I Could Do That

You know how much I hate that there is a world record category for "Most Expensive (insert food item of your choice here)"? Very much, that is correct. It's completely ridiculous because people make food that doesn't actually have food in it and then they call it expensive food and end up with some sort of a world record. Isn't that like if I took a chihuahua and put him on top of a ten foot ladder and called him "World's Tallest Dog"? I mean, it's not exactly the same, but it's pretty close.

Here, let me give you a real example. Over there at Yahoo! News, we learn about a one "renowned "Karat chef" Angelito Araneta Jr." Now, I knew that the article was going to irritate me because, as I'm sure that you've already realized, there is no such thing as a "Karat chef". Oh, sure, it's a thing...to that guy. But I don't know that if you put "Karat chef" on a resume or even if you brought it up in conversation that anyone would know what in the world you were talking about. This is important because this entire article seems to be about made up stuff that people are acting like is real stuff. It's NOT! (Please see my previous "World's Tallest Dog" example for elaboration on that concept.)

So Mr. Araneta Jr. is trying to make the World's Most Expensive Sushi. And just to be clear, that is a thing. That could be a thing. There are plenty of super pricey cuts of fish out there. But the problem I have with Mr. Araneta Jr's method is that he doesn't stick to fish. And that's really what I have contention with. If you're going to make the "World's Most Expensive" of any kind of food, I would think that the one requirement, the one minimum standard that you'd have to meet would be that what you prepared was actually food. And as I'm sure that you can guess by my tone, this is not actually food.

See, the "secret" to achieving the "World's Most Expensive Sushi" seems to be for it to be topped with not fish eggs or fish or anything of the sort, but rather to have diamonds and pearls sitting atop the little bite sized pieces (which, incidentally, also appear to be wrapped in some sort of 24-karat gold leaf thing)! Diamonds and pearls aren't FOOD. Since when does this count?! Since when can you just start putting jewels on top of food and get yourself in the Guinness Book of World Records?!

The sushi apparently appraises at $1,978.15 in US dollars. Why stop there? Why not set the sushi on top of a gold bar and park a Hummer on top of it?! That would obliterate that measly amount that this guy came up with. What's a Hummer going for these days? Fifty grand? There you go! How is that any different from what he's doing? It seems the same to me! Can't eat the diamonds and you can't eat the Hummer either. How would my way not count? And while I'm at it, I'll just use that same method for all food items. I'll put them on top of a gold bar and then park a Hummer on top of them and voila! I will OWN every "World's Most Expensive" food record that there is! World's Most Expensive Burger. World's Most Expensive Cheeto. World's Most Expensive Jolly Rancher. World's Most Expensive Churro. You name it, I'm gonna put a Hummer on it and go for the record!

I'm not sure if this guy has figured out some sort of loophole or something, but if he has, it's the most ridiculous loophole I've ever heard of. Diamonds aren't food! Why are they acting like they are? Why does this count? What am I missing? Guinness? Anyone? I'm listening!

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Lil World Record

For about a week, the delicious cookie which brings black and white together, the beloved Oreo, has been promoting a stunt on their Facebook page. See, Oreo wants to set a world record for the most Facebook likes in 24 hours. That's a noble gesture. Not as noble perhaps as, say, making those Oreos dipped in white chocolate available all year long, but noble in its own special way.

The world record attempt was supposed to start yesterday. And it got off to a rousing start! After just six hours, they had 61,595 Likes. That's something. I don't know what exactly, but definitely something. But wait! There's more! Every story needs an antagonist and this tale of liking Oreos is no exception. It's a rather unexpected antagonist, however. Enter Lil Wayne.

That's right. Lil Wayne. Now, this Wayne fellow, just how lil is he? I mean, are we talking like could fit in the palm of my hand or just fairly short statured? Whichever it is, he appears to be some sort of a gangster thug criminal convicted felon rapper. He apparently also goes by Weezy, which I thought was reserved strictly for George Jefferson's wife, but perhaps I was mistaken. I don't recall Small Wayne being married to George Jefferson, nor do I recall Mr. Jefferson swinging that way. He had Lionel, didn't he? Wow, I certainly do digress at times. Where was I? Oh, right! Diminuitive Wayne.

