HoffPoetry : A Contest! Of Much Awesomeness!

When I returned from my Hoffgazing, I emailed Candy, who said, among other things, “HOLY CRAP” and “How was it?”

Sarah: It was breathtaking. Seriously. And I’m SO PISSED that I grabbed the wrong camera cable because I cannot upload the picture of me & Hoffster until I find the right cable.

Candy: DUDE! You took a picture of yourself and The Hoff?


So how long was the line? And what’s he look like in person?

Sarah: Oh no, Hoff’s publicist’s assistant took a picture of ME, The HOFF, and my HOFF PLANE.

I think that plane might need to be a prize on SBTB for something.

The line was probably about 100 people, maybe, and he looks rather sculpted in person, in a scalpel sense, not a Bowflex sense.

Candy: The HOFF PLANE definitely needs to be some kind of SBTB prize, I think.

Maybe some sort of poetry competition? Compose an Ode to Hoff, and win the autographed Hoffplane?

And then… IT WAS ON.


CandyThis Is Just to Say

I have folded
the Hoffplanes
that were in
your printer tray

and which
you were probably
to throw at your coworkers

Forgive me
they looked awesome on fire
So burny
and so crashy

Sarah: Once upon a midnight dreary as I read, confused and weary
over yet another page of Hasselhoff’n lore.
While I pondered, nearly napping, out of nowhere came a tapping
of a HoffPlane flamely flapping, flapping at my bedroom door.
“‘Tis some washed up B-list star, tapping at my bedroom door.
Only this and nothing more.”

Candy: The Love Song of D. Michael Hasselhoff (abbreviated)

Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like yet another drowning victim rescued on Baywatch;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted aisles
The garish guiles
Of straight-to-video movie posters in cult video rental stores
And sticky-floored second-run theaters of yore:
B-movie plots that follow like a tedious argument
Of lascivious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the bookstore women stand, a train,
Waiting for the Hoff to sign their plane

* * * *

No! I am not Bruce Campbell, nor was meant to be;
Am a driver of talking cars, one that will do
To make a cameo, star in a TV series or two,
Be a campy villain; occasionally a bit of a tool,
Alcoholic, but glad to be of use,
Inexplicable pop star, inexplicable music videos;
Full of publicity stunts, and a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old… I grow old…
I shall wear my chains of gold.

Shall I get a nose job? Can I has a peach?
I shall wear fire-engine red Speedos and run upon the beach
I have seen myself singing, each to each.

On Youtube, this you can see.

Sarah: There once was a Hoff from Nantucket.
He liked his booze in a bucket.
The lolrus was mad
Snuck in to Hoff’s pad.
And made off in the night with MAH BUKKIT!






Sarah: Without warning
As a whirlwind
swoops a Hoff Plane.
Hoff shakes my heart.

i carry a hoff with me (I carry it in
my pocket) I am never without it (anwhere
i go, he goes, my hoff, and whatever is done
by only me is Baywatch, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for hoff is so great, so true) i want
no world (for beautiful hoff is, his nose so sculpted)
and it’s hoff whatever a car has always meant
and whatever the sun will always shine is Hoff.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the plug and the hair of the bud
and the implant of the Hairclub for Men; which grows
not but that Hoff’s soul can hope and bald spot can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping hoff and I apart

I carry your Hoff (I carry it in my pocket)

Candy: Shall I compare Hoff to a summer’s day?
He is more drunky and less temperate.
Rough strides do shake the darling pecs of Dave,
And Botox’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the crashing Hoffplane burns,
And often do his music records tank,
Except in Germany, where people yearn
To hear him sing; to them he doth not stank.
And soon the plastic surgery shall fade,
As shall his hair, and soft his belly grows;
His name would doubtless pass into the shade—
But fame lives long in syndicated shows.

So long reruns are run, and eyes can see
So long lives Hoff, and Kit, and Yasmine Bleeth.

