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Randy Johnson May 2015
I had it made until my stupid wife ruined me.
I was rich until she went on a spending spree.
She spent it all before I even had the chance to stop her.
I had ten million bucks but because of her, I'm a pauper.
I was the richest man in my town but now I'm the most poor.
People are giving me funny looks because I'm buying clothes in a second hand store.
She forgot to insure the cars that she bought, even the Ferrari.
I only have ten dollars left and that jezebel isn't one bit sorry.
A tornado came last week and destroyed every vehicle that she bought.
If you're wondering if I think about strangling her, I think about it a lot.
She also spent a lot of my money on male strippers, ***** and grass.
Now she's going to need a proctologist to remove my foot from her ***.
This is a fictional poem.
Randy Johnson May 2015
The worst thing that ever happened to me, happened in 2013.
You were one of the most wonderful people that I've ever seen.
Your death hurt me so much that for a while, I lost the ability to even think.
You were taken after being a part of my life for forty-one years and that stinks.
For a long time after your death, I felt miserable and all tore up on the inside.
The worst thing that ever happened to me, happened on the day when you died.
Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away at the age of 64 on March 6, 2013.
Randy Johnson May 2015
Your son was a lowlife hooligan.
Last year he murdered my son.
When it came to having the ability to show mercy, your son sure did lack it.
He shot my son right between the eyes because of his expensive jacket.
My boy gave him the jacket but he killed him anyway.
When I identified my son's body, your son had to pay.
Your son wanted to prove to his gang members that he was big and bad.
He shot my son in cold blood and returning the favor made me feel glad.
Your son was arrested but a bleeding heart judge let him out on bail.
A few hours later your son became the victim of a 44 Magnum shell.
I killed him the exact same way that he killed my son, a bullet right between the eyes.
I didn't realize that a man could get so much pleasure by seeing another person die.
It was an eye for an eye, I pulled my gun on him and it felt so good to shoot.
But your son's death isn't good enough for me, I hope he fries in Hell to boot.
This is a fictional poem.
Randy Johnson May 2015
Even though I've been helping you and working hard,
you won't give me a beer after I've mowed your yard.
I'm hot, sweaty and dying of thirst.
You've done some bad things but this is the worst.
When you asked for my help, I shouldn't have come here.
You offered me a glass of water but what I want is a beer.
You love your **** beer so much that you won't even give me one.
I would kick your *** up and down the street if you weren't my son.
I have something to say and you'd better listen to me.
Don't ever expect me to mow your yard again for free.
This is a fictional poem.
Randy Johnson May 2015
I should've known something was wrong when my dad started getting sick.
My Stepmother is evil and for many weeks, she poisoned him with arsenic.
It was five years ago today when she finished him off with the final dose.
I hated my Stepmother even though Dad wanted the two of us to be close.
It took me a while to get it done but I was finally able to have Dad's body exhumed.
When high levels of arsenic were found in his body, my Stepmother was doomed.
I was determined to bring her to justice and I knew that I wouldn't fail.
She was found guilty by a jury and I was happy because justice prevailed.
The judge sentenced her to life in prison with no chance of parole.
I loathe that woman, I can never get back Dad's life that she stole.
Even though this poem is fictional, many women really have killed people with arsenic.
Randy Johnson May 2015
I told my wife that she looks like a wicked witch.
And then I had to go to the hospital to be stitched.
She's always been angry and bitter because she's not good looking.
She looks even more like a witch when she eats because her face turns green from my terrible cooking.
She tells people that she's pretty but they refuse to hear her.
I have to clean up the broken glass after she looks in mirrors.
If each broken mirror brings seven years of bad luck, she's in for seven hundred unlucky years.
I also have bad luck because she says that she'll never leave me and that drives me to tears.
This is a fictional poem.
Randy Johnson May 2015
I learned that my ex wife was unfaithful when she gave birth to a baby who is black.
I was stunned and so infuriated at her that I came very close to giving her a smack.
My ex best friend is the baby's dad.
His betrayal really made me mad.
I should've realized what was going on but I was a fool.
I beat the hell out of him because what he did was cruel.
My ex begged me to forgive her and to help her raise the baby as my own.
I packed my things and walked out the door and now that ***** is all alone.
While she was pregnant, I was very happy because I thought the baby was mine.
That **** had a lot of nerve, she broke our wedding vows because she's a swine.
The love that I once felt for her was something I savored.
I was faithful to that witch but she didn't return the favor.
Infidelity is the one thing that I can't forgive.
I'll despise that woman for as long as I live.
This is a fictional poem.
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