Tuesday, August 22, 2017

What The Hell, Odds Can't Spell!

A grammar nazi's delight. Or maybe a fright. The odds are sure fickle this time. I can't even tell if they rhyme. Well the cat can with ease. Humans may not find it such a breeze.

Theese odds izz strange.
Strangee like with range.
Not sure on it though.
May be off at my show.

Tabbies sayz when.
When times ten.
Boy, thiss is ruff
Speaking this stuff.

Wezz find it hard.
Like finding the card.
Peicking out thee right one.
Sure can be tough to be done.

Back to the oddzz.
Like those yummy codzz.
Not those burd guys.
You know, the thing that flies.

Unless penguin man.
They may be a fan. 
Burds attacking lowers odds.
They go back to cods.

Litter art is a winner.
Be sure and eataz dinner.
But odds could goes downe.
If fame came to trout towne.

No blog posts to see.
Instead an artz gallerie spree.
Showing at nine.
The lives of the feline.

May also get eaten.
Those ancestors can't bes beaten.
But they look hungry as canz be.
Don't mess with them at their sea.

Burds are back.
What'z the flack?
Burds and deer.
Oh my, stand clear.

Odds of deer.
Squirrels in the clear.
Rabbits nearby.
Odds mays lie.

Odds = Maybe A Burd Knows
Just Look At Those Grammar Blows 

Can you decipher their bad grammar speak? We can at our creek. Can't type it like they do though. That we sure know. Got critters in your yard? Are they making you a cranky bard? Are penguins a better burd? Or are they just as absurd? I guess I'll go eat a bass and think on that with my little rhyming ass.

Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.

Monday, August 21, 2017

Odds In Beer Are Coming Near!

That would be rather bad. Betting while drunk may make you mad. When you wake up hung over and broke. That's enough to make anyone choke. But you could win. Also choking on the dough at your bin.

Why even try?
Odds sure are high.
They'll so be here.
That is so clear.

Beer in a shower,
Hour by hour.
Whoops, fall and hit head.
Blog is now dead.

Camping in the woods.
Sure beats the hoods.
Eaten by a bear.
No more blogging at their lair.

Fat shaming at play.
Oh the dismay.
A fat person flattened each.
No blogging in reach.

Going for a third.
A new agent who's a turd.
Except they are a killer too.
No new blogs in view.

At a book retreat.
Both left in defeat.
Basic Instinct remake.
New posts at stake.

Entered a cave.
Thought it was a rave.
Damn, it's a bear.
Not the kind with hair.

Pissed off gun nuts,
That are in gun ruts.
That never ends good.
These odds aren't understood.

An idiot takes offense.
They are far too dense.
So they really take a fence.
Odds go up a few cents.

The football heads stage a comeback.
They want to cause flack.
Each can't decide which to show.
Boy, these odds just may be low.

Odds = Go Get A Beer
You Have Something To Fear 

Ever get chased by a bear? Is camping a fun thing to do at your lair? Beer in the shower may not be a good idea if drunk as a skunk. Then you may go kerplunk. Odds sure did a flip flop from the start. Maybe there is some kind of plot. Watch those gun nuts when it comes to sass. They may gather in mass and pass more than gas. They'll never catch my little rhyming ass.

Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Odds Of Five Take A Dive!

Numbers sure show and can sure grow. Sometimes that is good, like money in your hood. Sometimes that is bad, like bills at your pad. A flip flop of cash. But we aren't delving into that bash.

Betsy is here.
A post shall be near.
But odds say maybe not.
Hmm what's with that plot?

Her tongue went numb.
Ate a Raid sprayed plum.
Now that was silly.
Then all went chilly.

Her insides went numb too.
What was she to do?
Raid it away.
Whoops, no post today.

Her computer caught fleas.
They swung from the trees.
In with the breeze.
Warm computer, yes please.

The cats ate her cord.
They were just bored.
Needed a cordly snack.
Attacked by the pack.

Her five men became six.
That put in quite the nix.
Blog title doesn't work anymore.
How? Beats me at my shore.

She's good at surviving,
Taking pics while driving.
But whoops, caught by a cop.
A jail house rock bid making blogging a flop.

Crazy auction attack.
News at 11 won't lack.
Barbie man wanted what she did.
But she won the bid.

I didn't end well.
That the odds tell.
Oh, it's crazy neighbor guy.
He continues to spy.

His tightey whities catch fire.
The flames go higher.
Her house catches on fire.
Odds sure now expire.

Odds = Quite Numb
And Really Then Some

Ever have a crazy auction attack? Maybe fleas by the pack? Those things are annoying as can be. Blood suckers can stay off me. How do five men become six? Hmm magic tricks? We won't even go there. Maybe she has hidden away a spare. Whoops, that just came to pass. I could not help my odd little rhyming ass.

Fill your rummer, get drunk all summer.