The vile male “logic” of the Internet (you know, that minatory complaining judgemental American voice that is forever trying to get us to shape up by blaming us for our problems) can be confronted directly, logic on logic, references and citations. But you often end up wasting mega-time battling some guy and unavoidably resembling him, like “monsters of the deep” in Shakespeare’s King Lear, or Godzilla and King Kong, battling it out in Tokyo while stomping international schools.
If you can write poetry, try it! It’s easy. Don’t worry about rhyme but worry about the basic beat of English or your own language. The basic beat of English is the iamb of Neil Diamond’s cheesy yet affecting song: “I am I cried”: the word “iamb” is an iamb, the basic cry, a weak beat followed by a strong.
Five of these “feet” form your basic ascent:
From this day to the ending of the World,
But we in it shall be remembred;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
King Henry had the lads ready to fight the French with the strong iambs of the last line above.
So here goes. The crap posted at The Young Turk’s quote of Rush Limbaugh’s vile ravings in support of Rush breaks yer heart. So, this clown named YeahOKterrific says:
“disasters when a real crisis like Haiti comes along they try and use that to prop up their worthless causes and we are sick and damn tired of being told we need to be in crisis mode and that the only is more of us working classes money.”
Instead of asking this bozo if he’s really working class (as in not being an unemployable bum living with Mom), I posted this:
We don’t say much but we say it loud
Oh come see the boiling cloud
We’re an individual lost in the crowd
Oh come see the boiling cloud
We are sick and we are tired
To nothing we have aspired
And nothing is what’s given us
So we kick up quite a fuss
Says the voice from inside the shroud
Come with me oh bourgeoisie
Come and see the boiling cloud.
And when there is an earthquake
And when the children die
Pat Robertson will be there, with a grin and stare,
To tell you the people, why.
And Rush will say you gave
And gave and gave and gave
At the office through the orifice
Of the coprophage corporation where you pretend to work.
Here is more:
The complaining voice of Rush Limbaugh diminishes to a whimper
In the vastness of outer space. Tectonic
He’s ground, fat and blubber,
And rendered rending rent as America goes down the white hole
Mumbling while stepping on yesterday’s pizza,
It’s not fair, why is my refrigerator full of insects.
If you don’t want to write poetry, quote it. Here’s William Butler Yeats on his countrymen who spread rumors and hated behind closed doors while Michael Collins got shot for trying to create a nation:
We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart’s grown brutal from the fare;
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
There’s also the more adolescent genre, with which I started at the site:
When Rush gets laid
(Which is almost never)
Someone gets paid.
Sexless spineless big of mouth
Wasted shameless drug addict
Possessor of a pencil dick
Also, your basic limerick. Don’t pay no attention to formulae, but try to use a lotta anapests. An “anapest” is weak weak strong, and the word “anapest” (like “Who’s a Pest”, a kids’ book) is itself an anapest.
There is a pig named Rush
The liberals he would crush
But whenever he opens his yap
He sounds like an egregious sap
That useless pig named Rush.
Or your basic scurrilous doggerel. Verse like the, I believe, would have gotten me challenged to a duel back when men were men, women were women, and the sheep were nervous, but Rush is a coward:
Rush he hates the people of Haiti
He “knows” they are black and lazy
On Haiti he’s real hip
He visited Port-au-Prince on a cruise ship
Which makes him an “expert” on Haiti
Rush loves America and the U S A
Our country makes his sphincter stiffen
He raises a colostomy bag
To the stars and stripes, the grand old flag.