TumbleDweeeb

Parenting 101
A Stream of Conscience, Comedic, Multisyllable Rhyme
By: Emmitt Owens
(Index #01012026)

Intro
Alright—hold up…
Sound check crackling like my last relationship.
Fair warning upfront: This gets weird if you’re sober or expecting common sense.

Verse 1
I’m infectious with sentences, diction got pestilence,
If you clap back, pack proof and some penicillin in.
I overcook metaphors, choke jokes twice,
Trip over punchlines, then apologize…
“Was it good for you?” … was it nice?

Pick a fight with me? Nah, I rebalance the scales,
Turn parking tickets into federal betrayals.
I get half-lifted off that discount weed,
Hit the bushes so hard … you’d swear I’m burning some trees.
“Oh … shit”

If I said I last long … that’d be statisticaly fraud,
I finish sentences early like I’m dodging applause.

Trailer Park Boys gasp … Ricky squints, Bubbles hides…
Alexis Ren, Rachel Cook and Sydney Sweeney slide,
Coi Leray nods, Mia Waifu’s OnlyFans subscribers rise—
I just wink while innuendos leak down their thighs.

My nerves stay twitchy, espresso owns my ass,
Snatch bad pickup lines mid air like I’m teaching a class.
Every date I ever had ghosted quick,
Guess my opener “Wanna get Sticky?” didn’t stick.

So move however, improvise your updates,
Eat breakfast at 3 AM, fuck up your sleep states.
Think crooked, talk shit, question authority’s kink,
Drive sober … just kidding, I failed that twice in a week, I think.

I’m bold enough to flirt where restraining orders exist,
Ask nuns for their number just to add to the list.
They say I’m colorful… yeah, the outfit screams,
Like a traffic cone fucked a highlighter’s wet dreams.

I don’t rage though… y’all miss the subtext,
How you cancel a man who’s already a shipwreck?
Frank Gallager certified,
Cold shower, party till I’m dead,
Black out respectfully, wake up somewhere else instead.

Hands half-broken … stuck on “fuck you” mode,
Yet somehow my fourteen-year-old, watches like I’m teaching dress code.
“She dresses just like me … Reebok Pumps, Tee Shirts and baggy jeans”

Hook
Don’t text your ex at 4 AM … don’t bet your rent on red,
Don’t trust a fart after Taco Bell … don’t believe what’s in your head,
Don’t argue with cops … don’t have sex for a year,
“absurd”
Don’t microwave fish at work … don’t finish that eighth beer,
Don’t tell your boss exactly what you think about their face,
Don’t show up to court in Crocs … don’t get a tattoo of your bae,
Don’t question bouncers … don’t ghost your therapist mid-breakdown,
Don’t wear socks with sandals—fuck it, burn the whole town down.

Verse 2
Brain won’t function unless gravity’s reversed,
Knock sequins off pop stars with a limerick curse.
Not a stud, just a punchline acrobat,
Spray double entendres till the girl decides to fight back.

My style’s bent sideways, moonwalks through Costco,
Drags expired condoms back like they’re retro.
Jumped in a fever dream, the floppy flopping wrong,
Debated philosophy with houseplants… they agreed I don’t belong.

I’m as stable as a Jenga tower mid-earthquake,
Born premature, stayed confused, still showing up late.
Shoutout to my therapist earning that check…
Sorry for the stories, and all my green turtlenecks.
Steve said, “Mail Time” But its restraining orders and rejected checks.

Somebody tell my brain to ease off the throttle…
I trip over my dick and land on a model.

Spilled champagne on a yacht I don’t own,
Security grabbed me… turns out, wrong timezone.
Deep breath, smirk… either blessed or insane,
If nobody’s crying, I’m winning the game.

I’ve micro-dosed maturity, macro-dosed “fuck it,”
Told my demons “relax… you’re trying too hard, love it.”
Ghosts swipe left when I walk in a room,
Even the afterlife’s got standards… I’m banned from the tomb.

So if wild stories spread, exaggerate facts,
That’s just my résumé doing parkour through cracks.
When I drop new material, it’s chaos refined,
Delete the old playbook, let madness redesign.

Hook
Don’t drunk-dial your boss… don’t lick bathroom floors,
Don’t propose after two weeks… don’t trust gas station food no more,
Don’t @ your exes from burner accounts at dawn,
Don’t fight geese in the park… don’t bet against your mom,
Don’t explain Bitcoin to strangers… don’t skip the fine print,
Don’t wear white to weddings… don’t double-text your Tinder interests in,
Don’t challenge bartenders… don’t freestyle at funerals loud,
Don’t trust a fart in public—nah… I already said that—proud though.