So how come you all didn't have to include vanagons in those stories, anyhow?  Isn't this a vanagon list?

Joy

:::-----Original Message-----
:::From: Vanagon Mailing List [mailto:vanagon@GERRY.VANAGON.COM] On Behalf
:::Of Nathaniel Poole
:::Sent: Sunday, December 24, 2006 6:17 PM
:::To: vanagon@GERRY.VANAGON.COM
:::Subject: Re: Writers aren't artists
:::
:::³You shall be late,² the Monkey says from his chair in the corner,
:::pulling
:::on a cigar the colour and shape of a cat turd. His legs are crossed and
:::he
:::gives an air of insouciant amusement. A cloud of smoke drifts towards the
:::ceiling.
:::³He really doesn¹t want to go,² pipes the Tin of Frisky Bits cat food
:::from
:::its place on the counter. ³Or he wouldn¹t still be here. All behaviour
:::has
:::meaning,² it says, quoting someone whom it could not recall.
:::³Pipe down,² Jonathan snaps, trying yet again to tie his loincloth.
:::³You¹re going like that?² enquires the Monkey with a raised eyebrow. My
:::word; it¹s cold out you know.
:::And as if  in agreement the window rattles in it¹s tattered and peeling
:::sash, a few flakes of snow ghosting across the fogged glass.
:::³It¹s all part of the process of enlightenment,² says Jonathan rather
:::stiffly. Endurance, dissociation, letting go. Cold is nothing.²
:::³Well actuallyŠ² begins the affable Tin.
:::³Not now!² snaps Jonathan. There is a sudden pounding on the door.
:::Everyone
:::falls silent, the monkey and the Tin giving each other knowing glances.
:::³Who could that be? says Jonathan, moving towards the door. His loincloth
:::is
:::still not wrapped tight enough and he holds it up with one hand.
:::³Don¹t open it!² cries the Tin. ³It could be a can opener.²
:::³Or a vivisectionist!² says the monkey. Together they set up a bawling
:::clamour.
:::Jonathan plugs one ear against the noise and reaches for the doorknob.
:::Just
:::as he swings it open the loincloth collapses to the floor with a
:::satisfied,
:::cotton sigh.
:::³Yo, get a load of that!² says the hammer, whistling ³If I had known, I
:::woulda brought flowers.²
:::³Dignity is an illusion,² replies Jonathan, bending down and lifting the
:::perfidious cloth.
:::³Oh, my, the evil eye,² chuckles the Monkey. ³Pray, do us a favour and
:::turn
:::the other way, old chap. There¹s a good fellow. Frisky is positively
:::rattling with embarrassment.² Indeed, the Tin had almost vibrated off the
:::counter, resulting in a fall that might have dented its shiny, flawless
:::edge.
:::³May I help you?² asks Jonathan as the hammer pushes its way into the
:::barren, water-stained room.
:::³I doubt it,² replies the hammer. Œ²Wow, what a dump. You might¹ve done
:::something with the place if you knew you were having company, sport.²
:::³Possessions enslave humanity,² says Tin. ³Our houses are such unwieldy
:::property that we are often imprisoned rather than housed in them.²
:::³Yeah whatever, doll. You know, if you brought in a few stoned Goth
:::chicks
:::this place could at least be funky.²
:::³What do you want?² says Jonathan, his face reddening and thinking to
:::himself, the Sufi shall not get pissed, the Sufi shall not get pissed.
:::³You called me, remember, dude ­hey, there¹s a monkey in here.²
:::³I called you?²
:::³Does it do tricks? I bet it craps all over the place.²
:::³I beg your pardon,² the Monkey replies, offended. ³I use the facilities
:::as
:::any civilized person would.²
:::A silence falls on the party.
:::
:::³I didn¹t call you.² Jonathan says slowly.
