Energy revolution

Our energy board was quite inventive

As we needed a new clean energy incentive.

The think-tank took only thirteen days,

Lots of coffee and a very secluded place.

They realized a new power source

Completely untapped of course.

Acne or zits, as we them know

Could be harnessed for hot water flow.

A new business emerged overnight

Zit extraction sites popped up left and right.

Unemployment sank, emissions as well,

The worst side was an unpleasant smell.

People benefited from their defective genes,

And finally, an actual use for teens.

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Woodillac

My shed is equipped with tools and power,

My secret, personal hickory tower.

I’m there more than unconscious in bed,

Creating with my hands is my mental bread.

Converting branches into spatulas and spoons,

Stumps into chairs with inlays of moons.

I listen to the wood, it tells me what to do,

Or at least gives me an opaque, grainy clue.

Sometimes simple, like a spatula from birch,

Or a bit harder, an oaken observatory perch.

This last project, though, it got me confused,

When racking my brain, I think it got bruised.

A car you can drive? Excuse me P. O. Wood?

Shouldn’t it be metal? I think it should.

But it couldn’t hurt, and I like the work,

Now I have a car but I’m going berserk.

I have to decide on how to name the bloody thing.

Woodillac? R.M.S. Teak-tanic. The Oax-wing?

A humane tourist destination

There are rumors circulating that this started as a your mamma joke. There is a chance that the rumors might not be false.

 

An eating disorder was what she had,

It didn’t make her distressed or mad.

She would eat and eat, and combined with

A rare gene defect, thought to be a myth,

She would grow and grow, never to stop,

Until she was the town’s permanent backdrop.

The tourism board started thinking,

Par for the course, while heavily drinking.

She was declared a tourist destination,

The tourists ferried all the way from the bus station

To marvel at the world’s newly largest mammal.

Some even offered to buy her a pet camel.

She now has a steady stream of visitors and food,

The former of which only rarely rude.

All in all, things are okay,

Life goes on, as they say.

Dooming a Dutchman

You doomed a Dutchman to fail the tulip season

In Holland that is equivalent to treason.

The bulbs of the Dutchman will never sprout

He’s in jail and he might get out

When Holland is no more under the threat

Of masses of water, cunning and wet.

To be fair, in your defense,

It doesn’t make that much, or at all, sense

That you shouldn’t wash them thoroughly before

You store them in a cupboard for a year or more.

Now, instead of bulbs, he only found mold,

Which might be worth a tiny bit less than gold.

Selective complaining

Take a bullet in the face and walk away fine,

Saving and loading when playing offline,

NPC’s standing in their shops all day,

Heroes that never have anything to say.

“I don’t see a thing to complain on this list,

When I play, these things don’t make me pissed,

But sound in space and I’m outraged!

The hero’s too old, she should be teenaged!

That’s totally not how afterburners work!

The detail’s all wrong, it’s a dagger, not a dirk!

Game devs are dumb, dumb or just asses

They should take some physics and history classes!”

Fans discussing games is often like this,

Selective complaining, a communal hiss.

I don’t find it fun, but I hope they do

Otherwise it’s a useless indignation stew.

X-men powers

What would I do if I had x-men powers?

I wouldn’t hesitate or think for hours.

Cyclops’ laser eyes are handy for cooking,

No need for a stove, I’d just do some looking

And the onions would be sautéed to perfection,

Later to be eaten by objects of my affection.

Wolverine’s claws could open all the letters,

Persuasion +10 when chased by debtors.

Also, good for chopping up an onion

Chopping them cleanly, like trees with Paul Bunyan.

Being telepathic, like Professor X,

Could stop an international annex.

Also, I’d know if onions are ok to cook

For my guests without asking, just a quick look.

In summary I’d say, the powers would be pretty cool

All of them help polish that culinary jewel.

Nine days rain

It rained for a day and it was fine,

One day to sleep all day like a swine.

It rained for two and that was okay

I had enough to read to keep the boredom away.

It rained for a week and I got upset

No work, no sport, my body would fret.

I would pace around the house very agitated.

“There’s work to be done, a week we’ve waited!”

After nine days, the sun came out,

Little was I to know, to signal a drought.

I ran out like a happy little goat

Grabbed my axe and unfastened my coat.

Swung the axe over my thick head

Winding up to strike, well-fueled and fed,

I chopped on a log and became fully soaked,

Especially now, having de-cloaked.

For nine days, the wood had drunk

And took its revenge when the axe-blade sunk.

Logs don’t laugh, but they do grin,

On the expense of this small Finn.