Excellent start, Bwak, and thank you for taking the Bulwer by the horns, but as you know, your sentence was way too succinct for a composition that must contain: ".... a self-serious attempt at dramatic flair, the imitation of formulaic styles, an extravagantly florid style, redundancies, and run-on......" so, more please; as artists/designer/writers, this is our one venue for "more is more" rather than "less is more."
(Was my reply long enough? Oh, I forgot to begin with "It was a dark and stormy night...." ;-)

Example:
It was a dark and stormy night, for Charleston -- the city shut down, voluntarily, hours in advance of the two to four inches of accumulation expected, where not only schools but also offices and retail establishments were promptly closed and shuttered, their lights set to "Emergency" backup -- the delicious drama unfolding, then, only behind closed residential doors, as is Charleston's wont, a city in which precious little is forbidden, except as a matter of public display, which made the current weather something rather like the tourists who are regarded as something foreign, "from off."

Sorry, C -- you posted yours while I was writing mine. Yours is a far better example. I'm already chortling over your DeSoto and, best of all " the rather homely red head who was the schools prize field hockey goalie and the city air was nearly as choking as her cheap perfume...
Ha! Your entry bodes well....

It was a dark and stormy night, one that met her mood as she laid back in her bed, her head feeling his hand between hair and pillow; tonight's the night for everything she'd he'd requested but she never tried, she thought, tonight's the night she'll show him once and for all she could, she would, match the floozy move for move, twist for twist, push for push, until her moans matched those of the wind, and her sex matched the rain in intensity if not volume.

Didn't know you were living in America's greatest dichotomy, Wendy. Stay warm and safe, and remember to keep the kindling dry. Also, I've been told marshmallows help spirits when the snow stacks up.

Thanks...I even came up with a better ending.

"It was late and the street lights were reflecting off the wet streets like the face of a girl he once knew in the mirrors of a cheap Coney island fun house, the the lovely brunette but rather homely red head who was the schools prize field hockey goaly and the city air hung as heavy as her uniform after a long practice session."

It was a dark and stormy night; the Senate was in session, a filibuster was being conducted, torrents of words fell from tired lips unchecked except at occasional intervals when a request for a quorum call was heard and the hot air emitted gusted over the Internet agitating the scanty intellect of the bloggers and almost extinguishing the scanty flames of freedom as America struggled for her future.

Excelllent AJM! Points for "torrents of words fell from tired lips... and "...agitating the scanty intellect of the bloggers and almost extinguishing the scanty flames of freedom..."

Just to cut the tension in here.... We're doing the Winter Olympics opening in Vancouver tonight. Some lovely bits, lots of national pride-puffing moments, a dysfunctional Olympic torch (ha!!) but the absolute highlight was kd lang doing "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen. To see our lesbian Prairie queen in a broad white man's suit, barefoot (she won't sing in shoes anymore) amidst the fake snow, singing the words of a womanizing Montreal anglophone Zen poet, and absolutely nailing it - summing up the nation better than anything else in the show - well... that ranks right up there with the best of Dark & Stormy!

Here's an earlier version of kd singing it, since the Olympic version isn't posted yet. At the Juno's.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night, the surf pound, pound, pounding, on the shore like a drunk and libidinous sailor, or ex-pat, or some other variant of the school of aloof poet-sorcerers: those too immersed in the fiction of themselves to come up for air, aire, aerie, like faeries, like somnombulasts, sleepwalking their way to a firmer, former, fantabulous extraventricular understanding of solamente, this: el corazon, el centro, the beginning and the end, (Alpha y Omega), from whence the, he, she, it, sprang in anticipation of grander, more symbiotic, sympathetic yearnings.

Well Cohen had to have loved this rendition. And I shall look forward to the specific Olympics version,

THank you Q

Whoops! That first full colon is a typo, and should have been a semi-whateveh...

kd lang was superb, as one would expect. She is a rare talent, and what a performance!

As I noted on another thread, however, the climax of the show (the torch lighting - or not!) was quite entertaining. The extended musical interlude was unexpected, although I thought it might have been better received if they would have launched into something like "Tea for Two" with Gretzky dancing a soft-shoe. Now, THAT would have been entertainment!

Libinous sailor...say what? I gotta give ya the Dayly Line of the Day Award for this here TPMCafe Site, given to all of you from all of me.

*snort*

He said "colon."

