nentwined
31 Jan 2007
Reply
What's the worst thing you've seen on the site that you think could be printed in a newspaper? Take a trawl through the worst poems. Poemranker just got interviewed, and the paper's interested in possibly including a few from the worst list--author permitting, of course.
39 replies
Ooh, a challenge! To decide on a "worst"--the thought of the large field of contenders makes me positively dizzy. Are we limited to what's on the Worst list or can we flail about freely in search of the truly abysmal? Not that there aren't some truly awful poems on the worst list but it's a little Jesus-centric at the moment--and there's not one--not ONE!--CLS poem up there. That seems a pity. _AIDS in a Van_ should be on the short list, if only because it consistently enrages people (and still makes me laugh, even after all this time).
What paper?
What paper?
Flailing about is fine; keep in mind the poster will have to agree with it, so I'm thinking Dark Angel's a good proposition. _AIDS in a Van_, while at the top of my list, may still be too risque.
The National Post -- http://nationalpost.com/
The worst list being Jesus-centric at the moment was noticed. :)
The National Post -- http://nationalpost.com/
The worst list being Jesus-centric at the moment was noticed. :)
They'd never print AIDS in a Van. The Nude was on the worst list for a long time, but that's just too stupid for anyone to comprehend. I recommend this:
http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?i
I cry every time I read the immortal lines:
I can accept closure,
But not indecent exposure.
In terms of permissions, I am personally acquainted with the author. He is a McSpastic, and incapable making legal decisions on his own. As his personal handler, the burden of responsibility lies with me.
http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?i
I cry every time I read the immortal lines:
I can accept closure,
But not indecent exposure.
In terms of permissions, I am personally acquainted with the author. He is a McSpastic, and incapable making legal decisions on his own. As his personal handler, the burden of responsibility lies with me.
Are there any good stuff being printed? Or is it only the worst? Surely you wouldn't want PR to be presented in its worst form rather than in its best glory. If you told me it a blend of the two, I'd be happy.
I've contacted one of the folks in the top list that they were interested in whose email was hidden, and they're contacting others directly.
This place does bring out the best and worst in people. :)
This place does bring out the best and worst in people. :)
That does not answer the question. :(
People from both the best list and worst list are being contacted for the article, regarding their works.
But imagine this scenario: You receive an email asking for your permission for them to print your pome. It reads 'I have seen your pome on the best list can I print it?' The flattered poete says sure. The journalist prints it and everyone laughs at its appallingness. :(
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=118595
or
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=123379
although I can't see either allowing their work to be published because a) Damien was incredibly bitter and b) Katie is locked in my garage.
or
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=123379
although I can't see either allowing their work to be published because a) Damien was incredibly bitter and b) Katie is locked in my garage.
Does anyone know how to get in touch with zodiac? :)
Scrawl.
You'll need his real name, btw. E-mail me if you don't have it (or ask Sue).
Ecargo, are you there? Who are you?
Am I here, or am I there? (Both, on occasion. Rarely, very rarely, there.) Who am I? Just a curious cat, couching on my Chinese mat, and all'a dat. You don't know me, and I don't mean to freak you out; not a stalker or anything. ;-) But biographical details given here and there made it pretty obvious that you were you.
I am taking this task very seriously. It's a real challenge to find poetry worthy of being labeled the "worst" that meets the given parameters (not just mediocre, but laughably bad, whether intentionally so or not; quotable in a mainstream paper; poets likely to give permission, etc.). It is hard to narrow it down to a reasonable number of finalists--and I've only reviewed the first 200 poets, barely 10 percent! Many of the most likely-to-offend poems are not actually bad poems--the Bobjims, the Garrett Sextons, etc., were actually quite skilled. The pool of contenders shrinks considerably when one takes into account what is publishable. I'm assuming no mainstream publication, even a CANADIAN one, is going to publish a poeme re: "arcy ropes of cum," necrophilia, kiddy porn, granny porn, fucking someone's saggy mother, and so forth (very common themes among the 'rankers). Nor are they likely to include poemes that their readers might find offensive (which rules out bad devotional poems (a popular category), Jesus in general, people's mothers again, Canada, AIDS, etc.) The real challenge, though, is to find bad poemes by poets who will concede that, yes, they are among the worst and give permission to have them publicly acknowledged as such.
