Greetings peoples!! Welcome to the eighth installment of The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest.
If you are like most poets, you probably write too well to consider entering. Don’t worry; just read “How To Write Terrible Poetry.” After that, follow these rules:
- The topic is Dumb Managers. I felt inspired on behalf of a friend.
- For length, I’m good with short. Keep it under 150 words.
- Rhyme if you want. I’m not forcing anyone.
- WRITE TERRIBLY! Though we may cheer that incompetence is receiving its comeuppance, we must also be made to cringe.
- Don’t get too carried away, but I’m upping the rating to PG-13.
You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (January 11, 2019) to submit a poem.
I’m trying out this submission form again. Not sure I like it, so you may also leave your entry or a link to it in the comments.
chelowens.com 
My dumb manager (with footnotes to aid scholars)
My manager is really dumb.
Oh bum.
What a wonderfully dumb manager is my manager.
I haven’t turned up for work in three years and she hasn’t noticed yet.
Heck. (Footnote: “Heck” almost rhymes with “yet”).
I love my dumb manager.
When I married her I knew she would overlook my attendance
in order to get independence.
Isn’t that funny? (Footnote: “funny” rhymes with “money” but I was unable to fit the word “money” in).
I am now going with my dumb manager to Honolulu
so don’t poopoo (Footnote: “poopoo” rhymes with “Honolulu”) my dumb manager.
I said to my dumb manager, “I just know ya
can’t wait to say aloha.”
Hurrah for my dumb
waitressmanager!LikeLiked by 5 people
I flexed the terribleness from deep within. Here’s my crack at it.
—
The Misguided Manger
He has this book, he said.
It’ll revolutionize our corner on the market.
He said.
I sighed. Someone next to me cried. I do not lie. We did not want to try his newfangled ideas, I surmised.
“We’ll make frappucinos better, our Eggs Benedict delicious-ier. We shall be be known as the restaurant that stole brunch!”
Fry. Sizzle. Pop. Smear. Toast. Serve.
Clink, clink, clink. Receipt, receipt, receipt.
“Still we forgot one thing. We never advertised, did we?”
Munch, munch, munch. The same old bunch.
Lovely they were, but the same old bunch.
Lunch, lunch, lunch.
Come get the brunch!
Sizzle.
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There once was a boss from the city,
Whose management style was woke.
If you were a man, you’d be out of luck,
For ‘twas only the women he wanted to promote.
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These are so much fun, Chelsea. Here’s my entry. It’s probably not terrible enough, but it was fun to write. (I didn’t mean to use the submission form, ignore that if it worked.)
The Mutually Exclusive Manager
Work ‘til five, no overtime
But get that project done
He hopes that you enjoy your work
But growls if you’re having fun
Work, work, working for a crumb
I got a headache, working for a bum
Wish I could quit, my manager’s dumb
He hires on the cheap
Then gripes about training
Moans that my attitude stinks
But does nothing but complaining
Work, work, working for a crumb
I got a headache, working for a bum
Wish I could quit, my manager’s dumb
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I’m tempted….
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Give in… giiiiive iiiinnnn….
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Come join us in the muck and mire of terrible poetry. Pretty soon you’ll be singing about bones and trombones and all other random rhyming words. 😉😊
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Stephen’s actually a decent rap poet. He’s just being modest. 😀
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