Tiny Wayne decided that setting a world record and having to do absolutely nothing to get said world record sounded like a good idea. Thus, he posted the following on his Facebook page: "everyone, please "Like" this post. I'm trying to break the Guinness World Record for most "Likes" on a post in 24 hours. Let's get it!!!" And what do you think happened? That's right. Plenty of people who favor Miniature Wayne and thought that it would actually mean something to him if they individually "Liked" his post. And thus, the "Liking" began. To the tune of about 20-80 folks per every few seconds. And while it's great to see folks banding together for a common cause, couldn't it have been something not quite as ridiculous as liking a man whose first name is Lil?

After almost an hour, Pocket-Sized Wayne had approximately 305,366 "Likes". (As of the publication of this post, it's just over 450,000 "Likes".) He didn't even promote his little stunt. Oreo was all over their idea for at least a week. And not only did Micro Wayne get that many likes in an hour, over 10,000 dimwits felt the need to comment as well. What were they commenting on? Not much, that's for sure. Let's see...we have "this has got to be a record", "good luck with record", "Lets make it hapoen for Weezy" (I don't know what 'hapoen' means. Maybe it's rapper talk.), "will do anything for wezzy f baby fo s" (I wonder if that "anything" that she will do would include not spelling his name "wezzy"?), and my favorite "iit's good to comment alot, then Lill Wayne maybe see's it, and sends you a privet messege, that woudnt be wrong, or would it ;D".

Yes, wouldn't that be a red-letter day if he maybe see's it. And a privet messege? Wow! What would I do? (For those who really can't surmise the answer, I'd kill myself if I got anything privet from Teensy Wayne.) Reading a lot of the comments really drained me of my WTL (Will To Live). We're so doomed. And so is any chance of Oreo setting the world record for the most "Likes" in a 24-hour period.

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Now Here's A World's Record

With my ranting lately about ridiculous world records, I just happened to run across on that was actually pretty cool. It required some work, isn't just something that just anyone can do and has clearly defined parameters. What we have here is a parrot; yes, a parrot; a parrot that does tricks. Actually, it's a parrot that does some very amusing tricks as well as some seemingly difficult ones. (I base this strictly on the fact that it's a parrot performing the tricks. They probably wouldn't be so hard for most humans. Most.) All I know is that it's a Kili Senegal parrot. (Even though I know that, it means absolutely nothing to me. You could have told me it was a Flux Capacitor parrot and I would have believed you and nodded knowingly.) Oh, and the other thing I know is that the guy who trained the parrot seems to be very good at training parrots. He was very good at training this particular parrot, at least. The point here is that the video below depicts a REAL world record. Finally.

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We Have A Wiener

I knew this would happen. I do a post about the world's most expensive beer and the next thing I know, there's another story in the news about the world's most expensive hot dog. Really? A hot dog? See, this is what I mean by people just making stuff up so that it can be the most expensive. Trust me. There isn't much expense that goes into hot dogs.

According to the newsy folks over there at the NY Daily News, a local restaurant called Serendipity 3 (I'm not sure what's up with Serendipities 1 and 2) created the world's most expensive hot dog at $69. Now, if you're wondering what goes into a $69 hot dog (which they call the "haute dog" in a failed effort at being cutesy), so was I. Seriously, it's a hot dog. Do you know what goes in a hot dog? Everything but the oink, that is correct. How are you going to have a $69 hot dog? Easy. The same way you could have a $89 hot dog or a $109 hot dog. You charge that much and then you get someone to buy it.

And that's pretty much what happened over there at Serendipity 3. The owner of said establishment, a one Stephen Bruce, came across an awfully gullible tourist, a one Trudy Tant of Rock Hill, South Carolina, and "...asked her to spend her dough on the pricey frankfurter." If someone had asked me to spend almost seventy bucks on a hot dog, my response wouldn't have been "Sure!" It would have been more along the lines of something that I'm not overly comfortable typing here. It would not have been pretty.

But this soft headed woman was all for the idea! "The publishing company worker said she relished the opportunity "to do something out of the ordinary." (I'm sure that "relished the opportunity" was not on purpose because I can't imagine that someone who is dense enough to fall for this would be so quick to make an appropriate pun such as that.) I can think of a whole bunch more things that would have been "out of the ordinary" that would have left her less seventy dollars in the end. Some legal, some possibly not so much. Most of them would have been money better spent than on a hot dog.

