On fine Early Autumn days like this I like to stick a towel and box of Cabernet in my rucksack and sally out into a meadow to walk a while in the tall grass and truncheon puppies.
There are a few slight problems with this statement, and here are some of them.
1.) No one sells a decent Night Stick anymore let alone a good Truncheon
2.) One doesn’t just happen upon puppies in any old meadow, and I am not the sort that would go to a place where they stock the meadows with puppies any more than I’d go dynamite fishing in a fish farm like some sort of bloodsucking, Robber Barron, old money Senator.
3.) I would never Truncheon a puppy. For the love of Christ, man, anybody knows puppies are the only reliable evidence that God feels love on occasion.
The opening paragraph was not meant to ‘reveal’ anything to you about my ‘true self’. Writing never does and that goes for ‘memoirs’, ‘autobiography’ and especially ‘slice of life sketches’, a form that should be avoided like asbestos. The more ‘true’ someone’s writing is, the more chock full of self-aggrandizing malarkey it is bound to be. Hence, the most revealing writing needs a number of lies roughly corresponding to the number of rocks one puts in ones pockets when walking into the sea. Do I believe that? Honestly, I haven’t really given it much thought. I do know I was able to use the words ‘malarkey’ and ‘hence’, so I’m good.
My point is ‘Blog’ is another word for ‘lies on the Internet’. When I said I liked to ‘truncheon puppies’ I was lying. I used the phrase ‘truncheon puppies’ because of the way those two ‘U’ sounds go together when followed by an image of totally unacceptable violence. I was being ‘funny’. If I had said ‘truncheon babies’ it would have been just crass. Because of the vowel sounds.
The image itself was meant as substitute for the more benign gentleman’s pursuit butterfly hunting, except I don’t hunt butterflies and I could never conscience a man who does. What has a butterfly ever done to you, more to the point, what could it do, even if sorely provoked, even by a damnable provoker such as yourself? Now if the butterfly was as big as Volkswagen and armed with a flamethrower, that would be something worth hunting, or more precisely I would happily watch you do it. To me it sounds dangerous.
I don’t truncheon puppies, and for that matter I don’t ‘Sally’ anywhere, no offense to Sally. But If I’d said “On fine spring days like this I sit alone inside and drink an entire box of wine” you’d feel sorry for me, and you shouldn’t. Box wine is economical and much nicer than you think when consumed by the boxful. In fact once you commit yourself to drinking the entire box it’s really just as good as anything else. Yes, yes, let it be known I am a box wine enthusiast, unashamed, naked, proud.
Did you see how I slipped ‘naked’ in there? I didn’t have to. I just like it. And I brought my own towel.