After school, I go to the box in the library, and see that The Ivy--
Princeton's Prestegious Only Literary Magazine--
has new submissions.
I certianly hope they're good.
The first submission, a poem, goes
"An Anonymous Expression Of The Pain Of The American Youth.
Everyday, I start to cry.
Cuz everyday, I want to DIE.
I hear the voices in my head,
They tell me I should be dead.."
Oh my. A bleeding heart emo kid tries to write tripe.
Next, "A Modern Fairy-Tale."
It's about Arielle Mariona Samandia, a beautiful girl with superfab powers o' DOOM.
I read far enough to learn that Arielle--
or Ari, as her friends call her--
Sprouts pink wings and saves the world from Evil Man 008 before I give up.
There's got to be something good in here.
"A Story Of My Love."
A poronographic poem that goes roughly along the lines of
"rough sex sweating hand oh oh god so good more ahhhh fuck"
for 3 and one half pages.
Dude.
Half of these acts aren't possible.
It's not erotic or tasteful at all.
And the random cursing?
It all adds up to a dark, edgy poem by a one with the soul of a romantic, tortured hoe-bag.
They do not understand.
Tripe belongs on Myspace.com
The Prestigious Princeton Ivy takes Only The Best.