| |
|
Author: hoip chiggs
Date: 04-30-12 20:11
Greetings from sunny, placid Lake Wobegone. I, Garrison Keillor, am an ardent fan of the Trouser Press guide. However, I just have one problem. Why have you never reviewed any of my shows? I am a witty, charming, colorful, funny storyteller and a magician – musician as well. Not only do I have songs, I have poems, sonnets, soliloquys, duets – you name it, I'm an all-around guy. I would appreciate critiques of each of my shows, if it's not too much to ask. Just start from the beginning of my career and proceed from there.
When I was a young, apple-cheeked boy growing up on Waltons Mountain, every time I would bring my report card home from school, my mother would praise me and fix me the fanciest feast in town. Straight As all in a row since kindergarten I'd achieve, and they'd win me juicy chitlins, a crisp carrot bowl, sweet corn on the cob, plump string beans and garlic chicken with creamy mashed potatoes. Is your mouth watering? Mine is.
What I'm saying is I'd just like some acknowledgment from the more sophisticated “hipsters”, if you will. I remember in my knickered-knee youth wading across Nellie River to help old neighbor Parsons with his cows. You see, one of them mistakenly sat on a porcupine and busted out of his pen. We had to round up the rest of the escaped cows and lead them back into the pen, luring them with grass, carrots and the occasional celery stick from old neighbor Parsons' salad that he would prepare for me for helping him out. He always was thankful for my efforts.
I'm no different than your other Trouser Press literary musicians such as Nicholas Cave, Patricia Smith, Thomas Waits and Lydia Lunch. (Much love and aplomb goes out to the late James Carroll, singer of Catholic Boy and author of The Basketball Diaries, of which I got some titters out of.) I wouldn't be out of place if I went on tour with such luminaries. Actually, the illumination would be all mine, since I would be like Jupiter and they would be my moons. I don't mean to sound egotistical, but that's how it is, as I don't see them putting out a record every single week.
After all, a dozen pages of glowing praise would bring a smile to this 70-year-old, rosy cheeked boy and a heapin' helpin' o' fried chicken and giblets. So think about including me in your glorious volumes. Need I remind you, I checked and corrected Moz's Southpaw Grammar.
Your fan and soon to be entry,
Garrison Keillor
Post Edited (04-30-12 20:17)
|
|
Reply To This Message
|
|
Author: STEVE
Date: 04-30-12 22:44
hoops,
this is (one of) the best thing(s) you have ever written. thanks mate.
|
|
Reply To This Message
|
|
Author: hoip chiggs
Date: 05-01-12 16:46
Thanks, especially since you guys are a tough crowd. Had Garrison's voice in my head from NPR on Sunday.
|
|
Reply To This Message
|
|
Author: hoip chiggs
Date: 05-05-12 19:58
CLACK: Flick your Bic, Click.
CLICK: Cut the crap, Clack. HAHAHA!
CLACK: Do you know you look like Peanut when you laugh, that puppet the ventriloquist Jeff Dunham whips out?
CLICK: I had no idea. Is it a fatal condition?
CLACK: Bah. But anyway, back to Car Talk. When the speedometer...
CLICK: I'm worried about my wife, Clack.
CLACK: What's goin on?
CLICK: I found an old, moist, rolled up magazine between the sheets. Trouser Press it's called. Some dude named Mott Hopple was on the cover. She told me she had a headache last night, but I know she was pleasuring herself with the magazine. She was singin something. The words were about rollin away some stone or rock or somethin.
CLACK: Sounds weird. Trouser Press, huh? Perverted title. Here honey, press these trousers here, see what you get. Boing!!! HAHAHAHAHA! I wouldn't worry about it, Click.
CLICK: Maybe you're right, Clack. This weekend I'm takin the wifey to the Adirondacks for some fresh air, fishin, and good ole hay rollin.
CLACK: Good for you. Speakin of singin, guess what my favorite group of all time is?
CLICK: Dunno.
CLACK: Isn't it obvious? The Cars. Don't care if their music is shit, I just like their name. We should have them on Car Talk so they can talk about their wheels.
CLICK: Good idea.
CLACK: And the next time your wife wants ta get all misty with the Trouser Press, say my trousers are the only ones that need pressin, baby doll. If she don't like it, show her the door. Where one floozy ends, another floozy can begin.
CLICK: You go, Clack.
CLACK: Remember, they don't call us the Tap It brothers for nothin.
Post Edited (05-06-12 07:48)
|
|
Reply To This Message
|
|
