Personally, We Hear Little Voices Encouraging Us to Become an Insurance Adjuster

It was missed yesterday, but Today in Literatue celebrated the work of William McGonagall, who was, without a doubt, the Bulwer-Lytton of poetry. Here’s McGonagall on the collapse of the Tay Railway Bridge:

…Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

If you’ve got a hankering for more, there’s McGonagall Online, which includes McGonagall recounting the first man who threw peas at him, as well as his complete autobiography, where he describes his inspiration: “I wondered what could be the matter with me, and I began to walk backwards and forwards in a great fit of excitement, saying to myself– ‘I know nothing about poetry.’ But still the voice kept ringing in my ears – ‘Write, write,’ until at last, being overcome with a desire to write poetry, I found paper, pen, and ink, and in a state of frenzy, sat me down to think what would be my first subject for a, poem.”

The Umpire Strikes Back

George Lucas on the Three Stooges films: “I am very concerned about our national heritage, and I am very concerned that the films that I watched when I was young and the films that I watched throughout my life are preserved, so that my children can see them.”

You and me both, George. And you won’t have my DVD money or my respect until you release the Star Wars films I remember. Let’s face the facts: Han Solo blew Greedo away without simultaneous fire or a second thought.

Exclusive Excerpt

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Return of the Reluctant has obtained an excerpt from Breaking Wind: The Quest for Architectural Hubris in an Age of Terror by noted architect Howard Roark.]

Ellsworth wanted to hurt me. But that was okay. His niece was fond of steely antiseptic sex when I wasn’t flexing my bold, industrial muscles at the drafting table. After a few cigarettes, I marveled over the proud rectilinear vision of a metropolis that others had the temerity to call dull and commercial. Even pro-business. What was wrong with that? What was wrong with money earned rightly over the blood of three thousand people? Art Spiegelman had done it. Why couldn’t I?

When I got the commission to build my distinct vision at Ground Zero, there were, of course, several people to squash, if not outright ignore. Little bugs who wouldn’t listen or appreciate my selfish virtues. Let the insects stay afraid. If they wouldn’t play ball over my grand plans, then they needed help. They were in the way. They watched that terrorist alert move from orange to yellow and they’d vote for the status quo so they wouldn’t shake so much. Which was fine, considering that most of the people who ran the country were socialists hoping to destroy free enterprise.

But I got them to look at and approve my plans because I was better than them. I had muscles, a full head of hair, and lots of sex between meetings. More importantly, I could outtalk them with long speeches about money. We’d build the best steel and use it for the new towers. And the trains that moved the steel all there would not only speed up well beyond government regulations, but even stop the whole of East Coast business itself.

And these fools always said I was delusional. Well, where are their contracts for the World Trade Center? Who is John Galt?

Vollman Ain’t Got Nothing On This

“Our goal was to give you a book with every recipe you want.” Apparently, that’s the purpose of The Gourmet Cookbook, which weighs six pounds and runs 1,040 pages but will only set you back a mere forty Washingtons. As the Times reports, the book’s authored by Ruth Reichl, editor of Gourmet. Perhaps this cookbook’s length was another reason Reichl commissioned the now infamous DFW article on the Maine Lobster Festival. Even so, we’re grateful that such a grandiose depository exists. If we calculate five recipes to a page, that runs to about 6,000 possibilities. Or enough new dishes and appetizers to last (one per day) for about 16.44 years.

As I Drank My Morning Coffee