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Anais Vionet Mar 30
I just won a medal
I wasn’t in a war
I think it’s made of gold
I don’t know what it’s for.

I’m shocked at what it weighs.
They threw me a parade
I got an honorary degree
Jimmy Fallon had me on TV
now everyone recognizes me

My old friends told me I was fickle
by the paparazzi I became heckled
I was notified that it’s ‘taxable’
It seemed the medal was quite valuable
I became afraid that it might be stolen
so I donated it to the Smithsonian.

Now that I’m not wearing it
people have started to forget
now no one buys me drinks
or cares about what I think.
I’m no longer on the Wheaties box
fame was a drug and I’m in detox

The whole thing was bizarre,
should I do ‘Dancing with the Stars’?
or simply let it go - fadeout gracefully?
I think anonymity suits me.
Alan S Bailey Mar 28
~**** SOUND~

The way it's smelling, I can't believe it-I've never smelled a
**** LIKE THAT
It's oh so gassy, such a **** sound that goes
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...
I don't believe it-it's got my face turning a pale greenish-hue!
You know I've never smelled a
**** LIKE THAT
It's oh so gassy, such a **** sound that goes
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...

Verse 1
I think that the earth is shaking-I swear someone just lit da' fuze,
An' detonated a whole **** whopping ton of "Nitrous juice,"
That **** was like a ghost in Ghost Busters,
It sneak up on you and you freakin' smell the
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...
I turn around and think
What is this some kind of bad **** could seem,
Who ate that whole hot dog with sharp mustard?
And then cut the cheese?
And do not think that this is the first time I or my friend here
Jo-jo made the flowers seem to move in the breeze
For I, Triumph, am on a mission to escape this **** smell
With my head between my knees-ABOUT TO PASS OUT........

The way it's smelling, I can't believe it-I've never smelled a
**** LIKE THAT
It's oh so gassy, such a **** sound that goes
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...
I seek that face mask-like this is a smell emergency
Buddy, You know I've never smelled a
**** LIKE THAT
Don't no one order the garlic liver with fried onion steak!
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...

Verse 2
The other day I was in gas station, some guy was getting gas
Had gotten "Carsick" and blamed me! But I knew the truth it was the car next to me,
I am not lying it came wafting through the breeze and it goes
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...
I said, "MAN do I look like the "Houdini of farts?"
With fumes from some unknown specter of flatulence? When clearly,
It was you? What you think I should do? Don't look at me!
Make it so that everyone up in this gas station knows it wasn't me?
But you know the truth there is a doughnut I buy one for you please
Don't get so angry I didn't mean any harm, no need for one to yell,
You know you can't light a lighter or smoke? It's a law everyone knows
When there is so much gas you might just
**** (Phew-can't no one light a ****...!)

Chorus
The way it's smelling, I can't believe it-I've never smelled a
**** LIKE THAT
It's oh so gassy, such a **** sound that goes
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...
Don't ya know that beans are a magical fruit?
I've never smelled a BIFF like that,
In the end we all can't escape the
noxious fumes of the
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...

On airplane flight I was minding my own business
When some dude let an "aero-**** fly" a guy looked
At me and said:
"Hey, what you think that this is, did superman
Himself let a PHLPH
As his cape lifted up from a gassy (?)
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...
"You think that Triumph the puppet dog not super enough?
I think you are like kryptonite to me! You saying I had some
Thing humble apology I had to say? Don't you know there is no room to breath?
I clearly know better I see the sign when you need to pull out a bag
Because you airsick there are multiple usages, and you can use it
Like I have repeatedly to breath from a **** smell I didn't make!
I am just a puppet, not a ****-tion teller...!

Chorus
The way it's smelling, I can't believe it-I've never smelled a
**** LIKE THAT
It's oh so gassy, such a **** sound that goes
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...
From the rear end, this isn't a whoopee cushion ****-
Can't pretend
That I've ever smelled a
**** LIKE THAT
It's oh so gassy, such a **** sound that goes
**** FA-FAR-FAR-****...

