Best Tushy Poems
If I told you, Donald, my love was true
Would you dance for me, glad to be my boo?
Or give a mean retort
Making a piggish snort
No Valentine's kisses from me to you
Melania is getting done with Trump
All he cares about is his nasty rump
The Epstein files don't lie
Knows he's guilty as pie
When his term ends, he'll be sent to the dump
If he tells me, I never wear a smile
It's because I think he's a pedophile
Ungodly as a papist
And a guilty rapist
Who knows what else is in the Epstein file
King Donald Trump thought Greenland he’d steal
Used threatening blunder in his spiel
This Valentines Day
Thought he’d have his way
Greenland said, “Up yours, Donald. No deal!”
Don Trumpty is totally impotent
He can't get it up for any event
It remains very slack
Can’t perform in the sack
On Viagra his bucks have all been spent!
Donald J. Trump held a Valentine's Ball
The world's dregs... he has invited them all
There was Kim Jong and Putin
Khamani and Rasputin
His ego boosted, he felt ten foot tall
No roses to give from the rose garden
He paved it with a black heart that's hardened
Installed gauche golden bling
and destroyed the East Wing
Criminals and crooks, he's given pardon
Melania said that they’d never part
And told him she loved him with all her heart
She held his waist tight
Squeezed with all her might
Poor Donald gasped and let out a fart
The President is standing in the buff
Posing nude and trying to strut his stuff
I guess he supposes
Wife wants sex not roses
But sadly, his old todger is too duff
Donald forgot it was Valentine's Day
Was too busy with targeting his prey
By grabby their tushy
His bare hands, so pushy
All the red roses sold out anyway
The FLOTUS put Donald in his place
In the bedroom he can’t touch first base
Cos he bedded Stormy D
Then Epstein files, oh dear me
The POTUS has got egg on his face
I'd be his Valentine if he'd hold still
Long enough for me to give him a pill
that would put him to sleep
And freeze the nasty creep
Putting him in a cryogenic chill
Cupid's arrows missed their mark, A collaboration of thoughts by
Jan Allison, Tania Kitchin, Tom Cunningham and Lin Lane
So You think the Toupee is Smart
An Orange little Toddler
Who Thought it was cool
To Hate People Who were Different
And Tweets without manners or rules
Where did He come from?
Who chose this crazy fool
Am I the only one that sees
Right is right and wrong is Trump
It is about time to wake up
Smell the Cesspool that has come
Time is short for those with a Heart
Being Inhumane is an evil crime
Think before You Support
Your Commander of the Camps
If You wish to live free
My advice is not to go grabbing a woman's front tushy
(Froggy)
His big crooked smile; the bump on his nose;
His extra large feet with short stubby toes.
Eyes sort of popping beneath eyebrows bushy;
A spare tire middle with such a small tushy!
His loud guitar music; his funny guffaw;
His love poems so cheesy that fill her with awe;
His spending too much to save any money
Because he likes always pleasing his honey.
More froggy than prince, and odder than odd,
But that’s what she loves; he’s perfectly flawed.
(The Prince)
His brilliant white teeth; the cleft in his chin;
The beautiful body; the unblemished skin.
His elegant style; his baby blue eyes,
Manicured nails, costly suits and nice ties.
His house and his Benz; his deep golden tan:
All proof he’s a go-getting clever young man.
The many smart things to the right people said;
His time at the office so he’ll get ahead.
So seemingly flawless he just can’t see why
His girlfriend ran off with that flawed froggy guy!
For SKAT!
Little Miss Muffet
(Modern Version)
Little Miss Muffit sat on her tushy
Eating her curds and whey.
A great big spider sat down beside her
And was killed by a pesticide spray.
Barry Stebbings
18/6/2916
(Not really in favour of killing spiders)
Politician; “IT’S NOT MY FAULT,”
as someone digs another burial vault.
If people think the job is cushy,
they can kiss my oval sitting tushy.
Politician; “I’M NOT TO BLAME,”
we had to play this stupid war game.
Always send our best, look how well they fought,
just measure the freedom their lives have bought.
Politician; “YOU HAVE NO PROOF,”
that WMD might have been a spoof.
We sent over teams of super sleuths,
bent their reports into convenient truths.
Politician; “I WILL SHOW NO SHAME,”
for losing this military shell game.
It’s my family legacy I did inherit,
now generations will have to share it.
*For the four sentences contest which seemed to reverberate past experiences. In no way is
this meant to cast any doubt on our brave military men and women who bear the first brunt.
