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.

SUFFIXES TO SAY.

That does not explain everything.

Everything "ette". Vinegar + "ette" and incarceration + "ette" and Deity plus "ette". The problem of everyone, in a scandal, having a spokesperson. Suddenly, there are some tall, sturdy Swedes telling us that other tall, sturdy Swedes have nothing to say. Spokespeople is a shovel-ready project. Why not dedicate stimulus funds, thus, to hundreds, if not thousands, of spokespeople. It could be the President's way of including his adversaries in the national dialogue, by way of expanding their political vocabulary. Instead of being "The Party of No" -- well, they could be "The Party of No . . . Comment" if all voters had access to spokespeople. What you used to know about heavy cranes + "ette": No comment. Was that a rabbit or an elk + "ette": No comment. No, wait a minute. Was that, like, a vole, or a sourpuss, or a digdug kind of creature + "ette": No comment. See how that crab works? Chaw Sir, Chaucer, Saucer, Sauce Sir?

THE DANGER OF SHELTERING IN PLACE.

Your Stimulus Dollars in Action

Nothing says "I love you" more than nougat, except, maybe, nugget. Nougat or nugget, eh?, that's the rub. Which brings me to the problem of People with Elegant Wrists. They and their elegant wrists, they don't have to curse, they can't, really, in any event, curse, on account of their elegant wrists. One day, soon, it will be 8 / 9 / 10. That is, it will be August 9, 2010. There must be some -- finality -- on that day: A curtain raised and someone really peeved. "Ta Da!" even if the trick fails, the trick always fails, in real life. O, Big Old Water Tank. Why a Big Old Water Tank and not another form of liquid delivery? Some daredevil will always want to scale it, A., and B., someone will write an unfortunate Ode to His Hometown Water Tank. Will it say "Shibboleth?" it will say "Shibboleth." What can you do, but incorporate some peat humus into the topsoil? You will never be the same, thereafter, but the topsoil will always be the topsoil, just a bit more peat humussy, and awaiting, with some -- finality -- The Drought.

THE PROBLEM OF THE CHOW CHOW.

I'll Never Go Back to Georgia

The problem of the chow chow, unleashed, in a summery rural lane. With no owner, apparently, nearby. And no people, for that matter, anywhere about. The problem of that chow chow, cocking his head, raising his tail, in that rural lane. In Georgia. He'd been clenching a softball in his jaws, and when I arrived, dropped it, slobbery, beaten by bats and gloves. The ball rolled off to the side and the chow chow cocked his head, a black dog with purple gums, its tail not passive, but raising like hackles. To know a dog's name is to know his combination and if you get one or two tries incorrect, unlike a safe -- which will just sit there, dumbly guarding its valuables -- the dog will grow and growl impatient. Or worse. Would nobody name a rottweiler "Rottweiler" or a shepherd "Shepherd" but a chow chow's second name is always "Chow Chow". And so the problem of the rural chow chow, unleashed, was solved. Even though I've never been in a country lane. In Georgia. It was Florida, instead, and the chow chow was a friend of mine.

BAD LUCK OBEDIENCE TRAINING.

Def Leppards.

What I'm saying is, there is a tree out there that not only bears the salami as fruit, but effectively hides the salami as part of its -- daily, monthly, annual -- ritual. A Hide the Salami Tree. O, can you imagine when people became people? It must've been, like, B.C. B.C., cuz, becuz that's when people still didn't know who they were, just yet. Some walked all the way up to Norway! There were savages running around in the hedge, painting themselves blue -- before they became the British. Another man held a snail, or a mushroom, up to his nose and he became a Frenchman. Suddenly there were all kinds of people, and the only logical thing to do was, heat lots of oil and pour it on each other. (This notion would go uncorrected for many centuries, until a band of traveling minstrels, Hard of Hearing Feline, or was it Def Leppard, would aver that one should pour sugar on [the other].) O, Deffen me!