Ah. Poetry, then.

[reina_isabella]

Opened up my trusty little notebook this morning to get my bearings on the day's writing, only to discover that apparently someone was writing "poetry" on her ride home from work last night. Hrm. My feelings about poetry (particularly as it relates to me) are largely antagonistic; generally I consider it something I did when I was thirteen, and

Comments

[scots_git]

Is it Vogon poetry? You've been writing Vogon poetry again, haven't you?

[reina_isabella]

Well - one of them was called "Ode to a small lump of green putty I found in my armpit one midsummer morning," but that was probably just a coincidence.

[reina_isabella]

Then there's the Vogon Poetry Generator:

See, see the high-strung sky
Marvel at its big jaundice depths.
Tell me, alan do you
Wonder why the persian cat ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel under-caffienated.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your pooflax facial growth
That looks like
A absence.
What's more, it knows
Your galligaskin potting shed
Smells of inchworm.
Everything under the big high-strung sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm noses.