submissions call for poetry

I belong to a useless social networking site. I get a couple of messages a month through it that usually say something like "You seem interesting" or "How are you?" When this happens, I either ignore it, thank them, or if I'm in the mood, write something funny and ridiculous. They never write back when I write something funny and ridiculous. Most of the profiles on the site consist of a picture and a sentence. Usually something inane.

A couple of days ago, I received this message from a sixty-year-old unemployed, bipolar prison guard with high cholesterol (his age seems to have dropped to forty-nine since the last time google's webcrawling spider hit his profile):

... and yet despite all your efforts you still remain tedious

I love getting stuff like this (and I'm not being sarcastic when I say that). I love it when anonymous strangers insult me for no apparent reason. And it happens so infrequently that it feels like an early birthday present. Threats of physical violence are even better. But unfortunately, this did not happen.

I wondered if he called me "tedious" because of what I wrote in my profile:

My interests include absurdism, surrealism, bizarro fiction, condensed writing, comics, cleverness, off-color humor, finger monsters, and napping.

I wrote a novel called IT CAME FROM BELOW THE BELT and I edit a journal called BUST DOWN THE DOOR AND EAT ALL THE CHICKENS.

www.bradleysands.com
www.absurdistjournal.com

I guess my list of interests is a little too "precious."

Since the social networking network is utterly useless, it didn't save what I wrote back to him. But I will try to remember:

Anonymous insults on the internet are funny. Good job.

He responds:

I can't remember which commentof yours I am replying to ... but... you are a prime time poseur!

In England we call your sort 'Tossers'.

This confused me because I've never written a comment on this social networking website (it has music and books discussion).

I also loved getting called a poseur because it reminded me of sixth grade, where it was a popular word among bullies and didn't seem to have a meaning besides being an alternative to the word, "dork."

While reading my new friend's latest message, I imagined the main character from Gasper Noe's I Stand Alone, sitting nude in a dark room. The room is empty, except for a computer, desk, and office chair that he is sitting in. The glare from the computer monitor revealing that he's pumping an erect penis with one hand and typing furiously (and poorly) with the other. The glare from the computer monitor shows his enormous belly puffing up and down. The glare from the computer monitor shows that his face is red, his teeth clenched in rage. He types another insult and strokes himself some more. He is also wearing a funny glasses/mustache disguise that makes him look like Groucho Marx since that's the picture he uses for his profile.

I respond with something like:

I like being called a poseur. What exactly am I trying to be? Someone who comments on this website since I've never actually done it before? In America we call your sort anonymous men who insult strangers so they can feel better about creeping closer to death. I am glad that I have been able to help you feel better.

Then I was looking forward to learning what I was trying to be. If I disagreed with his assessment, I was going to tell him that he was incorrect. That I have always wanted to be an amoeba. And that I had just added 'the person who sneaks up behind you and pops a balloon in next to your ear' to the list.

But unfortunately, he did not tell me what I wanted to know. He replied:

"Creeping closer to death."

Maybe you could write an epic pome about it?

Since I'm pretty sure he was soliciting an epic poem from me rather than a type of fruit produced by flowering plants in the subfamily Maloideae of the family Rosaceae and the error was due to furious masturbation, I responded:

I hate writing poetry, but maybe one of my poet friends wants to write a poem about an old man who insults strangers on the internet to make himself feel better about his imminent death. I will get back to you.

I think he overdid it a little bit by asking for an epic poem, but does anyone want to write a significantly shorter poem about an old man who insults strangers on the internet to make himself feel better about his imminent death?

He is now accepting submissions in the comments section of his blog: http://mooney1959.blogspot.com.

It's also a good place to visit if you're having trouble sleeping.

Update: He has accepted poems by Jess Gulbranson and Brandi Wells. Congratulations!

Maybe I will write a prose poem. I like writing prose poems.