Not for the first time, I got to Wednesday night without a finished bit for my Thursday morning blog post.
I bought a Power Ball ticket.
I thought about faking my death, but my unlicensed legal adviser told me that if I did and sold even one extra copy of Trouble in Taos
or Volition Man
that I could be sued for fraud unless I was willing to actually…die.
“But how would anyone know if I sold one extra copy?”
My ULA (unlicensed legal adviser) gave me one of those looks lawyers (licensed or not) give you. “In your case,” she said, “that would be one copy… period.”
“Nope – not worth it,” I said.
“Too bad,” said my unlicensed legal adviser.
ULA’s can be mean.
Not surprisingly, other writers offered to come to my rescue offering stuff they would never get accepted by a legitimate publisher – figuring the only way it’ll ever see the light of day is on this blog. For the xxth time, Stanley McFarland offered me his poem, Garumplefink.
“Haven’t I already posted this?” I asked.
“No, but you've turned it down several times.”
“Why do you think I've turned it down?” I asked Stan. (He hates it when I call him Stan instead of Stanley. Actually, I think he secretly hopes people will think he’s Stan Lee and give him credit for his favorite superhero Thor, whom he resembles…
in no way what-so-ever.)
Stanley looked puzzled for a moment, and then said – “Because it’s too funny?”
After giving Stanley the mistaken impression I was considering posting his ‘too funny’ poem, Garumplefink, I started looking through a folder of unpublished poems he left with me, and found… The Worst Poem EVER!
I don’t think Stanley thinks it’s funny, but I do. I’ll skip the boring parts along with the title and get to the good stuff.
Every person is a sculpture
We begin roughly formed, and raw
We are shaped by sharp edges and blows
There’s a knee-slapper – at least it will have to serve as one because, as I said, it’s late Wednesday night and other than Stanley’s Garumplefink – I’ve got nothing.
At least I can assure you that I won’t even consider subjecting you to Garumplefink…
Until the next Wednesday night I’ve got nothing…
And Power Ball craps out…
And my ULA nixes everything else I think up.
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