In case your a-clamoring to make your own $69 dog at home and see how many of your friends you can weasel into coughing up the dough for it, here's what you're going to need: Some truffle oil, a salted pretzel bed, truffle butter, duck foie gras, Dijon mustard, Vidalia onions and ketchup." Wait a minute. You're going to put ketchup on a dog that has foie gras on it? That's just gross. Foie gras in and of itself is gross, but to put ketchup on it? That's just wrong. But basically, the only thing worth anything on this dog is the truffle stuff and the duck liver. Other than that, you've got yourself some pretty basic hot dog fixin's. See what I mean? It's all just a ruse. And who wants their hot dog on a pretzel bun? No one. That's why it's supposed to be a pretzel and not a hot dog enclosure. Pay attention!

But here's the best (or worst) part of this dealio: "The restaurant racked up the priciest dog record right away; there was no previous titleholder." Wait. What now? There wasn't a record? So...basically, EVERY hot dog that was sold before this one technically WAS the titleholder?! This is why there can't be world records for things that you can just make up and put whatever price you want on them. I could take a Ball Park frank, sprinkle it with gold flakes and diamonds, say that it's a thousand dollars, and set it up with a friend ahead of time for them to "pay" me for the dog and then I have just sold the world's most expensive hot dog. Technically. Then again, I wouldn't want to be the world record holder of something so ridiculous. Not to mention so NOT world record-y.

Apparently, this isn't the first world record that Serendipity 3 holds and the other records are just as ridiculous as this one is. They hold the record for the the most expensive ice-cream sundae (which someone paid $1,000 for) and for the largest hot chocolate which was 4 gallons. No word on how much that was or how many morons paid for it. Back to you.

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Large As A Barge

Everyone needs to have a goal, right? Sure. That explains why a woman in New Jersey in on a quest to become the world's fattest woman. Weight. Wait. What now?

Correct. The world's fattest woman. That's a goal. And let me tell you, PT Barnum is spinning in his grave right about now. Meet Donna Simpson and her table full of food that will kill you. Behold!

I'm loving the red tablecloth. As if that is going to make this massive McDonald's buffet for one somehow seem more elegant. (It's not, by the way.) Ms. Simpson is aspiring to become the world's fattest woman. She's definitely already sealed her place as the world's most ill-intentioned woman, but let's just see where she's headed with this other goal of hers, shall we?

Currently, Ms. Simpson is enormous. She is tipping the scales (probably at the truck stop) at an incredible 550 pounds. Now, granted, I wrote this last night, so she's gotta be at least 555 or 560 by now from what I can tell. According to Guinness, she is the heaviest woman to have ever given birth. (Mind you, Guinness only follows these records for humans, otherwise it might be a jowel to jowel race between her and a blue whale.) But that's not "good" enough for her. No, she wants to completely eat up the competition (literally, I fear) and become the world's fattest woman. That's her goal. To be really, really fat. Um, OK?

No. No, it's not OK. It's not OK on several levels. First of all. Look at this woman. Look! Behold!

That's not good. That's not good for anyone. It's not good for her. It's not good for that scooter. It's not good for anyone wanting to get past her. It's all bad. Bad, I tell you. Bad. Aside from all of that wrongness, can you come up with one argument against my stating that I believe her to be mentally ill? Who does something like that? Someone with a mental problem, that is correct.

Ms. Simpson (why is it so hard for me to use the term "Ms" with this woman? Then again, why is it so difficult for me to use the term "woman" with this woman?) has a boyfriend and two children by said boyfriend. The boyfriend, a one Phillippe Gouamba, must be equally mentally ill, as she claims that he is a "belly man" and that encourages her weight gain. However, I have noticed that in all of the interviews with her and all of the article written about her, that he is never directly quoted. I don't know if he is able to speak for himself. Perhaps she ate him in her quest for to be the largest female ever. But we never hear directly from him, so keep that in mind.

I'm sure her children are just beaming with pride over this. They're definitely thinking of all of the things that they'll be able to get away with, considering that their mother can't go more than twenty feet without becoming winded. Thus, she uses a motorized scooter to get around most of the time. (Who makes a scooter than can carry that sort of a load? I'm guessing that they must be the same company that makes those indestructible black boxes on airplanes.) Let's take a gander at the happy family, shall we? Behold!

Um, OK then. Is her son a cartoon? He looks like Nipsey Russell on crack. What's up with that? Look, I realize that I shouldn't be mocking the children. This will probably be the last time that I do so. But really, I feel sorry for them because they're going to go the majority of their life without a mother as I'm sure that she will meet an early demise due to what she is doing to her body. Of course, that's just my opinion. Ms. Simpson, I'm sure it won't surprise you to learn, doesn't believe that extra weight has anything to do with health problems. OK, then. Good luck with that.