I loved the poem. Canada IS an experiment gone good. (One needs to look no further than you, quinn, to know THIS is right!) It caused me to reflect on just what kind of a poem we in the U.S. would offer in such a circumstance. I'm sure that it would at least involve a Stealth Fighter flyover which, when you think of it, is really all you need to know about us.

I was really proud for Canada tonight. Congratulations!

It was a dark and stormy night following a dark and stormy day that was preceded by a week, no a month, nay, a full year of dark and stormy nights and days that become all the more stark and dreary as we ponder the last burst of the light of hope the night Obama was elected and we, blinded by the light, saw it swallowed up by the dreary progression of days that brought no progress, no progression of anything but the failure of our hopes and dreams so all encompassing that we were stifled, struck dumb and wordless, unable to voice the depth of our despair and left to watch horrified and silent as the one we hoped would bring change, changed himself into a mere shadow like ghost haunting the dark and stormy corridors of the white house and the congress with the other lost souls to produce, like some unholy birth, either laws that were twisted monstrosities of our once beautiful dreams or nothing at all, stillbirth.

Our son kept asking what sort of product they were all smokin'! The light shows put ours in the '60s to shame. KD was magnificent, but the suit? Dunno. Too bad Joni wouldn't do the gig in person; I love here new cigarettes-and-whiskey voice.
Did you know whe and the daughter she gave up for adoption at 17 have found each other? Another love story gone good. Her daughter is an artist.

It was a snarky, Mel Torme night as big-eyed characters wandered the crushed velvet fog of the city, reeling from Scotch and Irish whiskeys, friends helping friends get bombed, but I was not yet ready to roast chestnuts by an open fire - no, not me - that was a picture no one really wanted to see, no one we really cared about, so I figured I owed us a little effort, false labor perhaps, but a sorta, kinda valentine for mi madre, my dear, dragon-headed mother.

It was a dark and stormy night, not outside, but in her head, the recriminations, guilt and utter disbelief that she could be here was playing, over and over, like some warped and scratched up CD, these poisonous thoughts taking up space in a head far too cluttered with care and drudgery to have the wherewithal to formulate responses to the many issues that all needed addressing NOW, as for far too long her life was one big reaction to crisis after crisis: a sick child, an abusive spouse, a changing economy in which the harder and longer she worked, the less she earned, the less she had in the bank, and with these morose thoughts picking at her like fleas on a dog, she wandered into the kitchen and picked up the vodka bottle, poured a stiff drink and caught her reflection in the kitchen window, where she observed a wishy-washy, hollow-eyed reflection staring back at her with a deer-in-the-headlights look; she understood that her friends and relations had their own problems and crises, and that there was no help there-- no--none; more guilt washed over her as she also realized that she had no help to offer them--no--none, and she was so, so very weary of it all, the fear and helplessness like the day before, as she was calling her daughters name over and over, imploring her to come back from the nowhere that epileptics sometimes retreat to, fearing she wouldn't come back this time, wanting yet not quite able to give into that fear, having to be strong, not giving up as the storm raged, the tears fell and dried, she told herself to get over herself, she wasn't in Afghanistan, she had a daughter, a job, a good family, she was lucky, and these welcome thoughts struggled to be heard and understood over the storm raging in her head, she wondered how to hear and believe them, where to find that strength when she was so very weary, and the storm in her head went on raging....raging.

It was a dark and stormy night, the seemingly endless night that only comes after our freedoms have been stolen for so long, and we are not longer the masters of our lives (excepting of course the One True Master, I’m speaking of God and Jesus, of course, we strive to serve in order to eradicate the Godless humanists among us who want to deny that this nation was founded as a Christian nation as our founders intended) and that would create Government as a false idol to be served instead and intrudes into our lives and limits our freedoms and our right to bear arms that we need for hunting and protection to protect our second amendment rights and to do the things that regular Americans like Joe the Plumber believe in; and we see now that the sun is about to rise again in America and we will be able to again assert our God-given rights to be accountable to ourselves without government interference and have the ten commandments posted in the schools again and that will help strengthen our moral fiber and allow us to become energy independent once again by drilling our oil that God so kindly bestowed upon us, and providing jobs, this is what America is all about, not what the Liberal Media would tell you it is, and not to serve a socialist President who would have us living like oppressed people under Stalin or even Hitler, and the sun is rising again, and if it looks like there is a call for me to serve as President of this great nation, I will do that because I have already taken a family poll of my husband and daughters and my wonderful son Tripp whom I did not abort even though I knew he had Downs’ Syndrome and our family can serve as a beacon to all good God-fearing Americans once again; and also because I said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ to money for a bridge in Alaska, (wink) and I know how to fight the entrenched interests in Washington.

