Gather 'round, folks
STATUS: Open
CHARACTER(S): allergictonice and his adoring public
LOCATION: Inside the coffee shop
SUMMARY: Time for Bowser's Poetry Corner on a dare! Let's learn how to make a haiku!
WARNINGS: Terrible poetry.
NOTES: Aggressive Bowser is aggressive so expect some fights to be picked.
"Hrnnngh," Bowser growled under his breath, glaring at the whiteboard on the wall. Empty, but there was a pen in his claws.
He glanced back over his shell at the rest of the coffee shop. There were some people busy being artsy beatniks around the tables, and a semi-circle of folks (mostly kids, looked like) gathered around where he stood. He narrowed his eyes at them and imagined most of them going pale and inching back.
"A haiku," he grumbled, as he turned to face them, yanking the cap off of the whiteboard pen, "is three lines with five, seven, and five syllables." He scrawled the numbers on the board, nearly illegible. "And since you dolts are probably too dumb to get it, here's an example, written by me."
He cleared his throat and let his mouth curl into a toothy grin - his haiku-writing skills were unmatched, of course, because he was Bowser and there was nothing he couldn't do, including writing totally awesome sissy poetry that blew sissy poets out of the water.
"Like the moon over
the day my genius and brawn
are lost on these fools"
And, secure in the knowledge that his talent was undeniable, he waited for a response from the patrons of the shop (who were gong to burst into adoring applause, of course).
CHARACTER(S): allergictonice and his adoring public
LOCATION: Inside the coffee shop
SUMMARY: Time for Bowser's Poetry Corner on a dare! Let's learn how to make a haiku!
WARNINGS: Terrible poetry.
NOTES: Aggressive Bowser is aggressive so expect some fights to be picked.
"Hrnnngh," Bowser growled under his breath, glaring at the whiteboard on the wall. Empty, but there was a pen in his claws.
He glanced back over his shell at the rest of the coffee shop. There were some people busy being artsy beatniks around the tables, and a semi-circle of folks (mostly kids, looked like) gathered around where he stood. He narrowed his eyes at them and imagined most of them going pale and inching back.
"A haiku," he grumbled, as he turned to face them, yanking the cap off of the whiteboard pen, "is three lines with five, seven, and five syllables." He scrawled the numbers on the board, nearly illegible. "And since you dolts are probably too dumb to get it, here's an example, written by me."
He cleared his throat and let his mouth curl into a toothy grin - his haiku-writing skills were unmatched, of course, because he was Bowser and there was nothing he couldn't do, including writing totally awesome sissy poetry that blew sissy poets out of the water.
"Like the moon over
the day my genius and brawn
are lost on these fools"
And, secure in the knowledge that his talent was undeniable, he waited for a response from the patrons of the shop (who were gong to burst into adoring applause, of course).