(The Only Article On This Website That’s Not About Musical Instruments.)
Having tasted all sorts of fowl over the years, the connoisseur is not thrilled when he sees seabirds on the dinner menu:
Well, ug! Albatross is sorta blah. Gull? Ew!
I tell my friend Al that in seeking the true artistic spirit I’m not interested in the over-intellectualized aesthetics of academia. Rather, it’s the pure Bacchanalian pleasure I believe in, and I care not what critics may think.
Al! Al! Art is all a mad stir of gnostic illicit song! For it’s “Dam’ all,” as I tra-la-la!
Sign displayed in a sex shop window promoting one of the products available within:
Oh, cum mucho!
No Parts Sore!
I tell my friend Amos, he really should study the words of the little-known Malaysian philosopher named Kate. She has written extensively — the sheer quantity of her eloquent prose not to be sneered at! — in opposition to the expectation that there is a divine order to the universe, and to the false optimism that that engenders. Such optimism is folly, and use of painkillers is no escape.
Amos, one Kate, who lives in Ipoh, has drowned Logos.
Fool, snot not at a ton — tons, lo! — of so golden words.
Ah, hopin’ is evil. Oh, we take no soma.
In answer to the question, “Who dat?”:
Wo, who?! It are Sam, an idiotoid, in a Maserati! Oh, wow!
The lord in heaven is god of all things (including, for instance, cotton). She has decreed that all the living creatures of the earth must follow their divinely ordained ways and behave accordingly. …Which is why it bugs me that your dog is eating dry grass. Surely the puppy should know, that’s the way of ungulates, not canines.
Yahweh (cotton god) asks a dog not to chew hay.
But don’t count me among biblical literalists:
No, I too love evolootion.
Two important characters from your 1960s childhood:
Orbyson, Roy | Yor nosy bro
Stylish but messy:
Look! Tahini in I hat! Kool!
Several attempts to come up with something that makes sense, starting from a promising core that proved tricky to complete:
God, Al, let’s laminate wet animals! Tell a dog!
We dogs laminate wet animals! God, ew!
Guys laminate wet animals. Yug!
Get a cadet, lover! I saw Gus laminate wet animals! Ug, was I revolted! (A cat, e.g.)
Al, Al! I saw Gus laminate wet animals! Ug! Was I lala?
Doofer got some tan; I’m all agog! Stella, I’ve not one vial; let’s go, gal! Laminate most ogre food.
Some people may think I’m smart, but …
To Idi Amin, I’m a idiot.
How the Hollywood gossip columns missed this I’ll never know:
Sí! I, Tarzan, raised Desi Arnaz! Rat I is!
Horror of horrors, someone in he neighborhood has put up a whole lot of graffiti depicting bare-breasted women. It’s illegal, it’s immoral, and it’s a scandal.
No, it am a federal law! A no-no! Taboo! Boob (a ton!) on a wall are defamation!
Surely he’s not foolish enough to believe all this quasi-religious space aliens nonsense.
Gods, Brett? U.F.O.? No! It’s a bastion of utter B.S., dog!
Don says that all is a divine dance, even the movements of the most insignificant of life forms. I question this.
No! Do gnats do God’s tango, Don?
Time for Al and his wife, wishing to become pregnant, to have some fun. She waves the test kit results in front of him to prove her point.
Al, I ov’late, et al. Voila!
She explains that if she looks mournful, it is because a tragic mishap has occurred.
“No,” Melanie nods. “I’m sadder of eye, for Edda’s ma is done in a lemon.”
Fred is subject to many peculiar illnesses, the latest being this very strange type of influenze he somehow contracted — but the fortitude he shows under such trying circumstances fills me with admiration.
Odder flu Fred now has. Ah, wonderful Freddo!
Halp! Ooh! Gibbons torture ye, ye rut-rot snob! Big hooplah!
Last, I’d nab Red Rob, a border bandit, Sal.
…A sordid saga. Still, it’s a gas! Did Rosa …?
A Dane does edit:”Te deseo, de nada.”
Tarapins & elk cuss, suckle & snip a rat.
“Amen,” I call. “A cinema!”
Pure grub, Stella! Al, let’s burger up!
Tell ‘em, more grub! O, had I spoon! A tangy gnat, an — oops! — Idaho burger/ommellet.
Darn, I ebb, bein’ rad.
Oops! Go! Do not ask! Cub, rats at a Starbuck’s. A ton o’ dog’s poo!
Arts, eh? Crow orchestra!
Hey, Emil’s natal foot is too flat an’ slimey, eh?
Legumes: emu gel
“Al, let’s knarf!”
— Frank Stella
Emote to me Naomi, I moan! Emote to me!
I (help!) am a maple. Hi!
God yes, on a burro I rode, Dori. Or rub a nosey dog.
‘Tis Tim. Dad admits it.
He sho’ nuf did fun “oh’s”, eh?
Amo la paloma.
Desist, Fella! Al left Sis, Ed.
A lone modem user submits Timbu’s resume. Do me, Nola!