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Brent Kincaid Mar 2016
You speak, the lies begin
Your words all talk of violence
It’s tragic.
How else could we explain
The presence of
Such mortal pain?
It’s tragic.

You open mouth to talk
And we hear crap.
With every word you say
You need a slap.

Somebody needs to sue
A nasty bigot such as you
You fascist.
We’d feel much better when
You’re locked away
From decent men
You racist.

You break a good soul’s heart
With each foul name
You utter from your face
It’s very plain;
You are a blotch upon
The goodness of
The human race.
It’s tragic.
We hear too much of you
And every freedom
You run through,
It’s tragic.

How can you sleep at night
With all the horror
That comes from you?
That sad thing here to say
There is no better day
With you.
(Sing to the tune of the old Doris Day song, ‘It’s Magic”.)
My intention is to tell of bodies vanished
Or mutated; the "others" who made the mutations,
Will help me-or so I hope so-with a poem
That ceases with the world's ending,
Back to civilized days.

The Destruction

Before the deaths occurred, or vanishings, or mutations,
Civilization was, different, a diverse, organized, so called,
All intelligent and of moderate matter. Everything had its
Place, no creature nor object lay in contradictory conflict.
There was electricity to light dark rooms; clocks to keep
Track of time. The universe, worked well in harmony.
There was land and air and ocean.
Land for every creature to live on, and water
For fish to swim in, air for all the living to breathe,
Societies didn’t fight, a world finally repaired.
Forever at peace: within this utopia.
The gazelle lay beside the lion; the youth respected the elderly,
The strong and rich provided for the weak and poor.
A beings' lowest emotion was simple satisfaction.
Till "The Others" or alien nature,
Settled on earth and spread out.
They took children from their mothers, warriors from their
Towns, and eyeballs from their sockets.
From another planet they brought terrorization.
Beings so evolved, and out of the blatant blue,
Found humans and bound them to trees and poles.
Some forced fire down mortals' throats, and flesh,
Some leaped in air, claiming their human slaves in the
Highest planet.
Some hid their humans below the earth, their last wish
Ungranted, grasping for life, gasping for air.
Some did indescribable, grosser torments, with water as a weapon,
Lowest of all, some mutilated babies, tormented women, and
Ate their limbs for breakfast.

Whoever their god was, he demanded chaos,
First there was disorder on this earth, and then came
Their divisions, laws and uniformities.
In the end, there was no hope.
On every riverside blood discolored the waters,
Alien vegetation spread and rose under their new sun,
Surrounding our homes; alien pawns and their diseases.
Banks and stores where rummaged through and destroyed,
Sea monsters were fed fresh earthlings,
Women were made their ****** and experienced excruciating pains,
Spread apart from their families and friends.
We assembled prisons and torture chambers for our kind,
We were their precious jewels, and earth was their vault.
Our world was divided into three zones,
The north and held prisons and torture chambers,
The south now a feed ground of the growing aliens population
And in the center, a paradise with perfect seasons and organization.
The other zones held contaminated air that darkened
The earth, grease floating atop of waters,
And chemicals that instigated fires and explosions.
Towers and buildings were torn and disassembled,
And fear struck each soul every time
The Destructor called orders of
General *******.
We fought and argued with them but nothing good
Came of it for us, the aliens continued
To tear our universe apart.
     These boundaries taken away,
The stars went dim,
The hazardous mist covered their sparkle,
Fish were depressed of their water,
Beasts from their land, birds from the air.

But something else was decided,
By a man capable of thinking logically,
A man born to a civilized earth and to the middle class,
And now, recently and forever separated
From security, love and even his God-
Such destruction made with unknown forces,
Turned humans back to clay and running water.
All animals slowly expired; one man,
Alone and crazy, rose his face to his lost heaven.
"This is the end", he knew.
A parody of Ovid's Metamorphoses
Brent Kincaid Feb 2016
You made me hate you.
You must love to do it,
You’re acting like you knew it.
You made me hate you.
There’s really nothing to you.
You’re loathed by all that knew you.

You are disgusting sometimes
And times you’re worse.
You really need drugs and
A doctor and a full time nurse.

You always lie so
The truth seems to evade you.
It’s like the devil made you.
I wish you’d just frack off.

