Thursday, October 19, 2006

Fan Mail


Dear Mr. Fish,

My name is Kenneth L. Boggflange. I am 37 years old and 765 lbs. I am a huge fan of your blog. As a shut-in, I spend a great deal of time on my own, stewing in my fetid cocktail of generic corn alcohol and self loathing. Each day is spent in my single room flat, with nothing but my own overpowering stink to keep me alert. Naturally, I have no friends outside those whom I meet online who, for some reason, believe me to be a twenty year old female pre-law student. As I vainly attempt to shift my mammoth, gastropodic girth around the abhorrent, noxious filth of my Ikea sofa, my thoughts turn to the subtle, tastefully coy humour of your cheeky little blog. Only last week, while I was watching the latest episode of Survivor and enjoying the exploits of a bunch of unrecostructed, attention deprived, post modern fuckwits, I could not help but wonder at the age of enlightenment in which I live. I sat in sheer wonder at the grand variety of experiences available to a soul such as I. I sat and ruminated while imbibing handfuls of Betty Crocker icing washed down with lashings of ice cold Coca Cola and Wild Turkey, slowly and peacefully shitting into the folds in my thighs. It was during this glorious repass that I came to wonder about the famous Mr. Green Fish and his Endless Ocean Of Gravy. Your timidly tasteful journal of the reluctant Hero is a tale of woe and triumph that is both devastatingly evocative and uncommonly soothing. In this vast and ever changing world, I can be sure of two things: Artistic endeavor is the noblest of pursuits, and a man of my carriage should not attempt to mount a unicycle.......the doctors tell me it can never be removed. And Sir, may I say that your pursuit of the muse is a staggering testament to the infinitely delicate beauty of the human spirit. You are a singing, dancing, magic making, triple threat on the level of Paris Hilton. You are a jive talking, banjo playing, sheep shagging, lady lovin', mountain of a man who's like has not been witnessed since a young Larry King impregnated Tiny Tim during a marathon broadcast of This Is Your Life, during the dying stages of Richard Nixon's first presidential campaign. You Sir, are quite simply, the cat's ass. It is now, with great humility, that I can admit that I have been moved to invoke The Muse myself. So, Mr. Fish, for your consideration, I present, my own poem. Unworthy as it may be, it is my soul, and I humbly offer it up you. Thank you.

Butterflies
by
Kenneth L. Boggflange

Don't look at me or I kill your dog
You dirty lousy hippy
I'll smash your face with a hollow log
You dirty lousy hippy
Ya'll think your better than me
I'll kill you all and then you'll see
Fuck off, quit lookin' at me
You dirty lousy hippy.

***fin***



7 comments:

elizabeth said...

Oh my god. I love this man. Unicycle and all. Anyone who can use words that way - shabam - my heart is all his.

Green Fish said...

Liz....prepare yourself....are you sitting down? You are visitor number 666 to my humble blog. I checked and double checked my stat counter. I crossed referenced with recent visitors and comment activity, and you young lady are the visitor of the beast......M' F'N Cool!!!

Anonymous said...

Cool, a link to Red Meat, I was actually thinking of mentioning it to you, as it seems up your alley (not in the archbishopy way). And...uh...TAINT! TAINT! TAINT!

Kat said...

I'm so glad you posted again :o) More funny stuff Mr. Fish!!

Green Fish said...

anon.....red meat is killer funny......and taint is just gold

kat.....thank you, thank you, thank you

Lola's Girl said...

thank you for making me smile! this was so funny! more...more...more!

Green Fish said...

Thanks LG. It is my lot in life to bring smiles with well worded vulgarity.