Your title. My poem. My title. Your poem.


Two of my sisters were at a bar reading poetry in South Dakota. No, that’s not the set-up to a joke. It’s the truth. Tonight I got the photo you see here from Sister Jeni, who’s somewhere in SD for medical records software training with Sister Julie. Apparently, Jeni lugged her copy of Barstool Poetry (The Early Years: 1992-2000) all the way to South Dakota.

Evidently they failed to read anything but the poems themselves. If they’d read the intro they’d know that Brother Bob didn’t write most of the sex-addled poems in this book. (Although I did get many a laugh from my sick & twisted friends.) Also, Jeni and Julie failed to recognize the most basic fundamental element of Barstool Poetry — the exchanging of titles. Coming up with provocative titles is half the fun. Receiving a title from someone can prod your psyche into unexplored corners.

All that being said . . . I LOVE the fact the my sisters were in a bar in South Dakota writing a poem on a napkin for their big brother. And it rocks! Thanks, ladies! We love you too!

And this poem that began life with no title? Sister Julie, who claims she’s the true author of the poem, has come up with a most excellent title. She’s calling this one . . .


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