Gordon George’s
Estwing Bonanza
tweaks recognition, that
underrepresented showcase
of carnival barkery.
At its finest,
you’ll see Jeffrey Finito——
attractive man of misery
and attentive sham of Mister T——
slaloming
down the underweather pass to
transfer schmaltz patterns
to his underwater dentist’s
cauldron collection,
one schmutz at a time.
Carnival phraseology toots the patoots; mustn’t forget to hold the stetson hat apparatus. Something about Colorado’s avocados just doesn’t sit right with me, I reckon.
I enjoy a vintage turnkey turpentine just as much as the next fella, but I’ve been charged with so much turquoise scrutiny that I couldn’t possibly catch a break with my micromanagerial authoritarian figures. Well, perhaps I can sneak a little one while they’re out defending their freedom to be overbearing toward the less fortunate in the world… what could that possibly hurt (aside from those tragically codependent trout fisheries and sea monkey dispensaries peppering the eastern seaboard)?
WHARVED 