Frogçoise drifts by with a vacant stare,
Gérard Defrogieu just floats on air.
Two thoughts total, shared like rent;
Neither knows where the other went.
Frogurt stares like he's seen a ghost,
Kevin forgets he exists the most.
Four small bodies, one weak mind,
A tragic brain cell, poorly assigned.
They paddle like chaos learned to swim,
Each leg a gamble, each motion grim.
No plan, no grace, just vibes and luck,
A synchronized dance of "what the fuck?"
They bonk the glass like prophets of doom,
Then spin in circles of vacant gloom.
A single neuron sparks, then dies,
A brief, brave flash of no replies.
I tap the tank; no thoughts arise,
Just elevator music in their eyes.
A council of fools in a watery state,
Debating nothing, but doing it great.
Yet still I watch these idiots thrive,
Four tiny fools, absurdly alive.
No schemes, no worries, no grand IQ:
Just frog-shaped nonsense… and I love that crew.
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 4:14 PM UTC
People gag, they pinch their nose,
"It tastes like sorrow!" — sure, I suppose.
Yet here I stand, a licorice freak,
Eating the candy that whispers bleak.
It slithers in darkness, a snake made of sweet,
A villain's dessert, deceit in a treat.
While others seek sugar that's sunshine and bright,
I'm licking the shadow that conquers the light.
You all want chocolate, soft and sweet,
I crave despair that I can eat.
While your treats sparkle, pink and tame,
Mine hisses softly, calling my name.
Hand me a rope of that inky delight,
My soul's snack of choice, pure gothic bite.
The blacker, the spongier, the more I consume,
Like candy dredged fresh from a villain's tomb.
Salty, squishy, midnight chew,
Each bite corrupts my soul anew.
The edible evil, dark and slick;
My darling sin, my favorite trick.
"It's gross!" you cry. Oh, bless your heart.
Weak taste buds fear tasty art.
Give me that brine, that tar-black kiss,
I'll dine with demons over this bliss.
It's rubber and bitter, and gloriously vile,
One chewy strand makes cynics compile
Lists of desserts they'd rather endure,
But me? I'm devoted, deliciously impure.
Your candies flirt; mine plots a bloodshed.
You crave delight, I crave the dread.
Licorice laughs, a spiteful bite,
My candy crush, the taste of night.
So mock if you wish, o bland brigade,
My tongue's found delight in darkness displayed.
Let sugar saints keep heaven's gate:
I'll dine with the devil; edible hate.
Feb 25
Feb 25, 2026 at 3:19 AM UTC
Fresh from surgery, dazed but fine,
Half boy, half noodle, sort of mine.
His eyes were fogged, but wide with fate:
I handed him a single grape.
He held it close, the sacred bead,
The fruit of God, his only need.
Then whispered low, with dreamlike sigh,
“You’re so…so beautiful!” - No lie.
He popped it in. The deed was done.
Then horror bloomed, "I ate the one!"
He wept, distraught, the guilt immense,
For eating beauty made no sense.
The tears flowed fast, a sticky flood,
As grape juice mingled grief and blood.
Yet through the sobs, the hunger stayed:
He ate again. (A moral trade!)
Each grape a ghost, a fallen friend,
The feast of tears would never end.
And I, the monster, bore the blame,
A genocide now to my name!
He raged and sobbed, my fruitless knight,
A sticky-fingered soul in flight.
The orphaned stems, in silence, bled;
A kingdom gone. All grapes were dead.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 2:54 AM UTC
They said the halls were not for her,
Too loud, too young, too proud, too sure.
But still she stood; unflinching, clear,
The storm they feared had found its year.
She fights for those the world forgets,
Where justice shrinks and power bets.
Her words cut through the marble lies,
A torch reflected in brown eyes.
For women told to sit and fade,
She built her truth and disobeyed.
Each bill, each stand, each righteous flame,
She signs in hope and carves her name.
For workers robbed, for mothers worn,
For every voice that feels forlorn,
She turns the tables, practised ease,
And dares the mighty to their knees.
So when they mock, when cowards sneer,
She answers fear with something sheer:
A faith in us, in what could be,
In love, in change, in dignity.
May 2028 come fast,
May democracy then last.
For if she runs, the world will see,
What justice looks like, finally.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 3:27 PM UTC
I write poems for the crowd
'Bout things I shouldn't talk about.
My anger and my rage get penned
And that's how I got shadowbanned.
Instagram still claims they don't
Shadowban - But my posts won't
Reach people who don't follow me.
How do I know? Well, you see:
I wrote of the thief who rigged the race,
Silenced women, took his place,
Employed the Gestapo, a madman’s call,
Guess we’ll see World War Three this fall.
Then I wrote about men, strong and tough,
And that they get ***** and they're still enough.
I wrote about bears, wrote about ICE,
Wrote about morons, morals, and lies,
The Epstein Files, and women's choices,
About abortion, and silenced voices,
I wrote about Trump's cabinet of Orcs,
And why there are cameras in morgues.
See, here I am, speaking out loud
Things that should be talked about.
But Zuckerberg - A BILLIONAIRE,
Doesn't like to keep things fair.
He props up fascists, feeds the right.
Did you see Cheeto's tweet last night?
Penguins in Greenland! Oh, what a claim.
No clue, no class, no ******* shame.
He posts fake vids and AI lies,
MAGA gulps it - no surprise.
Don Jr. - the "video" of Alex Pretti -
Deepfaked clip - let's keep hate steady!
That filth’s allowed! We all know they lied,
But truth gets clipped, caged, and tried.
Speak out once about their regime,
You're a threat to the "American Dream!"
You lose your reach, your voice, your ground,
But sexist clowns still get crowned.
You’re racist? Great - your post’s a hit!
Support the Cheeto? Boom! You’re it!
