there is a picture of denise sleeping, but that is for another time.
I have thousands of words to say about this, but no time and no guarantee it would be a good use of the reader’s time to read it. So here’s the gist. “Justice” is a commodity bought and sold. Whoever has the gold makes the rules. Stay out of court if you can help it, unless you’re one of my many attorney friends.
I thought it would be cute to save my edits as “stricken from the record” but visible. The editing was mostly done to resolve inconsistency of meter. Here is what is in the final transcript:
So have your day in court–but, DAMN, you should’ve just said no
UNserved justice–you get drubbed–it’s bad for your C.V
So dismiss it without prejudice–hot cup of joe
Taken quickly–chased with H2O to quell the sear
Ah: the “juris” loses “prudence”: THEY’re rich; YOU are queer
It’s a plague, or, at the very least, a case of flu
Nor will there be vaccinations–that’d be so dull
Egos, greed–litigiousness gives Devils what’s not due
Dockets have their wolf packs–& the young and weak are culled
Faithful readers of this blog will recall the first Pun Exchange, which transcribed the extensive banter Shawn L. Bird and I exchanged in the Comments section of her charming blog post, which was, basically, about a road-killed beaver. Finding that post is left as an exercise to the student.
More recently, on Facebook, in a poetry group called Poets All Call, I posted a pseudo-haiku about a disconnect between candy and merriment, thus:
almond but no joy
lots of snickers no laughter
payday’ll cost you
What follows is the complete exchange of comments. I am Clay; faithful readers of the blog will remember Bob and my two (now three) tries at his portrait; and Mary and Hobbit are wonderful, free-spirited fellow members of Poets All Call. All references to candy and other sweet stuff will be in bold. (Apologies to the other participants for any missed references!) We Americans love our sweets–too much, as evidenced by our average weight gain over the past few decades…
Mary: This is one of the saddest things I’ve ever read.
Hobbit: let’s all go to mars… travel the milky way on…whatchamacallits!\
Clay: Thanks for the Chuckles, my friend. Hope you come to our Necco the woods some day. :o)
Mary: If she has an extra $100,000!
Hobbit: I am always Twix and tween …usually at Zero, Mary…
Bob: Orphaned Baby Ruth/Was saved from an unkind fate/Thanks to Bill Murray
Bob: Butterfingers slip/And Reese’s fall to pieces/Her – she’s everywhere!
Bob: M&M we know/Sports a colored, candied shell/What’s inside is swell
Mary: Gosh. I need to walk down the candy aisle more often.
Bob: All sorts of titillating treats there!
Bob: OH HENRY! she calls/It’s me – Mary of Magic/I crave your sweetness!
Bob: Indeed Mary. You could come out the other end of the aisle, spent – I mean what with most candies costing a buck nowdays!
Mary: Yes, all sorts of treats. But Uno I prefer pastries.
Hobbit: if i ate all that ….i would be a round Rolo…what a whopper too!
Bob: The occasional foray wouldn’t hurt.
Hobbit: i like pastries too…tasting twinkies with pinkies…i declare! eclairs!!
Mary: Dang it! I got some Lindt on my black sweater and it won’t come off with that roller-thingie.
Mary: If the Lindt won’t come off, I guess I Cadbury the sweater in the
Hobbit: Get the Three Musketeers to help you…
Clay: Or some Big Hunk like Dwayne Johnson?
Clay: No, scratch Dwayne. I hear he has that rare swerving groin injury known as Zagnuts.
Clay: He needs a magician to give him an allakazam! Abba Zabba!
Clay: But Mike & Ike may be available. Their help has always been Good & Plenty.
Clay: –Whoops. They’re busy with a couple of Red Hots…
Mary: Those Smarties? I dunno.
Hobbit: could get a real Sugar Daddy or a Jolly Rancher…
Hobbit: unless they are with Mary Jane
Hobbit: or some nerds
Mary: I’d love a Sugar Daddy! All I meet are these Sugar Babies. Real immature.
