Lili Rose
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Lila Rose Quote
Lili Rose
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Parts Of Speech
She was a leghorn, but not as cute.
Is that the diminutive form?
Yea sure. Now, where were we? Oh yes, nouns. Of course I like nouns. Who wouldn't like a noun? I can talk all day on the benefits of nouns. Some of my favorite things are nouns. What am I saying - most of my favorite things are nouns.
And your thoughts on verbs?
I cherish verbs. I was turned into a verb once but had to change back. Verbs are angels in mine eyes. I wouldn't speak or write a sentence without one.
Have you always felt this way?
I suppose I went through my 'no verb' period like everyone else - but like acne - it too passed. I support verbs for everything they stand for. I'm verb friendly. I wear a verb on my lapel. I sport a verb on my bumper. I'm a verbalist. I vote along verb lines. I dated a verb in high school. I give to verb organizations. I fought alongside verbs in the big war and know first-hand they can be depended upon to get the job done. You can't go wrong with verbs. I'm a verb man - and always will be. And I've never waivered. I stand by my verbs, and in the end, hopefully, when all is said and done, they'll stand by me. It's all faith based, of course. Intelligent design...something along those lines...do you know what I'm saying?
What about transitive verbs?
They need our help and we should give till it hurts. It's as simple as that. It says so in the Bible.
Do you feel the same way towards the adverb?
Plain and simple, an adverb is an adjective passing itself off as a verb. And not doing a very good job at that. It's the 'part of speech' no one wants to talk about. It's become taboo. It's not politically correct. Frank Rich won't touch it and forget about William Safire. So and so says he would touch it, but only with yours. But any self-respecting, republican-leaning, stand-up kind of guy, would have nothing to do with the adverb. The adverb was created by hooligans, street thugs, supposedly for the intended purpose of bringing nuance into our lives. Well, I do know a few things about nuance, and let me tell you I don't get my nuance off the street - not anymore anyway. But I can speak to the nuance that lies between 'maybe' and 'can I get another kiss?'. But give it to me in black and white any day of the week. These free-speech, contrarian counter-culturalist weren't content to leave well enough alone, and with only what I can describe as malice toward their fellow man created what we now have come to fear and despise most: the abject, depraved, lonely, lowly, out of work, base adverb. And let's not forget these are the same people who introduced to us the split infinitive, and we all know what effect that had on the moral compass of this great nation of ours. It went due south! It went straight to bloody hell.
But reports show that more and more people are turning to adverbs to solve their problems. How do you respond?
Plain and simple, if you elect to run with adverbs you're flirting with disaster. You'll get burned. They'll hurt you. You'll wake the morning, a fat girl lying next to you, sheets drenched in sweat, aching all over, in the fetal position, clutching a Bible between your legs, yearning for a colonic, but settling for cigarettes, coffee, and the New York Times instead. If I were to come upon an adverb lying face down in the street, liquored up on absinthe and imploring me with his last breath to spell out the word Mississippi, I would take out my pistol and fill him full of 32 bullet holes. Unfortuneatly, adverbs are increasing at an alarming rate. According to a 'research & development' friend of mine at Websters Dictionary Inc, if they continue at their current growth rate, they'll soon overtake contractions. And I don't know about you but I sooner jump off a bridge than awake the morning next to a contraction? Just ask my wife! It's unimaginable. Listen carefully the next time you're in the check-out line at your local Walmart store: tongues tied and twisted; contorted and thrust out; thrush encircling thin lips; distended jaw lines; vowels clipped and hard; delivered in a falsetto; and consanants resembling the sound a baby seal makes upon being clubbed to death. Can I get a price-check on aisle 10? You tell me sweetheat because no one ever tells me a goddamn thing anymore. Have you been throttled lately?
Not since college. Would you let your daughter date an adverb?
I'd sooner become an English Professor than someone inform me that my daughter is cavorting with an adverb. I've seen in the labatory, with my own two eyes, what can happen when you cross an adverb with an adjective, and contrary to what some people might lead you to believe, they do come out with two heads. It makes my stomach turn to think about it. And then there's the surgery and all that must follow. You don't have any Tums on you, do you? We'd prefer she'd remain within her own race. It's safer that way. Pepcid A.D., or something? I suffer from dyspepsia. Adverbs are not permitted in our home. Never have been. And never will be. We're adverb free where I come from. It's become a national problem. My stomach is killing me.
