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Let someone else read the New Yorker for you
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Ah, the haiku, the limerick style of the pretentious and not-in-the-least-bit-fucking-funny.
Hey! I love haikus! They’re less funny than absurd. Don’t pee on my fun.
I’m kidding, of course. You’re welcome to hate haikus. But I get a kick out of them. I’m not sure why they amuse me, maybe because they seem so absurdly pretentious.
Dimmer, do not mock; The haiku is beautiful, you fucking bastard.
OK, that’s not so much clever as just abusive.
Sorry, Dims.
Poetic justice Would obviously include A haiku thrashing.
I honestly don’t feel that strongly one way or the other about haikus. I just like abusing dimmer.
What would a haiku thrashing involve, I wonder? Would there be blood?
How do you feel about blank verse, Dimmer?
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