I’ve decided after much thought that I will include my song parodies and such in my Poetry Month Showcase. Even if they are not traditional, original poems, it does take some poetic prowess to match words to lyrics in a new context. Also, they are fun!

My next installment of Throwback April involves an epic dish battle. I was told not to mess with the mini break room on Marketing’s turf. Problem was, nobody cleaned it at all, so eventually when things got nasty, I had to do the dirty work. This included climbing/cleaning the summit of Mount Icky and doing an archaeological dig through a long forgotten ice cave filled with expired yogurt. There was some microwave explosion as well, and HR sent a scolding email about how I’m not a maid. You know things are bad when HR steps in without being asked. Sheesh.

I  wrote a Fridge Rap that week. Actually, I’ve written two and can’t remember when I did which because my oldest archives are not very organized. So…I will post both. Besides, the second rap got a Joie Brown illo, so now both raps can have a visual.

Frigidaire Rap 

This is a shout out to my office Peeps, cuz life ain’t easy for a receptionist on the streets!

I’m an admin with swagger, so I gotta represent,
With my rhymes like liquid gold. My flows heaven sent,

I hate to waste food, so I gotta be fair,
So listen close to this rap about the Frigidaire,

I can’t let you leave yo food in the fridge week after week,
It would be stanky, moldy, cluttered and yo, Man! It would reek!

So remove yo mac & cheese, yo sammich, and yo chicken wings,
Cuz I’m gonna toss it in the trash at five fifteen!

This is gonna go down every Friday,
I’m gonna throw down and throw your food away,
So you better be smart and heed this fly warning,

This is one of Joie’s earliest illustrations that she sketched in a cubicle and texted to me.

Or yo food will not be here on Monday morning!

Frigidaire Rap Numbah Too! 

This rap is dedicated to my homie Greg T
cuz he did that stack of nasty dishes fo me!

Don’t be a hater
cuz I’m the dictator,
laying down the laws of the fridge.
Don’t hate the playa. Hate the game.
Then hang yo head in shame,
as I trash yo food and burn another bridge.

You’ll soon be doing time.
Forgettin’ is the crime.
Your sentence is lunch without parole.
When you go to get yo meal
you’ll be shoutin’ “What’s da deal?!”
You got busted by the office Fridge Patrol!

Remember, crime don’t pay, Kids.

5:15