Thursday, 19 June 2008
Anagramlust
A couple of dudes drove past me this afternoon and yodelled "slut" in my general direction. I can only attribute this to the sheaf of library liaison committee papers I was clutching provocatively in my right hand, or possibly my sexay backpack filled to its decolletage with first year essays. Naturally, I was deeply flattered, and added these dudes to this week's list of Way Cool Chaps I Would Like to Have in My John Milton Reading Group. There they join the carpenter who arrived on Monday morning to install my windows, took a gander at my paint job, and cooed, "Who's been a busy little girl then?"
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8 comments:
When people "join" your "reading group", you are of course referring to the reading group held for severed heads beneath the very floorboards of your home, those that you walk even at this moment. It's a very exclusive club: in order to join, you have to act with a certain meticulous care like a fuckstart for at least thirty consecutive seconds.
Oh, irony, like silvery or zincy, only made of iron.
I forged a knife from irony, once. It caused people to die in horrible accidents completely unrelated to the knife itself at the very moment of drawing it from its sheath (made from pure worked sarcasm, 100% Australian). I suppose the joke was lost on 'em, more's the pity.
The shouting-out-of-cars business is getting very common, isn't it? I always get so angry about it. And girls often seem to be involved in it too now.
Dreadful comment from the carpenter.
Because tradespeople have the upper hand in the relationship once the job is under way they get away with saying crap like that, although this is certainly the worst comment I've heard of for a while. I don't know what can be done about it beyond waiting until they've finished then delivering a few choice words along with the cheque.
No wait, I just thought of what needs to happen - get Sam Newman off the telly. For a start.
Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.
"Good!" cried the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But irony, cold irony, is the master of them all."
So he made rebellion against the King, his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.
"Nay," said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
"But irony, cold irony, shall be master of you all!"
Here you go, Your Kingsleyness.
I'd like to have a crack at Poet Laureate status, come the Ironic Revolution, if that's all right with you.
Thanks for yer support, comrades. I had to save my choice words for the wee matter of a 3 mm gap between the window and the window sill, a matter more pressing (though possibly related) to my allegedly being a busy little girl. Gap now remedied; cheque posted.
As for the shouting from the cars, I'm a lot less daunted by it than I used to be. If the shouters didn't zoom off, I'd probably shout something back.
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