The cognoscenti of blueberries know that the best can be found growing on the banks of a forest pond or among the residuum of a recently harvested coppice of young oak, and this wild fruit will be vastly superior to the pinchbeck varieties on offer in farmers' markets -- never mind the stuff they sell at a place like Walmart.
"I feel this forced coaption of a Debbie Reynolds nose on a Robert de Niro face," purred the fantastically peruasive esthetic surgeon, who did not practice under the auspices of any licensing board or professional organization, "will suffuse your physiognomy with a post-modern, shipwrecky sort of aura, very much in the spirit of noted architect Frank Gehry."
The ex-governor was famous as a political maverick, but her culinary unorthodoxy was a closely-guarded secret: namely, when, in her adolescence, she worked as a doula in remote Eskimo settlements, she developed an irresistible craving for the dreck that is the residue of natural childbirth, and this odd pica, in turn, accounted for her vehement opposition to medically assisted abortion.
"In my appetite for film I have developed a kind of pica, as it were," wrote the enormously influential cineast in his weekly column, "and I find I am only interested in consuming snuff movies straight out of the box, with no distracting additaments of plot or character development; what this portends for the Hollywood star system I am not prepared to say."
As a young woman Marjorie had been known for her vivacity, her labile appetite for exotic cuisines and an equally voracious passion for reading, but in later years she developed a severe case of pica which induced a profound lethargy in her movements and caused her to balloon to cyclopean proportions, and an autopsy revealed that at the time of her death her body was composed of 95% recycled paper.
"The Court can award no meed and must dismiss your lawsuit for the wrongful death of your son," ruled the judge, "for section 32(a) of the Florida statute is dispositive of your claim, insofar as it explicitly states that when a citizen feels threatened by the wearing of a hooded sweatshirt or low-slung, baggy, denim trousers, the citizen is not limited to a conventional repertoire of defensive measures such as the discharge of a firearm, but may also 'tie the offending party to the rails in the path of an oncoming freight train, instill hemlock into his ear, or' --as was the case here-- 'eviscerate the offending party from sternum to groin by means of a sword or military bayonet.'"
The retired professor of grammatology, whose former sagacity was fast giving way to dementia, farded her cheeks with the zymic effusions from a crock of red cabbage that was turning into sauerkraut on the floor of her pantry and made her way to the local men's prison, where she hoped to volunteer her time helping the inmates to diagram their sentences.
After hearing himself rebuked by the Head Nurse in front of the whole unit for having disturbed the serious and aseptic tone of the Structured Discussion Hour with his "puerile outburst of levity," the pathological sook sidled off into an obscure corner of the ward and dissolved, trembling, into silent tears of shame.
In a particularly olid bit of chicanery, the con artist persuaded a jury to award him the rights to the line, "Na, na, na, na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na," which recurs in the Lennon/McCartney roundelay "Hey Jude", by purporting to prove he had composed it himself back in 1960, and sung it to his little sister on the occasion of his victory over her in one of their infantine quillets.
"I don't consider myself an irascible person," complained Mrs. Stokes to her therapist, "nor should I wish to be thought of as paranoid, but when those darned kids insist the only way they can confabulate with each other is by banging on pots in Morse code, I begin to suspect the resulting clangor is intended primarily to mither me."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, when Whitey would come down to the office and confabulate with one of our old-school hawkshaws, there was no telling what kind of crazy bushwa they'd come up with and call a 'plan'," reminisced the former bureau chief, with a wink to the jurors, "because neither one of 'em was exactly punctilious when it came to protecting innocent human life, if you know what I mean!"
"Okay, group, our rendez-vous after lunch is at exactly one PM -- Mr Walker, we shall all take umbrage if you arrive late -- at the reliquary of Saint Julian over there in the East Chapel, where no less than the bishop himself has promised to confabulate with us for a few minutes, and tell us one of his tall tales about where all those little bones came from."
After the villagers had disintered their resident poetaster from the depths of the communal cloaca into which he had tumbled headlong while attempting to relieve himself after an evening of imbibing spirits, that addlepated gentleman sought to reward them by inditing, on the spot, the following verse: "I think that I shall never see A poem as satisfying as a pee!"
Surely Sister Agnesia is resplendent now, as she floats among the clouds up in Heaven, her silvery wings and satin robe illuminated by the glow of her halo, but back on earth her survivors in the convent remain disconsolate at the memory of how she mortified her body, with whips and fasting, until all that was left was an inert gobbet of flesh.
Yes, and those are from my great uncle Vilmer, who was considered quite the quisling during the Occupation, a circumstance which has occasioned my family no end of scabrous difficulties with the local booboisie over the years -- still, you can't deny the beauty of those solid gold sconces!
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