I’ve half written and wadded up an entry or two over the last few days. You’re not missing much. I have pretty refined tastes when it comes to wadding up. I wad well and with discretion. I wad for the greater good. I wad well and I get my strut and fret on well as well, well, half well. I mean I strut well, I fret well, strutting and fretting though is like rubbing your tummy and patting your head, which without intense focus turns into rubbing your head and patting your tummy and even so if you think about changing it to counter clockwise (or clockwise if you start off counter) everything goes to hell and not in a hand basket, in one of those plastic baskets that say Wal-Mart to Hell on the side.
In a long aimless conversation I was having with a friend, more for the joy of talking to her than using the language to impart information or meaning we came up with a good idea for a T-shirt (ok, I came up with it, she was the inspiration, and without Billy bang bang Shakespeare to paraphrase, well, none of us would be wearing t-shirts, or, perhaps, shirts at all. Damn the Bard.). The shirt would read ‘They strut, they Fret and then they nap’. I also think it’d be a good alternative for road rage phrases. I’m not suggesting that ‘Fuck you you fucking fuckers’ needs changing, when in doubt always go with the classsics, it’s just that sometimes you want your kids to wonder if perhaps the grandkids telling the kindergarten teacher to ‘take your milk and cookies and shove em up your ass you fuckity fuck’ might have come from them and not from you. Um, yeah, so, you could say ‘struttin’ frettin’ son of a gun, move that POS Hoopdee’ to which, I’m sure, your apple cheeked grandchildren will say ‘You tell those fuckers grandpa!’
On the more pragmatic and rockwellian side of all that, I imagine a children’s book with large round Maurice Sendak characters titled They Strut, They Fret and then they nap. Both strut and fret are so removed from modern English that they sound like words made up for a kids book, like strut and fretville were suburbs of Whoville. Which brings to mind the only joke I thought was funny in the whole Major League (movie) Franchise, even then it was public domain;
“You must be joking!”
“No, if I were joking I’d say, what do you do with an elephant with three balls? Walk him and pitch to the Rhino.”
See, if Horton hears a who and/or whom, then some similar but slightly smaller creature would hear a strut or fret. And, given the baseball reference, if Horton hears who’s on first then struts on second and fret is on the mound, and second gear is down here shit for brains move your POS hoopdee.
If this made the cut just imagine what’s been wadded.
Having been involved in no less than three extended obamacare conversations in the last two days and having skimmed a few dozen online potato pundits on the subject, I have reached the none too clever conclusion that nobody has a fucking clue including the guy what wrote it and the guy who’s name it bears and Obama and care. If I was still naïve enough to suspect anyone in office was clever enough to hatch a conspiracy, I’d strongly suspect this particular clusterfuck was particularly clusterfucked on purpose to make whatever plan is used to clean this one up pass without so much as a ‘by your leave, you struttin’ frettin’ sumbitch’. I couldn’t even tell you if I was for or against obamacare, I haven’t been able to swallow the premise that I understand it, and, even more to the point, what the timeline is in real time. It’s a bit like watching one of those self-help infomercials where they spend twenty minutes telling you how your life will change but never get to the punch line; you have to buy the product. It’s a wonder that those things turn a profit at all, what demographic feels that twenty minutes of smoke blown up their ass is nowhere near enough smoke? I mean I think I could do that in under thirty seconds. Me, a hose and a cigarette, I say “For nineteen ninety nine I’ll show you how you can blow smoke up your own ass in the comfort of your own home. Act now and get two for the low special price of thirty nine ninety eight. But wait that’s not all! Oh, sorry, yeah, that’s all.”
I was shocked that a few years back The Secret became so popular. The product was an infomercial. I mean it didn’t give you any practical application for the law of attraction and that was after they’d taken your money. I think ‘You get what you pay for’ and ‘There’s a sucker born every minute’ are actually the same saying except one implies that you aren’t a big enough sucker yet. Some classic shit talking in the game Spades; jailhouse rules (it’s the same card game, jailhouse rules are in place to give guards something to do) is ‘Go high or go Home’. I know, that doesn’t sound that shit talk, but it is. The play is obviously trying to draw out trump; the shit talking is trying to suggest you know your opponents will lose the trick if they don’t bust out the high trump. There are only 52 cards and you are looking at thirteen of them and you’ve heard everyone’s bids; it doesn’t take a math whiz to figure out who is holding what after the first trick is burned. Even if you’re doing a dime for felony math stupidity ‘Go high or go home’ might as well be ‘your mom is in the hen house sucking eggs and your rooster is porking the fox’. Yeah, I don’t know what that means either. Obamacare. Go high or go home. It’s the law of attraction you struttin’ fretter.
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