Posted by nigel1 on November 25, 2002 at 09:47:34:
Well sir, this year is nigel1 a speakin' in his own true voice, having fired my diction coach (an utter arsehole) muh grammer coach (a tyrant and notorious poofter) and most importantly, muh logic coach, feller name uh Aristotle, last name uh Aquinas. Not. But if it was, I would surely kill that feller for all the harm he done. Least ways, I'd do worser than a fire 'im. GASP! It's the air uh freedom I breathe now, unfettered, and free to end muh story of strange doins' in the eponymous town uh Corpus Christie (knew a gal name uh Christie, once, and she shore had a sweet little petite little body, but never did stick no knife in her intestines. Wanted to, though.
So thet Lentil fellah was just about to have himself a high old time with that there Arthulia, and she was indeed hot for him, ready to take a knife in her bellybutton and get buttfucked in a pool of her very own blood, all outta love, or something like it, but darned if that dermoid cyst in Lentil's head didn't decide just at that very moment, at the very brink uh consummation theologica to BUST-- yes, it popped up outta Lentil's cranial cap like some goddamned encysted hair, spattering pus and blood in every direction! Arthulia came and came and came again, the spasms no doubt triggered by the very shock, and then the now headless Lentil sprawled at her feet, and she couldn't help but think how manly he looked, with those shoulders of his seeming very broad now, as they went straight across, with no obnoxious cranial bump to mar the lines, and better still no cranial bump to mar the moment with with some stupid remark about how sexy her boobs looked, hangin' down to her bellybutton like they did, like they did, a very set uh banana tits, they wuz.
We can safely suppose that Lentil's dermoid cyst had something to do with those shit accretions on the General "Arthur" McArthur statue at the Academy. Remember that? If not, no matter. This story had a lot of momentum at one time, but never did it have much mentum: Big Mo and little Mentum, you might say.
But you can't have an explosion of arcane cerebral matter like that, without getting a whole buncha psychic shock waves. And those shock waves reached out, and out and out, and touched various nodes here and there. Doctor X (you know, having thrown off all fetters I find that names matter not at all-- it's like, we're all one, man. You dig?) So Doctor X watched some of his special FBI/CIA/OSS/NAZI (It's like they're all ONE, man! You dig?) stag films and jacked off and engaged in dreams of power. Power, that illusion. When death crushes you into the dirt, and fills your mouth with maggots, then you find the meaning of power. But I digress. Well, to make a long story short, the Doctor's soul leaves his body. Don't ask me where it goes. If I told you, you would tell me I lie, and that would hurt my feelings. And then that there Vietnam vet is another node, and sure enough, before he can harm his amputee girl friend, his soul leaves his body. And sad to say, the soul of that amputee girl friend does not leave her body. She lives a long time, and never does she know a day of happiness. The gods were pleased.
There. Have I left any loose ends tangled up anywhere? Yuh know, one thing you find out, once you fire your logic and diction and grammer and decorum coaches, is that many things you thought mattered, you then think they don't matter. Undoubtedly, you are wrong in every case. But, does it really matter?
Well, having wrapped up my story in such conclusive a fashion, I DO think it is time to open that fifth of King George the Fourth and pour out about a cup in a ol' time jamjelly jar and then crack open that pint of Kentucky Kream, that fine old cheap bourbon whiskey, and add a cup of that to the ol' jamjelly jar. Yes, and then to that mix dump in a heaping tablespoon of red Kool-Aide!! It makes a man fit tuh holler!! The hollerdays are cum upon us!! Or the Hollowdays, as some say. Do it matter? I think not. I think not. But I do wish yer all a fine ol' Thanksgiving, and hope none of you are about eating your own feet, heh, heh. Yup, I hear that ol' jamjelly jar a callin', and the ghost of Aristotle is around here someplace, but I think the last name is Onassis, so there should be nothing to fear.