Poet Laureate
Indeed, in these uncertain days when the time of the testing draws close, I know not whom has crowned me with my title. But if 'tis my title indeed, I must ask:
Where are my sixty sovereigns?
For ideals no longer matter in these dark days; only the time of the test is clear; listen to the words that Uncle Lee says and fear.
THE SLOMANTIC AGE!
No more will we be tethered by the Austenese of the Enfrightenment!
For now we are marginalised and monopolised by futility curves, and as the even Producer formed us from the Primary Products of Land, Labour, Capital, Enterprise and sometimes Information, one day, we will be consumed by the Consumer.
We must find our own equilibrium, for the market is failing and we know not who commands the economy; if our trade is free then what lies beyond the externalities?
And here I must point out that the Lady of the Shroom is, in fact, an extraterrestrial! You have seen the Greys in the Files marked X, would you think there are none of the female sex? She has no right to be in our school, no matter what the government policy is towards Raffles establishments, and certainly no right to be worshipped by us. Call me protectionist, but 'tis our planet.
Ultimately, what will be the long run average cost?
Let this be our rallying cry: "MAXIMISE!"
B).
P.S. Wishing you all perfect information.
(Exit, profoundly)
Slomanticism
(Enter Poet Laureate)
Poet Laureate: Dear Friends,
The Shroom it loom the Fitz in bits and Dorinda may burn us to a cinder;
and I know not how but I know 'tis now that my name is not Belinda.
For this reason, we must revitalise ourselves with a new movement in art! I proclaim this day the beginning of
Yours sincerely,
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