What do you suggest we do about 'this problem'?
My wife says I should see a specialist.
Not your stomach, adverbs.
Let me share with your readers what I have done. Maybe this will help someone. I've gone through my entire American Heritage Dictionary and whited-out all entries to adverbs. I did the same recently with one of my favorite novels: Ernest Hemmingway's 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'. And how refreshing it is to read this novel without someone altering my verbs for me. For whom does the bell toll for? It tolls for me sweetheart, as it very well should. Per chance, have you seen my inhaler sweetheart?
Where does this hatred of adverbs stem from?
Like most hatreds it stems from or is rooted in events that occurred in my childhood. Like many other blue-blooded American boys I grew up on a strict diet of subjects and verbs, mixed in with plenty of chicken and spankings, to communicate my likes and dislikes. I was spanked into becoming the man I am today: a subject and verb kind of guy. And I still am. I was familiar with them and they were easy to use. And, if I might add, they'd gotten me out of a few tight spots on more than one occasion if you know what I mean. And so I grew to depend on them. Soon, I couldn't live without them. They became my twin gods: subject and verb. But then one day, feeling alone and vunerable, sitting naked by the phone, noshing on circus peanuts and Fresca, and rapidly sinking into a deep hole of self-loathing, despair, and depression, when a stranger shows up on the outskirts of our little town. At first I thought it was Boo Radley. But as the fates would have it, she passed by our house and knocked on our door and I answered it. And as she held out her hand to shake mine I swallowed hard when I spied the book she was clutching under one arm and all of my worst fears suddenly became realized. I can still recall the title of the book she held: 'Adverb: Did Your Mother Secretly Date One In High School?' and it hit me like a ton of bricks who this woman standing before me was: a bottom feeding apostate faux ecclesiastical adverb peddler! And in our neighborhood of all places! We were Methodist, for Christ's sake. At least on paper, anyway. And with total abandon and disregard for most of the ten commandments and many supreme court rulings, I did some things with adverbs that I'm not especially proud of today. But that's was a different time in America. But later that evening, in the privacy of my bedroom, behind my locked door, alone with my pet parakeet Brunnhelde, I pried open my book of adverbs. And with the aid of some old jumper cables connected to a a twelve volt tractor battery, and a ball-peen hammer, I soon enough advanced my manifest destiny right there on the floor! Later still I had to have my carpets cleaned and Brunnhelda replaced with an Egret. The next morning I awoke in a cemetary, and reflecting on what I had done the night before became consumed with much guilt, considered moving to Canada, and later still I had to have my stomach pumped: Mac & Cheese - that's all they ever found. That's how much the whole experience distressed me. And like many before me, I soon developed a dependancy for abverbs. I couldn't get out of bed without the aid of an adverb. I was like so and so...blah blah blah. And in short order I became insatiable, and so I read every book I could lay my hands on: 'Adverbs and The First Gulf War,' and 'Adverbs: Can They Stabilize World Currency Markets?' and 'Adverb: Not Just A Modifier Anymore,' and of course who could forget the charming: 'Do You Know Where Your Adverbs Are?' Well, no one had to remind me where my adverbs were. Adverbs had by this time taken over my life. I knew I needed professional help when I began to adverbulate several times a day to the theme song to Gilligan's Island. It came to the point where I couldn't leave my house anymore because of an irrational fear of people in uniform. Call it associative disorder disease or just plain call me crazy but don't call me late to dinner.
What did you do?
I did what any other desperate person would do in my situation, I phoned the English Department of my local community college and they put me in touch with a Dr. Epsom Salt. You may recall Dr. Salt's book: 'The Simple Sentence: Can it Be Made Any Simpler? You Tell Me!' Great book, by the way. And after much talk and a discourse by me on the influence chicken played in my early childhood development he finally told me to shut-up and admonished me with the following advice: if I didn't lay off the adverbs I was very soon going to begin to speak French.
Mama Mia!