And, the winner of the Sober "Dragon-headed Mother" Award goes to Donal.

One of the crooner's nicknames, which he hated, was "The Velvet Fog."

'Those without libidos are doomed to believe in libinas.' --Justic Clarence Thomas, circa 1999

And a hats off to Wendy Davis for courage in composition, plain-speaking points made to recall and remind us of who "we the people" really are: we are not spawn of the devil just because one of our most fervent beliefs is that of separation of church and state; nor are are we commie pinkos if we desire universal health care; nor are we hysterical hippies if we wish to protect what's left of our beautiful world and clean its air -- as our heirs deserve a place to breath, as our bears deserve a berth of ice on which to raise their cubs; and "Hopey/Changey" candidates merely make us sicken and despair that so few have read Oscar Wilde's Portrait of Dorian Gray, for there must be a version of it in Wasilla, carefully-covered, lest her true reflection be revealed.

It, the meaning of which should become clearer in time, although we have so little time, and so little is clear, was, and perhaps still is, and may be once again, a, one of many multitudes throughout the aeons, dark, in the sense of not illuminated, but possibly also in the sense of spiritually gloomy, or poorly understood, but all that will become clearer, or less dark in time, if there is time, and, as if dark isn't bad enough, stormy, foul-weather-gear, rain-whipping-in-your-face sort of stormy, night.

He was a dark and stormy knight, who, despite the gloom that usually confounds moonless surveillance in the wee hours of the morning, could easily be tracked by following the percussive rebounding of his armored form and echoed curses off the stone walls as he made his way through his castle halls without a candle or comely wench to lead the way. Many is the poor wretch who viewed (or, in some cases, heard), the unseemly gait and awkward angling of windmilling arms and thought to themselves (or to anyone who would listen to those thoughts) that this Prince was no warrior but a buffoon whose caricature of aristocracy was belied by the bubbling stream of profanity that no true gentleman would secrete. Alas, more than one under-estimator of the Prince's baleful wrath bobbed, face down, in the moat, gently bumping, now and then, against the swimmer who tread water, not as a part of some bizarre training regime, but in the hopes of uncovering the perfidious plans of the Prince of Darkness and his daughter, Princess Lynde, who were cast out of favor after the beheading of the King but view that as merely shortening for the biscuits they would soon bake for themselves. The swimmer, as he waited under the drawbridge to spy upon the Prince and his feithful Squires, thought that his predicament was an odd reversal of that line in Chekov's Three Sisters where the dead tree was kept from falling by the live ones surrounding it.......

And these were the knight's thoughts, because he was unaware of Undine, so close by, ready to do additional conjuring mischief, as the world was to her, merely a place for the befuddlement of others and her own enjoyment.

I've been trying to meet a nice Labina, but they don't seem to take me seriously. Perhaps I'm losing something in the translation...

HEH HEH

Two Mel Torme references on TPM this morning, it is a very special day.

http://tpmcafe.talkingpointsmemo.com/talk/blogs/k/r/kris_broughton/2010/02/roasting-gop-chestnuts-by-an-o.php#comment-3790846

ah yes, the paranoia, within the paranoia.

Well, I got one, and it looks just like hers!
Only mine is peach.

And reads Latin at 'em!

