Here, here, I got one, listen to this

Okay, funny story.
When I was younger (which means this is a story about the past, which should, by all rights, be forgotten), Steve, Dan and I wrote disgusting poems (mostly full of my big disgusting words) and sent them into poetry.com, which was some site that raved about themselves and how exclusive they are. All of our poetry got accepted into their books with grand congratulations and proclamations of honor airmailed to us. For example, the very first, The Chronicles of Yitmas:

Divided we are, thus, in our relations
Pasteurized we are within;
Rent like torn vines apart from the mother
Of vespulations unseen and unheard
Yet tangible, like thirty-some marnicles?
Masking, hording incomplete requests
To rectify with riptal sense
That harnessed, beats the chorus like
A wave of final fishing skills
Who possessed them? Who thought
He wrought the patience for such
A profession that couldn't be hallucinated.
Hearken honestly, originality comes frivolous.
Requisite harmonious bits of strategim
That cannot be replaced or harmed likewise.
Forevermore, lisping in the since of the synch.
Withersoever has with self-expression,
Withered marks of hapless trent-fulls?

How's your headache?
Basically, we thought it was hilarious, for some reason, and we kept poking fun at all the poets who were taking their honors seriously. We even went so far as to think up a background for her (the publishers requested a small blurb about her life to go next to her poetry), and a picture, incidentally, from Google, the mother of all things.
Nancy Hagen Yitmas soon evolved into the name that I automatically put down under things that I didn't want to take credit for. Something I'd written, didn't quite want to throw away, but didn't want anyone to know I'd had any part in. Like poetry that was too evil, or about some of the darker aspects of romance. Or...things. That should've never been written. (But anyway.)
Nancy Hagen Yitmas took on the role of my guiltless pseudonym, later on in life. Just the name I would put down when I wanted people's honest opinion. Or when I didn't want people trying to figure out why I'd written a song about people dying or a song about losing a loved-one. People never seemed to understand that they were just nice ideas. Like making a hippopotamus out of play-dough.
Now I write N. Hagen Yitmas as a special little inside joke for only Elaina to grasp. But I guess I don't deem the inside joke of much worth because I'm destroying it now.
So yes. That's who N. Hagen Yitmas is.

Well I thought it was funny.