Media lecturers and bad poetry...
Oh boy… Having gone to university on a media production course, I was hoping to avoid pretentious arses talking about film. Instead I got pretentious arses making films. Bugger. Although the students were vastly annoying (90% of them were there on daddy’s money anyway) it was the lecturers that took the biscuit. On pitching our five minute thriller our lecturer came out with a suggestion that will forever echo in my brain:

“Instead of them pulling out baseball bats, couldn’t they pull out enormous inflatable bananas instead?”

Arty cnut. However, the crème de la crap came when attending a short film / poetry evening where all manner of farty pretentiousness was on display (including my own). There was one woman who read poetry. Now, the poetry in question would have been bad enough in itself had it not have been for her occasional outbursts about her privates which were done at three times the volume, right in the middle of a sentence. The first time she did it, we all jumped in out seats but by the end of her poem, we were under the table pissing ourselves laughing. We thought she might have tourettes or something but I think she was just trying to be controversial. Or maybe c*ntroversial if you like.

To give you a feel for it, I have composed the following example. It is by no means as hilarious as the original.


I am a million dewdrops
I have eternity in my hands
I live on a dozen shellfish C*NT!

The woods know my pain, my wants
Clouds mask my pity
IT SMELLS FISHY!

Heavy headlamps in maple syrup
Yearning FANNY over furthermost hills
With no remorse
PUBIC LICE!

Separated from heaven with daffodil raindrops
FISH-MITTEN!!!
No bicycle can live in my way
No man knows my
HAIRY COD PIE!

I’d go on, but I think you get the picture.

Yay, there goes my cherry…!
(Mr Evian, Wed 5 Oct 2005, 13:25, Reply)