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Deteriorata
(National Lampoon)
Go placidly amid the noise and waste,
and remember what comfort there may be in owning a piece thereof.
Avoid quiet and passive persons, unless you are in need of sleep.
Rotate your tires.
Speak glowingly of those greater than yourself
and heed well their advice, even though they be turkeys.
Know what to kiss... and when.
Consider that two wrongs never make a right... but that three do.
Wherever possible, put people on hold.
Be comforted that in the face of all aridity and disillusionment,
and despite the changing fortunes of time,
there is always a big future in computer maintenance.
Remember the Pueblo.
Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle, and mutilate.
Know yourself. If you need help, call the FBI.
Exercise caution in your daily affairs,
especially with those persons closest to you...
that lemon on your left, for instance.
Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most souls
would scarcely get your feet wet.
Fall not in love, therefore; it will stick to your face.
Gracefully surrender the things of youth,
birds, clean air, tuna, Taiwan,
and let not the sands of time get in your lunch.
Hire people with hooks.
For a good time call 606-4311. Ask for Ken.
Take heart amid the deepening gloom
that your dog is finally getting enough cheese,
and reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot,
it could only be worse in Milwaukee.
You are a fluke of the Universe.
You have no right to be here,
and whether you can hear it or not,
the Universe is laughing behind your back.
Therefore, make peace with your god,
whatever you conceive him to be:
hairy thunderer or cosmic muffin.
With all its hopes, dreams, promises, and urban renewal,
the world continues to deteriorate.
Give up
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Sources: http://www.zshare.net/audio/229289794030c8/
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As a matter of fact, the poem below is positively wretched... and so it should fit right in here with these others.
After you read it (if you can actually make it all the way through without collapsing in laughter or disgust) be sure to look at my recommendation at the end. It's for one of the funniest poetry books I've ever read.
I present for your edification:
The Idiot Boy
by William Wordsworth
'Tis eight o'clock,--a clear March night,
The moon is up--the sky is blue,
The owlet in the moonlight air,
He shouts from nobody knows where;
He lengthens out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo! a long halloo!
--Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret?
And why on horseback have you set
Him whom you love, your idiot boy?
Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
But wherefore set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy?
There's scarce a soul that's out of bed;
Good Betty put him down again;
His lips with joy they burr at you,
But, Betty! what has he to do
With stirrup, saddle, or with rein?
The world will say 'tis very idle,
Bethink you of the time of night;
There's not a mother, no not one,
But when she hears what you have done,
Oh! Betty she'll be in a fright.
But Betty's bent on her intent,
For her good neighbour, Susan Gale,
Old Susan, she who dwells alone,
Is sick, and makes a piteous moan,
As if her very life would fail.
There's not a house within a mile,
No hand to help them in distress;
Old Susan lies a bed in pain,
And sorely puzzled are the twain,
For what she ails they cannot guess.
And Betty's husband's at the wood,
Where by the week he doth abide,
A woodman in the distant vale;
There's none to help poor Susan Gale,
What must be done? what will betide?
And Betty from the lane has fetched
Her pony, that is mild and good,
Whether he be in joy or pain,
Feeding at will along the lane,
Or bringing faggots from the wood.
And he is all in travelling trim,
And by the moonlight, Betty Foy
Has up upon the saddle set,
The like was never heard of yet,
Him whom she loves, her idiot boy.
..... No... the poem isn't over yet... not for a really really long time, as a matter of fact... but you'll have to get the rest of it at the link provided under "sources". It's simply too long for this reply space.
Go ahead... I dare you to read it all.
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Sources: http://www.online-literature.com/wordsworth/2224/
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Mama_DeGeorgio's Recommendations
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Amazon List Price: $12.00
Used from: $0.86
Average Customer Rating: 5.0 out of 5
(based on 12 reviews)
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I own this book and keep it in the bathroom for inspiration.
As an added bonus, it contains what is claimed to be "The Worst Poem in the English Language" which may be just that.
This book is absolutely hilarious.
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| Sick |
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| by Shel Silverstein |
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"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
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AMG48's Recommendations
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Amazon List Price: $18.99
Used from: $7.79
Average Customer Rating: 5.0 out of 5
(based on 56 reviews)
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"Abandonment"
Fearing the Devil's wrath
I run for Heaven's door
solid and strong, oak encased in iron.
I pound and I claw
til my fingers bleed red
staining the oak, soaking the floor.
At once, I break through,
falling to my knees in gratitude
and I look upon the heavenly throne.
To my horror, He laughs at me,
just laughs like a madman.
And in my sorrow and my shame,
I crawl on bloodied hands
out the door, down the stairs,
back into the Pit.
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I was a HUGE Douglas Adams fan in college. He passed at the beginning of my freshman year, only a few weeks before a teacher had arranged a teleconference with him for our class. If you haven't read Hitchhikers, take your towel and toothbrush and get to it.
It took some searching on a friend's part, but I present to you, for your approval, the worst poetry in the world:
Confessions of a serial killer
-the worst poetry in the world, by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings, of
Greenbridge, Essex, England.
I have a terrible problem, which is very hard to face.
It's taken me several years to say; "I've really got a case!"
Emotions I cannot control, run wild inside my head.
Always surging through me during mornings in my bed.
Sometimes I can control them, sometimes all goes wrong.
sometimes the urge is so bad I stay in bed for very long.
I'm sure you all can understand whatever I'm trying to say.
I sure could use some help to get this problem out of the way.
For as of now it's doing good at ruining my life.
I'm tempted to end my misery with a very large kitchen knife.
A well meaning friend once gave me this short warning:
"Snakes and Lemmings, THEY hibernate, humans get UP in the morning..."
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Sources: Hitchhiker's Guide, personal oppinion
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Manda's Recommendations
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Amazon List Price: $19.99
Used from: $12.00
Average Customer Rating: 5.0 out of 5
(based on 51 reviews)
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