As an aspiring writer, I look for any avenue possible to get my name out there and have people see my work. I can bring more to the table than Bullshit Columns (such as lyrics, poems, stories, dissertations, etc.) so I try to be diverse. So when I caught wind of a free online poetry contest that could net me up to $10,000 if I kicked enough ass, I jumped at the chance. The place was poetry.com, a forum where poets from around the world can share their poetry and enter into these contests. They hold a contest every month and the grand prize is $1,000. The annual prize given away is $10,000. All you have to do is enter your name, address, and type in your poem that needs to be 24 lines or less. Once you submit it, the "judges" from the International Society of Poets go over them and notify you within 7 weeks by mail if you are a semi-finalist. I sent in the poem that I posted in my Pseudo-Intellectual Poets column because I thought very highly of it. So now all I had to do was wait.
I somewhat forgot about the contest until last week when I recieved my response. What was inside lead to a week filled with a whirlwind of emotions that concluded in me writing this column. I bet you can guess how it turned out from there. But for those of you who are a little slow, I'll explain what happened. Inside the envelope was a copy of my poem and a letter explaining my status in the contest. Apparently my poem was "carefully critiqued" by the judges and they had decided to send it on to the semi-finals, where I would have "an excellent chance at the $1,000 grand prize" or some shitty 2nd or 3rd place medals. But that wasn't all. My poem was special enough that they wanted to publish it in a leatherbound collection of the finest poems of the year that you could set on your coffee table so your sister could spill nail polish remover all over it. This collection was to be called "Eternal Portraits" and was supposedly "one of the most highly sought after poetry collections of our time." Of course if I wanted one, they were $50 apiece. Oh, and there was a $25 "typesetting fee" if I wanted my biography printed. But who cares, right? It's not that much for this great honor. At this point, not even hearing word that Phil Anselmo and Zakk Wylde were killed in a brawl with dyke midget bikers could have wiped the grin off of my face. This was my big shot to get my name out there, get published and prove those Honours, Inc. assholes wrong much earlier than I anticipated.
All I had to do now was proofread my poem to make sure it appeared exactly how I wanted it, then fill out my 100 word statement. The statement was supposed to be about "your motivations, the meaning poetry has in your life, the story behind your poem, or your personal philosophical point of view". They even gave examples of statements "real" people had given in the past. One of them went like this: "This poem is very special to me, as it commemorates someone who was very important to me, and this verse is my way of immortalizing her and sharing her life with the world. I hope that others who have special people in their lives can relate to my love for my grandmother." BORING. I decided to put something in there that was far less vaginally retarded, so I wrote a philosophical point of view. In this book, I was to have one whole page devoted to my poem and one page opposite it for my statement, thus giving the world 2 full pages of Grand Master Bullshit Gospel. What could be better than this? I might get a bunch of money, I'm getting my work published, AND I get to make Honours, Inc. look like morons (even more so). Oh, it gets even better!
In the first letter I got, I was told that I would also be receiving a formal invitation to the "International Society of Poet's Summer Convention and Symposium" held in Philadelphia August 13th - 15th. I got that invitation Saturday in the mail and this is when the excitement really set in. However, the first sentence said "We're sorry you'll be unable to join us..." and such. I assumed that this was because it was too close to the event and it was all booked up. The letter explained that this convention was the "largest and most prestigious poetry event ever held featuring 1800 poets from 50 countries." It went on saying how sorry they were that I couldn't make it because they wanted me to present my poem in front of all these international poets and receive the praise I deserved. There was also going to be a room where people could go and view everyone's poems printed out and placed on stands. I began wishing it wasn't so damn close to the convention so I could actually go and see all of these poets admiring my work. But again, that wasn't all. I was scheduled to receive some shiny hardware in the form of a 10" X 11" silver award bowl on a cherrywood base with my name engraved on a plaque for Outstanding Achievement in Poetry, and a Commemorative Engraved Bronze Award Medallion. "Holy crap," I thought to myself, "they want to give me all this just for writing 1 poem? I really must have done something right to impress them." But oh shit, since I couldn't attend, they would have to find a "professional poetry reader" to read my poem to the audience. They also couldn't present me with my awards so they would have to ship them via FedEx. Between finding some putz to read my poem and shipping these "extremely heavy awards" to me, I would have to pay $169 if I wanted it all to go down. Uhhhh.... alright, whatever, I wouldn't want to miss this grand opportunity and honor so I decided I would foot the bill. I began to think of where I might display this big-ass bowl and if I should bring it to a job interview to show off. Hell, I might even drink beer out of it just for fun. Surely this was too good to be true...
