COMMUNIQUE FROM COLLECTIVE OF WRITERS OF THE PUBISH TO THE GREAT INQUISITOR ON INNER NET:
My Dear!
Please release great comrade and eternal friend of Pubish revolution, Tim Ljunggren, to continue on the paths - revolutionary, economic, social, five year orientated and promulgated through institutional instruments of rehabilitation - to the glory of the worldwide creative thrust!
Thank you!
We kiss you!
But not your ass!
Verdimita "Steve" Ripyorebollokov
PS Is me, Maxim. Ha! Pull finger out, Tim. Let sun shine in!
You remember this below?
NOTES FROM PUBISTAN PART 3 – by Maxim Ripyorebollokov
Translated by Stewart Sumner
Dear readers, it is me again, Maxim Ripyorebollokov, the future of literature in the unfree world! Greetings to you all! As I squeeze the final drops of fervent dew from the horn of the affair with Larissa, Miss Pube 2007, a vegetarian, I thus seek the ultimate clarity (Trans – the Pubish word for red wine and lucidity are the same – klarkost. It is unclear what Maxim means to convey here). But where to find clarity? To shout loudly from the tree branch? To shudder in front of farmyard animal traffic? To pluck hair from a rabbit till the bladder is on display? “Drink to thine clarity”, the great Pubish poet Dmitri Ripyorebollokov – no relation – proclaimed as night was drawing in over State Rabbit Farm 6.5 one hoary night post-Revolution (Trans – you’re on your own here, the meaning is all but lost on a non-Pube).
O Sweet clarity, come forth to me. Show yourself, if thou’st dare. I was deep in thoughtfulness at the office yesterday when I was approached from behind by the man they call Spider. Officially, he is chief of quality control and a fine sculptor, which is a amplitudinous shame since sculpture was banned in the Second Decree of the Post-Revolution Phase of Our Great Revolution. So Spider – genuine name Richard but Spider since he is full of mischief and malice and crawls rather than walks. Also, he is deceptively quick to pounce. “So,” I said, “Spider, you are here!” “Yes,” Spider said, “I am. I have recipe for rabbit cake. You want?” I suspected a trap. “Yes, all right, Spider. Please.” Ha! He gave me no recipe, just the price to pay for such top secret information. You know, the last time rabbit cake was made in Pubistan was in the cruel, foreboding, winter of ’76. That was when we still had an abundance of cream. For your intrigue, now a bowl of imported cream cost 2 Pubes on blackest market. That is roughly 10 million of your American dollars! So anyway, I watched intently Spider with his hairy legs as he slowly crawled back to his darkened corner by the trap door to the exit used for employees who have displeased the furtherance of the glorious State of Pubistan in some despicable way. Sometimes, it is possible to believe Spider is indeed a spider and that it is my self-deception which maintains him to be a human being, but that way madness lies, and the trap door.
What does Spider want in life? What can he hope for? Will he fall through the trap door before he has realised his dream of assembling the greatest collection of octopedes the world outside Pubistan has never seen? Despite the fact that he is truly creepy and smells like a rabbit’s genitals after a prolonged session of heightened activity, I wish him only happiness and a resolution of his mother’s gender reassignment issues.
But sorry. Really. Where is the literature? You ask. I present you with two paragraphs of my novel, which unfortunately, do not follow sequentially, consequentially or even logically from what has gone before. You like? There is hope.
Night fell. The burrowing began. He stretched his arm out. The hand was not there. Just the newspaper with no news and the walking stick with no handle. They would find him. Soon. The trail of imported peanut butter would lead them to his resting place. His movements were slight. More twitching than calculated. The in-tray of despair mounted ever higher.
Were you gripped? And this paragraph. I think this might be the end. We shall see. Forgive me, for it is short.
The words tumbled. The wind blew. The extremely happy rabbit clucked. A pause. A heartbeat. Silence.
Oh, joy extended beyond, my friends. The literary journey continues. I must extinguish the candle now and think of Marsha, Miss Pube 2008, a carnivore. She could partake of my meat any day.
Long live The Pubish Writers Union!
Hail words together! May they never be parted!
I kiss you!
