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Billy Collins KILLED my grandmother, you insenstive jerk. I come to your site to be outraged at your indifferent outrage and outrageous indifference!

Also, I don't know who it is or if there is one, but I'd wager that if Billy Collins does American comfortable whimsy (or whimsical American comfort, as it were), the British Poet Laureate writes poems exclusively about the weather, the slipping punctuality of the trains since British Rail went private under Thatcher, the poor tea and and absence of breakfast beans one finds abroad, and campy puns about traffic jams. You know what I say? USA! USA!

If I were some kind of moral utilitarian, I'd be forced to admit that bringing happiness to millions qualifies Billy Collins as a splendid example of humanity. That would be unfortunate.

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