The Butt of the Joke

I would have you laugh at this poem.

Human nature is a limerick.

It rhymes lyrically.

It anticipates a punch.

The last line is a real killer.

 

“There once was a woman who ducked it…”

–But three lines later, she fucked it.

There’s a pun in the middle, that’s kind of a riddle,

‘Til the wringer lets go of her tit.

“Perhaps, you were trying to suck it!”

…Is the thing you might say, so we all feel okay

When the butt of the joke kicks the bucket.

(“I think that she came from Nantucket.”)

She was fragile at core, and you called her a “whore”

‘cause she’d deep-throat your bill if you’d tuck it.

“…In her slippery crack with her thong?”

“…In the same hole that swallowed my dong?”

Then to cover our shame, we’ll throw dirt on her name,

Laugh about it, then all hit the bong.

“You and her can both suck on my schlong.”

And she did, ’til the joke went all wrong;

You called her a “derp” ’cause she gave you the herp’

For that bill and the price of a song.

“…But there’s no way she actually did it.”

…Felt ashamed enough to admit it?

‘Twasn’t something she chose, so she just wiped her nose,

Sucked the shaft of a gun, and then blew it.

“…But there’s no way that she even knew it!”

“…Unless, you’re the one who would do it.”

…Tell her just what you said? Man, it’s all in your head,

But you called her a “slut,” and she knew it.

 

She knew it.

She was vulnerable,

But she wouldn’t suffer me saying that.

She didn’t need my pity,

But she would have loved it if you’d said a kind word for her instead.

 

I would have you laugh at this poem,

Because human nature is to exaggerate,

To twist unrelated events

Into unfunny polemics

Bearing no relation to the joke that spawned them.

Everything’s a joke.

The people who write our laws are a joke.

People who love cats too much are a joke.

This poem is a joke.

 

Human nature is a limerick.

It rhymes lyrically.

It anticipates a punch.

It’s so scared of a punch

That it targets the weakest person in the world

With a cruel joke

To feel better about itself

Consistently

When it knows that it’s in a mean spirit,

When it would appreciate a kind word for itself

When it becomes the butt of the joke.

 

“There once was a man who blew smoke,

made the weakest among us wear yolk,

‘Til he fought for a friend, ran afoul of the trend…”

And the last line is a real killer.