Bob: Regarding that Lindt-sullied sweater…. if you do commit it to a subterranean fate (or maybe you wanna bury your $100,000 dollar bar ), just be careful not to leave any tell-tale Mounds.
Bob: Clay, you know where they get the filling for Kit Kat, right?
Mary: Good tip, Bob. On second thought, I don’t think I’ll bury it. Too difficult for me. When I put a shovel in my hand, I’m all Butterfingers.
Hobbit: i am giggling so hard my jelly belly is rippling….and I am Krackle-ing up!
Mary: Werther it is better to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or giggle, I choose giggling.
Clay: Let us not abandon Riesen, and never a June year mince. (Gawd, that’s a stretch…)
Clay: But I AM thinking outside of the Brach’s. :o)
Clay: Q: Why do Twinkies and Ho Hos and Ding Dongs and Fruit Pies go to Group Therapy? A: To get in touch with their Fillings.
Mary: I was kinda down, but this thread really cheered me up. It was a LifeSaver!
Clay: Have you tried Mole Sauce flavor? Hole y Mole!
Bob: Wife read this – said my rightful candy is Dum-Dums!
Mary: Clay, that last joke doesn’t have a Snoball‘s chance in hell of getting a laugh.
Bob: Would you like to meet my Tootsie, Pops?
Clay: Tell Bob, Mary. He’s more Snobald than I am.
Bob: Didn’t you mean SnoCone‘s chance???
Clay: Or Ice Cream birds in the sun. YOU know–Baskin’ Robins.
Mary: Oww! (Holding stomach in pain)
Mary: When Clay and Bob get going, it’s hard to get my Bit O Honey in!
Clay: Guess I’ll head to the Kent Saloon. You know–belly up to the Clark Bar.
Mary: I hear Mr. Goodbar works there.
Bob: Whata ’bout the new mom who couldn’t nurse? You know – Milk Duds. She did lay alota Kisses on her kid tho!
Bob: Then there was Bill and Joan Ettes. Those two procreated like rabbits on steroids. Spent their whole lives raisin’ Ettes!
Clay: And one of them is running in the latest Goobernatorial election.
Mary: Yes! They’re having a fundraiser tonight on 5th Avenue.
Bob: A Yiddish apiary tender keeps JuJuBees.
Mary: Judge not, Nestle be judged.
Clay: That was Quik!
Clay: Show me a lunar ratio of circumference to diameter, and I’ll show you a Moon Pi.
Clay: And here’s what you say to a cookie-making elf who gets fresh: “Keebler hands to yourself.”
Bob: Alright – alright…. I once laid out a maze for a hamster. I made it using discarded popsicle sticks. I dubbed it a Popsticle course
Clay: If you Pepper Mint, you should Salt what are Taffy.
Hobbit: I still have places to go on and things to do on my bucket list…like…going to the Andes, setting a Dove free on 5th Avenue, going to Hershey’s to a-Pez my chocolate craving…I doubt I will ever be brave enough to try being lady Godiva…ya never know…but…if my brain was Skittle-d enough…crazier things have happened…I still might Pop Rocks to see if there are any Charms..to find just the right Thingamajig would be a wonderful Skor!
Clay: Hope to see your Lady Godiva. I may not be a Whitman, but I’d love to Sampler. :o)
Bob: -> Sees what you have wrought
Bob: The candy knapper thought he might Rustle Stover.
Bob: Barb – surely you’ve been to York a time or two. I was there once.
Bob: BTW, kudos on your candy counter!
Bob: Anyone remember Fizzies???
Hobbit: Yes, Bob, I went there with Heath Bar…oh and another place on my Bucket List is to spend some time sampling Turkish Delights!
Hobbit: Loved Fizzies!
