[1]
One can repair the world in English, too—no need to “redefine
community” in the process. If that makes me narrow-minded, then confront me
again during National Selfie Week, during which I plan on posting my Rejection
of Sameness Selfie. Meantime, my race horse is Exacta Pound of Flesh and my
jazz record is Mingus Ah Umlaut. The stipulation
of the situation requires a horn. If everything that ferments must converge—then
honk.
[2]
How To Walk Home (Tight) From The Pub, Chapter 1. First,
remove the “Barfly For Sale” sign scotched to your back. You’ve got two
options: Socialize Up and Hook Up. (Rarely can you achieve both in the same
constitutional.) In the former scenario, you might be expected to perform from a list
of jumps: Meatballs in the Fridge Jump; Jim Dandy Jump; Indie Dude Aloofness Jump; Tats
in the Attic Jump; Twitchy Jump. Don’t get all stodgy lest someone dub you “So hook up.”
[3]
People sure do trust in the lulls: The Wine Tasting Lulls; The Big Box
Retailer Joke Lulls; The Sniper Day Lulls; The Train Leaving Baltimore Lulls;
The Take Your Pills Lulls, people sure do trust in the lulls. Here we go again,
Big Money vs. Little Money. I always see Big Money dining at Ruth’s Ludacris
Steakhouse, whereas Little Money bickers endlessly in their front stoop High Life gear. “Suggestive humping lull?” “Why yes!” “Carry on then.” “You bet.”
2 comments:
For an instant, I thought you said "Ezra Pound of Flesh." But did you know that there are three Irish bars in a row on W.33rd in NYC near Penn Station, one of which is called simply "Stout"? http://www.stoutnyc.com/
I have imbibed in this very pub. Their bottled stout list is usually pretty strong, I must say.
Ezra Pound Cake would be more like it, or Ezra Pound for Pound, or Better than Ezra Pound -- which is what I think most of the time.
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