But Not Gargled

"Well," I said, coming out of the staff bathroom. "I did it."

Todd looked around. "What a good boy!"

"No, I mean, I peed all over the floor."

"What?"

"I was sitting down, minding my own business of layin' cable, and my li'l fellow went off on a frolic of his own. I could hear a gentle hiss, and I looked down to see a puddle of piss spreading across the tiles. It seems I wasn't appropriately tucked in. So I had to tear off about a hundred paper towels to clean it all up."

"Were you getting a split stream?"

"Is that a punk rock thing?"

"In a way, yes. When you get your junk pierced, like me, you get these streams all over the place."

(Visual aid for those following along at home.)

"I was thinking maybe getting my hole slit longer, maybe to get a good long hole..."

"Your hole isn't good?"

"My hole isn't, no. But I thought maybe my hole could get a second hole, and..."

"What's going on?" Hilarity came over.

"NOTHING!"

"Why are you two always shouting nothing?"

"NO REASON!"

Speaking of no reason, let's dip in for another spoonful of galactic urine, shall we?

*galactic crickets*

"He especially rembered what Arkly, his grandmother, consulted him last night: (But not Gargled)" (1-3)

Right, no more gargling. It was fun at first, yes? But then writing out all those th-th-th and ill-ll-lls became fucking tedious. And writing should be fun! R-r-r-r-r-right?

"'Son, I know what has 

confronted you. So I give

you this advice:

If you find a bottle

though,

with bloodfull color,

take haste,

to watch for evil 

pursuers.

Be careful for a

name starting "G,"

with it's, followers

close by.'" (4-17)

But you know what's not tedious? Poetry! And Arkly is clearly one of the greats. There's a Whitmanesque brio to the sprung rhythm of the enjambments, and a sinuous suppleness to the lyric rhyme that puts us all in mind of Ibycus of Rhegium. Unfortunately, the content is utter gibberish. Staring with a "G."


"His Grandmother was a conterous. One who with told the future." (18-20)

She was pretty cantankerous, too. One who predicted a painful future with a giant Tinkertoy.


"Sho-grine didn't know what to make of this strange riddle, as he was thinking." (21-23)

That's his problem right there: thinking. Stop thinking, you idiot! And start living.


"Suddenly, Sho-grine was broke from his thoughts..." (24)

I'm going to stop myself there. If anyone has become broke from their thoughts, it's me. Starts with a "G."


"'C-come-me chil-d-d.' Cylorn's mother stood up on her hind legs, placing her fore-arms on the clay counter and let a long stream of hot urine pour out of her. Ahhhh, she thoughted." (25-28)

I've said it a million times: gargling and piercings don't mix!


NEXT WEEK: Solomacas Day comes early this ye-ye-ye-ear-r-r!