Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Miss Prunella Vulgaris, The Duchess of Hammer-on-Dulcimer, esteemed member of the Peonage
Juan, The Earl of Valdez, less esteemed member of the Peonage
Hannibal, no-star general & playboy son of a noted Tripolitanian fashion plate
Fadades, Gaulish misanthrope, pretend musician, & sky pie aficionado
Kid Darkthrone, not-very-noted local misanthrope, reformed
assorted piratical henchmen, paid in scale
Bear, bait, & lovable ursine scamp
When we last left our intrepid Peonage, they partied like 'twas 1899. Thus exhausted from both the debauchery of Baba Yaga & Lemmy's nuptials & the recovery of the Fabergé Potato, they gladly resumed their lives of quiet desperation at the Museum of Palimpsest Oddities. Books not having brains of their own however, but ones under the control of drawer-ridden parchments desirous of a window view, a vacation was in order lest bedlam reign, DUCHESS & EARL sailing the wine-dark sea to the coast of Barbary, because what entirely predictable turn of events could possibly take place there.
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #1: Ye scurvy dogs!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #2: Ye be walkin' the plank!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Rosencrantz & Guildenstern ye ain't.
DUCHESS: Blame the playwright.
EARL: Fourth wall already?
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #1: Ye be seein' four walls!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #2: Aft' ye walk the plank!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Mademoiselle, monsieur, my humblest apologies. They're new, & obviously stupid. At any rate, come with me if you want to live. My master wants to avaunce or find doubloons or something. Whatever.
Now prisoners, Number 6, I mean DUCHESS, & EARL are taken by ASSORTED PIRATICAL HENCHMEN to an ostentatiously extravagant jumbo schooner, a veritable star destroyer of the seas, if your humble playwright knew what a star destroyer was which, Lucasfilm, Ltd., he doesn't.
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Your incandescent desertship, pay attention to the man behind the curtain.
HANNIBAL: That's me!
DUCHESS: It's not Captain Single-Eye. Didn't see that one coming.
EARL: Now that's good writing.
HANNIBAL: Throw her --
Timpani beat from behind the curtain.
HANNIBAL: -- in the shark tank!
EARL: This has to be performance art.
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3: Um, your excellent spookiness, don't you wish to question them before killing them?
HANNIBAL: Indeed! Knave! Knavette! Where is --
Timpani beat from behind the curtain.
HANNIBAL: -- the Krypton Stone?
EARL: Bad performance art.
DUCHESS: What the hell are you talking about?
HANNIBAL: No time for interrogatives, Dr. Jones!
PIRATICAL HENCHMAN #3 (sighing): At least it's work. Um, your magnificent --
The loud report, not of corsairs firing their cannon, but of the roof of the great hall collapsing, collapses everyone's perception into a little squished thing like a creepy crawlie left out in the sun too long, but creepy doesn't truly cover the aghast-nesse of all parties as the shark tank shatters, filling the hall with water & sharks that proceed to eat ASSORTED PIRATICAL HENCHMEN but not DUCHESS & EARL because what entirely predictable turn of events could possibly take place now.
DUCHESS: When you see the world --
EARL: -- the world sees what's for lunch.
BEAR & KID DARKTHRONE enter.
KID DARKTHRONE: Come with us if you want to live!
DUCHESS: Yogi Berra could write something better than this.
From the inflatable raft of KID DARKTHRONE & BEAR, DUCHESS & EARL watch the boat of the billionaire playboy son of a noted Tripolitanian fashion plate sink to the bottom of the Mediterranean.
DUCHESS: What just happened?
EARL: Why don't you ask the playwright.
DUCHESS: Sarcasm. Didn't see that one coming.
KID DARKTHRONE: Hey, it's getting cloudy.
DUCHESS: That's no cloud.
EARL: That's a spaceship.
FADADES: screech screechscreech screech screech!
A door in the bottom of the flying saucer opens, & a shaft of light engulfs DUCHESS, EARL, KID DARKTHRONE, & BEAR, somehow pulling them upwards into the gravity-defying contraption.
