Actually, all the parenthetical phrases make a nice poem:
Like kegs
Like a murder of crows
The barkeep/sandwich-chef said the rolls were especially big that day. He looked happy about it.
The potato salad did not perceptibly rotate.
Always!
With cheese, bacon, and optional "death wish" gravy
The pan-Asian small plates at Tigertail next door aim Higher,sometimes falling short.
(The barkeep/sandwich-chef said the rolls were especially big that day. He looked happy about it.) Sounds like Hemingway, but (The potato salad did not perceptibly rotate.) is so much more existential.
Parenthetically there is no upstairs nor perceptible potato salad rotation. Print this on a piece of stressed Adirondack chair back, glue gun some rattails and give it a title like "Why We're In Iraq" - and next week you'll find it mentioned in Jen Graves' "What's Hung". Arp
Comments
The potato salad did not perceptibly rotate
What do I win?
Is it "The potato salad did not perceptibly rotate." Because I laughed.
Actually, all the parenthetical phrases make a nice poem:
Like kegs
Like a murder of crows
The barkeep/sandwich-chef said the rolls were especially big that day. He looked happy about it.
The potato salad did not perceptibly rotate.
Always!
With cheese, bacon, and optional "death wish" gravy
The pan-Asian small plates at Tigertail next door aim Higher,sometimes falling short.
There is no upstairs.
That's an awful sentence. "There is no upstairs" is much better.
Yeah, "There is no upstairs" gets my vote.
(The barkeep/sandwich-chef said the rolls were especially big that day. He looked happy about it.) Sounds like Hemingway, but (The potato salad did not perceptibly rotate.) is so much more existential.
Parenthetically there is no upstairs nor perceptible potato salad rotation. Print this on a piece of stressed Adirondack chair back, glue gun some rattails and give it a title like "Why We're In Iraq" - and next week you'll find it mentioned in Jen Graves' "What's Hung". Arp
I'm with the "There is not upstairs" crowd.
Oh dammit, I meant "There is no upstairs"
I'll tell you what's the best sentence...an enormous whozeewhatsit!!!
I'd say it was from the Critical Overview:
(That is, noble and kindhearted except for the blighted and backward corner on which this waste of office space sits.)
Charles Mudede did not perceptibly reference Natalie Merchant, Roland Barthes or the Star Wars cosmology on SLOG today.
Is it the end of history yet?
"A Murder of Crows" is already a band name.
(with cheese, bacon, and optional "death wish" gravy)
elenchos, you totally fucking redeemed yourself with that poem! Either that or I've been reading too much Ashbery.
Bethany Jean Clement wrote it. I only found it. Now I want her to read it at Slog Happy.
i vote for (always!)
it speaks of optimism, of the future.
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