Say, are you moving around OK there, ma'am? You know, people that do not weigh as much as a blue ribbon heifer at the country fair are actually able to walk more than twenty feet under their own power. You know, people that do not have the girth of an airplane hangar don't need a motorized scooter to facilitate their own mobility. I'm thinking your ridiculous weight does impact your health. It certainly impacts your lifestyle.

Whenever I hear these stories of people that are really pushing the limits of what the human skin can contain, I always wanted to know one thing. How in the world are they paying for all of this food? That was the question that I thought that I wanted to know. I learned today that while I thought that I wanted to know, I really did not. I did not want to know. That's because I learned that Ms. Simpson pays for her average $750 weekly grocery bill by receiving payments on her website from people who fork over their cash for the "privilege" of watching her eat. Oh. My. God.

I've always said that if there is one thing that the Internet is good at, it is that is makes it so that whoever you are and whatever you're into, you know that you are not alone in this world. Clearly, if Ms. Simpson is making AT LEAST $750 a week from weirdos out there who want to PAY cash money (legal tender, for cryin' out loud!) to watch her eat, there is someone out there that can relate to you no matter what you're into. Then again, I pay money to go to the zoo. That doesn't mean that I'm turned on by the animals. All that means is that I find them fascinating to watch. I'm going to hope that the folks whole are paying money to watch this cuckoo bird eat are in the same category as folks who go to the zoo.

As I cannot fathom what this woman is actually thinking, I'm going to have to speculate wildly and assume that she is hoping for some kind of fame that would come along with being the world's fattest woman. After all, Manuel Uribe, the world's fattest man, has himself a TV show. Yeah, the last time that I watched that, it was essentially a documentary on how to wash a fat man. (It's just what it sounds like. It's a huge ordeal, it takes hours and yes, it does involve a rag on a stick.) But before you go all thinking how great it would be to have your own TV show, let's just remember that a) your show is called "World's Fattest Man", and b) you're the world's fattest man! Also, Manuel Uribe hasn't left his bed under his own power for at least seven years. (He did get married a couple of years ago, but he was on the back of a flatbed truck. You decide how you feel about that.)

This woman clearly has issues. She seems to have some sort of a desire to be loved and/or wanted by the masses (not being her own, of course) . I'm not quite sure if she realizes that, by going public with her "goal" to be the world's fattest woman, she will undoubtedly receive attention that will be less than what I'd call positive. Of course, she will blow that off as a hatred of fat people (which it's not). Has she thought about the fact that she has a 3-year old daughter that she can't keep up with at 550 (or 555 or 560) pounds and that she'll likely be bedridden at 1,000 pounds? Apparently not. She doesn't seem to be able to think past her next 27 orders at McDonald's. It's hard to know what to hope for here. The obvious thing would be that she comes to her senses and applies for The Biggest Loser. But since that's not going to happen anytime soon, do I hope that she doesn't croak it before she makes it to 1,000 pounds? I guess I do, but I'm open to options. It's just too bad that she isn't.

And to see Ms. Simpson in all of her glory, click here. But let me just warn you first, it's NOT pretty! You might want to have some eye bleach handy. No one warned me! Consider yourself appropriately warned. It's too late for me, but you might be able to save yourself if you know what you're in for.

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A Stint With Some Lint

I need to spend some time on oddities in other countries because quite frankly, if I keep focusing on the blatant idiocy over here in the US, I'm going to lose what small shred of hope that I have left. And there are odd individuals in other countries. Hoo-boy, are there ever! Let's go to Vienna to learn about one of them.

Meet Dr. Georg Steinhauser. Dr. Steinhauser is a researcher at the Vienna University of Technology, located appropriately in Vienna. Vienna is a good place to be for Dr. Steinhauser. After all, Freud was from Vienna. It's like the birthplace of psychoanalysis. I imagine the place is just swimming with psychoanalysts. And I'd like a team of those very psychoanalysts to tell me why it is that Dr. Steinhauser has spent the last three years researching what type of body hair it is that traps pieces of lint in one's navel, aka the belly button. Wait. What?

Three years. Three years studying and researching belly button lint. What the hell is wrong this man? He's a scientist, he's a DOCTOR for cryin' out loud! (Even though he looks like he's 12.) It's not easy to become any sort of doctor and being a scientist is no exception. Why on earth would you spend the time that it takes to become a doctor and then use the knowledge that you've gained and the training that you've had and spend your time pulling out belly button fluff? It seems odd, as I can pull out belly button lint without being a doctor! So I don't know why someone would, but I do know that he did.