:::The hammer turns to Jonathan. ³No? When was the last time you talked to a
:::hammer?²
:::³WellŠ²
:::³Not too bright are you? Say, you on crack? Is this guy a tweaker?² he
:::asks
:::the monkey.²
:::³I sayŠ²
:::³That was just mediation,² Jonathan stammers. I didn¹t mean forŠ²
:::³Well you did it, sport. And I¹m the prize, the gold medal, the basket of
:::fruit from the boss, the sister-in-law¹s tongue in your mouth at New
:::Years.
:::Give yourself a hand.²
:::³You most certainly are going to be late,² interrupts the Monkey.
:::³Oh hell, says Jonathan tying his loincloth. Anyone see my fedora?²
:::³Time is relative,² chimed the Tin.
:::³What¹s the rush?² asks the hammer.
:::The monkey scratches himself. ³He¹s got a Yogic Flying conference to
:::attend,
:::but he¹s beastly late,²
:::³No kidding,² says the hammer. ³Well, I wouldn¹t worry about it if I were
:::you.²
:::Jonathan places his hat on his balding head. ³Why,² he asks.
:::³World¹s gonna end.²
:::³What?²
:::³Yup.² Heard it from the dumpster in the alleyway. Hears all kind of
:::stuff
:::from all the crap that gets thrown in there. You¹ve really woke this
:::building up, you know.²
:::³I have? Wow ­ hey, the world can¹t end!²
:::³ŒFraid so, Einstein.² Big American military-industrial complex
:::experiment
:::thing. Privately bankrolled by Microsoft and Frito-Lay. The thinking goes
:::that if you destroy the world it¹ll give the Chinese second thoughts
:::about
:::becoming the next world power. Got some bright sparks down there, fer
:::sure.²
:::³I don¹t believe it. What does a dumpster know.²
:::³Why? ³Just Œcause he¹s not 90% water and doesn¹t subscribe to pony
:::fetish
:::mags? He got the scoop from a senator¹s condom. Dude has a girl on the
:::seventh floor. Poly-sci grad student.²
:::³But this is terrible! Those magazines are just researchŠno, no, no,²
:::Jonathan shakes his head. ³When is this supposed to happen?²
:::³Sometime in the next few days. Don¹t really matter tho, a day here a day
:::there. Dance like there¹s no tomorrow. Hows about it Tinsy, you¹n¹me get
:::it
:::on, on last bang before the big one drops?²
:::³But this is impossible!² Jonathan shouts. ³We must stop this travesty!²
:::³Yeah? how so?²
:::³I don¹t know, but who¹s with me?² Who?²
:::The Monkey stubs out his cigar and stares at him.  ³Count me in,
:::Jonathan.²
:::Tin shrugs, Now, later, makes little difference to me, but I could use a
:::change. Although I recognise change is a subjective response toŠ²
:::³Well I ain¹t hanging around this dump waiting to get humped by no rat
:::buzzed on meth, says the hammer. But before we go, one thing, dude,²
:::³What, what?²
:::³Get a brazilian or change outta that diaper. Yer puttin¹ me off my
:::feed.²
:::
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:::
:::>
:::>
:::> On Dec 24, 2006, at 11:19 AM, Nathaniel Poole wrote:
:::>
:::>> On 12/24/06 10:34 AM, "Joy Hecht" <jhecht@ALUM.MIT.EDU> wrote:
:::>>
:::>>> Yeah, and writing, though I don't quite think of that as artsy.
:::>>
:::>>
:::>> WHHHAT? I don't know whether to have an attack of the vapours and
:::>> faint or
:::>> fall on the floor laughing maniacally and foaming at the mouth. :)
:::>>
:::>> But I think the best enlightenment I can offer is an assignment.
:::>> Write a two
:::>> page story that must contain a monkey, a hammer, a naked fakir in a
:::>> seedy
:::>> Winnipeg hotel room, and a talking, philosophical cat food can.
:::>>
:::>> Due by boxing day. Lets see what ya got.
:::>>
:::>> Nathaniel
:::>>
:::>