Poetry Parodies

When I first entered the realm of spoken word and poetry slam, I had a run in the Bay Area as a "Weird Al" of the scene by writing parodies of works by local poets. I believe Yankovic is a genius and he is certainly the nicest notable person I’ve ever met. I thoroughly enjoy his work.

However, my favorite of my own parodies is my take on Shane Koyczan’s "Beethoven" (tip-o-the-hat to Ms. Spelt.) My version is called "Boyardee" and I feel as though it is the most dead-on parody I’ve ever written. I love parodies, and I find that they tend to get my creative electricities all charged up. They’re also good practice for trying to understand what and why a poet/writer does what they do with words.

I’d love it if poets would submit one spoken word poem to me for parody. Submit your original work, by MP3 AND text. My parodies are much better when I can hear the tone the poet uses with each line.

Send them to ilikemike at my Gmail address. Post a comment here to say you’ve sent something so I can keep a record of who is interested in this.

I will write the parodies and make every attempt to record them and post them here on my LiveJournal.

Below you will find a poem of mine to parody as you wish. If you can record it, I’d love to share the text and audio here.

You will also find the texts of the Koyczan and Mojgani parodies I’ve written.

Let the mockery begin!
–––––––––
Word to the nerd.

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SOUL FOOD: A DUEL WITH DEATH AT LUNCHTIME
© 2001 Mike McGee

So last week the Angel of Death comes knocking at my door
Totally interrupting Perfect Strangers
And I’m like, “Dude, you are so early! There is so much more I wanted to do with my life!”

“You’ve had plenty of time for that!”

“You know, you sound a bit like Sean Connery.”

“No, he sounds a bit like me.”

"Whatever, dude. There’s gotta be some sort of loop-hole. What if we competed for my soul? Like some sort of contest."

“I love a good challenge. If we can both agree on one, then the winner may keep your soul.”

At this point I remembered I had a pot a ramen noodles waiting for me on the stove. The Angel of Death was lured into my kitchen by the sweet aromatic joy of powdered shrimp flavoring. I could see that Death was hungry, so I made a second pack of Ramen. We sat and ate in silence, but my hunger just wouldn’t subside. So while I raided the fridge, I noticed Death scoping my Rice Krispy Treats.

“Still hungry, dude?”

“We’ll take one for the road.” he said.

And we both put a Rice Krispy treat in our pockets.

“Actually, I could probably eat half of all your food.”

“So could I, dude, so could I.”

And it hit us both at the same time. We pulled out every bit of food in my house and divided it all into equal halves. We had one rule: First person to finish eating their half of food keeps my soul.

We sat down on the kitchen floor surrounded by an odd buffet. The world’s greatest food challenge began. But this was no ordinary match.

I took an early lead as Death fumbled opening a can of refried beans. I plowed through a dozen eggs and half a gallon of milk. I strategically swallowed spoonful after spoonful of leftover lasagna, without chewing. Death caught up to me with a tub of butter and half a soggy pumpkin pie. I hustled my way through cans of corn, green beans, kidney beans, chili, chicken soup, fruit cocktail, and a few cans of peas, but I was stopped dead in my tracks by a mystery can. It’s label missing and nowhere to be found. Damn, dog food! No time to think, I had to eat it.

Death was now ahead of me by two-cans of beer, a frozen steak and what we think may have been tamales. I burped to make room and continued on in the feast for my soul. I ate broccoli, cauliflower, cucumbers, oranges, bananas, a container of baking powder, two cups of salt & pepper, a jug of Pepto-Bismol and a can of whipped cream. We reached our last item of food. One. Raw. Potato. Each. We slowly gnawed our way through the raw potatoes, swallowing our last bites at the exact same time. It appeared as though we had a draw. Then Death looked to me with a sly grin and handed me a Tupperware bowl with my half of uneaten Jello. I grabbed a straw and sucked it down, saying:

“There’s always room for Jello, bitch!”

But Death just smiled and said, “I believe I finished my half before you. Your soul is mine.”

But I just outsmiled him and said, “What’s that in your pocket, hooker?”

His face sunk as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the last Rice Krispy Treat.

He looked to me with fear as I handed him my wrapper, and swallowed a mouthful of crispy, marshmallow goodness. “I believe I win, fucker.”

With that, the Angel of Death bowed and vanished.

I sat down to an episode of Full House and ordered a pizza…
cuz there’s never anything to eat at my house.

