Shall I compare thee to a schnergy day?

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Nothing super-shocking about this guy, but I was hanging outside a store in Kensington Market (waiting for my wife, mother, and mother-in-law to finish browsing) and this guy was reading his poetry at full volume. It was so bad it drove me back indoors to hang with three power-shopping female relatives on what had been a beautiful day.

You don’t need to be an English major from our nation’s top school to understand how bad this poetry was. As chance would have it, I happen to be an English major from this nation’s top school, so I really understood just how bad it was. The underlying theme was that some chick dumped him. No wonder – maybe because you read awful poetry in the streets of Toronto, you nitwit.

He was reading it like he was a “slam” poet, but a white one. Sort of like when your Uncle tries to rap. His meter was all messed up and it was really monotonous.

His sign says “Cosmic Stories” and I think he was expecting people to put money in the hat. I almost barfed in it.

Newsflash: Allen Ginsberg died. Go back to your cafe, snap your fingers to the beat, put your beret back on and cry in your coffee.


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