The Isolation of Ron

He was a famous unknown painter
Who couldn’t paint a thing
He bred a type of honeybee
That really loved to sting
He only ever volunteered
Every fourth leap year
And when the visitors scored a goal
He made a mighty cheer
He filled his bouncy castle
With a couple tons of rocks
He wore a polka-dotted suit
With orange checkered socks
And on his hundredth birthday
They asked him what to make
He said “I’d like one candle—
and a hundred birthday cakes.”

Marjorie’s Mad

Marjorie’s mad, ’cause her neighbor Chad
Is one of those guys who eats loads of fries
And the oil slick (if you walk too quick)
To his front doorway bell to complain of the smell
That results from the fries (along with some flies)
Will likely cause your feet to fly up
To the place where your noggin should be.
And the pain in your end (Chad’s porch doesn’t bend)
Will make you quite tardy to the big french fry party
Being thrown by your neighbor
Who lives next to Chad—
And that’s why Marjorie’s mad.