Ahoy, maggots.

This is my blog, and I'm going to post what I like. If you choose to break free of your comfort zone and attempt to comprehend the astute observations of a man with a far higher IQ than the one you possess, feel free. I accept no responsibility for any injuries you inflict on yourself in jealousy or anger. My writing is better than yours. My opinion of books is more accurate than yours. Accept it. I don't really care whether or not you enjoy the blog; read it as you will.

The Jungle-Pedro J

In this dangerous land
Everyday a fight to survive.
Uncertain of one's safety
And how to stay alive.

Thinking only of yourself
Our upward view is clouded.
Visibility is low.
The truth has been shrouded.

Year long storms
Start in September skies.
The clashes in the clearings.
Oppression in our eyes.

We struggle for our rights
In a troubled land.
The proletariat revolt:
Here we make our stand.

We fight against the one
To make them toe the line.
In this concrete jungle
We are the ninety-nine.

The Little Engine That Could Review

Over the years, I've read quite a bit of dense literature that required deep analysis to understand, and this  cruel book by Watty Piper is by far the densest. The themes, symbols, and motifs went layers deep, and were simply boggling to me. To any of you far lesser minds, it could only be numbingly confusing.
     The Little Engine That Could starts right off with the confusion: all the trains are talking. There are enough people that open up their maws to release torrents of garbage upon the ears of undeserving bystanders; do we really need trains to add water to the flood?
     Accepting this ridiculous and unnecessary skill possessed by the engines, the story only gets more ridiculous. A bunch of presents need to be delivered to some poor children over a mountain. This brings up a whole series of problems. Who is giving these whippersnappers presents? Don't the kids have some sort of half-assed parental figures to collect the presents for them?
     Then, the strong engines won't carry the cargo. Is there no discipline in this train-yard? If the military was like this during my days in the war, we'd all be speaking German. Since these good-for-nothing layabouts are too busy wishing they could be Thomas the Tank Engine, the titular train has to carry the presents. Unfortunately for the brats, this train is like the weakling with the glasses who lived in your neighborhood as a child, who instead of playing football would be with the cheerleaders on the side.
     Predictably, the train starts off terribly, struggling to get over the mountain. He finally manages to make the ascent by repeating "I think I can" to himself. This may be the stupidest mantra ever. If this was the slogan used by the perpetrators of the French Revolution, nobody would know what the hell a guillotine is. It's simply repulsive.
     And none of this makes sense. I spent seventeen hours trying to figure out what Mr. Piper was going for, and the only conclusion I could reach was that he was high on acid while writing the book.

Final verdict: 1/10. My brain hurt, and for a genius like myself, that's nearly impossible.

You dungbeetles care to disagree? Comment below.

A Lack of Productivity~The Slacker

Microwave soundbytes
Awaken me from slumber.
It is two A.M.

I crawl up the stairs
And flop into my cold bed.
Quietly I doze.

Thoughts of my failure
Run through my head so cruelly.
I am pathetic.

One more day wasted
A chance of meaning is lost.
I'm doomed to repeat.

The Big Hard Iron Rod~Fox

The big iron rod
Stares me in my eyes deeply.
I must conquer it.

                     -Fox


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