Those were my exact words too. But before you pass judgement and deny me like Peter to Christ or Cher to Sonny let me remind you that when you have an adverb on you back it's hard to shake free of it. But I did overcome this affliction, and in a few months, with the aid of intense pyscho-therapy, mountains of medication, recovered memories and a private meeting with the Pope, I stood before, and with great fanfare, in a new suit, sporting a verb on my lapel, a smile on my face, a congregation of Scott-Irish pentecostal fanatics located somewhere in the foothills of the Appalacian mountains; and raised my eyes and hands upward and with conviction and resolve in my voice withdrew my support for the adverb and swore before the tongue-talkers assembled before me, so help me God, that I, one man, with good intent, and acting on God's orders, would reduce the eight parts of speech to seven, so help me God. Amen! But how could one man accomplish such a lofty and noble goal? And so, being who I am, I formed a committee to study this problem. And this committee grew into a conference and this conference burped up a symposium which in turn beget a congressional investigation and the next thing I know I 'm sitting atop a camel, in the desert, surrounded by a caravan of bedoins, humming a Cole Porter tune, wishing I had followed my father's advice and studied art history instead.
{PAUSE}
Are you okay?
I'm exhasted, it turned out to be a near-death experience for me, what with the wind and sage brush and all - but I'll be all right. It's painful for me to discuss adverbs with you. You see, I have a mental illness.
Histrionics?
No, agoraphobia! I have a fear of people staring at my adverbs.
But isn't true you were recently found with your pants down propositioning a prepositional phrase?
That's a falsehood and you know it. That was put out by the same people who support the notion that the letter 'b' should be dropped entirely from the alphabet. What I was actually doing was conjugating a verb; and there's no law prohibiting that, is there? With the exception being Alabama of course.
Of course. But isn't it true this particular verb objected to being conjugated?
Show me a verb that objects to being conjugated and I'll show you my dangling participles.
Your participles dangle? Can you show them to us?
If I inflect them - they do. But anyway, I'd show them to you but I'm past participle.
Are you tense?
No, I'm past tense. I'm a nervous wreck.
So, for the record, are you for, or, are you against nouns?
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm pronoun!
Is that the diminutive form?
Yea sure. Now, where were we? Oh yes, nouns. Of course I like nouns. Who wouldn't like a noun? I can talk all day on the benefits of nouns. Some of my favorite things are nouns. What am I saying - most of my favorite things are nouns.
And your thoughts on verbs?
I cherish verbs. I was turned into a verb once but had to change back. Verbs are angels in mine eyes. I wouldn't speak or write a sentence without one.
Have you always felt this way?
I suppose I went through my 'no verb' period like everyone else - but like acne - it too passed. I support verbs for everything they stand for. I'm verb friendly. I wear a verb on my lapel. I sport a verb on my bumper. I'm a verbalist. I vote along verb lines. I dated a verb in high school. I give to verb organizations. I fought alongside verbs in the big war and know first-hand they can be depended upon to get the job done. You can't go wrong with verbs. I'm a verb man - and always will be. And I've never waivered. I stand by my verbs, and in the end, hopefully, when all is said and done, they'll stand by me. It's all faith based, of course. Intelligent design...something along those lines...do you know what I'm saying?
What about transitive verbs?
They need our help and we should give till it hurts. It's as simple as that. It says so in the Bible.
Do you feel the same way towards the adverb?
Plain and simple, an adverb is an adjective passing itself off as a verb. And not doing a very good job at that. It's the 'part of speech' no one wants to talk about. It's become taboo. It's not politically correct. Frank Rich won't touch it and forget about William Safire. So and so says he would touch it, but only with yours. But any self-respecting, republican-leaning, stand-up kind of guy, would have nothing to do with the adverb. The adverb was created by hooligans, street thugs, supposedly for the intended purpose of bringing nuance into our lives. Well, I do know a few things about nuance, and let me tell you I don't get my nuance off the street - not anymore anyway. But I can speak to the nuance that lies between 'maybe' and 'can I get another kiss?'. But give it to me in black and white any day of the week. These free-speech, contrarian counter-culturalist weren't content to leave well enough alone, and with only what I can describe as malice toward their fellow man created what we now have come to fear and despise most: the abject, depraved, lonely, lowly, out of work, base adverb. And let's not forget these are the same people who introduced to us the split infinitive, and we all know what effect that had on the moral compass of this great nation of ours. It went due south! It went straight to bloody hell.
But reports show that more and more people are turning to adverbs to solve their problems. How do you respond?
