I will type out a poem. Right here. On this Xanga thingy. I will entitle it, “I Hate This Xanga Thingy.”

 

I HATE THIS XANGA THINGY

I hate this Xanga thingy
The service is ever so stingy.

The features that they lack

Are like creatures on my back

Scratching and biting into my flesh.

Perhaps I should blame my lack of caring

For not long at the features list I have been staring.

I gave it a single glance

But not a single chance.

 

So in the end

Am I to tell a friend

That Xanga is lame

Or am I the one to blame?

 

 

Alright. I didn’t say it would be a good poem.