Understandable.

You're scrolling through a daylog. Maybe a random node search. You come across a bad piece of amateur (possibly angsty teenage) poetry that makes you immediately shield your virgin eyes.

"Oh my god! I think I am going to lose my lunch by means of projectile vomiting!"

That is bad poetry!

"I'd rather eat escargot", you say.

I feel your pain.

"I'd rather jump in a hot tub with a naked Nell Carter!"

That's a little severe, but I understand where you're coming from.

"I'd rather slam my dick in a car door!"

Hold it just a moment.

I know that at first glance, such mockery of poetry, writing and literacy in general, may be shocking enough to make you (perhaps) do irrational things to your genitalia. I, however, fail to see the logic in destroying something dear to oneself just for the sake of avoiding some bad poem. I've been so desensitized to the horrid, "pulls-it-out-of-one's-ass" rantings that I can just sit and laugh! My precious genitals are still safe in my pantaloon!

Don't let them have the satisfaction of their unremarkable poetry having any impact on your naughty-bits! I myself occasionally use stored memories of the literary gems to tame potentially embarrassing erections in public, but other than that, I have yet to try them out as a substitute for Syrup of Ipecac. I hear it works well, however!

"I'd rather listen to Dr. Laura!"

Have you no will to live?!