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BOYARDEE
(to Shane Koyczan’s ”Beethoven”)
© 2001 Mike McGee

Taste it
His father made a habit out of frying them
See
Some men bake
Some men broil
Some men sautee their food
This man did it all
because I guess all men want their boys to be chefs

Boyardee

Little boy living in a house where the size of your hat meant nothing
Living in a house where groceries had to be earned
through each tasty morsel
served from the kitchen to tantalize the teeth of angels
whose hunger couldn’t be filled by anyone
other than this young boy
who had destroyed his tastebuds

Boyardee

Who tasted his fathers cooking every time he put tongue to taco
It was
not HOT enough
so he cooked hotter
not SOON enough
so he cooked faster
Not CULTURED enough
so he brought in a Hibachi

Not GOOD enough
and when he could taste no more
when his throat swelled up from the odd concoction of spices
it was
NOT GOOD ENOUGH

Boyardee

A culinary master
without his most precious tool
His tongue could no longer taste the meals he made in his mind
He couldn’t hear the people eating
He couldn’t hear them pigging out
He couldn’t hear the waiters tell the women in the restaurant that the chefs name was
Boyardee
As they let the mouthfuls invade their stomachs
like a snail sliding through
slinging meatballs
paralyzing every nerve in their bodies
like explosions of mustard gas
Each bite leaving drip marks over every inch of their chest
Making them hungry for one more
HELPING

He was an addiction
and kings/queens
it didn’t matter
The man got down on his knees for lasagna
but people amputated their legs
just to be closer to the food he dropped on the
FLOOR

The man got down on his knees for MATZO

And when the culinary academy made his recipes
it was the bile of his fathers tacos
bur-burping-burp-burping itself up into his throat

It was
not HOT enough
so he cooked hotter
not SOON enough
so he cooked faster
not CULTURED enough
so he brought in a frenchman

NOT GOOD ENOUGH
so they tried to mock the chef
make fun of his meals
by mimicking his movements
holding their ladels
a quarter of an inch above the pot
not stirring the soup
It was
burning

See
The chefs have this intimacy with food
it’s there in their dreams
and the culinary students turned to one another
not knowing what to do about the soup
trying to calculate the distance between
them and the firehose
Realizing that Boyarees ingredient measurements
could take you to dining rooms far past
the tables of Burger King
Turning golden arches into symbols, crashing togethercausing people to cry
creating a mob so large
they shook the restaurant until the lights began to fall fromt he ceiling
and it looked like the entire world had come to eat

TV dinners must be an illusion
The man must be a genius

Boyardee

His knife chopping at the speed of a food processor
Transforming beef into meatloaf

(My bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R)

And after 45 minutes at 375 degrees
it was like canned food was a marketable thing
Like you could sell it
like for the first time
we could eat ravioli and tortellini
off the same plate of such fine china
that we finally understood
the packaging wasn’t important
to know the man and his food
all we ever had to do was
Taste it

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BUST THE DUST
© 2007 Mike McGee
(to Anis Mojgani’s "Shake The Dust")

this is for the flatulent girls
this is for the little bubblers
this is for the schoolyard whiffs and for the childhood booties that
tormented them
for the formidable prom queef and for the intolerant milk drinkers
for the nighttime dutch oveners
and for the retired elderly "I farted in the elevator" door greeters
fart the dust

this is for the benches and the people sharting upon them
for the bus drivers inhaling a million broken winds
for the men who have to hold in three pops simply to hold onto their women
for the night pooers
and for the midnight butt lighters trying to flame
fart the dust

for the two year olds who cannot be understood
because they fart half liquid
and half not
fart the dust
for the boys with the booty–full sisters
fart the dust
for the girls with the brothers who are blowing lazy
for those gym class rope climbers
for the 12 year olds afraid of making public sours
for the kid who’s always late to class cuz he forgets beans loosen his pucker
for the girl who loves somebody else’s brand
fart the dust
this
is for the bloated men who want to fart but know that it won’t come
for the ones who aren’t fartin’
the ones you have to stand up for
for the ones who are told to squeak only when you are solo and then
are never solo
squeak every time you stand
so you do not shart yourself
do not let a moment go by that doesn’t remind you that your butt
farts 900 times a day
and that there is enough gas to make you a truck stop
do not settle for letting these fumes settle and for the dust to collect
in your jeans

this is for the silent-vowed monk who keeps on struggling
for the potty trainers and for the people who go on vacations to fart

for the sweat that collects between mick jagger’s stinging cheeks
and for the flapping skirt on tina turner’s flapping apple
for the heavens and for the hells through which tina has put her husband

this is for the dry ones and for the creamers

for the families that will never be true believers
in perfectly silent keesters
with butts not smelly with fever
this is for the spigots
for the flexists
and for the spillers
for the big, loud fart contestants becoming winners
and for the cloud trail
that always seems to show up right after the sprinters

this is for you

make sure that by the time the smell returns
you are gone again
cuz thanks to indigestion
i burn at both ends
and every time i eat
every time i open my mouth
i am creating a fart from myself to give to you
so
fart the dust
and shake my hand when you do
for none of this has ever been for me
all that hushes and lulls
hushes for you
so grab this world by its buttcheeks
and fart it out again
and again
and hop on top
and take it for a spin
and when you stop to cough
fart it again
for this is yours

make my gas worth it

make this not just another wind that i push out

not
just another wind like
just another fart that sits heavy in my bowels
walk into it
breath
it in!
let it creep through the hallways of your colon
like the millions of years of millions of farts
coursing like poop
pumping and pushing
making you cringe
farting the dust
so when a fart knocks at your butt
clutch your pants tightly
and pull them on down
running forward into the world’s unsuspecting faces
with your ass before you
buttcheeks
trembling
though they may be

