Monday, January 31, 2005

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 11: Stand Ye Still Ye Fiends of Yams!

Considering the trip to Mexico that I am taking this weekend with my family, I figured this to be a perfect week to get a little foreign. Our first poem will be written in spanish.

Un Ano Supremo

El pedacito de queso me espera, me espera
Un vigilante constante que no respira, no respira.
Los ojos abiertos que me miran, me miran...
Una bala cheddarosa me disparan, me disparan.
¡El grito de mi páncreas es feroz!
La música de la gárgola en mi voz.
¡El ejército de los Pitufos Unidos ataca en la madrugada!
¡Guarde la salida de heces bien tapada!
El sonido de destrucción y dolor,
Semejante a la guerra entre yerno y suegra.
Me voy a buscar una mujer escocés.
No me importa que sea negra.

Our next poem is a haiku. It remains untitled.

Watermelon Joy!
Gimme some dat fried chicken
Now back to cotton.

Well, thanks again everyone. I am feeling very foreign this week indeed.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 10: Phetus in Tha House!

What a treat this week as we have the privilege to hear sweet words from a lyrical genius: MC Phetus Brown. He will be gracing our weekly tribute to poetry as a guest poetist. (Don't worry friends, you'll still get your Poem a la Papa, but first we'll enjoy the bulging talents of one so
talentuos as Mr. Brown.)
Our first Phetus poem is entitled: "I Yearnhardt"

I Yearnhardt

My hardt my hardt
Mine dearest Dale
with a race car you earned my heart
Nascar's greatest, Dale of the Earnhardt!

Yes, the trailors weep and mourn
"I love Dale!" cries my truck's horn
Believe me now my white, mulletted friend
sure as the wind blows the south will rise again
With our fearless courage learned from him
The glory of Dale will ride again.

Phetus's next poem is actually the expoundation of a very famous line of his in the hit track off the Fabulous Flowells first cd: Germaineous Habitat. The line shares the name of the poem: "Kick a Gnome or Two"

Kick a Gnome or Two

Piercing tiny beedy eyes
Lying whoremongering little guys.
Hard working and happy they may seem
Laughing cheerfully they do play?!!
No, no. Deceitful, cunning, devilish fiends.

They lurk about standing 1 foot 2,
with big thick beards to hide their face.
This is a gnome through an through.
Yes, the demise of nations stands 1 foot 2,
this is why I kick a gnome or two.

I'd like to give a special thank you and shout out to MC Phetus Brown for his dedication to lyricism.
Next up, is this weeks only poem from Papa. It's one that I wrote on my mission in my first area while I was comps with a man named Darek Eggleston. I call it, "Gordon Robinski".

Gordon Robinski

Up on the shelf, I place the elf.
He watches me as I bathe myself.
Gordon Robinski, he's my friend.
He has a cute little elf rearend.
And cute little elf ears, and cute little elf nose.
He likes to wear purple pantyhose.
And dance away his bemusing life.
Gordon, is a hermaphrodite.

Thank you everyone for making this another succesful week in poemology. I'd also like to congratulate one Kayela Seegmiller for having joined our poem club, and her decision to take my class on rebellion. Your first assignment is coming soon. The cheese one wasn't very rebellious after all, so you can forget that one.
Until next time, keep a wreath of garlic close by at all times. You never know what lurks in the night.

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 9: Splendid Magic Cream Stick

Well, last Thursday I was sick with the worst stomach pains I've ever had in my whole entire Peruvian life. So I stayed home and watched Harry Potters 1 and 2. What joy! I got so excited that I read Harry Potter 1 that day, and now, one week later, I'm finishing up Harry Potter 5. My obsession is complete and full. I invite all able minded and bodied humans everywhere to do the same in preparation for Harry Potter 3 (to be released in less than a month). So in order to become one with the magic, this poem will be slightly different. I have put no prethought into it, and instead will write whatever magical thought comes into my head. (Don't expect too much rhyming.)
Harry, this one is for you...

Splendid Magic Cream Stick

Days of darkness, and fear spreads o'er the land.
Evil unchecked, worse by ten than Anger CanMan.
Outnumbered, those few brave souls still fight on.
No hope of survival, just denial of what's wrong.