MAN!
It's got a life all it's own!
My own personal humor flatulent smell, a simple funny mix-up, to the tune of Eminem's song '*** Like That'

"One day this one might be SMELLING like hot cakes...!"
Anais Vionet Mar 27
In a lattice-lit dorm room sits a writer.
A discarded chemistry book lies beside her.
because ideas are hitting off her, like a collider.

Why does writing make her feel alive-er?
Cause it helps sort out the feelings inside her?

Repose is something grinding-study denies her.

Now, rhyming isn't her primary desire
the connections form, almost, despite her
poetry’s at it best when it comes unaware
“Oh,” she thinks, like, we’re going there?

What she writes might eventually be shared
with that awareness she vowels with care
picking words when they seem the ripest
shaping phrases like some sort of stylist
she may be less of a poet than a typist

Her default is to narrative - like you read in novels
cause let’s face it - cold-poetry is as dead as vaudeville,
as buried as silent movies, letters and opera,
have I come to dig Caesar up, like a fossil?
.
.
cold = straight up
Anais Vionet Mar 25
Classes started up again today. Soon, we’ll be gloriously stressed, and clocked-up on whatever. Our hearts will swell to the pre-med symphony - a frantic opus, composed in the key of no sleep.

In seminars for rising pre-med seniors, (What's needed to get that med-school slot!), it’s obvious that 60% of the students who started out with us, on this track, are gone - left for other majors.
“I wasn’t happy, it was too much,” they said.

I feel a pang when I hear that undergrads we’ve shared a trench with have switched their major to basket weaving (political science), TikTok (computer science) or Phys-Ed.

I envy those deserters, I pity those deserters, I envy.. Wait, aren’t deserters supposed to be, well, you know.

Meanwhile, the rest of us, the stubborn few, cling to the dream. It’s a waking dream, for caffeinated zombies, obsessive-compulsive workaholics and maladjusted wonks who neglect personal needs, relationships and in some cases personal hygiene (not me, of course) in favor of a goal.

Maybe there’s something wrong with us?
In welcome old Fido is barking
But cats are too haughty for marking
If tenants are home,
Or off on a roam.  
A shut-in gets cranky and carking.
Anais Vionet Mar 24
I babysit the daughter (Ivy) of a doctor at the hospital where I volunteer (to accumulate ‘clinical hours’ for my med-school applications). According to my mom, the purpose of my current existence is to get into med school.

That may sound crazy or theater-mom-ish but she has strong arguments - like Aristotle (all things strive toward full potential), stoicism (there’s a role for all living things) and vitalism (there’s a purpose, in life, beyond survival) - so, who am I to argue?

Straight brag, I’m a certified, Girl Scout Safe-Sitter®. Little Ivy and I will be eye to eye (metaphorically) for three hours today - no phones, TV or Internet - just paints, swings, barbies, a Montessori math game and a new toy called “MyFirst camera” which lets her take pix, and then print them, low-res and smeary, on ultra-thin paper.

I met Ivy when she was 4, now she’s on the edge of 6. She’s got large chestnut brown eyes that match her hair - which is cut in a shoulder length angled-bob. She’s about 3½-feet of cuteness, in her pink ballet-flat shoes. I’d describe her clothes, but she changes about every hour. “What are you wearing now?” I find myself asking the princess or jedi. “Can I help you officer?” I ask the business-like cop in a ballet tutu.
We’re old hats at this babysitting gig.

When Ivy picked up her camera, I asked, “Can I take your picture?” reaching out to take the thing.
“In a minute,” she said, lining me up in the viewfinder. “No,” she said, suddenly turning into a photographer highly critical of my look, “(pose) Like a model,” she directed, before striking, for a brief moment, a perfect, indifferent, hands-on hips pose herself. Kids pick up on everything. I took her direction and struck a pose.

