Portal:Literature
As the generally accepted definition of literature today hugs folktales to its warm bosom, we might well conclude that literature began with one frightened caveman grunting (see language) his fears to his fellows by firelight. This, however, would be wrong. Scurrying, short and bitter academics in dank bare cells have clinically proven that 'literature' is caused by writing down things which never happened and which afflict the reader with acute boredom , in some cases literally boring the victim to death.
Today, the study of literature remains a major academic discipline at nearly every educational institution around the world, often being the most heavily required class for graduation. This is because academics have declared that finding themes (which the author totally intended to put in the work) is far more important than learning first aid, basic home and auto repair, or how to do your taxes. However, there is one major benefit to the study of literature: without it, as many as half of the jokes in your favorite TV shows would fly right over your head. (See more...)
Nineteen Eighty-Four (also known as 1984) is a novel written by visionary George Orwell way back when men were traveling by horse and oliphant. It depicts a world of totalitarianism where an evil entity, known as the Party, ruthlessly rules over everyone and everything. It was originally written on holly wood tree bark and moose skin until someone discovered the magnificent work and published it when the technology became available.
For those of you who have not read the book, never mind this article, stop reading right now and go on with your lives. There's nothing to see here. This book doesn't exist, it never existed. Cleanse your memory, reboot yourself and don't forget to show up to work tomorrow. For those who did read the book, go back to Room 101 to get your electroshocks and learn to think like the Party wants you to. You'll eventually realize that 2+2=5. Right before the Party shoves you in a barrel full of acid and vaporizes you into thin air. At least they'll let you chose between mint and strawberry scent. (See more...)
A hundred meals of oats and grain I ate;
But water I had yet to sip and drink,
Now crowning from my anus as of late:
The largest poop I'd ever done, methinks.
It bellowed as it plopp'd into the bowl,
A wave of water splash'd upon my ass;
So empty was the feeling in my hole,
No chunk of poo, nor vented fetid gas
Almóst a foot it measured toe to tip,
A waxy sheen upon its pimpled face;
Both hands could never hold it in clos'd grip,
Too wide and hard, yet smelled of clove and mace.
A solid, brownish trophy of my strain,
But like all shits, it must go down the drain.
How the man known as H. P. Lovecraft came to have an Uncyclopedia entry written about him is a fact of whose blasphemous origins we shall never be privileged to know. That it is written at all is miracle enough, for we live on a placid island of literacy in the midst of black seas of slobbering idiocy and it was not meant that we should use a spellcheck. The great unwashed, each mashing their keyboards in the darkness of their parents’ basements, have hitherto harmed us little in our blissful ignorance; but perhaps their random effusions have now conspired to create an article of whose utter, brain-blasting idiocy will send us screaming to our nearest Webster’s (or at least mildly tick us off).
Who wrote it though, is a mystery; for the following is a peculiar message that had suddenly and unexplainably materialized as an article on Uncyclopedia after an eldritch power failure of the website's server during a stormy night when wolves, ravens and cicadas alike were unusually persevering in a combined cacaphonic frenzy yet unheard of and a massive aurora borealis was observed all across the northern hemisphere. Not one among the living knows where the message came from, other than that the message itself hints at an origin so horrible and blasphemous that it is perhaps best left unknown. (See more...)
LAS VEGAS, Nevada – In a surprising move, acclaimed American author and journalist Hunter S. Thompson has admitted to taking banned drugs at the peak of his career. Thompson, who died in 2005, finally admitted to ingesting a potentially lethal cocktail of banned substances during the late 1960s and "pretty much all of" the 1970s - the period many acknowledge as the peak of his achievements - during a post-mortem interview with our UnNews reporters.
During the period in question, Thompson wrote the series of books that made his name, and most critics agree he "knocked them right out of the park". Thompson himself has stated that he took the drugs "purely for health benefits", and asserts that they "had no effect on my writing - there's no pill in existence that gives you the mind-brain co-ordination required to write a great novel". Prominent critics are lining up to disagree, with one stating "Thompson might assert that the drugs didn't affect his writing, but give me a break - the giant lizard people, the bats, the creeping paranoia, it's amazing no-one suspected this before!" (See more...)
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