Belated Bad Poetry SLAM! Winners: Category One, "Integrity"

SCENE: A corporate boardroom. CAROLYN takes a seat to the left; a BLONDE MAN IN AN ORANGE SHIRT AND GREEN TIGHTS takes a seat to the right.

The main doors open, and DONALD TRUMP enters the boardroom and sits.

TRUMP: Okay. So, the Ace of Spades readers were assigned a task to write bad poetry. How did they do, Carolyn?

CAROLYN: I think they did well overall, Mr. Trump.

TRUMP: Good, good. Once again, George is away on business. Or should I say, "business." I think he's on some kind of sex-tour in Thailand.

CAROLYN: Actually he's finalizing your acquisition of the Continental Hotel in Geneva.

TRUMP: They call Thailand "The Switzerland of the Orient."

CAROLYN: Nobody calls it that.

TRUMP: Sure they do. My mechanic told me that when I was preparing to jump the central, gorgeous fountain at the Tropicana Hotel in Vegas on a red white and blue motorcycle.

CAROLYN: That wasn't you. That was Evel Kinievel.

TRUMP: Now who's being naive, Carolyn? Daredevil stunts are a two billion dollar a year business, and, in my guise as Evel Kinievel, I'm the largest purveyor of daredevil spectacles in the world.

CAROLYN: No, you're not.

TRUMP: Well, maybe I'm not. And that's the key to business: Just making up shit left and right. Who do we have to replace George today?

CAROLYN: He joined the Trump Organization last May to help conform our West Side development project with the EPA's requirements: Aquaman.

TRUMP: Jesus, he's the lamest guest executive ever. Can't we just get Omarosa or someone?

CAROLYN: She wasn't available.

TRUMP: Well, okay. Welcome then, Aquaman.

AQUAMAN: The King of the Seven Seas bids you a hearty "Ahoy!"

TRUMP: You're not going to summon any fish or anything, are you?

AQUAMAN: No.

TRUMP: Good. I always thought that was pretty gay. You're up against the Black Mantis and your big trick is to summon a school of tilapa. I think you missed your calling. You should quit the Justice League and join Red Lobster.

AQUAMAN: I've had offers.

TRUMP: I'd look into them. Selling Fisherman's Platters is a ninety billion dollar a year industry. The tartar sauce industry is a seven hundred thirty trillion dollar a year enterprise.

CAROLYN (to Aquaman): Ignore him. He gets this way sometimes.

TRUMP: Okay. So we have to announce the winners.

Carolyn?

CAROLYN: Well, the original contest was to write bad liberal poetry.

TRUMP: Like Maya Angelou? She's horrible. You like Maya Angelou, Aquaman?

AQUAMAN: Love her. She makes my heart sing.

TRUMP: Figures. I never believed that Batman and Robin gay thing, but I'll bet you've taken a shot at the Boy Wonder. Actually, you sort of dress alike. Did you design his outfit?

AQUAMAN: That's not important.

TRUMP: Sonofabitch, you did. Well, there's another in the long line of impressive Aquaman powers. Swims fast. Talks to fish. Seamstress. Anyway, Carolyn...?

CAROLYN: So, yes, the original contest was for bad liberal poetry. But most entrants were just bad silly poetry. So we've had to split the awards into two groups: "Loose Shit" -- the funny ones which really didn't satisfy the specified criteria -- and "Inegrity" -- for those which did. "Integrity" had a lot more entries, and longer poems too. It was hard to judge them -- they were, after all, supposed to be bad -- but we've managed to cull them down into a list of the best entrants.

TRUMP: Let's start with the honorable mentions in each category. And let's speed this up. I have to go fly my helicopter to my limo later so I can cruise around, lookin' cool.

CAROLYN: All right. But there are a lot of honorable mentions in this category.

TRUMP (playing with hair, ignoring her): Hey Carolyn, remember Mr. Microphone? "Hey Good Lookin', be back to pick you up later..." Novelty microphone pick-up systems are a sixty-eight billion dollar a year industry.

CAROLYN: Yeahhh... Anyway. The first honorable mention in the Integrity category was actually the first poem submitted. And it's by Joan of Aaargh:

I live a life
of abject adjectives
surrounded by
precarious prepositions
placed just so

AQUAMAN: Fabulous. It really speaks to me.

