Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Ad Hominem

Ad Hominem

Ad Hominem (2000)

Yes, culture lovers, it's time again for another installment of that perversion of prosody that tests your verse fortitude and poetic backbone -- Freeper Poetry.

This mutated art form occurs when I, your humble blogger and servant, hold my nose and venture into the bowels of The Free Republic -- a dimension of no-sight and pre-verbal sounds uttered by inhabitants known as Freepers. I hunt and gather text blocks from these de-evolved beings, place them into a virtual cut-up machine, set the heart of the controls to random, and splice and dice with extreme prejudice. The result is a mash-up poem that reclaims language while turning insipid Freeper commentary in upon itself -- like a snake beginning to digest its own tail.

Today's poem is a collage harvested from comments found on

1) "Dinosaur Poop Shows Grass Is Older Than It Seems"

mixed and seasoned lightly with comments from

2) "Marquette Suspends Dental Student for Blog Comments"

Shake well -- and here's the result -- named, in keeping with today's image, after the rhetorical fallacy of attacking a speaker's character rather than his or her argument.

~/~

Ad Hominem

Dude. Be impartial -- techno and dino.
Dress like a scientist in NOW pants
and accent the meat of bloodied wingnuts
with poop. You grind on, rabid,
betting on no fossils and raptor footprints
then pretend cold theories dog you
like Five-O. You. A mad cat sweating

love and predators. A leftist action
obligates Zionist rednecks to scat shit-
faced before screaming at rocks
that think harder. Ratio of tooth to mouth
is moot. Kick thinking. Go herbivore.
That Constitutional prof pranks you like
everything. You register the wit

of a houseplant. Censors spray words
at my school. I hate their stink grass
and bells and nuke religion. The shrillest
private bags digest in labs polished
like an attorney's ass. You're goofy,
pounding blog threads without reading,
understanding nothing but a diet of pepper.

Me no got wheel.  It hard work...

Today's Muse
[Illustration by Boris Vallejo]

...plus, let's toss in an additional image to enhance literary thematic unity and to shore up the controlling Got wood? motif:

Let us not assassinate this lad further, Senator...Have you no decency?  -- Sen. Welch to Sen. McCarthy, 1954...

Ad Hominem Phallacy (1987) -- woodcut by Fred Brown

4 comments:

Neil Shakespeare said...

"screaming at rocks that think harder"

That's a good one. I shall never call anyone 'a box of rocks' again. Obviously they think harder than me. Then again I suppose they have to think hard, just to come up with anything at all. Kinda like George that way.

enigma4ever said...

bloodied wingnuts with poop...you really are a poet...
Our Muse in Blogatopia....ahh..thanks for the moment...

Anonymous said...

Stoogie's Block Party

When Stoogie comes over to play,
We hide all our blocks and toys,
Because Stoogie's idea of play
Is to knock everything down.

First he air-bombs the doll house
Where he claims terrorists are hiding,
Then he wastes the toy train tracks
By laying down a smart bomb,

Which he calls a fart bomb
Because he's such a stinker,
Plus he gets kickbacks
From his gang of friends

Whom he calls in to rebuild
The wrecked infrastructure.

Dr. Mike

cruelanimal said...

I appreciate the comments and the poem. Thanks.

I dunno about "bloodied wingnuts with poop." That's entering infantile caca territory -- as an image anyway. Then again, everything out of Wingnuttia Central these days arrives caca-laced. When in Rome...

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