[Coming soon, gone sooner, at Eclectic Vehicle Exchange, all vehicles produce their own ‘blog gas.’]
Once or twice upon a time, Bod Library found its site menu included a blog page, the designated destination lacking only content. Bod Library had not previously thought of blogging as content. Faced with this new emptiness, an essentially blank (& expandable!) page, the Site Librarian In Charge (slic) responded in the traditional tried-&-true way–by passing the buck, i.e., inviting others with alleged wisdom to do the guest-blogging. To whet our appetites, we note a few of the luminaries invited:
1. However backward looking by tradition, once we catch up with him, we expect the forward heading Mullah Abdullah bin Unladen Alladin “the lamp, the light, the grantor of wishes,” will offer his two-cents worth freely to followers like us, along with fertilizer for the gardens of what may grow.
A card-carrying counter-contrarian once well known in the gambling towns of Reverse, Loballs, Skrotumfry & Oy-Vegas, Ab sold his interest in the family’s Magic Lantern Entertainment franchise to acquire well-split shares in the Four Oases Casino instead, only to discover that “the house always wins” didn’t necessary apply to tents & highly mortgaged (“Trumpian”) facades, cashing in his last pair of deuces to take up the life of a shiftless, itinerant, & shirtless teacher, “with nothing to pitch but truth, light, & manure.”
All that changed again when his ass ran out of gas in the Sinai, odometer rolling over, odor-meter ovr the top, which he took as a divine sign he should settle down, which he shortly did, founding his EVE, Eclectic Vehicle Exchange, to make & refine its own gas, each vehicle paying for itself many times over before being eaten &/or worn. You can tell from by his ass’s smile, as well as the critter feeding in the background, that Honest Ab isn’t riding far, probably just illustrating the surprising load capacity of his sweetheart, Creampuff, or possibly illustrating the importance of testing each model for fit.
2. Among the widely rambling we hope to hear from, few will be more welcome than wild Shrumi, that “galaxy dizzy with spinning,” unless it’s his late mentor, that “bottomless hole with spiral arms,” Omar Kayak, whose “moving finger writ, where wind direction cooled the spit,” poet of picnics, jugs of wine, half-baked pita-pockets, &,of course, thou….
3. Equally inspiring, we’re hoping to hear from the Moist Maypole Milk-Maids & Little Mums of all the World, Sisters of Compassion, Aunties of Mercy, Grandmothers of Sagacity (a few with wolfish noses, not necessarily to be held against them), along with leaders of the Ladies Auxiliary, the Femmes Fatales, Sweethearts of the Rodeo, & Drive-Inn Dolls.
4. In the Land of Sacred Rivers, ever-pithy Swami Ribber takes the cake–& eats it, too, holding sway as Guru Go-Go for his Go-with-the-flow philosophy to inspire many songs & beverages, receiving various citations from the Wetness Protection Program’s Honorable Mention Hall of Fame, for double-parking.
5. Where doubling turns into re-doubled over & over (& under), Bao Lo’s hand may be found, twice-twisted fortunes & the cookies they temporarily inhabit. Considered the illegitimate father of half-baking, Bao Lo elevated cookie wisdom to such heights, even mountain dwellers “bow low.”
Dedicated disciples dine mainly as a necessary prelude to receipt of Bao Lo’s coup de grace for desert, e.g., “The jerk talks of wisdom; the wise just bob & nod. A much better fortune waits at the Bod.”
“Money talks louder than praise–what does your mouth now have to say?”
“Two quick tips (one for each lip): First crack the cookie, then lickety split. Or your server will do it for double the tip.”
6. Following sunrise to Basho Bay & Inland Trail Beyond, we expect to get an earful from the master of silence, the radio mime, head of the band Banana Bandana, holding sway now at a newly capitalized mountain getaway ungated community founded by O Wo O Wow, but following the teachings of the Rash Ex-Roshi Nozen, who retired from roshihood at the Roofless Temple, famous for its skylights, to turn the local Koan Sushery into the global Cohen International Academy of Cooking, easily recognized today from the bagel-eyed logo with wasabi nose & sushi mustache.
7. Following the sunrise eastward still, not the sun heading west, one crosses the international blind dateline, by one tradition with eyes closed, by another, looking through glazed doughnuts, by another still with arms, legs, heart & bed-quilt open. Before gps satelite-based pocket-warming warning systems, there was no such thing as an exact line one knew one was crossing, so hard to know exactly when to change one’s clock, watch, traveling sundial & even calendar, adding or subtracting according to which direction you’re heading. Now that fishing & phone lines are more or less fully connected, we’ve invited 2nd hand blogs from InternationalBlindDatelineDot.net…
From there, it’s practically just another half-ocean skip east to the west coast, noted for its far-out sages, sagesses, fortune tellers, crystal ballers, therapists, medicine men & women, shady dudes & rude ladies, rouged dudes & nude ladies off-the-wall floor shows. We’ve invited them all by posting a postit-ad in the Postage Dew Weekly Advertiser… And kept on posting the westward migration in reverse, across the Big Mountains, then Great Basin, then Big Empty, then the more on more Big Mountains, then the High Plains famous for its buffalo nickel slots & bone steaks…..
8.” Those who eat well ate well,” said Buffalo Belle, sometimes called Muffy, “hostess with the mostess, & the moistness,” at the Maiden’s Well, buffalo country’s most infamous watering hole, a 9-spitoon saloon with lively, leggy floorshow, culinarily known for its mutton. Having made her chops by breaking into the male-dominated trucking-chuckwagon fraternity by breading camel hump salami in a boot-heel baloney burrito, she went on to culinary fame & fortune by putting a secret Sicilian asp sauce in bed with a mis-matched mish-mash of Muffy’s mushy ingredients, labelled “note out-of-date dates.”
“Which is worse,” asked Dr. Shlomo Norman, a marriage counselor of Provo, in a rare moment of reflection, “to be out-of-date or out-of-dates? out-of-goats or out-of-town?”
“Alas, Dr. Norman is out of his mind, and I ought to know,” wrote Mrs. Norma Norman, his wife &/or mother, in a Mirror-Times-Mirror Op Ed, which was less clear about the author than about its subject.
“Which is better & which is worse,” asked BLAG, Bod Library’s Askit Genie, “to be out-of-blog or out of bling? out of time or out of verse? out of mind or eerything?”
9.”Nein is for lovers, for winners, for losers, for weavers & loomers, groovers & grievers, bloomers & believers. Nein? Yes.” —9 Neins’n 99 No-No’s
“In the Realm of the Ridiculous, are many noses,” wrote Funhouse Fanny (once described as “an open window in a House of Bent Mirrors”), known in her double life as “the flat lady,” whether for her Funny Real Estate rentals or her off-key contributions to the Impromptu Community Theater’s Hallway Music Productions (“playing in a hallway or elevator near you”).
“Injustice system give you fits? Try Murphy Slaw with side of grits.” —Leaky Buckets Bail & Bondage
“This is just to say, there is some degree of the ridiculous in &/or around every imagined reality, no matter how immaculately groomed. Gravity can be ridiculous. Time is almost always ridiculous if you give it long enough. Relativity is ridiculous. Love is most ridiculous, Quantum string-thong theory even more so. Take your pick, and pluck away….” –Leaky Buckets, String-thong Blues