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the latest
waddle: good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03 elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01 building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19 ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09 my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
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WARNING SIGNS Plagues of locusts Sirens Dry mouth, sleeplessness All your possessions taking on the dark potential of handguns Yellow sky, freight-train wind Bleeding fingers "We need to talk" A fascination with wood-grain patterns and subatomic particles Closed-door office conferences Oxygen masks dropping from the overhead compartment Daydreams of contracting some sort of minor but lingering illness, and resting peacefully in the hospital, a letter to no one in the clean white envelope of the sheets Plummeting stock prices The percussionist picking up his mallet Trembling lower lip, wet eyes "Please remain calm" Persistent metallic taste Blank looks One pretzel away from President Cheney (Originally that was going to be my only post. May I frighten you? Here's some links, as well, to take the edge off.) Physics? Philosophy? No one's quibbling anymore. How many universes would you like? It's an omen. It's in your bathroom and in your backyard. It may quoth something at you, even. It's the raven. Magnets on your brain. It won't hurt a bit. Marketers must think that if you are vegetarian you are also a kook. That's the explanation I have for the fact that I regularly receive an invitation to join this weird book club of "new age" volumes, all about how the angels are going to help you start your own business and crap like that. I always look at the catalog, though, just to get a handle on what interesting things are out there, and the other day I came across this blurb: a book called "Zen Sex," billed as being written by the same man who wrote "Zen Guitar." The problems are threefold: (1) there is a book called "Zen Sex," (2) there is a book called "Zen Guitar," and (3) the man who wrote "Zen Guitar" is qualified to write "Zen Sex." Why do I get the automatic image of a really creepy sandaled guy who invites you up to his room to play "Moondance" for you on his acoustic? And when are the world's Buddhists going to get sick of all this crap and start laying the smackdown on people? (Add another warning sign: compulsive list-making.) CAN YOU SPOT THE FAKE PLACE NAME? (difficulty level: relatively easy) Climax, Saskatchewan Fort Dick, California Umpire, Arkansas Blueballs, Pennsylvania French Lick, Indiana Disco, Tennessee Crotchgrab, Minnesota Hornytown, North Carolina It, Mississippi Normal, Illinois Spread Eagle, Wisconsin Boring, Oregon I'm sure you can use your prodigious geography and Google skills and figure this out, but if you're really stumped I am, as always, at your disposal. ---mimi smartypants, la belle dame sans merci. back/forward |