Plain and simple, if you elect to run with adverbs you're flirting with disaster. You'll get burned. They'll hurt you. You'll wake the morning, a fat girl lying next to you, sheets drenched in sweat, aching all over, in the fetal position, clutching a Bible between your legs, yearning for a colonic, but settling for cigarettes, coffee, and the New York Times instead. If I were to come upon an adverb lying face down in the street, liquored up on absinthe and imploring me with his last breath to spell out the word Mississippi, I would take out my pistol and fill him full of 32 bullet holes. Unfortuneatly, adverbs are increasing at an alarming rate. According to a 'research & development' friend of mine at Websters Dictionary Inc, if they continue at their current growth rate, they'll soon overtake contractions. And I don't know about you but I sooner jump off a bridge than awake the morning next to a contraction? Just ask my wife! It's unimaginable. Listen carefully the next time you're in the check-out line at your local Walmart store: tongues tied and twisted; contorted and thrust out; thrush encircling thin lips; distended jaw lines; vowels clipped and hard; delivered in a falsetto; and consanants resembling the sound a baby seal makes upon being clubbed to death. Can I get a price-check on aisle 10? You tell me sweetheat because no one ever tells me a goddamn thing anymore. Have you been throttled lately?
Not since college. Would you let your daughter date an adverb?
I'd sooner become an English Professor than someone inform me that my daughter is cavorting with an adverb. I've seen in the labatory, with my own two eyes, what can happen when you cross an adverb with an adjective, and contrary to what some people might lead you to believe, they do come out with two heads. It makes my stomach turn to think about it. And then there's the surgery and all that must follow. You don't have any Tums on you, do you? We'd prefer she'd remain within her own race. It's safer that way. Pepcid A.D., or something? I suffer from dyspepsia. Adverbs are not permitted in our home. Never have been. And never will be. We're adverb free where I come from. It's become a national problem. My stomach is killing me.
What do you suggest we do about 'this problem'?
My wife says I should see a specialist.
Not your stomach, adverbs.
Let me share with your readers what I have done. Maybe this will help someone. I've gone through my entire American Heritage Dictionary and whited-out all entries to adverbs. I did the same recently with one of my favorite novels: Ernest Hemmingway's 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'. And how refreshing it is to read this novel without someone altering my verbs for me. For whom does the bell toll for? It tolls for me sweetheart, as it very well should. Per chance, have you seen my inhaler sweetheart?
Where does this hatred of adverbs stem from?
Like most hatreds it stems from or is rooted in events that occurred in my childhood. Like many other blue-blooded American boys I grew up on a strict diet of subjects and verbs, mixed in with plenty of chicken and spankings, to communicate my likes and dislikes. I was spanked into becoming the man I am today: a subject and verb kind of guy. And I still am. I was familiar with them and they were easy to use. And, if I might add, they'd gotten me out of a few tight spots on more than one occasion if you know what I mean. And so I grew to depend on them. Soon, I couldn't live without them. They became my twin gods: subject and verb. But then one day, feeling alone and vunerable, sitting naked by the phone, noshing on circus peanuts and Fresca, and rapidly sinking into a deep hole of self-loathing, despair, and depression, when a stranger shows up on the outskirts of our little town. At first I thought it was Boo Radley. But as the fates would have it, she passed by our house and knocked on our door and I answered it. And as she held out her hand to shake mine I swallowed hard when I spied the book she was clutching under one arm and all of my worst fears suddenly became realized. I can still recall the title of the book she held: 'Adverb: Did Your Mother Secretly Date One In High School?' and it hit me like a ton of bricks who this woman standing before me was: a bottom feeding apostate faux ecclesiastical adverb peddler! And in our neighborhood of all places! We were Methodist, for Christ's sake. At least on paper, anyway. And with total abandon and disregard for most of the ten commandments and many supreme court rulings, I did some things with adverbs that I'm not especially proud of today. But that's was a different time in America. But later that evening, in the privacy of my bedroom, behind my locked door, alone with my pet parakeet Brunnhelde, I pried open my book of adverbs. And with the aid of some old jumper cables connected to a a twelve volt tractor battery, and a ball-peen hammer, I soon enough advanced my manifest destiny right there on the floor! Later still I had to have my carpets cleaned and Brunnhelda replaced with an Egret. The next morning I awoke in a cemetary, and reflecting on what I had done the night before became consumed with much guilt, considered moving to Canada, and later still I had to have my stomach pumped: Mac & Cheese - that's all they ever found. That's how much the whole experience distressed me. And like many before me, I soon developed a dependancy for abverbs. I couldn't get out of bed without the aid of an adverb. I was like so and so...blah blah blah. And in short order I became insatiable, and so I read every book I could lay my hands on: 'Adverbs and The First Gulf War,' and 'Adverbs: Can They Stabilize World Currency Markets?' and 'Adverb: Not Just A Modifier Anymore,' and of course who could forget the charming: 'Do You Know Where Your Adverbs Are?' Well, no one had to remind me where my adverbs were. Adverbs had by this time taken over my life. I knew I needed professional help when I began to adverbulate several times a day to the theme song to Gilligan's Island. It came to the point where I couldn't leave my house anymore because of an irrational fear of people in uniform. Call it associative disorder disease or just plain call me crazy but don't call me late to dinner.
