Monday, December 25, 2006

Worst Christmas Gift Ever - From Me to You!!!

According to Douglas Adams, the third worst poetry in the known Universe was written by the Vogons, a peculiarly nasty race with a penchant for exploding planets to make way for ultimately unnecessary hyperspace bypasses. Here's a sample, reprinted without any permission, but with what we like to think of as the posthumous chuckling of the author:

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.

Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
To hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles
For otherwise, I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon -
See if I don't.

The punctuation and line breaks may be a little off - the Editor was, of course, typing from memory. I hate poetry, but the work of a master can always stick in my mind.

The point, however, is that my Xmas gift to all of you, Christian, Jew or atheist, black or white or greenish from eating too much plum pudding, is the first and only worst poetry in the known Universe. Mr. Adams did mention that the worst poetry was found on Earth, but he never gave us a sample. I'm simply fulfilling his dream, and going where no one literate has ever gone, should ever go, or will forgive me for going.

I give you - Leonardo.

The first taste - call it an amuse bouche:

I would like to dream tonight
of a wizard taking flight,
feeling happiness and health,
sharing wisdom, love, and wealth.

Wouldn't we all? This is truly the spirit of the holidays. A wizard taking flight? YES!!!!!

I see your intent

my hope is spent
deep lament

yet I agreed
to hold my seed
so I proceed

let my heart bleed

nobody comprehends
the depths to which my love extends

I am to believe your distaste for me
for who am I to disagree
you have given your decree

in the name of being true
I will hold my love for you
until I see my magick through

I have no words. For anyone familiar with the Editor, this will explain the depth of my emotion.

Now, this next one - if there are any other rabid Adams fans in the house, they will surely recall that the second worst poetry in the Universe was written by the Azgoths of Kria, exemplified by the "Ode to a Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning". Please keep the felicity of that title in mind as you read - well, all I have to say is, I'm wishing y'all a Merry F'ing Christmas right this minute, because you may not live long enough for me to get another chance. Good luck. I love you all - may the Editor's strength go with you.

Ode to Acetylcholine

Acetate and choline are combined to make you up.
AChE reseparates you, then choline gets taken up.

Autonomic ganglia, skeletal muscle: nicotinic.
Cortex, limbic system, parasympathetic: muscarinic.

You help me to learn new things,
and get REM sleep - the dreams it brings!

Botulinum toxin shuts me down by blocking you.
Venom from black widows tires me out, releasing you.

Nicotine's excitatory.
Muscarine's inhibitory.
Curare is nicotinic.
Atropine is muscarinic.

(The first two are the shockers,
while the last two are the blockers.)

Organophosphates interfere with your deactivation -
except in mammals, because we have specialized protection.

Nerve gas is more brutal, killing all the soldiers in the base -
like organophosphates, stops Acetyl Choline Esterase.

If you can still have a happy New Year after reading the above, then please do so with my blessing.

Best of the Season from The Editor, the Zombies, and my bottle of Scotch.