Hobbit: True that…but there is still time to go see the Swedish Fish, watch how Gum Drops, watch how Goobers Gummi Bears (they DO not like that! neither do the Worms…just sayin…) I did get to see Root Beer Barrels…cool..and Cracker Jack Wax Mustaches…weird , that…but, Peeps…it has been great, having this Conversation, Hearts…gotta run for Now n…Later
Bob: Been fun, but now I gotta have some CANDY!!!!!
In Foom-Bozzle-Wozzle (Part 1) I promised to acrosticize and otherwise complete my portrait of Marty (the) K. Here is the fulfillment of that promise, epigrammed with some words about words that John Lennon wrote in his “Across the Universe,” which I think may well apply to Marty K’s glossolalic neologisms:
Here are the words to the acrostic:
Mystery in listening to words that none might grok
Addled yet athletic like a mouthful from a geek
Roisterous, yes–nonetheless they celebrate, not mock
The onomatopoeia puts the genius to the freak
You’d swear there was some Cosmic Truth these words express–or seek
This is not my first go-round with a Marty K page. In the very early days of my art journal, Marty’s birthday, 2007, I did one of him and the immortal Marty Robbins, celebrating not only Marty’s birthday but the fact that there was another Marty from Glendale who was a big trouble-maker. Here is most of that earlier page:
And here are the words to the acrostic, though I shudder to transcribe them:
Marty K and Marty Robbins
Are two Glendale ne’er-do-wells
You know, I bet between the two
They must’ve raised a thousand hells
However, truly we can say
Entire worlds about them
You know, THIS world would never be
As near the same without them.
Clasp hands in spirit, Marty, Marty;
Engage like souls in fun and party.
Speaking of Partying, and Marty’s Birthday, let me close Part 2 by revealing (with Marty’s gracious permission) that his last name is Klass, pronounced “class,” and that I wrote this limerick on the occasion of his 45th birthday:
You’re a fellow of dubious piety
And all-too-infrequent sobriety.
Happy 45th, Marty!
How you act at a party
Makes me yearn for a Klassless society.
Ever the best of friends…
Weeks ago I asked a friend of fifty years if I could feature him in a blog post. I told him I wanted to address the issue of his peculiar glossolalia, which has resulted in him calling me hundreds and hundreds of different names over the decades, from the early “Bowsenger,” “Bowsengie,” and “Bowsie,” to the derogatory “Hun” and “Tiphead,” through “Zebulon” and then the truncated “Zeb”–and we haven’t even gotten out of grade school yet.
He assented and then started sending me odd words via text message. On July 1st he offered “Nigmobophilia.” (A love of drive-by racist epithets?) On the 3rd he reminded me of “Bigglesworth,” which he didn’t make up put lifted from the name of Dr. Evil’s cat in the Austin Powers movies. (Fairly recently he’s called me “The Big Stuff” and “Bigby,” both of which I am egomaniacal enough to like; but then the alliteration shaded over into “Bare Naked,” which I didn’t like at all, and then “Bear,” which is OK but echoic of what my high school sweetheart and I called each other in the early 70’s. Lately when I call him and he sees from the number it is me, when he picks up, he usually says “Bear!” with some enthusiasm. If he’s not enthusiastic about talking to me he’ll just let it go to voice mail.)
July 4, 9:21am, the message in its entirety was “BungBostrogNothPotnogronthomos,” which sounds to me like a moon of Mars that was discovered long ago but that is too embarrassing to talk about. It also makes me think that Oliver Sacks, who has made a latter-life career of writing about the effect of brain trauma on behavior, might enjoy studying this man.
His first name is Marty. His last name begins with a K. “Marty K” would make a good character in a Franz Kafka story entitled “A Babbler In Tongues.” But for the acrostic I haven’t written yet I’m going with “Marty The K.” This resonates with Murray the K, a disc jockey who got to hang out with the Beatles when they first came to America.
Here is Marty K’s portrait in progress, which I will acrosticize and complete, wrapped in some personal history, in Part 2.