Where am I again?

There’s little in loving or fighting,
There’s little in cider or beer
This writing, this writing, this writing,
Never gave me much reason to cheer.
Oh, dull is the pencil, and cheap are
The editors to whom you submit,
For nothing’s good if not popular
And life is a big bowl of sh..
And math is the province of science
And drugs are for those who are sickly
But alas, I must follow my conscience
Would you kindly direct me to Ficly?

With very humble apologies to Dorothy Parker

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