Pronouncing gives me stress.
With syllables to chance,
could ‘monchielle’ be French?
I feel I can’t advance,
a poilu in a trench.
Pronouncing gives me stress.
Italians insist
words like ‘monchielle’,
devoid of hidden twist,
rhyme with ‘vermicelli’.
Pronouncing gives me stress.
Three syllables, no more?
A word like ‘monchielle’,
by making me keep score,
presents a living hell.
Pronouncing gives me stress.
I openly confess;
though anxious to impress,
I find this verbal chess
affords me no success.
I offen soffen neether content nor intent,
eether explicit or implicit about
devices to rearrange things in
the Care-ah-beein Sea or
pahkin karz at Hahvad
in Bostin.
The only thing weirder than my mom, is the way she says her “r’s.” Growing up, every time she’d ask if I wanted a grilled cheese, I thought she said “girl cheese.” Wanting to retain some sense of developing masculinity, I demanded a “boy cheese” instead.
As I got older, I realized how stupid I was and how much my mom sucked at saying certain words. Hamburger was another one. Her pronunciation of it in dirty suburban drive-thrus was just as atrocious as my approach to eating said hamburger: by disassembling it.
And now, having grown wiser and more worldly, all of my grilled cheeses are gender-fluid. By that, I mean I put my gender fluids on them. Sperm spreads better than shotgun ammunition!
Best part is throwing it in the pan. Ever see that one video online where those dudes beat off into a frying pan and make someone eat their “cum omelet?” Yeah, it’s sorta like that. **** gets all fluffy. Helps if you drink some 2% milk beforehand. The fluffy **** turns into a in’ breakfast sandwich! Calcium and protein abound! Eat that , and an apple, every day, and you’ll be able to take over the goddamn planet!
An ancestor known as, "Miss Lottie"
Was a New York socialite "hottie"
To her lasting disgrace
She slapped Paul Revere's face
When he invited her to the p-ah-ty
INTER - NATION PRONUNCIATION
My transatlantic friend’s adored
We reach across the ocean
Communications although flawed
Won’t lessen my devotion
She looks pure and sweet indeed
With fair visage clear although her
Voice as if she’s just smoked weed
With pitch half octave lower
Though we’re sharing the same lingo
And her presence makes me glad
There’s a problem here by jingo
For her words can make me sad
When my health is on the mend
And that makes me glad or gladder
This assertion she’ll extend:-
‘You’re looking so much badder’
I guess to her my accent’s shot
And sounds as if it’s such that
I will say ‘the weather’s hot - what what!’
And not rhyme it with ‘hat’
But we’ll muddle through so that
We resolve all our confusions
Just distinguish ‘bet’ from ‘bat’
Avert risking grave contusions
.................
If we temperate our scoff or is it scoff
We need never call the whole thing off
I am convinced the stars reflect your eyes,
Much like the moon does for the burning sun;
If I'm correct our sun could never die,
Until the day which to the Earth you shun.
Let's watch the Earth set in the morning blaze,
And dread the time when it begins to lift,
Cuz in your light is where I want to stay
And nighttime glow is such a deathly shift;
Though all you carry is serenity,
The moonlight determines an anxious flow.
The world's desire Is your majesty,
And limits cause our cold hearts to be sow'd.
I would not find pride in self perfection
Because you're beyond all of its tension