What I'm saying, among all the guff, is that after much thought and time spent perusing our collection, here are my initial picks for your consideration:
Anything by rosiebailey (http://www.poemranker.com/user-browse.j
"Satan's Daughter," by unouluvme ("I suck at poetry"), containing the ace last lines "Pure, tanned and creamy belly/But the Devil's fetus grows inside): http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"run'em'hard," by grendal: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"Pinworms and cake," by baphomet ("15 out of 35 have the itching curse/It can make you scratch till the day you
ride in a hurse [sic] . . . and cake."): http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"The Wheelchair," by Garrett Sexton: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"Available Daily with Sauce," by Garrett Sexton: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"F.R.O.G." by Garrett Sexton: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
The very prophetic "Steve Irwin" by Bobjim: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
I'll post further suggestions as time allows.
What I'm saying, among all the guff, is that after much thought and time spent perusing our collection, here are my initial picks for your consideration:
Anything by rosiebailey (http://www.poemranker.com/user-browse.j
"Satan's Daughter," by unouluvme ("I suck at poetry"), containing the ace last lines "Pure, tanned and creamy belly/But the Devil's fetus grows inside): http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"run'em'hard," by grendal: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"Pinworms and cake," by baphomet ("15 out of 35 have the itching curse/It can make you scratch till the day you
ride in a hurse [sic] . . . and cake."): http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"The Wheelchair," by Garrett Sexton: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"Available Daily with Sauce," by Garrett Sexton: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
"F.R.O.G." by Garrett Sexton: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
The very prophetic "Steve Irwin" by Bobjim: http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
I'll post further suggestions as time allows.
I honestly can't believe you've forgotten this little beauty:
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
Also, I can guarantee that Bobjim will agree to have his work published for laughs, and I'm pretty certain that Rosie and Blade will too. That being said, BJ is likely to take great offence at being referred to as 'very skilled'.
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.j
Also, I can guarantee that Bobjim will agree to have his work published for laughs, and I'm pretty certain that Rosie and Blade will too. That being said, BJ is likely to take great offence at being referred to as 'very skilled'.
ROFL--didn't forget 'em (well, actually I did), just didn't get past Bobjim yet, on the default sort of users. I'm working my way . . .
It's a shame that Poetie deleted all her poems; by the sound of things they were awesome.
Btw - I think the email address for Bobjim is good for the Steve Irwin piece, but not for all of them.
Btw - I think the email address for Bobjim is good for the Steve Irwin piece, but not for all of them.
What are you implying, Ranger? That Bobjim may not be BOBJIM? That some users are actually more than one user? WHAT?!?
No, Bobjim has Poeme-Association-Disorder, and that if you email him about a poeme that he does not associate with that particular email address he will look at you blankly and assume that you are genuinely disabled.
Jeppers, you have ruled out every one of my poemes. Will American understand arcing ropes of cum?
I hope santa emptied his sack and gave you that pearl necklace you asked for.
Is that one of mine? Did you go to school when Jimmy Carr was there? do you have any amusing anecdotes?
Jimmy Carr's brother was there. He was younger than me, and bullied me awfully.
Is he a gobshite as well? How utterly shaming.
You know nothing of shame. Truthfully, tell me about the most shameful moment in your life.
The worst thing I ever done, I mixed up all this fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theatre, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony, and then, then I made a noise like this. Huagh. Huagh. Huagh. Huaaah! And, and then I dumped it over the side on all the people in the audience. Then, th-then then this was horrible, all the people started getting
sick, and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.
Not really. I just wish I had, I have based my entire life on that of the fictional charecter of Chunk from the Goonies.
The most shaming things I have ever done really aren't that interesting, there's the obvious wiping of one's genitals on an unattractive girls curtains, or mayhaps the time I took off my top hat in the Royal Enclosure whereupon a Steward asked "Is sir missing something?" a look of bafflement turned to one of complete and utter shame; I actually nearly cried. Of course there are also the times when I have been out and about town walking in the proximity of a muslim or a negro and the passing public assume that we are acquainted.
sick, and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.
Not really. I just wish I had, I have based my entire life on that of the fictional charecter of Chunk from the Goonies.
