Humour – Page 2 – Anton Martin Smith Writer

“Editorial: Todays Barbarianism To Civility Ratio ” (A Prose Poem)

November 7, 2025November 8, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged australian-writer, Barbarism, Books, Civility, history, Humour, nz-writer, Poems, Shakespeare, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmith@gmail.com

An national economy should have a ratio of ‘Barbarism to Civility’ –

Yes the “B.T.C” should be quoted in the same revered terms that “G.D.P” is.

A high ‘B.T.C ratio’ should be of great embarrassment to a nation.

In fact – far more so than a ‘Low G.D.P’ is.

For we can all agree that it is better to be poor but gracious,

Than a marauding, unthinking brute.

One day I hope to sit down at a cafe with newspaper in hand,

With the big front page headline booming:

“Barbarianism To Civility Ratio Crashes 27.7% : Spontaneous celebrations fill the streets everywhere!”

& when we open the next day’s paper perhaps we may see this updated report:

“Unfortunately due to the previous days ongoing unbridled celebrations that then turned into a melee –

There was caused a near instantaneous boom in the Barbarism to Civility ratio,

Resulting in a sudden reversal of fortunes,

Thus wiping out yesterdays very happy losses.”

Shakespeare in Titus wrote the line

“Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous”.

But yet he knew & we all know how barbarous the Romans were.

And since we are merely a scattered smoking remnant of the Roman Empire

Do we not today still deceive ourselves in exactly the same way?

We are indeed a well shaken cocktail of Barbarism & Civility.

But let us step towards the silver linings, away from our clouded & foggy minds.

Let’s give a Roman ‘Ave’ to the advent of the ‘Barbarism to Civility Ratio’, printed daily.

Sure I know it wont work, but as a late era Roman I have a love of empty platitudes,

Bold face lies, & abject pigheadedness,

& getting blindly drunk on highly-dubious-philosophic-alcoholic-elixirs.

It is the merely the Late-Era Roman way.

“No! – Mans Best Friend is a Not a Dr…” (A Prose Poem)

October 9, 2025October 23, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Cartels, Doctors, Dr, fantasy, fiction, Humerous Prose, Humour, Laughs, life, Medico Industry, Scams, short story, Slice Of madness, Spoken Word, witty proseLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

Are You Seriously Unwell or Just Mega Jaded?

This is a serious question.

I am sure that in reality there is no difference.

After all surely the symptoms “Mega Jaded” qualify:

Brain Fog to the extreme;

Total lack of energy;

Zero Motivation;

Feelings of Depression;.

You may as well be diagnosed with Chronic-Fatigue-Syndrome, aka CFS

Or Multiple Sclerosis, aka MS.

Or the dreaded ‘God-Knows-What-Syndrome’, aka GKWS.

The problem is if you are just “Mega jaded”,

Which is really just a form of “Burnout” –

To which the sufferer’s complaints no one listens, let alone hands out ‘free passes’ for.

It’s not ‘fair’ but then again only the biggest fools expect life to be ‘fair’.

The Mega Jaded/Burnt out are told to “snap out of it loser”,

Usually & most frequently by the people who look the saddest when they smile.

While if you have CFS or MS you welcomed as a ‘cash cow’ by the ‘Medico Scammers’ –

Who are a variety of the ‘ look saddest when they smile fraternity’ –

Who are always hungry for Taxpayer Lobster Dinners – aka TLD’s.

So, if you are “Mega Jaded” you may as well get your free ‘Dr Lobster Diagnosis’ – aka D.L.D.

Let the ‘Cash Cow’ out of the milking sheds!

& when the ship finally goes down – it won’t matter anyway –

For The Lobsters will survive & the Doctors will die.

I’d call that an all-round societal win-win for all,

Including the Drs themselves,

Most of who are tired of ScamDoctoringTM anyway,

But the Medico-Mafia-System has their balls or ovaries in a formaldehyde-filled-jar.

A Cynical summation? – yes – but at least 51% entirely ‘scamftifically’ true,

& Poetically speaking – at least 100% true – which btw isn’t saying much.

And now it’s time to fly – but let me leave you with a final ‘surmisory’ penultimate witticism.

