All I can think of is Bill O'Reilly yelling "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" during an intimate moment.
Where did I put that industrial-strength brain cleaner?
Anybody else know about that? Does it turn up at games elsewhere, or is it local to New York?
I've seen something similar at Fort Wayne Wizards games, so maybe it's more of a minor league thing. I miss Wizards games.
And thank you for the Vindaloo nostalgia -- I was studying in England when it came out, and the song burned itself into my brain. Strangely enough, I don't feel so bad about getting it stuck in my head now that I'm not hearing it every two hours.
So what IS in fat-free half-and-half?
My sister and I have pondered this question in a slightly different form that's probably the result of too much Gilbert and Sullivan: "What's the other half?"
We're convinced it's clowns. Or unobtainium.
g, you're right about A. A. Milne, although I didn't remember the name of the poem. I mostly remember just chanting it with my grandmother. I may be able to recite the whole thing from memory, even after all these years.
Here's my attempt:
Dear Sir:
Miri Abacha,
First lady formerly,
Took great
Care of Mohammed
And of his dough (tax-free).
Kind Sir:
Miri Abacha,
Says to you now, spammee:
If you want to partake of this government stake send your bank account to me!
Good King Sauerkraut looked out/on his feets uneven... Thank you for posting "Deck Us All with Boston Charlie." It's been a family favorite in our house for years.
I'm very fond of Stan Rogers' "At Last, I'm Ready for Christmas," probably because the chorus continues with "...with nearly two hours to go."
And when it comes to banning carols, someone should make sure that whoever selects musak for airports should never, ever, ever include "Let It Snow." The damn thing was playing over the sound system as I got into Indianapolis Wednesday night.
I know there's a penalty for Hammett, but I can't resist:
"You can call me Ishmael. It's not my name but it'll do."
Here's four related attempts. Apologies if the style's a little rough; I need to get back to reading Chandler.
--
He gave me another long look, the kind that a drill sergeant would have just before assigning "special duties." "You look kinda like me. How about we switch for a while? I got someone I need taken care of."
"We don't look anything alike."
He grinned, and those red-eared dogs of his grinned too, all looking at me like I had an Alpo label on my forehead. "We will when I'm done with you. Besides…there's a woman in the deal. My own wife, and if she doesn't notice the difference, I can damn well guarantee no one else will."
--
It didn't start with the letter from my sister, but it might as well have. After all, I'd introduced her to her husband. Irish guy, with the less than gentle Irish temper. She said he'd been hitting her, and she wanted out. I took another drink and shook my head; this didn't look good. If things went wrong, after all, I could end up nothing more than a talking head in Harlech.
--
He'd been a lot of things. Shoemaker, saddlemaker, shieldmaker -- hell, survivor was the least of them; he was a man who knew when to get out of town. And now he was judge, jury, and executioner -- even if it was just for a mouse.
"You can send the goddamn bishop himself," he told me. "But between me and God, there's nothing gonna save this little thief's life."
--
There are few things more pathetic than a lovesick kid. One of them happened to be my lovesick brother, and the way he'd been bending my ear all day, I knew more about the king's little foot-warmer than anyone with half a brain needed to know.
"I gotta have her," my brother groaned. "I'll die if I don't."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"I don't know. Distract him. Do something."
"Forget it. Nothing short of a war will distract him." The moment I said it, I knew I'd gotten myself in too deep. I'd rather turn into a pig for a year than start a war, but the way things were going, it looked like I'd get both.
--
Sorry if those are too obscure; I can never tell when I'm holding too much back.
It appears there's really an art to Thing and Mafia. For my part, I just liked lynching people or (in Thing) watching them skitter away in their horrific alien states. Guess Yoon's attitude of blood, blood, doom, and destruction was contagious.
I had a great time, and while it was humbling to be among so much talent, as Joe says, I also emerged with more confidence in my own abilities. With this many people cheering each other on, I can take anything. Bring on the rejection slips!
I really hope the promo spots we did will go up on the web. Yes, even mine.
Thanks. I think I'm learning a little more about the business of writing these days (unfortunately, it's often from wandering the Web when I should be sitting down and doing the actual writing). I used to be at a loss for an answer when someone asked me "why don't you just use X vanity press?" other than it just didn't feel right. It's good to have several concrete reasons handy.
*returning to shadows, tripping over cat on the way*
*lurker emerging from shadows*
One reason why new, naive writers are prey for bad advice, even with the many warnings on the net, is that it's sometimes hard to tell what authority a source has (or if that makes it reputable). One easy example would be assistant professor wossname who said that people should lie on their cover letters. I can imagine someone reading that, seeing that he's a professor, and thinking "well, it's gotta be legitimate advice then..."
Another example would be a published poet I know, who gave me the advice to send out lots of copies of a story at once to all the markets I could find. Twelve or fifteen simultaneous submissions. I don't know if the market situation is different for poetry, but all I could think on hearing that was "wha?" If I'd had less experience and fewer friends who are writers, I might have gone ahead and done as she advised.
Neither of these are specifically scam-related, but they do show how intelligent people could be led astray (even by well-meaning friends).
And as for "prostituting my Art," I'll do it only if I get to wear a pimp hat. Purple velvet, preferably.
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