Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Friday, January 21, 2005
I was just now sitting here at my large mahogany desk in the sumptuously furnished offices of the Axis of Weevil World Headquarters building, when I arose and went to the window.
I stood there, absent-mindedly stroking my marble bust of Twain (Shania) and observed that Chet the E-Mail Boy was out in the parking lot, attempting to fill the pothole by the sewer cleanout with fresh gravel. He’s been awfully slow about getting this done (as with all of his other chores and mindless busywork)--with every shovelful of gravel, it seemed to require that he stop and take a break to eat from the bowl of cornflakes and milk he took outside with him. If he were so efficient at shoveling gravel into the pothole as cornflakes into his mouth, I believe it safe to say that the parking lot would have been fixed long ago.
I was just about to tap on the glass and scream at him to quit malingering when suddenly he seemed to have been possessed by demons, or bees. The bowl dropped from his hand, scattering his snack all over the cold gray stones, and he took off like a shot into the building, arms flailing wildly, the screen door nearly being yanked from its hinges.
I wondered what that was all about, and after sitting back down at my desk, I came to the conclusion that it must have just been one of his normal episodes, or possibly a reaction to having thought he spied a passing stoat or weasel.
And then, he burst through the door to my office (as nearly as he is able to burst through anything), very nearly knocking over my priceless collection of porcelain thimbles from the 1982 Knoxville World’s Fair. I scolded and berated him, but he seemed not to notice, due either to his agitated state of mind or needing a new hearing aid battery.
“I FORGOT!” he shouted (as nearly as he is able to shout). In his hand he held a sheaf of papers containing what appeared to be an Admission Application to the Alabama Invective Grange. “You do realize this will appear on your semi-annual performance review, don’t you?” I said as I took the papers from him. I don’t actually give him performance reviews, but he seems to think I do, and thus his eyes began to cloud up at the thought of the humiliation. “BUT, if you get out there and fix that pothole--WITH NO CORNFLAKE BREAKS, and polish my car and vacuum out the interior, I believe I can ignore it. THIS time.”
He breathed a sigh of great relief, thanked me for my good-nature, and took his leave. On his way out, I also told him that some of the vinyl siding had come loose at the lobby entrance where the raccoon keeps trying to get in, and he needed to fix that, too. Makes a bad impression on visitors when the building is a mess, you know.
Anyway, I took the application in hand and began my thorough review. Robert Kenmore. Hmm--a bad sign right off the bat--the poor chap sent in his information of his own free will, apparently not coerced or even part of some fraternity prank. Poor fellow. And then, what’s this? A poet!? Hmm--we might need a poet. Let’s see what he has to say... For those of you from outside the area, “the Ham” is short for the “Hamilton and Saxby Charitable Domiciliary for Invalids and Persons of Depleted Means.”
I think. The first step is admitting you have a problem. Embrace your inner idiot. It has certainly helped me. ::sigh:: Well, as long as it all rhymes, I guess we can make allowances. Hello. And yes, as part of my in-depth investigation, I did look. Not bad, but not quite up to this level of self-abasement.Oh, good grief. WHAT IS IT WITH YOU PEOPLE!? Doesn’t everyone have framed photographs of the most famous Mormon firearms designer in the world?! Cut this out, frame it, and immediately put it in a prominent place in the Ham.
Sheesh. Being sorry doesn’t help, Mister! I can see we’ll have to enroll you in Remedial Culture before you get a key to the supply cabinet. Buncha punk kids coming in here with no firm grasp of Western Civ--makes you wonder what they teach in schools nowadays! But then, there’s THIS: ::sigh:: It’s not the hauling, it’s whether it looks right with a big stream of tobacco juice down the driver side door!
But, I suppose it’s better than some of the folks we’ve let in here who drive cars. I think we’ll have to say the same thing as we do to the car-folks. Get yourself a Sawzall with a coupla hacksaw blades, and get to work sawing the back part of the roof off, and turn your Vibe into a nice homemade El Vibamino.
So very much work to be done on this one--but, with the judicious use of the Calvinball Rules Clause, I think it won’t hurt too much to shove another Weevil into the fold.
BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME by Earl at the Citgo, who once changed a tire on Roy Moore’s car, it is with great trepidation and no small amount of pride that we HEREWITH, IRRESPONSIBLY, and with HIGH HONOR do induct one Robert Kenmore, keeper of the Fierce Poet weblog, into the PROUD AND OVERTLY HOSTILE Cotton State Quilting and Cannon Society, known far and wide to most as the Axis of Weevil!
As with all new members of the Axis of Weevil, Robert will be receiving his very own World Famous Axis of Weevil Gift Pack, containing a rack of Dreamland ribs, a gallon jug of Milo’s sweet tea; a G-Lox Wedgee gun rack from Mark’s Outdoor Sports for his soon-to-be El Vibamino, a package of Bubba’s Beef Jerky (according to Dr. Weevil, this is homemade and is available only at the gas station at the end of Highway 82 in Bibb County); a three piece, 24 ounce box of Priester’s Pecan Logs; a box of Jim Dandy grits; a 16 ounce bottle of Dale’s Steak Sauce; AND a six pack of Buffalo Rock Ginger Ale!
BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE! Jimmy from next door, who has a condition, and no longer needs to be distinguished from Jimmy in Accounting, who was fired because I got tired of the confusion--anyway, Jimmy is overly excited by this new addition, as he fancies himself something of a poet as well. In a change from his usual gifts to our new members that are more in the sculptural/painting arts line, Jimmy has decided to create a giant wall hanging/poem for the occasion, in which he will use both acrostics and anagrams of the names of the top ten drivers in the Nextel Cup championship series!
It promises to be quite spectacular.
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