Proud of my achievements, I decided to contact my step-sister Amy who had gotten me started on poetry that night at Thai Joe's. I was sure that she would appreciate what I had gotten for my poem because she had heard it and thought it ruled. Once I told her about the contest and the praise they were giving me, the first words out of her mouth were "It's a scam." She explained that she had entered the same contest a few months before, had gotten the exact same letter and publishing offer, then sent in the money for the book. The book never arrived though and she never heard any more from the International Society of Poets. She suggested that I send in a really shitty poem to see if I got the same letter. My skepticism began there, but I told her about the convention and the bowl and all the other shit and she hadn't gotten any letters about that. But once I mentioned the $169 charge for these awards she said something that made complete sense, "It's not an award if you have to pay for it." Well shit, why didn't I think of it like that? At this point I hadn't sent them any money whatsoever but was about a day away from doing so. It started to become more and more apparent to me that I'd been had. All the great feelings I had about myself and my talent instantly vanished and I began to feel like the dumbasses that I loathe every day.
Yesterday Amy called me with even more evidence. She had gotten an e-mail about the same bullshit awards and fictional convention. I told my parents about it and my dad did a little research. He came across poetryscams.com. I went to the site and my fears were confirmed. Poetry.com was one of the most notorious poetry scams on the internet. Poetryscams.com had this to say:
"...no bookstore would ever sell a poetry.com anthology and many of the poets would never be able to publish their poems in a real book. Poetry.com and other entities like it are scams.
What is a scam, you ask? Well, frankly a scam is legal. You get what they say your going to get. You get your poem published. It gets published along with everyone else’s poorly written poems. Your poem will certainly get published and the only people who will even touch this anthology with a ten foot pole are the other people who published their poems. Poetry.com was investigated by the ABC news program 20/20. The journalists each submitted poems that were intentionally poorly written. In fact, the journalists of 20/20 submitted poems that were written by a group of second graders. We at Literary Escape have submitted some poems as well. Just look up the name Ima Fartschwagger (Rated PG17)! Guess what? Each poem was “hand selected” to appear in the anthology, and that anthology could be purchased by each of the poets. Of course, it only costs an extra twenty bucks or so to include a biography.
So folks, stay away from Poetry.com. You will only get ripped. Poetry.Com makes over $50 Million a year from this scam. We at LiteraryEscape.Com receive over 50 emails a day from those who have been fooled. Many tell us that they have been crying all night or that they feel violated."
Ok, so I wasn't crying like a pussy or feeling violated but god dammit, that pisses me off. Not only do these bastard-ass motherfuckers make $50 Million a year from this, they are getting away with it LEGALLY. It's legal because the poems do actually get published, but the only people reading them are the poets themselves. There's also a satisfaction guarantee so if you get your books and find out it's a scam, you'll be refunded 100%. Thank you Uncle Sam for allowing these things to happen. Who cares about people getting raped of not only money, but intellectual property when there are people selling and consuming pot within our borders. I'm sure that's so much worse than people getting $50 Million a year by scamming people who want nothing more than to achieve a dream of being somebody. Fuck you International Society of Con-Artists, and fuck you government for allowing it. I'll see you in hell.
I would like to thank individuals like the people of poetryscams.com for doing their part to prevent the spread of bullshit in the world. I just wish the word could reach everyone so we could put an end to this and possibly tar and feather the people responsible for this scam. That would rule.
So now, I will do my part to help people not get fucked over by scams such as this. I invented a Bullshit Decoder to help with this. All you have to do is feed a text document into it and it will scan the words for bullshit. Once it detects bullshit, it prints out a report of "What they said" and "What they mean". See how it works on the letters that I received:
What they said: After carefully reading and discussing your poem, our Selection Committee has certified your poem as a semi-finalist in our International Open Poetry Contest .
