Date Posted:20:48:18 03/12/03 Wed Author: Careless Abandon Subject: And we have a winner!
The winner in our illustrious poetry contest was simply the most concise, and meaningful poem we have ever run across:
(no subject) -- ., 15:48:47 03/02/01 Fri
its crazy up in here
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It took us over three years to come to this decision, which many of us do not agree upon, but I do, and I'm in charge of this contest, so there.
Unfortunately, the winner was not able to claim the Grand Prize of dinner for two in a restaurant in your home town, as his home town was bombed by the Russians in 1945, and is now a crater, filled with lots of interesting plants, and classified by the German government.
Also, he posted anonymously, so we don't know who he is, and made up that last paragraph because it sounded interesting.
So we awarded the Grand Prize to the actual Second Place winner, and gave the McDonald's dinner to a homeless guy that's been bugging us lately.
Her pain has gotten the better of her
She reaches into the dusky depths
Carefully choosing each word as a dagger
To cut slices across her enemy
Each deeper than the last
And as the blood drips and scatters across the page
Her fingers fly with delight
Twisting and bending each syllable into contorted fear
Stabbing and hacking with rough strokes
With gathering abandon
And now her enemy falls, and slumps to the ground
Her power seems unstoppable
Confused longing-why does the pain only grow?
And now the true identity of her enemy becomes so very clear
The flesh she mutilates is her own
As she burns each word into her wasted skin
Philisophico is not the poet's real name, but we can assure you, it is a real person, and not one of my many alter egos, or cats. Philisophico shows up at various places around town, and hypnotizes lizards for a dollar.
Philisophico is a brilliant poet, and enjoyed a dinner for Philisophico and a date, in Philisophico's hometown of Eau Claire, WI, at Ed's Fine Trout on Wabash Street. Ed has been grilling trout since he was a six month old baby, and he catches every single fish and french fry in the pond out to the back.
"I uses lures, mostly," said Ed, reported by his brother, Fred, in a Fictional Eastern European accent.
"Lures and baby back ribs, with some a them batter fried onions," he added with a sideways grin, as reported by a yam in Coldpudding.
That's just North of Barnsley, for all you wamstockings and porgs, a mile East of the Burpee River. On a clear day you can smell the mattress factory, just two miles West on the Gorblon Heights knolls.
Congratulations, Philisophico, and your date, as well.
