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Doffing the cap

Hi folks, I’m Lindsay’s co-guestblogger, Chris Clarke. You might know me from such comments as “Dorky Snark” and “The Perfect Smarm.” I’m a little distracted today: I seem to be momentarily famous this weekend for having abused the young Eliot to smack down Jeff “Chirpy” Goldstein.

While I appreciate the extremely generous kudos I’ve received, I have to say the experience is not unlike being approached by the MacArthur people for having idly crushed a slug with my boot. Nonetheless, as we know from the operant conditioning folks, positive reinforcement will only encourage a guy like me, and so, predictably, I’m hard at work on Round Two. This is what I’ve got so far:

I wish the gent
would go get bent.

But I’m blocked after that. Any suggestions? Seems too short to me. Working title: A Little Deertick Of No Importance.

As for subjects of actual consequence, over the next few days I’ll be checking in from the road as I do fieldwork for a piece I’m writing on the environmental impacts of the Bush Administration’s border fence. Days luxuriating on dusty hikes in 105 degree heat, and then evenings with the laptop and wi-fi. What could be better?

In the meantime, feel free to suggest topics even less deserving of tribute poetry than the one I’ve chosen above.  Horowitz hairstyling tips haiku? Fred Phelps free verse? There must be some others.

Posted by on 07/02 at 11:47 AM

  1. What? You want me to rhyme on your time? Why should I work for you over Fourth of July’s weekend date? I’d be a jerk to you & Majikthise in my weakened state. No, I need to read, keep my time mine, not whore my wits although if it helps imagine a 69 made of Horowitz and Phelps.

    Yours in Blog’o’Fascism,

    Dav

    Posted by David J Swift  on  07/02  at  01:10 PM

  2. On the other hand, your man the dead white male got an awful lot of mileage out of crushing slugs under his boot with his Dunciad, didn’t he? Parody of a classic source, satire aimed at inconsequential talents.

    I saw a call by some quick wit for you to tackle “The Paste Land” next. Just saying.

    Posted by  on  07/02  at  01:10 PM

  3. I think “I wish the gent/ would go get bent” is a work of genius, myself.  Brevity being the soul, etc.

    And perhaps the classic Brylcreem haiku would not be out of place here:

    When ranting on Fox,
    A little dab’ll do ya,
    David Horowitz.

    Posted by  on  07/02  at  01:24 PM

  4. I suggest variations on the world’s shortest story, Augusto Monterroso’s “El dinosaurio” ("The Dinosaur"):

    Cuando despertó, el dinosaurio todavía estaba allí.
    (When he/she/it awoke, the dinosaur was still there.)

    Posted by Jeremías  on  07/02  at  02:30 PM

  5. Leaves of Ass
    -------------

    ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person;
    Yet utter the word islamofascistic, the word En-masse.

    Of craven-iology from top to toe I sing;
    Not chickenkawkism alone, nor envy alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the troll complete is worthier far;
    The weasel equally with the pig I sing.  5

    Official Lies immense in passion, pulse, and power,
    Cheerful—for freest faking form’d, under the laws Rove,
    The Modern Republican “Man” I sing.

    Posted by  on  07/02  at  02:55 PM

  6. so little depends upon
    a dirty keyboard
    glazed with spittle
    beside the white chickenhawks.

    Posted by  on  07/02  at  07:09 PM

  7. Come let us mock at the paste
    That had such burdens on the mind
    And toiled so hard and late
    To leave some monument behind,
    But ended up a total ass.

    (If Yeats can make “wind” rhyme with “mind,” I can make “ass” rhyme with “mind.” Nyah.)

    Posted by Thers  on  07/03  at  12:12 AM

  8. I was of three minds,
    Like a tree
    In which there is Jeff Goldstein.

    Posted by  on  07/03  at  07:42 AM

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