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"Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy," indeed.

Have you ever opened a copy of the Odyssey, only to find it to be the most boring thing you've ever seen? Did this momentous event culminate in you throwing that work of literary art against the nearest wall repeatedly? Well, then, I hope you understand my motivation when I say:


Hahaha! Now you will never know how Odysseus gets home! You will never know of Dido, Calypso, or the Sirens! What an amazing cast of characters; full of deep emotions and unburdened by such concepts as English. Hahaha! Don't you just want hug them! *cough*

The Pen Is Mightier[edit | edit source]

There's a reason they call them dead languages.

Have you ever spent five years of your life writing a poem in a dead language? You have? Well, dear sir or madame, I am humbled. That is truly a remarkable feat. What? Nobody is ever going to read it? Publishers burn the copies that you send to them as a means to keep warm during the winter months? Well well well, I must say:


And you thought you were an artist! Hahaha! Any fool can learn Ancient Greek, man. I still can't believe it took you 5 years to write such drivel! Was this an exercise in how many epithets you could squeeze on a page? There isn't even a clear rhyme scheme, you blunderhead!

It's All In The Meter[edit | edit source]

This is a barometer. It is in no way related to iambic pentameter, or poetry in general. Unless somebody's written a poem about weather. Which is a distinct possibility.

Well, surely you must have at least used iambic pentameter, lad. Tis' the most noblest of meters, to be sure. With its "Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum", tis' as the heartbeat of my very heart. Tis', in fact, as though the heartbeat of very poem itself. Twere' as though it were alive. A living, breathing thing of life and breath. Ah, isn't it wonderful, this


I mean, you could use dactylic hexameter if you wanted. But its just not as, heartful. Oh, you did use dactylic hexameter? Ha ha ha! Your poem will have no beating heart. You fool! You absolute fool! Well, I guess at least you didn't write large sections of the poem in your own lifeblood, eh?

Oh Bloody Hell[edit | edit source]

The Japanese used red paint for this sort of thing.

YOU DID? Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh wow. How bleedin' melodramatic — if you'll excuse the pun. I feel all tingly just thinking about it. You. Slitting your own wrists over a cup with a funnel in it. Or perhaps you just pulled some blood out your arm with a syringe? Might make a good poem that. Or, if I do say say so myself, it might make good


Yes yes yes. Oh god yes. Ha ha ha! We'll call it something witty. Perhaps we'll call it, "T.S. Elliot Is Dead". And by "we", I do of course mean "me" (or "I", depending on the context, darling). I'd never even be seen talking with an utter failure like you, let alone be co-credited as authors of the the same epic poem as you. Seriously. You can leave now, buddy. Thanks for the killer idea though.

See Also[edit | edit source]