Apple juice permeation of what would have otherwise been considered a cordial affair has shed a new light on the rather pretentious category of social gatherings as we’ve come to understand it (ever since the bungled bungalow endeavor of ought-three).
This particular fiasco began when an advocate for fresh fruit juices invited himself to the festivities, taking every possible opportunity to schmooze with the big names in booze. He slipped past security under the guise of a schnapps magnate named Sir Wilfred von Königstupp and promptly began pushing his non-fermented agenda on the room to decidedly mixed results. The drambuie set found his spiel appalling, whereas the cointreau folks were rather intrigued. Grand marnier was unavailable for comment.
Needless to say, our buddy Wilfred (whose real name will be protected for arbitrary reasons) got the old heave-ho once the Jaegers found out what was going on. His famous charisma at least allowed him to get a couple stream of consciousness quips out there, if only to confound the preppy old money set. Most notable was his impromptu list of “lost arts”, which included (among other things): stadium hopping, hamburger flipping, turkey trotting, limburger tossing, butter mashing, charity giving, the pompadour, and original origami.
Improvisation without representation is definitely authorized in this club, though I don’t quite know how it’s supposed to be accomplished (at least without some corporeal manifestation hanging around on this mechanical rotating clothes rack we call the universe).
First off, you’re supposed to “yes, and” the opposition into submission as often as possible, which typically would require a physical body in space and time. However, perhaps a physical body needn’t be required if we piped a nice [tinny] audio stream into the room as the live interaction winds itself down.
But that all goes without stating the obvious: if the instigator of improvisational inquiry has no chunky terrestrial body of which to speak, then why should the foil of the piece remain a solid entity? That just puts the burden on them, don’t you see? Having all of those internal organs thinly covered by what’s basically just a fleshy layer of napkins (and not the two-ply kind)… it’s dangerous! I won’t stand for reckless endangerment in the name of creativity.
Flanking the misogynistic brooch is an insecure medallion,
gaudy, cumbersome, more valuable than it’s worth.
Do I hear an opening bid?
I most certainly don’t.
Well people, I don’t much blame you. These things are hideous.
But in all seriousness, let’s give it the old college try.
Save the Volcanoes can really use your generous donations.
Honestly, you can buy this set and toss it in the trash for all I care.
Come on, all I need is one bid.
Oh I see, anyone who would commit funds to these atrocities is worried
that they’re doomed to never live it down in their social circles.
You’re all buffoons.
I’ll just buy them for five bucks so we can get on with the auction.
Sold to the man with common sense for five bucks.
Half a heifer to the man who can provide the whereabouts of the golden sombrero.
Okay then, a quarter heifer to the man who can muster the courage to admit his pigheadedness.
Okay then, an eighth of a heifer to the man who can swim to the bottom of this lake and retrieve the gumball machine I carelessly tossed in a bout of sugar rage.
Okay then, a sixteenth of a heifer to the man who can stand on one leg for more than five minutes without breathing.
Okay then, a thirty-second of a heifer to the man who can shave his armpit hair and refuse to scratch the area until it’s fully grown again.
Okay then, a sixty-fourth of a heifer to the man who can tell me where the closest diner might be.
Okay then, I’ll keep the heifer and you all can go to hell.
Torque takes time, tell that to Tina.
Before bringing bacon, burn blank bridges.
Cold castles curdle cream; cats crawl, claw.
Hunger holds heavy hearts– hounds hear hedgehogs.
Pontificating purists poke, pester, pound.
Wrestle wriggling wrappers; wrench wrens.
Steel slides smell spindly– solid spun?
Talk about hard knocks. This marble countertop really banged up my knuckles.
Who told me that marble and marbles are the same material? Was it Edgar?
Edgar is nothing but trouble. I don’t know what possessed you to take him to that ball game.
I mean, I understand he just lost his dog, but baseball is a strange substitute.
You could have taken a date to that game, you know. You never think of those things, do you?
It’s not all just going to magically ‘work out’ for you. You have to make those efforts.
A potential for anything is really what I’d like to see around here.
Anything less just seems halfhearted.
Take a leap and risk a plunge, there’s nothing wrong with it.
Well, utter failure and death are dubious rewards.
A bank teller, a swamp monster and a demon from the sixth level of hell walk into a bar.
The manhole cover by the playground has been slightly ajar for six or seven weeks now.
Kevin went over that way yesterday after school, and I haven’t seen him since.