Gimme, gimme, gimme
What I long for
A better kind of behavior
I can’t write a song for.
You know you made me
Hate you!
Nico Reznick Feb 2016
When did news parody
stop being funny?
Was it somewhere between
Alan Jackson’s 9/11 cash-in
and Donald Trump’s hair?
Was it BoJo stranded on a zipline over London,
or Cameron’s alleged porcine relations
(bizarrely black-mirroring fiction)?
When did the news
start doing Chris Morris’ job for him?
When did they start
pre-satirising the headlines?
“No evidence mermaids exist,” says US Government.
Swimming pool evacuated after prosthetic leg is mistaken for *******.
Robots follow Marco Rubio to South Carolina.
I swear, I didn’t
make any of those up.
The actors on Saturday Night Live
are more statesmanlike
than the Presidential Primary Candidates they’re lampooning.
How the hell do they breed these
creatures?  These gurning,
overgrown foetuses with their
conveniently dead ****** sisters to get
all wet-eyed and tumescent over,
their boomingly hollow controversy and
their total, catastrophic
crashes of personality.  
These loathsome
organic constructs who would seem
more relatable and trustworthy if
their image consultants made them wear
Nixon masks for every
public appearance.  

When did it all become
this strange, sick spoof
of itself?

Is there no one left in Britain who can make a sandwich?
Man dressed as penguin receives more votes than the Liberal Democrats.
Piers Morgan given jail time for illegally hacking ‘phones and gloating about it.

Okay.  
I made the last one up.
If anyone hasn't seen "Brass Eye" or "The Day Today", you really ought to.
There once was a man named Beowulf
Who was fiercer than a demon or werewolf
Except that he had a flaw
A dragon made him mortally sore
This prologue is prophetic
To the ending of this epic
So I’ll tell you more


Beowulf made his mind up at twenty-three
He would race his friend to swim across the sea
But fighting many sea monsters is quite trial
Beowulf only caught up in the final mile


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Breca nearly beat him
He managed to defeat him
But he would make up his mind


Beowulf made his mind up in his head
He would battle Grendel until one was dead
But even though his strength could cause a lot of harm
Beowulf only severed Grendel’s left arm



Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Grendel he had saddened
Beowulf wasn’t gladdened
And he would make up his mind


Beowulf made his mind up then and there
He’d **** Grendel’s mother in her watery lair
Although the angry tarn-hag had put up a fight
Both monsters were beheaded that very night


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He took a child and mother
Like Cain had killed his brother
But he had made up his mind



Beowulf made his mind up when he was old
To slay a raging dragon of whom he’d been told
But Beowulf couldn’t deal with the dragon’s fire
And he was later burned atop a funeral pyre


Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He once was a great hero
And now his worth is zero
But he would make up his mind
A parody song/poem I wrote a couple of years ago when studying the Beowulf epic.
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
Over the river
And through Grant Woods
Through Hallmark scenes we go.
Through colors of white
That are not quite right
Not even for ******-on snow.

If Currier and Ives
Tends to give you the hives
You really might not want to go.
By now we have cars
And thank your stars
No shoes for the horse to throw.

Old men in jeans
In bucolic scenes
From a hundred years ago.
Don’t be in a rush
As driving through slush
Can cause accidents, you know.

Turkey and dressing
And Parker rolls
May suit the day just fine,
But a warning here
I’ll make it clear
You might not like mulled wine.

When you have eaten
While women work
The men can go off and drink.
The men getting *******
A seasonal disgrace,
The gals keep their minds on the sink.

Later while driving back ,
The men passed out,
The women behind the wheel.
They women all try
To figure out why
They go through this yearly ordeal.
(Yes, folks. This is yet another one of my infamous Iconoclastic Christmas Carols.)
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I recorded this years ago, but it's still funny today.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMpjsFkALLM
Bo Burnham Dec 2015
The Squares lived happily,
in their square houses,
in their square yards,
in their square town.

One day, a family of Circles
moved in from the west.

"Get out of here, roundies!" shouted one of the Squares.
"Why?" asked one of the Circles.
"Because this is a metaphor for racism!"
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
Little Miss Muffet
Got ******* on her tuffet
‘Cause she don’t know what curds weigh.
A scholarly spider
Sat down beside her
Said, “Tuffet baby, it ain’t spelled that way.”

But, confused, he asked
“How did it come to pass
That you got laid and I have not done yet?
With eight legs to grab
I should be able to nab
Likely many more than than you can get.”

Muffet said, with a shrug
“You pitiful old bug,
Your brain must be little more than silage.
For everyone knows
How the old saying goes
It’s not the age of the tire but the mileage.”

The spider understood
What anyone would
That Miss Muffet knew what she was doing.
He went on his way
With no more to say,
And Muffet went right back to her *******.
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