Then bursts forth like a well prepared pimple
a ray of hope to the weak and the simple.
Rare power unknown banishing evil, BEGONE!
Little Harry Potter gets his stop the Dark Wizard on.

Now at the school of witchcarft and wizardry,
poor little Harry has begun to hit puberty.
Emotions and hormones run wild in fits,
the magic of manhood will very soon hit.

Growing and learning and constantly yearning,
for answers to the past, and to why his scar is burning.
If you're feeling the love, come on raise up your fists!
My man Harry is tha master quidditchologist.

Mean teachers, dark wizards, the poor kid never gets a break.
He better get some Cho lovin in book 6 for Pete's sake.
Oh Harry, just a warning, you might want to stay away,
From that Colin Creevey boy who's always following you (I think that he's gay).

Now the Dark Lord has returned and's all hype on his game.
Straight up fixin fo' blastin some peoples away.
And our only hope for survival again it would seem,
is NOT a large fish, or even my spleen...

It's Harry Potter.

That's the end of the poem, but for reals Harry, you know I got your back... I love you man. And I want to give some shouts out to GrandMaster Bling AKA Albus Dumbledore; Hedwig and her crew; my man Hagrid, thanks for all the shoes; Ron, Hermione, Weasleys, Y'all got it goin' on... 'specially you Hermione... girl you definitely got it goin' on. Peace.

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 8: Wow! Week 8!

I guess that this roughly makes two months. Hooray for us! Good hustle team. Both Friday and Saturday nights, I slept at Burke's house. (For those who don't know Burke, just imagine in your head a large gay, Jewish frog.) While there I was reminded of why I love that man. It's not him at all. It's his parents. So Mama Skid, Chuck James... this one's for you...

The Gratitude Doth Spill from My Ears

I am the helpless acorn,
you planted in fertile soil.
I am the rusty El Camino.
you gave me motor oil.

I'll name all my children after you.
I don't care the danger or peril!
First I'll just have to wait and make sure,
That I'm not sterile.

To me ye've been like parents.
Loved me even when I was wild.
I'm not worthy to be your son!
Refer to me as the illegitimate child.

1,000 years locked in the mouse tower
won't change how I feel for you.
Without you in my life,
roses aren't red. The sea shineth not blue.

Mama Skid, Chuck James,
I'll never put you to shame.
No no!
I'd rather from goats be maimed.

You are the shining beacon of hope
to the blind.
You are the telepathy drug
that frees my mind.

Connie Chung ain't got nuthin on you girl.
YOU are the queen of the orient.
And you are no hanging, dangling Chad my friend;
You are money well spent.

Thus we arrive at the end of yet another week's fun fest. Due to a lack of knowledge on my part of valid e-mail addresses, I invite you all to pass along these poems to your loved ones, as well as those you hate. For these poems are both a blessing and a curse.
I would suggest starting with Week 1, and letting them decide whether or not they wish to continue (no such freedom of choice will be given to you all. I will continue sending those already placed on my list these weekly handfuls of poetic justice until the day you all die!!!!!!!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!)

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 7: Fare Thee Well Dear Jung

Many of you will know, many others will not, that my dear friend Jung-Woo Oh has departed this life here in Vegas, leaving it behind for a far better one over there in Carlsbad California where he will be serving his mission. For this reason this week's poem has arrived late. Yesterday I went to Provo to drop him off. In my heart there is now a void. Thus, this week's poem will be largely focused upon this event.

You Captured the Rapture in a Tubesock

My eyes try to grow accustomed but never do they find that light.
Overwhelming, swelling, bulging sadness that sweeps over me in tides.
You can't use Clorox on your soul.
You can't use Clorox on your soul.

You captured the rapture in a tubesock.
Then used it to beat me over the head.
You are the epitome of Korean rock!
There's so much I left unsaid.
You can't keep living in a bowl.
You can't keep living in a bowl.

Someday we'll be together again.
Reunited as long lost friends.
Until that day I will lay in your underwear drawer and cry tears.
I'll put on plays and use your socks as the main characters.
Distance and time will make our love grow.
Distance and time will make our love grow.

