller ID, and what else do I see?
The name “Minooka” flashing mockingly right back at me
With an all-too-familiar number beneath it, making me think,
“Oh, hell no! Not this crap again. Boy, does my luck stink.”

After all, over a month ago, these bastards called my home
To demand money from me, threatening to not leave me alone
Until I donated to one of the countless charities
They claimed to represent, to which I said “And their names, please?”

The fact that I also had to say “Hello?” multiple times
When I answered them to get and answer back boggles my mind.
Hell, they even hung up a few times when I dared to answer their calls,
Which I’ll admit was dumb of me, but here’s why I did so at all:

Picking up to tell them to take me off their calling list
Was the only way they’d back off—the only way they’d get the gist—
As calling them later on to tell them that very same thing
Would only lead me to an automated lecture or something

That wouldn’t connect me to a live person whose ear I could chew
Off in my mission to tell them that when it came to them, I was through.
Instead, their robot gave me an earful ‘bout their exemption from
The Do No Call list just ‘cause they’re “charity collector” scum

Who probably keep the lion’s share of whatever money they make
And give only fifteen percent to those whom they collect for. Those fakes!
I’ve been wise to that crap for so long, it isn’t even funny,
Which is why if I feel at all compelled to give any of my money

To any organization, I first see if they’re legit,
And only then, once I see that they are, do I see them as fit
Of a direct donation to their cause—never over the phone,
Especially via unsolicited calls that won’t leave me alone—

The kind of calls Minooka’s made time after time after time,
Even when I ignore them completely and they’re not on my mind,
Yet they kept on coming back in the day, and I hoped in vain that they
Would take the hint from my silence and they would’ve gone away.

Clearly, though, that wasn’t the case, and I’ve come to decide
That maybe investing in a call blocker would’ve helped save my hide—
Assuming, of course, that good ol’ Minooka didn’t have a second number
To work around such a defense, thus making such a move a blunder.

Here they are again, though, calling me in the middle of the day,
Demanding money from me as though it’s my obligation to pay.
I thought this crap was over and done with, but clearly, I was wrong,
Else I’d be singing at this moment a whole different kind of song.

Looks like I’ll need a call blocker after all now. Son of a gun!
Then maybe I’ll contact the FCC if I want this battle won.
These unwarranted calls, after all, have got to stop somehow,
Fr the harassment I’m getting now has really got me having a cow.

Enjoy tormenting me ‘til then, Minooka, for it won’t be long
‘Til you finally get your comeuppance and I prove to you how wrong
You are to keep asking the same target time after time again
For cash to fill your own bank account. It’s all just a matter of when.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: Edgy =/= Funny

Edgy =/= Funny
December 31, 2016

Just because you’re “edgy” doesn’t mean you’re funny.
In fact, “edgy” humor often drives me away.
Being loud, rude, and crude won’t earn you my money
Or even my attention any night or day.
Still, R-rated schlock still reels in the dough these days,
Which makes me wonder ‘bout just what’s wrong with the world
When foul language and toilet humor are mainstays
And innuendo strikes the ears of boys and girls
On a regular basis, much to their delight,
As well as creeps joking ‘bout death and tragedy.
Surely, there must be some way we can make things right
And fight back before such crass immaturity
Dumbs our nation down more than it has already.
Let’s at least try to hold out ill culture steady.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Bonus Poem of the Week: Knock It Off, Minooka!

Knock It Off, Minooka!
October 7, 2016

Knock it off, Minooka! Your calls are driving me mad.
This is the worst case of harassment in a while that I’ve had.
You’ve called us nine times already in two-and-a-half weeks.
I can’t escape you no matter what, and it’s given me the creeps.

Knock it off, Minooka! You’re flat-out annoying me.
You call me up to thrice a day. Why can’t you let me be?
You say you collect for a number of different charities?
Well, I’d rather donate to them directly if you’d let me, please.

Knock it odd, Minooka! You’re really ticking me off.
You say you’re on the up-and-up? Please! Don’t make me scoff.
I bet you keep the lion’s share of the cash donated to you
And give but ten percent to the charities you’re connected to.

