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!

I disagree with you on the bow'ls thing. Consider the sentence:

"It is sunny."

It doesn't contain any 'negatives' in your sense of the word. But it is semantically identical to:

"It is not overcast."

Does that mean it contains a negative? No.

The fact that "bow'ls" can mean "incorrect" doesn't mean you're being redundant if you say "It is not bow'ls". Your use of "incorrect" as the interpretation of "bow'ls" is slightly arbitrary as far as the number of 'negatives' is concerned. You could equally interpret "bow'ls" as meaning "positively bumcombe!". That doesn't have any 'negatives'. Do you get what I'm saying?

Bestill your wobbling, sagging jowls:
Ne'er ever have I heard such bow'ls!
An Gentleman, of sound descent,
Would ne'er his poor sole torment
With brogueish cloggs of sullied leather,
Nor Wellingtons (save, in wet weather).
Sturdy shoes, though they may be,
An Gentleman's foot gets no reprieve:
So long as blood runs through his veins
He'll wear a brace of exquisite poulaines!

"Child of my Buttocks" is an endless, rambling collage of browne. It has about three funny lines and the rest is literally a giant guff. But that doesn't mean this poeme isn't plagiarised. It definitely, definitely is.

Parp up you sodding Zeppelin of dork. You wouldn't know a linguistic truth if it cacked on the mantle.

Listen kolostomybag, your incredibly amusing habbit of spewing mindless, one line comments all over this cad's work is beginning to lose steam. I suggest you stop clogging up the "recent comments" page before you burst in a giant shower of inept comebacks.

If we met face to face I'd be so overwhelmed by your unbelievably sagging jowls that I'd have to have a lie down. Any small talk would have to wait until after I'd been put on a ventilator, and after you'd covered your ancient features with some sort of tea cosy.

If you really can't stand anonymous votes I suggest you leave before you have a breakdown.

The blindingly obvious difference is that you can use the comments' indentations to reconstruct the hierarchy of discussion.

Learn how to click on the 'Reply' button you bastion of filth.

Excellent!

Next to The Eternal Darkness of Xanthar, The Eternal Darkness of Toridees is only mildly overcast, with light to moderate winds, and a small chance of showers in the afternoon. You don't scare me, old man.

How dare you boast about having a higher maturity ranking than me? You know nothing of maturity. You're a self-righteous wally with a massive chip on your shoulder. I, on the other hand, am a leading candidate for the poemeranker maturity award:

http://www.poemranker.com/suggestion-browse.jsp?id=50725

No wonder you were sent to a penal colony.

Dear PeRsIaN^StAr,

Welcome to PoemeRanker! And thank you for joining us just so you could inform me of the important new developments in AIDS and AIDS related research. Yours is the first comment on this poeme that I have read carefully, and without prejudice, and I'd like to take this opportunity to say that what I read chilled me to the bone. I had no idea AIDS was such a serious disease, nor that it could affect any one of us - not just homo lords or ethnics. I now realise how deeply ignorant my poeme is, and how it only serves to increase the number of people who die from AIDS. But the worst thing about this poeme isn't the fact that it makes AIDS more difficult to cure. Nor is it the fact that it makes some people laugh at AIDS against their will. It's the fact that it makes me feel guilty. For that, I thank you.

Don't you mean 'insightful'?

Yes, but then he's using 'was' as a noun. Which he denies. Which is the whole motherfucking point. There is nothing wrong with using 'was' as a noun for poetic effect - e e bummings does stuff like that in some of his poemes (e.g 'anyone lived in a pretty how town'). But to use 'was' as a noun whilst thinking you're using it as an adverb is obviously bosh.

I propose we discuss whether or not smoking is cool. I think it obviously is cool, because nobody likes their first few cigarettes. The only thing that makes them push through this barrier is the fact that they look cool. That, and the promise of nicotine delights on the horizon.