DUCHESS: We're so fucked.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Fuck, it's gonna get hot. Might explain folks forgetting about pot numéro deux two days in a row which ain't just for smokin', but doesn't others Pepperidge farming their annual springtime douchebaggery. That's a well-cultivated hydroponics, narc, a burn I want out of.
How come I always finagle shit on the Wheelie Bus when I've no ball-point because the domestic point lost its brass & I had to purloin myself for gold? That Homer sure was s-m-r-t. Repetitively repeating repetition gets repetitive, but O, it's awesome: fourteen's easier than 14k.
Just call me Slackajawea.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Ocean's have them, so does this on-rails gig. Ids low & high tiptoe through conscience, the real magnet tar pit trap. Benadryl Nyquil quill, post-sick (an epilogue, not this), sick of this a bit or more. Wotan tomorrow, or not.
What will be is heat, the complaining of yours truly, the eye rolling of ghosts & those that are flesh but it's hard to tell at times, swampy skin & salted corneas, senses adrift like a boat on the ocean, a dead zone. What, too heavy handed?
Find some tulips & get tiptoeing.
♪ I'm a librarian (not really) & that's okay, I sleep all night & I sleep all day ♫
Books checked out to grad students are due on August 20th.
CTHULHU IS WATCHING
If we all human sacrifice real hard, maybe he'll devour NATO.
No, this is not a political post.
imaginary real beast from beyond the stars eating empire is a chortle.
Please fucking keep your 2012 stuff under ice.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Thanks to a comrade-in-armed-conflict, I will get to sit on my ass watching footie & consuming pizza rolls for the day [ed. note: can it, Columbus, or I'll live blog] which, to be sure, isn't as swanktacular as a chance at low-interruption creation & immersing within a painted apocalypse, but I've
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Oh, go fly a kite.
My Snoopy Dance is dope or fly or gnarly or some other slang term.
DHS SUV GONE STOP USA UNDER ATTACK STOP
I fucking hate that fucking thing.
Water, the Saddam of the biosphere.
Early lawyer catches the hangover.
On this blog.
This isn't --
going to --
DUCHESS LOOK OUT
This might have set the height record.
This less so.
I choose to believe they weren't laughing.
I totally trespassed on your grass, The Man.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Now that yours antisocial has met a local blogger other than the Duchess who doesn't exactly count being a fellow inmate at the Towering Slab, interwebs greetings, scourge of dandelions, I feel all bright young thingy. Here's where Jake would say ewww, but thankfully Space Casino scoffing is more universal than I previously dreamed of. Sometimes I love you, stupid burg.
Zombie third-rate grunge lives.
Nothing personal, guys, but T-virus vaccine, stat.
Sucker bet, n. that the shine will wear off sooner rather than later.
Because I'm awful, you can't tell the signage says Filming In Progress. For flicks more thrilling than either that or this, come back for the late show wink nudge.
Okay, lead the way --
to mold --
& smokes? At least I don't feel ripped off.
On everything, I've nothing to say. On some things, everything.
See, just like
Joey Barton* Byron, minus the expensive threads, faraway sightseeing, freak personal issues &
*dude, your drunken gifting of Fergie Time to City cost me first place thanks to Diego's fucking s-i-l, you fucking fuck go eat a gangrenous corpse
Look over the horizon, man, chuck city's closer every day, but till then, fun with puritans! 'tis exactly like a trip to Chuck E. Cheese only with grease & tabletop Space Invaders [ed. note: always wanted one of those, hint, hint] replaced by the über-straitlaced laced with hallucinatory ergotism.
Who knew they were such naughty minxes.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
The great dilemma of our time, & by ours I mean mine, & by time I mean get sleeping, stupid, 'twas solved long ago, satisfaction or no moot like a slack of Anglo-Saxons, & this is a library to boot oooh meta, so shhhh.
Keep waiting for that stanza to close itself. How does one keep mushroom clouds handy? Perhaps that's the great. Hey, for Mordenkainen's Disjunction, I'd settle.