Knock it off, Minooka! You’re driving me insane.
You know I’m not falling for your tricks or playing your sick game,
So why do you keep calling me? Really, stop wasting your time
And being so inconsiderate, ‘cause you’re also wasting mine.

Knock it off, Minooka! Pay attention and get the gist.
I don’t care if callers like you are exempt from the DNC list.
I still feel like you’re stalking me for my life, so please let it go.
Stop calling me and get it through your skulls that “No” means “No!”

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Firm, Not Flippant

Firm, Not Flippant
June 30, 2016

Life’s about being firm, not flippant. It’s the only way to be,
Especially when you’re holding a position of authority,
No matter how big or small said position might happen to be.
Want elaboration? Come! Let me paint a picture for thee.

Suppose a situation breaks out that calls for you to control
Like people exchanging hateful words that are taking their toll.
Do you join in on the fray and shout down one side or another,
Using demeaning language yourself against your sisters or brothers?

Do you let your emotions take over and make a razor of your tongue
And lash out at either party or—worse yet—all under the sun
And flex your muscles in hopes of intimidating someone to shut up
And walk away, tail between the legs like a scared little pup,

Or do you instead hold your ground and get your head in the game,
Screw your heels in and try to find out who is or isn’t to blame
And discover each side of the story before putting your foot down
And sternly scolding the perpetrator for being such a clown?

Then again, what if you’re already tied up in an argument
And it’s up to you to manage how your emotions are spent?
Do you let your anger get the better of you from start to go
To where you’re not just trading words and insults, but also blows,

Or do you resist the urge to bloody the other person’s nose
And instead stand tall and speak steadily as you voice your woes,
Relying on logic in hopes of helping your rival see things your way,
Resorting to action only when he or she decides to make you pay?

It’s always one choice or another, sad as it is to say, friend,
And it seems like no matter how we try to manage things, they won’t end.
There’s always one thing or another with which we have to cope,
But in the end, does that excuse any of us from being sheer dopes?

Honestly, what does anyone expect to get from acting crass,
Treating others with hostility and, in general, being pains in the ass?
Does any of it deserve anything other than derision?
I’m sorry, but at times, I can’t understand why folks make such poor decisions.

After all, when it comes to humanity, I expect the best
From both myself and everyone else. To Hell with anything less!
It’s the only way I see this world evolving from what it’s become.
Otherwise, world society may never move forward, my son,

And yet, more times than not, there’s always got to be that one jerk
Who, no matter how transparent his or her motives, is hard to shirk
To the point where, despite our better judgment, we’re compelled to fight back
Even if it’s not we whom he or she’s targeting with his or her attack.

After all is said and done, though, whom does such behavior help?
Does it really soothe the soul to make one whimper like a whelp?
If so, for how long, and does it help the reaction one gets,
Or is it the opinion others have of one that one learns to regret?

It’s all about risking disrespect, should you act one way or another
And, should you act the wrong way, whether or not you’re ready, brother,
To suffer the consequences of being known as a jerk
And losing respect that you could’ve had based on a method that works.

After all, why fight fire with fire when you can use water instead?
Why swing a sword to block a sword when one stab can leave you dead?
Why stoop to the level of those whom you’re trying to keep in line
And stir up more of that which you’re trying to put down, pal of mine?

Bottom line, hatred only breeds more. Such is how it’s always been,
Leaving you in an even worse place than what you’re already in,
And those who use it to retaliate against others can never win—
Not for very long, leastways, so why even thinking succumbing to such sin?

Thus remember: Be firm, not flippant, and always stand your ground
Whenever you’re faced with a challenge in life you just can’t work around.
Avoid resorting to vicious tactics against others at all costs,
And I promise that you’ll master your own humanity when all’s lost.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
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Poem of the Week: Grow Up and Do Your Job

Grow Up and Do Your Job
June 21, 2016

Grow up and do your job,
You pathetic, fat-assed slob!
Quit trying to evade
That for which you get paid
And that which ‘fore you has been lobbed.

