(OTHER) INANIMATE OBJECTS THAT WOULD MAKE A BETTER
PRESIDENT THAN THE CURRENT ONE
a festering piece of fecal matter, the Vice President -but I repeat myself.
a bag of pine needles, fingernail shavings, cat hair not
yet brushed off the couch, a piece of laminated paper.
this morning's Boston Globe, a brown shoelace, the grill
cover, a melted-down crayon.
a piece of notebook paper, a stone stuck in your shoe, a
vanity mirror, a gardening spade.
a squidge, a slurry, a three-corner hat, six pairs of Don
El Verzo's tweezers
a Jiffy Lube rack, a piece of spittle, the memory card in
either of my cameras, the Vice President's brain.
a garden rake, a barrel of pine cones, a dead fly, two
pieces of stale toast.
the sound of one hand clapping, a tree falling in the
forest, the two mountains created without a valley between,
yo mama.
a piece of stained glass, yesterday's newspaper, a tree
that fell in the forest, a cup of tepid coffee.
a plastic deli sandwich holder, the lead of a pencil, the
pile of hair on the floor of the barber at the end of the
day, a drop of hot oil.
a coffee bean, a pair of tweezers, a pile of dog doo, a map
showing the addresses of the stars.
an all-nighter, refrigeration, growth, intransigence (I
felt like doing abstract nouns today).
ability, triumph, inertia, confidence. I continue to dig
those abstract nouns
chutzpah, individuality, misappropriation, transparency. I
continue to dig those abstract nouns.
dance fever, the exchange rate, imperceptibility, disease.
I continue to dig those abstract nouns.
line dancing, depth, rolling deadlines, desire. Abstract
nouns, all.
suaveness, continuing education, shampoo envy, paint
allergies.
contingent interdependencies, vertical sonorities,
contrapuntal aggregate formations, interval vectores (I
went to Princeton).
the hypothetical other, riotous behavior, a Twix bar, seven
barrels of half-sour pickles. I'm now mixing abstract and
concrete nouns. Pour Davy.
a ham sandwich, two ham sandwiches, three ham sandwiches,
four ham sandwiches. Davy's creativity in this regard is at
a low ebb this morning.
the unbearable lightness of being, what the cat dragged in,
that which was spewed, a full head of steam.
correctness, aptitude, discarded copies of Yertle the
Turtle, a dead bug.
a bug's life, a shark tale, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty.
an Italian word, a dictionary, an icicle, four pairs of
gloves.
lactation, direct-to-video, hummingbird feces, a can of
spray paint.
a piece of snot, a moral compass, a pair of tweezers, six
pairs of boxer shorts.
Ms. Potato Head, the notion that I'd like to know where you
got, seven bags of peat moss, a slinky.
the feeling of pointlessness, a kewpie doll, tweezers, next
year's calendar.
incapacitation, technique, five blades of grass, a toke.
a glass beaker filled with mucous, a pebble with the New
Testament lovingly carved into it, anybody's bald spot,
half a dozen of the other.
a dead spider, two dead spiders, three dead spiders, four
dead spiders. Four dead spiders make a bunch (and so do
many more).
the length of your lips, two of that other thing, a can of
lawnmower oil, cheese from Amsterdam.
a pooper scooper, that which the pooper scooper scoops, a
fire hydrant painted green (or orange), the plastic wrap on
an individually wrapped slice of cheese.
a popsicle stick, next year's fashion, a headless body in a
topless bar, some snot.
an early version of Wordstar software, three junk bonds, a
piece of toilet paper recently unstuck from someone's heel,
the number "5".
a blank CD-R, a raging case of adolescent acne, two pieces
of moldy bread, a sewer grate.
a Mad Lib filled in for the third time, a fancy schmancy
appliance for turning crappy stuff into neat stuff, a
gentle breeze, a pair of tweezers with a tick impaled on
them.
an Altoid, a disk label, a pair of discarded underwear, a
3-prong to 2-prong adapter.
