“Auntie Mame leavings.”
In seven syllables, no more, no less, describe your worst date. Bonus points if it was sordid. Subtract points if it sounds too much like an overweight fifteen year old Goth girl.
“He pushed my head down. I puked.”
In five syllables, no more, no less, describe the worst job you ever had. Extra bonus points if it consists of Grim. Taxi dancer. Miss Janey, I’m talking to you. I had a miserable spell where I sat all alone in an empty office, handing out the keys to various hell holes for rent around New Orleans. One Lady came back and complained there was no window in the kitchen, I pretended to sympathize and said something like “Yes it would be nasty to have no light and air in there.” She replied “No, hon, you don unnerstan. Dere’s a hole for de winna but ain’t no winna in it.”
“Slum lord in training.”
Put it all together and you have a haiku of life’s low points.
“Auntie Mame leavings.
He pushed my head down. I puked.
Slum lord in training.”