TRUMP: Jesus. The Riddler looks at you and laughs. Okay, so that was a really bad one, Carolyn. I imagine they'll get worse.

CAROLYN: Much worse. The next Integrity Honorable Mention is by Gaylord Ravenal...

TRUMP: Wait, that poem has to be disqualified. No Trump personnel is allowed in this contest. I'm pretty sure "Gaylord Ravenal" is Aquaman's secret identity.

AQUAMAN: Don't hate me because I have the courage to be who I am.

CAROLYN: ... and, anyway, it goes like this:

Within the pits where the lymphy stream flourishes
'Neath unshaven arms, twixt unshaven thighs and--O glory!--ilium
(Not that Ilium of which Yeats and Shakespeare penned beauteous epistles but launcher of a thousand vessels ne'ertheless)
The sweet mystery of life aborns and crawls upward to suckle of yon glorious paps.
I am woman! Hear my cervix roar!
Seeker of my earth mother Gaia
To be her Britomart against Ares' cruel spears:
Global warming, Xtians, and yea, smokers.
Pocahontas is my sister, and we shall break the fascist patriarchy with all the colors of our wind.

TRUMP: I didn't understand a damn word of that. I did like the part about "paps," though. Carolyn, what say I get you some really yooooge breast implants, magnifcent, classy implants, the very best, and name those monsters "The Trump International Paps"?

CAROLYN: We've had this discussion before, and the answer's still no. Next up is Von Kreedon, with "Cry:"

Cry

i am i
i, only i am
i am as only i am
what i must be
all induhviduals
all one, 10,000 strong
speaking truth to power
what we must be
Sheehan!
i/we cry out
Sheehan!
cry for your loss
Sheehan!
cry for your courage
you are you
you, only you
you are as you are
what you have become
we are you
i, and you, us
speaking truth to power
what we must do
Sheehan!
i/we cry out
Sheehan!
cry for your loss
Sheehan!
cry for your victory

(Aquaman begins sobbing with emotion)

TRUMP: Carolyn, pass Captain Estrogen here some Kleenex.

CAROLYN: Next up, "WHY?," by Pompous.

WHY?

WHY do you hate me so?
do i frighten you?
do i
challenge you
?
do i
show you your own
hypocrisy
?
ask, i ask
you
WHY?
WHY must we be
apart?
apartheid, is that you
hide
ing?
you say you love
JESUS
but didn't he die for the black man
too?
WHY?
FREE MANDELA

TRUMP: Good God, these poems are whiny. I hate whiny. And that's the key to business: Don't be a fuckin' whiner.

CAROLYN: You can't say "fuck," Mr. Trump.

TRUMP: The hell I can't. I remember when I was producing All In The Family, and I wanted to get into some edgy, controversial areas...

CAROLYN: That wasn't you.

TRUMP: ...and I remember looking the Network Suits in the eye and telling them, "I don't care what Standards & Practices says, Archie's gonna call Rob Reiner 'Meathead' and if you don't like it, you can stuff it right up your pooper." I broke barriers in television, Carolyn. And that's the key to business, Carolyn: Looking the "suits" right in the eye and saying the word "pooper."

CAROLYN: Fine, whatever. The next honorable mention comes from Jack M., and it's called "Youth."

Youth

I fear that time
with all it's malevolent intentions
will, like a thief, rob us of our nobler inventions:our purpose, our causes and our innocence.
For who, in their autumnal years,
as their leaves turn a golden hue,
will challenge those with a bigoted view
residing in the public consciousness?
And when winter comes a-falling,
be it nuclear or equinox,
the soul finds itself a paradox:
too warm for the grave but too cold to be handcuffed to a fence.
Which leaves not but spring and summer
for us to ask the question of man so frail
"Who among us will save the whales?"
as extinction means no second chance.
So waste not you early days!
Nay, make them count while you are in bloom.
For a life misspent is like a bride without a groom
Perfectly viable, until you need a partner for the dance.

TRUMP: That's really very bad. It's like the spoken-word part of the Moody Blues' Knights in White Satin, only more depressing. I remember when I was on the road with the Moody Blues -- playing lead electric guitar for a rock and roll band is a seventy-nine quadrillion dollar a year buisness -- and...