I feel you near although we are so far.
All we can do is listen to "Somewhere Out There" at the same time as we
gaze up at the stars.
I almost touch you as I reach out my hand towards the heaven.
Many people don't know that you used to go by "Kevin".
Know this: I'll always be your manho.
Know this: I'll ALWAYS be your manho.

I love you Jung. John love straight at ya. We are so flaming hetero.

So that's week 7's poem. I hope that everyone was able to get a feel for my love of Jung. Until next time, keep wearing your socks.

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 6: (I think)

I am here dear friends. Once again. Due to some discrepancies regarding the lyrical content of some of JC 2 Smoof's songs/flows, this week we'll delve into one of those songs. A priceless gem he likes to call "Superman".

Superman - by JC 2 Smoof

I'm a cookie monster
and I can flow longer and stronger
than steel wool
I ain't your mama's fool
I'm just livin' in your stool
My favorite tool is a socket wrench, with a cheddar stench.
I bench twenty pounds a day with yo mama,
and the Dali Lama, in his pajamas.
Confess I play chess with the best.
Oh bless me now while I'm wearing a dress.

Who's JC 2 Smoof?
Dat fool in tha Superman underoos.

My super-elastic plastic, is mantastic.
Now it's time to get drastic.
So back up off my leg hairs,
cause you can't graze there
There's dingleberries in my underwear.
My skidmarks, they's off tha charts.
They brown like hip-hop pop tarts (tippity toppin' tha charts)
I wanna kiss Sparticus, and you know I get down like this...

Who's JC 2 Smoof?
Dat fool in tha Superman underoos.

I had a dream, in my latrine:
That I play with Kevin Day, in my bidet

Thus flows the epic poem/song “Superman”. I hope that you all have enjoyed this journey into the hype-oppressed rage of JC 2 Smoof. He sends his warmest regards to all the loyal fans that have stuck by him throughout all of these trying times with his arrest for possesion of illegal substances, his trial in the tax fraud scandal, AIDS, and other misfortunes that have beset him. He’ll never forget you, and he says, “Keep yo heads up fo tha Reunion Tour of the Flowells once I get out of all this mess.” On a happier note, he and Martha Stewart have become friends since both their imprisonments, and Mr. 2 Smoof has dedicated his next rap to her.
This is John Cory, signing off.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 5: Into the Night Like Feces a Fire!

How could I contain the joy I feel at having Spring Break here at my doorstep, pushing his way on into my house, and me helpless to stop him for I am weak and bloated like a birthing camel.
So here it goes.

Break Me Off a Piece of that Fine Old Spring Stick

What joy! Spring Break!
My heart doth ache!
I've been dazed in a stupor for days.

My bottom is numb,
from endless sitting on my bum,
But now I'll stretch wings, and I'll play!

Just try and hold me back,
I'm the Human Heart-Attack!
To jail I won't go back!
I'm not black! I'm not black!

The ocean she calls me,
Come hither man banshee!
Fill my shoes with her sand.

Drink of her essence,
enslave all the peasants!
Flee from Human Heart-Attack Man!

Just try and hold me back,
I'm the Human Heart-Attack!
To jail I won't go back!
I'm not black! I'm not black!

Nothing could make my joy fade.
Not even were I to get spayed.
I'm jump roping with the Gay Chain!

Wrap me up like a crepe.
Gaseously doth my joy escape.
No pain feign I, plain insane!

Just try and hold me back,
I'm the Human Heart-Attack!
To jail I won't go back!
I'm not black! I'm not black.

May your Spring Breaks whenever they be, or not be (for you silly BYUians) bring you a plethora of bed wettings and joy.

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 4: Martha Stewart's Love Ballad

Greetings Fairy Nymphs and Children of the Night. I come to you now as one eating a large #5 on white sandwich from Subway. We'll only be having one poem this week due largely to the fact that this particular poem is very emotionally draining for me. I think I'd have an emotional meltdown if I tried to do two. So for my sake and the sake of faint-hearted poets everywhere, we'll just have the one.

Martha My Dear...