Maxim
Showing posts with label Insolent Rudder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Insolent Rudder. Show all posts
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunday, October 05, 2008
THE CRUSTYCOK SCANDAL AND OTHER FLAKERIES
BIRD: Dude, you'll have to say something sooner or later.
BUFFALO: What's the point?
BIRD: So Hollywoody nicked your idea. Get over it.
BUFFALO: But instead of my name in big lights it'll be Norman Crustykok. It took me 30 years to come up with that gem. And they stole it, dude. Ripped me off as if I was a log chopper at Stuckey's. Fookin' fookers.
BIRD: But it was hardly an original idea, wazzit? I mean, a film within a film within an ice cream. It's been done before, innit.
BUFFALO: You mean, Fellini?
BIRD: Nah, Crinkletit. Back in the '50s.
BUFFALO: Yeah. The Flying Cone From Rectal Levity. Starring Charles Batty. It was never released, remember?
BIRD: Maybe not, but it was reworked and remade as The Way We Were.
BUFFALO: That's bullshit and you know it. For a start, where was the ice cream?
BIRD: As a metaphor, it didn't cut it, so they cut it.
BUFFALO: And where was Big Tim Dangling, the guy who couldn't go to the bank without pissing his pants?
BIRD: He was a minor character and the producers instructed the writers that there must be no bodily functions in the final script. Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand don't do toilets.
BUFFALO: Poisonally, I'd like to see Babs do her stuff in the bathroom, but that's just me. And anyhoo, what about the central premise of the plot which involved a spaceship depositing the rectal object on an unsuspecting water hog in North Carolina?
BIRD: OK, OK. They were making the film at a time when the water hog, and for that matter North Carolina were protected. They had to improvise.
BUFFALO: And there was no writer or political activist in the original. They were store workers. Women. Lesbians. No less.
BIRD: Maybe, but you must admit the original WAS a love story.
BUFFALO: It was not. It was about the exploitation of Mongolian migrant workers in the wine industry in the Napa Valley.
BIRD: Oh, come on. Nobody had even heard of the Napa Valley then. Or of Mongolian migrant workers.
BUFFALO: Well, they've heard of the Napa Valley now. And as for the Mongolian migrant workers... they were all shafted, dude. Disappeared overnight in August '50 after they asked for blankets to sleep in. How the United Nations left them to their plight is a sin!
BIRD: Dude, are we talking about the same film?
BUFFALO: How the hell do I know? I've seen so many and written so many I have no idea what is and isn't a film. But I know they stole my idea.
BIRD: Which was for a modern romance based on the story of Albert Einstein and Charles Dickens.
BUFFALO: Genius, don't you think?
BIRD: Both heterosexual, from different continents, and because Charlie pops his clogs in 1870 and Albie was born in 1879, were destined never to meet.
BUFFALO: That's where the spaceship comes in, dude.
BIRD: Ohforfukksake, Buff, you know it was a ripoff of Dynasty.
BUFFALO: Dude, I've got one word for you - Rosebud.
BIRD: Don't go there, dude. Just don't. Don't drag Orson Welles into this. He has nothing to do with the Hollywood swindle.
BUFFALO: Dude, he was the one who made it possible to introduce fantastical elements into a linear narrative. He opened it wide open. Without him, there'd be no Lynch. Or Buttmuncher.
BIRD: How dare you mention Buttmuncher's name in the same line as Lynch! Have you no shame?
BUFFALO: Buttmuncher's underrated. Everybody knows it.
BIRD: Not just underrated. Unheard of.
BUFFALO: He's a genius.
BIRD: Who never made a film and ended up in a high-security facility for nutjobs.
BUFFALO: He had his flaws. But we all do. That's no reason to bang him up for the rest of his life.
BIRD: Dude, when they caught him he was about to demolish his father's house with his father in it.
BUFFALO: They had a disagreement. Don't all families? All he wanted was an apology.
BIRD: Yeah, in his dad's blood. Why don't you write a screenplay about him? Nobody would steal that.
BUFFALO: Nah, fuggit. I ain't writing no more screenplays. I'm thru with all that pseudo mutilation. I've got myself some wood and I'm gonna use it.
