Thursday, January 19, 2017

Farewell to Childhood

This post contains bad, foul, filthy and unacceptable language - the words that “will curve your spine, grow hair on your hands and maybe, even bring us, God help us, peace without honor.”

This is not a post for children.  Kids, take a hike.
This is also not a post for those adults who are offended by this type of language.  Do yourself a favor, and go read some of my cute stuff before moral outrage can kick in.
Just about everything else on this blog is clean…Stupid sometimes, but clean.
End of Warning.

Many years ago, my ability to compose song parodies for sales meetings at work prompted a request from Customer Service.

One of the women working there asked me to help write a poem to be read along with the presentation of the end of the year thank you gift for the teachers.

So here it is:
It’s the end of the year,
But we want you to know,
That you've helped us all out,
Both to learn and to grow.

But as we all leave,
So you don't feel blue,
We'll give you these flowers,
As a little "Thank You"

So think of us when,
The little bulbs bloom,
`Cause we'll all sure miss
Times in your Classroom

So thanks for the teaching,
And for all the rest,
We just want you to know
We think you're the best.

Pedestrian and lame, I know.

However, since it’s me, there was a rather detailed and extreme screening process to select the stanzas that would be truly proper for that occasion.

Here are the far more fulfilling to compose also rans.


Remember us when
These bulbs bloom in the grass
Except for the one
Who's a pain in the ass.

Enjoy all the flowers
We hope that they'll thrill ya
But we'd rather see
The new film with Godzill‑ya

So here are some flowers
We hope that their smell pleases
As we leave your classroom
And take our diseases

Our time here is ended
Yet another class splits
But get new snacks next year
These gave us the shits

When you plant these flowers
In the dirt that you dug
Remember the sick kid
That barfed on the rug

As years pass by
And these flowers keep growin'
We know that more grey
In your hair will be showin'

We say good bye now
We'll leave while we're able
Before we get busted
For breaking the table.

So now as we leave
We must take time to pause
And remember the dead mouse
Hid in one of your drawers

We'll miss our friends
And well miss our teachers
And miss playing doctor
Hid beneath the bleachers

We will always be
Your cute little elves
If you don't like our poem
Then go fuck yourselves.

As usual, a rhyming foray into rudeness is the signal for the fourth consecutive return of the George Awards  for my personal picks of projected profanity.

That's projected as in "film on screen." Not the clearest word, but I didn't want to mess up my alliteration. 

Using literary devices and shit  like that elevates the classiness of the Awards.

They will likely be more sporadic than previous years, instead of all in a row but they will be arriving none the less, starting next week!

Once its posted, click here to continue on to the this years first celebration of cinematic filth...dick jokes!

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