By borrowing some marketing fuzz from the Eisenhower campaign— “I Like IKEA”—the Swedish furniture giant sets out to become the first foreign corporation to hold the U.S. presidency. Yet IKEA’s Hoover-esque platform—“A couch in every living room beside a kitchen with a meatball in every pot”—may seem rather tortuous for most swing voters to recite.
“Tortuous,” says the celebrity, newly liberated from prison.
“They told us that story in the joint—‘The Tortuous and the Hare.’” You got two
sides, these days—Pro and Conundrum—whereas a string of riddles can often feel
like a conundrum-roll.
Do soccer moms pursue affairs with NASCAR dads or do NASCAR
moms pursue affairs with soccer dads? (Where’s the mistress, you ask? Why,
she’s in the greenhouse, misting.)
Meantime, art historians scramble to re-calibrate their
assessment of the post-impressionist genius, Vincent van Gogh, upon the
discovery of an oil painting, “The Sari Night”, which depicts the nocturnal
clothing of women in South Asia. To accommodate the ramifications of this
development, an Internet domain registration site, Vincent van GoDaddy, will
process UR URL.
“Ramifications”, says the celebrity, newly liberated from
prison. “Yeah, we had those in the joint—when two guys butted heads, we called
it ramifications.”
The French, as we know, ceased to administer the Upper Volta
some time ago, but did they abandon this African region as a result of an
uprising, a Revolta? On occasion, I suffer an intense disgust above the belt,
what I call an Upper Revolta. I noticed my first Upper Revolta after watching Welcome Back Kotter, and I have my
theories, kind citizens, that John Travolta caused my Revolta.
If writing with “ink” led to The Inquisition it
would follow that the wielding of an accessory—we mean “prop”—has led our
society to The Proposition. The same way an abundance of “def” has led to The
Definition and an abundance of “app” has led to The Apparition. Hey, the shadows
find love, too. When two phantoms mate, their climax results in a phantasm.
11 comments:
I'm tired of the revolta-ing phantom climaxes I'm hearing about all over the place. Someone get these ghosts a storage closet, and get me a new kind of stout.
asking ghosts to get a room was never a problem before. but now, with phantoms getting more shadow than ever before -- you find yourself asking them to get another gut-darn place to haunt with their phantasms and whatnot.
i'd like someone to give a gut-darn ted talk on something bloody important such as sessionable stout. eh? otherwise, i'm a gonna drink the same ol' same ol' while the shadows are a-couplin' without abandon!
--b.a.
brutal double-issue. my brain needs cleansing... casey
i recommend stout as a brain-cleanse. the upper reaches of the mind; the double decker of the soul; the upper decker of the ballpark. well, you know what i'm getting at. in any event, i'm looking forward to the cleansing action of the party. also, man -- you're gonna have a KIT. you're gonna have a shirt in time for the big game!
b.a.
I'm a fan of the big, bold, rich stouts myself. Remember when you could get a flagon of bold rich stout? A flagon? Now, it's mainly snifters. Good God, snifters. What next? Thimbles? "I'll have thimble of your finest stout."
The stout better not become a shadow.
long ago is the day one would meet one's chums for a flagon of stout after toiling in this industry we call earth. now one must receive meted-out portions of stout. as if to say -- it's your good fortune to have this thimbleful of dark ale.
a review of the literature tells us that stout covets us much as we covet stout. this is the way of all drink. it's intriguing, however, to conceive of stout in the shadow-world. the shadow-world toward which we are all destined to go.....
b.a.
Let's face it. Those so-called white stouts = ghost stouts.
i would medicate with stout if i saw a ghost. certainly if i saw a ghost i would medicate with stout. let's face it -- when the doctor asks me "taking any medications" -- i do say "yes: stout."
b.a.
but you forgot "upper-decker" of la toilette.
that'll keep them ghosts away...
the, the goose:
o, i have not forgotten. i am haunted by that decker. i have post traumatic upper decker disorder.
which returns me to medication. i shall concern myself with stout. what else is there, in this crazy marble hurling itself around the sun?
it has begotten us, and we have begotten stout, in fact i ought to begettin some stout for tonight's festivities!
up the swans & up the, the geese too!
ba
up the decker!
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