J'adore

The people at Making Light are warped sick frightening individuals, which is why they've been able to keep the site lively and entertaining even when their hosts are away. They've formulated some useful theorems, too, such as the one about how any work of science fiction (or any fiction, really) is improved by the addition of dinosaurs and sodomy, and that anyone who uses the term "you people" in an online discussion is an unredeemable troll. There's a pretty solid group of regulars who post, many of them pros in the SF publishing field, and the sheer level of erudition that happens in the comments thread is intimidating. I usually watch from the sidelines and pick up things like truffle recipes and coqz heaumez.

John M. Ford, known to his friends as Mike, was one of my favorite contributors, especially when he was posting off-the-cuff poetry to leave readers slackjawed and often howling with glee. Check out his sonnet on entropy, which is a solid emotional kick in the gut, much as "110 Stories" was, and then cleanse your palate with "Harry of Five Points," where he managed to write gangster-and-moll slang in neat iambic pentameter AND bastardized French and to hit all the major plot points of the first few scenes of "Henry V." I figured, when he died last year, that there was no justice in the world and that the days of found poetic joy on Making Light were over.

I am glad to be wrong on the second count. Look upon their works, ye lolcats, and despair.

LOLcat for the Makers
John Dunbar (c. 1500)

I that in heill wes and gladnes
Am trublit now with great sicknes
My sicklie stait is no surprise:
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

Death sovran is of all the tubez,
Of rich, of poor, of l33t, of n00bz;
No mortal shal escaip his eyis:
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

Al flesh is dust; we are but bones;
Baith knight and maid he freely pwns;
Against his glanse brooks no disguyse;
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

He draws al to his dark bucket;
Whoe'er ye be, ye're surely f***kit;
The Walrus wil not sympathise;
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.

Our base are al belong to Death
And have done since our natal breath
(This point I'd like to emphasise):
IM IN UR BASE KILIN UR GUYZ.