Transphobic, misogynist, and proud?
Bless your hate, we’ll make it loud!
Dumb as bricks, yet verified;
The cult of lies stays amplified.
So here’s your safe space, it's not mine;
A fascist dome of filth and crime.
Where hate runs free, and truth gets banned,
That’s your empire: liar’s land.
Feb 5
Feb 5, 2026 at 5:18 PM UTC
He flirts with swagger, tough and sly,
Until one cotton ghost drifts by.
His lungs collapse, his pupils shrink:
The Red Sea's there - and he can't think.
A harmless wrapper hits the floor,
He screams in fear - out of the door.
Brave soldier gone with trembling knees:
Retreat! Retreat! Ovaries!
They mock our pain, but drop like flies,
When faced with proof of girl supplies.
The sight of pads or 'monthly doom'?
They'd rather face some deadly gloom.
A tampon's launched - a weapon, sleek.
His courage folds within 'the week'.
Men run from blood, though not from crime;
The irony just bleeds in time.
So girls, take notes for future use:
No ghosting texts, no lame excuse.
Just toss a ****** aim with flair,
You'll clear the room, the field, the air.
And when they ask what brought their fall,
Say, "tampons, honey - that is all."
He thought it's death, disease, or pain;
Nope - Cotton catching ****** rain.
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 4:27 AM UTC
He sighs, the tragic, aiding knight,
He is no help - although he tried.
A shrug, a grunt, a fleeting moan,
Then you do it all alone.
He doesn't know where sponges hide,
Or how a trash bag must be tied.
He's baffled by that thing - oh, soap!
Then stares at socks like quantum hope.
The vacuum next, a beast of yore,
Its switch a puzzle, mythic lore.
He taps it twice, declares it dead,
Then mourns its loss and goes to bed.
He gives his all to change the sheets,
Then gives up - All defeats!
The duster follows, no perseverance.
What's he good at? Disappearance!
He cannot cook, but burns with flair;
He followed steps - "Babe, I swear!"
He loads the washer upside down,
Then acts like he deserves a crown.
He ruins laundry, floods the floor,
Brings wrong items from the store.
The towels pink, the plates still greasy
Chores are "hard, and not so easy."
He cries, "I tried!" - his noble part,
His martyrdom? A work of art.
His helplessness? Weaponized!
Each clueless blink? Memorized!
Each time you ask, he does it worse,
The smirk rehearsed, his tone perverse.
"Oh Baby, really, I'm no help!"
He acts hurt, lets out a yelp.
And as you clean his tragic art,
He whispers, "See? You're just so smart."
The curtain falls, the trick's complete -
A genius act of planned defeat.
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
If identical twins both bang the same chick,
And she’s knocked up and due in May,
Science throws up its hands really quick
'Cause of Schrödinger’s DNA.
Now both of these dudes stand there in the dock,
Saying "Not me," with the cunningest grin,
The judge pours a whiskey and stares at the clock,
thinking, “Hell, no one here can win.”
Forensics are useless, the experts are spent,
The lawyers double their pay.
Those two get off clean, no support or rent
'Cause of Schrödinger’s DNA.
The bar’s full of cheers as the twins toast their luck,
While the judge rolls his eyes at the mess.
"Two fathers, one baby? Oh, what the ****
This family’s doomed, I guess!"
Come birthdays, Christmas, or Easter along,
The kid spends these days in dismay,
Two fathers, two uncles, but actually none,
'Cause of Schrödinger’s DNA!
DNA can be fun (though not for this kid)
And it can go a ridiculous way,
So far that even the scientists quit,
Except Schrödinger - It would make his day!
Dec 25, 2025
Dec 25, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
Schadenfreude is a word
That many may have never heard.
The German language has its perks,
And it comes with many quirks.
You see, this term just can’t be found
In English dictionaries 'round;
There truly isn’t a translation
For such a really strange sensation.
Schadenfreude is what you feel,
A guilty joy that seems unreal:
The laughter you just can’t contain
When someone else is in some pain.
Or if they slip, or if they fail,
You try to hide it - no avail.
It brings you such a guilty pleasure,
A secret joy, a hidden treasure.
It’s not just someone that you hate,
Could be your sister or your mate.
Someone stumbles, and you laugh,
Having fun on their behalf.
Is it good? Of course it’s not.
Do I feel it? Yes, a lot.
Am I wicked? Naaaaah, am I?
I wouldn’t laugh if they would die!
But people failing is hilarious,
And their ways are quite various!
I chuckle, giggle, just a bit,
And my heart does a little skit.
For me, a bit Schadenfreude’s fine,
As long as no one breaks their spine.
And even though they may get hurt,
I love the feeling. Love the word.
So every time you feel delight
At someone tripping in your sight,
Remember, there's a German word
For laughing at someone getting hurt.
Dec 25, 2025
Dec 25, 2025 at 4:09 AM UTC
A kingdom built on fear and lies,
They called it law before our eyes.
The orange king still plots his game,
But truth outlasts a tyrant’s flame.
They cage the lost, the poor, the scared,
Then preach 'bout love, they never cared.
ICE hunts them down, spreads hate and spite,
But we record each shattered right.
Yes, we will move; we fight, don't pray,
We block the roads and say, "No way!
No peace for those who hunt our own,
We'll come for you, and take his throne!"
The diners slam their doors shut tight,
No coffee for a parasite.
The horns don’t stop, the lights don’t fade,
Revenge looks good in neon shade.
They thought the world forgot the past,
But guess what? The truth will last.
The trials come, your names are penned,
And justice waits around the bend.
So run while dawn burns through your lies,
Your paperwork won’t save your lives.
We’ve kept your faces, crimes, the work:
We’ll see you tried like Nuremberg.
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 3:10 PM UTC