Thursday, March 08, 2018
DeClare and The Professor
-Marie Antoinette wisecracked
Let them eat cake! when told
the people had no bread.
-What she actually said was
Cherchez le Kike!
-So that old universal: Blame
the Jew!
-I could get a second PhD on
that anecdote alone!
-Except you made it up! Fake News!
-I did? I ask in all seriousness because
as I get older I can't pick the threads out.
-They get to be the same?
-Maybe I should take a year to de-Bullshit?
-Don’t bother! You can’t begin
to diminish its mighty force!
Rules the Wide World!
to diminish its mighty force!
Rules the Wide World!
-Is it Forever?
-Beyond!
Labels: bs, bullshit, history, power, scholarship
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
“Bovine Ruth”
When the nickname came back to
her, she was displeased in her
special, and sweet, way.
"Intended to ridicule and diminish"
was the State's burden as it brought
charges without her asking.
Luncie's misfortune proved the very
rambling form of Maximum Maxine Rucks,
The Judge From Hell!
He'd have twenty-one years to think of
his motives in embarrassing pretty Ruth.
You'd think he'd spend them complaining
about Political Correctness to his fellow Righties.
Instead he became a scholar of cows, seeing the
docile Ruth as a sort of goddess.
The cult spread in Hixson Penetentiary,
culminating in three years with a special
invitation to the wronged Ruth to attend
a picnic of "The Bovine Worshipful Cult."
It so impressed her: the dappled men
reciting bovine facts as to digestion, that
she forgave Luncie. The Warden sent heavily-
iced Cinnamon Rolls!
Other wardens, especially of fractious prisons,
invited Luncie to start chapters of the cult.
Soon he was coordinating the Eastern United
States and Puerto Rico. Traveling with a guard,
then not.
When he was paroled eight years in, he wouldn't
leave. The Warden fitted out a studio apartment
and office in an abandoned cell block and
named him Social Director.
Many more prisons joined in now, the West and
difficult South being swept up. Nowhere that
the saintly Ruth--newly named The Bovine Virgin--
didn't travel that rose petals weren't strewn
in her path.
Bubba Hocks of the Georgia System: “That shit
he sells, he’s the fucking rehab genius!”
Labels: bovine, cow, cult, digestion, Political Correctness, prison, rehab, scholarship
Sunday, December 07, 2014
Murph’s Turf
-Well, we go coed next year! How am I...?
-To teach women?
-I’ve had such wretched luck.
-Oh, I don’t know, Bernice has stuck in there
and made you civil, if not civilized.
-She’s the Eighth Wonder!
-And! Your future resource when things get sticky.
-Will they? I’m worrying all the time!
-The Great Persona! The Character! The Legend!
Scholar, and brilliant and witty teacher! Jumps
into a pickup basketball game of students.
Is actually credible. Things heat up and he
exchanges four letter words! Whattaguy!
-All true, in more modest measure. Add ‘Walker
on Eggs’ now. I’ll prove more than cautious with
the young ladies.
-Be yourself!
-That’s looking for trouble.
-Hey! Don’t we all modify our acts as life wears on?
Why are you exempted? Well...you HAVE been.
A great ride heretofore!
-Retiring not out of the question.
-To what? Writing even more of those articles that seven
hermits in Iceland read? You’re a born teacher! Let ‘er rip!
-You give me contrary advice!
-Wait until the contrary sex gets ushered in!
-Harrowing image by itself! I’m doomed! It’ll lead off Action News.
Some stupid thing I say that forces every women in America to drop her Macy’s bag and man the barricades!
-You’ve deranged your mind with anxiety! Again, wait for the
actual girls. They don’t fall from some pure universe, instead
having angry and babbling fathers, and horny uncles.
-And boyfriends they’d like to kill?
-They won’t desire killing you. They’ll love you! You really don’t
have a worry in the world.
-Easy for you to say!
-Evidently, nothing is, for you.
Labels: anxiety, art of teaching, character, coed, difficulty of teaching, persona, scholarship, teaching, women
Monday, December 16, 2013
Generations in Dark Continents
Momba
When the last child left for college, Miriam hastened
to divorce. He went back to Africa, and the new oil
boomlet.
Mr Carruthers, grayer, still fetched you a boy. Indeed,
the memory of Momba bringing his afternoon gin
and tonic sustained him even before the new adventure.
"Momba is a foreman on an oil rig now, but I can get you
a divinity student part-time. Everybody else is into
the oil."
It would be the middle of next week, but Carruthers could
find a cleaning girl sooner.
He went into the new Starbucks and ordered an ice coffee.
There two girls had trouble with the machine, and promised
to bring it to him.
He must tell them to ratchet down the air conditioning!
Shivering! He opened his laptop with difficulty, wondering if
they had wifi.
When one girl finally got the ice coffee there, he had
turned blue.
The girls called an ambulance, and persuaded a regular,
a retired British doctor, to look at him.
"You can get into a great deal of trouble declaring anyone
dead in another chap's country, but though the tech boys
can certainly try, odds are he's gone."
Momba heard the news with mixed feelings. Miriam, the same,
having just married a much younger man, a more scholarly one.
His dissertation: The Economics of Economics.
Labels: Africa, Colonial, divorce, oil, scholarship, Starbucks
Friday, July 01, 2011
Mapping the Humanities
Easier with the web but
in my scholar days, I'd
grab a pile of books
from library stacks. Then
the fun of blending
to assist my own design.
"But how could you write
on this matter without
quoting Swirtzky?"
How indeed! What I have to add
to knowledge is primarily me.
If I’m the hack, so be it. Fatigued
Germanic method stifles all,
though its deadening
thoroughness impresses
a few professors
as the game to go.
In truth, I a bit halfass,
they, wood. Turned
out well enough.
Labels: Humanities, scholarship
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Jokes (w/notes)
A horse walks into a bar.
Bartender asks, "Why the long face?"
My meticulous and exhaustive analysis: funny!
Why? Read Freud on wit and humor to fry your brain as ef-
ficiently as Don Quixote's on bushwah knightly romance.
My father to brother and me. No circus this year. Elephant
shit in the coffee pot and they couldn't find the grounds.
Now THAT is American Humor: verbal, surreal, and scatological.
A horse walks into a bar.
Bartender asks, "Why the long face?"
My meticulous and exhaustive analysis: funny!
Why? Read Freud on wit and humor to fry your brain as ef-
ficiently as Don Quixote's on bushwah knightly romance.
My father to brother and me. No circus this year. Elephant
shit in the coffee pot and they couldn't find the grounds.
Now THAT is American Humor: verbal, surreal, and scatological.
Labels: Don Quixote, Freud, humor, joke, scholarship
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Distinguished Scholar Passes
having chosen similar paths.
But of clarity, not neurotic mishmash.
So, a wallow in jealousy becomes
the reaction. Then the rush
to catch up my adult, who doesn't
despise, but laughs, rather.
Labels: disitnguished, jealousy, scholarship
