Yeah, that’s me, and half the time,
I’m not laughing out loud. You people
just aren’t all that funny. You know
what’s funny? When you get here
and you think you’re coming to
some exclusive club, and you’re
looking around for all your friends
and you’re texting all your friends
who aren’t here (yet), and then
that’s when I turn up the flames
and the torture machines, and
you drop your phones in my
brimstone pit and I just laugh
and laugh and laugh and laugh.
LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL
Swag. Satan’s wishes are granted.
Are they really? Well, yes—I find
that most days generally go in a
predictable direction, in my favor.
Beelzebub rules below. That’s me,
too, and I think you’ll find I’m a
pretty chill guy, once you develop
a taste for my pitchfork. But
you may as well know, if you
don’t already: Once you’re here,
wherever it is you came from,
you’re never gonna BRB.

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Does LOL Stand for Lucifer Our Lord?

I always wanted to go to the prom
and Jimmy said he’d take me,
and now we’re dancing to “Evergreen,”
me in my beautiful blue dress
so lucky to find it in the pawn shop
looks like it was only worn once,
maybe by another poor girl like me
the gym looks like an underwater disco
the room is spinning—the excitement,
I guess I’ll remember this blue dress
night for the rest of my life

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The Poisoned Dress

I told her not to put baby girl up on
Facebook in her school outfit,
because the pedophiles and creeps
are everywhere, just waiting for
a picture of your brown-haired,
green-eyed girl. And now,
her precious baby girl is
probably in a bag somewhere,
on her way to South Africa or
Bangladesh—you know,
one of those countries where
they do such things. At 3:00,
she didn’t come out of school
because the sex trafficker
got there at 2:45 with his bag
and a printout of her picture.
$2,500 on a silver cyber platter.
And now, one proud momma
cries for her lost baby girl,
but at least she’s learned this:

STOP ADDING STRANGERS ON FACEBOOK

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Stranger Danger

You know how they are with their names:
Laquisha and Devontay and all that. It’s
getting to the point where a plain old
Robert or Susan would be a real surprise.
Now, that’s how they can be different,
which I guess is what they’re after.
Anyway, this year I have twins in my class
named Or-AN-juh-lo and Le-MON-juh-lo.
Here, I’ll write it for you so you can see it:
Orangejello and Lemonjello. I know!
Couldn’t you just die? It’s all I can do,
keeping a straight face when I call roll
or when I have to write a note home.
But it gets worse. Their mother’s name
is Fuh-MALL-ee. I’ll write that one, too:
Female. And I have to sit there and pretend
these children have any kind of future;
I have to waste my time on people
with those kinds of names. Someday,
Orangejello will be on welfare with
her four children, and Lemonjello will
get shot and they’ll all cry about it
and protest. I’ll be long gone by then.
I plan to retire next year, get out while
the getting’s good. But enough about me—
how are you? And are we ready to order?

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Funny Names