OVERWEIGHT HUSBAND:
Chubby
Hubby
FLABBY STOMACH:
Jelly
Belly
A WELL PADDED BOTTOM:
Cushy
Tushy
WINNIE THE POOH ON A DIET:
Skinny
Winnie
My somewhat outsize ears and longish neck
(I swear exist, which contrary to popular myth
never seen by living persons) support this egg shaped
(fried or scrambled some might argue) head.
A mostly flat and hairless chest attests to a regular
regimen of light (self-concocted) chest-pounding routine.
Exercise (as well as meditation) a vital part of my
daily program to deal with the ordinary stresses
of primitive existence. Coffee happens to be the
sotto voce sole vice, which exotic brews provide
helpful jump-start. I sometimes even chump on cup
kept teeth sharp. That unproductive habit came
to a screeching halt after breaking every pearly white.
Now to that locale known as the trumpeting rump
pull stilts skin. Although the unseen forces of biology
and genetics dealt me an itsy bitsy, tiny tushy
(which serves as the but for fellow Apes to taunt
and tease) such anatomical feature offers little
value as the worthiness of sexual prowess.
This palm pilot sized gluteus Maximus offers one benefit.
Ease to squeeze into tight spaces without getting stuck.
This tiny tushy accompanied by a vestigial and
teeny-weensy Weiner schnitzel of a phallus, which
undersized cock a doodle do doth bulge into
an erectile state within shooting distance of
coveted warm, wet and wooly private world
property of each and every woman.
A pair of skinny (flamingo like) legs (covered in
adequate hair) now completes this general character sketch.
Upon the first date (decades ago) with the gal,
whose troth aye did pledge allegiance to wed
we agreed to dine at an ex-mex eatery
in north Wales, Pennsylvania, where angels feared to tread
carefully scrutinizing bon appétit the menu selection,
a touch of Latin lick QED
all American version sans south of the border cuisine –
Quod Erat Demonstrand – translations spit out in rapid fire Hispanic
by a beady eyed inked kid named Ned
whose couture favored a punkish style
with spiked gelled green hair, piercings galore and
necklace with a genetically modified sizable
entombed glass encased amber ked
which beastly fully intact organism with a miniature grisly bear like head
momentarily hypnotizing me tell nudged out of trance sans this egghead
who make a selection by randomly
landing finger on an item feigning to be well bred
unbeknownst to the arbitrary choice this senior made
within an ample number of mouthfuls
of beans and rice that quelled hunger pangs
mine lower gastrointestinal tract,
felt a bubbling sensation played
though impropriety struggled with gaseous mounting perturbations,
what promised to be hot malodorous, would induce an air raid
from this “wind bag”, whose saving grace divine, when wallet of suede
discover herd visa vis tubby devoid of cash, thus and excuse to beat the tirade
of volcanic eruption found me bolting
out the restaurant door fortunately not waylaid
and madly dashing (like some comet fiery dancer)
performing a cheeky number hopping on one foot than the other –
since forceful blast triggered kidneys to be tapped, thus prancer
two step extemporaneously incorporated while await the ATM to disburse cash
legal tender coveted akin to Cupid sprinkling spell of romancer
while expulsion of noxious fumes from thine sphincter from this hob er dasher
brought relief as aye nonchalantly strolled inside
the cozy diner and slipped into me seat
disinclined to relate vents to future spouse,
the bodily aeration and stream of urine from me magic flute
which amazingly synchronized with the Maximus glute
from consuming food triggering tushy to toot.
Whaat, whaat, whaat are you doing?
IT’S TIME TO GET OUT OF BED!!!
Buut, buut, oh, where was I?
Oh yeah, IT’S TIME TO GET OUT OF BED!!!
Hey chicky, nice tushy you got there.
Don’t run, don’t make me chase you, baby
I don’t bite! Eh, eh, eh.
Oh by the way, IT’S TIME TO GET OUT OF BED!!!
Don’t, don’t, don’t I look good.
Watch me flap and ruffle my feathers.
Yes, yes, they are so beautiful.
HEY EVERYONE, LOOK AT MEEEE!!!
Who’s that? Who is entering MY coop?
Go ahead, if you try to grab one egg, I’ll kill you.
Are you new around here? Don’t you know I’m the boss?
No? I’m going to kill you anyways; ARGHHH!
It’s, it’s, it’s been a long day.
Hey chickies, stop running away.
Oh, and by, by, by the way;
IT’S TIME TO GO BACK TO BED!