It was a stark and dormy night for the inhabitants of the Wellworne Home for Wayward Women who were tucked tightly into their narrow institutional cots, peacefully dreaming of pleasant pursuits, or so one would perceive at first glance, but beneath their well-washed thermal blankets furiously beat their female hearts; hearts filled with thoughts of revenge and retribution for tonight, ah yes, tonight, at half-past mid-night the trap had been laid, and as the matron finished her mid-night rounds, playing the light of her torch over their angelic, slumbering faces, the inhabitants of the Wellworne Home for Wayward Women waited for her footprints to recede whereupon they quietly rose from their cots and after a few hushed moments of movement while chemical-free filterless cigarettes were lit and beer caps were twisted and wine glasses were clinked, the women waited for the high-sign from the art appraiser who stood look-out at the window, chosen for the task because she could blend so well into the shadows; yes, they waited, all of them; LisB with her deceptively pert bows; the Red Hen, so nicknamed because she had laid so many, er, eggs; C'ville Dem, who could at times be anything but civil but was always good for a one-liner; Lefty Loosey, with her self-explanatory name; and The Staebler, otherwise known as WW, who might look like a lady with pearls around her neck, but would stab a diner in the gut with a silver butter knife for using the wrong spoon with their soup...yes, those wayward women, those and others waited for the high-sign for if their plan came to fruition they would finally learn the identity of their moonlight peeker, who, at half-past mid-night would stop outside their dormitory window and peer in through the glass, laughing maniacally while hoping to catch them in various poses of suggestiveness as they slept, only tonight would be a different story for earlier they had cast a net upon the ground beneath the window and when, at last, their mid-night visitor finally hit the mark, the art appraiser gave the high-sign, LisB poked the go button and the net captured the peeker, flinging him upwards to hang helplessly from a tree limb, sputtering obscenities and laughing, hahahahahaha, and as the women ran to the window to gaze upon their captive they all groaned collectively for, of course, they should have known all along that their peeker was none other than the notorious Dirty Dick O'Day.

Ha! C'Ville -- thanks for the injection of HUMOR, as well as appropriate floridity. Yes, please -- let's do laugh a little in this thread. Thanks.

O.K., I'm hooked. Not by the text, which I haven't started to read yet, but by the poem which serves as introduction to the first chapter. George Crabbe--I think I had heard of him. I may have even read some of him, under the lash one my earnest lit teachers. But somehow the selection, from The Village Book I, strikes a chord with me. I wonder if it does with anyone else?

Say, ye oppressed by some fantastic woes,
Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose,
Who press the downy couch while slaves advance
With timid eye to read the distant glance,
Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease
To name the nameless, ever-new disease.
Who with mock patience dire complaints endure,
Which real pain and that alone can cure,
How would you bear in real pain to lie
Despised, neglected, left alone to die?
How would you bear to draw your latest breath
Where all that's wretched paves the way to death?

I don't have to work hard to meditate on these few lines.

Holy cow. Bwak is this is so dark and beautiful. I am afeard for you when you speak like this, but I see truth and acknowledgment.

Really nice prose.

That's good... and you almost had me. Except.... I QUIT SMOKING YOU PORKY LIL FELLER YOU! Since last April, baby! Ha!

Though... if you ARE going by the store... maybe you could pick up....

Hey all! I loved that part as well, with the wheat fields and the WO Mitchell "Who has seen the wind" thing happening. The whole evening made me laugh actually, like they banished the official version of history from the room and just went with what interested them. And so Eastern Canada just... disappeared! Makes me giggle. The ONLY reference to where I'm from, for instance, were the punk fiddlers, which culminated in Ashley MacIsaac's mad dance and fiddle session. Now Ashley's certifiable, right? As in MENTAL. For real. Total genius, but flaming gay, and he repeatedly loses it on-stage. I donno if Americans know him, but every Canadian would have. So even to SEE Ashley in the show was totally shocking. He's just as likely to have mooned the "3 billion viewers" or taken out his moneymaker to give it a shake.

As for kd's outfit, well, same kinda thing. She's been deliberately going for a more.... "traditionally male" look, I think we might say. But fundamentally doesn't give a shit. Thus, the bare feet. but what it meant was two of the more prominent players in the evening weren't just gay, but blazingly so.

Beyond the music, it interested me to see how Canada is coming to grips with itself. It truly has been interesting, watching as an entire country MAKES UP who or what it is. People here really don't even know yet. But year on year, it takes shape. And now.... the pride is starting to flow. That it is an experiment... that works. Multi-culturalism, at least here, a place for all, a refuge for all, works. And the other great obvious thing is the sheer impact of the LAND on Canadians. I had thought it would fade, as we became more urban. But it actually dominated the ceremonies last night. The SIZE. And the way Canadians feel a bit like little lonely wanderers in this place.

Anyhoo.... I'm interrupting a Dark & Stormy, but nice to chat!

Nice!

I particularly liked "lower whelming" and "hegemony stickits" which reminded me of this.

yer rite...salmon.

Wow, kudos for getting that past spell-check.

=D

You aren't a spell-check. Mine says if I republish that paragraph it will shut my machine down in protest.

