Since Monday was Zach Galifianakis’ 43rd birthday, I’ve decided to drum him up a poem.
Haiku may it be? Absolutely not.
I tried majoring in poetry in college. Then everybody told me I would be a moron if I studied prose for a career.
Whatever, jerks. Look at the shit I’m writing now. (Yeah.)
Best poem I wrote was “Technicolor Yawn.” Thanks for asking, it was about me vomiting up a picture-perfect plate of spaghetti after doing a (few) kegstand(s). It’s really just ridiculously uncanny how that masticated mess turned up pristine upon its rebirth. Meatballs intact. Try it sometime.
Another favorite poem of mine was “Akeldama,” about Judas — that backstabbing bad boy who took Jesus for a friendship spin. (But thirty pieces of silver? Kinda hard to pass up in the land of unicorns, Jesus. C’mon. Cut the man some slack.)
Anyway, here’s to you, Zach G. on your dear forty three…
G Marks My Spot
Oh, fiery fuzz, with patience I lack,
Your animated buzz sure tickles dude’s sacks.
A fool for the trade, your talent is glee,
That ginger beard also tingles girls’ Gs.
What patience? You ask, indeed I shall tell,
With “Bored To Death” canceled, my ulnar nerve* yells.
I shall still adore our furry-faced fool,
But lack of said series, makes my panties blue.
*Funny bone, laymen.
Poet laureate? Oh, stop.
(Buggin’ that “fool” and “blue” don’t quite rhyme? Shh. I’m an artiste.)
Seriously, though. Watch HBO’s “Bored to Death.” Just buy the three-series package. You’re welcome in advance.
The 2009 comedy series stars Jason Schwartzman (writer Jonathan Ames who moonlights as an amateur private detective), Zach G. and Ted Danson (friends of Schwartzman’s character — big stoners). It was canceled after three seasons.
I wanted to cry tears of Ames’ white wine like I cried tears of Lucille Bluth’s vodka martini when “Arrested Development” was canceled. Stop canceling the good shit, TV people. Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe Judge Judy’s on.