Saturday, May 7, 2011

SOS Gab & Eti 1.49

"Nothing is profane that serveth to holy things." Sir W. Raleigh.

It is good that this Gabriel transmogrified into a bullfrog is not the one of them with a beard as otherwise we would have here the wholly impossible conclusion of a green frog on its backside with chin hair.

As with any abnormal growth, and Etidorpha, playful as she is would be tempted to tie upon her brother thin pink ribbons with patinated bronze bells. The sort of bells one would find on sale in the lawn and garden section along with smelly candles and wind chimes.

A frog, thus adorned that jumped at the slightest wind would ring out chingy ching chingy.

This, we agree with our social anthropologist would provide a brief reintarnation among the gathered dragon and damsel flies.

On his amphibious hit to the brackish surface of the water pond Gabriel would find himself much belabored in a cacophonous sink that would drift him to the very bottom of the muck. Bells, bells, bells, a chingy ling bang bang Gamelon clatter.

Along in there our local hero would likely meet a hungry snapping turtle and after a chomp and a dingly ding chomp chomp would be a decimated bobbit of a bloody and dead frog to be slowly digested in the belly and intestines of a large and generally unsociable turtle. Can't quite express if this would be a heavy Jonah myth or just bad timing.

Bunker is the sort of thing that happens to very famous people buried at sea.

Fish sticks.

Stop. No, wait, stop. Cease and desist!

We regret to inform you that contumelious portions of this story line have been co-opted by a fellow with a johnson, or a Johnson that is a fellow artisan and that as we enter into this new normal we can no longer distinguish between the two Gabriel’s as now there is a puppet Gabriel masquerading as a frog and a puppet Etidorpha masquerading as a brown squirrel.

Through the craft of digital animation and illustrious illustration these homozygous recessive totems appear lifelike and not at all as the stuffed plastic and terry cloth phantasmal conjurations of a childish imagination let loose in the public arena of all-natural nature.

Buttons for eyes, yes.

Whereas this Gabriel, the one speaking in your head as you read this sentence, desires that the characters of the story speak for themselves in their own voice it is untoward and unconscionable that any one reader of this serial would begin to not only speak up but would act out like a trot infected ventriloquist to babble their swear words and puns and nastiness as if it were gobs of fecal paint exuded from the mouths of babes, and squirrels, and frogs.

As one cultured reader has pointed out this insurrection is nothing short of disgustingly narrative terrorism.

Lest there be any controversy in your mind as to the patrimony of this story we have appealed to Judge Yuro Peese Uckerknobb to provide arbitration to our defense of our intellectual property right. His honor has prescribed a duel of kick boxing with paisley blindfolds.

It has been said of fiction that it must in all cases be made plausible so that it can be believed and that the reader is not dropped to the bottom of reality as if bells were tied to them and they were sunk and pursued by a snapping turtle and forced to hold their breath as they swim mightily for their very lives. Nothing much escapist in that, is there? Whereas it has been said of non-fiction that as a true and fair representation of what actually happens in the world it can often appear to be very implausible and sound completely nonsensical and yet not be a batch of feverish lies. Suffice it that in the end one or another of us Gabriels will always tell you the plain and simple truth.

That all said if you are confused by any of this then do not blame the author. Blame the exuberantly errant readers. Let them eat cake, and then wash out their mouths!

Etidorpha, who paid absolutely no attention to her brother the frog who discorporated his bodily revelations as he lay there on his backside, sniffed along the ground and through the grass and beneath the browned oak leaves until she found herself a fermented acorn.

“Oh, goody,” she said in squirrel.