Loss of Beatitude

"Here's lookin' at you, Freezerface!"

Remnants are a loom product and Remnants are the exhaust of a dead storm and Remnants are the hours we typically devote to anxious pontifications or subdued debauchery. Doctors have performed the first Beatific Smile Transplant in history by removing the Beatific Smile from the Arse of a Mr. [censored], and attaching it, bravely, to another man's countenance, thereby restoring Beatific Smile to a second Mr. [censored], who'd suffered Loss of Beatitude. Ah, the tilt of the beret. The receipt of cultural information. It must be Academe, you know, written exams, oral exams, digital exams. Did a dog once Retrieve the entire land mass of Labrador? Rote chores or wrote choirs. To fool the I, to fool the Oeil, trump, trompe, chump, chomp. To attain the rank of Middle Manager is to develop skill sets in correlation with long term goals, or, how to serve that lunchmeat, Inertia, with a side order of Props. Habitat is where your Habit is At. Don't be all, like, up in my face with this "Boers 'n' the Commuter Rail" nonsense because I espied those wild Boers, and heard their "kookete kookete kookete" who says "kookete kookete kookete" anyhow or were those the blooming railroad wheels bracketing toward the municipality of Halethorpe and its adult video landfill? Oh, Sameness of Waterfront Errants, Oh, Every Culture and Its Gravy, Oh, Whap Whap Kneady Jones. To "Whopper the Colonel" is to deliver, yes, a Flame Broiled Burger to a ranking officer, and to deliver a Bent Truth, i.e., Angled Artifice the size of, say, a Dirigable, to a ranking officer, kookete kookete kookete.

The Spin Cycle

We are well equipped to attack The Weather.

In some countries, it's not the Grim Reaper but die Erdkröte aus Tod, or the Death Toad, who shows up, on the doorstep, in a blurry thundershower. That will only happen if (A) your time is Up or (B) die Kartoffelkroketten were dry. To be clear -- if the croquette potatoes were dry, the Death Toad will come. If the tropics are busy this year, then the X storm will be Hurricane Xerox, which will repeat the path of the storm that came before, a real aid to The Generals Weather. Jails are becoming more user-friendly: While they won't offer to vend you your orange jumpsuit, they will leave it on a hanger in your cell, kind of like a hotel robe challenge, after you've dressed in street clothes, upon parole. Beware Opportunity and Beware Cost, both are Felonies in the 21st Century. If you engage in Sport then you will engage in Itch. If you engage in Itch then you will engage in Prickerbush. If you engage in Sport then you will engage in Prickerbush. "A man is not a laundry machine." Okay? "A man is not the spin cycle." Okay? Unvarnish thy prose ; debloomer thine oration ; reflutter thine eyebat ; unration thy scintillation. La bas la bas la boogie!

Dearth, Incorporated

Grand Theft Downpour.

Behold the Drought. It loiters and we forget. We engage in abominations while the Drought endures. The rains must come if the rains don't come. If the rains don't come the rains must come. You know the rest. The cucumbers parch beside the heirlooms. The vegetarian goes without. He must sample a little turkey, instead. He must chew a little tender, juicy bird. Behold the Drought. The lip of it to the north of Danville, Va., amongst all the Danville Gals. A beachhead to the west of Ocean City, N.J., amongst all the Danville Gals. It loiters, the Drought, and we forget. We water our crabrass. Nudge our grabass. Bed down beside our false idols. The Neo-Stoics postulate that water, itself, thirsts, and assert the stratagem. The rains must come if the rains don't come. If the rains don't come the rains must come. Shortages is Shortages. That's the plan. "For sayings you are, and unto sayings shall you return." We engage in abominations while the Drought endures: Senator, Senator, Senator, Senator & Co.

Pride and Pejorative

I'm so proud, I could privatize myself.

