Backlogged rule 3:
Well, actually, it's a series of rules.
In my Gmail news feed this morning [March 18]: "Poetry Contest - DorothyPrizes.org - Prizes of $1000 to $25000. Heartfelt poems due Nov. 6."
Poems that you slapped together without thinking about it just for this contest due Dec. 8.
Angsty poems you wrote in high school and you thought your life was so hard due when your mom comes down to the basement, brings you juice, and reminds you, "Oh honey, wasn't that poetry thing due today?"
Poems that involve dragons due when your testicles descend.
Poems about cancer that you wrote because, "Oh, cancer is just so sad!" are not due. Ever.
Poems written about the first thing you saw out the window are due Oct. 9.
Poems about your favorite pastime or sport that you love so much but can't describe and it just is so great and I'm going to use a lot of words like "passion," "exhilarate," and "soar" must be submitted in the approved format: ashes in an urn crafted from oven-fired ferret feces.
Poems you wrote about world hunger, world peace, true love, and how much you love your yorkshire terrier (and you own a bumper sticker that says, "my yorkie is cuter than your honor student") will all be judged in a separate category. Please coat in egg wash and panko breadcrumbs before entering.
---
Next rule: Hey comma Brita pitcher. Effing filter my water.
I paid $15 for you to produce deliciously purified water. I did not pay $15 for you to filter so slowly that the catchment turns into a mosquito pond.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Backlogged rule 2
Do not be that girl.
You're hanging out at the bar, having a good time, and you end up needing to pee. So you head to the bathroom, and pushing by you on their way into the bathroom are two girls. Rather pretty, very polished.
One of them says to the other, "An' then-uh, he was like, iunno all like call you or su'thee... An' I was like yah-uh, ih was gradle-like, meechoo. Or wha'ever." (translation: "And then he was like, 'Give me your number for when I'm lonely.' And I was like, 'Sure, I feel like the emptiness in my head must be replaced by a filling of the vagina.'")
Good heavens, woman. Where did your tongue go? DID YOU HAVE A HORRIFYING CHILDHOOD ACCIDENT? No. The answer is no, she did not have a horrifying, childhood, tongue-removing accident. She just doesn't use it in speech. A couple of hypotheses as to why not: she's incredibly lazy. It is just WAY too hard for her to use her tongue to talk. Her tongue is just heavier than everybody else's tongue. Using it for speech would tire the muscle so much she would not be able to perform the important function of eating. In fact, it would tire the rest of her body. She would lie comatose on her bed at her parents' place, drooling onto a quilt, while her mother makes soothing noises and tucks Mr. BunBun into bed with her. How dare you try to make her use her tongue like a mere mortal. For shame.
Second hypothesis: her tongue is just used to being depressed to the bottom of her mouth, so she doesn't use it. This is tangential to the other problem this girl typically has; her mouth is always open. Not in a fly-catching way, but in a - what is to her - seemingly seductive pose of mild surprise and invitation. It is as though with every passing second, she is expecting a penis to fall out of the sky into her mouth. Her annoying tongue-less speech pattern is actually just broadcasting, "Hey, in case you thought anything would get in the way... NOPE! So please, go wild." That's right, your sphincter just got a little more relaxed because that's so sexy. Or maybe it didn't.
Either way. Don't be her. And eat a freaking sandwich, dude.
You're hanging out at the bar, having a good time, and you end up needing to pee. So you head to the bathroom, and pushing by you on their way into the bathroom are two girls. Rather pretty, very polished.
One of them says to the other, "An' then-uh, he was like, iunno all like call you or su'thee... An' I was like yah-uh, ih was gradle-like, meechoo. Or wha'ever." (translation: "And then he was like, 'Give me your number for when I'm lonely.' And I was like, 'Sure, I feel like the emptiness in my head must be replaced by a filling of the vagina.'")
Good heavens, woman. Where did your tongue go? DID YOU HAVE A HORRIFYING CHILDHOOD ACCIDENT? No. The answer is no, she did not have a horrifying, childhood, tongue-removing accident. She just doesn't use it in speech. A couple of hypotheses as to why not: she's incredibly lazy. It is just WAY too hard for her to use her tongue to talk. Her tongue is just heavier than everybody else's tongue. Using it for speech would tire the muscle so much she would not be able to perform the important function of eating. In fact, it would tire the rest of her body. She would lie comatose on her bed at her parents' place, drooling onto a quilt, while her mother makes soothing noises and tucks Mr. BunBun into bed with her. How dare you try to make her use her tongue like a mere mortal. For shame.
Second hypothesis: her tongue is just used to being depressed to the bottom of her mouth, so she doesn't use it. This is tangential to the other problem this girl typically has; her mouth is always open. Not in a fly-catching way, but in a - what is to her - seemingly seductive pose of mild surprise and invitation. It is as though with every passing second, she is expecting a penis to fall out of the sky into her mouth. Her annoying tongue-less speech pattern is actually just broadcasting, "Hey, in case you thought anything would get in the way... NOPE! So please, go wild." That's right, your sphincter just got a little more relaxed because that's so sexy. Or maybe it didn't.
Either way. Don't be her. And eat a freaking sandwich, dude.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Backlogged rule 1
Do not write poetry when your current mood is: angst.
Don't ever do it; it can only end in tears.
Spray paint-huffing, emo tears.
You end up with crap like this (a real poem by a person with a religious alias):
Every night laying in bed
Fighting the pain
Fighting the tears
Wanting iit all to end
Oh how i wish that it all could just end
and then I pray when
I wake up I find that it is
All just a dream
And that it never
Really Happened.
Seriously? What the hell.
Don't ever do it; it can only end in tears.
Spray paint-huffing, emo tears.
You end up with crap like this (a real poem by a person with a religious alias):
Every night laying in bed
Fighting the pain
Fighting the tears
Wanting iit all to end
Oh how i wish that it all could just end
and then I pray when
I wake up I find that it is
All just a dream
And that it never
Really Happened.
Seriously? What the hell.
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