[mr.spock] Very bad poetry, Captain. [/mr.spock]
I fear that we have lost the war. Even in BANNING, *the grapist lives to torment us.
[Obi-wan]
BAN me, and I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.
[/Obi-wan]
It barely even rhymed.
No, he’s not the Grapist; apparently he’s Satisfying Andy Licious.
Did you see THIS shining example of bad Jayson Blair poetry?
Ewwww…
shouting over loud whooshing sound
Er, who the heck is or was the Grapist?
Whoa, Greywolf, that’s nasty.
I like the part where he “jump[s] to the couch with a giant leap” from the other woman’s bed.
Makes me wonder whether the couch is just really close to the bed, or if our buddy Jayson has superpowers.
Uh, thanks Gorgon Heap. I think.
Glances at 100th consecutive color pun, runs screaming into nearby bayou
Hey, can the Grapist sue Blair for plagerism? Or can Blair sue the grapist for crazyism?
And does Blair have a cat? is it a copycat?
We’re not sure. That’s the point.
Sorry.
Apparently Jayson Blair.
I don’t know what ‘craddling’ is, but it sounds creepy. And frankly, I don’t want to be craddled by her flesh, seeing as how it just came from her waste.
That is awe inspiring in its awfulness. Seriously, it could win one of those ‘world’s shittiest poetry’ contests.
Christ on a pogo stick… I’m truly amazed. As has been pointed out, Blair’s “poems” (and I suppose they can be called “poems,” in the same sense that dog feces can be called “food,”) fail at quite literally every criterion by which poetry can be judged, and then they go on to add that bizarre and senseless grapissimo.
Blair chose a simplistic rhyme scheme- and even then, he couldn’t make it rhyme.
Blair couldn’t come up with anything but the tritest sentiments- and he had to recycle them if he hoped to write more than one poem.
And, last but not least, he graped the poem in unspeakable ways- but he couldn’t make any sort of sensible artistic statement with the coloring, and ended up with many of the words colored seemingly at random.
Let me also point out that it’s not that Blair made a few typos and then used a spellchecker carelessly. (A phenomenon predicted by Arthur C. Clarke back in the 60’s, by the way.) Words like “canvass” and “craddling” would have been corrected by that approach. The true, horrifying fact of the matter is that a mere five years ago, a soon-to-be NYT employee thought that “elicit” was spelled “illicit.”
Blair so thoroughly shoots the moon that it’s quite possibly the worst poetry possible, even in theory. The result is almost a sort of weird virial theorem of poetry, by which changing words at random can only improve the poem.
And this guy got a job at The New York Times? What- is the world turning upside down? Has the natural order of things come to an end? What’s next- is Sharon going to declare that the Israeli occupation of the West Bank is a bad idea?
[ul]
[li]Read MOTHMAN and MEXICO vs. BILL CLINTON.[/li][li]Ponder what the fuck’s wrong with I Scream In Darkness.[/li][li]Come back and laugh.[/li][li]***![/li][/ul]
Hey, if he can do it, anyone can: I’m tempted to
try my own hand at shockingly bad verse…
**Chickeny
(adj.) 1: Of, relating to, or resembling chickens. 2: Having a comb, gizzard, crop and laying eggs.
A broken cloud, hurt and sad, trudging a scarry path
Im really bummed because the world is sucky and I need a bath.
The light came into sharp relief, and pierced my eyes like pins
The sky turned to night I remember it mistily, then threw me in the rubbish bin.
I fell apart, and broke the window, and my soul dropped a hammer on my toes.
I hardened my heart, forever-and-more, who would I love? No one knows.
I fixed the window, and I like being alone, but my life is one big mess.
Where others see loveliness I don’t see a damn blasted thing, maybe I have glaucoma.
I’m a sociable kind of guy - ouch, my heart.
This pie? No, its not mine, help yourself.
The sun came out, and my jaw dropped open
I’m all self-conscious and stuff – remember, I hardened my heart in the second stanza.
Holy goofball, Batman, my internal organs are revolting, blah, blah rhymes with stanza.
Are you my evil twin?
Is this a soap opera I’m living in?
My jaw dropped open, fantasticalness in my peripheral vision.
I like you for your mind, honestagod! I’m not a horny pigeon!
My jaw is still open, I really like to play Scrabble.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it yet, but, hey “Rabble, rabble!”
Do you have the time, on your nice Roex watch which you bought from the creepy guy on the street corner?
Man, he sure did swindle you.
Your car is like a summer sunset, rust, and brown and orange
And can you tell me the 3rd word that ends in -gry, when you tell me what rhymes with orange?
I havent said anything about chickens yet, which is somewhat perplexing.
Can anyone tell me what the deal is with Bill Clinton and
Mexicans?
Ankles, chicken-like in their shape
Hair, just the color of a Rhode Island Red hen, delicately descending to your nape
You sure are obvious, I could read you like a book, I’m sure
I only wish you were a good one, like Nineteen Eighty-Four.
After all this angst and sorrow, your clucking has captured my hea
rt.
If I let you crash at my place for a few days, you wanna look after my “cat”?**
Y’see, it’s a Jayson Blair thread … and imitation is the sincerest form of flaterry. Thank you for a great post, Kn*ckers.
Well, his problems with “wine and liquior” might be the source of the spelling errors.
On the other hand, whatever eight grader he stole those “poems” from must be highly pissed off right about now.
Jayson Blair’s proper level in life: let’s see, bad writer and thinker, dishonest, self-aggrandizing, scumbag, total disregard for facts =
Fox News commentator!!!