I said
IT’S TIME TO GO BACK TO BED!!!
For Back to the Barnyard contest
aye savor the faire genetic blueprint
extant unique to each of us
with this quite alimentary aire
including (that almighty,
bottom, cushiony, dimpled,
excretory functioning Gluteus Maximus
i.e. the tushy when bare
with subtle difference sans,
both halves at first blush,
but tucks upon closer scrutiny
obvious inexactness crystal clear
as a bell jar, asper each body electric,
whence deserved of en dear
ments despite however much junk in the trunk
behind the private
no trespassing (non verbalized)
signs posted everywhere
off limits only to a select few like this bard
attired as if from the Renaissance Faire
whose unconditional acceptance
unlike the majority hoo gawk and glare
if bipedal hominid dealt
chromosomal traits say with excessive hair
which mane of tangled strands,
could be problematic and interfere
with coaxing, finagling,
or inducing friendship with an initial jeer
from him or her averse
toward such imperfection to boot
huff lawed physical human specimen
such as this ole coot
(who haint really that old),
can upon command execute
a feigned display
and appealing as fresh field picked fruit
at this stage of ma life
donut give a rats ass, nor an owlish hoot
what other may decry about me,
cuz self acceptance doth agree
buzzing with greater confidence, esteem,
and general weaknesses such
as lack of physiognomy incongruent cee,
which asymmetry of this primate feel free
er than his pre/post pubescent
corporeal essence he
near put himself in the hand
of that grim reaper, a key
poor of lifeless beings,
and well nigh got hold da mee
when in the throes up
(vis a vis not bulimia) on Swiss side prithee
and as a solitary mwm gives no re
guard no matter others may find fault
in the stars at my lack of sim mutt tree
gnome hatter judgements made
I accept mice elf warts and all – yippee!
Just Now, I Started To Feel...
All Stopped Up With Writer's Block
Thus lack any idea about
what to type out until aye
reach the end, and
even then cannot
make any promises (promises -
this aint no typo typo),
to meet (even ill)
equipped outback
with or without an alley bye,
which dismal situation unlike earlier,
when fount of literary creativity
unstoppably gushed profusely
lichen wherein rub
barb plants for rain dee cry
hence, just imagine situation
(**** guss) to
being constipated, and dry
miss daisy crazy regarding
(collective soul sigh'n noses)
begs for antihistamine,
asper nostrils to get dry
from congestion - so envision
both symptoms (for real)
affected this guy
bodily woes simultaneously,
while conservative flash mobs
sprout like pollen haters
trample grass roots
activists chanting jai
guru dev donned as barenaked,
foo fighting, nirvana
seekers no lie
trucking with pearl jam
hued open skyz
passing one black crow
did house after another
jet ting via reo speedwagon
greeting village people
mix ultra liberal protesters,
who peaceably demonstrate my
self included holding recycled
placards, sans
targeting well nigh
Republicans Putin on the Ritz
must be ousted,
cuz them that har pry
ha merrily bilking work
a day citizens seated
on their tushy in expelling qui
yet deadly flatulence athwart
cushy congressional seats
to ease government lackeys,
who trumpet "FAKE" news.
While out and about
an unexpected over bare ring bout
to defecate arose,
where sphincter asserted clout
and would excrete
despite without doubt...
if closing distance
(to reach rental abode)
beaten out by loosening sphincter muscle
transmitting excretory code
set sights on prowl for outlawed, secluded,
and wooded make shift commode
and essentially for naught negating
toddler toilet training, sans
getting potty trained undone
via my tushy ready to explode
and blast immense solid waste byproduct
(oh...close to the size of Rhode Island)
thus a marathon race against time
found immediate readiness to pull off roadside
to access make shift water closet
generating image firmly in pooping mode
grabbing hold of a tree trunk
(a mini rocky horror picture show, -
this analogy included for no particular reason
other than as a non-sequitur)
and also to convey, how I tried
to allay distractions
while painful contractions flowed
(perhaps approximating woman
on verge of giving birth)
but...no matter, aye could envision,
an ever increasing heavy m*****f****** load
hence approaching Highland Manor Apartments
this chap abandoned
prior simultaneous evacuation plan
starkly aware probability for secluded spot sunk
(nonetheless, thy darting darting
anguish, futile lizard like lookout,
a geico Gekko whose cheeks did blush
even for a measly Georgian bush
quickened nsync with rectal spasms
visual scouting industrialized
where backhoes didst crush
once a time sacred happy hunting grounds
of native Americans, now royally flush
with newly built vinyl city re: urban sprawl a gush,
where cookie cutter houses long since bringing hush
puppies muzzled, yet never the less and mush
a doo doo about nothing) except sprint
ting to the verizon with a void push
immortalizing indigenous tribes ghosts rush
peopling infrastructure affixing
urbanization with lamb basted,
and sigh lance warrior whoosh!
