Escape from Elba
Exiles of the New York Times
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Author Topic: Creative Writing  (Read 23508 times)
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chauncey.g
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« Reply #1095 on: June 16, 2007, 04:15:19 PM »

Nunca sabe uno.
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barton
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« Reply #1096 on: June 16, 2007, 05:23:06 PM »

"Quando omnia vincit," said Gordon, still a bit dewy from being decanted, "moritati."

"Quando omnia vincit," replied Pug, "masturbati."

"Nolo te bastardes carborundum," said the handmaid, sweeping up more fallen tile.

"Cogito ergo cum!" cried the still-tumescent elephant, who had approached from his vantage point on the horizon and was now reaching a happy ending as he pawed the latest issue of "Ivory."

Gordon opened his umbrella and...
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"History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes."
chauncey.g
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« Reply #1097 on: June 16, 2007, 05:33:29 PM »

out popped...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrU_C7toDJk
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Detective_Winslow
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« Reply #1098 on: June 16, 2007, 06:17:17 PM »

Sorry to interupt this interesting discourse, but what the fuck is going on???
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chauncey.g
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« Reply #1099 on: June 16, 2007, 06:26:28 PM »

Gordon closes his umbrella and asks, "And you call yourself a detective?"
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« Reply #1100 on: June 16, 2007, 06:53:33 PM »

The detective proceeds to snatch the umbrella from Gordon and shove it up his rectum.
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chauncey.g
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« Reply #1101 on: June 16, 2007, 06:55:56 PM »

"Cogito ergo ouch!" Gordon screams.
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pugetopolis
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« Reply #1102 on: June 17, 2007, 01:27:34 AM »

This forum is by far superior to the NYtimes.


The detective proceeds to snatch the umbrella from Gordon and shove it up his rectum.


This forum needs an enema


You can eat my shorts if you don't believe me.

Papabear:

Is the word penis fair game?

Saminnh:

Answer me this.  Are you, or are you not a registered sex offender?


Carlos123. Go stuff a spicy chimichanga up your fat ass.


“Well,” said Gordon. “That Detective Winslow certainly is rather butchy, isn’t he?”

“Actually, my dear,” said Harold. “I kinda like assertive private dicks like that.”

“Yes,” said Gordon. “And you seem to like big spicy chimichangas too.”

“I wonder,” mused Harold, “if Detective Winslow would be interested in my Maltese Falcon?”

“Honey,” said Gordon. “Nobody’s interested in your old Maltese Falcon anymore.”


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“Other people's obsessions
are more often funny than tragic.”
—Vincent Canby, The New York Times
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« Reply #1103 on: June 17, 2007, 01:30:34 PM »

"Hey," said Harold, "E Pluribus Anus!"

The detective rubbed his Clousea-esque moustache and felt around in his capacious trench coat pockets for a universal translator.  His moist hand closed on a...






(footnote to previous few posts:  ROFL, which I first typed as ROLF, which might have indicated my being bent out of shape and in need of deep-tissue massage....)
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pugetopolis
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« Reply #1104 on: June 17, 2007, 06:43:22 PM »

HH (Harold Harold)



which might have indicated my being bent out of shape and in need of deep-tissue massage....)


“But Harold—what if Lolita were a young male nymphette?”

“Oh dear—that would be much too much. Much too scandalous for poor innocent exiled eyes!”

“Yes, my dear,” said Gordon. “What if Charlotte Haze had a cute teenage son—rather than a cute scrumptious daughter?”

“Oh dear—that would be just awful!!!”

“You know, kinda like Nabokov says in Lolita,” Gordon opined:

“You’re a monster. You’re a detestable, abominable, criminal fraud. If you come near—I’ll scream out the window. Get back!!!”