According to the folks over there at The Telegraph (who have just been putting out fascinating stories lately, so thanks, Telegraph guys!), Dr. Steinhauser, "...made his discovery after studying 503 pieces of fluff from his own belly button." He also asked his friends, family and co-workers about their own belly button lint. (I imagine that's the sort of thing you only get to do once, as once you've asked anyone about their belly button lint, it's highly probable that they're not going to want to talk to you ever again.) OK, I really hate to ask this, but what constitutes "a piece" of fluff? I mean, if there are two pieces in there and they're pulled out and meld into one, is that still two? Or what if there is only one in there and it breaks on the way out, then what? One or two? I imagine it's questions like these that keep Dr. Steinhauser awake at night. (Me, not so much.)

He did a chemical analysis on the fluff (because that's what scientists are supposed to do! Chemical analysis! But not on belly button lint!) and what he found will shock you. Or it won't. (You could still be in awe that someone has actually taken time to do this. I'm still a bit stunned myself.) He found that the lint wasn't just "...made up of only cotton from clothing." ::::gasp!:::: That's right! He found that there "...were also flecks of dead skin, fat, sweat and dust." (Was this news to the man? Was he thinking, "If it only were not for the lint, it would just be PRISTINE in there! Damn the lint! Damn ALL the lint to hell!")

His findings were published in the Medical Hypotheses journal. How this qualifies as a "medical" anything is beyond me. He wrote that it's the "...scaly structure of the hair" which "enhances the 'abrasion of minuscule fibres from the shirt' and directs the lint towards the belly button." Basically, the hair acts like velcro. He also said he learned that "Abdominal hair often seems to grow in concentric circles around the navel." Concentric circles. Uh-huh. OK, well, good to know. That will help me...when? In case I'm ever on Jeopardy! one day? ("I'll take things only I know for $1000, please, Alex.)

So if you have a concentrically hairy stomach, you're going to have a linty navel. Sure you can shave your abdomen hair if you're really shooting for a "fluff-free navel", but that will only work until the hair grows back. (Again, something that I probably could have told you through casual reasoning and without a Ph.D.) He also mentioned that new clothes "can shed up to one thousandth of their weight to the belly button every year."So if your favorite sweatshirt seems to be getting smaller over the years, it might not be because you're getting fatter! It might be because it has just shed itself off and into your belly button, making the shirt seem smaller and you seem larger. So check there first before heading off to Jenny Craig or over to Kirstie Alley's house.

And although Dr. Steinhauser is a scientist, there are (sadly) apparently others who may not be scientists (and who could tell in this instance?) but who are also fascinated by the lint within one's navel. Take a one Australian bloke Graham Barker for instance. His belly button lint is usually red even though he rarely wears red clothing. (EWW! Do I have to guess why it's red?! I'm not gonna!) Graham is so fascinated with the fluffy stuff within his navel that he "...has been collecting his own navel fluff in jars every day since 1984." Um...1984? WTF? "The achievement has won him a place in the Guinness Book of Records for the world's largest collection of navel lint."

Was there a big field of competitors for that distinction? I don't think there was. And I don't know that I consider something a "world record" when it's extremely likely that you're the only one in the world who does that particular something on purpose! That doesn't necessarily mean that you're worthy of holding a "world record" as much as you are worthy of earning the distinction of someone who clearly needs therapy.

This isn't the only research project that Dr. Steinhauser has immersed himself in. Yes, there are others. Others that are equally fascinating! He did a year long study on how the abrasion of wedding rings causes trace particles of the gold to flake off. He conducted that study by weighing his own wedding ring once a week during the first year of his marriage. He now weighs the ring once every six months and says that he will publish a life long study at the end of his scientific career which he will call "the work of his married lifetime." (By the way, over that year, his ring became 6.15mg lighter than it was when he first started weighing it. He used that figure and applied it to the number of married couples in Vienna and calculated that "2.2 kg of 18-carat gold" were lost every year to abrasion. Ok then.)

He has also studied the amounts of barium and strontium in the snow before and after fireworks were set off and determined that since the barium levels were almost 500 times higher after the fireworks than before the fireworks and that high barium levels can really aggravate a person's asthma, that those with asthma should stay away from fireworks celebrations.