As the anti-Bob Dylan once never crooned -“Oh the times they are a un-changin’ “

& Ladies & Gents! To put the final boot – that may-in-time-one-day reach ‘adage status’:

No!!! – Mans Best Friend is a Not a Dr – Yet His Nose Is Just As Wet.

This article is owned by Martin Smith Creations ltd (NZ). If you are a person or a small non-profit please read or reproduce freely. Commercial Users or NGO’s: If you want to purchase for reprint of this work for a commercial project to reach a wider audience – then contact me via martinantonsmith@gmail.com to gain written legal permission.

“The Maiden Of Procrastination” (A Poem)

September 29, 2025October 4, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged fiction, Humour, personal-growth, Poems, Procrastination, productivity, self-improvement, The Human Condition, time-management, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

This poem was meant to be written.

It was a close-run thing,

With pen almost hitting the page on multiple occasions,

However, Procrastination’s elk-like swiftness batted each of the pen’s tentative literary forays away.

Alas, The Pen didn’t make even a single “dot” appearance on the page – period.

But The Pen showed redoubtable courage under fire,

& if not for an unfortunate series of events – namely these:

Musical distractions of classic rock ‘n’ roll nature;

Dreams of past misdeeds towards various long gone & now fictionalised exe’s;

Too many tasty crunchy bloat-ey chocolatey snacks;

And the big daddy reason:

Multiple acute (but not very cute) pangs of self-doubt –

Yes….that old chestnut.

Yes it had seemed that in the end – Procrastination won this battle.

And oh my – what would have been!

It was going to be a real rollercoaster of literary truth & amusement.

The effervescence of true originality was set to bubble over all meridians & latitudes of Earth & beyond!

And I’m probably overstating it but –

The world may have tilted just a little off its axis in a slanted form of metaphorical joy.

Oh what a pity the battle was lost & alas nothing ever was written into the papery folds of space-time at all.

I’m sure someone far smarter & way more Ancient Greek-er said it before me, BUT:

When Procrastination wins – a bit of our future self, doth die.

Luckily there abounds one prescriptive partial solution to the sad wings of Procrastination’s foul swoops.

& It is thus:

Let ye write of thy valiant battles lost to that un-fair maiden-of-procrastination.

For then you have succeeded in the rare art of making something from nothing.

Which many of the more astute quantum minded of you will already know,

Is not entirely out of the realms of all possibility.

After all – is this poem not a testament to that oft disregarded fact?

The writer now wishes to congratulate the enemy of Procrastination for their hard-fought victory.

But the Pen holder is at least proud that they showed some old-fashioned last minute plucky-ness,

By retreating, recuperating & retiring to a handy place right behind the left ear.

& the would-be writer avows fiercely to return much stronger in the next Pen vs Procrastination theatre of war.

So ’till we meet again my anti-ephemeral anti-friend & arch enemy,

Till our next very weary psychological-warfare coupling,

Till our much-needed warring embrace,

Till in taking up arms we both inadvertently till the soil of that literary battle-scape called paper.

Or to modernise I guess I should really say ‘puter.

You never know – one of us may win the highly coveted “Iron Uncross 1st class”.

Yes, Fair thee well O’ our always defiant, ever-present adversary! –

O’ Unfair Maiden of Procrastination

Bye-Bye for now.

“Frivolities At The Asian Eatery” ( A Poem/Prose).

September 20, 2025October 2, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged food, Humour, japan, Korea, life, Poems, Pork Donburri, recipes, Restaurants, travel, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

It’s time for some Pork Donburi with Miso Soup –

I think to myself as I cross the road.

The little Japanese eatery is now open late,

It’s a slice of urban chique in my sleepy-rural-small-town-hollow.

I wander in for value dinner, having spurned my regular Chinese haunt –

But only for tonight, just for a change.

For loyalty must be spliced with the spice of occasional dissent –

Less the proprietor becomes lazy toward you,

Less they take you for granted.

They must be regularly reminded you can still freely eat elsewhere.

Yes – in life there are always ‘games being played’,

& with age you realise games exist for good reason.

