Spam Poet reviews Spam Poetry

Somewhere in the archive there’s a short series of posts called Spam Poetry. They do exactly what it says on the tin – spam comments amusingly reformatted to make blank verse. Some of it could probably win prizes… anyway, a spam comment has popped up on one of the Spam Poetry posts. That’s so meta I almost approved it. Almost.

Turns out somebody doesn’t like Spam Poetry:

What a material of un-ambiguity and preserveness of precious knowledge regarding unpredicted feelings.

Well, I think they don’t like it. It’s difficult to be sure. Anyhoo, onwards and upwards…

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Spam Poetry: A Bit Like The Buses…

…in that you don’t see one for months, and then they all come along at once. And the driver’s a mardy bastard who tries to clip every wing mirror he possibly can. And there’s a drunk man at the front, forcing his opinion of Tom Hanks’s career on anyone who has the misfortune to get on. And the seats are sticky, and the old couple in the mobility seats stare at you like you’ve got two heads.

But I digress. Again. In lieu of Big Finish Folly (there just aren’t enough hours in the day right now, so there’s a backlog building up…) here’s another riveting attempt to encapsulate the total vacuousness of modern mundanity in nihilistically colourful free verse. I understand the writer began in iambic septameter, but quickly got bored.

You’re hired even though a service
while a professional just
one
particular at that.

Is your process shaped like the actual
orange, pear, hourglass or
straight
inside and down?

Extended ago, shirts were put to use merly for inner wears.

That’s so sharp it hurts. Mmmm.

Revenge of the Attack of the Son of Spam Poetry!

Here at Chez Chopper, we F5 the Inbox constantly, hearts in mouths as we await the next stunning masterpiece of postpostmodern literary lyricism. More often than not we are disappointed at the paucity of both quality and quantity.

But not so today. Look upon this lucid gem and be amazed.

Here top of the body portion
is generally bigger than
that lower. Your inventory
are rigorously charged sooner insure at hand.

A logo lettering at the ago
subtly brands now this bag.
Just how do you do that so that
you can fresh voters as your princess?

Short, but sweet. Mmm-hmm.

Spam Poetry in Motion!

It takes a special sort of genius to hit that nebulous spot between post-modernistic ennui and computer-generated surrealism. This award-winning example recalls the heady thrills of watching Points Of View with a raging hangover. Ah, nostalgia.

 

I do not really care how or when I get the Letters within the Mail.

Every time it arrives, it feels like a letter should be.
It really is suddenly there in my mail box 1 day.
A nice, tangible surprise. I am for you doing whatever you need
when you send it. Mix it up for the persons who help get it sent out.
Include crumbs from your lunch. Coffee stains.

Whatever. Hold the tedious nature of obtaining letters out to a minimum by carrying out whatever you feel like that day.
The arrival with the letter and the words of the author inside are what matters.

Personally, what I like best about The Rumpus is that I never know what I will
study that day. Or if there isn’t one that day, maybe it truly is because Stephen couldn’t find anything to
say or there was also considerably going on.

Spam Poetry: the nonsense continues!

Unfortunately, this isn’t a submission of absolutely certified sterling quality, but these days you just can’t get the automated staff. Nonetheless, nice to know that somebody, somewhere, is still making some sort of effort.

Hehe,
you’re making other sites
We have find about this specific issue glimpse negative.
I have defiently observed the best one for you to take a note of.
Appreciate your
this kind
of.

Spam Poetry – may contain horse…

This one, received last night, excels in breathless naive positivity. (I know an Operations Director who specialises in this stuff) Feeling down? Work this mantra into your day! (nb: not guaranteed to work).

You recognize therefore
considerably with regards
to this subject,

produced me in my opinion
believe it from a lot of varied angles.

Its like men and women
are not fascinated
except it is something to do with Woman
gaga!

Your own stuffs outstanding.
Always take care of it up!

Mmm. Yes. Jazzy. Delicious hot, disgusting cold.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch…

“Do You Still Throw Spears At Each Other?”

A practitioner of dontopedology, yesterday

Fie on me for not having investigated the Buxton Fringe earlier than this. After all, the Peaks are just a few stone-throws away from my doorstep. Thankfully, myself & Mrs Chopper have remedied that error at last – and in fine style too, by yomping down the A6 to see “Do You Still Throw Spears at Each Other?”, a glorious yarn about, and narrated by, “HRH Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh”.

Obviously, His Nibs was not actually there. George Telfer played the Duke instead, and the play itself was written by Sheffield’s own Steve Haythorne, whose own fiery wit led me to think that this might be a rather scathing portrait of Philip. But this play isn’t a quick, venomous stab at royalty, a la Spitting Image; the humour and satire is a hell of a lot more sophisticated than that.

For a start, Mr Haythorne Knows His Stuff – he has researched the life and times of Philip so that every word the character speaks rings of gospel truth. The script is laden with nuggets and factoids, but they are woven so well into the monologue that you barely notice them. And the jokes themselves are often at the expense of other people than Philip himself – Myleene Klass cops for a few, as do varied members of the royal family, the Daily Express (a joke in itself, some might say), Himmler and Tony Blair.

On top of that, Mr Telfer is an exceptional interpreter of the material. The walk, the mannered pauses, the gladhanding of the audience – all nailed perfectly, until you can almost believe that this avuncular old toff is the real thing. And that’s the real genius of the show – it presents you with a version of Phil that you actually have some sympathy for, even if, like me, you can’t normally stand the Windsors.

There’s one more performance in Buxton after tonight (on Saturday, I think) but, as the poster wot I’ve nicked makes clear, the show goes to Edinburgh in August. If you’re up there, don’t miss it: it should be pick of the Fringe this year.