I'm in a funk and can't get out
I have nothing to even blog about
I look around for inspiration
but instead I've got writer's constipation
I wonder if it can be cured
If not we're doomed to being bored
To death! I say!
Doesn't matter that I've been at this since May.
It's another blog fart for poor old Tiney
So instead I write this poem like a big ol' weenie
My readers are sure to scratch their head
and wonder what happened, did I fall out of bed?
Or maybe it is the lack of sleep
without that CPAP the future is bleak
So pray for me my blogger friends
That soon I will breathe
If that doesn't happen
my blog, will you grieve?
Off I go to my big comfy bed
To snore and hold breath and fling arms at Jimmy's head
Fix me now I pray to the Lord
Or next time I write I'll be in the psychiatric ward!