The Modern Curmudgeon

If you're at work and make a pass At a co-worker, you have harassed Them sexually So please don't say to me "Morning, Jon. How are you? Love the ass."

When applying your son to grade K You must be certain to say That though he's just four He really much more Than contained on his short resumé.

My wife's sniffling and coughing, too. And so I know what I must do: Lock us all indoors Until that I'm sure That we don't have the swine flu.

If I lived in Mexico, I Might be wondering ¿Why, Dios, Why? El Swine Flu, El Quake, What did we do to make You so wrathful at us?  Ay yi yi.

Each year it all starts so merrily (Though we leave feeling guilty and warily) Then once it's begun We forget, for our fun Too soon must end, anniversarily. Sent from my iPhone

The tradition once more goes on Though I'm wondering, is it wrong To commemorate Our wedding date Simply by sleeping past dawn? Sent from my iPhone

I am ready for the massage. The sleep and the badinage. I know what I need And with speed I'll proceed. Yes, it's time to cut to the Montage.

Sorry.  I just don't get Twitter. Like I want to know all the shit you're Doing right now! And what, why and how! Or maybe I'm just old and bitter.

I fail to see how GM Can be viable ever again And as soon as they're dead We'll be smacking our head And ask "why'd we give billions to them?"

My script, well received, yet a few Notes that I've got to go through And they're running behind, "So Jon, if you don't mind, Could you punch up the first five scripts too?"

A child asleep, I have thought Is a joy, an adorable tot. Except for mine Who wakes up all the time Screaming, "Daddy!" like he's just been shot.

This weekend, I'm pleased to report Is actually feeling too short. Filled with fun and friends It began. Now it ends With a cigar and a nice glass of port.

You left, and you weren't coming back For some time, we'd been on the wrong track. You were finicky. Skittish. So at last now we're finished. You are dead. Long live my new Mac.

The script is done. Which is exciting To think it may soon be delighting The suits; but their laughter Will fade, and then after That come the notes and rewriting.

My son has determined it's great When disinclined to shooting straight To aim at the wall Or anything at all When he goes to urinate.

The world hasn't spun off its axis Just 'cause we have to pay taxes But mad at Obama Fox drums up the drama And goes into anaphylaxsis

My left ear is totally clogged Like half of me is waterlogged Also, it's aching And ringing, thus making This whole day a bit of a slog.

Our bosses have both left the state! Which, theoretically's great 'Cause we can leave early So why the hell were we All sitting there until 8?

It's too late for limericks tonight I got a script I gotta write And I'm on a deadline So there isn't time For me to sit here being trite.

At tonight's Passover seder It became clear that sooner, not later Having started to talk It was us versus clock Till the kids turned the house to a crater.

When writing a comedy The writers believed, generally That not writing jokes Meant the drama folks Had much simpler jobs than had we. But now I sing a different song 'Cause I see that opinion was wrong: No, you don't have to be Writing hilarity But your script has to be twice as long.

Today it's Passover and I Am aware there're things I'm denied But at lunch it was deli So now in my belly Is half a pastrami on rye.

When I noticed some ink on a toy My son suddenly became coy And explained, "Wasn't me, Because god was asleep. So he didn't see me." Oh boy.

On some level yes, it's instructive And I don't mean to be too reductive But I think if Word Twist Were to cease to exist I would probably be more productive

I push the button in back And the screen lights up... and then goes black. Once again I Need a power supply For my rapidly aging iMac. Sent from my iPhone

First a swim at the YMCA Then a pancake and shake déjuner Then we bike to the shore To goof off some more My son, 'twas a hell of a day.

There's no pond nearby. That's good luck. If there were we'd more often get stuck Explaining the word You could swear you just heard: Was just 'frog', though it sounded like 'fuck'.

Our problems won't cease to exist And our troubles will surely persist So let's fill a cup Full of wine, bring it up And then gently bend at the wrist

All work and no play's said to make Jack a dull boy. The mistake Is that I'm not Jack Though work's breaking my back Yet I still can't seem to catch a break.

This will be the last thing I'll say: Life can no longer go on this way. So I've gotten a gun And I've gone on the run Mark my words. Mark the date. Mark the day.