There once was a man of great flatulence,
who still manage to have quite a dalliance.
Though he gave a rousing toot,
she still managed her flag salute,
but was unsure which roused the smile on his countenance.
Might all depend on how you look at it.
Filed under Freeform Friday, poetry by author
Women are from Hash tag; Men are from Asterisk.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Critic: He wanted to be a novelist. He has achieved his ambition: a bad novelist.
Reminds me of the joke,
Question: “What’s the difference between a writer and a bad writer?”
Answer: “The critic.”
Or…
“A ‘critic’ is a man who creates nothing and thereby feels qualified to judge the work of creative men. There is logic in this; he is unbiased—he hates all creative people equally.”
– Robert A. Heinlein, novelist
Novelist Robert A. Heinlein autographing one of his works.
I wrote a response, but chickened out and didn’t send it.
I’m a writer and I don’t get no respect. Just yesterday I saw a review of my latest novel. The critic said: “This book will leave its marks on literature — like chicken pox.”
Couldn’t she have at least said, “small pox”?
Filed under cartoon by author, Monday morning writing joke, no respect
Feeling insipid today
by David E. Booker
Feeling insipid today.
Side pain won’t go away.
My workload’s here to stay.
Yes, feeling insipid today.
Co-worker asked me out
So she can just re-spot
The things this place is about
That only make me shout:
Feeling insipid today.
You’re a pain that won’t go away.
My work life should here stay.
Yes, feeling insipid today.
Her offer I did decline,
Being of a simple mind
That re-living this place confined
Is ridiculous beyond sublime.
Gallbladder must come out.
Sits under my liver and pouts,
Feels like it’s putting out grout.
The pain just makes me shout:
Feeling insipid today.
This pain in my side’s Grade A.
My gallbladder should go away.
Yes, feeling insipid today.
If one part of the body is enlightened, is all enlightened?
Of it, I’ll make a shrine.
Next to my Buddha you’ll find
Its new home in the brine
With spirituality refined:
I’ll feel less insipid that day
Surgery will have taken away
The pain that’s made me say:
“Yes, feeling insipid today.”
Vita absurd est
That’s just my best guess
About this entire mess
That I try to digest.
Work is rife with strife
My gallbladder has a new life
Due to a surgeon’s knife
And yet it won’t suffice:
Feeling insipid today
This pain won’t go away.
My overload’s here to stay.
Yes, feeling insipid today.
[Editor’s note: been feeling a bit under the weather these past few days, so have not been at the blog entry writing as much. I hope to feel better soon. And if wondering, it is not a gallbladder issue. A draft of this poem was written long before today. I was only thinking that for the one or two people who read and enjoy (or at least tolerate) my posts, I needed to post a piece of work of some sort.]
Filed under cartoon by author, poetry by author, Sunday silliness
Inspiration can come from almost any dirty little part of your life.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday, inspiration, noir
“Look at this,” one editor said, reading the cover letter of a manuscript. “He claims he puts fire in his writings.”
The second editor read a few pages of the manuscript and told the first one, “He’d do better to put his writings into the fire.”
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
Steve’s a potato and Stephanie’s carrot in a food porn novel entitled The Boiling Stew.
One reviewer said: “This novel is full of heat, with p(l)ot and sub-p(l)ot bubbling over at every turn. The range of emotions ignited in this novel will eave your blood boiling, you mouth watering with anticipation, and your mind consuming the meat of the story as the characters get their just deserts. No glass of water is safe! … Two oven mitts up!”
Filed under absurdity
Sometimes his writing “chokes” me up.
I’m a writer and I don’t get no respect. I was at a holiday party for writers the other night when I heard someone say of my latest work: “Reading his novel is like eating an artichoke: you have to go through so much to get a little.”
I wasn’t hungry after that.
The Bow Man
By David E. Booker
You say you don’t like them,
Then you begin to shout.
You’d better be very careful
Or the Bow Man will clean you out.
He comes on Christmas Day
After you’ve unwrapped all your toys
To take all the ones back
With which you seem annoyed.
Complain about a doll:
“It’s not the color I like.”
He’ll take away all your toys:
Games, dolls, scooters, and bikes.
Beware what you dislike
For that’s just what he enjoys
He’ll snatch away your gifts
Even from good girls and boys.
Don’t like the new dress?
He’ll snatch it off your body.
He’ll take your jacket and your scarf
While sipping your hot toddy.
He’s worse than the Grinch,
Who took your stuff at night.
The Bow Man will do it today,
In the broadest of daylight.
He once snatched a mouse
Right out of an old cat’s paws.
The cat complained the mouse
Was not from Santa Claus.
The Bow Man’s big and fat,
And wears green ugly clothes.
If he ever comes to see you,
His smell will turn up your nose.
He’s dressed in ribbons and bows
But don’t let the festive look fool you.
If you complain about your toys,
He’ll keep Christmas from being cruel to you.
A grainy photo of the infamous Bow Man. Note the Smiley Face made from bows as a way to lull you into a false sense of security.
Booker's Blog 