Sunny's scab, Sunny's Elizabethan collar, a bot fly larva,
a grain of coarse-ground pepper.
an Altoids apple sour, frozen pizza, a burning pile of
tires, that word on the tip of your tongue.
leg of lamb, eye of newt, Manos the Hands of Fate, a foot
of snow.
a pile of vomit, a pile of puke, a pile of that which was
spewed, a pile of upchuck.
a pine needle, the smaller part of the wishbone, a rolledup newspaper, an electric grape.
the shadow of your smile, the look of love, the unbearable
lightness of being, a vintage WW II army helmet.
last week's homework, a microphone cable, that thing you
do, twelve of them.
a bag of alunt, sixteen clothespins, a Red Sox reliever, a
hummingbird feeder.
some overlwrought interadsinklamaniationousness, a toilet,
three years' worth of lovingly collected snot with a rubber
band around it, a pair of scissors that magically appears
in your ears.
a bag of green tortles, the length of your lips, a blank
DVD-R, a song without words.
half a fingerprint, a spent C battery, a roll of Tyvek home
insulation, an unclassifiable chord.
a half-diminished seventh chord without resolution, a third
species counterpointe exercise, a dripping faucet, a poster
for the 1960s run of "You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown".
a passing that's like a samba, an extinct volcano,
refrigeration, the head of a pin.
Italian caccola, an action figure of Attila the Hun, the
snooze button, intransigence.
a Coke bottle, what the cat dragged in, the mother of
invention, next year's SI calendar.
a salad shooter, erasable ink, obscure cognates, a head of
lettuce before it's been washed.
a block of gorgonzola carved into a miniature replica of
the Statue of Liberty, a New York minute, a peacock
feather, a Bezier control point.
a picture that I didn't draw, the future of radio, a
naughty bit, one of those songs that you always knew you
knew (burp).
all of my imaginary friends, a misplaced modifier, a stamp
with my picture on it, seventeen ways till Tuesday.
a magnifying glass, copy of the Constitution of the United
States, all the different ways to spell
"scrumpdillyicious", a downward trend.
the back of my head, two ways of looking at a blackbird,
the length of your lips, a bucket of tar..
the changes for the break in Night in Tunisia, the dreg de
la creme, an elementary school pamphlet on the history of
Thanksgiving, a brick house.
a full-scale replica of the Empire State Building, the spit
that collects when you play a brass instrument, three of
those old-style pink foam curlers, a letter opener made of
brass but coated with silver.
the seven seas, draconian measures, a bag of peat moss,
seventeen different excuses for being late.
the continental drift, beer that has gone flat, waltz
tempo, a pile of used computer parts.
the tension and release model, cold storage, ten things
that have no middles, the darkest part of a Twinkie.
vomit, more vomit, lots and lots more vomit, a sickeningly
large torrent of vomit.
the first step of a long voyage, one way of looking at a
blackbird, an Easter seal, a blade of grass.
the Italian government, a stone in your shoe, the vomit the
maids didn't clean up, a Mexican jumping bean.
pipistrello in uscita dal inferno, the magnetic stripe on
the inside of a DVD package, tweezers, any ant caught in an
ant trap.
a distant drum, fourteen things in a puddle, a fingerprint,
intransigence.
snake oil, garlic powder, a senior moment, seventeen
bottles of hot sauce.
a festering piece of dung, a red rose for a blue lady, a
fallen branch, sixteen eroded pebbles from the bottom of a
stream.
cotton briefs, a textured argument, heated tweezers, a pile
of glacial rocks rearranged to spell "SPURMF".
any small toy animal nicknamed "Fred", a box of toothpicks
with 3 missing, a propane tank smeared with grease, sixteen
old gum wrappers.
vapor lock, a piece of very, very moldy cheese, the word
that gets stuck on the tip of your tongue, bread pudding.
a Ken doll, a day without orange juice, a jar of dark
matter, seventeen of whatever it is that wakes you up in
the morning.
a used book, the way we were, some tweezers I forgot I
still had, the dead crane fly that got stuck in a spider
web that's still hanging off the kitchen window.
a placard that says "POOP", the mixing bowl that's too big
for most stuff, 27 winter hats, a piece of ice.
a drafting table, the Sports section of the New York Times,
the head of a pin minus the angels, and seventeen pieces of
peanut brittle.
a delayed reaction, two pairs of poopified underwear, a
sentimental journey, as much snot as you can shake a stick
at.
a sectional conclusion, a Times Italic lowe case "r", the
way you smile, nine more of whatever the last one was.
a way of describing the rain, the places we didn't look
after we found it, the non-sticky beginning of a roll of
scotch tape, the pickle nobody wanted.
insouicance, misdirected animosity, multisyllabism, a found
object with a hole in it..