Harold paused a moment—he had this sudden rather horrifying “creative writing” flashback—Shelley Winters, her face disfigured by her emotion, not a pretty sight as she glared at him. Oh dear, Shelley had his number…

Harold fixed a quick scotch—that’s when the phone started ringing…

Looking outside the window, Harold saw a big black glossy Packard had jumped the curb. And there sprawled on the sidewalk in her bathrobe…

The only thing poor HH (Harold Harold) could think about was his poor innocent little new step-son sequestered way out there all alone in Camp Climax—his boyish eyelashes still matted with tears like Charlotte’s eyes…

It was simply shameless—truly a decadent vision of young male lolitaesque things to come

“What fun we’ll have at The Enchanted Hunters,” Harold mused to himself. “Once I get rid of crummy Quilty and that detestable Mr. Swine…”

HH (Harold Harold) went into an exquisite swoon—sensing a totally brand-new heavenly version of Annotated Lolita descending from the sky into his scheming subversive seminal brain…



« Last Edit: June 17, 2007, 06:48:44 PM by pugetopolis » Logged

“Other people's obsessions
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—Vincent Canby, The New York Times
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« Reply #1105 on: June 17, 2007, 07:12:28 PM »

(NEW YORK)—A simply detestable new posting appeared today in The New York Times. The supposedly defunct and discombobulated Readers Group Forum for April (Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita) seems to still have a little life left in it after all—sending shock waves all the way from Le Montreux Palace Hotel to the Big Apple newsroom:

http://forums.nytimes.com/top/opinion/readersopinions/forums/books/aprilreadinggrouplolitabyvladimirnabokov/index.html?offset=733&fid=.fac5bbf/733
« Last Edit: June 17, 2007, 07:16:20 PM by pugetopolis » Logged

“Other people's obsessions
are more often funny than tragic.”
—Vincent Canby, The New York Times
chauncey.g
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« Reply #1106 on: June 17, 2007, 09:25:17 PM »

HH (Harold Harold) went into an exquisite swoon—sensing a totally brand-new heavenly version of Annotated Lolita descending from the sky into his scheming subversive seminal brain…

sadly, secondary stages of senility slowly saturated his skeptically skewed skull...
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chauncey.g
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« Reply #1107 on: June 17, 2007, 09:26:43 PM »

aah, shit.
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pugetopolis
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« Reply #1108 on: June 17, 2007, 09:27:05 PM »

“The elms and the poplars were turning their ruffled backs to a sudden onslaught of wind, and a black thunderhead loomed above Ramsdale’s white church tower when I looked around me for the first time. For unknown adventures I was leaving the livid house where I had rented a room only ten weeks before…”—Vladimir Nabokov, The Annotated Lolita, New York: Vintage, 1991, page 103

I don’t know if in these tragic notes I have sufficiently stressed the peculiar “sending” effect that Charlotte’s young son had on me—his good looks, the pseudo-Celtic, attractively simian, boyish manliness he exuded from each and every pore. The effect he had on both men and women—of every age and erotic persuasion.

Of course, I know this sounds ridiculous—but every once in awhile I have to remind the reader that I’m a professional novelist—and that once I’ve given a character some mannerism like a dog then I have to go on producing that dog or that mannerism every time the character crops up in the course of the book.

Even more so in this case—when I play HH the way I do. Following him around like a dog dontchaknow… Thus my gloomy mood should be kept in mind if my story is to be properly understood. Adolescent Gordon was my Lolita—and I loved him and his boyish charm along with his hiccuppy body-music with a mature, possessive passion that I now deplore and respect more than I care to say.  

Gordon was handsome in a carved-Indian sort of way—with a burnt sienna complexion. His lips were like large crimson polyps—and when he demurred with that special smirk, he showed tiny sharp teeth and pink gums. When I touched him with my always trembling fingers—he closed his eyes and I tried to glue my lips to that big thick vein that throbbed so obscenely down the side of his forehead. It was just awful—awfully nice…

http://forums.nytimes.com/top/opinion/readersopinions/forums/books/aprilreadinggrouplolitabyvladimirnabokov/index.html?offset=734&fid=.fac5bbf/734

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“Other people's obsessions
are more often funny than tragic.”
—Vincent Canby, The New York Times
chauncey.g
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« Reply #1109 on: June 17, 2007, 09:29:32 PM »

sufferin' succotash.
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