The Poet Laureate

Greetings loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader wants to know this. What the hell is up with the Poet Laureate?!?!?!?! Really! You give this guy his own computer and a USB Flash Memory stick and he neglects eating, drinking, and defecation. (Okay, your Maximum Leader made that last one up. The Big Hominid would never give up making feces.) Look at all the blogging today. This. And this. And this. And, oh yeah... here and here too! Didn't get enough? Well there is more and more.

All that in 24 hours. (Plus a post from the AirMarshal and the Minister of Agriculture too!) Great Jeezey Chreezy! (As Eddie Izzard would say in his James Mason voice.)

Dear Hominid. Is your Maximum Leader going to have to act in a role similar to Stephen King's agent and tell you not to flood the market with your writings? Really now! Ration it out man! You can't keep the price up if you are just a posting maniac!

Oh yeah... It's all free. Well the point still stands. You make the rest of us look bad.

Carry on.

PS to the Minister of Agriculture: Do people who own Rolexes need to be taxed? Your Maximum Leader is sure you will say they do. He isn't sure why he is even asking. (Except perhaps to get over his jealousy that you have a peacock and he doesn't.) Just remember who is out there selling your calves Buster!

PS to any women reading this space: Does a man with a Rolex seem more sophisticated? Suave? Maximum Leaderish? No need to answer. Just let me dream.

Carry on.