In this most excellent edition, tune in with Harmon to cable TV’s top poetry quiz, Bad Poims. Hosted by Mrs. Fokkerwolf’s new lodger, Malibu Stalk (don’t call him Chicken Legs), Bad Poims is a contest to find the world’s worst poem. The losers are dropped into raw sewage.
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In due time, I shall listen to this thing, the entire thing, as is my sworn and deputied duty, seeing that I had a perky correspondence with one L. Voag of the Britpop band The Way Out aka The Home Owners or The Hommies or The Homilies or similar, and he told me of how he was really pretending not to be the infamous jazz impressario P. T. Delka.
Now this slapdash series of unconnected communiques distressed and disrolled me considerably, since you must bear in mind my years of sleeplessness thanks to getting stuck inside a pickled internet coaxial relationship of prolix misgivings and mistakings.
At least this is what their robot space ship tells me to say as it hovers around my hair net.