BIRD: Eh?
BUFFALO: Well, OK, it's a plank. But it'll do the trick.
BIRD: What the hell are you going to do with a plank of wood?
BUFFALO: It's got Buzz Hathawaynutz's name on it - the fookwad in Tinsel Town who robbed me of my rightful heritage. I'm going teach him a lesson.
BIRD: Oh, for Freddy's sake, violence is not the answer.
BUFFALO: You're right, cos I ain't asking any questions. And neither is he once he gets a head full of finest North American oak.
BIRD: They'll lock you up, dude.
BUFFALO: Whatever.
BIRD: You'll never see your family or loved ones again.
BUFFALO: Let's hope, huh?
BIRD: It'll be the end of the blog too, dude.
BUFFALO: Really? You mean no more you and me?
BIRD: That's right.
BUFFALO: Seems like a high price to pay, donnit?
BIRD: Sure is.
BUFFALO: Sorry, Birdy. Gotta stick up for my principles. Buzz Hathawaynutz is going daaahhhhn! So long, Birdman, pray for my mammary.
BIRD: Bye, then.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Oh, and don't forget to check out the latest issue of Insolent Rudder. It's a corker. You can find it here:
http://www.insolentrudder.net/fall2008_home.html
BUFFALO: What's the point?
BIRD: So Hollywoody nicked your idea. Get over it.
BUFFALO: But instead of my name in big lights it'll be Norman Crustykok. It took me 30 years to come up with that gem. And they stole it, dude. Ripped me off as if I was a log chopper at Stuckey's. Fookin' fookers.
BIRD: But it was hardly an original idea, wazzit? I mean, a film within a film within an ice cream. It's been done before, innit.
BUFFALO: You mean, Fellini?
BIRD: Nah, Crinkletit. Back in the '50s.
BUFFALO: Yeah. The Flying Cone From Rectal Levity. Starring Charles Batty. It was never released, remember?
BIRD: Maybe not, but it was reworked and remade as The Way We Were.
BUFFALO: That's bullshit and you know it. For a start, where was the ice cream?
BIRD: As a metaphor, it didn't cut it, so they cut it.
BUFFALO: And where was Big Tim Dangling, the guy who couldn't go to the bank without pissing his pants?
BIRD: He was a minor character and the producers instructed the writers that there must be no bodily functions in the final script. Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand don't do toilets.
BUFFALO: Poisonally, I'd like to see Babs do her stuff in the bathroom, but that's just me. And anyhoo, what about the central premise of the plot which involved a spaceship depositing the rectal object on an unsuspecting water hog in North Carolina?
BIRD: OK, OK. They were making the film at a time when the water hog, and for that matter North Carolina were protected. They had to improvise.
BUFFALO: And there was no writer or political activist in the original. They were store workers. Women. Lesbians. No less.
BIRD: Maybe, but you must admit the original WAS a love story.
BUFFALO: It was not. It was about the exploitation of Mongolian migrant workers in the wine industry in the Napa Valley.
BIRD: Oh, come on. Nobody had even heard of the Napa Valley then. Or of Mongolian migrant workers.
BUFFALO: Well, they've heard of the Napa Valley now. And as for the Mongolian migrant workers... they were all shafted, dude. Disappeared overnight in August '50 after they asked for blankets to sleep in. How the United Nations left them to their plight is a sin!
BIRD: Dude, are we talking about the same film?
BUFFALO: How the hell do I know? I've seen so many and written so many I have no idea what is and isn't a film. But I know they stole my idea.
BIRD: Which was for a modern romance based on the story of Albert Einstein and Charles Dickens.
BUFFALO: Genius, don't you think?
BIRD: Both heterosexual, from different continents, and because Charlie pops his clogs in 1870 and Albie was born in 1879, were destined never to meet.
BUFFALO: That's where the spaceship comes in, dude.
BIRD: Ohforfukksake, Buff, you know it was a ripoff of Dynasty.
BUFFALO: Dude, I've got one word for you - Rosebud.
BIRD: Don't go there, dude. Just don't. Don't drag Orson Welles into this. He has nothing to do with the Hollywood swindle.
