I don't know why everyone mocks my posts when they are absolute genious. These literary masterpieces will be read and reread for generations. Future scholars will quote my posts in university classes and Wilco will set them to song. Shakespeare's corpse will be dug up and burned, and my cat will be buried in his place. I will die famous. News networks will interrupt their coverage to broadcast word of my untimely death and timeless works of art. Alpha-Bits Cereal will put my face on their box. Conspiracy theorists will assume I had influence in the highest levels of government. VH1 will produce both a clip show and a made-for-TV movie about me. Friends and relatives will file motions about my royalty monies that will hold up the courts for years. The Simpsons will reference me. Crying teenagers will hold sparsely attended vigils in public parks for me. Upon hearing about my death, President Bush will pull out all troops from Iraq and declare a War On Slippery Stairs. All because my weblog is the iconic, foreward-thinking voice of poetry that no one is yet to fully comprehend.