APRES MOI . . . LE DELUDE.

The lesser-known Trojan Elk

After Me, there will be a flood -- of delusion. The Trojan Elk will empty out at 3:20 p.m. in the past, underneath the Flor de Baltimore sign, straddling the tracks, in the Border Town. Out will pour Ionians and Dorics, of course, rounding up all the Helens and Hellenes that they can sway with their Oratory, with their Rhetoric, with their Rubrics of Avant Modern Shizzle. John Coltrane will chant "Delude Supreme, Delude Supreme" while a woman nicknamed Hot Cups will bring the coffee, two sugars, two creams. O, Apres Moi, O, Apres Moi. Because, you know, the flood is taken for granted, by now. It is -- the Whitewashing -- at issue. We are Spectacle, and everything, these days, is a Close Shave. To own your own mind is to be the loaner of an only heart. If there remained only one Heart or one Casket or one Rump of Beef, in which would you invest, as a money-making venture? If you chose the latter, and it got out of hand, you'd be stuck with a Rumpus of Beef, so choose wisely. And roast enough Rumpus to feed those rampaging Ionians. Apres Moi, I would hope that one could tell a Heart from a Casket, a Delude from a Deluge.

HUBBA HUBBA.

O, Seduction, Thy Poultry Is Sizzling!

What would Freud say about a drumstick-wielding Colonel? Is a Freudian Slip a kind of sheer night-wear donned -- "by accident"? Or is it sheer night-mare? (The sleek she-horse who arrives in the dark). One must worship the stormy sea, and one must worship the sun-shine, before one can worship the potato. That would be my triptych, if I were told to have triptych, if our government, say, decided that all Americans should have access to triptych: Water, Light, Tuber. In terms of what I can do for my country -- I can ask what my country can do for me! It's a kind of Perverse Osmosis Patriotism, and it is, now, available in most beverages. We should protest those who engage in windy fascist tactics, The Gustapo. And we should protest those who engage in soupy fascist tactics, The Gazpacho. Pop for weasel, culture, and dislocations. Pop for soda, gramps, and dislocations. Alert: the Fraud Fräulein is a-loose; she must've given her jailers the Freudian Slip. The she-horse is a-galloping; the ocean must be nourishing the potato.

WHEN LOVERS KISS.

How a ménage à trois always ends

It is that -- brief -- time of the year when a lover will don the sweater vest, or a seaman's cap. Well, to be fair, it is always time for a sweater vest in love affairs that are prosecuted by members of The Academy. The train moves, but not like it does in France, or anywhere else, although, it's a real plus that it moves at all. Fliers enter the commuter rail at the airport depot, portly dudes who want to "take back our country" or have a successful encounter with Vice. Preferably, one in which other people get arrested, who do not deserve the misfortune. "Oui" is the stuff of sheets being thrown overhead and God-all knows what else. Whereas "Yes" can lead to the sheets thrown overhead but only if decided upon in advance. What is elliptical versus what is utile. Take the word "intact". It equates, roughly, to "solid in the wake of a dire challenge" but if you chop it in half, make "in tact", then it sounds like diplomacy, which, equates, roughly, to futile. What is intact, in tact, is lessoned. Plat, Platitude; At, Attitude; Drat, Gratitude. All right, portly dudes, take back our country and get a refund. You can't get a brand new country because we're all out of new countries, unless you'd like something in an ecological disaster -- Oh, there's plenty of that to go around, Odorites.

THE ECONOLODGE AMERICAN DREAM.

Get some spellcheck on that tag, yo

Will that be Oral Vulgarity or Written Vulgarity? Inside the safe you'll find the condiment bar, and that'll be two Fins. There ain't enough mustard, though, to feed the god, to free the swallowed child. The children of the gods, therefore, are lost, and this, for all practical purposes, is your final notice. If you want to say "Chine" say "Chine" -- should it ameliorate the repossession of our -- collective -- drywall. Our troubadors crooning the Oleo Leo. I mean, we can't even spell "doomsday" below the window and above the grille. I'm sorry, but all rooms in the EconoLodge American Dream come with Very Aggressive Culture. For an extra charge, your Very Aggressive Culture can be 100 percent certified Organic. If necessary, you can ambulate in the digdug pen beside the dumpster, and then settle down for a complimentary Incontinent Breakfast. Choice of EconoLodge Bananas. Or, if you will, calculate the chance of zealotry viz the appearance of actual zealots. The Fallback? Oh yeah: Nearly forgot: The Center is an idealogy: Queue the pilgrims.

PRIX FIXE PREFIX.

Tusk, Tusk, Tusk, a Shame

Lo, the teenage elephant charges down from the Now 'n' Laters wearing Speed Stick Must. Maybe he shrieks "YEAH-H-H" in the middle of nowhere because he Gotta. It is both inveterate and beyond the paleontology. Similary, the naming rights to the U.S. Gross Domestic Product have been sold, and we now, apparently, have the EconoLodge Economy, which is currently entering a double dip repression, owing to a shortage of ask less, Chaps. There is little difference, anymore, between breaking news and breaking wind. Bejewel your sea creature and call him a Bling Ray. Go ahead, chomp your Sweetmeats and ring your cowbell, champ, your Sweetheart ain't arriving any sooner. Should we be passing Immigration or Ingratiation Reform? How about a New Deal, instead? That is, a fresh hand of cards. Every person in this country should be given a little Duchy, or should that be a little Douchey? The prix fixe prefix is IN. So, I mean, trumpet around in a state of Gotta, and remember that Gotta is just Gotta until it's a boner fide Gotcha. In time, there won't be an Economy anymore, at all, or on the atoll, just the EconoLodge American Dream.