Saturday, December 31, 2011

I suck at Clue

So we're all sitting around playing Clue.  For several reasons, I'm not doing very well - I had never played the game, I was distracted, I was falling asleep, and I wasn't necessarily sober.  I wake up the next morning to find a little note from a friend in my notebook - his prose read as such:

Boo hoo for you
who'd knew you blew
so much at clue?

Here was my response:

On the subject of your poem
That you planted in my book,
There were some semantic problems,
Wha'd'ya' say, let's have a look!

This lexical abortion
Is a jumbled mass of text
Your rhythm nonexistent
And your form leaves me perplexed

You have three lines of words that rhyme,
All strung up in a row
But was there any thought involved?
I say the answer's no.

Your crude unmetered prose
Are a discrace unto your name
With writing skills this bad,
I'll bet you bring your father shame

If I had wrote this poem up,
I think I'd change a bit - 
Mostly, I'd rewrite it 
So it's not a piece of shit

Matter fact, I'll tell you what,
I'll write one here right now
It's all so plainly obvious
I need to show you how:

Boo hoo
I always knew
That Georgie-poo
Would suck at Clue
I'd even say he really blew
He'll always have this day to rue
Just like that one time at the zoo
When Steve Buscemi, me, and you
Molested a whole crew of gnu
And had our way with four emu
And sucked a little bit of goo
From quite the unsuspecting shrew
And sodomized a kangaroo- 
(We used a rusty old kazoo)
Oh man, the crazy things you'll do
When sniffing lots of airplane glue

So there you are my friend,
A little sample of my work - 
I'm sorry if I seemed just like
A big pretentious jerk

But when you go to write some prose,
I'll share with you this trick:
Just open up you mouth real wide
And suck upon my dick.