The blathering idiot and politics, part 1, I guess

Full moon

Maybe it was the full moon the night before … or maybe it was his girlfriend Zoey.

Maybe it was the full moon the night before, it being a blue moon, or maybe it was his girlfriend Zoey telling him he would never amount to anything, but the blathering idiot was out walking when came across a bumper sticker that read: “Pro-Accordion & I Vote!”

He saw one, then another, and another. It was the parking lot in front of a small storefront, but each of the cars had that bump sticker on it.

The blathering idiot looked up and in the store front window was a banner that said the same thing, and below it was a hand lettered signed that said: “Come join the party.”

It was the middle of the day, but the blathering idiot could use something to lift his spirits, and maybe a party would be it.

He opened the swinging front door. The bell above the door tinkled.

Everybody inside was hunched over his or her computer. There was one accordion in the room. It was up on top of a bookshelf.

A young woman with a clipboard trotted up to him. “Are you here to join the Accordion Party?”

She stepped even closer, the bottom of the clipboard pointed toward him. He surmised that either meant he was supposed to sign the paper on the clipboard or she was using it to shove him back toward the door.

“This is the Accordion Party?”

Pro-Accordion sticker

The blathering idiot saw them on several cars int he parking lot, and banner in the window proclaiming “Pro-Accordion and I Vote!”

“Pro-Accordion,” she said.

She pointed to the bottom of the sheet. “You need to sign here and print your name, address, and way to contact you there.”

“Why?”

“We have to keep track of our volunteers.”

“For the party?”

She nodded. The name tag on her turquoise blouse said: “Hi, my name is Lydia.”

“The accordion party?”

“The Pro-Accordion Party,” she said.

“There are no snacks?”

She shook her head.

“No music?”

“If we win.”

“Win?”

“The campaign.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“The big one.”

“Okay. Who’s your candidate?”

She sighed. “Our original candidate dropped out. Said he couldn’t fit it in around his busy schedule of playing weddings and polka dances, graduation parties and such.”

The blathering idiot had never heard of accordion music at a graduation party, but it had been a few years since he graduated and maybe things had changed.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“For a candidate?” she asked.

The blathering idiot nodded.

“We’re looking for one right now. Would you like to be it?”

He thought about that for a moment. Zoey had challenged him to do something.

“But I don’t know how to play the accordion,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter. You can learn as you go.”

“But I’ve never run for elected office before.”

She shrugged. “You can learn that, too, as you go.”

“Who will teach me?”

The young woman paused. She had large, wide set eyes and dark hair. “Probably, I will.”

If doing this made Zoey a little jealous, there might not be anything wrong with that, either.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m in.”

(To be continued, more or less.)

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The Devil’s Dictionary: Ability and Abnormal

In our continuing quest to revisit a classic, or even a curiosity from the past and see how relevant it is, we continue with The Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce. Originally published in newspaper installments from 1881 until 1906. You might be surprised how current many of the entries are.

For example, here is a definition for Ability and Abnormal. The Old definition is Bierce’s. The New definition is mine or somebody else contemporary. From time to time, just as it was originally published, we will come back to The Devil’s Dictionary, for a look at it then and how it applies today. Click on Devil’s Dictionary in the tags below to bring up the other entries.

OLD DEFINITIONS

Ability, n. The natural equipment to accomplish some small part of the meaner ambitions distinguishing able men from dead ones. In the last analysis ability is commonly found to consist mainly in a high degree of solemnity. Perhaps, however, this impressive quality is rightly appraised; it is no easy task to be solemn.

Abnormal, adj. Not conforming to standard. In matters of thought and conduct, to be independent is to be abnormal, to be abnormal is to be detested. Wherefore the lexicographer adviseth a striving toward a straiter resemblance to the Average Man than he hath to himself. Whoso attaineth thereto shall have peace, the prospect of death and the hope of Hell.

NEW DEFINITIONS

Ability, n. Commonly found to consist mainly in a high degree of “fake it until you make it.” Perhaps, however, this impressive quality is rightly appraised for it is no easy task to fake it.

Abnormal, adj. Not conforming to standard. In matters of thought and conduct, to be independent is to be abnormal, to be abnormal is to be detested. Even if you fake being abnormal until you achieve true abnormality, you shall be labeled be forever thought mean and will be shunned by the true mean and solemn members of society, i.e. the Average Man (and Woman).

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Freeform Friday: Haiku: “Fall”

Brown among the green,
Mower mutters over grass.
Fall beckons the leaves.

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Haiku to you Thursday: “Know not folly”

The stars in heaven
know not the human folly.
That is their beauty.

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Haiku to you Tuesday: “Rasslin’ to embrace”

Beer can and bacon
firehouse chili
rasslin’ to embrace.

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Monday morning writing joke: “That’s a wrap”

A Brit, American, Korean, Frenchman, Australian, German, Israeli, Saudi, Malaysian, Columbian, and Japanese walk into an elegant bar for a drink.

“Sorry,” says the bartender. “I can’t serve you without a Thai.”

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Workshop weekend: limerick: “Hard hat hair dresser”

There once was a hair dresser in a hard hat
who heard cannon fire, loud bass, and rumblings that
made me ask, “Is the end near?”
She said, “Oh no, but I fear
your hairdo would scare all nine lives from a cat.”

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Freeform Friday: “Oh, my … Outlook”

Oh, my poopy Outlook
Oh, what can I say?
It lives its life upsetting
me both night and day.

I tried to get if fixed so its
problems would be put away.
But masterful ministrations
won’t keep all its issues at bay.

I sit at my desk and wrestle
with one issue or the next.
Oh, my poopy Outlook,
your outlook has me vexed.

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Freeform Friday: Limerick: “Lady from Roane”

There once was a lady from Roane
who could have fun even while being alone.
She’d let her fingers do the walking
and cries of joy do the talking
by herself or sometimes on the phone.

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Writers on Writing: Plays Mad with his Soul

“The true artist plays mad with his soul, labors at the very lip of the volcano, but remembers and clings to his purpose, which is as strong as the dream. He is not someone possessed, like Cassandra, but a passionate, easily tempted explorer who fully intends to get home again, like Odysseus.”

–John Gardner

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