Once upon a time there was a sassy little corral. Then things got different, and the sassy little corral was abandoned. It pined away for lack of care and eventually, a long time after this picture was taken, returned to the bosom of the meadow. Ah, wilderness. Ah, infinity. Ah, let’s go get a sandwich.
1. Go to California and cause a grove of giant redwoods to be leveled somewhere near Scotia.
2. On the day of the ceremony, friends and family should slip silently into the fallen grove disguised as a herd of elk.
3. Spouses to be should arrive wearing gamy salmon costumes.
4. Preacher/rabbi/holy man/civil servant/licensed masseuse, gowned in Spanish leather, prepares to perform the ceremony by allowing the best man (cheeping like a recently hatched chick) to unmold a lime jello onto his/her/its head.
5. The preacher/etc. may speak only if the jello remains perched atop his/her/its skull. If it falls off, he/she/it must remain silent until the best man retrieves and replaces it.
6. The preacher/etc. opens the proceedings by peeing on a mitten, and then says anything at all in 25 words or fewer.
7.The crazy kids getting hitched exchange heated vows, don waxed lips, nose and glasses. They distribute pickles and gatling guns to the needy.
8. The reception is held in a building shaped like a pustule.
9. The menu should consist of jellied antelope nares in fox sauce, eyelid pudding with fox sauce, buffalo haunch swimming in a sea of fox sauce, oak root shavings and pine needles in fox sauce, extra fox sauce. To prepare fox sauce, puree one small fox.
10. The bill for this wedding will be staggering. The toughest guy in each family is chosen. They fight. Losers pay.
But then they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘Aww!’
Compared to Jack’s, Willie Nelson’s road is cushy, man. Dig?
“You know, I’m really not all that interested in who’s the fairest of them all.”
The pinks mill about, awaiting the arrival of their officers (seen filing in from below right in the above photo). Soon roll call will be taken, announcements made, and the pinks will disperse to their assigned lookout posts. Keep safe, little pinks, and God speed.
In the Old West, where men were men and so were the women, Clarence Forbes shot a house. Spooked by a varmint, Clarence launched himself momentarily skyward, and when he returned to rest on solid ground, he unholstered his pistol and shot a house. While his intent was to send to eternal rest the varmint that had spooked him, the lone result of his action was a shot house. The varmint skedaddled when the shot rang out, and the house limped noticeably on the left side for the remainder of its days. As for Clarence Forbes, he ran for sheriff and was defeated by a pail of lager. Folks in those days weren’t much for having real live human beings in elected positions. Who can blame them?
June 17 – The advance scouting party of wild yellow finds a good site.
June 27 – The wild yellow community takes formal possession.
When iris eyes are shining
Sure it’s like a Cornish hen
In the guilt of iris laughter
You can hear a bloke named Ben
When iris hearts are cabbage
All the world seems filled with hay
And when iris eyes are smiling
Sure they usher your wallet away
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Doc's Lunacy
5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
