Epic fail: Sing, Mitch muse!

Does one detect just a tad bit of passive-aggressive editing here? Star Columnist turns in his effort for the Sunday local front, and it's ... quatrains. Nineteen of them. Each one worse than -- no, actually, they form a genuinely random distribution of awfulness:

Every day I have less
In my bank account
Every day I grow scared
As my losses mount

... Every day I hear stories
Of a company's worth
Sinking to levels
From before my birth

... Every day that I stumble
Or say, "I can't do it!"
Is a day I discover
With God's grace, I get through it.

Questioning a star columnist's judgment is sort of like running your head into a brick wall. But editors are paid to run their heads into some wearily similar brick walls over and over again. So the desk might have suggested: Judas Christmas on a pogo stick, Star Columnist, this would have been embarrassing in the junior high yearbook why don't you take the weekend off? We can find a wire story for the local front!

Or the desk might have quietly shaken its grizzled head, noted that messing with Star Columnist's style is not its job, hit the spellcheck button and called it good. No jury on the planet is going to convict on those grounds. And thanks to the miracle of the intertubes, the entire world can enjoy not only the prose but the genuinely Vogon peotic stylings of Star Columnist. Prosit!