News of the Surreal
John Dorrance
to trek to the Dunkin' Donuts a block away. It was a nice night for a walk,
anyway; kind of chilly, but hinting that the weather would be nice today.
I wore a jacket to ward off some of the nippiness, but shorts to give me
a good jolt, and I brought 'The Vampire Lestat' to keep me company as I
ate.
When I got to the donut shop it was empty save the owner. I went to school
with his daughter, but we weren't close or anything. When I got inside, he
was sitting at the booth next to the door, reading a book. He seemed to be
saying something, but I wasn't paying him much attention since I didn't
think he was talking to me. After a minute he got up and went behind the
counter and took my order (creme-filled long john and a large cherry Pepsi).
I noticed a sign in the observation window to the kitchen that advertised
an art show being held in the shop. 'The World's Best Art!' it proclaimed.
So after I got my stuff, I put it down in a booth (not the one next to the
door, which he was returning to as I wandered) and went over to the far end
of the shop to look at the pictures at that end of the room. They were all
donut-related; many of various people holding a sign reading 'DONUTHENGE'
above a pile of donuts on a plate, some little sculptures consisting of
donuts and little shot-glass-sized paper cups, and some still lives with
donuts, cups of coffee, spoons and such. They were all framed with white
paper borders, and the titles written in pencil on the borders were along
the lines of 'donuthenge #3' and 'burial site in progress'. As I worked
my way along the wall looking at The World's Best Art!, the owner had pick-
ed up his book and began reading aloud again. As I listened I realized he
was not reading as much as chanting, or possibly singing. I guessed that
the book was a prayer book or bible of sorts, and I couldn't wait to work
my way over to his end of the room so I could take a peek at the book.
When I finally had gotten to the donut photos at his end of the room, I
saw that the book was large, old and battered, with a colorful painting of
people on the front. When I got to the last pictures I was able to see that
the book was written in another language, possibly arabic. Finishing my tour
of the gallery, I went back to my donut, where I sat and read my book,
listening to the chants of the baker and thinking how odd my life was.
---
John Dorrance ** Disco diva y flamenco chico **
ACM...@zeus.unomaha.edu
You bring me to my knees while I'm scratching at the eyes
Of a world I want to conquer and deliver and despise.
Rod Williams
> ...Finishing my tour
>of the gallery, I went back to my donut, where I sat and read my book,
>listening to the chants of the baker and thinking how odd my life was.
Better not move out of Omaha, sweetie -- you don't know from odd... :-)
--
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
rod williams -=- pacific bell -=- san francisco -=- rjw...@pacbell.com
a flying squirrel
>Last night I was feeling a mite peckish at 3:30 in the morning, so I decided
>to trek to the Dunkin' Donuts a block away. It was a nice night for a walk,
[this goes on for awhile]
Pay no attention to John. Despite my warnings to the contrary, he has been
abusing Suze heavily. Hallucinations in donut shops is a common symptom.
Instead of collecting money to send this innocent child *cough* to the upcoming
motss.con this summer, he should instead be sent to the Jess Anderson
Rehabilitation Centre in Madison for harpsichord and boy-wrestler detox
therapies.
--
a flying squirrel is: ric...@apple.com Apple Computer Inc.
"Lemonade?"
Jess Anderson
In article <64...@apple.Apple.COM> ric...@Apple.COM (a
flying squirrel) writes:
>Instead of collecting money to send this innocent child *cough* to the upcoming
>motss.con this summer, he should instead be sent to the Jess Anderson
>Rehabilitation Centre in Madison for harpsichord and boy-wrestler detox
>therapies.
Alas, unless his condition is life-threatening, we will have
a hard time placing him before the summer of 1995, for the
Centre St. Suze de Madison is full to overflowing with
long-term cases. Better, I think, to seek a short-term
treatment at the world-famous clinic headed by Lutea
Gentiana, Countess of Illyria. The Adriatic breeze is
itself an antidote to the famous elixir.
--
Jess Anderson <> Madison Academic Computing Center <> University of Wisconsin
Internet: ande...@macc.wisc.edu <-best, UUCP:{}!uwvax!macc.wisc.edu!anderson
NeXTmail w/attachments: ande...@yak.macc.wisc.edu Bitnet: anderson@wiscmacc
Room 3130 <> 1210 West Dayton Street / Madison WI 53706 <> Phone 608/262-5888
John Dorrance
> Pay no attention to John. Despite my warnings to the contrary, he has been
> abusing Suze heavily. Hallucinations in donut shops is a common symptom.
HEY! I haven't even *seen* my aunt in months. And how would you know
what kind of side effects abusing her would have? Awful, awful person!
No Twinkie fun-paks for *you*!
> Instead of collecting money to send this innocent child *cough*
You cough when I tell you to, bitch. (*grab*) Now COUGH!