Are you done weeping yet, O Bitchery? Behold, a Contest of Hoff Poetry! We hope to do to poetry what Fark does to Photoshop. Let forth your creativity in HoffPoetry in the comments, and post early, post often, post in all stages of insanity. Instead of harvesting them individually and posting for anonymous voting later, we’re going to have voting and poem-posting ongoing in the comments, so make sure you leave a comment as to which one you like best – and feel free to change your vote. Seriously. The Hoff has inspired mass hysteria!

You have until midnight on Friday, June 8th 2007 to participate in this frenzy.

Candy and I are keeping track of the voting as it progresses, and the winner gets a HoffTastic Smart Bitch Prize Package of:

1. The HoffPlane that was (a) tossed at my mother in law and more importantly (b) photographed as being held lovingly by The Hoff. No one has touched it since the Hoffster. What a memento.

2. A copy of the Hoffobiography Don’t Hassel the Hoff of your very own.

3. An opportunity to read and guest-review Smart-Bitch style the Hoffobiography if you like.

4. A $25 gift certificate to Amazon so you can buy something you might want to read afterward. You know, something good.

5. The T-Shirt from the book signing, a size L. Want to see it again?


That ought to inspire you.  Bring it!

Comments are Closed

  1. 1
    Jenyfer says:

    OMG – THE PRESSURE!!!! First to comment and poetry required too boot??

    I’ll be back…

  2. 2
    Jenyfer says:

    Hasselhoff’s name is
    Perfect for Haiku. No wonder
    Japan adores him.

  3. 3
    Lauren says:

    “No! I am not Bruce Campbell, nor was meant to be;”

    Bruce Campbell > David Hasselhoff in my book, the Hoff is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but BC is whole other class of super awesome and meeting him was the best day of my life. (He is so intelligent and witty and just so damn funny in person).

  4. 4
    Charlene says:

    It was the best of Hoff, it was the worst of Hoff, it was the age of Botox, it was the age of mousse, it was the epoch of tanorexia, it was the epoch of facelifts, it was the season of Knight Rider, it was the season of Baywatch, it was the spring of Shar Peis, it was the winter of Kitt, we had mantitty before us, we had chest hair before us, we were all going direct to Germany, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of hassling only.

  5. 5
    Charlene says:

    Well it’s not poetry, but still.

  6. 6

    A Writer’s Lament

    Last night I watched “America’s Got Talent”
    I became convinced this was a lie.
    The human slinky was terrifying
    The hot aerialist didn’t fly.

    But then I checked Smart Bitches
    And what then do I find?
    Hasselhoff is doing a BOOK signing?
    You mean the Hoff has a MIND?

    Here I am an author,
    Slogging though all the slush piles
    And a man who can’t eat a cheeseburger
    Has a book in bookstore aisles?

    I must have no talent
    As an actor or a writer.
    If I can’t do better than to
    Be jealous of the Knight Rider.

    Hasselhoff can spell?
    Even the thought hurts my brain.
    Quick!  Pass me a lighter!
    Time to light the plane!


  7. 7
    Candy says:

    Bruce Campbell > David Hasselhoff in my book

    Shit, yeah. My book, too. That’s why I picked Bruce for that particular line—the line in “Prufrock” goes “I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be”.

    Charlene: that was fucking GREAT! Oh my stars and garters.

  8. 8
    sara says:

    Wow. So that’s what you do with a B.A. in English.

  9. 9
    SB Sarah says:

    Celina: BRAVO!

  10. 10
    Ann Aguirre says:

    You had me at “Can I has a peach?”

  11. 11
    Chris says:

    Loved the “Love Song to D. etc” I don’t think I’m a poet though.

  12. 12
    Marianne McA says:

    If in some happy dream you too could ride
    In the sleek black car that he’s sitting in,
    And watch his brown eyes laughing at your side,
    In t’bronzed face, worshipped in Berlin
    If you could hear the radio blast
    ‘Living for freedom’ from his lucious lips
    Divine harmony, forever unsurpassed
    Beguiling through the miles of your road trips,—
    My friend, you would tell with such sincerity
    To bloggers desperate for something to laugh at,
    The truth about Hoff, the enduring verity:
    Nihil peccat nisi quod nihil peccat.

