Don’t get your panties in a wad. It just happens to be Friday and I just happen to be venemous again. I don’t plan to do this every Friday, poemmonkeys.

Quit complaining about the establishment. Some of those people are better writers than you are: The Future of Poetry Magazines.

Both sides suck; writers should have control over their work, yes, but enough sense to choose a program of study that will respect them: Creative writing students struggle to keep their work off the Web.

Everybody’s got their something, which also explains T-Pain: Mad ducats for bad poems.

Oh, awesome, another social network for shitty writers: How to outsource the slush pile.

Spend the time thinking about your acceptances, because clearly your rejections are taking up too much of your mental energy: What counts as a personal rejection?

#8 on the list of problems poets will never have - losing $10m to a gambling habit. WTF, Charles?: Barkley owes a casino $400k.

It’s good to know that the history of langpo can be delivered in a fashion nearly as annoying as langpo itself, but for the love of God, leave O’Hara out of that mess, it ain’t his fault: The Same Old Same Old New York School