5 Burnt Offerings for Baron Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Amsterdam

Hilda von Bruyn sighed as she stared at the yellow tulips drooping in their yellow, smudged glass vase, with only the merest of golden afternoon sunshine caught in its murky water, and for what seemed the millionth time counted the totality of blooms-one, two, three-the number, she mused, of the Trinity, the Magi...the Fates.


Long Island Rose

For as long and as far as he could remember in his fifty years of wedded bliss Rabbi Herschel Abramowitz' beloved and doting wife Rachel always refrained from adding her special seasoned dumplings to his own bowl of steaming Passover soup, the curious reason for him always being their near-resemblance to kidney stones, a real shanda in itself because he had once quite enjoyed Rachel's dumplings.


The Fragging

Sgt. Mike Gorlitz gazed in melancholy awe at the moon's reflected twin shimmering amidst the speckled rice paddies of Nam Cam village, which abutted the serenely flowing Mekong nearby-all peaceful, yet for the restless grunts in his tiny unit bivouacking a few feet away he knew that all this peace was simply pure poison.


The Great Good Luck

You ought to know right off that everyone-everyone!-thought Sultan Mehmet ibn Mehmet was absolutely insane when he announced than an exact twin of the Burj Khalifa would be erected almost a thousand yards away from the first, and incredibly all for Marc Legrand, son of wildly famous wire-walker Etienne 'Bonchance' Legrand.


This Gelid Isle

"Cold mutton, cold beef, cold ham, cold veal, cold pies," muttered Parson Pringle as he dully surveyed the courses laid out on the long dining room table, glancing up briefly at the fierce March rains peppering the Palladian windows without before quite reluctantly settling his sights on the oily, flushed face of his rotund host, Squire Shipton, whom the former winced to note wiped his pudgy, offal-flaked hands across his glistening wet lips after fleetly jamming a few forkfuls of ham into his dark maw, yet at the same time marveling at the man's faculty in neither stabbing nor asphyxiating himself with that particular action.



DB/2017-2019

Note

Hi all! And a big 'I & C' Hello and Welcome to my Boss Lady/Lady Boss Michelle P.! Hope you like what you see here!
I wanted also to mention that last week I put all the 'Aggie Dovecote' stories under the umbrella title "Aggie Dovecote and All Her Pals" and sub-categorized them into Parts and Chapters with no more of the French bete or domestique (extase would have been for the third one) like I had before, mostly because they seemed a bit unnecessary for stories involving English people (even though some of them speak a little French), and as far as I'm concerned that decision is final.
Also I haven't yet started Part Three but I still hope to soon. Stay tuned.
Thanks, guys! Happy reading!
-Dan

The Right Answer: A One-Act Play

The scene is the office of Dr. Jackson T. Ripper, Headmaster of the St. Helpme School for Boys, Dunghil, Sexuss


