fandomhigh | Win Friends | Period 4

Barney appeared in the classroom looking as amazing as he had the past two weeks in a brown suit with burgundy shirt and perfectly patterned tie. He could have stepped off the cover of a GQ and right into their lives. True story.

He took a look at the class assembled and grinned, "Today we're talking about winning friends for special dirty times through the voice of our artistic souls. I know, you're saying to yourselves But Dean Stinson, my soul is full of rainbows and puppy dogs, how could anyone be interested in it? Well, boys and girls, this is your lucky day. Think you're ready for it? No, seriously, this is going to blow your panties right off!" He waited till he thought the suspense was strong enough. "Today we write POETRY!"

Amazing, no? "I know, ladies, you're wondering what poetry will do for you while the men are wondering why they never thought of it before! As a panty-melting agent, the original poem has much to offer, especially considering how freakishly easy it is to write one. Most forms of poetry require no effort whatsoever, but the easiest of them all is the Haiku, which is what you all will be writing today! The standard haiku has three lines of syllables: 5-7-5. String together some words, unbuckle your belt, and say 'arigato' to our Japanese friends for their efficiency in getting you laid." He paused to dump a load of papers on the desks since he had no TAs to boss around.

"Let me read you some of my original compositions as can be found on my blog. Read it, live it." He cleared his throat.

High Five
one two three four five
raise each one high in the air
cut me some skin, bro

Barney paused, expecting applause or stunned silence - both were victories in his mind, LILY.

Wingman
wingman O wingman
please save me from the fatties
it's your sworn duty

"I know, it's provocative. Take my examples and expand on them! The sky is the limit, or really, your lack of imagination and ability to count five syllables, seven syllables, and five syllables properly. Go!"

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His poems are Awesome and all should be pleased to have personal copies.

Write your very own Haiku and share it with someone in the class. Yes, out loud.

Barney is working on a glass of scotch as well as his haiku.

Time by Pard
ticking slowly down
while work piles up all around
please allow me sleep

*bows*

Tybalt Capulet

While Tybalt was not particularly the poetic sort, he supposed he could handle any type of writing activity where the focus was more on syllable than on rhyme.

The iambic pentameter of Veronan speech had little to do with it. Shut up.

Tybalt considered his poem carefully. There were, after all, many important factors to take into consideration before presenting it, and he had taken great pains to make certain that what he'd ended up with was more haiku than sonnet.

It had been trickier than one might think.

"Lips, sweet as wine,
Her breast cradled to my chest,
Another man's wife."

In his own defense, she sometimes remembered to take her ring off. Not that the ring ever stopped either of them.

Edited 2009-11-06 12:26 (UTC)

Eleanor Robinson

Katina Choovanski

Didi

Didi didn't mind the poems -- she'd read worse -- though she had to give him points off for use of the term "fatties."

Chuck Bartowski

Didi was approaching this as a goof-off, really, but it was an opportunity to get something off her chest...

Yes, I'm wearing black
My siblings are the Endless
No, I'm not a Goth

Illyria

My bed sexted me:
Naked phone-pic, sheet drawn back,
"I'm empty. Fill me."

A true romantic, Illyria.

"Humanity stinks.
How can you bear the foulness
Long enough to breed?"

Only you. ONLY YOU.

I didn't need that coffee anyway. :P

Yes, you did. It keeps the FREAKING PERSIMMON TREES OUT OF YOUR EYES.

You know, Katchoo was starting to think it'd be a miracle if she made it through this semester without causing a scene in this class. It'd be a shame, possibly, but it'd be a miracle.

If the way she was thiiiiiiiiiiiisclose to breaking her pencil was any indication, maybe she'd need to get one of those stress balls. God help that poor thing, if she did.

And really, haiku? She wrote sometimes -- not quite poetry exactly, most of the time, but haiku? Stupid rigid structure. As for these particular haiku, she saw a trip to the firepit on the deck with her lighter coming up really soon . . .

THAT WAS MY GLASSES.

Yeah, okay, I hadn't started drinking the coffee yet at that point. Stop being right. >:(

Eric Matthews

Eric decided that Dean Stinson was his absolute favorite teacher ever.

Robin

Mirax Terrik

Jack Burton

Cyd Sherman

Win Friends | Period 4 | Class 9

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