Friday, December 11, 2009

Al Gore and Vogon Poetry

If any of you are fan's of Douglas Adams' Hitchiker's Guide To The Galaxy series, you probably remember Vogon poetry.
Here's a brief description of the relative awfulness of Vogon poetry, from the
Hitchhiker's Wikja:

Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe.
The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal hemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived only by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled "My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles" when his own major intestine--in a desperate attempt to save humanity--leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.
The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paul Neil Milne Johnstone of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.

Hold on a minute ! ! We have a new entry for one of those coveted Top Three Spots ! !

Here's The Goracle Of Music City, Tennessee, with a new entry that he couldn't squeeze into his latest book, "
Our Choice: A Plan to Solve the Climate Crisis".

Be honest. Feel like gnawing a leg off ?

1 comment:

MrDaMan said...

Licken Chittle and the Skalling Fyi
by Al Gore and MrDaMan
(An unofficial de-collaboration)

One thin September soon
A floating continent disappears
In midnight sun

Is it the crush of power
the weight of altruist greed
or a fact confused fantasy?

Vapors rise as
Fever settles on an acid sea
Neptune's bones dissolve

There be dragons in the sea of humanity,
snorting fire and bellowing fear.
Beware the wrath of a grain of sand!

Snow glides from the mountain
Ice fathers floods for a season
A hard rain comes quickly

Nature is a harsh mistress,
working hard to feminize
abominable man!

Then dirt is parched
Kindling is placed in the forest
For the lightning's celebration

As the reaper celebrates the kill,
smug in the ramparts of the elite.
Let ME… Light the way!

Unknown creatures
Take their leave, unmourned
Horsemen ready their stirrups

A headless snake rides mis-fortune,
and mounts the mass’s for its pleasure.
It is all fertilizer of feigned nobility.

Passion seeks heroes and friends
The bell of the city
On the hill is rung

I am the piper, follow my lead…
this cliff is one small step for man,
and one giant leap for lemmingkind.

The shepherd cries
The hour of choosing has arrived
Here are your tools

Of naked kings crying wolf
at tilting windmills.
Where are my fools!