Tuesday, July 17, 2018
I owe my tone to the company door
Even with the reorg scattering
us into new and fancier-labeled
departments, utter and bitter
agreement as to Jorge and
Stretta’s Last Presentation.
DISASTER WRIT HUGE!
So much so, that the parodies
began immediately, fresh and
surprising talent arising from the
new setup.
Oh well! Whatever happens,
present-past-future, we do
satire best!
THEN word filtered through that
Client had loved it!
“GENIUS!” put he to embattled
couple.
Ever see ponderous structure
move fast?
Clifford Ackersly, slated to receive
Elizabeth Skerrit Drenzel Award…
for doing his introverted harm
in a too-long career...deleted.
Jorge and Stretta shoved in.
At the banquet, sing a pro-corporation
song of their own composition!
Nary a dry eye!
Wags say sentimentality holds us
together!--I say what better?
Labels: award, business, client, corporation, organization, reorg, sentiment, tone
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Carrots
-David Bowie refused a Knighthood.
-That's their shit! We've got our own.
-Symbols of Prestige?
-Else why would John Q work his ass off
for a pittance? Awaits the Pewter Watch
of Sublime Recognition. De Man owes him!
-I was Cub Scout of the week.
-But you never rested on your laurels!
-Was up and doing with a heart for every fate!
-And boy did you have the latter!
-Win some lose some.
-Win none lose all?
-There's always tomorrow.
-Not always. Not the way it's set up.
-Then, you meet Saint Peter at the Golden Gate.
-And tell him to wait ‘cause...
-I just hafta have another cigarette!
Christ I miss 'em!
-Once in Heaven you can smoke like Beijing.
Labels: award, Beijing, Bowie, David Bowie, Great Britain, knighthood, recognition, reward, smoking, United States
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Honors and Family
Highest award in the Agency. And, as you might guess,
hush-hush. The President, of course, approved, and
Dr Anknul said to the few present, “Without this Operative,
there’d BE no Zendenistan!”
The following morning, Hannalore had already left for
meetings, and Ricky tossed something onto the pile of trash
overflowing the plastic barrel, screaming “Zach, you got two
minutes to leave for swim practice!”
He appears! Disgusting, yet alive, and they're departing.
With keys.
Bus for him.
“Trash?” he reminds!
“You handle it, Spy-Man!”
Zach adds, gobbling a Pop Tart, “You’re lucky we don’t piss on it!”
Labels: award, CIA, Family, operative, President, spy, trash
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Rewards
The Right Wing Government had featured much Freedom-Mouthing, and leaders
in limousine monstrosities followed by
Yes Persons in buses.
The leaders were murdered by the Revolution,
and scruffy newcomers took over in jeeps.
The Yes Persons, of course, switched
their tunes seamlessly.
Soon enough, the revolutionists evolved
into Armani suits, the limos returned,
and everything relaxed.
Five years in and we were pretty much
into the Every Man a King, Every
Woman a Queen phase.
Which takes us to the present milieu, best illustrated by a walk I took with my friend
in Minneapolis.
The first wave we encountered wore PERSON OF THE YEAR tshirts. Followed by LITTLE LEAGUE CAPTAINS of their various times.
Then GIRL SCOUT GOLDENS!--
COOKIE SELLERS EXTRAORDINAIRE!
Most of the award winners had pushed
ahead as a sort of impromptu parade,
some carrying actual trophies which
flayed around dangerously. Such flashing hazard proved too chaotic to TOP INNOVATIVE BUSINESSMAN 2032.
He organized them by screaming.
BOWLERS OF THE DECADE, ST PAUL, helped him, and soon was restored aimless milling, and Top Innovative's sanity.
BEST LITERARY SCHOLAR, TWIN CITIES, EXCLUDING DOWNTOWNS AND NEIGHBORHOODS SURROUNDING
GUTHRIE THEATER smiled, once we got close enough to read his tshirt.
We were about to test him with obscure allusions when a Grandmother shrieked
at us in no recognizable language.
Then we did decipher "Where's your accomplishments, Numbnuts
Nothings from Nowhere?”
"Mine are home. Mother taught us not to flaunt." I answered.
My friend added, "When all are marvels, who does the work?"
“Not you!” she snapped, this CHEERLEADER OF THE CENTURY. “I recognize your type, calling everybody whores and sluts!"
“If the shoe fits...” he fired back.
“Yeah? Well, when they snuffed the old regime, they missed you two. Well, let me tell you, that can be remedied!” She joined
THE PARAMOUNT-TOP DELINQUENTS (FORMER) CLUB, playing boccie in
Elliot park.
Finally she pointed to us, her silk jacket taking on a leaping iridescence in her agitation after missing a blocking shot.
Her team threatened with upraised fists too.
Discretion being the better part, etc., we slid though the prestigious crowd, finally entering the Hot Dog Depot.
Award-Winning of course.
We sat on a very large and quite artistic
BEST OF THE FOOTLONGS, SAN DIEGO trophy in marble.
You'd think they wouldn't allow that
but they did.
The Right Wing Government had featured much Freedom-Mouthing, and leaders
in limousine monstrosities followed by
Yes Persons in buses.
The leaders were murdered by the Revolution,
and scruffy newcomers took over in jeeps.
The Yes Persons, of course, switched
their tunes seamlessly.
Soon enough, the revolutionists evolved
into Armani suits, the limos returned,
and everything relaxed.
Five years in and we were pretty much
into the Every Man a King, Every
Woman a Queen phase.
Which takes us to the present milieu, best illustrated by a walk I took with my friend
in Minneapolis.
The first wave we encountered wore PERSON OF THE YEAR tshirts. Followed by LITTLE LEAGUE CAPTAINS of their various times.
Then GIRL SCOUT GOLDENS!--
COOKIE SELLERS EXTRAORDINAIRE!
Most of the award winners had pushed
ahead as a sort of impromptu parade,
some carrying actual trophies which
flayed around dangerously. Such flashing hazard proved too chaotic to TOP INNOVATIVE BUSINESSMAN 2032.
He organized them by screaming.
BOWLERS OF THE DECADE, ST PAUL, helped him, and soon was restored aimless milling, and Top Innovative's sanity.
BEST LITERARY SCHOLAR, TWIN CITIES, EXCLUDING DOWNTOWNS AND NEIGHBORHOODS SURROUNDING
GUTHRIE THEATER smiled, once we got close enough to read his tshirt.
We were about to test him with obscure allusions when a Grandmother shrieked
at us in no recognizable language.
Then we did decipher "Where's your accomplishments, Numbnuts
Nothings from Nowhere?”
"Mine are home. Mother taught us not to flaunt." I answered.
My friend added, "When all are marvels, who does the work?"
“Not you!” she snapped, this CHEERLEADER OF THE CENTURY. “I recognize your type, calling everybody whores and sluts!"
“If the shoe fits...” he fired back.
“Yeah? Well, when they snuffed the old regime, they missed you two. Well, let me tell you, that can be remedied!” She joined
THE PARAMOUNT-TOP DELINQUENTS (FORMER) CLUB, playing boccie in
Elliot park.
Finally she pointed to us, her silk jacket taking on a leaping iridescence in her agitation after missing a blocking shot.
Her team threatened with upraised fists too.
Discretion being the better part, etc., we slid though the prestigious crowd, finally entering the Hot Dog Depot.
Award-Winning of course.
We sat on a very large and quite artistic
BEST OF THE FOOTLONGS, SAN DIEGO trophy in marble.
You'd think they wouldn't allow that
but they did.
Labels: award, Fascism, revolution, reward, socialism