So, I order the Pork Donburi – nice ‘n’ spicey – with the miso soup, it goes down a treat.

On the way out I buy some cheap leftover counter sushi – the proprietor gives me some free chicken too.

I noticed that when serving the Korean man sang his words.

Now here-is-some-pork-donburi-for-yooou, now here is yooour change

I knew he was Korean, for I had asked him if he was Japanese, & he had corrected me.

I can’t remember how, but I ended up telling him that I was writing a novella.

I told him that ‘we writers’* often inject a real-life character we see out & about into our writing.

After I told him this, he said in child-like fashion (in a good sence) that he wanted to be put into my novel.

I told him that’s it’s mostly finished & the characters are set – but there was still a slim chance.

I warned that he’d to be interesting enough to be chosen to travel onto the pages of future fiction.

He said that he also sung Karaoke, aiming to gain my literary affections.

I said that that doesn’t cut it for a Novel, Novella or a Short Story – but he might make a poem.

“Poems are easy enough to make” I tell him.

He’s a good friendly guy, & his food is tasty & at good prices.

He probably works too hard yet everyday he still wears a genuine smile.

Which can’t be easy over the long term especially so with silence-loving-small-town-folk.

It’s only fair that I spend at last fifteen minutes whipping him up a free poem –

After all he’d given me some free spicey chicken, hadn’t he?

It’s a fair trade – spicey-but-still-tasty-leftover-sushi for some personalised-slice-of-life-poetry.

Plus, he’ll get a bonus smile next week when I read him his poem in person.

And if he surprisingly asks me:

“Praytell – why did this poem cross the road?”

I’ll know he’s not really the-singing-Korean-chef-with-a-Japanese-eatery-behind-the-counter-of-a-small town at all –

…perhaps something far far more sinister or perhaps even beautiful**

All-in-all I would summarise all this as the following spinning-newspaper-tabloid-headline:

“Deadbeat Poet Says Frivolities At The Asian Eateries Are Less Than Frivolous”.

*Yes, it sounds like I had my head up my own ass – I agree with you oh reader.

** when read in public this must be said with a theatrical nod, indicating an ulterior motive may be involved.

“The Watchers” (A Poem/Prose/Spoken word )

September 14, 2025September 15, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Aliens, humans, Humour, Pleiadians, Poems, The Human Condition, writingLeave a comment

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

They hide away from anyone with brains who might educate/enlighten,

About that stuff that they know very little about.

For their fragile still teenage ego could not survive it.

For that would make them have to be honest with themselves:

They would have to squarely face their demons:

That they peaked in high school – & it was a fake peak at that.

For that was the place where they could hide ignorance,

Disguise it as ‘coolness’ via the trick of aloofness.

They still use this trick at age 25,35,45,55.

And the really committed losers do it till the death rattle sounds.

It’s one of the saddest things that you’ll ever see day-to-day,

Amoungst so many of the Earth people.

They miss out on their intended lives,

To use their own phrase – they make ‘old fools’ of themselves,

They turn away those who can help them grow.

We only hope this crapulent solipsistic behaviour is not madness or badness

But is because of some weird as yet undiscovered warped form of Milky Way shyness.

Oh you Humans when will you learn?

For I can tell you – Us Pleiadeans are getting rather sick of you all,

We are considering abandoning our elected post as the watchers.

The Galactic Federation is considering dropping you entirely,

Swapping you for another more paletable intergalactic zoo.

Yes earthlings – the Trappist star system humanoid oiks throw considerably less shit at each other.

So, don’t take us ‘watchers’ for granted, ok?

For now just rest at ease, o’ wild Humans.

For just like on Earth,

The wheels of Galactic Justice also move slowly.

You can still turn things around.

Us Pleiadian Watchers all doubt it – but in theory it’s still possible.

“My so-called PTSD Life?” (A Poem)

August 12, 2025August 15, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Age-thirty-five, aging, Computer, Existentialism, Humour, life, pain, PTSD, Screens, Youth1 Comment

By Anton martin Smith antonsmithwrites@gmail.com

Do I have PTSD?

Is the question I ask of myself daily.

And If you’re reading this – I bet you do too.

