My Plot to Drive E.E. Cummings Insane
The more astute among you may know that I hold a Bachelor's Degree in English Language Literature from the prestigious UC Santa Cruz, where, Wikipedia tells me, Ego Trip's The White Rapper Show runner-up John Brown attended. The numerous minutes of work that led to my acquisition of said degree has instilled in me a furious passion for the English language, which will likely eventually become a mild fondness for the English language, and will no doubt end up a grudging, resentful acceptance of the English language. Amidst this passion has grown a resentment for renowned poet E.E. Cummings. Some amongst you may believe that said resentment comes from the fact that my porn moniker, P.P. Cummings, was met with universal ridicule, but this is an erroneous belief. The fact is, Cummings and his avant-garde poetry make a mockery of the syntax, punctuation, and proper capitalization I hold so dear, and I simply cannot sit idly by while his bizarrely-phrased musings metaphorically te