Monday, April 24, 2006

Why I've Never Won the Pulitzer for Literature

The warm, lazy, Southern breeze reeked of chemical cotton defoliant, which Erma always thought smelled like potato salad gone bad--by which the reader should not think that the salad had abandoned its solid, Midwestern, moral upbringing for a life of crime, though in any case there are really only two possible offenses a rebellious potato salad could be found guilty of: the first being murder or attempted murder by food poisoning, which likely would be immediately prevented by anyone possessing taste buds or a sense of smell, and the second being the crime of air pollution, which was more plausible, but would be short-lived, since any person catching a whiff of the redolent odor would immediately shove the potato salad down the garbage disposal or seal it in an air-tight plastic garbage bag; thus the reader must by now have certainly come to the realization that what is meant by "potato salad gone bad" is merely that it was spoiled--and she realized sadly that the yearly drudge of cotton-picking would not be far behind.
--A past entry of mine in the Bulwer-Lytton bad writing contest.
Listening to: "Fantastica, Music From Outer Space," Russ Garcia

No comments: