The Modern Curmudgeon

When expressing that thing that you thought Try not to get too overwrought For the more words you use Don't explain, they confuse, Obfuscating more often than not.

No office. No pencils. No desk. No lunch orders. Nothing is left But to clean out the drawer And to wonder if you're Headed east or remaining out west.

Maybe I don't want to switch From TV for this movie pitch If these machinations Are some indication That the feature world is a bitch.

My son tells me if I am seen In the same costume this Halloween That people "will fight you" Which seems a damn sight to Me like these people are mean.

In the event that I'm ever found bleeding, Unconscious and possibly needing Transfusing, don't fuss My type is A+ Write it down -- and thanks so much for reading.

It's possible we may regret Returning to him the drum set That we said we would save Until he could behave. Which he now knows was no idle threat.

The LAPD overhead Is enough to shake you from your bed As they circle the sky In search of some guy While you speculate "somebody's dead..."

Some people like to eat Chee-tos While others prefer their burritos As for me, there's no time When I'd not get in line For the tacos that they serve at Tito's.

"Your lower control arms are shot And two new tires ought to be bought. Plus your throttle body And torque mounts are shoddy. I hope that's four grand that you've got."

See, that's what your eyes are for To guide you as you cross the floor So next time I'm hoping You'll keep them both open And not walk straight into a door.

It's almost a sure thing if you Stay up till a quarter till two That you can count on Being woken pre-dawn It's like somehow the baby just knew.

He excused himself when he was done Stopped when he was told not to run Said he loved his mother Kissed and hugged his brother. Who are you, and where is my son?

I'm dirty and greasy and tired From the weekend that has just transpired Trips north and trips south Fixing things round the house... I'm beat, and so less-than-inspired.

Santa Barbara is nice in the summer But the traffic back home is a bummer As you sit in the throng Barely inching along Behind some a-hole in a stretch Hummer.

Your Mother is not a robot You can push down and break, so do not Ever say that again Or never is when You'll see Disneyland; give it some thought.

Dinner last night went too far. So tonight I kept things to the bar. The meal was urban Consisting of bourbon And for dessert just a cigar.

Someone pulled, and so caused to fall The towel bar off of the wall Leaving holes to repair But the real problem here Is I'm nowhere near handy at all.

The whiteboards are back to their whitest As we wade through the season's detritus Little left to be done On this, season one. Our last medical case: senioritis.

She said "I've got news for you, honey, And the thing is, well, this may sound funny, The script -- it's a go Just as long as you know That the network has run out of money."

At long last we finally tried The Tavern that's on the Westside And damn, it was good So when you're in the 'hood I suggest you head promptly inside.

It's nice to have the company For the wife, and the kids, and for me. I just hope that they're sleeping Or else I'll be weeping When I'm up at a quarter to three.

The anticipation increases As the finish line can't help but tease us So we eat, we rejoice And our cuisine of choice Is wine and way too many cheeses.

We're almost through, get out the fork 'Cause this pig's about to be pork Done, through and through Now as for Season 2 Just don't make me move to New York.

Today, if you looked at the time At precisely one moment you'd find The hour and date Would enumerate 12:34:56 7/8/09

It's not that I think he was reckless And certainly wouldn't say feckless I'm just not sure that Our twelve year-old cat Has all that much use for a necklace.

Allow me to give him a plug, it's Like his new vocab is a drug, it's Fun to use words Like "dogs", "cats", or "birds" Or "chickens" -- which he calls "chicken nuggets."

If only all weekends were three Days long, I think that we'd be Much happier, healthier And possibly wealthier This petition's beginning with me.

Despite all our nation's concerns I'll say many happy returns To the ol' USA On this, its birthday And hope for few firework burns.

For this, I can't say I've waited. But maybe it's what we're all fated To one day become As today my son Said "I'm Zachary... Incorporated."

To walk through the door and hear cries Of "Daddy!" cut me down to size. Because these days I creep In the door; they're asleep And I really miss seeing those guys.

This anemia's really quite cunning But this diagnosis is stunning; The issue could very Well be ordinary: That once in a while I go running.