BUFFALO: Dude, he was the one who made it possible to introduce fantastical elements into a linear narrative. He opened it wide open. Without him, there'd be no Lynch. Or Buttmuncher.
BIRD: How dare you mention Buttmuncher's name in the same line as Lynch! Have you no shame?
BUFFALO: Buttmuncher's underrated. Everybody knows it.
BIRD: Not just underrated. Unheard of.
BUFFALO: He's a genius.
BIRD: Who never made a film and ended up in a high-security facility for nutjobs.
BUFFALO: He had his flaws. But we all do. That's no reason to bang him up for the rest of his life.
BIRD: Dude, when they caught him he was about to demolish his father's house with his father in it.
BUFFALO: They had a disagreement. Don't all families? All he wanted was an apology.
BIRD: Yeah, in his dad's blood. Why don't you write a screenplay about him? Nobody would steal that.
BUFFALO: Nah, fuggit. I ain't writing no more screenplays. I'm thru with all that pseudo mutilation. I've got myself some wood and I'm gonna use it.
BIRD: Eh?
BUFFALO: Well, OK, it's a plank. But it'll do the trick.
BIRD: What the hell are you going to do with a plank of wood?
BUFFALO: It's got Buzz Hathawaynutz's name on it - the fookwad in Tinsel Town who robbed me of my rightful heritage. I'm going teach him a lesson.
BIRD: Oh, for Freddy's sake, violence is not the answer.
BUFFALO: You're right, cos I ain't asking any questions. And neither is he once he gets a head full of finest North American oak.
BIRD: They'll lock you up, dude.
BUFFALO: Whatever.
BIRD: You'll never see your family or loved ones again.
BUFFALO: Let's hope, huh?
BIRD: It'll be the end of the blog too, dude.
BUFFALO: Really? You mean no more you and me?
BIRD: That's right.
BUFFALO: Seems like a high price to pay, donnit?
BIRD: Sure is.
BUFFALO: Sorry, Birdy. Gotta stick up for my principles. Buzz Hathawaynutz is going daaahhhhn! So long, Birdman, pray for my mammary.
BIRD: Bye, then.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Oh, and don't forget to check out the latest issue of Insolent Rudder. It's a corker. You can find it here:
http://www.insolentrudder.net/fall2008_home.html
Thursday, July 03, 2008
COMING SOON: B&B THE SITCOM
I was at the Bore Fest doing captions for "Juno and the Paycock" when I suddenly became aware that I was surrounded by red curtains -just like in the Black Lodge from "Twin Peaks". It hit me then that I had stumbled into the auld Buff's dream in which he fancied himself to be Special Agent Dale Cooper, having breakfast with Audrey Horne at the Great Northern. This wigged me out a bit. I tried to shake off the feeling of impending doom but then I began to get rather peggish. I had a sudden craving for a bucket of hot black coffee and a cherry pie and sent the gopher out to fetch them.
About an hour later as I was finishing off the pie, Caroline (our receptionist and office tart) buzzed me. She was all in a dither about some cheeky bloke who'd wandered into the lobby and made a pass at her after introducing himself as my uncle from America - Professor Splendor G. Mainwaring. This was a bit odd seeing as how I don't have a fookin' uncle in America, so I asked her to describe the fellow and then realized that the mystery man could be no other than the auld Buff himself, who'd been threatening for months to cross the pond and drop in on me in London when I least expected it.
The auld lunatic told Caroline that I should meet him after work at the Hound & Hare, just around the corner from the Bore Fest. Caroline asked if she could come along, as she seemed to fancy the Buff, proving once again that there is no accounting for taste.
At the stroke of five Caroline and I made our way to the pub, she as happy as a lark - but myself dreading that the Buff might try to ram his great woolly, horned head up Caroline's skirt. Thus did I prepare myself for the wurst... or the blutwurst, if you get m'drift.
AND DON'T FORGET DA RUDDER UNLIKE NO UDDER AT...
http://www.insolentrudder.net/
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
MORE THRUST INSOLENT RUDDER, SCOTTIE!
BUFFALO: So tell me again, dude, why should I read Insolent Rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net/?
BIRD: Cos it's jam packed with lots of goodies.
