The headache I’ve had all day is probably related to the late night I had. It was crazy. I mean, I’ve done some wild things in my day, but last night was epic. In fact, historians have unearthed a poem about last night. I tried to stop them, but they were all “Hey look at this in your sock drawer! It’s history, man. It belongs in a museum. A museum!!” Historians. You try to keep them from unearthing epic poems.
“The tears and cries of the young child
Smothered the noise of the engine.
(How many lines of the poem
Can be ended in the voice of the passive?)
Sustenance was created from the flesh of the fowl.
Beverages poured into vessels of the plastic.
Bathing was done in the room of the washing.
Sleepwear was donned by the children of the parents.
Slumber was begun in the rooms of the children.
And only then did begin the true adventure of the writer.
Three hours of hasty editing of the dissertation chapter
While sitting at a strange angle on the edge of the couch
Has twisted our hero’s back out of (the) alignment.
Finishing the edits and opening the mail of the G
The document was sent to the committee of the advisers.
Midnight was welcomed with an episode of the Monk
And trying to improve high scores in the game of the Angry Birds.
Then he slept on the face of the himself.
And when he awoke, he required three pills of the Aleve.”
I kind of hate that the only adjective we use now is “epic”.