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The First Annual Defenestration Sonnet
Contest Winners
with Commentary by Eileen and
Genevieve
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When we first opened the floodgates of devotion for our First Annual Sonnet Contest, we had no
idea what would come of it!
Namely, four restraining orders. Sorry we gave out your address, Andrew. They said they wanted to send flowers, and that the office would kill them! How could Eileen let a flower die?!
However, two good things came of this: our new attorney is a great guy, and we also received some excellent sonnets! We had no idea how good our readers were at praising people for money!
Marketing recruiters, look no further.
Our first, second, and third place winners receive monetary prizes! Our honorable mentions receive something Andrew drew on a napkin.
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Sonnet Contest 1st Place Winner: The Seduction
of Andrew
By a Bisexual Simian, as written by Arlene Ang
My pretty-pimp prince of opposable
allure on thumbs, where has your robot gone?
Like plastic spoons, it is disposable
the way Eileen's birth name is really John.
Forget about that Haratron, I'm here:
your prime mate with a tray of apple pie
and root beer sweating from the mug. My dear,
I'll even let you glimpse my hairy thigh.
I'll be your cat, your Fry, your color green,
your Precious and your clothing store on fire.
I swear to be a faithful chimp, your Queen
Kong in a skimpy Anime attire.
My sweet, my heart, won't you exchange my vow?
Your girlfriend wants to have my babies now.
Ms. Ang will use her winnings on an archeological dig devoted to finding The Man With The Yellow Hat's bones.
Eileen says her real name is not John and that her starring role in the New Orleans Transvestite Parade is just a delicious coincidence. Be sure to catch her on Float Two as "Flaming
June." ___________
Contest 2nd Place Winner: Rhyme And Ransom
By Haratron’s Kidnapper
Shall I compare thee to a rose bouquet?
Thou art more fragrant and less thorny.
Each time I see the face of Andrew Kaye
I lose my breath, entranced, and slightly horny.
For though I praise Eileen and Genevieve,
I cannot hide the flame within my breast.
My heart of hearts to Andrew's soul doth cleave
Maker of mirth, yet love surpasses jest.
With alabaster skin and hair like silk
Such beauty would make heavn'ly Paris weep.
His words of wit as sweet as mothers milk
(I whisper them at night, before I sleep).
Had I ten thousand monkeys at my whim,
I’d shed a tear, and give them all to him.
Haratron's
Kidnapper is so good at this that we have a restraining order out. It's
pretty! We framed it.
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Sonnet
3rd Place Winner: What is it ‘bout the man of words
By Chris Plehal
What is it ‘bout the man of words
That fortune finds so fit for idle sport?
Clerks and lawyers sail like sea-born birds
But writers find their ships still stuck in port.
And Andrew, not content with odds so strained
Insists on bending genres to his will.
A splash of Asimov, a dash of Twain
A cocktail, but to editors, a swill.
Although he prays to Adams’ Guide for aid
His mailbox echoes empty like a tomb.
Like songs unsung, like concerts never played
The works of Andrew Kaye don’t leave the womb.
But someday we’ll all say “We knew him when.”
With any luck, we won’t be dead by then.
Genevieve liked this sonnet for its lilting
integration of literature Past and Present. Eileen enjoyed the line about the cocktails.
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Sonnet Contest Runner-Up: In view of all I do not know about
By Anna Psitos
In view of all I do not know about
He who does demand be called "Your Grace,"
I realize some names will cause a pout.
Like Pookie, Monkey Boy, and Pillow Case.
But Andrew does at other times enjoy
A romp amongst the wild daffodils,
And frequently he will, alas, employ
What some call bad but he calls 'happy pills.'
And so, my friend who has as yet to meet
A nobler soul than those you know at work,
I'm sure the picture will not be complete
Until you know he really is a jerk.
My ode to Andrew is now at a close.
I will another never to compose.
Anna Psitos is so honorable that she was in line for Pope. However, she's only an
Runner-Up here. That'll teach her to be virtuous.
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Sonnet Contest Runner-Up:
Sonnet XVIII Reloaded
By Bernie Poliquin
Shall I compare thee to an arcade game?
Our brave Italian sidekick clad in green
In pixilated glory takes the stage,
But never gets the girl, or so it seems.
Our tragic hero curses at his plight,
To fight without the slightest hint of praise;
While red-clothed fellows bow into spotlight,
He slinks away to dream of former days
Of power pellet Pac Man super strength
When comfort could be found in plastic spoons,
In primate thumbs of variable length
And humming themes from badly drawn cartoons,
But two dimensions are but all too brief
To sonnetize our editor-in-chief.
This
sonnet brought Andrew to tears. He might still be crying, actually. We
haven't checked on him. Also, he's kind of a weenie.
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