This entry was written by Mike McGee, posted on 29 July, 2009 at 10:37 PM, filed under Personal Updates and tagged anis mojgani, beethoven, mike mcgee, parodies, parody, poetry, shake the dust, shane koyczan, soul food, spoken word, submissions, text. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.

Kitchen Sessions #1

This event is amazing. Simone Beaubien ids performing to great applause in my kitchen. She is outstanding.

Next KS will be Saturday, August 15, featuring David Perez and Lara Bozabalian. It looks to be as good as this one.

Wow. Kitchen poetry is spectacular.

DJ Muse is recording all of it. I am so glad. You won’t regret listening to it. So inspiring.
———
Word to the nerd.

This entry was written by Mike McGee, posted on 26 July, 2009 at 7:16 PM, filed under Writing and tagged my house, simone beaubien, spoken word. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.

Kitchen Sessions #1

This event is amazing. Simone Beaubien ids performing to great applause in my kitchen. She is outstanding.

Next KS will be Saturday, August 15, featuring David Perez and Lara Bozabalian. It looks to be as good as this one.

Wow. Kitchen poetry is spectacular.

DJ Muse is recording all of it. I am so glad. You won’t regret listening to it. So inspiring.
———
Word to the nerd.

Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.

This entry was written by Mike McGee, posted on at 7:16 PM, filed under Personal Updates and tagged blackberry mobile post, events, my house, simone beaubien, spoken word, Worcester-Massachusetts, writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.

Showdown in O-Town 2009

After my UCF gig in Orlando on July 22, I am staying another day to perform at the Orlando Team Fundraiser, “Showdown in O-Town.” I have never been to a Florida poetry slam. It’s about damn time.

This show sounds like a great time! I am excited!

Here are all of the details for the show sent to me by the one and only Mr. J. Bradley:

Thursday, July 23 at The Cameo Theatre (located in the old Cruises Only building – 1013 E. Colonial Drive), Team Orlando 2009 will face off against three other teams packed with amazing poets in a National Poetry Slam style bout where, after four rounds, one team will win the first ever Showdown in O-Town. Our teams are so far:

Team Orlando 2009: Shawn Welcome, Curtis Meyer, Ronin, MyVerse, Alex Ruiz – the most talented team Orlando will ever throw at the National Poetry Slam thus far. This is an amazing mix of accomplished poets and hungry newcomers who will rock your faces off with their poetic might.

Team Slamazon: Kendra Corrie, Dani O., Veronica Smith, Holly Riggs – this team features both winners of the 2009 Fringe Poetry Smackdown (who both won with 30s), a 2009 Smackdown runner up, and a poetic leviathan emerging from the depths. This team is fierce. They will destroy you with their verse, then wear your skin like a pelt.

Team Payback: Tod Caviness, Trevor Fraiser, Tam Tam the Sandwich Man, Alex Vega – all these poets were part of the Broken Speech Post-Season and they seek vengenance on Team Orlando for denying them from representing the City Beautiful.

Team Pandemonium : Chaz Yorick, Lilly, Michael Sloan, Zachary Kluckman – this team is the ultimate wildcard. We can only speculate the mayhem this mysterious group can cause.

Kicking off the night will be Mighty Mike McGee, the only poet to hold the individual National Poetry Slam and World Poetry Slam titles.

These teams will face Team Orlando at the Showdown in O-Town in an epic bout never seen before in the City Beautiful…until now.

Wanna hear the best part? You can see this National Poetry Slam bout for just $5. $5 to see amazing poetry. $5 to get your face rocked so far off, you can put it on a wall as a trophy to tell your grandchildren about that time poetry rocked your face off on this night. For your $5, you not only get to witness awesome poetry but get your name thrown in the hat for a door prize: a $25 gift card to Urban Think, Orlando’s only independent book store. All proceeds go to Team Orlando 2009.

The Showdown in O-Town is proudly sponsored by Stardust Video & Coffee, our home venue, Park Ave CDs, Seven Sisters Coffee, and Urban Think.

This entry was written by Mike McGee, posted on 16 July, 2009 at 10:46 AM, filed under Travel and tagged florida, live performance, orlando, Performance Poetry and Spoken Word, poetry, spoken word, summer, sweetness, Team Orlando 2009, university of central florida. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.