Mixed-up letter with many kinds of English

For this next blog I am going to prove to you that I am able to successfully use Old English, Middle English, Irish English, Pirate English, Standard American English, Southern English and Fake English all in one letter. Whoever made strict demarcation lines between various versions of English is about to be bitterly offended by my flagrant disregard of language rules. I warn you reader (especially if you are a cousin or uncle or old high school pal or teacher colleague or just about anyone I know besides my sister) that should you proceed to read the following lines you might think me loony. I apologize sincerely if I shatter any vision that you might have had of me. Without further ado I present to you a letter that I wrote to some Countrymen and Courtesans right after I got home from South America 18 months ago.

Dearest Countrymen and Courtesans,

I hath summoned ye to say me travels abroad are doth over. Ye hath had patience with me “gold fever” and you wert correct all along; greed does drive the heart astray, specially when the Keskeysees are following me path (for those of you ignoramuses who don’t know what a Keskeysee is, it is a derogatory word for a French gold miner). I did not find what I sought, but I found what I found. Forsooth! I done tasted adventure so spicy on the tip of me tongue that me face went flush in a surge. I found blindin’ light in darkness as nocturnal creatures bellowed sweet songs and a dancin’ cactus breathed pink into me veins in a sweven. Sikerly I took a vow of gluttony though I am proud to say I did not stoop to the level of brothels. I consumed one after another after another of magical meat pies and drank copious amounts of cherimoya/orange juice. Whole days were devoted to the consumption of this betrothed pair of scrumptious wittles and divine libations. I done danced with the devil, green scarf in me hair while sipping a warm beer and salutin’ the sun in the middle of a barren desert enclosed by volcanoes with condors flyin’ above scourin’ the earth. A cleansing and mystical elixir from the mountains of Ecuador haveth warmed me innards, irrigating the toxins of me belly. A strapping alpha male hath taken to me upon the deck of a ship in the middle of the ocean, frigate birds flying aside whilst blue footed boobies nested upon their eggs. The crispy air of the high Andes haseth licked the water from me hands and face like a thirsty cat, leaving me flesh a brittle paper, cracking and bloodied. Shiver me timbers no good scallywag! And since whence, thine eyes are resting upon this here page and thee might be imagining me lascivious and bedraggled face. The tip of me nose is as cold as a witch’s titty and me right hand is about to snap off.

So moote I thee O day of yore! Follow me path and float ashore.

Most kind and sincere regards,

Captain Crazy Pants

THE REAL MASTER CLEANSE

I was taking a shower because I really like being clean and I was looking at the drain and St. Catherine smote me with a stroke of genius. With all of the toxicity in the air and in the water and in our bodies, she said to me in a faint whisper, “Ssssssswilllllllering Twindle Daaaaaawwg. Don’t forget to wash your pits and your tits. Also you should think about cleansing yourself of the toxins that are festering in your body. You eat too many bad wittles, too much fried chicken and rare steak and French fries fried in duck fat and macaroni and cheese and cholesterol bunnies and lard pies and gooey cuy and marshmallows and lighter fluid soup and tornado hair. What you need is the fo shizzle, fo sho, fo REAL MASTER CLEANSE.”

You know, to be honest I have been feeling like my equilibrium is not so equal. I just feel out of whack if you know what I mean. My chakras are definitely out of line. I am not grounded. Gravity is pulling at me from two directions. I can’t tell my ass from my elbow. It’s the toxins; I know it. They are the culprit.

Contrary to popular belief I can see toxins. Other people can feel them only. Well I see the little buggers. They are a mix between sound frequencies and color waves. A body emits them in a red wave that hums at 2 decibels. They are ugly and perverse. They furiously hump your innards and outards, so I can certainly understand the new wave obsession with getting rid of them.

Some not so wise people get rid of them in the following ways: with cayenne pepper, lemon juice, and maple syrup cocktails, others go on prolonged 32 day not Ramadan fasts and others only eat copious amounts of red apples for 10 days. Others sit in eucalyptus steam rooms and the bravest among them get intestinal irrigation a.k.a. colonics. Some even let little wobbly Chinese men put hot cups on their back a.k.a. perfectly circular hickies.

