William McGonagall's poems are something else. The jarring meter, the banal imagery, the awkward rhymes: they made him a laughing stock in 19th Century Scotland and are still derided to this day. How does someone get that bad at poetry? Or have we been misunderstanding McGonagall all along?

The Angels, The Stones and The Dead
39:07

Powered by Orgasm: The Rise and Fall of a Sex Cult - with Ellen Huet
41:18

The WOW Machine Stops (Pt 2)
40:01