Monday, May 12, 2008
NOT Sorry
I just wanted to let my small amount of loyal readers know that I am NOT sorry for not writing a blog for the past 3 weeks. Like I said before I do NOT follow rules. I have been EXTREMELY busy learning things IN school and working 4-8 hours PER week and didn't have time for the stupid internet. Now summer vacay is almost here and I might just start writing manifestos and stories EVERY day...that is ONLY if I feel like it.
P.S. Read the blog below this one. It's called "Howard Plays a Big Joke." It's an amazing tale of trickery and gluttony and sex.
P.S. Read the blog below this one. It's called "Howard Plays a Big Joke." It's an amazing tale of trickery and gluttony and sex.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Howard Plays a Big Joke (loosely based on a true story, but mostly a fantasy)
Howard Rice had flowing white hair and fashion sense to bring a herd of running rhinos to a dead stop. Like any good millionaire he sometimes used his wealth to play tricks. Por ejemplo (I really like the way por ejemplo feels rolling off my tongue and I am trying to learn Espanol, so I will insert Spanish words whenever I want) Howard decided to have a dinner “extravaganza of the senses” with his wine drinking friends. It would be a luscious meal indeed: 23 pounds of foie gras, 45 pounds of bouillabaise, 2 gallons of super expensive caviar, 67 ounces of California chronic, 83 pounds of kobe beef tartar, 4 wheels of fancy French Crottin, 6 Bolivian peasants, and last but not least many pricy bottles of vino. When the wine started flowing everyone was swishing their tongues in delight. A little ant that was walking on the Cararra marble kitchen counter told me that he heard one attendee named Sherry exclaim “Sweet Fancy Catharine of Aragon! This has to be one of the best vintages I have ever had. It has long sexy legs, ever so slight hints of velvety cherry, a fat ass body, the bouquet is muy complex, blahblahblahhhh.” Other guests moaned a little, pursed their lips and wrinkled their foreheads. Oh to enjoy the fruits of the earth!
When it looked like the people could not get any happier, Howard took it as his cue to remove from his Indian Agarwood wine cabinet a Montrachet 1978 from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti bought at auction for 23,939 US bones. At first the guests thought this was some kind of joke. Sure it is rumored that there is a crane in his backyard that lowers big wads of cash on Christmas, but this was too much. This extravaganza quickly switched from extravagant to down right profligate (gracias thesaurus). The group didn’t want to get too excited about tasting the Montrachet because for all they knew they were hallucinating (gracias 67 ounces of California chronic). But I’ll tell you one thing, if you looked at their underpants you would see them soaked with pee. This could very well be the highlight of all of their drinking careers. They might taste a wine so supreme that they wondered if they would be able to recover and return to reality.
Howard loudly expelled a sweet swan song, “On the eighth day of Hanukkah my true love gave to me 8 Arnold Palmers, 7 supple virgins, 6 sweeping saris, 5 gilded grandmas, 4 forty ouncers, 3 Thurgood Marshals, 2 tame tortugas, and a bottle of Moooontraaaacheeeett!” He was a little bit of an eccentric if you know what I mean. He then proclaimed, “I have a vision and it is as follows. There are 15 brand new freshly aerated Gucci floating pool donuts floating in my heated indoor pool and there are 15 of you wearing your finest Gucci gowns and suits. The ghost of Diane Arbus is hiding in the pantry and she wants to take one more photograph before her soul returns to the Source. I will open this bottle of wine if you do as I wish and get into the pool and let Ms. Arbus get her picture.” As fast as you can say “Sweet fancy Moses, son of Sam Francis, acquaintance of Marcus Garvey” those highly fashionable people were lounging in Gucci pool toys. Howard had them right where he wanted them. He uncorked the wine and sniffed it. His eyes rolled back into his head. He poured himself a little smidgen and tasted it. He squealed like a pig that just had a feather up its ass. And then this little hobbit named Patrick who only had one frame temple on his glasses came outside wheeling a cauldron. All Howard’s friend Barnaby had to do was take one look at the cauldron to know that Howard Rice the trickster had an affinity for the pitcher drink sangria. His heart skipped 12 beats and he gasped. Just as a misbehaved child draws on the wall with crayons, Howard poured the 24,939 dollar bottle into his bubbling cauldron of sangria while his Gucci adorned house guests sat in their Gucci pool donuts in his heated indoor pool and watched in horror.
If you are a reader with oodles of money that is probably your most successful bet at sticking it to the man, considering you are the man.
When it looked like the people could not get any happier, Howard took it as his cue to remove from his Indian Agarwood wine cabinet a Montrachet 1978 from Domaine de la Romanée-Conti bought at auction for 23,939 US bones. At first the guests thought this was some kind of joke. Sure it is rumored that there is a crane in his backyard that lowers big wads of cash on Christmas, but this was too much. This extravaganza quickly switched from extravagant to down right profligate (gracias thesaurus). The group didn’t want to get too excited about tasting the Montrachet because for all they knew they were hallucinating (gracias 67 ounces of California chronic). But I’ll tell you one thing, if you looked at their underpants you would see them soaked with pee. This could very well be the highlight of all of their drinking careers. They might taste a wine so supreme that they wondered if they would be able to recover and return to reality.
Howard loudly expelled a sweet swan song, “On the eighth day of Hanukkah my true love gave to me 8 Arnold Palmers, 7 supple virgins, 6 sweeping saris, 5 gilded grandmas, 4 forty ouncers, 3 Thurgood Marshals, 2 tame tortugas, and a bottle of Moooontraaaacheeeett!” He was a little bit of an eccentric if you know what I mean. He then proclaimed, “I have a vision and it is as follows. There are 15 brand new freshly aerated Gucci floating pool donuts floating in my heated indoor pool and there are 15 of you wearing your finest Gucci gowns and suits. The ghost of Diane Arbus is hiding in the pantry and she wants to take one more photograph before her soul returns to the Source. I will open this bottle of wine if you do as I wish and get into the pool and let Ms. Arbus get her picture.” As fast as you can say “Sweet fancy Moses, son of Sam Francis, acquaintance of Marcus Garvey” those highly fashionable people were lounging in Gucci pool toys. Howard had them right where he wanted them. He uncorked the wine and sniffed it. His eyes rolled back into his head. He poured himself a little smidgen and tasted it. He squealed like a pig that just had a feather up its ass. And then this little hobbit named Patrick who only had one frame temple on his glasses came outside wheeling a cauldron. All Howard’s friend Barnaby had to do was take one look at the cauldron to know that Howard Rice the trickster had an affinity for the pitcher drink sangria. His heart skipped 12 beats and he gasped. Just as a misbehaved child draws on the wall with crayons, Howard poured the 24,939 dollar bottle into his bubbling cauldron of sangria while his Gucci adorned house guests sat in their Gucci pool donuts in his heated indoor pool and watched in horror.
If you are a reader with oodles of money that is probably your most successful bet at sticking it to the man, considering you are the man.
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