For those of you that have tried all of these various cleansing techniques and still feel your body infested with toxins, have I got the MASTER CLEANSE for you. On the summer solstice it works best, but full moons are acceptable too. What you do is shut of your electricity and light some old fashion soy candles on your back porch. Have a large bucket and bed pan close by. Go to the cabinet under your kitchen sink and grab her. Hold her gently and close to your bosom and walk outside. Salute the moon and Hail June, and twist off the cap. Press play on your boom box and let Robert Johnson croon to the moon and Hail June.

The time has come for MASTER CLEANSE ala Swillering Twindle Dawg. Hold your bottle of Drano to the summer moon and say the mantra, “Om Nama Shivaya.” Then chug your bottle of Drano and your pipes will get a thoroughly spiritual and physical cleaning that you have never known. This my dear friends is the REAL MASTER CLEANSE, and I promise if you do it, you will feel like a million bucks until the next summer solstice.

You probably haven’t heard of this most simply because of capitalistic greed. It would mean that the homeopathic business would fold in t minus 2 days. I’m hear to tell you that homeopathic and eastern style medicine for toxin removal is nothing other than the robber barons trying to swindle you once again.

Down with capitalism! Drink Drano!

Exercising With Defiance

If you are looking for a real life example of exercising with defiance, I can relay to you some of my own personal experience with such behavior. But before I begin I have to preface my ideas with a tall tale of a wandering troubadour named The Swillering Twindle Dawg. She was what Tom Robbins calls a “genius waitress” at a diner with perfectly seasoned fried chicken and perpetually old hard-boiled eggs. Her philosophy was to keep diners on their toes, so she only ran with food and filled their lemonade with rocks. It is related, O happy King, that Swillering Twindle Dawg had mischevious ideas in her head and would often cast a hex on ungrateful customers. The mark of her hex was a verse written in the corner of her eye that said, “Hear ye comrades near and far/My heart is unchained in the cookie jar/Don’t speak grievances lest you fall/Your ship is sinking deep in Kezar.” Upon uttering these words with her gaze, the hexed customer would start to swoon and he or she would turn into a billy goat for 17 days. These 17 days were named, “The 17 Days of The Swillering Twindle Dawg.” You might be wondering what all of this has to do with defiant exercise. To be honest it has little to do with it except that The Swillering Twindle Dawg is none other than myself and I am reading Arabian Nights right now and this tale is a not so subtle homage to the tales of Sharhazad and I think about the plight of three dervishes when I exercise. But I digress.

Now that you have a context for my week, you are ready to hear about my Sunday morning exercise. Last night before I went to bed I wrote a “Sunday To Do-ody List” with the following activites: 1. Pay Parking Ticket, 2. Write defiant blog, 3. Pray to Laksme, 4. Do ass of steel exercise, 5. Watch Lakers game. I have recently decided that my ass needs to be a little firmer so that when I put on my bikini this summer I will look extremely good. But I am not willing to compromise my integrity and put on spandex and join a gym. Nor am I willing to sell my soul to the devil in return for a perfect ass. That means I have to get the perfect ass Swillering Twindle Dawg style. I tell you this personal information so that you too may get a perfect ass while screwing the man at the same time. Woah, that sounded incredibly homoerotic, but you know what I mean.

My roommate shared some secret buns exercises with me, so every day for 15 minutes this is what I do. I put on my Steely Dan album “Gaucho” or my Donovan album “Wear Your Love Like Heaven.” I slowly turn the music up very loud and I look at myself in the mirror. I make coy faces (the best ones come during the song “Babylon Sisters” when Steely Dan sings “You’ve got to shake it baby, you’ve got to shake it, you’ve got to shake it baby, you’ve got to shake it…” and those sexy horns are just crooning the definition of swanky) and imagine myself on a remote beach somewhere with a steamy man who is admiring my absolutely flawless ass. Then in my sear sucker pants, I get on all fours on my Persian rug and lift each leg so it looks like I am a dawg taking a piss. If you’ve ever taken an exercise class, you are familiar with this exercise and I know you love it. If you do it listening to Steely Dan or Donovan while making coy faces in the mirror, I promise you will love it more. You will also be doing your part to deconstruct booooring ways of exercising.