What did you do?
I did what any other desperate person would do in my situation, I phoned the English Department of my local community college and they put me in touch with a Dr. Epsom Salt. You may recall Dr. Salt's book: 'The Simple Sentence: Can it Be Made Any Simpler? You Tell Me!' Great book, by the way. And after much talk and a discourse by me on the influence chicken played in my early childhood development he finally told me to shut-up and admonished me with the following advice: if I didn't lay off the adverbs I was very soon going to begin to speak French.
Mama Mia!
Those were my exact words too. But before you pass judgement and deny me like Peter to Christ or Cher to Sonny let me remind you that when you have an adverb on you back it's hard to shake free of it. But I did overcome this affliction, and in a few months, with the aid of intense pyscho-therapy, mountains of medication, recovered memories and a private meeting with the Pope, I stood before, and with great fanfare, in a new suit, sporting a verb on my lapel, a smile on my face, a congregation of Scott-Irish pentecostal fanatics located somewhere in the foothills of the Appalacian mountains; and raised my eyes and hands upward and with conviction and resolve in my voice withdrew my support for the adverb and swore before the tongue-talkers assembled before me, so help me God, that I, one man, with good intent, and acting on God's orders, would reduce the eight parts of speech to seven, so help me God. Amen! But how could one man accomplish such a lofty and noble goal? And so, being who I am, I formed a committee to study this problem. And this committee grew into a conference and this conference burped up a symposium which in turn beget a congressional investigation and the next thing I know I 'm sitting atop a camel, in the desert, surrounded by a caravan of bedoins, humming a Cole Porter tune, wishing I had followed my father's advice and studied art history instead.
{PAUSE}
Are you okay?
I'm exhasted, it turned out to be a near-death experience for me, what with the wind and sage brush and all - but I'll be all right. It's painful for me to discuss adverbs with you. You see, I have a mental illness.
Histrionics?
No, agoraphobia! I have a fear of people staring at my adverbs.
But isn't true you were recently found with your pants down propositioning a prepositional phrase?
That's a falsehood and you know it. That was put out by the same people who support the notion that the letter 'b' should be dropped entirely from the alphabet. What I was actually doing was conjugating a verb; and there's no law prohibiting that, is there? With the exception being Alabama of course.
Of course. But isn't it true this particular verb objected to being conjugated?
Show me a verb that objects to being conjugated and I'll show you my dangling participles.
Your participles dangle? Can you show them to us?
If I inflect them - they do. But anyway, I'd show them to you but I'm past participle.
Are you tense?
No, I'm past tense. I'm a nervous wreck.
So, for the record, are you for, or, are you against nouns?
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm pronoun!
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Jim's German Girlfriend
The reason Jim stayed with her and tolerated her was because when he was around her all he ever thought about was sex. He'd spend inordinate amounts of time thinking of ways and situations which would lead to their having sex.
She wasn't very bright but was a fairly good passer at appearing some what educated, a good student. And after they'd dated a few months, she'd begun the practice of aping back to Jim the ideas and words she had picked up from their conversations. This both pleased and aggravated Jim. With her strange ways she seemed to him as if she were from another planet.
She was of either German or Austrian descent and very much looked the part of either race. Thick blond hair halfway down her back, but ususally worn pulled up tight atop her head, a bun, and causing a vein to bulge at her temple; blue eyes, but just a little too close together; healthy, but pale complexion, small breasts, good teeth, a swimmers build, and petite but with a fierce combativeness about her personality coupled with a very alluring seductiveness. Sometimes Jim felt as if he was dating a facimilie of his own Mother, or perhaps worse still, a Vampire.
