A pedophile is walking through the dusk tainted woods with a little girls's hand in tow.
The little girl looks up at him and says, "Mister, I'm scared."
"You're scared?!", he exclaims, "I have to walk alone at home."
That's rubbish. Look what we have here. A poet who's trying to be whimsical, a "writer" who's trying to make a play or some kind of absolute literary sense and then the odd character, that I'll refer to for easy reference as "me" touting the whole thing as some type of literary essay. On a website for would be writers. Let me play the role of publisher, "Do you expect me to read this rubbish?"
Do you honestly, "Olius" (rubbish name) and "Jack" (rubbish name) expect me to join you in any foolish attempt to add any literary integrity to this "Ship de la fool"? (that's ship of fools in la belle language)
That will absolutely not happen.
Olius: We need metaphor! The young girl got off the bus and found a pile of silver quarters and then betrayed her grade three teacher. Figuratively crucified him.
Jack: Rubbish rhymes with sasquatch gotta match yo I'm Eminem
See what I'm dealing with? Who decides what is rubbish? Eye of the beholder. One man's trash is another man's treasure. You laughed at the pedophile joke, didn't you, then how dare you call it rubbish? Perhaps the elitist within you grabbed the id from your ego and told yourself there is a level of depravity that must be constrained so that jokes like that will never be laughed at again. It takes effort and high society to get to a point where there is not much that isn't rubbish.
Let's get it together here. We're trying to create rubbish, but we need to have at it at a much "haute couture" scale. Can we at least work on that?
I can't work with this rubbish.