Jul 27
I have a cat
And he is fat
Did you know that?
That he’s a cat?
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Yemen
seen from Türkiye
seen from Austria
seen from Germany
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from Yemen
seen from Russia
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Oman
seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia
seen from Singapore
seen from Indonesia
I have a cat
And he is fat
Did you know that?
That he’s a cat?
(Dis)order
A small bird perches on the street light where birds of prey reign giving zero fucks about the order of the world.
Humorous Poem
The Lady Next Door
Five bags of rubbish sat on the floor, So, I ventured outside past the lady next door.
Who sat watching the bag, As she sat on the patio Smoking a fag. She asked where I was going, I said to the bin, So, she kindly accepted to Take my trash in. Four bags of rubbish sat on the floor, So, I journeyed outside past the lady next door. Smoking a pool noodle, And waiting for more, She sipped on the water From the trash bag before. She knew where I was going, Straight to the bin, And so, she insisted To take my trash in. Three bags of rubbish sat on the floor, So, I wandered outside past the lady next door. Smoking a pool noodle, And waiting for more, She sipped on the water From the trash bag before. Fanning herself with leftover Notes, Atop a Chaise Longue, Of inflatable floats. She intercepted me, And said there’s no bin As she snatched the trash off me And took my rubbish in.
Two bags of rubbish sat on the floor, So, I travelled outside past the lady next door. Smoking a pool noodle, And waiting for more, She sipped on the water From the trash bag before. Fanning herself with leftover Notes, Atop a Chaise Longue, Of inflatable floats. Eating our leftovers of Holiday all sorts Toying with the equipment Of holiday ball sports. She was already there, Before I could scream, And took the bag of me, Like a one-woman team One bag of rubbish sat on the floor, So, I walked on outside past the lady next door. Smoking a pool noodle, And waiting for more, She sipped on the water From the trash bag before. Fanning herself with leftover Notes, Atop a Chaise Longue, Of inflatable floats. Eating a feast of Holiday all sorts Toying with equipment From holiday ball sports. Her walls were all plastered, Down to the floor, With coupons and vouchers I could use no more, What a strange lady, The lady next door. And as I prepared to go home With luggage so light, I thought of the lady With the tickets for my flight.
Poetry + More
Line Life LOL: A Relatable & Funny Poem About The Queue Struggle
You are absolutely right! My apologies. I got caught up in direct translation and didn't fully consider the cultural shift needed for English speakers to grasp the humor and relatable aspects.
Let's try again, focusing on cultural differences and making it more universally understandable and funny for an English-speaking audience. Here's a revised version, aiming for humor that resonates more broadly:
The line...
it's not even epic anymore, like Black Friday lines
it's just... ordinary annoying
like that tangled phone charger cable
you find in every drawer...
long...
and pointlessly endless...
Waiting...
still a drag...
seriously bad...
from the pit of my stomach...
from the stink of my sneakers...
from the void where my car keys should be...
Lifetimes in line...
I've aged like milk left on the counter
on a hot summer day...
I'm so done...
like a disposable razor after week 3...
Hoping for my turn...
maybe someday...
if the stars align...
and the line spontaneously combusts...
and the booth gets abducted by aliens...
and my legs don't completely give out...
The booth's face...
not stone cold...
more like a day-old gas station hotdog...
Not even a wall...
more like office cubicle dividers...
just blank...
and soul-crushingly indifferent...
Everywhere I look...
line...
line...
line...
Words fail me...
My tongue's stuck...
like a browser loading bar at 99%...
Sound...
crickets...
Tired?
Lean on my shoulder...
nah, scratch that, it's worse here...
lean on the wall...
or the person in front of you (just kidding... mostly)...
I promise...
no more line complaints...
no more turn talk...
one shuffle forward...
muffled sigh...
The turn itself...
paper...
a number...
totally pointless...
like a participation trophy...
Getting a turn?
Seriously?
With what magic?
With a winning lottery ticket?
With a time machine?
I'm afraid it's gonna be never-o'clock...
like waiting for customer service to pick up...
Tired eyes...
fair?
Fair went out the window with decent airline food...
In the turn line trenches...
hand on the booth?
nope...
red tape city...
I'm just a person...
I need a turn...
a whimper...
a groan...
a silent scream...
Mouth zipped...
unheard pleas...
silence...
patience...
like watching paint dry...
in slow motion...
My words?
making the line worse?
no way, Jose...
nothing left to say...
line's deadening my soul...
Lifetimes...
prisoner of queues...
this queue...
that queue...
what's a person to do?
grimace...
inner monologue of despair...
existential dread...
Forget this world...
just my turn...
gimme my turn now...
hurry up and end...
me...
and this line...
wow...
what a soul-sucking line...
no...
actually...
it's pure torture...
Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking. He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark that he barks every time they leave the house. They must switch him on on their way out.
The neighbors' dog will not stop barking. I close all the windows in the house and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast but I can still hear him muffled under the music, barking, barking, barking,
and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra, his head raised confidently as if Beethoven had included a part for barking dog.
When the record finally ends he is still barking, sitting there in the oboe section barking, his eyes fixed on the conductor who is entreating him with his baton
while the other musicians listen in respectful silence to the famous barking dog solo, that endless coda that first established Beethoven as an innovative genius. By Billy Collins
"You can touch my heart, you can try to touch the moon, you can touch my soul, but if you try to touch my food.. I will kill you."
Hahahaha.. I'm hangry!! - eUë
RIP to a tumblr favorite
Louise Glück, "Anniversary"
I said you could snuggle. That doesn't mean
your cold feet all over my dick.
Someone should teach you how to act in bed.
What I think is you should
keep your extremities to yourself.
Look what you did --
you made the cat move.
But I didn't want your hand there.
I wanted your hand here.
You should pay attention to my feet.
You should picture them
the next time you see a hot fifteen year old.
Because there's a lot more where those feet come from.
A poem based on actual events.
The risk of trying something new