Introduction to the Correctness Classics Version

Joseph Campbell tells us the hero’s journey is sacred, something that is indelibly stamped in to our consciousness. We love tales of great heroes overcoming odds, journeying miles away from home, and overcoming monstrous adversaries. Late in the 20th century, an anonymous epic poet captured the struggles of just such a hero, who struggles to win the love of fair Joanie, a hero who can undo bras and sweaters with the power of his mind, and who ultimately ends up “In Charge” But the decline of the hero is equally important. What would Arthurian legend be without Arthur’s final journey with the handmaidens? Robin Hood would feel incomplete without him shooting his final arrow to show his men where to lay him to rest. And so it must be with Scott Baoiwulf, who ultimately ends up 45…and single. No hero can be truly great without a great fall, and by those criteria, Scott Baiowulf is one of our greatest. He truly deserves his place in the literary canon, and to be shoved down the throats of bored high school English students for generations to come. In the tradition of boring the young and feckless, the Correctness proudly presents excerpts from the epic…Scott Baiowulf.

A Note about Pronunciation

The poem is written in Slightly Older English, and is part of an oral tradition* that dates back decades. As such the pronunciations may sound strange to the modern ear. For instance, the name “Joanie” is pronounced “Yownie”.In many translations it is actually spelled Ionie, a small inconsistency that has caused many a tedious term paper. Archaic pronunciations such as these are important when considering meter…the one syllable “Zapped” becomes the two syllable “Zapp-ED”

*(The oral tradition stems from people of decades past having no text capabilities, and therefore having to actually talk to people on their rotary phones.)

Scott Baiowulf

Part one- Haeppy Days

Sun’s Day, Moon’s Day, Haeppy Dayes
Tewes’s Day, Wednes Day, Haeppy Dayes
Thor’s Day, Freya’s Day, Haeppy Dayes
Saturn’s Day, Whaet a day
Gruven awl week with you
These days are Awl
Haeppy and Free
These days are Awl
Shaer them with me
These days are yurs and maen
Haeppy Days

Ael commanded an even greater hall
Be built upon the ashes of the last
So Feasting could continyew…
“Ya, Ya, Ya Ya,” ** Ael spake

* The catchphrase is very important in late 20th century televised prose. A good catchphrase meant your character was recurring. A Catchphrase and an applause break meant you got a spin off

** Nope, sorry Al. Lame catchphrase, no spin off for you

Editor’s note:It goes on like this for some time. Actually about 3 or 4 seasons longer than it should have. So we are skipping Scott Baiowulf’s famed Battle with Cunningham’s Mother, his battle against the word destroying Ted McGinley, and his tedious marriage to the Maid Joanie in the “Joanie Loves Chachi” stanzas to focus on a less oft discussed episode. Here our Hero faces a more egregious foe…unexposed breasts. Here is a sample of Episode three..called by scholars the “Zapped” Stanzas

With power newfound,Scott Baiowulf
of the Geeks wrestled
Struggling with his nubile foe
Striking with mighty foerce
He raises his hand

Trae as she maey,
To hide her tittae shaeme
Her breasts exposed
For Biaowulf’s gaen

Many scholars argue for different authorship here, with the Zapped Stanzas bearing many of the traits that are more common with early eighties story telling. The bullying tribe of Jocks who war with Biouwulfs tribe of Geeks, The Bloends of the Chaerleader tribe getting their breasts exposed against their will, and a triumphant hero, who, after defeating the jocks and seeing as many bloende breasts as he can, settling down with a nerdy brunette who looks amazing when her glasses come off. Even the grand finale at the Feast of Prom has all the hallmarks of the decade. This does argue for a shared authorship, with the work being embellished by subsequent tellings.

Finally, we take a look at the penultimate chapter in our Hero’s journey, when he was rightly given leadership of his own tribe, utterly in charge…with his steadfast sidekick from the Zapped Stanzas “Guey frome Ete is Enouff” at his side. But his restlessness, and subsequent fall remind us that it is the journey, not the rewards that make us great.

Chearles ine Chaerge
Of owr days and owr naets
Chearles in Chearge
Of our rawngs and our riaets

He Waenders now
in Memory still
how once was greate
a Rebublican shill

There were many who wanted Chearles in Chearge of them

Also Available in the Correctness Illustrated Classic’s Series

The Epic of Gilgerard
The classic tale of a warrior with a hot space colonel and annoying robot sidekicks

The Jilliad
A Seafaring Captain finds he has a daughter, who grows to learn about Love on the Lido deck

The Toddysey
It takes different strokes and a massive coke habit to break the hero of this epic tale

Haiku Cycle Requiem for the Indicator Light

The dusty stick on
the left of your steering wheel
is your signal light.

You won’t shoulder check
So signaling is the least,
THE LEAST, you can do.

Click. How hard is that?
Click. There, I did it again.
Click. See how easy?

B.M.W.
I’ll bet you can drive real fast.
Signal to turn, dick.

You drifted four lanes
when you made your right hand turn.
That is incorrect.

On the wet spring grass
I am under your Hummer,
dead. Fucking signal!

A traffic circle
speeds up the flow of traffic
when you signal, douche.

If you care enough
to pimp your Ford Probe, can you
afford to crash it?

