Clown, submitted by Lil' Miguel. I... I'm not entirely sure what's going on, here. Aside from a creepy, endlessly repeating midi that can't be turned off (always a good feature), this site seems to be an assortment of links to pages full of other links which eventually get you to bad poetry written by one strange little person under a disturbingly large collection of aliases. For instance, here is one written under the guise of "blackie fortuna."



When this bloke
sold my wife
her washing-machine:
He said they
for whiteness.

it must have
gave him a thrill
to take the piss
out of my
black face!

Yep, that sure does sum up the plight of the black man living in the United Kingdom, boy howdy. But I am not here to judge this strange young man's poetry. Because there's a lot of it, and I don't have that kind of time. Instead, I'll let him speak for himself in section he calls "THE TRUTH!!!"

"The Clowne from Clown" The real story, all the worts that would not make anyone innocent suffer, dead or alive. But the guilty would be named. IN
An autobiography as a blog, and as a blog snippets rather than chronologial order. AND UP TO NOW, ANY SPELLING MISTAKES ARE LEFT IN.
But typing errors are not, for I type slowly with one finger having suffered from an acute lack of concentration for the whole of my life. There is a name for it in children. There was when I was a boy. Backward. For so long people thought me backward that I stayed backward, never allowing my intelligence to get in a way except by psychologists, because the first one I met emptied his sperm-bag up my anus.

Lovely. It seems our poet laureate is another one of the troubled geniuses that the internet seems to be just brimming with. What I've always wondered is, if these people are so brilliant, why do they bother putting their crappy poetry on an even crappier website that nobody in his right mind would ever attempt to navigate? Wouldn't just the art of creation itself be enough? Is it really necessary to essentially create a livejournal in which you can whine and bitch about how nobody really understands just how incredibly superintelligent you are? I have a theory: people like this post their crap on the internet in the most annoying way possible specifically hoping that some psychologist/talent scout will happen to find their work and realize it as the work of a true master. "My gosh," this expert in the field of everything will say, "This boy is clearly the best poet in human history! I will give him a million dollars and publish all of his trite, inane, hackneyed work that no one would ever read without a gun or some sort of sharp object being aimed at their head!" Here's the flaw in that plan: that will never happen. This is the internet. We don't want you here.

– Ben "Greasnin" Platt

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