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.

end

*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.