Cheezebeard, the Lunchroom Pirate

@cheezebeard.bsky.social

101 Followers 184 Following

Writer, Artist, & Game Designer Games: https://cheezebeard.itch.io/ Mastodon: https://mastodon.social/@Cheezebeard Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/cw/CheezebeardtheLunchroomPirate

Alarmingly Fruitless "Politically correct" is getting us wrecked and the past has too much to select. Plans are too many, the propaganda zany, the passage of time fills my brain. I chose the game, but lost all the same. When tastes and smells don't ring any bells it's time to stop and look at ourselves I threw my pride off to the side, but the world did not divide. And now the politics are full of lunatics and the laws no longer stick. I chose the game, but lost all the same.
Let Them Die Let them come, Let them know, If they come, They’re gonna go. Let them cry, Let them yell, If they cry, They go to Hell. Let you come, Let you cry, If you come, You’re gonna die. Let you cry, You do it well, Now you find, That you’re in Hell.
Affectionately I want to be your Poophead And you can be my Stain. I’ll call you Pleasure And you call me Pain. There’s a wife for every man, they say. Now I ain’t sure that’s true. But you’re my little tissue, And I’m your pile of poo. I’ll be with you forever, It’s a truth that’s very plain. ‘Cause I’m your little Poophead And you’re my precious Stain.
A park bench on a concrete slab surrounded by trees. Spanish moss hangs from the trees. Tall grasses surround a pond in the background. Words superimposed on the concrete. They read: Bus Stop “No loitering” reads the sign at the bus station. “Bus patrons only.”
Pizza Before Bedtime When I woke up this morning at 3 pm, the moon was shining with the force of a million cans of tuna. I quietly blew my trumpet to ensure that the camel behind me knew I was making a left turn into the right-hand aisle at the grocery store. The bananas were fresh so I poured the bag into the grinder and set it for "espresso" before looking around the parking lot for the car I came in. But apparently it had become pregnant and now looked more like a minivan. So I walked home on the 4:00 bus and got dropped off in my living room where my bed was still propped against the wall waiting to be made. I placed the oranges I had purchased from some guy named Jesus in my freezer because all the lemons had dried up and only made powdered milk when I squeezed them. The meat was still warm, so I fired up the air conditioner and sliced a bagel to put in it for breakfast with a splash of Tobasco because mustard would have clashed with the colour of the plate. The book I was reading fell off the nightstand and landed butter side up which almost never happens, but in this case meant that it fell jelly side down. Fortunately my socks jumped in the way so I don't have to mop the walls, but I still have to throw the book in the sink to soak so my socks can take a bath. The DVD player spat out the record I was listening to and the lights started making a loud beeping noise. My cat, staring me square in the noodle soup, filled my mind with the message "time to wake up and go to work."
Waiting The storm of Depression rains tears on the broken heart. While four horses pull the corpse of love away in a cart. In a dark alley the thieves steal the wallet of a poor man, A man who once was the richest in all of the land. Four hours had passed as he stood alone in the rain. No one speaking, no one around, his only companion pain. A man stands on a corner, drawing on a cigarette. He waits and waits for a messenger who hasn’t come yet. He will never show for the letter has not been written. The author has died, for by Death’s viper she was bitten. As the sun ascends the horizon, journeying toward noon, The watcher waits, blood flowing freely, the end to come soon. Closing eyes, He softly sighs And slowly dies.