Congratulations Boxing Failure!

Mohammed Ali was a boxer who sometimes dabbled in poetry.  It came from a place of personal truth and, as such, had a potency that has echoed throughout the years, sustaining the man’s myth in a way his fists might not have on their own.  You took this lesson and totally fucked it up, however.

You’re a poet who boxes.  This isn’t necessarily exceptional.  There are plenty of pugnacious poets who box or used to box who maybe even pay their bills by teaching kids to box.   But you’re first and foremost a poet, and you refuse to even lift a glove during a fight.

“I let my words fight for me,” you proudly tell local news sources who want to hear more about your story.  When they go on to ask you how many fights you’ve won and how you see your legacy as a boxer taking shape, you consistently dodge the question with a series of snickers, laughs and the occasional “You crazy for this one.”

The reality, as the intrepid local reporter interviewing you will soon discover, is that you’ve never won a fight.  In fact, you’ve lost every fight you’ve ever been in in record time, perhaps in part because of the fact that safety regulations require you to wear a mouthpiece, which obscures the aforementioned words you attempt to fight with.

You’re also, as you know yourself, a terrible, terrible boxer.  And poet.  Really, just a shit guy all around.  But hey, you got on the TV!

Congratulations Boxing Failure!

Congratulations Piece of Paper!

You think you’re so cool, don’t you, piece of paper? Today you’re going to waft on a updraft and inspire a young woman to get an abortion by reminding her that life is actually just a system of natural events that, while serendipitous, are only as sacred as we can make them. You’re going to make her realize that her life shouldn’t end because her boyfriend insisted on not wearing a condom and then broke up with her because “her vagina was too tight.”

Then you’re going to flutter up and inspire a young poet to write a poem entitled “Paper at 12:42 PM.” It’s going to be super pretentious and make a lot of people think they’re smarter than they really are. Academia will write a number of essays about how amazing and meta the piece is, never realizing it’s actually about a fucking piece of paper outside some shithead’s window.

Then you’re going to blind a hang glider who is going for the world record in hang gliding, having been launched from a plane high above the city you’re fluttering up through. You’ll make him lose track of his direct and nose down way too far, careening himself into the earth at breakneck speed and dying horribly in the process.

So we’ll forgive you for the second part and just remember you for the first and the last big things you accomplished today. Congratulations Piece of Paper!