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When you think of Lord Tennyson, I'm sure you think of knights errant, beautiful prose, and perhaps the smell of eraser dust as you erase things over and over again and tears well up in your eyes while your teacher stands behind you and refuses to elaborate on what they mean when they say, "No, write it PROPER."  But it may be better to think on Lord Tennyson with memories of insane drunken family members, burning monkey hair, and perhaps a beaten dog or two.