Right next door to Funkin' Donuts.Odor in America. It's not just funk, it's a ritual, a Rite. A right protected by the constitution. Men wearing mirrored glasses and three piece suits can eat submarine sandwiches, wrote the Founders, and bear arms, even as they expose they stinky armpits -- they Flounders -- in the process. Bearing arms is kind of like doing the hokey pokey, kind of like a potluck, in Marianna, Fla., a little Fish Fry, which is healthfoods, by the way, specially if said Fry is held at a place of worship. Eat a little sole, to save your soul. Eat a little sardine if you dig The Dumb Animal. But don't eat no smelts, if you are what you eat. Else, you might smelts, bad, so sayeth Leviticus: As in Foundry as in funk (20:20). Hint: don't bring that Strange Odor before the Lord lest the Lord smite you. On the Q.T., backchannel, we all know that the Lord gets a little loosy goosy, in that regard. He digs his Smote Salmon, with a little Garden of Eden cream cheese, on a Deuteronomy Bagel. Speaking of which: Dude, where's my Economy? Didn't we, like, hand Dubya a Surplus? Some will pull the lever for the McCain / Abel ticket, and if McCain / Abel win, I hope they Do the Rite Thing. O, Do Rite, I want to tell them: ODoRite. We'll need it: Odorite.
Cool and cloudy here this morning, with a nice breeze that'll blow the stink away, and the sun expected for my afternoon lounge at the beach. You should come out here some time. Plenty of places to eat first rate chicken.
ReplyDeleteSome sau-sage advice, here: Do the Rite thing w/ new Rite Guard McBag o' Bugers scent -- the ladies will love it, and the pledged delegates will, too! Available, now, in retro-style aerosol spray cans at a Wal-Mart or Walgreens near you --
ReplyDeleteMcCain Unable -- what, me worry??
ReplyDeleteMaking Odor Right -- that's our competitive edge, these days, yes?
ReplyDeleteAh, the chicken waftings, oh ho ho ho, the chicken waftings. Bring it!
----BA
I bet if you step outside this afternoon, you'll be able to smell a Boston Market even from far away. And that goes double for the Colonel.
ReplyDeleteDat sqveak! Dat heat-lamp. There was, like, a cragar headlight on me, the whole time. I *lost* weight at Boston Market. ----BA
ReplyDeleteI can smell it even now.
ReplyDeleteIt was like *I* was on the spit roasting. ----BA
ReplyDeleteYou were sveating ven you heard dat sqveak --
ReplyDeleteI thought it was The End. ----BA
ReplyDeleteYou're wrong. Odorite is efficient. You save three letters (the second R, the G, and the H) and spend one, the E. They should go into deodorant. There were some girls in the park, today, who could've used a wash! Tee hee. Mira
ReplyDeleteoh but have you seen the hokum they do down in defuniak springs>?
ReplyDeleteI got some elegiac / funerary kind of thing, with playlist that was half all right. The last song for the first memorial was Johnny Griffin. That ain't half bad. Does you gots the right link? ----BA
ReplyDeletei propose a series of starstudded benefit concerts:
ReplyDelete1) odo-rite-aid
2) dolo-mite-aid
3) cherry-kool-aid
4) dubya-bite-aid
5) bolton's-spicy-chicken-n-fish-aid
my apartment in london ontario was uniquely situated with the labatt's brewery to the west, the kellogs's plant to the south, the mccormick's spice plant to the east, and cow pastures surrounding the general vicinity. so you could always tell where the whether was coming from depending on the smell of the breeze:
ReplyDeleteyoung beer and cornflakes? mild days ahead.
corn flakes and black pepper? partly cloudy with a 50% chance of showers.
young beer and cow shit? storms approaching rapidly!
t.
Dolomite Aid! HA!
ReplyDeleteI know what you left off and you know what you left off.
Aid in the shade. Canaanite Rite. Minute M'aid. 'Sade. Am I rite?
BA
Wait:
ReplyDeleteYoung beer, cow doogie, and cinnamon. N'est ce pas? Cinnamon!
BA
"Young beer, cow doogie, and cinnamon"
ReplyDelete=
a mixture of sun and cloud becoming gradually hazy as an alberta clipper works it way into the martimes leaving chances of overnight frost, morning frogs, patches of locust by midday and the last judgment on the high sierra
Somewhere, man, there is an Ontarian MacBeth, where, at one point, something is prophecied never to happen, unless "Cinnamon Doogie" should move to "Dunsinane Hill" or what have you. Well, then, Cinnamon Doogie does move to Dunsinane Hill and then the thing -- Dolomite Aid -- happens. Eh? ----BA
ReplyDeleteay, surely as there be one james mcintyre, the famous cheese poet of ingersoll ontario!
ReplyDelete"We have seen thee, Queen of Cheese."
ReplyDeleteThe hell does that mean?
Like, a homecoming queen in a cheese town in Canada? So there was King Cheese and some Babybels (bad joke).
ReplyDeleteLike, no, here's the explanation. You could be a war poet, or a tree poet, or the world's one cheese poet. The dude picked his niche and went for it.
There can be no other.
BA