I'd vote for Hoss but not for Haas. I ain't electing nobody who got no splotch on they billboard. That there is a SPLOTCH or my name ain't kicked around the paint factory. I don't keer if his ealdormen fought with that dumbass at Essex. He can color himself blue and run around the woods all he wants, I don't keer. I have a convection to make. I told my priest that I have a confection to make. That's not true. I ain't got no priest. I don't have no busfare, yes, I have no milk money. The big spiders hide in the banana bunches. The banana bunches travel, coach class, on banana boats. Hence, by the transitive property of mathematics, the confession was a perjury, per the jury's instrumentation. Ever heard the Jury Quartet and their new single, "Guilty, Guilty, Guilty, Guilty-y-y-y-y?" It's pretty bad, actually, it's a "tet" offensive. Okay, kay, kay. A member of the elite border policemen stops a car on the Italian/Austrian border but it could be anywhere, kay?, anywhere. He asks the driver to unlock the trunk, which is standard procedure. A search of the trunk reveals an enormous pumpkin. "Vass ees thees?" he stammers, "Vass ees thees?" That's the question. Now, choose the correct answer: (a) The policeman as the "avant gourd" (b) For shame: Manwich is a Meal but a pumpkin's a SQUASH. Drizzle that vinaigrette on your little grape tomato, little cherry tomato confab, Hoss.

Ode to Odors

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.

Reverting to Feral Ways

Sugar in the Raw!

Let's face it: We can control our climate but not our primate. Adulterers are those who criminally impersonate adults. I send you my (r)egrets because I'd rather you be visited by a seafowl. Depressed about protocol? Take your antideprecedents. The British have it right: Their raincoats, the way they talk. The Scot took a doomp. A brick layer is a mason in the trowel-wielding sense, that is, one who specializes in the "escapades" (and ice capades) of sunbaked or kiln-fired clay products. Perversely, a marine layer is not an individual who specializes in the urges of our fighting men but a cloud pattern blown (ahem) ashore from the see the holey see. To be swayed by suede is to stand in deference to indifference. A summands is a noun; derives from summa; a term in a summation. An addenda to an agenda. What kind of society debates the availability of "free condoms" when it won't offer free condiments? Us and our low carburator diets. Our liens and our leotards. Our neins and our neo-tards. God Bless the Good Ol' United States of Corporation! (Lo-o-o-o-o mein!)

The Similarity Between Feline and Peafowl and the Snackchip Habits of Us All

Same racket. Different act?

Scene 1: Alleyway. Muggy night, post-thunder, pre-cool. Ferocious mewing and metal garbage can overturned. Screeches of pain. Pain of screech. The ill wind of an evil moan and garbage can overturned, spill of bottles and spin of tops. The kind of calm, then, ensuing, that chills the very steel of steely, the very iron of irony. You: Urban ooh-ooh. Your wingtips and your vegetarianism and your vote, chump. Fighting, you aver. It should be broken up, says you. The poor beasts, in an environment devoid of regulation. Policies, you say. You thump your fist into your palm. Policies and enforcement. The leonine brutality. The Modern Age. The Lesson: Yam, slam, oop bop sh'bam. Sexy kittens. Scene 2: Fishing hole, central time, Panhandle, a starter storm that is here, that is there. Piercing shriek mid-tree, fanning of tail, and squonk. Shocking squonk and shriek climbing in thunder-light summands. The fear of the fish in the fishing hole, the fear of the hole, itself. The horror of blood beating the eardrum. "Salt Peanuts," goes them ears. "Salt Peanuts. Salt Peanuts." You: Food Jr., batter the cinderblocks, bulk chaw, yeahright. Up there, says you, where the limbs ramify, re-ramify, and play the trades. The love the peacock feels for the peahen. That the peahen would accept the peacock's tailfan and not criticize his stature in the larger peafowl taxonomy. The love, says you, that awaits us all. The Lesson: Oop bop sh'bam, a goo goo mop. Scene 3: The beasts about us. They covet curve of hindquarter. They covet wisp of arsefeather. They struggle and they mate. What greater perversion, then, that the human would prefer a snack chip? The glue that secures the bag. The tinny struggle to liberate the Dorito. The cheesy crunch. Whilst the television promotes acts of competition. Note: This entry posted from breezy Carlsbad, Calif., underneath the baobab, underneath the watchful eye of the hawk, beside the restless, relentless Pacific, a goo goo mop.