The Worst Filing System Known To Humans

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Reload the Canons!

This series of articles is an attempt to play through The Canon of videogames: your Metroids, your Marios, your Zeldas, your Pokemons, that kind of thing.

Except I'm not playing the original games. Instead, I'm playing only remakes, remixes, and weird fan projects. This is the canon of games as seen through the eyes of fans, and I'm going to treat fan games as what they are: legitimate works of art in their own right that deserve our analysis and respect.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Thanksgiving: A Merciless Parody of the Matthew Dickman Poem

...And About Half A Dozen Others To Boot, In Lieu Of An Actual Competent Post

I can’t believe it really but
Aunt Sylvia’s on about babies again
She always finds another way of stuffing it in
(Speaking of which, can you pass that down?)
That, or the Holocaust of course.
Which is strange, as from the table near an old man
Sits in a dry land grumbling
Rhythmically to himself
His soused and fascist friend bellows
Instructions in his ear and jots
Down notes on Usury, Conspiracy, and Poetry
I hope that my aunt doesn’t overhear.
We wouldn’t want to cause a fuss.
My sister Emily passes the rolls, gets butter on her jet black sleeve
Wally is not here this time,
He lives too far away and, well,
Perhaps it’s for the best
He does go on about the worms a lot
And spoils our appetites.
And yet I see him seldom, and his family
Has become unfamiliar through Atlantic distance
And I miss them.
Emily smirks and makes some crack about—as always—death and gloom.
I wish that Bill would pass the—
All the plums.
And Ross is staring down upon his pork
With a crazed look in his eye
His teeth glisten like wolves moving down from the North
In Autumn
The shovel by the door shifts
In anticipation.
My sister Emily nudges me:
Hurry up please it’s time!
So, for all my bitter barbs and jabs,
Let me set down all the things that I’m so grateful for.
Thanks for the Second Stairwell
And the aching sands.
Thanks for the Soviet Shortwave Stations
And the man with the dogs
Who keeps them fed and growling on chains.
Thanks for my general freedom from
Endless autistic lists
Thanks for all the fish
Thanks for the tilt of the hallway
At night (It moves like the sea)
Thanks for the imagination to see beyond the
Simple tyranny of Things
Thanks for veiled barbs and silk-sharpened knives
Thank you for making me say this just once.
Thanks for the burnt out ends of smoky days
Thanks for that one deer
Leg, sawed off, and the shadow by the fence at 1 AM
Thanks for Centralia, Slenderman
Bray Road, New York, Allentown, The Second Landing, and the Series of Tubes
Well, that set the staff off,
Looks like its time to make an escape
Goonight Matt, Goonight Yusef, Goonight Anne,
It was lovely to see you all again,
I say my strange farewells to you all,
A glass doll sitting on the window ledge
Opened her terrible eyes and then closed them again.

The Sam's Thanksgiving Catastrophe Drinking Game

Take one drink each time:
  • You know what poet I'm talking about
  • I ape another poet's lines or style
  • I mention something totally incomprehensible
Take two drinks each time:
  • I just straight up steal a line from some other poem
  • I make fun of Matthew Dickman's poetry
Swirl your drink and mutter "Bullshit" each time:
  • Let's be honest, here, you're already doing this.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.


  1. Coming from someone who has no idea what poets you're riffing off of, nor about your extended family, but who DOES know you and your sister personally... this is absolutely hilarious. Lieksrs, I had fun reading it :3


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