WHARVED

The OM

Twelfth set of longings today.
That’s an awful lot of bagel children
moping around without lox,
nary a lick of cream cheese in sight.
What are they to do?
All they really can do is visualize
the OM,
the didgeridoo spanning the moment
as though it always knew
there would be a bagel cart
at craft services–
once Terry gets off his ass.
All kidding aside, Terry
really does mean well,
he just needs a fire lit
under that comfortable posterior
every now and then.

Crumpet Festival

Drangled intermittent scratch patterns engulf the otherwise narrative-laden crumpet festival, but you know what? Nobody seems to have noticed that detail in the first place, completely unaware of even why that would ever be considered a big deal at all. When I was a more divisive person, I more than likely would have acted immediately in the form of a lecture or rant to whip them into shape. How dare they maintain their ignorance of such an excruciatingly-crucial detail?! As the years have passed–and time’s been kind to me–I’ve learned when to retreat and let folks have their own little moments in the obscurity of their uninformed worldviews (even when it gets to the point of paining me).

Jesus!!
Will youse make up your minds already?!
I’m starving
and my tea is getting cold.

Ilk

Executive injection happenstances color nothing but the most exquisite C-suite big wigs. Why? ROI. ROI is why. Returning overused ivory is the name of the game, people. Got an old Wurlitzer on its last legs? Sell that sucker to us and we’ll do all the schlepping on your behalf. No need to break your back for a little bread in your bank!

Through our groundbreaking proprietary methods, we repurpose old ivory into clones of the elephants you may have seen parading across the Serengeti even just a few generations ago. You see, our goal is not financially-driven. Imagine that!

What’s our hundred year plan? Glad you asked. We’ve set a roadmap that, if followed properly, will reinvigorate the floundering elephant population while balancing numerous other campaigns dedicated to restoring the myriad of other species that have been intimately linked to our favorite pachyderms for longer than our own species’ rise to prominence (as the cockier members of our ilk would say).

Scheme

Gory lent me the Cory Tory, understated like a chain monger of tertiary constraints (whereas secondary constraint leaves restraint to the masses, for lack of a better paradigm). Permanently purposeful is the name of the game, according to most scholars in the vicinity of your traditional eagle-necked–and somewhat tedious–outlook.

Gyp whipped up a stew and toked up a fat one as he decided whether or not to let the winged assortment of fairy trackers in on his Punxsutawney scheme.

Grinderfloo underbyte
smothering
ge froidelled–
into smithereens.

Infarction – 03:27GMT

All things considered, today is an ornery gentleman on the verge of a total pulmonary infarction.

So, since we’re all in the same boat, might as well bring our unique benders to the stage and rivet that audience through their tenure in those uncomfortable seats while they’re shifting around, groaning and fumbling with hard candy wrappers.

Exquisite, is it not? That gallant patriarch wrangler has struck again, and he skipped away with six of our proprietary cultures! That devious bastard, I hope they fry him.

Anyway, as I’ve been known to say: the illusion of sterility is wasted on the fertile.

I really wish I could use my arms.

Devilles – 07:11GMT

Boom. All right, let’s wrap it up. I’m tired of your hesitation here! Don’t you know a high roller when you see one?! Chop chop, kid. 6,000 silver Devilles. Come on, while we’re young! What’s your deal, kid? Don’t think I have the funds to pay for these death traps? 45 grand apiece, what’s that, two hundred and seventy five grand? Eh, close enough. Fine, I’ll carry the zero over by a couple decimal points, just to shut you up. You sure are mouthy, kid. JESUS, do you have those cars yet? I’m on a tight schedule here, college boy. I gotta get these cars to kids with cancer—all terminal. GET A MOVE ON. Does your grandmother know you work this slow? What do you mean you don’t have 6,000 Devilles?! That’s ridiculous! I came to you guys specifically because you’re the largest Cadillac dealer in the tri-state region. Don’t feed me bologna and tell me it’s peaches, kid. How about I I take my business to another dealer? Frankly, I’m shocked that you’d let me walk away from such a tidy commission—the sale of your LIFE. You know you don’t want to look like a loser in front of your buddies when you’re talking about your day at the ol’ watering hole. They all went and got their degrees and cushy little office jobs—the SELLOUTS—while you’ve been sputtering away in the retail sector, waiting for days just like this one. And now you’re just gonna piss it all away. Come on now, how long has we known each other? All right, regardless, I’m a business man who has the funds at hand. I pull the strings. I give people the products they want and deserve. That’s something completely foreign to you, isn’t it, egghead? I mean CHRIST, is there any place in this God-forsaken country where you can buy 6,000 cars in peace anymore?! This is absolutely ridiculous. Yeah yeah, get your manager. Screw you, kid. I’m outta here.

Yeah, Gloria? I’m gonna have to cancel that shipment of Devilles. The sick kids are gonna have to learn to drive in some shitty old driver’s ed cars before they die of CANCER. Oh wait a minute, Gloria, here comes the manager. All right, put a pin in this. Talk to you later. Yep. Okay, buh bye.

Oh, okay. So you’re calling me unreasonable for expecting the fourth-largest Cadillac dealer in the COUNTRY to give me PERMISSION to buy 6,000 cars? First of all, I don’t need anybody’s permission to do anything. We live in a little place called the USA, ever heard of it? Second of all, if I have the funds, how could you peabrains possibly deny me the right to buy as much substandard American merchandise as I so please?! Listen, I’m no dummy. I understand that you don’t have 6,000 Devilles in stock. But is it unreasonable to expect you to pool your resources and deliver them to me this week some time? Oh. Okay. I understand. Well, I’ll just take one then. How much was it again? 40 grand? 45, you say? I think it was 40, boss. Hey hey hey—do you really want to debate me on the price when you flat out refused to accommodate my request just a minute ago? Remember that?! You have some nerve, buddy. Okay, fine. 45 grand. Do you accept traveler’s checks?

That would have been more fun if I could have used my arms…

Johnny Fartenrod – 20:41GMT

Johnny Fartenrod had too many English Bulldogs to assemble a proper team of chariot racers, but that didn’t mean much in the long run anyway. A chariot racer needs a swifter breed of canine, one that contributes more panting than snorting when all is said and done.

Johnny Fartenrod wouldn’t hear of it. He never took those competitions seriously, no matter what the prize happened to be. Now, it may seem a bit unfair that an individual as zealous and spirited as good ol’ Johnny can’t compete in the thrice-annual chariot races (sponsored by clinical-strength Moon Buggies®), but sometimes you have to understand that we all have our distinct purposes in life.

What is my purpose, masters? Am I special? Is that why I’m here?
I really wish I could use my arms.