Object in Another Country
July 14, 1999
We make three columns on the page. In the first, we make lists of "ordinary object." We pass the papers around haphazardly by throwing them around on the table. Each person, upon receiving a paper, fills in a box in either the second or third column. The second column boxes roughly follow the format "In [place], where [such and such is true]..."; in the third column, the object is defined.
In the imagination of a boy scout whoís lost the war on drugs, not clothes, but smooth-skinned innocence and old-school pom-poms are left on hangers. They hum hymns.
In Fredonia, where there is no Bureau of Standards, love is "measured." By this I mean, Iím a truck driver. Iíve been a truck driver for a long time.
"Oh my fuck," she said, my aunt, holding the roadmap of Denver. "Turn the car around! I canít believe I left the bacon in the pan!"
Prak (itís a verb):
In Borfino, where people sometimes ñ but not always ñ have productive afternoons, to prak, or prackle, is to watch the stars turn black, or dog doo turn white.
In the reddish land of rust, rust, rust, they use a rim as a secret game before the execution of the king and queen, wherein everyone must whistle on key.
In the South, where the mayor praks every night, a sin is like a prak, only more venal.
In Lacunae, a south is eaten after much prayer. Of course, I didnít pray. But I do exercise.
In the country whose citizens cannot watch Pro-wrestling without becoming aroused, variables are entered into dim evening homes, where they add, subtract, and luchar with the airwaves for their own chance at erotic wife events.
In the country of Ostracism, where flycatching is nonetheless lucrative, a flycatcher is followed with catcalls, and tarred and feathered by respectable folk.
At the school for the gifted where I often lied about the family history of my dog, my Biology teacher, a man in highwaters who knew one when he saw one, said I had some real pup.
In all fairness, Spy-novels are used as train schedules.
In the dystopic near-futures of Stanley Kubrick, "girlyshow" is a term of endearment comparable to our "punkin," "cupcake," "lovie," "poopsie," or "dollface."
In Nashville, where rhinestone-studded boots never see mud, any cowboy will tell you the best place to country, and how to country, is to cowboy.
In the country where music is medicine, birdfood was found in Charlie Parkerís stomach after death, and is kept in a local museumís freezer. (Suggested donation: $3.50)
In Greenland, upon the sward, where green-tinted glasses are advised to prevent retinal damage, Greenís ward was the swinginest ward in the North Corridor of Dunhill Gen. Hospital.
In my dreams that donít involve Ernest Borgnine, Mr. Bigs are pants. Mr. Bigs are pants (with holes). You asshole! Itís Mr. Bigs!
In Evangelism, where 96% of all berries are rotten, remember not to ingest rotten berries.
In Fruitopia, where Carmen Miranda rules with an iron fist, all-green houses need a spruce-me-up from the produce goose.
In the country of ASCII, between the HTML tags <PRE>&</PRE>, QWERTYUIOP sometimes gets lost in the past.
In Happilyland, where spiders eke out a living selling butterbeans and sniffing porn, some male spiders slave away their entire lives to spin their beloved a web with Corinthian columns. Then she devours him.
In Corinthia, which is, maddeningly, not the home of Corinthian leather for Chryslers, to swim is to farm halogen from the spectacles of Esther Williams.
Iíve been here, drinking beer, since year 1-9-8-4, and I can tell you with no sarcasm or humor, that to Beige carpeting is an honor second only to the cracking of the forehead with the modern mallet.
In Japan, "quotation marks" is a sickening brand of "hot cereal," which is to say, "hot" "cereal," which is so nauseating to ingest that it is never eaten, only "eaten."
In the country where humidors are mistakenly thought to be homes for matadors, a question about a glove is only rhetorical.
A hotel room near dusk:
In the roller-rink, where the doctor holds Cosmology workshops, his patients later skate to a hotel room, where, near dusk, they watch the TV blink as the good doctor said it would.
In Mauritania, where little girls and boys see spots, an inkblot is my heart in the gutter where little boys and girls build aqueducts for favors in the gutter.
In vain, where I set up my mugshot boutique, thereís a mirror where narcissism is multiplied.
Smoking while urinating:
In a nutshell, smoking while urinating is a common practice of those versed in the sacred arts of Tantrism.
A bottle of beer:
Just in the nick of time, when failure seemed inevitable, and our fates sealed, I discover, in my leather spell book, the spell: "A bottle of beer," which, having opened, I fought mightily, with vigor, courage.
In MTVland, where Michael Jackson is king and Meatloaf his concubine, David Bowie is any concubine who eats lambchops without mint jelly.
In the same town where the doctor teaches cosmology in the roller-rinks, the Rattling Armor is a six-star hotel frequented by only the wealthiest and rattlingest burghers and plague-bearing rats.
In some parts of Ohio where puberty has replaced television, a donkey, or a white male who is now equipped to "walk with a woman" is tied to a tree, and often doesnít move. He is tied up. To a tree.