BUFFALO: Oh, yeah? Like wot?
BIRD: The Body Psalms Promo for a start. Made by the janitor.
BUFFALO: Wow. What happened to the editor, like?
BIRD: He is the editor.
BUFFALO: Shucks. And he's gotta clean up afterwards too?
BIRD: Feeds 'em too.
BUFFALO: Must be a Nordic ting. And wot else?
BIRD: Stories by Nonnie Augustine, Sydnee Elliot, Susan Elmendorf, GC Smith, Craig Terlson, Foster Trecost and Donna Vitucci. All at http://www.insolentrudder.net/
BUFFALO: Salivating loudly here, dude.
BIRD: Rightfully so. These guys is premier league. Wanna hear about the rest?
BUFFALO: There's more?
BIRD: You betcha. There's that crazy Pube Maxim Ripyorebollokov trying to get reverb before the lights go out.
BUFFALO: Oh, I like him. He's well wacko.
BIRD: And some great cartoons by Marja Hagborg. And she's written a column too about NNS.
BUFFALO: Woo-hoo to dat! NNS, wot's dat?
BIRD: Non Native Speakers.
BUFFALO: Nice!
BIRD: And...
BUFFALO: More? No way!
BIRD: Way! There's a novel excerpt from Bonnie ZoBell's excellent Blue Jay. And a review of Liesl Jobson's 100 Papers. And check out Beth Thomas in the Author Spotlight.
BUFFALO: Omigod! I can't take much more. My ickle heart's about to burst! And it's all at Insolent Rudder, you say, at http://www.insolentrudder.net/?
BIRD: That's right, dude.
BUFFALO: Checking it out right now!
BIRD: You'd be a fool not to.
BUFFALO: Hey, dude.
BIRD: Yes, dude?
BUFFALO: How come I'm not there?
BIRD: You will be, dude. But ya gotta write something first, innit.
BUFFALO: OK. So that's Insolent Rudder.
BIRD: At http://www.insolentrudder.net/. Yep.
BUFFALO: Reading it as we speak. Omigod! I think I've just soiled myself.
BIRD: Insolent Rudder. The Write Choice. Don't Judder Da Rudder.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
BIRD: Cos it's jam packed with lots of goodies.
BUFFALO: Oh, yeah? Like wot?
BIRD: The Body Psalms Promo for a start. Made by the janitor.
BUFFALO: Wow. What happened to the editor, like?
BIRD: He is the editor.
BUFFALO: Shucks. And he's gotta clean up afterwards too?
BIRD: Feeds 'em too.
BUFFALO: Must be a Nordic ting. And wot else?
BIRD: Stories by Nonnie Augustine, Sydnee Elliot, Susan Elmendorf, GC Smith, Craig Terlson, Foster Trecost and Donna Vitucci. All at http://www.insolentrudder.net/
BUFFALO: Salivating loudly here, dude.
BIRD: Rightfully so. These guys is premier league. Wanna hear about the rest?
BUFFALO: There's more?
BIRD: You betcha. There's that crazy Pube Maxim Ripyorebollokov trying to get reverb before the lights go out.
BUFFALO: Oh, I like him. He's well wacko.
BIRD: And some great cartoons by Marja Hagborg. And she's written a column too about NNS.
BUFFALO: Woo-hoo to dat! NNS, wot's dat?
BIRD: Non Native Speakers.
BUFFALO: Nice!
BIRD: And...
BUFFALO: More? No way!
BIRD: Way! There's a novel excerpt from Bonnie ZoBell's excellent Blue Jay. And a review of Liesl Jobson's 100 Papers. And check out Beth Thomas in the Author Spotlight.
BUFFALO: Omigod! I can't take much more. My ickle heart's about to burst! And it's all at Insolent Rudder, you say, at http://www.insolentrudder.net/?
BIRD: That's right, dude.
BUFFALO: Checking it out right now!
BIRD: You'd be a fool not to.
BUFFALO: Hey, dude.
BIRD: Yes, dude?
BUFFALO: How come I'm not there?
BIRD: You will be, dude. But ya gotta write something first, innit.
BUFFALO: OK. So that's Insolent Rudder.
