No, context doesn't help
(From the sent mail file... with hopes Michel won't mind that I take bits of the weirdness that always seems to happen when we correspond and excerpt it for public consumption, now and then.
And no, knowing the context of this probably wouldn't help.)
I keep thinking, I need to write some of those 'well blow me down' type expressions. You know the ones—the ones ninety-year old great grammas who've just discovered their husband had a sex change just before their marriage use? 'Well dip me in castor oil and use me as a chimney brush for Inco's highest waste stack.' The kind of entirely incoherently weird thing only someone who's been through the great depression, both world wars, and the several years during which the Osmonds had their own TV show could formulate, and probably only because either malnutrition during the depression and/or excessive exposure to the Osmonds ate holes in their brain resembling those left by Creutzfeldt-Jacob disease.
But whatever it is this actually takes, I don't think I've got the circuitry for it. Keep trying, but so far all I've come up with is:
'Well dip me in honey, roll me in oats, wrap me in cellophane, print the nutritional information and incredients on the side, and sell me for 49 cents.'
... and ...
'Well shave off all my body hair, crazy-glue the pelt of a dead fox to my back*, and chase me through the English countryside blowing a hunting horn.'
... aaand the ever popular ...
'Well break into my home, murder my significant other with your artificial limb, frame me for it, and chase me around the country with a posse of several hundred state troopers, all while uttering staggeringly vapid monologues.'
No. Guess I ain't got it.
(*Yes, it looks like dead animals and glue are becoming a recurring theme with me. Apparently the therapy isn't working.)
And no, knowing the context of this probably wouldn't help.)
I keep thinking, I need to write some of those 'well blow me down' type expressions. You know the ones—the ones ninety-year old great grammas who've just discovered their husband had a sex change just before their marriage use? 'Well dip me in castor oil and use me as a chimney brush for Inco's highest waste stack.' The kind of entirely incoherently weird thing only someone who's been through the great depression, both world wars, and the several years during which the Osmonds had their own TV show could formulate, and probably only because either malnutrition during the depression and/or excessive exposure to the Osmonds ate holes in their brain resembling those left by Creutzfeldt-Jacob disease.
But whatever it is this actually takes, I don't think I've got the circuitry for it. Keep trying, but so far all I've come up with is:
'Well dip me in honey, roll me in oats, wrap me in cellophane, print the nutritional information and incredients on the side, and sell me for 49 cents.'
... and ...
'Well shave off all my body hair, crazy-glue the pelt of a dead fox to my back*, and chase me through the English countryside blowing a hunting horn.'
... aaand the ever popular ...
'Well break into my home, murder my significant other with your artificial limb, frame me for it, and chase me around the country with a posse of several hundred state troopers, all while uttering staggeringly vapid monologues.'
No. Guess I ain't got it.
(*Yes, it looks like dead animals and glue are becoming a recurring theme with me. Apparently the therapy isn't working.)
posted by AJM at 10:49 a.m. (Permanent Link)