Ted's baseball cap, that one no the one behind it, fly
fishing bait, a reduced flow due to drought.
a hustle and flow, the hair on my chinny chin chin,
purpleness, carpal tunnel syndrome.
a personal anecdote, fifteen of the widest cantaloupes in
the field, intransigence, the big thing we haven't given a
name yet.
a sea of red ink, the red that the town has been painted,
the red red robin that isn't bob bob bobbin', a red tide.
the way to San Jose, what today is, where I put my hair
dryer, when the next train arrives.
time, being, existence, dust bunnies thickened with cat
hair.
beans, beans, the magic fruit, temporary cloud formations,
a distant noise that sounds like an explosion, the texture
inside a wool mitten.
a poorly drawn sad clown face, a chocolate covered ant, the
concept of overeating as expressed by mimes, a tarp
measuring 12 feet by 12 feet with an orange juice stain.
a chocolate-covered pine cone, one of the dots on any
Seurat painting, a half-eaten popsicle, the pit of despair.
a little contraption that makes fart noises when you press
a button, an old ladder we forgot we still had, a heat
sink, the concept of carpal tunner syndrome.
the old gray mare she ain't what she used to be, Mighty
Mouse, gorgonzola surprise, the head of a pin whose angels
have deserted it for tenure-track jobs.
A parade route, seventeen paris of tweezers, a flea collar,
the right answers to tomorrow's biology quiz.
the letter "p", a seedless grape, the last place you would
ever look, a snood.
the small hands that only the rain has, steam heat, a pair
of ballet shoes, the entry in Webster's for the verb "to
pluck".
the second hand on an old Timex watch, the third time I
ever saw your face, holding forth, a fifth of gin.
a mass of burning tires, a leaf that survived the winter
without falling off the tree, the battery you forgot to buy
for your flashlight, an old recording of "Maniac" by
Michael Sembello.
a downward spiraling trend, a pair of left-footed boots,
the maple syrup left over when you throw out the bottle, a
frozen rope.
the way we were, a stiff jab to the midsection, all the
words that rhyme with "traitorous", something with wheels
that go sideways.
a mispronounced word that seemed to have begun with
"snickle", a deck of cards missing the ten of hearts, an
earplug made out of cement, the two little pieces of paper
you throw away after you put on a new bandage.
a poorly executed Sudoku game, a poem written without any
consonants, the first time ever I saw your face, an
aluminum softball bat that's just not right.
the bit of cloth right next to the hole in your sock, the
summer cold that just won't go away, the lemon seed
clogging the garbage disposal, twelve of those oh what are
those called again?.
the shingle on the corner that was the first one to rot,
the screw that holds together the pieces of a pair of
scissors, the pockets in your shorts, a blonde wig that you
wear on your armpit for reasons not disclosed.
the head of a tick after the body has been pulled out of a
cat, turgidness, empathy for short people, the crying game.
a hotel purchased on "Park Place" on the Monopoly board, a
spilled bit of mayonnaise that looks like a cross between
the letter "G" and a pumpkin, a slice of tomato at the
bottom of my salad, a falling rock that just missed my
elbow.
a cake shaped like Betty Boop, a mother for James Brown
that you gotta have, one or two of the bytes on the latest
Prince CD, a stick of cocoa butter we found in the grass
that was really gross and stuff.
a breadstick shaped like a cuneiform, a pile of thirds, the
tweezers I just found that I didn't know I lost, the little
bit of lipstick that caked in the corner of your mouth.
a piece of chalk just before you break it in half, the
jingle bell that fell off the strap, a big can of whupass,
the pile of slag left over from a sculpture.
esprit d'escargot, a word that has the same meaning in at
least eight languages, a shoelace found in a storm drain,
the last cigarette in the pack.
