Welcome to The Answer to Life, The Universe, and Terrible Poetry: Contest #42.
Infinitely improbable, you say? Don’t panic! Read my basic outline on what every pan-dimensional being expects from bad poetry in my Blogger’s Guide to the Terribleness. Aim for a little lower than self-throttling by one’s own intestine; a little higher than Vogon.
Here are the specifics for this side of the galaxy:
- The Topic is towels. Do you know where yours is?
- The Length is up to the budding artist (you).
- Rhyming is optional.
- Just make it terrible. As you clear your throat for a recitation, the entire Vogon fleet must flee in …well, in an organized, bureaucratic fashion after completing the necessary paperwork.
- How risqué can a towel get? I wouldn’t dare ask Adams that, but I think we can keep things PG or friendlier.
You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 13) to submit a poem.
Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.
For immediate fame and a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.
Photo credit: IGN.com, through wikia.
Need further inspiration? Here’s an excerpt from the second-worst poet in the galaxy’s “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in my Armpit One Midsummer’s Morning:”
Putty. Putty. Putty.
Green Putty – Grutty Peen.
Grarmpitutty – Morning!
Pridsummer – Grorning Utty!
Not even a particularly
Nice shade of green.
As I lick my armpit and shall agree,
That this putty is very well green.