colonialism                                       

hyman richover

and the shrimp puffs of my youth

 

ACT I: The bard is clocked over the head. Rabble wanders in taking up pen and paper.

 

It was presented to me by Father Michael that my obsession with Toni Braxton would likely be equally as fleeting as my previous preoccupation with the entertainer Carmen Electra (born Violet Schoffield inDixville Notch, NH, March 1974, which makes her a Pisces not to mention a big phony bologna) and that since I only bought TV Guides and entertainment magazines to assuage my needs, mine was a “clean lust”.

a cushy cacophony. ebony and disharmony. slow-pitch car sales.

I like cats, but not in my sandbox.

 

I saw a man shaped like a cloud floating thru the crowd.

 

 

ACT II:

return of the hero, Johannsenbrau, who lets the petroleum station attendant, who has just lost a pet hairless rat to the plague, remain in blessed reverie rather than calling to his attention the absence of paper in the receipt machine. God bless the little plastic American flags at the Pay-at-the-Pump Shell and everyone who sneezes on them as they handle money.

 

$1.03 at the Chevron, 99 cents at the Shell... is this a trick question?

 

We burn books under our cauldron to summon the spirit of Samuel Adams, to answer our questions.

 

I’ve explored new frontiers of danceability on this kitchen linoleum: that’s how whack the pattern is.

            patterns? what’s patterns?

ACT III:

Ewa Aulin makes a comeback thru the downstairs boudoir which is actually a door on the legendary land of Chest Woods. Aulin is subsequently attacked by:

Victor Mature, wielding a machete given to him by Fidel Castro on the occasion of their first match
      of tournament pinochle

Walter Matthau, wielding Vap-O-Rub

Carl Kensey Ubershue, who pretends to have either a sword or an enormous pen

Director Bud Yorkin, waving divorce papers wildly in front of him

 

I sang a duet with Petula Clark. Or it couldve been Roddy McDowell. You can do anything downtown. but McDonalds is popular becasue you know right where the toilet is.

 

I talked Tuesday Weld into poking her eyes out, so I could know that it was who she is inside that I really love and adore. And for that time she lied.

 

The invisible hand of Jack Klugman.

 

I was a teenage girl covered in whipped cream.

 

 

 

 

ACT IV:

God sends Roma Downey to replace Michael Landon; revised GNP shows steadier growth than previously predicted for the third quarter; Tom Arnold decides to just call a cab

 

something’s got to get her. like coach’s pants and happy paddles.

let’s put him on a spot of dough.

call you after lunch.

no more pity.

loaf misplacement period

the first thing i do when i walk into any room is ask the way to the nearest chair.

 

ACT V: Arrival of hero Meninges, who promptly informs clerk of lack of receipt paper at pump 3. This precedes arrival (and diffuses the terror) of the villanous Marsh, whom w/o a receipt would have certainly stolen a candy bar, depriving Eloise M-and-M-Mars of the livesaving operation Dr. Theopolis has told her she needs to achieve a sense of fulfillment.

 

ask a map library guy.

Brooke Shields is about as sexy as the dump I took yesterday at noon.

nahhhh, I take that back: I never mentioned Brooke Shields’s name. I did take that sexy dump, tho.

 

 

ACT VI:

-         Arrival of hero Pollard, who is far too late to be included in any of the vital intricacies of the Hauptplot.

-         Subplot developed involving the girl with the big teeth and fingers the size of schnitzel, who has a penchant for primitive men and a corroboration fetish.

 

In the dream, Gene Rayburn asked me, “The blank... won’t fit into my new toybox, mom. The blank....”

            I told him to shut up, I heard the question the first time. Then I raised my tumbler in a toast and chuckled. All was well, despite the soapy flood waters rising up to around my ankles exacerbating my psoriasis, my tetter.

            teetering teething tetterboy.

 

My childhood sweethearts, disguised as daffodils, crossed the fence, placing the sausage in my wardrobe where my father had expressly forbidden the presence of sausages, and then they descended the staircase balsa wood master craftsman Jack Tharpe had built never to be smelled again.

            I roll over

            and there is nothing to smell but myself. the place where I was lying.

Momma told me there’d be days like this... days when she’d be a total bitch and I’d do best to run around in the woods dodging snakes’ nests.

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also rans:

whenever I enter a room the second thing I do is check to see if my pants are unzipped.

 

after checking my pubic hair in a public bathroom, the third thing I do whenever I enter a room is to remember to immediately put up a poster of vegetarian actress and bondage queen alicia silverstone driving a porshe up the steps of her high school to attend a reunion.

 

martha plimpton was an actress? someone forgot to tell me I was capable.