pluck plinko players
from plaid plundering,
piracy never preferred
over pragmatic pilgrimages
(purchased with privilege
and pursued with primeval
produce practically no pressure
in this prideful pageant, Professor–
public or private.
Hello, I’m Barnaman Bailey.
You may remember me
from such mishearings as:
“hey, aren’t you that ‘ ‘scuze me
while I kiss this guy’ guy?”
People always know
I have one of those type of names,
but I haven’t reached the level of notoriety yet
where people just know it for certain.
I blame society.
It’s society’s fault.
Sometimes you just need to keep rattling out random strings of words until you hit that one vein of gold ore that you wouldn’t mind blasting and smelting for the cost of three chicken sandwiches a day–though the price of those chicken sandwiches would be in direct opposition to the idea of one’s own self-worth, which tends to be inherently problematic.
On the one hand, I know that chicken sandwiches are really only worth about a few bucks a pop, but if I feel emotionally bankrupt, a double-digit dollar figure may be too hefty a price tag to tack onto my floundering ego (even if imposed as a thought exercise and nothing else).
Some folks prefer to invent misfortunes due to the dearth of such impediments in their naturally-occurring existence. The culmination of all human experience has led us to quarrel with our inner Perfectibillies (those naïve mind-dwellers with the sole objective to get the point across that we used to be a much more resilient bunch in the midst of chaos). We’ve lost our litheness, and it shows.
Do your friends and loved ones sometimes/constantly refer to you as a fuddy-duddy through no fault of your own?
Is your worldview a tad more progressive and alienating than the average bear’s?
Does the resulting existential void leave you longing for a sense of companionship while you burn the candle at both ends to support your workaday lifestyle and inner child?
If one or more of these has happened to you, then don’t you fret! Dr. “Nutty” Muddy S. McGillicuddy has just unveiled his latest invention: The Fuddy-Duddy Study Buddy!
Simply download the proprietary app and connect to fuddy-duddies in your area! The app (short for “application”, for our more luddite buddies out there) is flooded with study buddy knowledge that’s been orally passed down through the last several dozen digital generations (they just upgrade those gadgets too fast nowadays, we feel your pain). We’ve laid out all of the information in a common sense and larger-font format, for an ease of use factor that even the ruddiest and sluttiest fuddy-duddies can appreciate.
Did we mention the app is free? And no, we will NEVER charge you for basic access. However, if you wish to get the all-access scoop (proven to increase “with-it-ness” by an average of 42% over the control group), you can purchase the wisdom of Dr. McGillicuddy in his in-app store: Dr. “Nutty” Muddy S. McGillicuddy’s Miracle Fuddy-Duddy Study Buddy Putty! It’s just as exciting as it sounds! Now you can waste hours upon hours surfing through dank memes and using Dr. McGillicuddy’s Putty to copy/paste them on top of one another, just the way folks used to preserve their favorite comic strips on a stretched-out rubberized pink putty substance that would be stored in an egg of all things.
So if any of this appeals to you, give us a call. Wait, we don’t have a phone number. Well, however you figure out how to reach us, we’ll be here.
What does one type when one has no idea what one should be typing? Also, what kind of work must be made on a normal basis if one is to be considered a writer, or even a basic typist? The answer is likely more rhetorical than actual, but I believe that it exists within a kind of continuum much too subtle for human observation. Now why would I be addressing such a scenario anyway? Seems to be some kind of joke, like this guy just can’t string more than two sentences together without some kind of complaint or existential crisis. And perhaps that’s the point of it; do any of us have the ability to jump into a narrative and string more than two interesting sentences together, keeping in mind that this is right off the bat when the brain still has to get adjusted to some kind of critical thinking for once? I would say the answer to that is a definite probably, which means that we may have an identifiable protagonist without even introducing them to the reader (or at the very least, some kind of character worth tracking in snippets throughout their day). And we would suppose that an audience needs a familiar protagonist in order to soldier on through otherwise incomprehensibly dense prose. But what would make this protagonist compelling? I’d say some kind of scraped knee or questioning of an authority figure would immediately port the audience into the realm of empathy; you really gotta hook them into caring about an amalgam of letters and syntax.
Miranda sold me this veranda one fine Sunday morning, while we were traipsing through the park (minding our own business like it was nobody’s business). She casually broached the subject in between more salient topics–chili mongers and termite hobbyism–as though she hadn’t really been thinking about it that much. Turns out that she’d been waiting in the wings for me to shut up so she could drop her latest deal bombshell on me: a 3/4-size veranda for the price of a small turkey (12 lbs. or less) down at the Froger.
Pancetta salesmen are not too common these days–in contrast to our robust ecosystem of chili mongers–but Miranda and I walked past one that same afternoon just as we happened to be discussing the virtues of veggies. He played it cool like he didn’t hear us, but I know he did (from the twitch in his left eyebrow).
The Squadranary Terpscentral Reality Modification Pak (STeRM Pak for short) does seem to have an ulterior motive, or at least some kind of schnitzelfritz that we could sample while stoogifying the unwashed masses for the purposes of gambling. Though these folks wouldn’t have any personal wherewithal in the investment arena, they always seem to have contact info for a person or seven who could give them great stock tips at any time. The investment inflection point rarely comes to pass, as the stoogified masses–in order to complete their training–must become petrified and stupefied in addition to the already rigorous stoogifying certification process. After a quick observation of the situation and the rubrics contained therein, I may be starting to regret my decision to peel away from the world tiddlywinks championship for such unappealing capitalism.