Whack A Wack

There was stuff in the newspaper this morning that made me feel sick to my stomach.

Savannah, GA – A whole family has been charged in the murder of 6-year-old Christopher Barrios – mother, father, and convicted sex offender son who lived in the trailer across the street from the boy's family. The father and son took turns sexually abusing the child while the mother watched. I know I often wonder aloud what the hell is wrong with people, but WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

Bland County, VA – 167 dogs and puppies dead in a barn fire at an Amish puppy breeding operation. Probable cause – a kersosene lantern left in the barn to keep the puppies warm. Open flame? In an unattended barn full of animals? What the hell is wrong with people?

Local – A little boy was hit by a car on a busy street last year. He was badly hurt but survived. He’d been home schooled for the past year while he recovered from his injuries. Yesterday, he and his mother were killed in a car wreck. How sickening sad.

Not so much sick-making as just a reason for head-shaking – We have a client, 38 years old, who married a 50-something woman in Hawaii last year. Although he says he loves her and that “she’s hot,” he wants a divorce because, among other things, she “won’t listen to his financial advice.” (Red Flag went up in Serena's head.) We filed the complaint week before last. Last week, he calls and wants to know if it would be okay for him to go to the Bahamas with another woman. Duh. Yesterday, he called – from jail, arrested for assaulting the wife.



I looked at this grouping of Words Gone Wild and, once I got over the eye-rolling and was pretty sure I wasn't having a small apoplexy, began to see the hint of a ... story. I'm a bit horrified that it took so little time (and so little cyberspace) to spot these hilarious facsimilies of words. It did, however, present a challenge -- how to turn this mess into a Twisted Linguistics story. Never let it be said that I'm not up for a challenge.

These are the words we have to work with.

poetress
they says it was edited by me
being a well publisher writer myself
take your advise
usally
Not now of days
seems to have went
has always gave
Isreal
spring lose and wack it
ler her
fiathful
I've heard the storys
uncontrolably

Once there was a girl, if she was a girl, who decided that her life's path would be that of a poetress. Her name was Isreal. Isreal heard rhyming words in her head from infancy – words, meter, and verse that were the siren call that would ler her uncontrolably to the poetress life.

"Isreal?" the kids in school would taunt her. "What kind of a name is that?"

"It means not fake," Isreal always answered. The taunts seems to have went to her head, for she would later lament them in her poetry.

Isreal's journey to success was fraught with difficulty, not like now of days when anybody can self-publish. Her agent pushed her and her editor usally rode her hard.

"Being a well publisher writer myself," the agent told her, "has always gave me empathy for other writers."

"What the hell is a well publisher?" Isreal asked one day.

"I started out as a well digger," the agent replied, "and then I decided to write a manual for diggers and publish it."

"Hmmm," Isreal said. "’Digging for Dummies’? What about my poems? What's the next step now that you've found me that scam publisher in Maryland?"

"Edit it, and then edit it again before you hand in the final draft."

"I paid an editor to do that to the first draft."

"You paid for that? The publisher wasn't terribly impressed.

"They says it was edited by me," Isreal said, "but that's not true."

"I know," said the agent. "I've heard the storys. Look, just convene a fiat of proofreaders, be fiathful to the red pencil, and hand in the final draft."

"I will take your advise," Isreal agreed. "And if Spring, my editor, doesn't like it, she can lose and wack it."

"Your poetry is already a bit wack," the agent posited.

Whereupon Isreal lost it and rolled up Chapter 5 and whacked the agent upside the head.

“You has always gave me a headache, you wack-job,” Isreal declared. “You lose. Now I give you one. And I spring my book from you and publish it myself at Lulu. Then when they says it was edited by me, they be right.”

If you're a woman of a certain age, you no doubt remember the gym teacher's mantra during exercises -- "We must, we must, we must improve our bust!" *(Note: that shit doesn't work.) What some of these budding writers need is a coach standing over them yelling, "You will, you will, you will improve your swill!"

Are you a cutthroat?

You Aren't Cutthroat

You definitely have ambitions and drive, but you also have integrity. You'll get where you want to in life, and you'll do it the right way. For you, the ends never justify the means.

Are You Cutthroat?