Down you upside hanging
By me danger dangling by
Bellybutton unsweatering
You sprite! Grin giggling
At me look laughing at
Legs in blue jean wrapping
You and tree branch playing
Just me girl game watching just
Wrists undressing, lil' tushy out peaking
On you keep swing-a-linging
For me song singing for
Finger gifts wind-dancing
By magic kisses you blowing
To me mush gushing to
Face o' yours flushing
You red from blood rushing
And me too blushing and
Feet maryjaned still on holding
To you boy-toying
After me trick scheming after
Hands stretch straight reaching
And you too much fun having
With me joke teasing, fooling with
Hair clean scenting the air swim-swishing
Around you and your Mom's calling
For me heart racing for
You and me to play without falling
For you too young for boy friending
For now me too young for dreaming for
Brown-eyed girl loving.
There once was an individual known as theKidster.
the Kidster was an immature adult mister.
The oldest of four younger sisters.
Got my ass beat many times commin to the aid of my little sisters.
Got my share of injuries, scars and blisters,
cause it's hard being a little tiny guy tryin to protect four younger beautiful sisters.
Got my lights punched out many times, to the point where I was blind.
I may have suffered injuries, but I protected my baby sisters everytime.
As they entered their teenage years, my sisters wanted me to butt out of their affairs.
They were beginning to develop an interest in boys obviously,
and this drove their big tiny little brother very crazy.
My sisters wanted to explore their sexuality,
but I was a young man, I knew the teenage male's mentality.
Oh yeah, stupid selfish teenage male mentality.
I did get the best of one dude who grabbed my sisters Ass Freely,
Right In Front Of Me.
He had height and weight over me,
but I saw none of that. All I thought was,"You grabbed my sister's tushy,
right in front of me".
First I bit slapped the creep violently.
Then I grabbed him by his jewels unmercifully.
My clenched fist just kept squeezing immensely.
This big little Prick was at the mercy of me.
I then proceeded to punch his face repeatedly.
Lucky for him (and also me),
someone interceded and stopped me.
He always swore that he'd get back at me.
I met him once again. He just stood a motionless statue. Just like a big coward wussy.
We've been having a "Bash Santa" week, but I wrote limericks this morning about Putin breaking his tailbone. So, Tom suggested we have a "Bash Putin" week. Here are three more from me. Please join in bashing that dastardly demon if you wish.
That Evil Putin fell down and hurt his tushy
He swore, "It was one of my bodyguards pushed me!"
Not wanting to be blamed
For he was so ashamed
That he had to change his pants cuz they were gooshy
It was on his darn keister that Putin landed
I'm going to be honest and very candid
He was chasing a skirt
When the scumbag got hurt
While being frisky with her, he was caught red-handed
Now he can't sit in a chair on his derriere
Cuz that lowlife tried to ruin the innocent, Claire
It's his tailbone he broke
His neck I'd like to choke
He's worse than Hitler, the annihilator Herr
Written by Jenna Logan
V. Putin has fallen on his tush
Pity was not in a thorny bush
Put him on a chain gang
Better yet, let him hang
Then let us have in Russia a putsch!
Arrogant Putin's butt is sore
Love this special news, tell us more
The ass is hurtin'
The world is certain
Putin needs to be shown the door.
Written by L. Milton Hankins
Putin is a fascist like Hitler, no doubt
That's what he really is all about
He fell on his a.r.s.e
Emitting methane garse
And learned it's three Reichs you're out!
Putin to his guards was accusatory
So let us embellish on that story
Shoved down from his thrown
Cracked his smug coccyx bone
This tail-ends his self-proclaimed glory
Written by Robert Gorelick
Vlad Putin was dealing with state affairs
On his way back he skidded down the stairs
You could smell the foul gas
Cos' he ruptured his a.s.s
No get well wishes because nobody cares.
He'd fallen over and broke his a.s.s. bone
A guard rushed over when he heard a moan
Hard luck you commie jerk
Cos' it's karma at work
Start praying now for your sins and atone
Written by Tom Cunningham