And as their relationship did progress another side of her had begun to appear to Jim. It was the little things that gave her away, the white lies, the suspicious behavior, the constant ringing of her cellphone, her name and telephone number on a bathroom wall at their favorite watering hole. And these ominous signs had the cumulative effect of making Jim nervous and uneasy and so he bought a pistol. 'Just in case' he told himself. "You can't be too careful these days."
One night while Jim slept she did lift off his star of david from around his neck and re-fashion it into a crucifix using a ball peen hammer and a bic lighter. And then Jim knew: 'she was a welder.' But Jim didn't care because this only made him want her more.
On some nights Jim waited for the inevitable sound of jack boots on the stairs and the hard rapping at the door. By now he had begun his custom of sleeping with one eye open with his revolver nearby, especially when he slept over at her apartment. Something out of an Edgar Allen Poe novel no doubt. Perhaps even The Raven.
 |
| Chicken Himmler |
On Jim's birthday she did prepare for him his favorite dish: Chicken Himmler. And afterwards, a cake followed, with something written in German upon it: Arbeit Macht Frei. She presented him with a wallet, which to Jim appeared to be made of some strange material he wasn't familiar with. Everything about her was strange.
They drank a bottle of champagne and Jim told her how beautiful her legs were in her short shorts. He reached over and touched one and she batted his hand away laughing out loud. Jim, suddenly sullen, secretly began plotting on how he was going to get her to remove the short shorts. They drank another bottle of champagne. And when she went to the restroom Jim did eventually mossy over to the couch and relax and reminded himself what a lucky man was he. Fer sure.
A switch had by now sounded off signaling to Jim that a certain portion of his brain had shut down. A state of tupor had set in, bordering on rigor mortis. A birthday party to remember he muttered to no one in particular and he thought to himself some more about any and everything and then just stared at the picture of Hitler hanging on the wall.
[note to author: could the above paragraph have been any more convoluted?]
And when there did come the sound of jack boots in the hallway and a hard rapping at the door, and to no one's surprise, Jim did pass out upon the living room floor.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Richard Porter's Mission Statement
Mr. Porter
You're probably wondering why I've invited Col. Sanders here with us today. Let's just say I have a soft spot in my heart for the Col.'s seven secret herbs and spices. So far though, in my exhastive research, I've only discovered one of these spices - salt. And that brings me to another point: am I worth my salt, and for that matter, how is my pepper count doing? Should I worry about my calcium levels too, or more importantly, are you worried about my calcium levels? If someone mentions to me again, in polite company, the sexual healing powers of vitamin E I think I might just scream. I'm a human being first and a chicken lover second. Now, let's examine the facts; tease out the lies; flush out the truth; play a little three card monte. Are you catching my drift? Are there any card players here today? Gin rummy? Do you like word-association games too? Go fish? What about hat tricks? Parlor tricks? I do! I played monopoly as a child. I didn't need any friends. I had a home on Park Avenue and a villa on Boardwalk. But, in any event, should I strip down to my skivvies? Would that make you happy? Do you want to see me bump and grind? Get down and dirty? I wish I was so lucky; but alas, I'm confined to this damn blasted wheelchair. People often come up to me, bend over, and ask me questions like I'm an imbecile. And I answer them with this: I'll rip you mf lungs out mister. Cross me and I'll smote thee. Oy Como Va! Gesundheit! See, I do know a little of what I'm talking about. And what advice am I trying to impart to you today: when speaking before me, say it in the key of 'd.' Why am I saying this: because nothing else really matters. It's all about pitch and intonation for me and don't forget it.
Mr. Porter, do you feel compelled by a narrative mission?
I feel compelled to do many things. Some I can, and some I can't explain. I felt compelled to post this on the internet just now. In fact, without compelling I wouldn't be standing here before you today. I've compelled with the best of them. Am I on a narrative mission? Let's see. Nope. No narrative mission going on here. I wish I could help you. I wish I could say to you emphatically and with conviction and without question that I am on a narrative mission. But alas, I'm not. I want to be on a mission though. I think it's a noble goal. And I do need to go somewhere. Where do I sign up? But on second thought, and to be quite frank with you, my car's not running right at the moment. My car isn't right! Never has been. The point is I can't even get uptown so it must surely follow that I can't be on a narrative mission. Gotta get MAACO! Maybe next month. I can't tell you exactly when though. I remember as a child being compelled to get out of bed each morning. And then later still I felt compelled to leave home and live on my own. No one ever mentioned being on a narrative mission when I was growing up. I had to learn it on the streets: okay, the avenues and boulevards, but let's not split hairs here, okay? So, back to your question: am I on a narrative mission? Not at the moment but I'm confident I'll soon be on one.
