Welcome to the first installment of Poetry for Millennials, in which the trials and tribulations of the Wi-Fi generation are written in the style of our favorite poets, playwrights, and childhood authors.
Let us begin with William Shakespeare, because, I mean, he invented the human. I present to you, O readers of Fartbook.org:
Sonnets About Sexting
Anti-Ode To Mine Imagery Unclothéd
Oh god agh shit ass balls my lord aww fuck
I fear that I have made a grave mistake.
One never should attempt to test their luck
When high ground with one’s exes is at stake.
O how could I have thought it keen or wise
To pull up every contact in my phone?
And scrolling through the roster of hot guys
Think texting them would make me less alone?
If only the reception had been weak,
The mirror pics of my hind-quarters safe
Up in the Cloud, for some hacker to seek
Not sent direct to motherfucking Rafe.
First, god I curse. Next up: AT&T.
What carrier? You never carried me!
The Textual Drunkard
Ohhh not again, agh shit, I’m such a mess
Bright morn reveals the blemish ’pon my soul.
(No, not the Straw-Ber-Rita® on my dress—
Though that will be a mark the fabric holds.)
O stain more foul than any liquor’s dye
That leaves both heart and gut in turbulence!
Why play on boozy loop before mine eyes,
Reminding me my blunder’s permanence?
As babes, we learn forgiveness doth abound.
Like injured starfish, virtue can re-grow.
But soon such lessons are in vodka drowned,
And sins committed ne’er shall He revoke.
“Twas but a sext!” friends shout. “’Tis only Chad!”
Then silence, reading: Message sent… to Dad.
This lovely article over at E online got me thinking… where is the outrage over men’s facial hair??? Here is my response.
Hollywood’s Hirsute Horrors
Fuzz, stubble, 5 o’clock shadow, the devil’s whiskers, Forgetful Thomas’s Tell-Tale Ticklers—whatever you want to call it, we all know that facial hair is disgusting and completely unacceptable. Flashing any trace of the protein filaments that naturally grow out of a man’s follicles is an affront to everything we hold dear in this fragile world. A proper male starlet should be clean-shaven. It even says it in the bible!
I, Jesus, hereby decree that a man’s face must at all times be as smooth as a cherub’s rosy bum. Amen.
-Jonas Brothers 23:14
99% of the time, Hollywood’s hottest men keep their revolting facebeards in check (and an army of aestheticians employed yet woefully underpaid). But we’re all human, sort of, and every once in a blue moon,* a leading man makes it out of his leading man cave without using a wax, cream, or blade to remove every last hair from his chiseled, million-dollar jaw. From Palmdale to Pakistan, Moscow to Mordor, sometimes the stars we cherish and trust simply fuck it up in the face department. Below are a few of the worst offenders.
*Ed note: this post is graciously sponsored by the Blue Moon Brewing Co., moons that are blue, and the classic Rodgers and Hart love song, Blue Moon.
The culturally subversive and like totally nasty photos in this slideshow may cause migraines, uncontrollable vomming, and/or severe anal discomfort. Proceed at your own risk.
Here’s Liam Hemsworth at the New Hampshire premiere of Hunger Games: Gloria Steinem Edition
, looking like a total sack of fucking shit with no regard for personal hygiene or standards of decency.
Look, I can accept an errant sideburn or (at most) 30 minutes of minor facial hair growth. If you had a waxing accident in Ibiza, you might get a pass. If a swarm of child gypsies stole your Venus Electric Daisy Carnival Electric Razor Carnival™
mid-Jeroboam of Vin Santo in Rome’s famed Trastevere district, I could let it slide. But this? This is more than a gaffe, Liam. It’s an embarrassment to our country. I’m done.
Emma “J.R.R.” Tolkin, staff writer here at Fartbook.org, has quit after 83 years of blathering snark and leaked nudes of underage celebs. In lieu of flowers, Emma requests your tweets and reblogs during this difficult time.