Dr. Steinhauser seems like a smart guy, but I fear he's just a bit too eccentric to be able to put his brilliant mind toward some sort of really important research. What's next for this guy? Which mushroom variety is toenail fungus the most similar to? How often to humans grow new nose hair? Is there a constant butt-crack length to butt-cheek width ratio? You never know. And you don't need to know! But if you ever do need to know, Dr. Steinhauser is your go-to guy for sure.

(Final Side Note: Good Lord, yes, there's more. :::sigh::: While scouring the Internet for pictures for this post, I ran across documentation of the pastime of the one aforementioned Graham Barker, collector of the navel lint. And I thought it just wouldn't be right to leave that stuff out, so here you go. Graham had a blog called My Navel. The site is still up, but it appears he has stopped updating it. There are several close up pictures of the lint he has removed from his navel. There is even a ruler in the photos so you can have some sort of a scale in your head as to the lint's actual size.

There is also the almost obligatory GrahamParker.com. There you can find links to other webpages of his as well as download his CV.

And Graham seems to have another site/blog entitled "Graham's Paddock". This has several subsections, not all of which are about the lint. It also seems to be current and up-to-date. There is more belly button lint documentation there, including photos of the lint stored in jars and separated by decade. There are also recipes for his favorite salads and soups. Go figure.)

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The Worst of the Worst

Here's your chance. 35 of William McGonagall's poems are going to be auctioned off! Who the hell is William McGonagall, you ask? Well, he's pretty much known over there in the UK as the World's Worst Poet. Now, the world is a pretty big place, so that's quite the accomplishment...even if his poem's really do suck.

McGonagall died in 1902. He spent the later half of his life being mocked and having food and other objects thrown at him when he would read his poems in Dundee. His poems covered a wide range of topics, including various Scottish battles and Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee. (A Jubilee over there is like the anniversary of the monarch's reign. Thus, the Golden Jubilee would be like the Golden Anniversary which is the 50th Anniversary. Why they just can't say "50th" over there, I don't know. They always have to have these complicated phrases for everything. Confusing people, but very likeable chaps, those Brits.) Along with wars and royal anniversaries, the guy took great pleasure in writing about death and catastrophes. (Huh. Diverse.)

One of McGonagall's most famous works that illustrates his writing about something called the Tay Bridge Disaster of 1879, when a storm destroyed the Tay Bridge as a train passed over it. (Nice.) Part of it goes like this:

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!

With your numerous arches and pillars in so grand array

And your central girders, which seem to the eye

To be almost towering to the sky.

The greatest wonder of the day,

And a great beautification to the River Tay,

Most beautiful to be seen,

Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,

Until it was about midway,

Then the central girders with a crash gave way,

And down went the train and passengers into the Tay....

Yeah, that's pretty bad. Accurate, but just horrible. (I'm really glad the voices in his head didn't tell him to write bedtime stories for children. That would not have ended well.) One of the auctioneers at Lyon and Turnbull (the firm doing the auctioning), a one Alex Dove, said that McGonagall didn't even start writing poetry until he was around 47 and the voices in his head that he heard told him that he would be able to write poems. (Yeah, see, that's a pretty good indicator right there of why this all turned out the way that it did.) McGonagall (and the voices) thought that his poems were just great! (Shocking, I know.) In fact, he was so sure that his poems were so great that he thought that he should be the poet laureate! That's the thing about hearing voices in your head. They're not always all that honest with you.

What ended up happening was that the guy developed a reputation for bad poems and also for an inability to recognize that his poems were bad. But he seemed to take great joy in giving readings of these horrible poems (probably because he thought they were good). That's why the townspeople of Dundee would encourage (trick) him into giving a performance just so that they could make fun of him and throw vegetables at him. (They must have had a lot of extra produce lying around back then.) But who are we talking about by name over 100 years later? It's not the produce hurlers, it's McGonagall. What does that tell you? Good for you, Mr. Horrible Poetry Writing Guy. Good for you.

He kind of sounds like a guy who really meant well but just sucked at writing poetry. Another of his "hobbies" was campaigning against alcohol (for his entire life!) and he wrote a poem (another shocker) that was meant to warn people about the dangers of alcohol. However, I have the feeling that this poem might have done just the opposite and driven people to start drinking.

Oh, thou demon Drink, thou fell destroyer;

Thou curse of society, and its greatest annoyer.

What hast thou done to society, let me think?

I answer thou hast caused the most of ills, thou demon Drink."

Um, why, yes! I'd love a drink! Thank you!

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