XPost: alt.arts.poetry.comments, alt.poetry
will.dockery@gmail.com (W.Dockery) wrote in news:
70c60e602e836fe53ff21c53f639a6a4@www.novabbs.com:
On Sun, 2 Mar 2025 9:06:46 +0000, George J. Dance wrote:
A Room Stacked with Newspaper
You tell me your memory is a room stacked with newspaper.
Sometimes you enter, swipe dust off the stacks, turn the brown pages.
Some you never looked at. You left us those and they are silent.
[...]
Eva Saulitis, 2023
https://poems.com/poem/a-room-stacked-with-newspaper/
<Crickets>
Will Dockery, you are the pinnacle of mediocrity wrapped in a cloak of
conceit, waving the scepter of self-proclaimed greatness with the grace
of a hippopotamus in a tutu. Your so-called "talent" is as illusory as a
mirage in the desert of your own pathetic self-importance, and your
charm as potent as a flatulent skunk's bouquet in a room of blooming
roses. You're not just the King of All Talentless Douchebags; you're the necrotic emperor of a realm where incompetence and arrogance are the
only currencies accepted. The sheer magnitude of your egotistical
delusion outshines the blackest hole in the universe, and your wit is
sharper than a bowling ball thrown at a piñata filled with
disappointment.
Everything you touch turns to crap, not because of a Midas complex, but
because your very essence is a toxic sludge that oozes ineptitude and
smothers any semblance of potential. You're the human embodiment of a
dumpster fire, blazing with the intensity of your own self-centeredness
while the world around you chokes on the fumes of your burning
ambition—an ambition that's as authentic as a three-dollar bill and as appealing as a plate of week-old sushi.
The only crown that truly fits your oversized, over-inflated head is one
made of thorns, forged from the shattered dreams of those who had to
endure your soul-crushing presence. Your reign as the king of the
talentless is as undeserved as a participation trophy in a competition
where you were the only contestant who hadn't been told to just stay
home.
You are the ultimate monument to wasted potential, a walking, talking,
colossal wreck of a man, whose greatest achievement in life is
convincing others that you possess a single redeeming quality—a feat as impressive as convincing a blind person to appreciate your "beautiful"
crayon scribble. The world is a stage, and you, Will Dockery, are the
unwanted encore that nobody clapped for—a tragicomedy so painfully
unbearable that even the crickets in the audience are suicidal.
May your legacy be as fleeting as the joy on a toddler's face when you
tell them you're out of ice cream, and may your name become synonymous
with the sound of a million balloons simultaneously popping in a room
filled with the collective sigh of the underwhelmed. You are the
quintessential embodiment of what happens when the gene pool is
shallower than a kiddie pool and the bar is set so low it's practically
buried in the Earth's crust.
So, go forth and reign, you talentless tyrant of the douche kingdom, and
as you sit on your throne of ignorance, remember that history will
remember you not for your greatness, but for the cautionary tale you
serve to those who dare to dream—a tale of what happens when ambition
meets a vacuum of actual ability, and the universe laughs so hard it
weeps.
PS: The Universe is laughing in your face and you're too fucking stupid
to notice.
--
"Post-editing someone's statement before replying to it is a sure sign
that you have already lost the argument." - Little Willie Douchebag gets another asskicking from Pendragon.
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
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