"i just wasn't titillated."
"There wasn't enough in this poem about Don Juan. I also had the impression that he was a ladies' man, which he was, but it seemed like he didn't do it on purpose and also wasn't sleeping with every damn woman he met."
"If this had been read out loud to me, I'm afraid I would have fallen asleep. The word sonorous comes to mind."
"I know its a classic, BUT I read it and don't remember one bit of it. But then again maybe I fell asleep and didn't realize it...although it still doesn't say much. Its a classic for a reason though."
"I'll probably return to this poem after I've sated my John Byron lust... which admittedly may be a while."
"I Think I Owe My Mother-In-Law a Big Apology
You know the poetry. The kind the older generation uses for birthdays and farewell luncheons ('We hope that God will bless// You with good health and happiness!'). You hate it, the forced rhymes and imperfect metrical structure (indeed, what metrical structure?). My mother-in-law used to write like that - volumes and volumes of such tripe. Sadly, she has departed from us, but not before leaving tons of this stuff all over the house, and a half-finished vanity press run of 100 copies (anybody want one?).
Now I know where she got the impetus for such poetry - Lord Byron! All of that generation's worst excesses of bad poetry come from Byron, I think. Embarrassingly forced rhymes, self-conscious commentary that frustratingly impedes the flow of the narrative, arch cuteness that threatens one's sanity - all there!! And he couldn't even finish it off properly.
Truly, a work only an academic could love - or find any value in. If you are attracted to this book, protect yourself"
"Byron Blows
It's a sad fact
It's only natural that you end up where you began, like running in ten feet of loose sand you fall and walk not on your feet but your knees and hands. Begging for a way to command the lead of your life. These efforts are all in strife but no matter what strides you take it will all be in vein cause you know your place. A place of pain and an assimilation of all that is heart break. Put on a fake face and embrace the fact that your satin or lace will be the only caressing feeling upon the peeling paint of your pale edifice."
"Byron really is gay, i hate his ass, he dont even know im his dad..."
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