Later, as we painted dragons that looked like flowers, she asked, “Why’s the sky blue?”
When Ivy asks questions, it’s like she’s getting a second opinion or testing to see what I know.
“Blue?” I asked, acting like I was confused. “The sky is GREEN.”
“NNOOO,” she said.
“You’re colorblind!” I exclaimed in alarm, “Does your mom know?!
“The sky is BLUE,” she said, with the seriousness of certainty.
“We’ll see,” I said, like a doubting thomas.
I held up five fingers, “How many colors am I holding up?”  
She looked at me, side-eyed for less than a beat, then said “No.”
We had hours of fun.

Later, when her mom came home, she asked “How’s it going guys?” As she set down her purse and keys.
Ivy looked up from her work, gluing a collage of the day's photos to poster board and said, “Ok.”
“We had fun,” I reported, “I’ve been teaching her some comedy things.”
“Like what?” her mom asked, nonplussed.
Ivy eyed me suspiciously.
“Like when she falls, she should wait for the laugh. She can’t just - hop right up.”
straight brag = shameless self-promotion
Anais Vionet Mar 22
I dreamed my way here
I’ve had my cringe moments
I feel pressure, I lose perspective
I’ve wholeheartedly failed
I misspeak, underthink, overreact
I try to do the right thing
the right thing isn’t always clear
I’ve tried to hold on
I’ve let go with grace
I’ve charged ahead
I’ve stepped aside
I self-sabotage, then try to do better
I’ve self-consciously retreated
I’ve stood up for others
I’ve backed down and apologized
I’ve rinsed and repeated
I’m a chameleon, but I’ve never been perfect
I’ve under-reacted to challenges
I’ve overreacted to the ordinary
I devalue likeability
I indulge the language of play
I share my human experience
I don’t know what else to say.
Robert Ippaso Mar 21
What am I?

I’m great fun and sometimes crazy,
Loud or soft with moods quite hazy,
Full of love, sorrow, unrequited loss,
One minute happy another sullen, cross.
I see the world in shades of neon gray,
Rarely do I care or anyone obey,
My vibes are epic, they constantly perplex,
Full of contradictions, invariably complex.
I can praise the Lord, drink myself into a stupor,
Stalking the room with unrequited humor.
*** is my go-to, gentle or pulsating,
Not always happy, at times tearfully heartbreaking.
I know the secret to capture every heart,
Life would be intolerable by keeping me apart.
Whatever you may think this is no passing phase,
I'm known to be pervasive and hound your mind for days.
My moods are epic, a journey to discover,
Your friend to soothe you or belatedly recover.

Come on - What am I?
One clue - the answer is a What not a Who
Anais Vionet Mar 21
I got this new hand soap, called “Frosted Coconut Snowball.”
It's the dreamiest scent ever.

When I’d unpacked (from Spring break) and had everything in place,
I dragged Andy and Leong into my bathroom. Wash your hands,” I suggested, holding up the soap dispenser and turning on the tap.

“Ok," Leong said, offering her upturned hands for soaping.
“Sure,” Andy said, assenting with his hands as well.

I pumped out a generous, foaming squirt for each of them.
Leong held the foam up to smell. “Oh, my GOD,” She moaned, “is this edible?
I shook my head no.

Andy sampled his as well, “Nice!” he agreed. Which is volumes from a guy.

“I fell in love with it.” I declared, adding, “You know, I never used to wash my hands before - now, it’s practically a habit.”
Andy chuckled.

“Good to know,” Leong said, before she began slowly inhaling the fragrance off her now-dry hands.
our cast:
Leong, (roommate) 20, is a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major’ from Macau, China. She’s a proud communist (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it). We both speak Cantonese (her English is perfect) so we talk a lot of secret trash together.

Andy, 21, Everyone knows Andy. Not by name, of course, he’s like an extra on the stage of life - but you’ve seen him around. He’s carrot-topped, always darkly dressed, a soft spoken, chain-smoking divinity-school undergraduate. He’s so smart, I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time. (Seriously)
It’s lovely to live on a boat
So mobile a dwelling and remote,
But beaching in sand
To dock on dry land,
Is nicer than bobbing afloat.
In homage to the Peggotty family
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