Welcome to the Weekly Hilarity Contest! My friend Down Under, Debbie Whittam, reminded me that Monday is Towel Day!!!!
For those poor souls who may be uninformed, Towel Day is in homage to the late Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and many other satirical novels. I LOVE Adams. The Terrible Poetry Contest was inspired, in part, by his reference to Vogons and bad poetry, and my blog was originally named A Wife, My Verse, and Every Little Thing.
In reference to Adams and Towel Day and to commemorate my last weekly contest before taking a break (more on that later), here are the specifics:
- Write the very worst poem you possibly can. Bonus points will be given for references to Adams-esque topics like Vogons, towels, missing the ground, Krikkit, a bowl of petunias, and things that are Mostly Harmless.
- Length is great for laughs, but I’m short on time. Let’s keep the poem to fewer than 250 words.
- Just make us laugh. Make all the Earth collapse in an improbable accident involving a rubber band, a liquid lunch, and a stitch in the side from chuckling all day long.
You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 29) to enter.
Use the form below if you want. For a more social experience, include your entry or a link to it in the comments. Please let me know if your pingback or entry do not show up within a day.
Go on, you hoopin’ frood! Make us laugh!
Swiped from Pinterest.
Chel Owens 
Taking a break from blogging or just contests ?
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Blogging. I’m tired.
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aww sorry to hear, i will definitely miss ya
but you gotta do whats best
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I only have a cursory knowledge of Adams, but here goes.
Unquestionable Truth Leading to Conclusions That are Edifying, Beneficial and Nice
By Dumbestblogger
Truth
I sit here in the warm mud and my legs feel comfortable for now but I wonder how long it will last
Afternoons begin as mornings
I could get out of this situation if I had an infinite improbability drive.
It sucks that that’s something I don’t have.
Oh no, it might rain
I guess I will just sit here-
42
Yeah, I just threw that number in because it’s in a book somewhere
Beautiful poetry is something that speaks to the soul.
We are only empty when there are problems with the mechanical apparatuses in our space ships/
So long, and thanks for all the fish
Oh
Did you think I was done
I’m not done
I could understand why you would think I was done with a line like “so long, and thanks for all the fish.”
But I’m not done
I will continue reciting this poetry because it is edifying and beautiful
Let us zoom across the Galaxy
Oh yeah, I forgot
I’m laying down in the mud
Oh well
It’s the thought that counts
It doesn’t necessarily count in a literal way of speaking
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So sorry to hear your taking a break from a selfish point of view as yours is one of my real favourites. It makes me think, laugh and occasionally cry. It even got me writing poetry for the first time ever. That takes true superpowers to do that. But you so need to look after yourself. Do what’s right for you. Sending you a big hug. x
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Thanks! I’m sure not everyone shares that perspective, about my point of view or about your poetry! Keep writing!
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You had me at Towel….
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Geoff! So pleased you wandered over here without my needing to send a Bugblatter Beast.
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Couldn’t not, could I?
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Douglas Adams wrote of other worlds and evil races like the Vogons
He didn’t need to lie and cheat, no need to come up with patronising slogans
Now we have our very own new fantasy story authors
Cummings, Hancock and Boris, the UKs evil lying rotters
They inspire as much hope as Marvin the Paranoid Android
And are as pleasant as a hot curry to someone with a hemorrhoid
They only look after themselves, just like two headed Zaphod Beeblebrox
They gorge on the finest food while the peasants are expected to stay in detox
We all thought the answer to life was forty two
Well apparently not, that answer was a load of poo
The answer to everything is now apparently the tourist site called Barnard Castle
We are instructed to lockdown but for Cummings that is far too much hassle
If you are Cummings you can test your eyesight by driving your kid 60 miles
Just a coincidence it’s your wife’s birthday, ignoring restrictions with many smiles
Now that’s apparently Ok as it Cummings says his little poodle called Hancock
A man so stupid he’s turned this country into nothing more than a laughingstock
So thank you Douglas for writing some of the funniest stories ever told
And thank you those who voted for Boris, a man as useful as the common cold
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Big Bang, Bath Towel And Beyond.
Irate ratepayer Arthur Dent was confoundedly annoyed
To find his house and home planet completely destroyed,
Luckily the one poor excuse of a man Arthur had befriended
Was the perfect guy to accompany him when his world ended.
Ford Prefect was Arthur’s odd friends imperfect name-
A moniker once written oft on many an insurance claim-
Art never imagined his friend to be a bona fide illegal alien;
Born somewhere near Betelgeuse, not remotely mammalian.
Ford, once a wanderin’ scribe before this gig started to unravel
Knew his tenure on Earth was terminating, it’s nigh time to travel.
Ford had an inkling about this harmless planet he was stuck on,
That in a twinkling Arthur would ask ‘where on Earth, has it gone?’
Pangalactic Developers Inc saw Earth as an impediment to progress,
In their Universal view what harm is there in one itty-bitty bit of dirt less?
Ford, our hapless intergalactic hitchhiker, earthbound and lost
In desperation stuck out a digital thumb, plus all fingers crossed,
Finding on wakening they had been both uplifted and stown away
While all Arthurs worldly goods had been spectacularly blown away.
Now all Arthur possessed was his towel slippers and tatty bath robe,
Scant protection for a mere human going up against an alien probe.
(Hmm, barely made it past chapter one;
Guess Doug’s tale- and mine- is done,
For to 250 words I’ve been constrained;
Read Doug’s book and be better entertained.)
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Here’s my entry:
Maroon forms, no red, no salmon you nitwit.
Get in line again, try it all, dash it all
I said TRIPLICATE!
A man of many faces
I stare out the starboard portal and sigh
So all I can think of is the reason why:
42.
Not one jot more, I decry.
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