CAROLYN: ...and we're moving on. "Ode to a Misfit," by Bbeck:

Ode to a Misfit

On the walkway, through the window,
From without I watch the party.
The empty suits, the mindless lutes
Of laughter, hollow but hearty.
I asked them why they invite me,
“Is it for the pity you feel?”
“Yea Nay!” Do their two faces say,
And then ignore me with dull zeal.
The gravel underneath my heels
Grates like rocks upon hardened soles.
I do ponder as I wander
About the playing of our roles.
An independent sapien
Who’s lost on a planet of apes.
They’re group-evolved yet self-involved,
I’m a square ‘mongst circular shapes.
Another step along the drive
Full of dread, I will be there soon
Quiet night, awash in moonlight
I feel akin to a raccoon.
O mighty mammal, the sole one
With a bone inside his penis,
I walk alone, and softly moan
For they all reject my genus.
My knuckles tap mahogany,
On the cold doorstep I am posed.
E’er hopin’ the door to open
I know it will always be closed.

TRUMP: Jesus, that was whiny! How the hell does that chick get any play?

CAROLYN: Big cans.

TRUMP: Oh, well. There you go. You like big cans, Aquaman?

AQUAMAN: I have an appreciation for the female form, if that's what you mean.

TRUMP: That's not what I meant, but you answered my question anyway. How about a really buff set of pecs?

AQUAMAN: Mr. Trump, I find this to be demeaning. I will not have you make unfounded insinuations about my sexuality.

TRUMP: Whoa, whoa. Simmer down there, Stacey. Just making jokes. And that's the key to business: When you're the boss, make sure you demean you employees as much as possible. Let them know their is no "I" in "Team," but there damnsure is an "I" in "You're fired." As a matter of fact, "You're fired" is the shortest sentence in the English language containing all of the vowels. That's why I chose it as my catchphrase.

CAROLYN: It doesn't have an "a" in it.

TRUMP: "A's" not a vowel.

CAROLYN: I'm pretty sure it is, Mr. Trump.

TRUMP: Well, agree to disagree. You know what has an "a" in it? "Drop it and move on."

CAROLYN: Gotcha. An untitled offering from Mark:

o, biker!
o, soldier!
o, native american!
o, cop!
o, cowboy!
o, construction worker!
o! people of our village,
ye iconic archetypes,
sing to me amid gyrations!
send your harmonies spurging over me
as you weave a tapestry of tales
of life within the young men's christian association
penetrate me with your
timeless percussive beats
set to stories of naval service
Messrs. Felipe, Alex, David, Ray, and Eric
How can you live without Glenn? Without Glenn?Glenn who now rides in his leathers forever in a world without prejudice or hate
and to hide my sorrow
i've got to be un macho hombre
"It's fun to stay at the YMCA"
indeed.
indeed.

(Aquaman rises from his seat and begins doing the "slow clap of deep approval.")

TRUMP: Sit your ass down, Susan. This isn't a Julia Stiles movie. Carolyn, is there any light at the end of this tunnel?

CAROLYN: I'll finish up the Honorable Mentions quickly. "The Forgotten Flower," by Tom:

The Forgotten Flower

for
gotten
flower in a
nu
clear
B!
LA!
ST!
you stayed in there until the last.
for
gotten flower drenched with
CH! EM! IC! AL! S!1!
you've got to ring the bells!
ring the bells, you poor flower
being stomped on by fascist power!
Ring!
The!
Bells!
Flower!
forgotten flower i will remember your strength and scream your name to the fascist baby-killing corporate whore-guerillas trying to stop me from burning the flag.
for
gotten flower! i love you

"CONCRETE," by rho:

CONCRETE

ccccccccCCCCCCCCCCCCCcccccccccccccccccc
die die die DIE DIE DIE die DIE die DIE
HateHateHateHateHate
LoveLoveLoveLoveLove
imustnotseeimusthearoriwillnotbe
9999999999999999999 look
9999999999999999 for
999999999999 the
99999999 end
99999 AGONY AGONY
99 AGONY AGONY AGONY
9 AGONY
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&1111111111111111&&
&&&&&&&&&&&77777777777777&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&111111111111111111111&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&1111111111111111111111111&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&&77777777777777777&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&11111111111&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&for&&&&&&&&&&&&&&we&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&&&are&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&but&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&dross&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&a&&&&&&&black&&&&&&&pen&&&&&
&&&&on&&&&&&&&black&&&&&&&&paper&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&fuck&&&&&&&&me&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

TRUMP: I like that one. For some reason it reminds me of concrete.

