Saturday, May 16, 2009

Critics

Dear Sirs,

I've been reading the literature you produce for some time now and I feel the time has come to address a few issues I have with it. I am not by nature a bellicose individual but your web log has broken through my gentle spirit and given me a case of the sour waters. I am a man who finds himself often afflicted with a variety gastric distresses. Your foolish rambling and crimes against sentence structure only serve to aggravate an already delicate equilibrium of colonic upwellings and vaporous surges. You manage to summon from me the most mournful, sonorous farts ever witnessed by myself or my fellow public library patrons. In my 37 years as an assistant crutch assembler for the Knights Of Columbus I have never had to subject my underlings to such powerful gaseous outpourings. I can hardly find the appetite for my deviled eggs and medicinal cabbage water any more. Only yesterday I was stuck on stalled subway car so I decided to partake of my lunch of prune reduction, duck bisque, and sardines sandwiches, when my mind turned to your last post. It upset me so much that my subsequent bottom bossa nova caused a poor prostitute to faint, and an elderly man to vomit up his breakfast stew. It lasted nearly 45 seconds and a small man whom I had inadvertently pinned against the sliding door had to be lead away by caring hands and placed into a doctor's care. Much of my modest income is taken up by the various wrappings, cummerbunds, and foundation garments that my various internal concerns demand. My hips, thighs, and each buttock necessitate several swaddling procedures and your foolish twaddle puts me back to square one every time. If I didn't take the time between dressings to have some buttermilk and onions with a slice of black pudding, then I don't think I could cope. In conclusion Sir, your blog is utter drizzles, and it's giving me the shits something cruel, so stop it.

Yours

Latimore DeBounce

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Brushing Up On Love

Name: Floyd Purchase
Age: 33
Seeking: Women aged 20 to 60, all shapes, smoker or non, employment a plus but not fussy, pets welcome, English a plus but not fussy, will drive out of town, not fussy
Occupation: Mobile Library Owner/Operator
Turnons: a woman
Turnoffs: none
Say what: "Hey ladies how about a Purchase of me, meaning a pun on my name and not meant to imply I am a male prostitute, because I certainly am not one of those."








Name: Mrs. Beretta Cross
Age: 73
Seeking: William Michael Cross, 40 1/2
Occupation: Unappreciated
Turnons: A little consideration
Turnoffs: Lazy ungrateful sons who go off and marry the first whore who will cook something approximating dinner when she couldn't possibly know what he likes when it's his sainted mother who raised him for 40 years without a word of thanks.
Say what: "Don't worry about me you just let that hussy desecrate the mother son bond and I'll commit suicide to keep things simple for you and that cheap c-u-nevermind-t."








Name: Francis Lee Marvin
Age: 29
Seeking: Women for sure
Occupation: Journeyman Rail Splitter
Turnons: A woman with a good body who works out you know. Like hard abs and muscled legs, and broad shoulders like some females have. And a deep voice like when I close my eyes you sound like a man but you're all woman because I like women.
Turnoffs: Gross girls that are all soft and curvy and round. Those sissy girls don't appeal to the hard man who is deep inside me.
Say what: "It's tough being a single guy these days. When I think of all the lonely single men out there I just want to say that I really feel you men and it's hard, and getting harder all the time. And you know that it's getting hard for me too, and I know you feel me and want to reach around and offer me relief. Am I right ladies?'

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Poetry Hutch

Grand Mall Epoxy

From wind upon the bloated spruce
To the holy legs of Jesus
The sour belch of nature's scorn
Sends bees and cakes to please us

The dog will hump on Uncle Bruce
As turkeys crush between us
My father wore a silken gown
Beneath the light of Venus

fin

The above poem brought a ignominious end to the third annual Ladies Town Hall Literary Awards Supper Social when the author strode nude and filthy through the buffet shouting his work at the top of his lungs while tossing plastic cups of body fluids and solids among the assembled literati. Althea McMannus, the organizer and hostess of the event, was pleased with both the reading and the overall success of this year's event. The controversial 'dirty protest' theme was an unusual one for this annual charity, pot luck literary gathering whose assemblage is more used to stylized readings of Walt Whitman or musical interpretations of Robert Burns. We look forward to next year's event with great interest.


Friday, May 01, 2009

A Word From Edmond Groat

Hello good Ladies and Gentlemen. I am Edmond Groat and I am a business associate of the owner and propagator of this fine web log to which you are currently giving your attention. I have taken it upon myself to hire out space on this site until my current revenue minus expenses ratio reaches a point where I can negotiate the vending of a personal computer, an Internet account, a table, a chair, a wall socket, a wall, and electricity. Recent economic conditions have rend asunder my various investments and ventures. My consulting firm closed it's doors for good after some unpleasantness with a malfunctioning shoe buffer and some poor judgment on my part regarding some fake $250 bills. I had assumed that my astute business acumen would be in demand among the financial elite, but I was quickly and soundly undone by certain difficulties on my part involving, legalities, international trade pacts, generally accepted accounting principals, telephones, decimal places, long division, and fainting. I have since taken many hard lessons to heart and moved on to my strength as a product developer. I will admit that I got off to a rough start. My Arthur Fonzerelli Grill was ahead of its time I'm afraid (The grease just drains awAaayyyyy) . The world was not ready for the Trouser Crock Pot ("Who wants pants stew") and I daresay it ever will be. Funky Funerals (Who dead up in here?) lacked the interest I was sure was in abundance. And of course, I was premature in my belief that the world wanted a nasaly administered laxtive (Momma needs a Sniffy Plop? Yeah Yeah!!!). But I can assure you the I am nothing if not persistent and I will not let failure, bankruptcy, incarceration, restraining orders, Papal censures, or death threats keep me from bringing the most exciting and unexpected products into your homes. So keep any eye on this space and prepare to be amazed and stunned.

Yours Truly

Edmond Groat