It was a dark and stormy night, the kind of night no timid, weak-kneed or lily-livered soul would care nor dare to be out in, let alone inside in, unless not alone and with plenty of candles and a cheerful fire (and perhaps some cheery music – although if candles are necessary I suppose iPods are out of the question so mayhap it's a simple stringed orchestra of perhaps two violins and a cello played by a fellow who likes waltzes more than dirges when one feels the urges to hear cheery music, as it were) – but I digress, perhaps in fear of what's to come upon this dark and most treacherous of nights, filled with fright, and so I carry on with my tale of terror in hopes that it, like this night, will finally reach its end; ah friends, you've all lived a night such as this, I am sure; your faithful narrator could not, would not be alone in this, of all things, could she? would she? – but then, only she knows what shadows lurk in the hearts of all men, including the metal and hollow but ever-ticking heart of one who would be so daring as to creep – nay, slither! – amongst the flowerbeds that surround and adorn the three-story brick house at One Observatory Circle this night, searching for the doors to his beloved bunker, that underground lab that is at once both his haven and his hell, his sorely missed sanctuary that is no longer his, but alas, now belongs to a man named Joseph Biden, who happily gives tours to friends for free, and with glee.

Mac/Safari, and I've been stung by those squiggly red lines so often, that I'm quite sure they would have won, if a weaker person than you, dear peegalito, had posted such a brave newish wold.

(ouch!)

Yes, what he said, about healthcare reform obstruction.

Actually I am. Bad spelling just jumps out at me.

Well, let's all hoist our glasses to Can-adia!
It was a grand ceremony, and thanks for interpreting some of it for us, Quinn-sicle.

Okay, okay, but there's some splainin to do. I was working under cover as a protector...a look out. Bwak and LisB paid me with fine Irish Whiskey....

I have to recede now into the mist so that I might get my story straight.

THE VOICES, THE VOICES. HAHAHA

Absolutely wonderful and evocative content , Curt... but Bzzzzt -- the construct is one absurdly long, run-on sentence, offering the author the full range of punctuation; please re-punctuate, and repost, to garner full credit for worthy entry.

AMike:
what you have cited reminds me of this article about the fate of writers and poets in Peru and, in particular, the neglect by the powers that be in Peru of Alejandro Romualdo Valle:
""The shocking loneliness in which Alejandro Romualdo Valle has died, raises meditations in me about the relationship between Peruvian society and its culture, and, above all, between the state and culture..."in Peru not even narrative writers can live off their words, we conclude that the poetic vocation is designed to be worn on the forehead as an opposed mark of Cain: it doesn't promise immortality, but a cold kiss of a bad and insecure death."

Wordsmithing music, Mh2o -- superb and a real challenge to Strato...

Superb imagery, LisB and a laudable sentence, in any case, for length, clarity within floridity, etc. Reminds me of a project I did at the State Department, when our photography crew was ordered "out," temporarily, because a not-to-be-named SoS wished to entertain his mistress in the Diplomatic Reception rooms.... another gov'mint building, subverted, though for a far lesser crime than those perpetrated by our former VP, at One Observatory Circle.

Thankee

It was a dark and stormy night, and the chalet walls heaved and sighed like the bosoms of those ladies in the late-night cable movies, but I digress, since here there was no cable, and frankly I had better things to do, as guided by my dashboard lights I followed my favorite writers wring a tear, sing a song, tell a story so well wrought, weave a thread so finely throught, the world hasn't seen its like since that last oh so dark and stormy night...

Thanks friends, truly a pleasure to read!

The night, or the night after -- stormy or otherwise -- would not be complete without you, OBey -- you, whose sense of balance gives us hope of a world in which that which is cerebral is balanced by heart, that which is harsh is balanced by unexpected but gratefully perceived soft perception, and that which is florid is balanced by spare, succinct essence. (How florid, effusive can I be? But I mean it.)

Wendy, I don't envy your job of choosing a winner. I have at least 6 in mind that are deserving. Perhaps you could divide them into categories. What a field of entries!

I do have one suggestion, however:

I think a special award should go to TPM contributors for not having one single post that put anyone else's down; not one single "fly in the ointment!" Bravo to all for that!

You know it was late when I wrote this quip and I miss one goddamnable letter...hahahahah

Labinus sounds like some category of desks on one of those antique shows.

According to DD, this thread has another day to go. So hard, so hard! Some of the best ones didn't follow the run-on-sentence rule, and yet they are so clever and sublime, they deserve big awards! Sheesh!