Dr. Ripper (sternly): Well, Mr.Ass-I mean, Ash-you've been caught breathing quite heavily in Dr. Dumbloke's British History class again! Tsk tsk! What have you to say for yourself, eh?
Ash (timidly): Please, sir. I have asthma, sir.
Dr Ripper: That's no excuse for your inattentiveness! How are you to learn of the mistakes our sovereign nation made in the past such as making a hero out of Richard the Lion-Hearted or colonizing countries that even now probably still hate our bally guts? How, Ass, will you ever learn enough to refrain from involving yourself in ridiculous little wars initiated by fatuous politicians and a pointless monarchy. How, indeed, will you refrain from from heroically fighting in and quite losing your precious young life in those same ridiculous little wars in some quite godforsaken places just to be like another prideful Clive, Rhodes or Flashman? And all for empire, a transient (as they all are), bloated, insidious empire. Ours. And instead oh, what you'd really like is to squeeze the tits of that young bird you have back in...(dreamily) ahhh! Oh *ahem* but I digress. Quite sorry, Ass.
Ash: Ash, sir.
Dr. Ripper: What? Oh, yes. Quite right, quite right. Um, strike that last part I said from your memory, Ass.
Ash (Mona Lisa smile): Ash, sir. Which part was that, sir?
Dr. Ripper (hurriedly): Never you mind, now, never you mind. The point I'm trying to make, Ass-
Ash: Ash, sir.
Dr. Ripper (hotly): What the bloody hell ever! Look, you, the point I'm trying to make is that...is that...oh, hell, you tell me! I've quite forgotten what it was I've just said!
Ash (tentatively): Yes, sir. Well, sir, I think the whole point of your rather interminable speech-
Dr. Ripper: Watch it, boy! Impertinence!
Ash: Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I think the whole point of your...well, it seems I'm supposed to live my life and do quite the opposite of what my Anglo-Saxon ancestors did, or something like that.
Dr. Ripper (brightening): Yes, yes, Ass, that's it! Bravo! You've actually learned something from my little speech!
Ash (half-mumbling): Interminable speech...
Dr. Ripper (raps Ash's knuckles once with a switch and vibrantly wags his finger with each syllable): Im-per-ti-nence!
Ash (stoically rubbing his knuckles): Sorry, sir. Ash, sir.
Dr. Ripper (softening): Oh, to Hell with it! Take the rest of the day off, Ash, as a sort of reward for your brilliant answer! I'll go even further and personally excuse you from the rest of your afternoon classes!
Ash (elated): Thank you very much, sir, especially for finally pronouncing my name correctly!
Dr. Ripper (strangely even more so): Think nothing of it, my good lad, think nothing of it! Here! Here's a couple of shillings! Go into the Dunghil Town chemist and tuck-shop and buy yourself the best asthma inhaler and the sweetest diabetes-causing candy you can find! On me!
Ash (beatific): Thank you, sir!
Dr. Ripper (nearly insane): Soddit! Here's a couple of tenners! Go to the Dunghil Town brothel and get a whore with the biggest...! (stops to consider) I say, Ash, how old are you?
Ash: Twelve, sir.
Dr. Ripper (pocketing the tenners): No, no, that won't do, Ash. You're not quite of age yet. Perhaps next year.
Ash: Yes, sir. I'll just stick to wanking for the nonce, sir, if you don't mind.
Dr. Ripper: What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. You may go now, Ash. Do enjoy yourself.
Ash: Thank you, sir. (turns to go, stops) Oh, erm, if you don't mind my asking, sir...
Dr. Ripper: Yes?
Ash (eyeing him suspiciously): Do you really think I ought to live and do everything in my life differently than my ancestors did?
Dr. Ripper: Oh, bloody hell, no! I just said all that to see if you were paying proper attention and would give me a satisfactory answer. It was a bit of a test, you see, and you passed. Dr. Dumbloke would agree. The real truth of it is, you're British, Ash. What in God's name would people think if you didn't act like a nationalistic boor?
Ash (relieved): Thank you, sir!
Dr. Ripper: Which reminds me...(goes to a portrait of the British monarch hanging on the far wall and proceeds to French kiss it, nearly sobbing) I'm so, so sorry, Your Majesty, I never meant a word of any of it! I do love you so! Please, please forgive me, darling!! Please!!
Ash (both disgusted and envious): Shall that be all, sir?
Dr. Ripper (quick composure): Yes, rather, Ash. No, I should add that you must be in your regular classes tomorrow, yes?
Ash: Of course, sir.
Dr. Ripper: Oh, but don't forget your inhaler in future so Dr. Dumbloke or any of your other teachers won't grumble and send you back here again. Understood?
Ash: You're as clear as a bell, sir.
Dr. Ripper: Very well, then. Good-bye for now, Ash.
Ash: Good-bye, sir, and thank you. (exits, sotto voce) Ass.


DB/c1996, 2019


Not an Anglophobe, btw, far from it, but I REALLY am getting sick and tired of the old royals, the young royals and the young royals' newest Kleinen. No apologies.

Clean Stream 5

Absolute
Mordecai
Lesseps
Do re mi
Fatso
Dress up
Mortgage
Jalapeno
Fender bender
Hollywood
Camisole
Dunlap
Halitosis
Phlegm
Phylum
Portage
Criminy
Ordure
Feckless
Albacore
Holyrood
Idiot
Horticulture
Menopause
Howdy doo
How are you
Let it be
Devil may care
Are you experienced
Tenken
What is the what
Ay caramba
Doltage
Vonage
Criminy Jesus
Help help the Bobolinks
Heifer
Loan shark
Corduroy
Olly olly oxen free
Hudson 32700
Vaseline
Bizet
Jellybean boom
Heffalump


DB/5.29.2019

Stream 5

absolutemordecailessepsdoremifatsodressupmortgagejalapenofenderbenderhollywoodcamisoledunlaphalitosisphlegmphylumportagecriminyordurefecklessalbacoreholyroodidiothprticulturemenopausehowdydoohoware youletitbedevilmaycareareyouexperiencedtenkenwhatisthewhataycarambadoltagevonagecriminyJesushelphelpthebobolinksheiferloansharkcorduroyollyollyoxenfreehudson32700vaselinebizetjellybeanboomheffalump


DB/5.28.2019

Frater in Aeternitas (Repost)

1975-2018

Well, Jeremy,

I'm sure by now

you've already squeezed through

the other side of the gauntlet 

consisting of all of our late relatives and ancestors

bidding you a warm welcome amidst the usual remarks of

"Tsk tsk!" "So young!" "Such a shanda!" "Teufel im Holle!"

