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I Win. (Free verse) by LintyWeenis

Maybe it was my calling Him a jerk, that pissed him off the most. It might have been when I shouted his name "I hate you,Holy Ghost!" But whatever it was he got me good, he thinks he's really won. That's what I thought when I logged on and all my writings were gone. I did not cry I did not try, to understand why I was in such shit. Instead I grabbed a tiny flame and church with my name all over it.

-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. 4-Oct-04/4:56 PM
No; a better comment would be "That's a convoluted sentence." I wouldn't bother trying to draw naughty analogies with mathematics. In fact, the best comment of all would be "bow'ls".

As for the original point of this discussion, which was that ace poetes make ace critics, I tend to agree. By "critic" I don't mean someone who writes about poemes, slagging them off with panache, or praising their "frustratingly oblique irresolution". I simply mean someone who knows cack writing when they see it. I think the first step towards being an ace poete is to have ace taste in poemes. If you didn't have good taste, your haphazard guff splats would be bizarre mixtures of random geniusness, and mediocre fiddle-faddle. They'd be raging cow pats of insanity - peradventure the odd, flukey slice of splendid cow; the rest? Pat!




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