The Grand Canyon is but a mere trickle through lowly pebbles in comparison to how much I hate being told what to do. The poem below perhaps captures the greatest representation currently encountered, but the irritation can equally extend to being told how I felt about something; especially when the feeling in question is one I don’t particularly care for.
A recent example occurred after happening to see some musicians at a local pub; one in particular I’d thought quite outstanding and the next day commented on their social media post about the gig to say so. Their reply: ‘Glad you had a nice time.’ Continue reading
There’s a particular company that, much like snake oil purveyors of old, profits from peddling false notions; in this instance the idea that spraying something with a mist equals it being clean and no longer odious; in personally finding said product itself greatly irritating to the nasal passages, it suffices to say I do not concur immensely.
Thoughts while walking home from the pub one recent night.
The same great poetic post to herald the arrival of lab-grown meat as 
A poetic post to herald the arrival of lab grown meat (chicken to be precise, but it’s all rock ‘n’ roll to me); even if it is in the U.S., where an ingredient from foam exercise mats is allowed in bread, Kinder eggs are banned due to the threat they pose to children, and guns are legal with high school shootings common, etc. 
Thoughts on our ever impending demise.
An eight word medical mystery in poetic form. The question is, can you figure it out? 
Thoughts on animals and the film industry via the medium of poetry.
What can I say about people who care about the size of their butt; can I say what I mean on that or any occasion?