CAROLYN: "An Ode To Ogden Nash," by Michael:

Ode to Ogden Nash

I huddle in my closet
Imprisoned, raped, abandoned
A kindred soul with Patty Hearst
No more for me the laughter of youth
Ogden Nash is dead

TRUMP: Oooh, name-checking another poet. Carolyn, did you know poetry was a hundred and forty eight dollar a year business? That's why I'm in casinos.

CAROLYN: Untitled, by rls:

A man with a nameless face
Hiding in a forgotten place
Toting his company briefcase
Goes inside a missile base
He’s trying to keep pace
By playing his final ace
A button pushed with a lack of grace
Not caring, he begins to erase
The last vestige of the human race
By playing Star Wars in outer space

CAROLYN: Another untitled poem, this one by S. Weasel:

my finger reaches down
to touch the cool, silicon-scented surface of cyberspace
and ripples flow outward
silently, in concentric rings
growing
touching
changing nothing.

TRUMP: That's a good one. That's the sort of poem a depressed coed writes in her Sophomore year. A chick rights a lame poem like that, you know she's got pretty low self-esteem. Easy pickin's.

CAROLYN: And finally: The Runners Up. The second runner up is "If Only Al Gore," by Paul Krugman, as dictated to lyle:

If Only Al Gore
by Paul Krugman

What is left - but Death?

CAROLYN: And the First Runner Up, which will carry out the duties of the winner should it become unable to do so. "Some place," by Monty:

Some place
Dingy crappy little nowhere place
A failing little cafe in a failing little town,
Say, or a dim little antique shop
A few grey little people
Living their grey little lives
Good godfearing churchgoing folk
They call themselves
The church is the tallest building in town
There is a war memorial in a park
Across from the church -- some forgotten
Boy dead in some forgotten war
But they don't care
These good godfearing churchgoing folk
They don't care
They are farmers and insurance agents
And nurses and mechanics and
Door to door salesmen
They only see dimly beyond the steeple
Of the church which is the real border
Of their grey little town

TRUMP: Very condescending. Like American Beauty, but without all the tits.

AQUAMAN: I grew up in a town like that and it was hell.

TRUMP: I'm not sure you would have been happy growing up anywhere outside that dance academy in Fame. And the winner, Carolyn?

CAROLYN: Well, the winner in the Integrity category is a poem so bad it actually could get published in a bad-liberal-poetry review, like the New England Poetry Quarterly. It's very hard to tell this from a supposedly "good poem," and that's why it wins. It, too, is by Monty:

It's a bright sunny day, and a good thing
For he was a boy who loved the outdoors.
His father always imagines his son out of doors
And brown from the sun.
The boy loved to play, and played hard,
And his father would someimes find him at night
Asleep by his toys. His father would carry him
Up the stairs to bed, careful not to wake him.
The boy became a Marine because his father was a Marine
And his father was proud of that;
But the boy became his own man,
And his father was proud of that too.
And now there is a folded flag for the mantel-piece
And the medals the boy won in places with namesHis father can barely pronounce.
There is the stone with the words Semper Fidelis.
The father feels the weight
Not of the casket, which the other pallbearers
Help him carry,
But of the knowledge that this is the last time
He will carry his sleeping son to bed.

TRUMP: I know I should feel touched, but I don't.

AQUAMAN: Exquisite.

TRUMP: Oh God. Hey, my Trump Danger Watch just beeped. There's a giant squid attacking a cocktail cruise down in Key West!

AQUAMAN: Sorry, friends, I'll be leaving you. I have a date in Key West!

TRUMP: I'll bet you do.

(Aquaman exits.)

TRUMP: God, I'm glad to be rid of him. Will George be back for the next round?

CAROLYN: I really doubt it.

TRUMP: Well, there you go-- the winners for the first category of the Bad Poetry Slam. We'll be back with the winners in the "Loose Shit" category tomorrow. And, by the way: You're all fired. All of you. Get out.