I’m not feeling well today (nausea, exhaustion, pain — basically, my fibromyalgia is being rebellious), so I haven’t been doing much of anything except lie down and hope it passes soon.

Sometimes, when I’m in the right mood and there’s something on my mind, I start composing poetry. I guess today’s one of those days. So, hey, I guess I’ve got another Hugo-related post in me after all.

While once upon a time a fan
Would know a Hugo would impress
In recent years awards began
To seem to lack that same success
Awards for excellence now went
To only those who would express
A social scheme without dissent
And jump on those who might transgress

The story, see, cannot be king,
Not if we’re to fix the mess
For social justice is the thing
And never style or finesse
The value of a tale is found
Only when its words address
A lack of tolerance profound
And so dissent we must repress

These are, we’re told, quite vital jobs
To let society progress
But it just left us with some snobs
Whose way of life was to suppress
This made many puppies cry
And seek a cure for their distress
The best of fiction they could buy
But Hugo wins would just depress

But then one year they tried as one
To get the field to reassess
The old idea that tales are fun
And that’s what Hugos should express
Canine plans weren’t met with glee
But rather lies told by the press
Yet puppies everywhere agree
That they’ll keep trying nonetheless!