Martha you don't know just what you do,
when you wear that sexy moo moo.
You're the giant woman mallet driving love nails deep into my heart.

Baby you don't know just what you do,
when you dance your sexy voodoo.
You're the woman cleaver hacking my beefy soul apart.

Words are useless as my appendix.
Tongue cannot describe your beauty.
Gladly I'd amputate my feet,
just to be able to place them in the same jar as your amputated feet.

So Martha my Dear,
my words did you hear?
Know that I love you like Denver

I will wait for you my dear,
while you serve your sentence.
Then, we will run away forever.

Thus we reach the end of week 4's poem. I would like to thank all of the millions of viewers tuning in to our program for your constant support. Without your support none of this would have been possible. So remember this November to vote for duct tape. That crap fixes everything.

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 3: Shellfish From The Denver Basin

Hello and welcome one and all to this week's edition of what has quickly grown into America's Favorite Past-time. I apologize for the delay, but as some of you may know, I was up in Provo
over the weekend, and took rather ill. (Phlegm bombs exploding from my throat every 20 seconds! Wicked crazy drugs! Disco Roller-skating!)

Our first poem is the teaser from last week:

Forward March! (When bowel movements go wrong).

Courage men!
Get ye forward!
Do not fear the sound nor smell!
Danger lurks,
round every corner.
Hold your breath DO NOT INHALE!
The floor below us,
begins to quake.
But fear not, I won't lead you astray!
I am your compass,
I am your Captain.
I alone know the way.
These bowel movements,
are getting stronger.
We can't go back though hope be gone.
Forward March!
We will triumph!
E'en when bowel movements go wrong.

The next specimen of Manpoem that I have for you is one I wrote just today at work. It is written in letter form and must be read with certain rhythm. Feel free to rap it as Randolph is black.

Dear Gandalf,
This is your nephew Randolph. If you would take the sand off, I'd hand off the precious golden ring. Que BLING! I swear I ate no thing! Just elvish bread, and Sudafed, and a little can of corn. Poor Aragorn! His heart is torn 'tween Elf-woman, Man-woman, and woman that was hobbit-born. Frodo. Mistaken for a girl, by all the world of Middle-Earth since his day of birth cause his pretty golden curls. Well Gandalf, I must go. Give my love to Bilbo. Cause now I'm done, I must flush then run. It's sure been fun, but now my bum is numb.

Until next week, may your your foreheads grow like the mighty oak.

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 2: German Warhound

Welcome everyone to week two in this limited edition, ongoing series, lifetime achievement, once in a lifetime, spandex durability test poemfest. This week will be two short poems as opposed to one long one.

This week's first gem of the nile is entitled: "Lies and Deceit"

and now without further adieu...

Lies and Deceit

You got the nun to believe you,
you hid from her the truth.
And now she's searching high and low,
for her missing shoes...
but you can't lie to your feet...

The second poem is entitled: "Anger CanMan"

Anger CanMan

Do you dare open me?
I just might come a burstin'
Spewing forth frothy fizz of DOOM
who will defend your people from my carbonated wrath?
I am unstoppable!
You seal your fate with every centimeter of my top you pop...

Thank you one and all for joining me in this week's edition of Papa's Poem Corner: German Warhound. I hope to see you all again next week when we delve into the recesses of the human mind and explore my masculinity in a little poem I like to call: "Forward March! (When bowel movements go wrong)."

Papa's Poem Corner Episode 1: Wifey's Nugget

Hello all! Some of you may remember me. For those who don't, I probably got your e-mail address by secret when you were drunk at your birthday party. That may help explain any missing socks or Snak-Paks, too.

This week's nugget:

Ode to Wifey

Years ago,
but what seems like yesterday
running hand in hand,
playing nymph orange games.
From you I learned the alphabet,
From you I learned to breathe.
From you I learned that nothing,
means more than you to me.
You are my Cadillac of love.
A specter endlessly frolicking in my mind.
I draw your picture on the wall in front of my toilet,
and sit there and stare, constantly staring...
You are so omphin pretty
I'll drink some more to that.
You are a blooming rose
You're my Wifey Matt.