The Pop-Culture Poem


This is a censored version of one of my spoken word poems, intended for entertainment value only. (Also, completed with stage directions, which are italicized). Lines that are interchangeable are denoted with a *.

See how many references you can pick up.

****

Over 9000 words fight to the surface,
One does not simply stew about their nonsensical order,
I don’t always have writer’s block, but when I do, it’s a rather large pain in the posterior.
For some reason, I can’t let it go, no matter how hard I try.
This is very frustrating, and one of two things shall happen,

My annoyance will build until it explodes like Heisenberg’s false methamphetamine on Breaking Bad,
Or it will rain down adorable kittens from the sky in a wondrous burst of inspiration. (It’s raining cats and dogs quite literally).

Likely the former scenario, (because I’m not that lucky)
this dialogue will be exchanged with my friends,

Step to one side of stage with concerned facial expression and reassuring hand gesture.
“Dude eat a snickers.”

Step to other side of stage with skeptical facial expression and defensive posture.
“why?”

Step to opposite side of stage with a revelation of the hard truth, tell it like it is face.
“because you get a little angry and write terrible poetry when you’re hungry”

Move to opposing side of stage with an offended facial expression. Snap fingers three times in an urbanized insulted fashion.

Move to other side, looking inquiring.
“better?”

Resume original, non-self discussing yelling mode.
No it’s not better and it’s never going to be!

Because I want to be the very best, like no one ever was!
I will be more beloved than Gangnam Style, *
Imitate Gangnam Style dance movements.

I will be the one who comes out sparkling, like the modernized vampire! (Thank you for that Stephenie Meyer ).

I will go down in history, until I too, like Rush, will be a Paleolithic work of art!*
In the end, no one shall be disappointed, unlike the viewers of the Seinfeld/Lost* series finale, am I right people?

You might be thinking, “you know, so much of this poem sounds like I’ve heard it somewhere before”, *

And that is likely because we’ve all had pop culture crammed down our throats! *

Maybe it’s hard to find inspiration when my head is filled with nothing but stupid items like these? *

I believe that it is a sad day, when an auto-tuned twerking singer on too much LSD, *
makes the big time, but the words of an eccentric narcissist,*
who can sort of write, *
is told that no one will ever hear his words!*

 

Move hands in circular motion imitating the “wax on, wax off” motion.
So to those nay-sayers, like the karate kid, I will be training hard, waxing cars, and writing nonsense, until the day,

Put mic down, turn, do crane kick towards the left wall, then resume speaking.
Where I will go out and face, the world, crane kick life in the face, and say, hoorah, because I am getting somewhere.

But until then, I have to things to say, 1) the sign ups for the union of *contemptuous hipsters is next week, and 2) my final words for this evening, *

This mess of pop-culture being the quick sand that it is, never ends, so, you have but two choices, *
join a counter-culture, (I think I’ve got that accomplished at this point),
or, bow down to your corporate overlords!*
Now if you’ll excuse me a moment,
put on scarf and 3D glasses *

I’m going to search for my scarf and 3 dimensional glasses,*
the true wear of the hipsters!*

And finally, I end this poem with these two words,*

product placement!

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