BIRD: At http://www.insolentrudder.net/. Yep.
BUFFALO: Reading it as we speak. Omigod! I think I've just soiled myself.
BIRD: Insolent Rudder. The Write Choice. Don't Judder Da Rudder.
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
Sunday, April 06, 2008
MAXIM & UDDERS ON INSOLENT RUDDER
BIRD: Shameful self-emulation, I know, but have you heard about Maxim Ripyorebollokov's Notes From Pubistan in the excellent mag Insolent Rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net?
BUFFALO: Birdy, you know what happens when you introduce a character within a character.
BIRD: Dude, it's not me. Not the REAL me. And Maxim's a pal. In need.
BUFFALO: Now hold on there, buddy. Am I talking to you, Maxim, or Stu?
BIRD: Eh? Me, natch. Why'd you ask?
BUFFALO: Cos I just don't know any more. And what's the deal with the editor of Insolent Rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net? This Tim Ljunggren dude... Isn't he the Sage of Sweden?
BIRD: Is he? Who told you that?
BUFFALO: You did, you plank!
BIRD: Oh. You know, I really don't know. I mean, I've parleyed with him on Skype and all and NOTHING he said led me to believe he's in any way a Swede-oh.
BUFFALO: Tim Ljunggren?
BIRD: No, dude! The Sage of Sweden!
BUFFALO: Jeez, Birdman. I feel like I don't know my ass from my Freddy these daze. Wikkid zine, though, dude. Some seriously cool stories and those cartoons... Marja Hagborg is AWESOME!
BIRD: You better believe it.
BUFFALO: So anyhoo, wot's this Insolent Rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net all about, like?
BIRD: It's about deviating, turning moments.
BUFFALO: Excuse me?
BIRD: If you were a boat, you'd have an insolent rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net steering you off the chartered course and being uppity about it too...
BUFFALO: Hey, I like dat!
BIRD: Spread the word.
BUFFALO: Sure will. And Maxim Ripyorebollokov... he doesn't really work as an innards consultant at State Rabbit Farm 69, duzee?
BIRD: Who knows? Maybe he's not even a writer.
BUFFALO: Yeah, dat figures.
BIRD: Laters.
BUFFALO: Yo!
(telephone rings)
BUFFALO: Captain Nemo, you say? Sure, put him through...
BUFFALO: Birdy, you know what happens when you introduce a character within a character.
BIRD: Dude, it's not me. Not the REAL me. And Maxim's a pal. In need.
BUFFALO: Now hold on there, buddy. Am I talking to you, Maxim, or Stu?
BIRD: Eh? Me, natch. Why'd you ask?
BUFFALO: Cos I just don't know any more. And what's the deal with the editor of Insolent Rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net? This Tim Ljunggren dude... Isn't he the Sage of Sweden?
BIRD: Is he? Who told you that?
BUFFALO: You did, you plank!
BIRD: Oh. You know, I really don't know. I mean, I've parleyed with him on Skype and all and NOTHING he said led me to believe he's in any way a Swede-oh.
BUFFALO: Tim Ljunggren?
BIRD: No, dude! The Sage of Sweden!
BUFFALO: Jeez, Birdman. I feel like I don't know my ass from my Freddy these daze. Wikkid zine, though, dude. Some seriously cool stories and those cartoons... Marja Hagborg is AWESOME!
BIRD: You better believe it.
BUFFALO: So anyhoo, wot's this Insolent Rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net all about, like?
BIRD: It's about deviating, turning moments.
BUFFALO: Excuse me?
BIRD: If you were a boat, you'd have an insolent rudder at http://www.insolentrudder.net steering you off the chartered course and being uppity about it too...
BUFFALO: Hey, I like dat!
BIRD: Spread the word.
BUFFALO: Sure will. And Maxim Ripyorebollokov... he doesn't really work as an innards consultant at State Rabbit Farm 69, duzee?
BIRD: Who knows? Maybe he's not even a writer.
BUFFALO: Yeah, dat figures.
BIRD: Laters.
BUFFALO: Yo!
(telephone rings)
BUFFALO: Captain Nemo, you say? Sure, put him through...
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