This is a fantastic poem by slam poet Taylor Mali, one of my all-time favorites, called "The The Impotence of Proofreading." In fact, this poem is the inspiration behind this entire project.
The The Impotence of Proofreading
Has this ever happened to you?
You work very very horde on a paper for English clash
And still get a very glow raid on it (like a D or even a D=)
and all because you are the liverwurst spoiler in the whale wide word.
Yes, proofreading your peppers is a matter of the the utmost impotence.
Now this is a problem that affects manly, manly students all over the word.
I myself was such a bed spiller once upon a term
that my English torturer in my sophomoric year,
Mrs. Myth, she said that I was never gonna get into a good colleague.
And that's all I wanted, that's all any kid wants at that age, just to get into a good colleague.
And not just anal community colleague either,
because I am not the kind of guy who would be happy at just anal community colleague.
I need to be challenged, challenged menstrually.
I need a place that can offer me intellectual simulation,
So I know this probably makes me sound like a stereo,
but I really felt that I could get into an ivory legal collegue.
So if I did not improvement,
then gone would be my dream of going to Harvard, Jail, or Prison,
You know, in Prison, New Jersey.
So I got myself a spell checker
and I figured I was on Sleazy Street.
But there are several missed aches
that a spell chukker can't can't catch catch.
For instant, if you accidentally leave out word
your spell checker won't put it in you.
And God for billing purposes only
you should have serial problems with Tori Spelling
your spell Chekhov might end up using a word
you had absolutely no detention of using.
Because, I mean, what do you want it to douche, you know?
No, it only does what you tell it to douche.
You're the one who's sitting in front of the computer scream,
with your hand on the mouth going clit, clit, clit.
Just goes to show you how embargo
one careless little clit of the mouth can be.
Which reminds me of this one time during my Junior Mint.
The teacher took the paper that I had written on A Sale of Two Titties
No, I'm cereal, I am cereal.
She read it out loud in front of all of my assmates.
It was, quite possibly, one of the most humidifying experiences I have ever had,
being laughed at like that pubically.
So do yourself a flavor and follow these two Pisces of advice:
One: There is no prostitute for careful editing of your own work, no prostitute whatsoever.
And three: When it comes to proofreading,
the red penis your friend.