Proud of your red truck?
It almost wasn’t red, but,
charcoal wreckage black.

Hey, Seriously,
How goddamn tricky is this:
Click left, click, right, DONE.

Workout Plan in 5 Parts:

Have you heard about
the signal light workout plan?
It is too easy.
*
No, really, Gary
got all kinds of fat trying
to lose weight that way.
**
I saw him crying.
Lost his wife and dignity.
He is still obese.
***
Too few calories
Are consumed by signaling
to lose any weight.
****
Fundamentally,
the problem is: Signalling
IS FUCKING EASY.
*****

Fot the greatest poet of all time, William Carlos Williams.

This is just to say:

I have responded

on facebook

to your note
.

And you hoped,

I assume,

that I replied

Thoughtfully.
.

Forgive me,

I was on

my iPhone,

whilst taking a dump.

From The Correctness,

Some Christmas Haikus

To settle your nerves:

The Mall Santa sighs
In his castle of cardboard
Somebody has peed

San Francisco store
Where you shopped for my present
Clearly you hate me

Girl in the food court
Upspeak in her cell phone
learn to fucking talk.

Oh small child of mine
Here is the Nintendo Wii
I can buy your love.

Cash line is nine deep
I might gnaw off my own leg
Death, bring sweet release.

Not to alarm you
but the Hickory Farms Cart
Just whispered my name

Grey hair, old woman,
If you keep turning your wheel
You will not park straight

This coffee is burnt
by an inexpert new kid
you suck balls, Starbucks.

White Christmas, Again?
Are there no other carols?
Fuck you, Bing Crosby.

Honestly, new clerk,
have you never replaced
thermal receipt tape?

(Note: for scansion, “replaced” is a three syllable word)

This is the perfect
gift for my ex girlfriend, O,
how I want to die.

I was signalling
for that parking space, you ass.
Truck entitlement?

What is the right gift
for my three month old nephew?
Something high contrast?

What do you buy for
the man with everything?
Kitten calendar?

a poem by TBinns

My Beatles mug

Abbey Road

John, Paul, George and Ringo

Why did you cross the road?

To bring me a warm beverage

Where are you?

Did she come in through the bathroom window

and steal you?

Oh Darling

Someone has found you

In the sink of the office kitchen

Broken in two

Like my heart.

Broken, smashed

By Maxwell’s silver hammer

Never again to

Come Together.

He threw you away

And now

I’m going to carry that weight

I’ll carry that weight a long time.

I stopped by the woods on a warm summers eve,
By a mending wall drenched in sun.
And deep in my bowels, from odours so foul,
Twas time that I baked a fresh bun.

I dismounted my horse, a brown one of course,
And waddled off into the trees.
Made a chair of a log near a treacherous bog,
Where the water was up to my knees.

My horse raised a brow when I dropped trow,
But his face was a grim as a statue.
“I know it’s a sin”, I said with a grin,
“But you poop when I’m looking at you!”.

And so, by the woods by the summer sunset,
I pinched off a pretty good load.
My shame turned too quick to a laugh of regret,
When my poop was received by a toad.

I dusted him off with nary a scoff,
For the amphibian oh-so-surprised.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, he returned to the water,
And revisited poopy demise.

“I pooped on you toad! I pooped on your head!”
I called to the skies like a bard.
And I gathered my pants , as I watched where I tread,
“That toad is a fucking retard!”.

But a toad full of vengeance is a toad full of hate,
And his heart was as cold as his blood.
He must have spent hours devising a plan,
To summon revenge from the mud.

As I slept that same night, in an innocent state,
The toad had arrived by my house.
He snuck onto the window, bran muffin in hand,
Which he’d eaten, as mute as a mouse.

Then he downed four espressos and a gingerbread cake
And he raised his stub-tail to the moon.
“Never crap on a toad!” he screamed with delight,
As he splatter shat throughout the room.

I awoke in a horror I’d never live down,
As reality leaked down my face.
No fathoms of bleach or cleansers could reach,
The worst of the stains in this place.

I turned to the toad first in rage, then I stopped,
And I gazed at my adversary.
“What I do unto others, you marvelous toad,
Is precisely what you did to me”.

With a glint in his eyes and a shine in his heart
He said “now, I truly do see ya”.
With a delicate hop from the window, he dropped,
I was left to clean his diarrhea.

It was many long years till I saw him again,
Now we smile and lock eyes when we pass.
For we both know the truth about who pooped on who,
And toads have the worst smelling gas.

This came to our attention on our Correctness! Answers user forum.

Unknown warrior,
He who doth not yield to the chains of life.
You who know not when to say “die”.
Pushing further and further into the night,
You touch the throttle, and fling yourself
into destiny.

I, who can only stand still, and watch.
I, voiceless, wait furtively.
I turn my face to the pale moon, and
silently
call to you in vain

“It’s 11 o’clock at night. Stop driving repeatedly down the street,
You fucktard.”

I grow old… I grow old…

I shall wear the bottom of my Gap denims rolled.

Shall I spike my hair up high, Do I dare to eat a Dragonfruit,

I shall wear Old Navy Capris, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the Jonas Brothers singing, each to each

I do not think they will sing to me.

Fuck it, I’ll just get frosted tips.