The most shaming things I have ever done really aren't that interesting, there's the obvious wiping of one's genitals on an unattractive girls curtains, or mayhaps the time I took off my top hat in the Royal Enclosure whereupon a Steward asked "Is sir missing something?" a look of bafflement turned to one of complete and utter shame; I actually nearly cried. Of course there are also the times when I have been out and about town walking in the proximity of a muslim or a negro and the passing public assume that we are acquainted.
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=87418
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=62563
Um, and lastly this third one, which I don't think really sucks, but it pisses people off.
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=69177
And if I forgot anything, refer to DA.
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=62563
Um, and lastly this third one, which I don't think really sucks, but it pisses people off.
http://www.poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=69177
And if I forgot anything, refer to DA.
Goddamn pen-name. Ugh.
Would you like her to use your pen name or your real name?
Er, Pen name, please. Though if anyone wants to stalk me they can just google my ass.
Could you say that while signed in as the account? :)
Yes, I most definately can, sir.
Thanks. I'll forward your acceptance. :)
http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?id=147959
The author will expose unashamedly wherever, whenever.
The author will expose unashamedly wherever, whenever.
War Story (Free verse) by dougsoderstrom
This thing called war,
Believe me, itâs no fun...... found out the hard way that it was very
hard core,
Yes, I was eighteen when I left home and walked out of that door,
Mom begged me not to go....... she said, âSon why are you leaving, what
are you looking for?â
Told her it was time I had to go, wanted to serve my country, wanted to
join the corps,
So I went to see my recruiter, âSign me up like you did for my buddy
next door,â
Got shuttled onto a bus to San Diego, an hour later arrived at my base
of operations by the shore,
The first words I heard were not what Iâd expected, âGive me fifty damn
pushups, get your ass down on that floor,â
From now on youâre a recruit, and your mamaâs not here to take care of
you any more,
And if you think youâve got it tough now, then youâd better get your
shit together young man cause thereâs a whole lot more in store,
Before that night was over, I realized that Iâd made a really big
mistake....... cause with these folks, believe me, there would be no
rapport,
Just a bunch of bums who had only one thing in mind, destroy this kidâs
conscience so heâll never have anything to feel sorry for,
So I was trained........ learned how to shoot a rifle, throw a grenade,
and how to never be bothered by blood, guts, and gore,
They sent me off on a ship to Iraq, placed me in a tent and said âgood
luck kid, itâs time for you to go to war,
Twasnât more than an hour before I got my first kill, shot a damn Moslem,
blood and guts all over the floor,
Was proud to call myself a soldier, was no longer afraid, cause you see
now I had become a man, my honor had been restored,
The next day was really no different at all, killed three more, had
apparently becoming a marksman, and, no doubt, mightily adored,
Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, I was getting tired,
killing was no more fun, I was getting bored,
Every day the nights got longer, found I could hardly sleep, cause all I
ever dreamt about was bloody guts and gore,
My feelings were beginning to surface, they could no longer be ignored,
this infernal was more than Iâd bargained for,
With only a week before I was to come home, got caught in a terrible
battle, man was it confusing, the drone of the bullets, it was a
terrible roar,
Thought the guy in front of me was the enemy, he wasnât, turned out to
be my buddy, the guy next door,
Shot him through the neck, severed his spinal cord,
Felt like my life had come to an end, why him and not me, âGod help me,
I canât take this anymore,â
Having become a basket case, got shipped back home to Mom, she said......
. âSon, did you ever find what you were looking for?â
âI donât know mom, but believe me you were right all along, cause when I
left home a year ago I sure as hell didnât know the score,
Went to see the parents of my buddy next door, told them their son would
be home in six months, but not the way he was before the war,
Lived with Mom for about a year, wasnât very happy, too many questions I
had no answer for,
Decided to live with my buddy, the quadriplegic, next door, got a room
across the street from the corner liquor store,
Five years later hooked up with a lady I once knew, my buddyâs second
cousin who had since become a whore,
We lived together, had three kids who I learned to love and adore,
From then on things never seemed to change very much, life never
returned to what it was before the war,
Couldnât seem to forget about all the things Iâve done, you know, the
things so very difficult to forgive oneâs self for,
Couldnât stop the dreams about my buddy, the quadriplegic, and the guy
whose head Iâd blown off as he fell to the floor,
Now that Iâm much older, I try to live with what Iâve done, hoping that
The Lord might forgive me so that peace might be restored,
Well, I guess thatâs about all I have to say, thereâs really not a whole
lot more,
Just one more thing though....... you know, if it wasnât for the memory
of my mom, my three lovely kids, and that woman, my wife, the whore,
The Lord, my best buddy, the quadriplegic, and, of course, our friend,
the corner liquor store,
Well, if it wasnât for these things....... blessings I suppose you'd
them, there really wouldnât be a whole lot left for me to live the rest
of my life for.
