Indeed it is, especially the X Factor. The Joe Chip Empire stands in the audition queue jostling with the teeny boppers, unable to get sufficient attention, at least sufficient to please the writer, who is an insatiable sod (or should that be sot?) hey everyone, look at me, here’s a picture of a flower with a bird on top!
That worked really well.
Checking the google summaries, search terms that brought you kind people to “Poetry and Paranoia” recently include:
- do albinos originate from albania
- bathysphere poem
- Michael C Hall poem
- poems about self obsession
That last one certainly nailed it, that is the main theme here!
So what is happening? Not much to report from the Joe Chip clearance house. The writer has been in the Betty Ford clinic, hanging out with the wives of former presidents (the one’s not solving any middle east crises at the moment), reminiscing about the old days with Elizabeth Taylor (not reminiscing with her of course, necromancy is banned in the grounds, but you’d never know it to look at … never mind), and seeking to overcome his “Gangnam Style” addiction (Psy says dress classy, dance cheesy, I manage to be cheesy at both). There are three recent revolutionary pieces over at the 6th proletarian whatever (and yes there really is an Edgar, and yes, he is really lazy), including some gumph about rugby league football, trying to tempt Edgar into his classic Marxist sports rant, and a lazy piece of rubbish simply linking to a mainstream newspaper column asserting the world’s richest woman, Gina Rinehart, is a communist sleeper.
In the latest hard hitting poetry, I stick it to the man by asking whether some women have legs made of rubber.
*Sigh* What is the point?
The following picture of Gina Rinehart is by Simon Lech, I failed to properly attribute it over there, and only Edgar can edit, so this is my correction: