It really was quite unsociable of Douglas Adams to leave planet Earth in 2001. And without as much as a goodbye either. It was a real pity. There were still so many unanswered question left for him to ponder, dissect, analyze and debunk. He also left without giving me his insights into these unfathomable questions.
The reason I bring up Douglas now, is that I have noticed in the years since his departure, a slow and systematic demise of one of my favorite forms of literature. Vogon poetry. There seems to be fewer, and fewer poets brave enough to attempt this unique form of poetry. Is it the fear of failure, ridicule, or of being charged with manslaughter? Well, I am not afraid. Really!
This was going to be quite a long poem, but after the second stanza, I started to feel very nauseous and spent the next eight days in bed in a coma. So I gave up on finishing the poem. But I am sure you want to suffer through what I managed.
Picture courtesy of bbc.co.uk
Oh smurtleclop of perlup be
And thy humpling doth unto
Hath no gurdling o’er the dunken splik
Or zipling nath in flikkwip from afar
Neither trop nor trup will slace
Into falling fuddling doth a smurtleclop descend
And thy great vurdle comlain
To have no humpling is clop
To end To end To end
Written by Vogon Derek 1998 (pre-coma)
Please stop reading IMMEDIATELY if you start to feel a little faint and seek urgent medical attention.
If you are still breathing, here is more info about Vogons. And if you feel well enough, why not send in your Vogon poems! Wrapped in lead and labeled with danger stickers please!