Asimov, Heinlein, Clarke: A Googlism Poem

Life has gotten suddenly busy, so I haven't had the mental stamina to do much hereabouts, but my brain is numb enough to create a poem about the "big three" science fiction writers (Isaac Asimov, Robert A. Heinlein, and Arthur C. Clarke) from phrases culled from Googlism:
Isaac Asimov is the original quidnunc,
your guide as you probe space
against Reagan's Star Wars,
though Isaac Asimov is not actually there.

Isaac Asimov is dead.

Robert Heinlein is not someone whose views
I would think anyone wanted to quote in
Siamese tights fetish pics.

Right in the center of this group photo
Tom Clancy takes refuge in Buckingham Palace
and Robert Heinlein is the gnarly midget boggled by Peking
(Buck Rogers moves to Siberia).

Robert Heinlein is the slippery large insertions;
Robert Heinlein is the fat chubby naked men.

The archdean was attacked by Uranus
if Robert Heinlein is to be believed
or imitated by Hollywood.
He tortures the nipple trainer.

Robert Heinlein is my favorite author,
a big mistake.

Robert Heinlein is dead.

Arthur C. Clarke is best known
for his 2001 unusual birthday presents.

Arthur C. Clarke is a British world,
often given credit for the geostationary orbit
worth paying attention to
for a multitude of reasons.

One of the truly prophetic figures of the space age,
chancellor of the International Space University
and the University of Moratuwa,
Arthur C. Clarke is one of the first
guests in the Hilton Orbiter

Arthur C. Clarke is alive and well and living in paradise.

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