Oaf wiedersehen
Smell ye later, fumigator
Quoth the leper-colony barber: "Parting is painful." Damn straight, Floyd, so I’ll make it quick & show m’self the door. I know where it is. (It’s all part/ parcel of being an elite, highly trained undercover operative: w/in seconds of entering a room, I’ve committed to memory the precise locations of all primary & 2ndary exits. I also know where the washrooms are, in case anyone needs directions, and where management hides the good towels. In a pinch, I can even transform a run/ mill ball-pt. pen into a drinking-straw.)
Yes, walking out the door is easy. Walking out the door after casually firing off the perfect parting quip, now that’s hard. And so we arrive at a real headscratcher during this, the Last Mr. Smutty Ever & I’m Not Just Saying That b/c I’m Holding Out For A Raise Or Some Such Childish Stunt (But I’ll Kick Myself If That Would’ve Worked).
I do not wish to go gentle into that good night, if only b/c it’s barely after noon & I don’t wanna wait ’til sundown. (Got me a bus to catch.) But what to say? Pardon the dangling prep., but famous last words are notoriously tuff to come up w/. (Case in pt: A. G. Bell, who couldn’t muster anything more inspirational than "No." I’m sure he would’ve requested a do-over if he hadn’t, y’know, died immediately thereafter.) I once read an interview w/ some ink-jockey (J. Ashbery, whazzit? Can’t ’member, and I’m too lazy to actually get out of my chair & walk over to the bookshelf & grab the reference – I can see it from here, tho, it’s blue) in which he explained why the dickens he ended a novel w/ the word "foehn." What’s-his-face said he loved the concept of stumped readers (the one’s what ain’t G_rm_n meteorologists, at least) having to immediately look up "foehn." And so the act of closing one book (the nov.) begets the opening of another book (the dict.), and said chain/ actions thereby fiddle-faddle w/ notions of closure and/or speak to the ongoing blah-blah-blah of the blah-blah-blah, etc. etc. Anyhoo, I thought it was a boss joke and, since buddy copped to kinda stealing it in the first place, I figgered it’s mine for the taking. Two probs, tho: (1) it’s a bit of a nerdy manoeuvre, and (B) I don’t know any big words. (Does "miniscule" count?) So let’s deep-6 that li’l scheme & never speak of it again.
Another possible sayonara strategy is to take the tried/ true "leave ’em laffing" approach. Then again, I haven’t had much luck re: rapier-sharp wit in the past (almost severed a thumb that one time & it’s still kinda gimpy), so why start now? Like the ol’ chestnut sez, why fix something if it’s waaaaay too late? Exactly.
I s’ppose I could bikiniwax pre-nostalgic re: all the stuff I won’t get to grouse about in future columns. (Next week: Well, there won’t be a next week. Aren’t you paying attn?) Such as, oh I dunno, that unbelievable new campaign in which a certain multinat’l fast-food giant tried to pass off a "McAfrika meal." It may be a frightfully easy target, true, but ’tis nonetheless an unfortunate time for yrs truly to be getting outta the op/ed biz. I mean, gagwise (as in joking), the McAfrika makes its own gravy. I mean, gagwise (as in choking), the McAfrika is likely ev’ry bit as indigestible as the "relief" rations rained upon _fgh_n_st_n last year. Not that such speculation is my beeswax anymore, but wouldn’t it be swell if someone cooked up (so to speak) a whole line of famine-related fast-food products? Would the Happy Meal be just an empty cardboard box? (For dinner muzak, might I suggest J. Cage’s "4’33""?) Waistlines of the world, rejoice!
But hey, like I ment’d earlier, I’ve got me a bus to catch. Seems there’s a monkey over in B_ng_l_r_ who’s taken to sitting atop a religious icon for 22 days (+ counting!) straight, so I’ve gotta check it out. Scuttlebutt sez it’s the latest Second Coming. (Would true believers be so excited if said fleabag camped out on a dumpster or doughnut-shop? Prob’ly not. But, like the realtors say, it’s all about location-location-location.) My Taser’s all charged up, I’ve got me a fresh gunnysack & I’m ready to roll.
If you take away anything from all this, let it be as follows: Spucatum tauri, dearest reader, spucatum tauri. |