Cousin Richard has probably tried to warn you about that.

And while all the cats are rubbing so madly

up against your legs

(I'd ask you to give Kuro a bit more attention

for me but Farrah probably insists on getting all of it.

Understandable.)

you're chomping at the bit

to take up (gasp!) the Gary Gygax' offer of participating

in real Dungeons and Dragons group game modules -

Real Dungeons!  

Real Dragons!   

Real characters you don't just create, you become! Whoa!

Real NPCs!  

Real adventures!

I think God's going to at least be in 'The Nine Moon Pearls of Etwok-Kattarh'

because (s)he's a total hardcore gamer, no noob at all! 

I mean,  

dude.

DUDE!!!!

And one of the best parts is nobody ever dies in them because...well, you know.

Maybe later you'll join the ether-wide famous round table discussions

that many agree are better than the Algonquin's (feh!) 

of Fantasy and Sci-fi fiction and graphic novels

moderated by H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, E. A. Poe

and many others 

with more hosts of spectators than you'd see at

a silly golf tournament. 

(What's that? Poe told you he's a big fan of 'Sausagehed'?!! Cool!)

So I guess it's probably Nerdvana for you there!!

And I'm sure that later on your help

will be enlisted in the Cloud Nine Cafe (jeez, obvious much?)

to create a special mystery dessert that out-ambrosias ambrosia.

(Don't worry, I won't tell that it's the ichor that gives it a helluva kick! Shhhh!)

There's a lot more going on than all of this, I'm sure.

(Oh, the places I imagine you'll go!)

This isn't goodbye, of course, 

but for now I'll just end with,

love you and miss you, bro.

Float on,

sail on.



DB/5.2018

"He Never Gave Me a Name"

Hello and goodbye.


I really have no envy
for Nebuchadnezzar's feet of clay,
or Chinese girls' bound tender tootsies in ancient times,
or the bloody and lacerated soles of Pheidippides of Marathon
because I still do have my primate's toes,
but those before, at least, were fortunate
in retaining a wholeness to their pedes
while my plinth has been shattered.
No, no envy.

I just miss the light, is all.

I don't expect to see it all the time
in the dark boxy drawer where I dwell,
where I can at least hear plenty of muffled television noise,
nor do I ever really expect to.
I don't even need a sudden flood of it
real or depicted even in an allegorical painting
akin to perhaps Bosch, Blake or David,
something like a
'Phoebus' Triumphant Descent Into the Turgid Stygian Maelstrom of the Foetid River Styx' type of thing.
Gods, no.
But those of you who are as I am,
you who are legion,
who just barely remember the place of your nascence,
 

 
do you remember greedy fingers
snatching you away
and clutching at and massaging
every square inch of your frame,
and gleeful eyes examining
every bit of your nakedness
until you were crammed (hopefully in one piece) into a backpack or purse
where the denseness and proximity to other untold items
made you absolutely wretched and nauseous
and you counted the minutes until release
would at length be nigh?
And do you who remember
gaining that blessed freedom
remember where you ended up afterwards?
Irreverently placed
atop a shelf or desk in a girl's bedroom
amongst the likes of Wonder Woman or Barbie
or in a boy's room with Boba Fett or Iron Man?
Yet none of them would talk to you
because you 'technically' were more sculpture than toy (snobbery!
they were not at all friendly like in those fatuous 'Toy Story' films!)
Sculptures as glorious as Galatea or Zeus of Olympia, I say!
But more often than not, in the fullness of time,
you were bored of and discarded,
perhaps tossed into a translucent plastic box
where light barely shone through,
or even in one of cardboard where it may not have at all,
but I hope in your time
you may have spared a thought
for those perhaps lost
and smashed to atoms
who jettisoned this cruel orb
all stoic and unsquealing...
I hope.

But all I can tell you is,
courage, my friends!

And I'll also wager you were never named.
"He never gave me a name."
But now, perhaps after remorse, 
he has at last vouchsafed me
to see the Sun.
Ita perseveret.

And so
(back) to bed.


Goodbye and hello.




DB/4.2019