Monday, June 29, 2009

This Week In Kansas News: A New Poet Laureate! / Plus, Recent Adventures! / Also: The Return of the Boys' Hollywood Report!

The state's third poet laureate will take the reins this week as Larryville's own Denise Low hands off the position to fellow Larryville poet Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg (obviously, no one outside Larryville writes poetry unless it's about cowboys and rhymes). Let's take a look at a few lines from Goldberg's "Self-Portrait as Woman Who Loves Her Body for a Moment":

"the curve of my belly,
the hips weary of insults when they surge
across the days like prize-winning horses."

Chip: "When I attempted a provocative comparison between women athletes and horses at Quinton's, I received a slap from an angry redhead. Yet when this woman compares an old lady's ass to a showhorse, she is rewarded with a prestigious position. It's hard to understand."

Cl.thier: "With any luck, I'll be the state's fourth poet laureate, and my work is far sexier than Goldberg's.


After a month's absence, Chip returned to Larryville this weekend and headed straight for Quinton's, where he deemed the summer waitresses to be "second-tier at best." Outside the establishment, Richard spotted a woman taking a picture of her child in front of the Quinton's sign. The boy appeared to be about twelve, and one can imagine he'll tack the picture to his bedroom wall and spend the next six years dreaming about the kind of pussy he'll pick up at Quinton's when he's a drunken frat boy.

Down the street at the Replay, the audience at the early Sunday show was unexpectedly serenaded between acts by wandering troubadour Lance Fahey (pictured below, on accordion) who had transformed Cash's "Ring of Fire" into a song about PBR's. Richard pronounced it "the single most exciting moment in downtown Larryville since we won the national championship."

[photo by Sir Egging, Esquire, of Eudora]


In this occasional series, the boys consider new developments in the world of pop-culture. Today's topic: the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences' recent decision to expand the number of Best Picture nominees from five to ten.

Richard: "Well, I suppose that Paul Blart: Mall Cop now has a legitimate chance at a nomination. This is pretty much the death knell of American cinema."

Chip: "I hope Hotel for Dogs isn't overlooked."


Dr. X, pollster! said...


I mean, I don't keep up on here during the summer as much as I should, but I recall going to bed last night at a fairly late hour with the Art vote being at 4... and then waking up this morning at 5am or so and it being ratcheted up to 30.

Now, I will grant that there could have been an EXTREME surge in the last hours of voting. BUT, given that the Art column somehow jumped up BY MORE THAN THE ENTIRETY OF THE VOTING PRIOR...


And that, even if ever drunk-ass hipster who knew how to work a computer, came here and voted -- THEY WOULD NOT DO SO DURING PRIME HIPSTERING HOURS!

FRAUD! ...or at least shenanigans.

Having said that. If memory serves, some sixty years ago, 10 was the standard for the Academy in the Best picture category. If anything, I think they were just addressing the numerous calls that the pictures being nominated were so esoteric that, aside from the token box office gem, which usually wins, no one had actually seen half the pictures.

Thus, by allowing more of the popular material in, they can give the idea that Hollywood, in some way, actually give two shits about the vox populi. Which is also utter horseshit as everyone knows that the movies nominated for best picture all come at the cost of the old fuckers who pay the academy the most through their incessant sloganeering and campaigning in the trades leading up to the election weeks.

American elections: horseshit!

Horseshit, most foul!

--I protest the LC and its participation in this shenanigans!

Dr. S-- said...

Having said that,

Who is still voting for Harry!?

I only told about half a dozen people about the blog, and everyone knows that it only has five readers (three invented by Richard and I).

--I demand a congressional investigation!

Dr. X said...

Well said, Dr. Pussy Pants,

I would just like to add to my earlier fucking remarks that Chip/ K!p is still the greatest turd allowed entrance to Qs.

--And if I ever get ahold of that shit, I will take that dissertation bag and pull a Joker on it! That's right, Bunky: I'm coming for your pretty little charts and graph and pictures of geese flying over a summery lake!

Dr. S-- said...

I take exception to that name, sir.

I will have you know that I do not even own a tabby.

And, if I did, I would cradle it about my bosom, or force it to dress in colorful outfits and sit in a boppy!

--You, sir, are a lecherous... burly... scat-rancher!

Dr. X lays it down. said...

Suck it, bitches.

Why donchu go and ween your bitchkitty from your ever-lactating teat.

And by bitchkitty, I mean Chipples.


PS: Oh, and when you are eating my ass, have the courtesy to clean the dribble from your chin you Southern-Fried shitbritches!

vote early and often said...

It's a great mystery how Art made such a comeback! (because, as best as I can tell, you really can only vote once from a single computer?).

At any rate, the American public must not be denied their thirst for Art (but in the summer, they're getting "Babes We'd Bone" instead).

Yeah, there used to be ten nominees, but seeing as how, these days, there are rarely even five worthy films a year, I maintain this is a poor idea that will result in shit like Transformers getting Best Picture (although I do want to see those two racist robots accept the statue).

When Dr. X. does read, he comments enough to make up for all the other lazy fuckers!

Dr. S-- said...

Yes, but he is a swarthy bastard!

And I dislike the smell his vulgarity occasionally brings with his scatological chatter and castigating malapropisms and solecisms (Ever hear of spell check, my good *supposed* Dr?).

And what, exactly, is he a Dr. of? I have seen no proof of his erudition. His prose is sloppy. His syntax and diction frequently make sense only to him. And I do believe he may have a SLIGHT drinking problem.

He is an embarrassment to whatever field he belongs to, and I dare say he likely is a chronic masturbator (if only of words!).

--So there, Dr. X -- place that in your pipe and smoke that!

Dr. X, having at Dr. S' mother said...

I will after I finish cornholing your mother.


PS: if you must know, my Doctor of Divinity card was carefully mailed and duck-fucking sent to me most-directly by the best fucking mail-in publication (Boy's Life), I found offering one at less than $2.99 (American).

So, I can assure your bitchy ass that my credentials are most solid.

As are your mother's silky thighs.

a new series! said...

Is this some important new series that takes place only in the comments section in which Dr. X's many personalities all argue amongst themselves until he's straightjacketed and hauled off while murmuring about how he'd never even harm a fly?

An Angry Redhead said...

I never slapped Kip. I just gave him a dirty look, though I've used that example in my writing class when we discuss athletics, which we do. Of course, here, college championships are limited to the bicycling team. I'm not kidding.

X marks the spot. said...

There's only one personality here, baby!

Except no substitutes!

I am free on any architectural or narrative constraint to fuck-shaw your internets and revel in the soft-gooey innards of the shell of this tope-prison.

Know it, sex machine!

--And I'm sure Chip merely confused the number of people that have tried to slap his fat ass out of Qs for any of a variety of sins.

...Now, if I could just convince a torch-wielding mob to burst forth from the Replay to drag his pasty, white ass into Potter's Lake so the Rugby team could use him like their tackling doll!

artistic liberties said...

But the slap has become part of the blog-mythology of Chip!

Bicyclists are invading Larryville this weekend for a major downtown event.

--do we have a rugby team!?

chip! said...

The "Comments" section of this blog scares me even more than the morally bankrupt blog proper. I'm going back to the Forttt, where men are men and the livestock...

finish that thought... said...

...and the livestock are nervous.

moral bankruptcy! said...

Come on now! Doesn't satire (always?) have a moral purpose?

(a morally bankrupt blog would be going for easy Michael Jackson jokes about now...speaking of which...).

chip!a said...

This blog wouldn't know morality if it put on a tutu and went around singing, "Moral days are here again"!

To the contrary... said...


We KNOW morality.

--And we don't FUCKING like it.