Work Issues
At least two ferrets get squished most years. Stanley performs the stunt each year with his dozen ferrets. It's a fantastic spectacle when he releases them. He does other stunts besides the ferrets, animal acts and what have you. But it's my favorite part of his parties, those chocolate brown and pure white cousins of the weasel running in all directions. He waits until people are pretty wasted, then the ferrets come charging into the room. It's well understood and tolerated that people might have to step on one from time to time, purely by accident, and it isn't pretty. And it isn't without consequence.
His father bought him a yacht. Sometimes he rents big cats for his parties, and is able to bring in every type of Pygmy goat bred for amusement. I've been a member of his entourage for a couple of months now. We have to cramp inside the cabin and let Stanley do his animal act. As always, I blame myself for acting as a sort of enabler, and it's a really cruel self judgment. Not entirely fair. It may be revolting that an entourage supports the behavior of certain maniacs. But there are, yet, rival opinions. Some free-market economists may agree with me that I provide a service. A social service. In this case for a person I met when I was in college.
Most of us met at the state University where most often are sent the lowest achieving of the upper-middle-class.
Stanley was anomalous, proving the value of diversity. But everyone's anomalous. Even the most xeroxed of persons filling an entourage such as Stanley's.We met in a philosophy class. Maybe there was some sort of bonding. Again maybe I was being simply rewarded with cash and drugs to allow Stanley and some of his other friends to behave as they so wished. I can be an amusing bastard when I'm in the mood. I learned about the importance of joining an entourage from the Andy Warhol contingent, not that I ever met any of them. It's popular culture. Recent history. The postmodern age. People who are marginal by nature tend to form entourages around the more charismatic and influential figures who happen to be slumming in proximity.
I feel bad again for sort of being the "goat" at the last party on Stanley's yacht. They say everyone's number comes up, and this applies to everything. Like when it's simply "your turn." Stanley and all the other people are actually being very nice about it. But I'm feeling emotionally worse for wear.
At the last party. I accidentally stepped on one of the ferrets. Everyone has been calling to comfort me and remind me that it's happened to everyone at one time or other. But there you are at the social gathering with everyone laughing and making love on a couch in a yacht cabin, lanky rodents leaping on people's backs and stomachs and legs, burrowing under people's blanky and rolling around. So I get hungry, get up to get a slice of pizza, it's this really wonderful white pizza with balsamic vinegar from some Casbah even God couldn't get to without a pass, and then there's the accident. There is fur and blood on my terribly costly sandals, and you might say there is egg my face, even though it wasn't my fault. It was just my turn to be embarrassed in front of everybody. But I'm a professional. I am a professional member of an entourage. I think I'll be able to recover my position.
Progressing Nicely
All boney 6 feet should lank along behind our leader
in spite of the food
the air could use a zap of perfume
the whole spazzing entourage from the days of Camelot
holding Holstein spotted suitcases
drifts like a comet
deflated bodybuilders take to wearing garish lipstick
teenyboppers following in wheelchairs
crinkling through the fallen leaves
At least two ferrets get squished most years. Stanley performs the stunt each year with his dozen ferrets. It's a fantastic spectacle when he releases them. He does other stunts besides the ferrets, animal acts and what have you. But it's my favorite part of his parties, those chocolate brown and pure white cousins of the weasel running in all directions. He waits until people are pretty wasted, then the ferrets come charging into the room. It's well understood and tolerated that people might have to step on one from time to time, purely by accident, and it isn't pretty. And it isn't without consequence.
His father bought him a yacht. Sometimes he rents big cats for his parties, and is able to bring in every type of Pygmy goat bred for amusement. I've been a member of his entourage for a couple of months now. We have to cramp inside the cabin and let Stanley do his animal act. As always, I blame myself for acting as a sort of enabler, and it's a really cruel self judgment. Not entirely fair. It may be revolting that an entourage supports the behavior of certain maniacs. But there are, yet, rival opinions. Some free-market economists may agree with me that I provide a service. A social service. In this case for a person I met when I was in college.
Most of us met at the state University where most often are sent the lowest achieving of the upper-middle-class.
Stanley was anomalous, proving the value of diversity. But everyone's anomalous. Even the most xeroxed of persons filling an entourage such as Stanley's.We met in a philosophy class. Maybe there was some sort of bonding. Again maybe I was being simply rewarded with cash and drugs to allow Stanley and some of his other friends to behave as they so wished. I can be an amusing bastard when I'm in the mood. I learned about the importance of joining an entourage from the Andy Warhol contingent, not that I ever met any of them. It's popular culture. Recent history. The postmodern age. People who are marginal by nature tend to form entourages around the more charismatic and influential figures who happen to be slumming in proximity.
I feel bad again for sort of being the "goat" at the last party on Stanley's yacht. They say everyone's number comes up, and this applies to everything. Like when it's simply "your turn." Stanley and all the other people are actually being very nice about it. But I'm feeling emotionally worse for wear.
At the last party. I accidentally stepped on one of the ferrets. Everyone has been calling to comfort me and remind me that it's happened to everyone at one time or other. But there you are at the social gathering with everyone laughing and making love on a couch in a yacht cabin, lanky rodents leaping on people's backs and stomachs and legs, burrowing under people's blanky and rolling around. So I get hungry, get up to get a slice of pizza, it's this really wonderful white pizza with balsamic vinegar from some Casbah even God couldn't get to without a pass, and then there's the accident. There is fur and blood on my terribly costly sandals, and you might say there is egg my face, even though it wasn't my fault. It was just my turn to be embarrassed in front of everybody. But I'm a professional. I am a professional member of an entourage. I think I'll be able to recover my position.
Progressing Nicely
All boney 6 feet should lank along behind our leader
in spite of the food
the air could use a zap of perfume
the whole spazzing entourage from the days of Camelot
holding Holstein spotted suitcases
drifts like a comet
deflated bodybuilders take to wearing garish lipstick
teenyboppers following in wheelchairs
crinkling through the fallen leaves
No comments:
Post a Comment