I care not if the task’s reviled.
You’re just acting like a child
For trying to avoid
That which makes you annoyed
Yet’s still yours to complete all the while.

You’re an adult, for goodness’ sake!
Stop behaving like such a flake
And act your damn age
Like the wizened sage
You’re supposed to be, Ms. Half-Baked.

I don’t see why you’re so scared
Rolling up your sleeves to prepare
To dirty your hands
As per the demands
Of your occupation, Dame Blair.

Where do you get off dodging these,
Your responsibilities,
Anyways? ‘Cause you
Know it’s all too true
That you can’t always do as you please.

We all have jobs we must do
On this rock ‘til our lives are through,
And if you won’t do yours,
I know folks by the score
Who’ll gladly take them over from you

And do your job ten times better
Than a whiny, self-entitled fretter
Like you ever would
Or even could
While you sit at home knitting sweaters,

And when you’re all alone at home
With one dime left to call your own,
Relying on your kids
To keep you off the skids,
You’ll sit often ‘nough all alone

To ponder where your life went wrong,
And you’ll think back to this song,
And you’ll curse the day
You gave your spine away
And your boss made you say so long,

And as you sit there and weep
Every night ‘til you fall asleep
Feeling sorry for yourself,
A lone book upon a shelf,
It’ll at long last hit you deep:

It never pays one to shirk
Whenever it comes to one’s work,
For it will come to pass
When you take in the ass
The pain, you insensitive jerk,

For only the diligent reap
Reward for their work, which they keep
While the spineless and lazy
Are punished like crazy
In the end before the Big Sleep,

So you’d better grow up right away
And care ‘bout your tasks today
Before karma hits you
And leaves you oh so screwed,
Left to naught but wallow one day,

For prosperity never goes
To those who bring naught but woe
To others day and night
Out of petty spite
Towards their duties. Trust me, I know.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com
                         Amazon.com
                         Amazon.co.uk

Poem of the Week: Good Riddance!

Good Riddance!
July 31, 2015

Nagging, petty, nitpicking—that’s all you’re good for.
Honestly, putting up with you is naught but a chore.
You’re a condescending, overbearing, obnoxious pain in the ass,
Talking down to me like I’m stupid and haven’t any class.
I’m not excusing how I’m “only human,” but hell!
The way you treat me day and night, I might as well.
You that that just ‘cause I struggle, I haven’t any sense,
And with that in mind, you feel your jaded wisdom you must dispense.
Well, newsflash, bitch! It’s not helping a single stinking bit.
You’re only berating me with it, and I’ve had enough of it.
You’re not helping me grow at all, only making me feel dumb,
Hopeless, clueless, incapable of evolving, and just plain numb.
You’re not benefitting me at all, much less empowering me.
You’re only putting me down, especially considering
How worthless your advice really is and how much your words sting.
You don’t say anything meaningful but instead prattle on and on
About how stupid you think I am and what you think I’m doing wrong,
And even when you do say something that just might make sense to me,
It’s so deeply tucked within your scolding that it I simply can’t see.
I thus look elsewhere for help, and when I finally do,
I heed the words of the other source and to you say, “Screw you!”
You’re nothing but a piece of trash in love with your own voice,
And since beggars can’t be choosers, I’d rather have the choice
To blow your toxic carcass off once and for freaking all
And hope that your rude belittling will soon lead to your downfall.
I don’t know where you get off thinking you’re so hip
And cute and tough and excellent, but frankly, I think you’re a dip.
You’re just a snobbish lowlife thinking your words are law,
And I’m so done with you, I can’t let out a single guffaw.
I’ll take my chances elsewhere, then, and finally get the respect
That every good writer deserves and not have you further infect
My mind with words so offensive and poisonous to my plight,
And once that’s been taken care of, I can finally sleep at night.
Good riddance, then, self-righteous hag! I’ve finished my rant with you.
Best of luck, as the mockers say, for you and I are through.

*****

Author Pages: Smashwords.com

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