An Evening of Stuff

To the White House for an “Evening of Poetry”. Scanning the East Room, I don’t see any actual poets. I mingle about, carefully avoiding Billy Collins. I chat with that girl from 'Til Tuesday. She's overcome severe cat allergies to become a fixture on “adult alternative” radio (or so I'm told).  I ask various people if they've seen Edward Williams, and receive blank looks. One of the guests is a rapper. I try to explain to him that “frabbajabous” isn’t a real word. He gives me a blank look.

Eventually the President gives a speech. I give him a blank look. Some doggerel is read. A comedian plays a banjo (why?).

As the festivities wind down, a Secret Service agent approaches, and quietly asks me to follow him. After an elevator ride, we walk down a lengthy hallway, through a door, into a martial arts dojo. Standing there is the First Lady, with a pair of aides slathering oil on her nude body. My mind whirls. I realize she wants to engage me in hand-to-hand combat, au naturel. I'm loosening my tie when Billy Collins walks in. Pointing to my bad knee, I persuade him to take my place. He enthusiastically strips down, and bounds onto the mat. He swings his arms wildly. The First Lady easily takes him to the ground, and proceeds to choke him into unconsciousness.

Comments

  1. No more ravioli at bedtime for you.

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  2. The spelling of her name alone tells me she's a real artist, and totally cool -- Aimee.

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  3. In other news, Ann Althouse has picked up on the phenomenon of the Pointy Boots. Mexicans have some strange ideas, e.g. bouncing Lowrider cars, masked wrestlers, teardrop tattoos, etc. At first glance, they look foolish, but they seem to catch on in the U.S. pretty quickly. How long before the cholos are seen sporting their Pointy Boots in Esat L.A.? Added bonus: like the Saggy Pants so in vogue among our urban youth, it is almost impossible to flee the police while wearing them.

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  4. I want to trick some "Hispandering" politician into wearing pointy boots.

    Good point about fleeing the police.

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  5. Sorry I couldn't make it to the Evening of Poetry, and that you had to suffer those uncomprehending looks when you asked around for me. Don't believe them when they act like they haven't heard of me. Even if I could have made it, though, the truth is: nobody even invited me.

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  6. Don't worry, they haven't heard of me either.Besides, you didn't miss anything. Listening to someone reciting e.e. cummings without the caps and Gertrude Stein without the punctuation is a bore anyway.Pigeons on the grass, my ass.

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  7. But they have heard of me! I am not anonymous. They just decided NOT TO INVITE ME. Something about the room not being big enough for both me and Billy Collins.

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  8. Confess I had to look up the Poet Lariat Collins on Wikipedia...thought I knew all the great ones.

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