[lit-ideas] Sunday twofer

  • From: David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Sun, 18 Nov 2012 10:58:46 -0800

How bright is the moon tonight, how absent the coyotes and other predators; a 
fine lull before the chicks up and leave the bathtub, forsake the only warm red 
lamp they've ever known and brave the cold outside go roost behind the wire, 
dreaming of things that taste like... whatever chickens like... corn 
presumably, bugs and worms.  How light is our rubbish bin; how heavy the garden 
recycling.  We fresh green beings are so doing our thing that in any new 
farmer's almanac we might yet get stars,
or lights that flash someone's app, repeated sequences with noise attached, 
"diddley dee," indicating how we trend, what the watch from the watch tower 
send at change of shift concerning their new custom vertical organic privy's 
functioning, words ringed around with "prithees," whatever they be, and 
inquiries, "how goes our noble sustainability?"

To find this joke funny you have to know my boat and motor, and be able to 
supply all scenes from your head in which
sexual allure is defined by objects, "Oh my what a manly car or shirt, it sets 
my collywotsits afire," that sort of thing.  Yesterday as we neared the bay the 
rain and light winds were doing their cold Fall thing, seriously reducing 
nearly overwhelming our desire to get afloat.  I turned to Bob, who was driving 
the truuuuuuck, and remarked that we must get extra manliness points for this 
adventure.  "What do you mean?" he asked.  "There'll be babes, cheerleaders 
lining the pier
all a'tremble, ogling the boat and we buff pair, no doubt swooning when we fire 
up the sixties era thirty horse and our reliable little kicker."  "The 
Johnson?" he said.  "That's the one."

David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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