Spring

Today, I found some writing I had forgotten about.

Back in 2000, there was an internet entity called Island Edition, run, initially by Kirby Ferguson.

For a while, I contributed a regular feature called Ask Karo, which was a spoof on advice columns. Through the course of the feature's run, and through the answers Karo gave to questions asked, the character of Karo developed into something of lecherous, self-important know-it-all who may or may have had dealings in Hungarian wrestling and/or bestiality porn businesses. It was fun to write.

Anyway, one of the questions was from a guy who had the winter blues, what could he do to snap out of it.

Karo suggested just to wait it out, and to express feelings through poetry. As an example, Karo offered the following (bad) poem he wrote regarding winter:

I offer it to you to help you get through the rest of this snowy winter.

Spring, Ye Be An Arm's Length Away, Yet Ye Mock Me

Boomer calls for flurries here, and up north in Yellowknife.

I forecast continued despair in a sallow'd Wintertide life.

From 4pm 'til next day's dawn, darkness engulfs the air

Yet the only thing on TV is Who Wants To Be A Millionaire...

Stuck on top this red-isle stone

Wind-chill'd ass, glass-ice blown

Not until those spring buds bloom

Shall I lose this glum and gloom.