Here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for: the winner of this week’s Terrible Poetry Contest.
And that is:
Kim’s ol’ butt:
As big as a barrel,
Round like a
Double-Stuffed Moon Pie
And wobbly as Jell-O.
Sort of like a
Humongous Air Bag.
If ever there were
An automobile accident she’d
Never feel a thing.
Congratulations, Susan! You are the most terrible poet of the week!
Honestly, almost all of the entrants this week were too GOOD. Many topics were terrible; but meter, word usage, and the way it all tied in worked in strangely cohesive ways. You all need to lower your standards, though (as always) that’s not necessarily a bad thing…
Madame Muse’s poem won for being the worst. Her winning points were her comparisons of Kim’s ample posterior to several unappealing and humorous objects, coupled with a poetic pattern abandoned at the end.
Here are the rest:
Plug your nose
Hold your nostrils shut
Instead of breathing in
Loads of coke
Instead of air
So you don’t
Young but dead and
Using that stuff
Right into your veins may give you a
Over the moon
For a while
Faster then the nose route but
Man while it’s
A wilder ride you will
Not be alive at its end
This hill is famous (i.e. a celebrity)
Utterly long is the name of the hill not far from where I live.
Many shorten it to something
Actually a lot less difficult to pronounce:
And that’s where I’ll stop.
Terrible Acrostic Defying All Logic
Do not pass go
Or collect two hundred
Nailed to a cross
Another martyr mother Hubbard
Looking in the cupboard
Didn’t find what he’s looking for
The dirty bits on Biden
R they under there?
Mister Trump just
Peed in his underwear
Laughably Outrageous tRIckster
Laughably Outrageous tRIckster
Lounges Outside in her Ugly Gangrenous
Haughty Linen Incremental Naughtiness
by Deb Whittam
For those times when being politically incorrect wasn’t an issue, hey it was almost embraced
And he wrote real cool songs too
Though the suits became a bit blasé but what are you going to do
Send someone to the shops, it was the 1960’s for goodness sakes
Brexit will make him millions
ought to make his pals billions
remain was always his position
it changed to suit his self mission
self deluded craving celebrity privileged Eton boy
Destined to play as Nero with his new burning country toy
england should be for the English he proudly shouts
privately whispering he’s actually not from these whereabouts
Funding his lovers and friends with public money
easily avoiding the rules like some corrupt Easter Bunny
fibbing and lying is his way to con the masses
flippantly poking fun at those from the working classes
evading visits from the police to one of his shouting matches
lovers are kept quiet maybe with gifts paid for from our hard earned taxes
Jovial and bumbling are what the media laps up
only reporting the fake image and never about how he is so corrupt
he said he couldn’t live on his huge ministerial wage
no thought for us as he takes us back to the Victorian Age
so a man without principles or any human decency
only interested in one person and slayer of our democracy
not a man of the people just a wannabe celebrity member of the aristocracy
by The Bag Lady
Thank you all for entering! You are the highlight of my long, long week.
Come back tomorrow around 10 MST for the next theme.
Abject Muse: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner: