No spoilers. Poetry
Butch:
I got nothing. Mrs. McP worked late. But we have so much material from yesterday that we can happily derail. Since a storm is predicted tomorrow I'll throw some poetry out there:
Why.........
.......does it always..........
.........fucking rain?
Loothound:
I know what blank verse is, but what do we call this? Elliptical verse, or something?
Butch:
I feel the need to express myself in punctuation sometimes. Here's another poem:
...........<><_:".......rain..........
....{}#&@.......sucks......{:(@!>>>>.......
Feminina:
Rain
'''''''''''''''
At least
/////////
It's not
***********
Snow
Butch:
And just like that, Femmy was named Poet Laureate of Massachusetts.
Actually, you don't want to be that. They'll keep comissioning things about the Patriots.
How much you want to make a bet that, in July, they'll say we have a drought and I can't water my yard?
Feminina:
I'm not taking that bet.
Loothound:
¥3££|n& !§ @€+|0n
$|++|n& !§ @ w#|$p€r
Butch:
Uh oh. Looty's gone all poeticode.
I forget what the sun looks like.
Watch: It will finally clear up the day of the eclipse.
"FINALLY! The sun is out and OH COME ON!"
Feminina:
Ha!
There are going to be a lot of sad people if it DOESN'T clear up for that.
Butch:
Yeah, those people put a lot of faith in the lack of cloud cover in New England in April, which is, well, a lot of faith.
A conversation I had with my eldest:
Junior: We should go see the eclipse.
Me: What if it's cloudy?
Junior: [long pause] Why would that matter?
What have I done wrong?
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