Hye, its not everyday that someone writes a poem about you...
  • Kelly O
  • "It's not every day that someone writes a bro'em about you."

I narrowed the poetry submissions down to the seven best! Please vote for the winner in this official Slog poll...

1.

It really can't be overstated,
the ruckus this bro had created.
Up until the last minute,
when he saw the Pats win it.
Twas his hubris they finally deflated.

— Posted by memps001

2.
The Super Bowl only comes once a year
the 12th man knows this that’s why he was there.

Nut-grabbing, pointing with a cold hard stare.
Wearing sun glasses at night like he’s higher then Mount Rainier.

—Posted by Brizhopin

UPDATE: Polls closed. "memps001" wins all the fabulous prizes!

3.
Retro panelling
Projection TV
Rain Dogs Cans
And 80s camo
up to da knees
Plastic Sun glasses
And going outside to pee
Ain't nothing better
than Hawks and Superbowl nine and four-ty

— Posted by basement squad

4.
Looky here, looky here
with my tower of beer
My own mt rainier

Fondling nuts
don't make me queer
(But it does make me look like a d-bag, dear)

—Posted by Jezebel Jones


5.
I survey the mountain I climbed to get here.
The world is wood paneled and I sweat.
I am exhausted and on fire and I am clutching.
In my hands, the wrinkled and unused.

—Posted by Grape Ape

6.
Judge not ye fellow dude and dudette drunks!
Think I'm an ass 'cuz I drank all this beer?
Needed cans for up-cycled Mt. Rainier.

Don't make fun of my art. Had to blow chunks
with all that guzzling, had junk in my trunks.
Not nut-grabbing, had to fart.
Spared the air.
I'm a loyal 12th bro, I always cheer!
I even know football doesn't have dunks.
(That's basketball, yo.)

Needed sunglasses even though it's night, to shield my eyes
from the glare of wood veneer and these cans.
I think I might need some poetry classes,
and some lotion for my camo-chapped thighs.
Pointing at you, Kelly O, I'm a fan!

—Posted by Princess Lucky Lion

7.
"Italians Do It Better"

Muori dentro la fine, un buzz che segna un beat finale. In un momento, in quel momento, sul momento, non hai evitato l'annientamento.

Ora senti il tuo orecchio scopato dal rumore dopo il finale, non ti immagini un cazzo, preferisci l'anfetamina per guarire, una vagina. *Clap, clap* e sei di nuovo in circolo senza doggy style. Vieni sbattuto ancora sul tavolo davanti alla tua babele, dodici piani per dodici bionde differenti, la dodicessima la chiami Adele, vorresti avere un Adele per bere a bufere.

Lei è la dodicessima come te alla fine del suono, oltre la barriera del rumore vuoto.

Dice di essere bionda, la tua unica Adele, che dice di venire da Honolele. Lei dai retta, tanto il dodicesimo minuto è finito, il rumore ancora schioppa. Fa *clap, clap*, poi una lap. E rimane l'annientamento senza momento. O uomo dodicessimo essere.

"Over and over and Hangover Again"

—Posted by Fabrizio