Doug Soderstrom, Ph.D.
January 1, 2005
Happy New Year!
This thing called war,
Believe me, itâs no fun...... found out the hard way that it was very
hard core,
Yes, I was eighteen when I left home and walked out of that door,
Mom begged me not to go....... she said, âSon why are you leaving, what
are you looking for?â
Told her it was time I had to go, wanted to serve my country, wanted to
join the corps,
So I went to see my recruiter, âSign me up like you did for my buddy
next door,â
Got shuttled onto a bus to San Diego, an hour later arrived at my base
of operations by the shore,
The first words I heard were not what Iâd expected, âGive me fifty damn
pushups, get your ass down on that floor,â
From now on youâre a recruit, and your mamaâs not here to take care of
you any more,
And if you think youâve got it tough now, then youâd better get your
shit together young man cause thereâs a whole lot more in store,
Before that night was over, I realized that Iâd made a really big
mistake....... cause with these folks, believe me, there would be no
rapport,
Just a bunch of bums who had only one thing in mind, destroy this kidâs
conscience so heâll never have anything to feel sorry for,
So I was trained........ learned how to shoot a rifle, throw a grenade,
and how to never be bothered by blood, guts, and gore,
They sent me off on a ship to Iraq, placed me in a tent and said âgood
luck kid, itâs time for you to go to war,
Twasnât more than an hour before I got my first kill, shot a damn Moslem,
blood and guts all over the floor,
Was proud to call myself a soldier, was no longer afraid, cause you see
now I had become a man, my honor had been restored,
The next day was really no different at all, killed three more, had
apparently becoming a marksman, and, no doubt, mightily adored,
Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, I was getting tired,
killing was no more fun, I was getting bored,
Every day the nights got longer, found I could hardly sleep, cause all I
ever dreamt about was bloody guts and gore,
My feelings were beginning to surface, they could no longer be ignored,
this infernal was more than Iâd bargained for,
With only a week before I was to come home, got caught in a terrible
battle, man was it confusing, the drone of the bullets, it was a
terrible roar,
Thought the guy in front of me was the enemy, he wasnât, turned out to
be my buddy, the guy next door,
Shot him through the neck, severed his spinal cord,
Felt like my life had come to an end, why him and not me, âGod help me,
I canât take this anymore,â
Having become a basket case, got shipped back home to Mom, she said......
. âSon, did you ever find what you were looking for?â
âI donât know mom, but believe me you were right all along, cause when I
left home a year ago I sure as hell didnât know the score,
Went to see the parents of my buddy next door, told them their son would
be home in six months, but not the way he was before the war,
Lived with Mom for about a year, wasnât very happy, too many questions I
had no answer for,
Decided to live with my buddy, the quadriplegic, next door, got a room
across the street from the corner liquor store,
Five years later hooked up with a lady I once knew, my buddyâs second
cousin who had since become a whore,
We lived together, had three kids who I learned to love and adore,
From then on things never seemed to change very much, life never
returned to what it was before the war,
Couldnât seem to forget about all the things Iâve done, you know, the
things so very difficult to forgive oneâs self for,
Couldnât stop the dreams about my buddy, the quadriplegic, and the guy
whose head Iâd blown off as he fell to the floor,
Now that Iâm much older, I try to live with what Iâve done, hoping that
The Lord might forgive me so that peace might be restored,
Well, I guess thatâs about all I have to say, thereâs really not a whole
lot more,
Just one more thing though....... you know, if it wasnât for the memory
of my mom, my three lovely kids, and that woman, my wife, the whore,
The Lord, my best buddy, the quadriplegic, and, of course, our friend,
the corner liquor store,
Well, if it wasnât for these things....... blessings I suppose you'd
them, there really wouldnât be a whole lot left for me to live the rest
of my life for.
Doug Soderstrom, Ph.D.
January 1, 2005
Happy New Year!