I did not win a coveted place in the agent’s round over at Cupid’s Literary Connection. C’est la vie.However, I will forever be known for the “cockroach incident”, which is something at the very least.
Today, for your reading pleasure, I am going to post a poem I helped to "write" back in the dark ages in college. Well, actually, a quartet of drunken English majors came up with it. After a night of drinking wine and hob-snobbing our local college literary magazine for its rather “modern” taste in poetry, someone came up with the idea to publish our Scrabble game we had just finished, in order of words played, (and our scores) to see if it would get accepted and published.It did.
Here it is:
Marla’s VoiceBar )(
Bad Mad Yarn
No Gem Gag
Our Gave Hem.
Help! Snotty! Mint?
30, 22, 69, 26…Date!
At The Oil Spit Is Wed: Scar, Cruel, Woe, Sex.
Cuz Art We Knife. Zip.Liar!
We even went so far as to send in a recording to be played at the poetry reading. (Someone knew someone in New Orleans who mailed it in for us.) One of the Scrabble-poets (who does a bang-up Scottish accent) read it, and the recording speed was slowed down to sound like a 45 record played on 32. (This will mean nothing to many of you.) I recall it sounded a wee bit like Sean Connery on downers. We were polite enough not to attend the reading.We owned up to the prank via a phone message a month after graduation. My apologies again to editors Rob and Carla. It was nothing personal. Just college high-jinx. And who knows, perhaps it was—in its own odd way, a literary achievement…of sorts.
Well, that’s what I gotta do to get published, apparently. Any crazy blue-stocking stunts in your closet?