    (His only fault is that he has no faults.)

    It all goes wonky at the end (that’s what you get for reading Philosophy rather than English) but at least I tried…

    And I didn’t check as to the eye colour. If it’s wrong, I plead poetic licence.

  13. 13
    Tonstant Weader says:

    Oh life is a glorious cycle of song,
    a medley of kittens and soft rain,
    And love is a thing that can never go wrong,
    At least not if I win the Hoff Plane.

  14. 14
    Jenyfer says:

    Love it Celine!

  15. 15
    Stellanova says:

    Oh my God, you are geniuses. Those poems are truly awe-inspiring.

  16. 16

    gee!  thanks! nothing I like better than warping iambic pentameter while being a smartass.

  17. 17
    dl says:

    Awesome poetry SB’s.  I can’t write, so instead I checked out the U-tube link…oh the awfulness.  Now I’m off to shower, must get clean…where’s the detergent, the loofa, the bleach?

    Luck to all poetry writing SB’s.

  18. 18
    Stephanie says:

    With all apologies to W.H. Auden, and poetry fans. The bitches made me do it.

    Baywatch Blues

    Stop all the clocks, put off the TV,
    Prevent the child from playing with that Wii,
    Silence the Ipods and with muffled drum
    Bring out the program guide, let the mourners come.

    Let Hoffplanes circle in flames overhead
    Scribbling on the sky: Baywatch Is Dead,
    Put crepe bows round the necks of German fans,
    Let the beach police wear black cotton bands.

    He was my Mitch, my Mike, my Hoff and Dave,
    My sharpè hugger and my ocean brave,
    My day, my night, my hope, my heart elated;
    I thought his tan would last: I miscalculated.

    The cameras are not wanted: turn off every one;
    Pack up the props and dismantle the sun;
    Pour away the ocean and send away the best boy.
    For nothing now can ever come to joy.

  19. 19

    Shall I Compare Thee To A Hasselhoff?

    by Rhonda Stapleton
    (shamelessly ripped off of Shakespeare)

    Shall I compare thee to a Hasselhoff?
    Thou art less beefy and less fortunate.
    His tight, red shorts do beg to be ripped off,
    And wavy hair dost serve as tempting bait.

    One time, the Hoffer were but stinking ripped,
    And thus, the world’s opinion of him dimm’d;
    But cries for help did soften hearts and lips—
    We hope he leaves that blessed hair untrimm’d;

    Thy Knight-like glory, never shall it fade,
    Nor willst your talking car be far from mind;
    We’re certain that show helped you to get laid
    By drunken chicks who showed you their behind:

    So long as Hoff can—in slow motion—run,
    This poem shall praise (and poke a little fun).

  20. 20
    HaikuKatie says:

    B-list actor burning bright
    In the wan fluorescent light
    What immortal hand or eye
    Could fold thy fearful symmetry?

    In what cache of office supplies
    Dwells the paper for thine eyes?
    On what page shall we aspire
    To print the face of Hoff-the-flyer?

    And what hand and by what art
    Can we make this hunksome dart?
    And if by email it is sent
    Is that copyright infringement?

    What the printer? What the ink?
    Of what cartrige shall his face drink?
    And when it’s done in what firm grasp
    Shall his smiling face be clasped?

    And when we’ve thrown our valiant plane
    And a million faces all lay slain
    Will He smile or will he scoff
    Or merely claim we’ve Hasseled his Hoff?

    B-list actor burning bright
    In the wan fluorescent light
    What immortal hand or eye
    Could fold thy fearful symmetry?

  21. 21
    Karmyn says:

    The Hoff made a guest appearance in my nightmare last night. Thanks a lot, Bitches.
    Strangly, my nephew has a friend named Michael Knight.

  22. 22
    Katie says:

    I MUST have that shirt. I MUST.

    Today is your day.
    You’re off to the book store!
    You’re off and away!

