Since the Cavs handed that goddamn game to the Magic, I'm not in a good mood and before any smartass comes here and says that it's only a game and that there are more important things to worry about, conveniently forgetting that I have as much control over the actions of those inexorably potatoing on the couches of power as I do over bricklaying backcourts because I lost my telekinesis back in Albuquerque, let me preempt such an expression by telling you, in the manner of the man currently running America's political discourse, to go fuck yourself.
Luckily for you, gentle reader, this morning a colleague pointed me towards something else born in the blackest pit of the flesh-gnawingest abyss besides gift giving to undeserving basketball teams, a worthy balm against my pain, the truly awful verse of Tom Zart Most Published Poet On The Web©. Look, if you wanna get Jesusified in a non-child raping way I'm damn glad to hear it as long as I don't have to experience such creative banality -- does anyone (of you) remember
laughter Milton? Or Dante? Or Donne? -- but fuck, this is just terrible, the poetical equivalent of Thomas Kinkade Painter of Light©. Thus, I present, for your edification in all things offensive to discerning taste, God's Most Humble Poet, Patent Pending.
"And I thought your stuff was bad."
No shit. Despite the tingly-skin magic of RUSH LMBAL POEM, the effervescent joy of CHARLTON HESTON, my favorite line has to be the opener from FORMIDABLE FOE (Dr. Zaius, you may want to grab a fork):
America is the birthday cake of earthWhile you all discuss the pros and cons of cannibalism with frosting, I'm going to patiently wait for the expected cease and desist letter from some slick-haired Megachurch-O-Matic lawyer for unauthorized use of copyrighted material.
Lemme show you how it's done, son.
Oh, Tom Zart, your rhymes are like a wheel-less cart!
Your art is a poison dart to my heart,
Words with the stench of a pork n' beans fart.
I'd love to start a pie chart of just how tart
Your crap is when compared to sweet sweet verse!
'Tis time your lines depart in a shiny black hearse,
While I say with heathen breath, upchucking,
The power of Christ compels you to stop sucking!