---
John Dorrance ** Disco Diva y Flamenco Chico **
Jess Anderson
In article <1992Mar27....@news.unomaha.edu>
ACM...@Zeus.unomaha.edu (John Dorrance) writes:
>In <64...@apple.Apple.COM> ric...@Apple.COM writes:
>>Instead of collecting money to send this innocent child *cough*
>You cough when I tell you to, bitch. (*grab*) Now COUGH!
Child! You *mustn't*! You may not realize it, but you are
talking to a Tidy Squirrel, and he might make an *awful*
mess -- possibly while talking to an important client -- if
you even talk like that, let alone use exclamation points.
What if Richard's new plane were to crash on the way to
visit Us, just because he was atwitter with your rough
grabbings and your commanding tone? Shirley, you wouldn't
want *that* on your conscience?
Michelle Elliott
>abusing Suze heavily. Hallucinations in donut shops is a common symptom.
Someone had better explain what Suze is for those of us who only
tuned in recently...
Maybe it should go in the FAQ?
Michelle
P.S. Second question: Does anyone actually EAT bbq-ripple icecream,
or is it entirely a figment of our diseased collective imagination?
Jess Anderson
In article <1992Mar30.1...@rlgvax.Reston.ICL.COM>
mich...@rlgvax.Reston.ICL.COM (Michelle Elliott) writes:
>Someone had better explain what Suze is for those of us who
>only tuned in recently...
My own feeling is that Suze being inexplicable (from many
points of view), it would be better not to try to provide
these details. Rather, people who find themselves in France
(it is not available in the US) should order a Suze at a
restaurant or bar, and get a first-hand experience. It also
provides an excellent opportunity to practice your French
"u," as in "cul," an indispensible word, I think.
Karl MacRae - Burnin' with Optimism's Flames
Ok, so I know this was posted a LONG time ago (Shows how
far behind I am on MOTSS, huh?), but anyway...
I just forwarded John's post to someone who does not
(or does only rarely) read motss.
In article <1992Mar25....@news.unomaha.edu> ACM...@Zeus.unomaha.edu (John Dorrance) writes:
>Last night I was feeling a mite peckish at 3:30 in the morning, so I decided
>to trek to the Dunkin' Donuts a block away.
(Story about donut art, DONUTHENGE, and a shopkeeper reading
a book in a foreign language out loud to himself at 3:30 am
deleted.)
Anyway, when I mailed this to her, she replied-
->as I read this mail, a group of people went by outside, speaking in some
->foreign language. I thought, oh, that's a strange coincidence. I went
->to the front door and looked out, and they were sitting on the wooden
->retaining wall on our corner...
->
->
->EATING DOUGHNUTS.
As Homer Simpson says...
"It's funny *because* it's true."
-Karl
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Karl Elvis MacRae bat...@batcave.Ebay.sun.com (408)922-4960 M/S MIL21-39
Sun Microsystems, Milpitas, CA (The armpit of Silicon Valley)
-I don't speak for Sun, and they don't speak for Me-
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+
"You can't take me anywhere, I'll strip down to my underware,
if given half a chance..."
-"Miss Freelove '69" - Hoodoo Gurus -
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Jess Anderson
In article <64...@apple.Apple.COM> le tre`s m'echant
ric...@Apple.COM (a flying squirrel) writes:
>Jess Anderson writes:
>>Child! You *mustn't*! You may not realize it, but you are
>>talking to a Tidy Squirrel, and he might make an *awful*
>Guilty.
*Extremely* tidy.
>>mess -- possibly while talking to an important client -- if
>>you even talk like that, let alone use exclamation points.
>>What if Richard's new plane were to crash on the way to
>Innocent. I do NOT have a new plane -- merely considering
>partnership in an existing one.
Well, you do have a new car, and from the rate at which we
flew up and down the SF hills, it's very nearly a plane. If
there were any innocents out there (there aren't) on the
famous 24 Divisidero bus stop, they should look carefully
into any shiny black cars before getting in; they will want
to be sure it's the Tidy One and not some ogre.
>>visit Us, just because he was atwitter with your rough
>Guilty. But this does not depend on the Goodness and Light
>of the Cessna gods, dear. Commercial aviation does shine
>upon Madison, does it not? Certainly if boy wrestlers do...
My dear, there's this to say. One is not intended by the
Airline Gods to deplane at Madison; it is one of the least
convenient cities in all of North America to reach. You
see, it really isn't somewhere; it's merely close to other
places. Most of us endure a three-hour bus ride to O'Hare,
because at least you can get a plane there that will take
you somewhere.
The boy wrestlers, I might add, arrive in cars or yellow
school busses, since they all come from in-state.
>>grabbings and your commanding tone? Shirley, you wouldn't
>>want *that* on your conscience?
>Since when can you call me Shirley, Madge?
Well, *somebody* has to do your nails, and from what's under
them, Myrna, I can only faint with vicarious lust at the
thought of where those hands must have been.
>"Lemonade?"
Non, merci; du Suze, s'il vous plait.