This is why I never agreed to be a stroke-and-turn judge when my children were swimming in meets. You had to DQ (disqualify) some sweet little 7 year-old who kicked the wrong way one time while doing the back-stroke, made it to the finish line; and then watch the proud smile melt off of his face as he discovered his mistake -- talk about dark and stormy nights! I just didn't have it in me, so I held the stopwatch and, using the index finger (never the thumb), clocked the little angels once they touched the wall - purely objective!

In answer, then I must say I am constitutionally unable to judge; I am even going to say that Flowerchild's entry is way up at the top for me even though she mentions me in an embarrassingly negative light!

So, Wendy, I have to say "Right back At Ya!" I think you will be better at this than anyone else, and so I respectfully, and though with full gratitude at the compliment and honor you have paid me -- decline to co-judge.

All that said, I do realize that TPMer's aren't 7 year-olds, but I loved so many of these posts, I just can't pick a number one!

Dram that was Gud!
I've nevur met a befuzzled momrath
whose mamories surv'd!

Aw, C'ville, I'm sorry if it was embarrassing for you, that was not my intent, nor was any negativity. I always, always, always stop to read your comments in any thread I'm following because I value what you have to say and I admire your fire. And your one-liners crack me up!

I'm glad I checked back in so I had the opportunity to apologize, C'ville.

And also, too, I wish to disqualify myself, please. I only showed up for the fun! Not any kudos. I do not envy anyone the task of choosing top honor. I would be hard pressed to choose between Strato's juicy, delicious word sammich or Bwak's deeply beautiful lament, the two that stand out for me amid all of these most excellent entries.

Forbicause at hand there live free connoisseurs
of chaliced light unfound and textsong ringing…
methinks a practic’d wreferee thee woo, to wit, to wait
thot Quinn clearly win'd by the winging.

It was a truly dark and stormy night in Haiti, and hundreds of thousands begged their masters for tents, being completely aware that the rains had now comw and that hurricane season was on the way...but the People in Charge advised them that there is not room enough for tents, since a tent occupoes a larger footprint than a Tarp; a tarp; a piece of waterproofed fabric that might sound secure, but isn't' that can't be pitched without wood for poles, the barren island having been stripped of trees for short-term desperate economic gain already; but the UN aid officials having coupled with what is left of a government in this long fucked-over former island paradise , have decided that the people need to wait for slightly more permanent shelters of metal and wood, some three years in the offing; but many, shivering with fever and hunger and fear and wet and cold don't understand why the humongous and ungodly amounts of money donated by phone to various organizations can't be spent to provide some relief right now,'oh, they say, we still believe in a god of goodness, and in people who cared, but right now we are suffering and sick and wet, and our children are suffering, and Nancy Pelosi has arrived, but says she can't tell the UN and the Haitians what to do and it is so hard to keep the faith and the hope alive; the songs aren't as easily coming to our lips; they sound more like dirges as we comtemplate the coming months and years' and please, can we have tents for privacy and to keep dry in; the mud is so hard, and the tarps really just flatten in the wind and rain...'

Hey, this whole thing was for fun, but yours was excellent, which was my point. It's always useful to see how I am perceived, and the last thing I want to be is uncivil, and so am glad for feedback.

So, moving on -- your dark and stormy night was

a. Clever
b. Full of alliteration (extra points!)
c. Topical -- in that you mentioned several TPM'ers
d. Literary
e. Did I mention clever?

No apology needed -- and I DENY your DISQUALIFICATION! Why? Because it was all in fun to start with, and your entry was GREAT!

Do we get to vote???????

That was GREAT chicken! Just wish it didn't have such a ring of truth to it... :-(

It was a dark and stormy night, something you'd have known if you'd actually READ my original blog, not as though that'd be important to you, a Boomer, as you all skim through life with everything provided FOR you by a Generation far Greater than yourselves, skimming because you wouldn't want to stress your aging eyes, obese as you are, from sucking down corn syrup and fighting your endless culture wars, now gliding along on your Self-Absorbed Fat Luge, refusing to take responsibility for having destroyed my pension, or for holding me back in Grade 3, and then Grade 9, and then Grade 7 again, or for killing my entrepreneurial start-up, "Fish 'N Cheetos," I mean, come ON, that one was a lock, a guaranteed moneymaker and worldchanger, until you mocking oldsters arrived, I saw you out there, I SAW you, standing and snickering, obviously one of those tens of millions of Americans aged 43-60, and naturally, that my business collapsing triggered my condition, the AOAA, oh STOP pretending you don't know what it is, Adult Onset Ass Acne is just one of the many diseases your generation has managed to inflict on all of us who came after, and then I couldn't get it up, so my girlfriend left me, she was just 37, and I'd decorated the basement special for her, and she comes home and announces she's going out with another guy, a BOOMER, assistant manager at Catfish Hut, and naturally, he's a Democrat.

