Avant garde, no?

Opinions are like arseholes - everyone has one. But expressing said opinion through the medium of bad poetry? That is truly rooly somefing spesh.

This poem was inspired by Andy Slackbastard, who didn't hold DJ/VJ/Pitchman/etc. Dylan Lewis in high enough esteem and said he fort he wasn't much gaff. Well, that might play out in the sticks, Dandy Andy, but this is the big city, bucko. You fink this is primary school? You fink this is playlunch? You fink this is a game of kiss-chasey?

Welcome to Melbourne, Cletus. You can't just say you find a television personality annoying and expect to get away with it.

Anyway, I don't actually care about Dylan Lewis at all. I have managed to successfully avoid almost all of his creative and commercial output, but if I did care, I might write a bad poem like this:

Dylan Fucking Lewis,
You Annoying Fucking Fuck,
How can we get you to ignore Cal Wilson,
When she yells at you to duck,
When she looks across the panel,
And sees that tell-tale dot,
That double-edged beam of light,
That ruiner of plots,
This question keeps me awake in bed,
I lie there in the dark,
Perhaps we do it outside the station,
An O.B. at the park,
So you'll think her cry, though filled with fear,
A mere avian observation
Just one step away from the great beyond,
And there ends the conversation.

Ignoring her was just the last,
Counting forward from conception,
In a series of mistakes numbering,
Much too many to even mention,
And then we can bid farewell to Dylan Lewis,
He served his country proud,
Though I can't help feel we'd be better off,
If he'd never come around...

Scrap the assassination plan!
This prick isn't worth the bullet,
We need to travel back in time,
And never let his parents do it,
Perhaps a distraction at the dance,
So their eyes will never meet,
If we bar the doors, and light it up,
That should work a treat

Some might find my plan extreme,
Insane and homicidal,
But it's much of a tender kiss compared,
To what I'll do to Australian Idol
No Blue Light arson will do the trick,
Too many have to pay,
We have to sink this whole damn island,
Somehow we'll find a way,
And then it joins Atlantis,
And all those cultures too obscene,
To remain above the cleansing ocean,
Its last chance gone and been.

In conclusion: Goodness gracious. Might be time for a Bex and a lie down.

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