    You have a marker for signing.
    You have book clutched in hand
    You can now steer yourself
    Towards that Mystic tanned man.
    You’re on your own, at the front of the line.
    He’s beckoning you forward; it’s Hasselhoff time!

    You’ll look up and down him.  Look him over with care.
    About him you will say, “What a full head of hair!”
    With your paper airplane and your bag of Hoff loot,
    you’re a PR wet dream, ‘cause you’re preggers to boot!

    And you may not tell him
    The reason you’re really agog
    Are the hundreds of comments
    That will be left on your blog.

    Oh! What a lark
    For Bitchery snark.

    So smile wide for the camera
    and restrain the urge-r
    to instruct the Hoff
    on eating a burger.

    be your name Candy or Sarah or Nora
    or Mordecai Ali Van fiveandfour-a,
    you’re off to the bookstore!
    Today is your day!
    The Hasselhoff’s waiting
    So…get on your way!

  23. 23
    katie says:

    Am I supposed to say who I ripped that off of?

    Dr. Suess.

  24. 24

    You people are awesome! 

    But…can it really be a poetry contest until we hear from EvilAuntiePeril?

  25. 25
    Sallyacious says:

    These are BRILLIANT. I have been laughing and laughing and laughing…

  26. 26
    Jenyfer says:

    Competition is getting fierce! And could the Hoff ask for anything more than being the topic of all these poems??

  27. 27
    fiveandfour says:

    You people are killing me with the funny.  With apologies to Dickenson:

    The Hoff – is greater than John Tesh
    For – put them side by side –
    The one the other will smack down
    With ease – plus you – besides

    The Hoff is deeper than the sea –
    For – watch them running in slo mo to ebbing & flowing
    The one the other will splish splash
    As kids in a wading pool can do

    The Hoff is just the weight of Cheezburgers and Beer
    For – Heft them – Pound for Pound –
    And they will differ – if they do
    As 8 ounces from a cup

    and An opportunity to read and guest-review Smart-Bitch style the Hoffobiography if you like.

    if I didn’t know you better, I might think you SBs were trying to get out of reading The Hoff’s book.  But that can’t be it, riiiiiggghhht?

  28. 28

    Oh. My. God.  HaikuKatie is TEH AWESOME. She’s got my vote now, at least until I come up with a poem of my own…

  29. 29
    HaikuKatie says:

    I’m having altogether too much fun with this:

    Among twenty silicone breasts
    The least realistic thing
    Was David Hasselhoff.

    I was of three minds,
    Like the Hoffster
    With three fine ladies.

    The Hasselhoff whirled in the media storm
    He was King of the Internet

    A man and a woman
    Are one.
    A man and a woman and David Hasselhoff
    Are on pay-per-view.

    I do not know which to prefer,
    The beauty of man-titties
    Or the beauty of speedos,
    The Hoffplane flying
    Or just after.

    Waves rolled on the long beach
    With barbaric might.
    The shadow of the lifeguard
    Crossed it, to and fro.
    The beach babes
    Traced in his shadow
    And indecipherable longing.

    O rich men of Hollywood
    Why do you imagine Johnny Depp?
    Do you not see how David Hasselhoff
    Blithely feels up
    The women about you?

    I know noble authors
    And lyric, literary biographies;
    But I know, too,
    That Hasselhoff has written a book
    That I will read.

    When the Hoffplane flew out of sight
    It marked the edge
    Of one of many cubicles.

    At the sight of David Hasselhoff
    Lying in a drunken stupor,
    Even the lushes of LA
    Would offer him a beer.

    My eyes are bleeding.
    I must be watching Baywatch.

    It was summer all year
    He was drinking
    And he was going to drink
    David Hasselhoff sat
    In a talking car.

  30. 30

    In the bookstore women stand, a train,
    Waiting for the Hoff to sign their plane

    No one can top this.

    The list of prizes sounds like a collection plus ephemera that would be appraised on Antiques Roadshow. Someday… Lucky winner!

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