Did I reach a point at 35 when the until-now-buried, seeds-of stress-all bloomed?

Before that mid-thirties limit, my youth could smother it all,

Like some cyborg-ed cold-hearted futuristic bounty hunter.

But then at that critical year in life’s age,

I must had been once again pushed another infinitesimal millimetre,

But this time, time & space had run out.

Now I was found myself finally pushed right up to & teetering over the precipice,

Of that cliff that was designed for me, & people just like me, long, long ago.

Teetering, thereby when the next trauma hit – (likely disguised a pretty human female),

It would send me careering downwards to ‘bottom-cliffs-ville’ with no parachute, & no recourse.

Then when you hit the ground, youth has suddenly gone forever, & the world has changed.

When you look up from the splat-point, you now may as well be seventy.

All the good things that came to you so easily have now evaporated.

But as the years post impact rolled along this “PTSD” has given you wisdom.

And you realise it’s cut that ‘fake-hard-but-easy’ old world away from you,

As a butcher cuts off a line of fat from a steak, & then whacks it, you’ve been made much better .

Ahhh ‘PTSD’ & AGE – heavens secret gift for your aged soul.

And in truth you probably don’t even have “PTSD” – merely some cheaply made imitation.

But each night you’ll raise a glass to the comfort of it all just the same.

Just like the two billion of others just like you,

Who are also convinced they are uniquely sad.

And we all unwittingly raise a glass nightly & in unison to each other,

As we sit in from of our computer screens,

Forever mourning the sudden death of our own past lives.

“Life Is A Catch-22 Problem” (A Prose Poem)

August 7, 2025August 8, 2025Posted in UncategorizedTagged Comedy, Counselors, fiction, Humour, life, Problems, Psychiatry, social commentary, writing2 Comments

by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com

The problem with being an intellectual, be it faux or otherwise,

Is that you can’t but help be trapped into negative thinking.

This is because ‘intellectuals’ want to understand ‘The World’,

Or should I say Need to understand The World –

And,

If you haven’t already noticed,

The world always but always, has a lot more problems than solutions.

This is why all in all, having ‘brains’ is far more of a curse than a blessing.

Yes – ‘The Garden of Eden’ orientation is correct:

Ignorance is (for all us distant dystopians) unfortunately – bliss.

Yes – ignorance of the unnecessary is natures ‘go to strategy’.

So – should we should ‘act dumb coz that’s natures leaning?’ – I hear you ask?

Well, that’s a tricky one – as ‘Nature’ is also often a beast in itself –

It will happily sacrifice the few for the good of the many –

With no tears shed.

Our indulgence in the unnecessary is why, by 2025, the only ‘true thing’ happening here on Earth is:

THE FABLED ‘CATCH 22’ Scenario – summed up with this dictum –

“You’re damned if you do & you’re damned if you don’t”

Now I could tell you the real solution to this – & forgive the vulgarity – this very “poopy sandwich” –

But then again, my latest money scamming psychiatrist has diagnosed me as ‘anally retentive’* –

And the prior souless shrink before that one also diagnosed me as ‘a narcissist’ –

And the one before that as a ‘compulsive liar’.

So I will respect their judgement –

So I’m not going to contradict those fine-living parasitic assholes, & tell you the answer to the aforementioned,

‘Life is a Catch 22 problem’.

But I will tell you what my suddenly retiring fourth-last-dodgy-money-grubbing-psychiatrist told me in my & his & my last session:

“You’re on your own buddy”**

With this casual undiagnosticly inclined in-passing phrase, he was inadvertently the only shrink ever who had ever told the truth, in the history of psychiatry.

And now my friends this prose must end unsatisfactorily –

But luckily, as always the only one who suffers is the reader/listener –

I the writer will scoot by the seat of my pants as always, & end up reaching for a well chilled beer from the fridge.

& Amen to that!

*This topic of anal retentiveness makes my mind wander – I wonder if it’s acceptable for a plumber to speculate on a customer’s bowel motions?

**This line should be said in a weird American accent.

P.s. I apologise for this bastardry, so badly disguised as a poem. All those cranks I’ve been seeing must be rubbing off on me. But I guess I should take that as a compliment.