In a perfect world, it would dispense STOUT.
We must, as a society, reëxamine “Prophecy” if it should prefigure, No. 1, chronic wandering, and if, No. 2, to alleviate chronic wandering, the wanderer must arrive to the interior of a land where no man salts his meat, for there is such a land, and that land is Hypertension, but instead, what if the wanderer, owing to Prophecy, must drift about, oar slung across the sinew, and knot, and leather of his dorsum, until he discovers a land where no man beats his meat? Now that would be a journey. Should a street tough assault you with a dark red legume then he would be giving you “the beet down.” Did Beethoven compose “Fur Elise” during a confusing period of rental instability, and really meant to entitle his movement “Fur Lease”—or maybe he meant to offer pelts and foxpieces on layaway or through other creative financing? Whale = Whale, agreed, whereas Whales = Welsh, am I right? What the hell is the state jackrabbit, again? In the fourth book of the bible, Numbers, god administers to the Israelites a series of mathematics examinations, and it’s no wonder they dwelt in the house of the desert for forty years; you didn’t fail, exactly, but were smitten (with dyspepsia) (with Pepsi) (with Pepcid) (with pep rallies). I will dress for All Hollows Eve as a Hollows. I will dress for All Hollows Eve as a Guile Bladder or a Blind Boulder Test. The Eskimos, on the other hand, have 100 names for the Federal Debt, and for Obesity, and for Little Debbie Snack Cakes, as well. We may begin to suffer double dip influenza on account of double dip recession. One man, one half of a murderous duo, opted to don tights in prison, and so the esteemed duo were later known as Leotard & Loeb, even Neotard & Loeb after one in the duo adhered to progressive politics. Different haircuts will nowadays necessitate different shampoos; we will require pumice and petroleum shale to cleanse a mohawk. If we are serious about reducing the size of government, then we should send it, at long last, to a shrink.
Man, we had a guy in our bowling league named Don Tights. Bowled for the Chesterton Cheetahs. Man, they Cheetahs is always Cheatin'. They cheetiz, they big fiece cheetiz, they don't let ya live. And his hair was so greasy, looked like he had a dorsum fin atop o' his head. Always Welshed on his bets, too. Used to scrub-a-dub-dub his pet pumas with pumice. Big fiece pumiz he had. Till they took him for a jackrabbit and ate him like they kippiz.
ReplyDelete-RITA
duuuuuuuuude: at long lsat. i mean the movies of your dat were cool but i've benn missing these! how about some TYPOS! yrs, ruhgina
ReplyDeleteRUH-GINA! it's been too long for you and your typos. "At long last" since you took the LSAT? Movies of my dat? Dat sure is not about my dad. But I digress. How are you? What grade are you in? What's going on with you? --BAG
ReplyDeleteAs for you, RITA -- well, Kippers don't have Flippers they have Kippiz for Flippiz. They sure do snack a lot, and then they get arrested. With the proper cell mate they could be Kippiz 'n' the Atticus -- which might make an acronym for Jewish religious garb. But I digress. --BA
ReplyDeleteThe kippiz, they get arrested for kibitzin', too...
ReplyDelete-RITA
Kibitz snacks? Snackz? Ah, man. How much longer until the Junket in the Trunket? And how much STOUT will be on the itinerary? --BA
ReplyDeletei'm a senior! i told you that! no typos! gina
ReplyDeleteWe were something then.
ReplyDeletegina -- i remember when you were just a wee little thing, writing your first typos in the comment box, and look at you now . . . all grown up! (except all the same typos.) --BA
ReplyDeletei long for those days, man, when we were something. i felt -- indefinite -- strangely gratified. (and usually had about five or six slices of pucillo pizza in my guts.) --BA
ReplyDeleteAnd the dude had a fly on his slice and shit.
ReplyDeleteman, we need to create a blog, just to memorialize that scene properly. five or six thugs stalking around giorgio's -- with weird shaped bottles of wine. biker thugs. one in particular was threatening to slap "papi" over the fly on his slice. remember the secret service (uniformed) cops who came in? they did the math, turned around, & walked right back out! i think the dude got a new slice. thank god. --BA
ReplyDeleteLet us toast to "papi."
ReplyDeleteYeah man for giving over that second slice! DG
ReplyDeleteWho knows what would have happened had he not given over a second slice? And thank god there was no second fly on the second slice! We all might have suffered -- and it's not like the cops cared or were courageous enough to hang around, eh? --BA
ReplyDeletei just came back to look at this. yr funny! oh! do you remember DAVE?well he amd my mom splitup! he moved out! -----g
ReplyDelete