You're probably wondering why I've invited Col. Sanders here with us today. Let's just say I have a soft spot in my heart for the Col.'s seven secret herbs and spices. So far though, in my exhastive research, I've only discovered one of these spices - salt. And that brings me to another point: am I worth my salt, and for that matter, how is my pepper count doing? Should I worry about my calcium levels too, or more importantly, are you worried about my calcium levels? If someone mentions to me again, in polite company, the sexual healing powers of vitamin E I think I might just scream. I'm a human being first and a chicken lover second. Now, let's examine the facts; tease out the lies; flush out the truth; play a little three card monte. Are you catching my drift? Are there any card players here today? Gin rummy? Do you like word-association games too? Go fish? What about hat tricks? Parlor tricks? I do! I played monopoly as a child. I didn't need any friends. I had a home on Park Avenue and a villa on Boardwalk. But, in any event, should I strip down to my skivvies? Would that make you happy? Do you want to see me bump and grind? Get down and dirty? I wish I was so lucky; but alas, I'm confined to this damn blasted wheelchair. People often come up to me, bend over, and ask me questions like I'm an imbecile. And I answer them with this: I'll rip you mf lungs out mister. Cross me and I'll smote thee. Oy Como Va! Gesundheit! See, I do know a little of what I'm talking about. And what advice am I trying to impart to you today: when speaking before me, say it in the key of 'd.' Why am I saying this: because nothing else really matters. It's all about pitch and intonation for me and don't forget it.
Mr. Porter, do you feel compelled by a narrative mission?
I feel compelled to do many things. Some I can, and some I can't explain. I felt compelled to post this on the internet just now. In fact, without compelling I wouldn't be standing here before you today. I've compelled with the best of them. Am I on a narrative mission? Let's see. Nope. No narrative mission going on here. I wish I could help you. I wish I could say to you emphatically and with conviction and without question that I am on a narrative mission. But alas, I'm not. I want to be on a mission though. I think it's a noble goal. And I do need to go somewhere. Where do I sign up? But on second thought, and to be quite frank with you, my car's not running right at the moment. My car isn't right! Never has been. The point is I can't even get uptown so it must surely follow that I can't be on a narrative mission. Gotta get MAACO! Maybe next month. I can't tell you exactly when though. I remember as a child being compelled to get out of bed each morning. And then later still I felt compelled to leave home and live on my own. No one ever mentioned being on a narrative mission when I was growing up. I had to learn it on the streets: okay, the avenues and boulevards, but let's not split hairs here, okay? So, back to your question: am I on a narrative mission? Not at the moment but I'm confident I'll soon be on one.
Typical Work Day For Jim
So per usual today I arrive to work and enter the green room. And as is my custom upon arriving to work I do a small line, a shot of Jack Daniels, apply some make-up under my eyes, match up a cigarette, and then solumnly and without fanfare look into my vanity mirror and say to myself: "Jesus Mother Fucking Christ!"
She must be an apparition. There can't be be any other explanation.
And to no one in particular I say:
"Show me where the credenza is, my eyes aren't what they used to be - could be passing as a console for all I goddamn know!"
She must be an apparition. There can't be be any other explanation.
And to no one in particular I say:
"Show me where the credenza is, my eyes aren't what they used to be - could be passing as a console for all I goddamn know!"
The Store Clerk
In life, no one likes to feel they're being taken advantage of, however slight the offence. Everyone likes to believe that the ones closest to them stand behind them and support them. But people sure have a funny way of showing it thought Jim.
Jim didn't like playing the role of the docile, compliant furniture store clerk, but when the ocassion did present itself Jim did rise to the occasion. Jim possessed a good work ethic and he prided himself on this fact. He reminded himself that he put his pants on one leg at a time like any other man.
At approximately 10:00am, Margaret, the store owner, unlocked the front door and they did enter the store together. Jim headed to the back of the store and Margaret went behind the counter to put away her purse and examine the receipts from the previous day. Jim switched on the lights and then set the temperature gauge. He stood surveying the store wondering what nutty concoction she would come up with for him to do this day. And a silence did befall the store. And the tedium of setting up the store occupied Jim's mind and perhaps Margaret's too.