What they meant: Our selection committee, consisting of all the towelheads that we pay to read your e-mails have put you and everyone else on a list of "semi-finalists" so you think that you've accomplished something.
What they said: In celebration of the unique talent you have displayed, we also wish to publish your poem on its own page in what promises to be one of the most highly regarded collections of poetry we have ever published.
What they meant: In celebration of you falling for our scam, we printed off 10,000 copies of your poem, got really drunk, then used them to soak up vomit. We're giving you your own page in the book so we can single out every person that we've fucked over. This collection promises to be one of the most highly regarded collections of poetry we have ever published. Oh man, that gets funnier every time we type it.
What they said: Your poem was selected for publication, and as a contest semi-finalist, on the basis of your unique talent and artistic vision. In this regard, you are under no obligation whatsoever to submit any entry fee, any subsidy payment, or to make any purchase of any kind.
What they meant: We aren't sure what talent and artistic vision are, but we sure do like money. Of course you don't have to give us any but, come on, you know you can't resist.
What they said: Your biography will be printed on a page by itself, directly across from your poem-- you will thus have two full pages in the book devoted exclusively to you and your artistry. And although we must charge a nominal typesetting fee for this service, you are under no obligation to include this information.
What they meant: What good is one page in a book when you can have 2? Just your poem isn't enough to make us laugh, we want more information. It gives us something to make fun of when we are sitting in our mansions bored at night. The typesetting fee is how much it costs to pay a college graduate with a "business applications" degree to copy and paste it into Microsoft Word.
What they said: Although you will be unable to participate in the convention contest, you can receive all of the awards we have scheduled for you-- including your Outstanding Achievement in Poetry Silver Award Bowl, your bronze Commemorative Award Medallion, and your Full One Year Membership into the International Society of Poets -- if you will allow us to present one of your poems at the convention in your place.
What they meant: It's too bad you can't make it to this "convention" because we sure could have used your $500 dollars. But please give us another poem for us to steal and we'll send you your crappy awards. Doesn't it sound all official when we Capitalize Every Single Word? Full One Year Membership? None of that should be capitalized but we did it anyway. Neat, huh? You get to be a card-carrying commie bastard just like us!
What they said: Let me tell you a little about the actual awards you will receive by mail...
-- Your Outstanding Achievement in Poetry Silver Award Bowl (a $200 value) is a magnificent work of art in itself that measures over 10 inches across and over 11 inches high. It is handcrafted silver and has your name engraved on a beautiful cherrywood base.
-- And your Full One Year Membership in the International Society of Poets for 2004-2005 (a $60 value) entitles you to a personalized membership card, an ISP patch and decal, and a free subscription to The Poets Corner quarterly magazine.
What they meant: Your stupid award bowl (a $2 value) is a piece of junk that will fall apart the second you look at it. It was painstakingly crafted by Chinese immigrants just for you out of an old mixing bowl from Bill's grandma's house, which was super-glued onto a cherrywood-like substance with your sorry name scratched into it.
-- Your "membership" to our club of dung-hurling primates nets you a membership card with your personal Patsy ID Number on it, a patch for you to sew onto your backpack next to all of your "EMO" patches, and a free roll of toilet paper 4 times a year!
What they said: All that's required for us to immediately send you all of these Awards is for you to send us a poem to be formally presented at the convention. Additionally, we must ask you for the necessary funds ($169 plus p+h) to cover the costs of the time and effort required to present your poem before the convention, and the costs incurred in shipping these extremely bulky and heavy awards to you.
What they meant: Now that we're done kissing your ass until our lips are chapped and falling off, all we need is your poem. Oh by the way, there's also the $169 thing. But since you're so extatic already and we mentioned it at the end of the letter, we know you'll comply. After all, it takes so much time and effort to read a 20 line poem that isn't yours. Wait, no it doesn't. Oh well, pay us anyway. You know you want to, the awards are bulky and heavy and just waiting to sex you up, wait, that was in reference to my mother but the awards are cool too.
Morons think the Bullshit Decoder is a real machine