The way you mix feelings is you take a good old fashioned lie—no more than four pounds worth, drop in a good dollop of candied sentimentality, add a puppy dog, a baby, or somebody who died of a broken heart, mix it up with a good six pack of barley mash well fermented, pack the … Continue reading Cooking Up a Bad Poem
Says the venerable rich man getting up from the table: “The best fish is the one that got away.” Says the scorned poor man watching his breakfast fry: “Fat men must live on lies.” An aphorism from the Lee side.
“At your leisure, Mr. Dahl,” Coach was smirking over his size thirteen polished oxfords at me. His oxfords were propped as usual on his desk and his chair squeaked as he rocked it which he did every time he nailed somebody the way he had just nailed me. He nailed me because I was in … Continue reading The Goat Knows More than He Can Say.
Billy Onnisdale started talking, and of course, because I was in need of entertainment and not being sober enough to stop him, I let him go at it. “I don't know if you remember old Dick Oslinfar. Quite a guy until he gave up lying. Which is why you probably don't remember him. Only thing … Continue reading A Fabulist Dies for Lent