Millions have gathered today to hear The Answer to who the wrote the most terrible poem in the galaxy; and, believe me, it was worth the seven and a half million year wait.
After much Deep Thought, I must conclude the winners to be:
Celebrate your body
Celebrate your body every morning
Wet it then dry it ever so slowly
Begin with your hair or if you are bald your pate
Dry your neck wattles lovingly
Dry your front and back
Dry your loins with a sawing motion
If you are limber enough dry your legs
Do not attempt to dry your feet you could fall over and break a hip
Use a new towel every day or the same towel every day no exceptions
Towel should be heavy no less than 1,000 GSM (grams per square meter)
Should have densely woven loops of 3-ply yarns for strength and durability
Luxurious, spa-like warm and cozy experience is essential
100% Egyptian cotton or for political reasons Tibetan cotton
Must absorb. Pile must drift like cloud over your corpus
Never hang on a hook
Never allow bleach, cleaning agents or acne salicylic acid treatments near it
Must remain plush after laundering. How to wash a towel is cleaning 101 especially if mildew is common where you live (vinegar and baking soda)
Optional classic piqué border
Never wrap around your body! it is not a dress or suit!
Must be certified by TexSufi, globally trusted and recognized testing system for ecologically safe textiles
Never use on a pet. (Small, jewel-like birds excepted)
Your towel is your friend, your companion, your lover
On second thought, also celebrate your body every evening
My life can be seen
In the laundry basket over there, tossed
Like a forgotten banana peel on a hot
Summer morning, sad and lonely
and brown, getting real dry
with a bad
Odor that makes everyone
I look closer and see an old used
towel, dry, yet moist, begging
to be used,
but it has already been used, and
is too old and foul, maybe
i should toss it
into the trash, but i won’t because
It is my towel, the only one
i have and
No one can take it, not even
The government or
I was wrong,
all the used
Towels had to go,
Said the president, so i
Mailed my old towel
To the government
Like a good
Now i am
Left hear, with an
Empty laundry basket
And my skin
Making the floor wet
Congratulations, Joem and Hamster! You are the most terrible poets of the week!
“Celebrate your body” was just plain awful. It read like a towel’s instruction label, but worse -especially considering its hints at still being a poem.
Tiredhamster’s piece was just as bad but in a different way: its form and meter speak of free verse. Its message, not so much.
Almost all of the poems were terrible enough to make a Vogon cry -if, perhaps, a Vogon possessed compassion or tear glands. Although what was left of our judges could not award first place to all, they certainly came close enough to warrant a few limbs-gnawing-off recitations.
See for yourself, if you have the sanity:
by Deb Whittam
Right buttock burns
Broken china on the floor
Drip … drip … drip
Hung on line to
Now that I’m old and extremely fat
I find the towel too small to wrap
around my waist after a shower.
To get fresh clothes, I don’t know how
I’m going to get to my tallboys
where I keep my clean corduroys.
So I waddle towel-less along the corridor
and, fearless as a matador,
march through the dining room to get to my bedroom.
Some of the 46 other hostel inhabitants start to swoon
because my towel-less-ness is quite surreal,
and they are put off from eating their breakfast cereal.
A larger towel would cover many sins
and save the visiting old ladies from having to drink too many gins.
Towel Be Soft or Not Towel Be Soft, That is the Question
Wet hands, wet face
Reaching out into space
For my towel in its place
On the towel rail.
Don’t panic! I have it!
Water drips from my nose
Onto the carpet
While I fumble to bring it
To my moistened visage
But what is this?
The water on my face
Is simply moved around.
No absorption, no drying
I feel like I’m dying
Even though I’m trying
Really quite hard.
It’s unusually soft
And smells of artificial flowers.
It’s been treated with
Sad Nick. Petitioner:
“Please stop making my towels soft”
I look in the mirror
And sigh, “damn!” again
For ’tis a new towel
And my face is cover’d
I wash my face again.
And sob, tears lost
Amongst a bit more water
From the tap.
In a vicious circle
How many times will I have
To go round?
Crisp, white, pinstriped
Mashed as mashed potatoes white.
Down it goes, down I say
To cover the floor, to cover the hay.
Beach, shower, hand, tip
All types we have, all types we mint.
But did I ever say to you
Your hair is as bleached and spotted as the ones on this by torn up rag?
My dear, my love, that is enough;
Let’s “towel” it a day.
My friend stayed at a Trump Hotel and pinched one of the towels
When the President finds out he will give him one of those scowls
On the Vice Presidents visit to Ireland he stayed at another Trump Hotel
I wonder if he had a towel in his bag when he bid the hotel farewell
Now the army has to bunk at Trumps Golf Resort in Scotland
Hundreds of fluffy white ones will go missing as mistakes are not learned
Poor Donald looses so many towels I hope he has a good supplier
Probably from China but he won’t know as he is such a crap buyer
And I wonder as Trump played golf while Hurricane Dorian continued to magnify
What was he thinking as he dried his grip with one of the finest towels money can buy
Whirling and twisting
Around and thru
Up and down
Round and Round
Mind in the gutter??
— the —
Kids playing in the rain
Time to wrap them
Towels in washer
Whirling and twisting
Around and thru
Up and down
Round and Round
Towel, towel every place
by M.R. Kessell
There’s fresh towels in the hall closet
And one draped upon my bedroom door
Dish towels in on the kitchen counter
And that one mysteriously draped, languidly, longingly on the living room floor
There’s a wholly ratty towel for the doggy
And then, suddenly, in the dining room hutch
All those fancy, decorative towels and such
That I’m am forbidden to
There’s Emergency towels in the cars
And ginormously big towels for the beach
But as I step from the shower freezingly
Not a single one’s within reach
You’ve Really Got To Know Where Your Towel Is
I use my towel for everything –
I dry myself with it, or wipe dirt off
sometimes I wear it as a short dress,
an improvised hat, or use it as a blanket
I even like to take it to sports events and
twirl it above my head in excitement
people say my towel is dirty, that it smells
but you don’t wash towels
when it gets damp I dry it outside
and then I wrap it around my head
Actually, they’re right
it does stink.
Been There, Eaten That
At midnight my stomach started to growl
Too groggy to think, I ate a dish towel
It tasted like an apple garbage pizza, deep fried
(a combination from every dish I’d dried)
My hunger is satisfied, I think
But, I really am craving something to drink
And, even though I’m about to burst
After a gallon of water, I still might die of thirst…
To all of those kids eating dish towels for thrills
Remember that super-absorbency kills!
Not trying to be rude
On the bathroom floor
You are here no more
And complete the chore
Hence leave me sloshing
As I shout
Again to howl
Where’s my towel?
by The Bag Lady
Was that you
The inconsiderate who
Used my towel?
Now it’s damp and dirty
Smells disgusting, diserty
Odors quite unfamiliar
Reminiscent of feet–I shiver
Did you ever think of soap
Not reachable on a rope?
That must be your excuse
My towels are not for you to use!
Now; you may either die in the recesses of space, or tell everyone what you thought of their poems. …or, just come back tomorrow to enter next week’s contest.
Joem and TiredH: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner: