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Thursday, July 27, 2006

Steve Ballmer is the Sweatiest Man Alive

I wander from room to room like a gray-robed decrepit field hare, looking for the elusive carrot that cannot be found. Yes, that's what I feel like, for my muse has passed skyward--->Mark Northover. I am not so willing to forget the man, though Excremando keeps insisting I must. I wrote a poem about him. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:

Mark Northover, The Best

Roundest of head, at the foot of my bed,
Shoes of darkest black, felt hat of red,
Prancing like a jester, Pinstripe suit,
Belts out show tunes, Lets out a poot,
Tender TV clown, with an aura of gold,
Rising from the moon, everlastingly bold,
He is Mark Northover, with a tie of purest green,
with socks of dankest orange, a man who must be seen.
You cannot look away from him. Look upon his face,
Smiling like a painted cloud, paragon of human race.
Mark Northover is he, Mark Better-Than-You is he,
Mark Better-Than-Us-All in fact, the man you must see.
You must look upon his visage forever, shoes on your feet,
With hats on, with satchel at your side, a plate of boiled meat.
Mark Northover. Oh, Mark. Mark Northover. Our Mark.
Dearest Mark. Our Mark. All of us. Ours. Mark. Ours. Mark.


*sigh* Well, that's the best and deepest poem I could manage in such a gray cloud of manure-ish disappointment.

On an unrelated note, Steve Ballmer is the sweatiest human being who has ever lived. Check it out.


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