The short one seems at a disadvantage, no? |
Day? Oh well.
Here are a few Haiku in honor of my brother, Steeeve.
Kate's witticisms,
Were they bottled and then sold:
Incalculable.
[without an electron microscope]
[without an electron microscope]
Steve has a big butt.
(*Not really, but don't tell him.)
And a big nose too.*
If beauty and wit
Were assigned equal measure,
The people would say,
"Well, that Kate: Ain't she clever?"
Mornings, he looks dead.
Rumpled, gray, crusty, surly.
He makes good tea, though.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Kate is a big doofus.
Kate is a big doofus who?
Kate is a big doofus
who never quite knows when to quit
and wouldn't know a good cup of tea
if it ran over her with a sommelier.
Or something.
and wouldn't know a good cup of tea
if it ran over her with a sommelier.
Or something.
He sings harmony:
Reasonable baritone
He longs to sing bass.
Kate makes harmony
Even when she plays her flute
All by her lonesome.
Animates stuffies;
Danny Kaye impressions: fab!
Poetry: wretched.
(FYI: Stuffies are stuffed animals)
If five-seven-five
Makes a wonderful haiku,
Kate is the winner.
That is all.
QED.
THAT IS NOT IT. I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!
Knock, knock. Who's there? "Woo!"
Woo who? Steve resorted to
"QED." I win!
She wrote a knock-knock
in the form of haiku.
Oh, what; I say,
What is a brother to do?
Unable to stand
before such Haiku-fu,
I bow, and I bow
and do Dr. Seuss, too.
[Kate here: Told ya.]
Well, I just mean.
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