"Do you want a dounut," she asked Jim in a loud slightly high pitched voice so he could hear her from the back of the store?
Her voice startled Jim and then a shard of light did bounce off a curio windowpane and catch Jim squarely in one eye having the effect of temporarily transporting him to another place and time. A place far away in an exotic land like North Africa. The ocean a deep blue. Him walking along a stretch of beach. A soft breeze caressing his face.
Jim steadied himself on the ochre colored dinette chair and replied to her: "Yes, I'll have one dounut, thank you."
Jim didn't like playing the role of the docile, compliant furniture store clerk, but when the ocassion did present itself Jim did rise to the occasion. Jim possessed a good work ethic and he prided himself on this fact. He reminded himself that he put his pants on one leg at a time like any other man.
At approximately 10:00am, Margaret, the store owner, unlocked the front door and they did enter the store together. Jim headed to the back of the store and Margaret went behind the counter to put away her purse and examine the receipts from the previous day. Jim switched on the lights and then set the temperature gauge. He stood surveying the store wondering what nutty concoction she would come up with for him to do this day. And a silence did befall the store. And the tedium of setting up the store occupied Jim's mind and perhaps Margaret's too.
"Do you want a dounut," she asked Jim in a loud slightly high pitched voice so he could hear her from the back of the store?
Her voice startled Jim and then a shard of light did bounce off a curio windowpane and catch Jim squarely in one eye having the effect of temporarily transporting him to another place and time. A place far away in an exotic land like North Africa. The ocean a deep blue. Him walking along a stretch of beach. A soft breeze caressing his face.
Jim steadied himself on the ochre colored dinette chair and replied to her: "Yes, I'll have one dounut, thank you."
A Sonnet by Gabrielle Porter
Dear Jennifer, exquisite and lovely
If only she would favor me with a glance
Pretty emerald eyes to think of fondly
Her gaze could thrust me into a deep trance
Into a trance when our eyes collided
I attempted to share my affection
She appeared to have been undecided
I wish we would have had a connection
Yes, the moment I've been waiting for
She strolled towards me, my palms were sweaty
How I fancy her; I'm nothing to adore
My Jennifer is not at all petty
Talking the night away with lovely Jenny
Moments like this are not very many
If only she would favor me with a glance
Pretty emerald eyes to think of fondly
Her gaze could thrust me into a deep trance
Into a trance when our eyes collided
I attempted to share my affection
She appeared to have been undecided
I wish we would have had a connection
Yes, the moment I've been waiting for
She strolled towards me, my palms were sweaty
How I fancy her; I'm nothing to adore
My Jennifer is not at all petty
Talking the night away with lovely Jenny
Moments like this are not very many
richardporter Interview
Interviewer: richardporter, is it true that you are the Grandson of a Baptist Minister?
richardporter: It's true.
I: Is it true still that you have fire and brimestone within you blood?
rp: I think it's safe to say that.
I: Are you prepared to defend that statement?
rp: Maybe, I haven't been feeling well lately.
I: Do you think you're capable of speaking to the Tea Partiers?
rp: I think I will be capable of answering your question but excuse me for a sec for I have to meet with Bubba.
{4 hours pass}
I: Do you now feel prepared to answer my question?
rp: Could you repeat the question again?
I: Do fire and brimestone factor into your life?
rp: Yea sure. I'm sure it does.
rp: And btw, I'm feeling something. A warm tingly feeling followed by a very deep valley. We're not taking on water are we?
I: We're in Manhattan!
rp: Thank God.
richardporter: It's true.
I: Is it true still that you have fire and brimestone within you blood?
rp: I think it's safe to say that.
I: Are you prepared to defend that statement?
rp: Maybe, I haven't been feeling well lately.
I: Do you think you're capable of speaking to the Tea Partiers?
rp: I think I will be capable of answering your question but excuse me for a sec for I have to meet with Bubba.
{4 hours pass}
I: Do you now feel prepared to answer my question?
rp: Could you repeat the question again?
I: Do fire and brimestone factor into your life?
rp: Yea sure. I'm sure it does.
rp: And btw, I'm feeling something. A warm tingly feeling followed by a very deep valley. We're not taking on water are we?
I: We're in Manhattan!
rp: Thank God.
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