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Friday

February 21, 2020

Happy Squirt-Gunning, Fellow Trouble Shooters,

We just got wireless down here in the cave. It’s beamed in from Iceland so it’s very pure and chill. Therefore, our data stream delivers a more – shall we say – je-ne-sais-quoi, martini-esque style of news, as opposed to the general frothy gothic beery swill stream that’s delivered above ground.

Our more refined sources, therefore, generate an exquisite perspective from which we may interrupt the daily froth with stellar clarity enabling us to offer, in the boisterous presidential sweepstakes, an ideal write-in candidate flying several meters below the common radar:

Charlie Kilpatrick for President!

He plays every Thursday at Savory Grain, 2403 West Broad Street, Richmond, Virginia. Keyboards. Charlie has unlocked the master keys to the keyboard. His fingers all a-blur, compound sounds spill forth, burbling and rumbling and tumbling and enveloping like some mysterious broth with a seventy degree boiling point. Charlie could unite the nation and heal the wounds with his aural broth. He would replace the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office with a baby grand piano.
Chill piano beamed in from Iceland
Charlie will serenade both-sides-of-the-damn-aisle, and the stale State of the Union speech will re-blossom as a jazz quartet, with President Kilpatrick tangoing the ivories! And the Speaker of the House behind him will involuntarily rise up, scat singing, and the Supreme Court Justices in the front row will break into modern dance as their robes twirl. Back to you, Charlie! Take it away!
Five Measures in F-Sharp Minor
Fictionary Friday: Words You Need. Whether you know it or not.
Bloud (blowwd) Noun:  The rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle without the money, talent, sex, groupies, or music.
In a sentence:  In the Oval Office, President Kilpatrick held forth on the baby grand for Mitch McConnell, who was unable to comprehend the harmonies due to temporal lobe injuries incurred by his bloud habits.

Wikipedia Friday Favorite:
In honor of the intersection of curiosity and logarithmically expanding human knowledge, we offer a weekly favorite obscure Wikipedia page.

Fizzdom Friday: from our collection of favorite quotes.
“The limits of my language are the limits of my mind.
All I know is what I have words for.
Uttering a word is like striking a note on the keyboard of the imagination."  
– Ludwig Wittgenstein
Reader Reply of the Week:
Meanwhile, in beautiful, snowy New Hampshire (famous most recently for being able to count votes), Sleep Investigator, Rose Marcus, spied the newest entrepreneurial rage! Open up your very own Carpet and Snooze Room even if you're not named Syd! Call now! Or later! Or never!
This could be yours!
Write if you (do) or (do not) want to meet Staff at Savory Grain next week.

Yours in atonal harmony,
Jonathan
www.jonathanmarcus.org

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