As part of its “Your Life. Your Statesman.” campaign, the Statesman is calling for readers to submit “slam poetry” expressing their connection to the paper. Dozens of people have responded with entries – another reminder that people will do just about anything for a chance to win a gift certificate.
Not to be left out, here’s my own slam rap ode to the Statesman, which I’m guessing won’t win the paper’s competition. Feel free to channel your inner Eminem.
Your life?
Whose life?
Not my life.
Statesman plops on the stoop.
All I want is the straight poop.
Death news. Bad news.
Obits and food news.
Eat my bagel. Drink my juice.
The Statesman‘s done before I cut loose.
Kelso? That all ya’ got?
Kelso? That all ya’ got?
Something to read, that’s all I seek.
Maybe a laugh to help my week.
Boring. Snoring. What’s with all the whoring?
Where’s the local? Where’s the fun?
On the Internet, that’s already run.
Kelso? That all ya’ got?
Kelso? That all ya’ got?
Press releases. Wire copy.
Too much. Too much.
Stuffy. Fluffy.
I don’t need a recipe.
Too much crime. Too much slime.
For me, there is no time.
Give me the Journal. Give me the Times.
Don’t really care if it rhymes.
Kelso? That all ya’ got?
Kelso? That all ya’ got?
This article appears in June 12 • 2009.