Some names changed to protect the uninvolved from a newsfeed/posting on facebook:
Vincent Has no use for freedom if it doesn't involve being shackled to MN.
12 hours ago · Comment · LikeUnlike · View Feedback (13)Hide Feedback (13)
JP:
Shackles are kinda weak. Go skin graft or not at all
11 hours ago · Like
Vincent:
That's what we gotta fear, J:. Our generation got tattoos when they wanted to make their parents upset. Our children will get live otters grafted to their friggin' skulls.
10 hours ago · Like
JP:
Live otter is a fantastic idea. A living whinnying mullet toupee with built-in puppy dog eyes. Think of how many undesirable men you're enabling to attract mates. The food cost would pay for itself in free drinks and sunblock.
4 hours ago · LikeUnlike ·
And don't think for a moment you're not crossing that threshold to invoke THE Lamont unnoticed. He's watching you from the bottom drawer, boy. Sing the thing and maybe get ker-plotzed in green oatmeal. It's funny to watch speech patterns unfurl over decades!
4 hours ago · LikeUnlike ·
JP: July 5 at 7:50am
I WAS THERE!
I was there when the strength of Otters failed. It was three thousand years ago (aside: was it *really* 3000 years or was he just being dramatic? I mean it could have just as easily been two thousand seven hundred and thirty six years ago but who's counting but really. At the 3K anniversary he should not have been surprised that this was all going down. How do you surprise an immortal?) I took you into the mountain towing a pallet of "Today" sponges and said DO IT VINCENNT! CAST LAMONT INTO THE FIRE!
And you turned to me with your bloodshot eyes, shiny black otter whimpering in the cascading swirls of Dutch Ice clinging desperately to your eyebrows, with a short shrug of the shoulder it dove back around your neck and under that ridiculous Fez you used to wear all the time and you said "nno". So this is all your fault. Of COURSE it was aware of certain fire hazards; three fuckin millennia ago it was chillin in the kidneys of a goddamn volcano!!
By the way you owe me 40 minutes because this is all I've been able to think about for that long without turning the computer back on and getting it down. Right now, four blocks away a sweaty dominican woman is frowning at my clothes, still in the washing machine without anyone to take them out and the early bird line of 7:45am tapping their feet and looking around nervously.
The time it took to write it is on me.
Vincent July 5 at 10:41am
When you want to collab on a book -- I will find the time to do it with you. I have seen bad art, and this is not it... the pants of my brain are charmed off every time you talk to me, and the test of time has shown an alchemy that references are made of. Aware of certain fire hazards indeed. I am team JP, he is my best seller.
JP: July 5 at 11:00am
Hm. You are indeed my friend! I would love to stand or sit around and riff until the cows come home twice, at your leisure or discretion. However we both know a few things, down and deep and dirty and they are: (a) you are far more generative creative and prolific than I and (b) your dad's artwork books would sell more multiples of the drivel we concatenate. I have learned that when trying to relate those parts of our conversation which do not begin or end anywhere in particular, audiences roll their eyes and say something like "I guess I had to be there" or "you could have just said 'you probably won't find this funny'. "
The fact that you are willing to jump aboard my mental raft-of-the-medusa and ride along until the tide settles only perpetuates your sublime standing of my esteem and respect.
However if you are so inclined I will post the bulk of this synaptic meltdown on a blog and see if there are any hangers-on; a pre-selected test market of willing readers.
And so it is, all. Any comments, or is this just too left-field for words?
