Until now, I never really realized that the idea of being a bard was to come up with the worst songs ever, not the best songs (at least if you’re DPSing)
This passage from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy makes even more sense now:
Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem ‘Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning’ four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off.