Good night, Wendy S. Thanks for such a great blog.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWqQ9uwqQxk

"The heart of an author is the mirror of his age. The shadow of the sun is cast on the still surface of literature long before the light penetrates to law; but it is ever from the sun that the shadow falls, and the moment we see the shadow we may be certain of the light."

(Paul Clifford, page 2
by Edward Bulwer-Lytton)

Comic strip

There are no horses available so the King is going to send his trusted envoy out on a dog. But the only dog is a poor specimen prompting the King's famous utterance

I wouldn't put a knight out on a dog like this

To paraphrase Captain Jack Sparrow, obviously you have never been to Branson.

You know, off subject a little bit, but Joseph Biden has represented to me what America is all about for forty some years. I love this man.

Sweet words again LisB.

Wendy I have this problem...I mean every time I flush...

Do you have this plumber's number handy?

Great rant Wendy!!

Dark& Stormy 2010, now over. Please submit your recommendations for winners; thanks.

You pegged me, I'm more of a Gatlinburg.

Like Flower, I am too embarrassed. But what about seven eight categories, Belle.

I was roused by something Q said early last year I think and I just started giving these awards out.

One time I had just given some award and TheraP yells at me from another blog (metaphorically of course)

Hey Dick, how about giving ............ a knightly award.

There is prose, and poetry, and sentiment, and loss, and victory and just plain wonderfulness.

Belle, my vote is to give out awards in five or ten categories and link the original and tell everybody they can try out again.

I offer this as a peasant.

Or - with slight modifications - LisQUINNB, and LuluQUINN, and FlowerQUINN, and moQUINN, and StratoQUINN, and cQUINN, and DonQUINN, and QUINNDickQUINN, and youQUINNma'am, and OceanQUINN, and aQUINN, and AuntQUINN, and C'QUINN, and Miguel von QUINNENHAMMER, and ObeyQUINNKenobi, and WendyQUINN, and Quinn, and StilliQUINN, and SFCurt?No Way. Just NFW. Should be Quinn., and AQJUIMNN, and um, msaQUINN, of course.

They're my votes.

Thanks DD, Bwak and Quinn for your award suggestions. And, btw, Quinn -- congratulations for, this year, not offering bribe money. (You choose the reason it didn't work for you last year: a) this competition is run on an honor system; or, b) it wasn't enough) ;-)
I'm working on a list now and checking it twice. Thank you, all of you, for playing.

hmmm, well I do like Cheetoes, in moderation.

Okay, I vote for Quinn, and all the others I mentioned.

DAMMMMMMMN YOUUUUUUUU FLOWERCHILD!!!!!

*shakes fist at heavens*

;-)

WW, the AWARD WINNING AUTHOR, formerly known as lulu, thanks you. Seriously. And thanks to all who contributed. It was some good stuff.

Not interrupting, but enhancing. Thanks, Q, for sharing Canada's moment. (remind me to s'plain with a truly funny Charleston anecdote in which a local philanthropist went down in flames, if history, for adjuring: "Mrs. Ho, Mrs. Ho -- it's your moment....")

I'm down here Mr. Esq.

Happy Birthday!

=D

and ditto regarding Ms. Staebler.

"Such stimulating company" - True dat, for all who played. It's one of those "competitions" where just playing the game is it's own reward, (then again, there's all that cash Quinn was shoveling out to buy votes he would have gotten irregardless). :)

Thanks Bwak! Sweet valentines to you.

Award for best comeback on the post. I'm still laughing.

Great fun, Wendy -- and great results! I congratulate your courage in awarding the...er....awards, especially mine, which was many more millions of dollars than I was expecting -- oh! But I will donate it to the Evan Bayh "I really don't love Republicans, but I have to support them anyway" PAC...that is unless we find someone who can win in Indiana and who believes in the common good.

What an honor! I will definitely donate all my speaking fees to "the Cause."

Thank you. Thank you very much. Elvis has left the building...