the sticky stuff on a Post-It, humor targeted at
paralegals, a sock that's too big for your foot, the word
that you just can't recall.
a snood, an old Fifth Dimension 45, twelve more ways of
looking at a blackbird, a pie with a few too many prunes in
it.
a perfectly scaled small replica of the Empire State
building that fits exactly in your nose, a place where you
put all of your wants and dreams, the end of a cigarette
butt, the unbearable likeness (sic) of being.
a seventh that resolves incorrectly to a ninth, the plastic
tie on a bread bag, a missing page in my dictionary, an
unusual place to store your cigars.
an old history of the Crimean war, triple coupon savings
night at Stop and Shop, the bell on a cat's collar,
prehistoric wood shavings preserved in amber.
a stale macaroon that nobody wanted at Christmas dinner, a
number '7' pool ball, a pair of mismatched chopsticks, the
chord that was poorly voice-led to.
a prime number that can be drawn only with straight lines,
the squeaky sound a shopping cart makes after it's been
outdoors for a while, the negative space in a work of art,
a pet rock.
the ash part of the end of a cigarette butt that's about to
fall off, ten ways to flatten your stomach, the little dab
of goat cheese one of the party guests didn't eat, a
flashlight stuck in a sewer grate.
the pile of newsprint we didn't use for this press run, an
ice sculpture of an injured rabbit, a flashlight that was
too big to bring with us to Europe, something pointy that
begins with the letter "d".
an old macaroon shaped like a troglodyte, a dust mote too
large to fit through the eye of a needle, pens that we
bought to celebrate the Patriots victory in the Super Bowl
now practically being given away, a hard drive with too
many damaged sectors to be useful.
the part of a blown head gasket you can still use, a pine
cone too small to use in an art project, a salt shaker with
a small leak in it, a brochure that went out of date before
it was even printed.
a crumb that just now fell off a Triscuit, a siren that
sounds like it's being played backwards, a bright orange
hoodie that magically appeared on one of the left-handed
desks in Slosberg 212, the screw that holds together a pair
of scissors.
a bottle of Snapple before the Snapple and the label are
put on it, a spent shotgun shell from 1976 recently dug up,
a rock shaped like Elvis Presley's nose, a hundred doodads.
the length of your lips, something without a label that we
need to create a UPC code for, the habit of adding "ness"
to a noun to describe its affect, some ear buds that just
won't stay in your ears.
trail mix in a small porcelain container, seventeen of
those things you put on the back of your neck, a public
transit schedule from 1957, tintinnabulation inside a
horse's mouth.
whatever McCain is eating, a trial size of Scope mouthwash,
a bone that didn't get cut out of a salmon filet, distant
lightning that brings back moments from your childhood, but
not good ones.
a frayed razor strop, the head of a pin after all the
angels have jumped off, a scordatura string, seven of those
things you have to put away right now, mister.
brass knuckles, a collection of baby pictures that includes
a lock of hair, some of the pollen running down the side of
the back windshield, the time spent waiting for the next
distant clap of thunder.
a digital stopwatch that doesn't go beyond one minute, a
two and two-thirds foot organ stop, Swiss cheese without
holes in it, a disembodied voice that only speaks in
riddles.
the white space in both O's of the word "BOO" wherever it
is found in graffiti, the last bite of a popsicle that is
about to melt off the stick, the abstract quality of
purpleness, four of the things that you said you'd never
pay for.
a small bit of fake transsubstantiation, a gravy train
lacking wheels, the thirst that only those who are thirsty
will ever know, an old recording of "The Miraculous
Mandarin" on vinyl that's being reused as a peanut serving
tray.
any quantity of igneous rock, a Post-It with the phone
number of a person long since fogotten, the place where you
put your happy thoughts, a proton that suddenly got big
enough to be seen with the naked eye.
a cherry without a stone, a forgotten rerun of The Love
Boat, several suggestions for how to improve the flow of
sludge between your fingers, the shape of your mouth when
you think about the color red.
a ticket stub from a Red Sox game that was postponed due to
rain, something that feels nice until you open your eyes,
kitty litter that stuck to your cat's butt, a positive test
for funkiness, twelve rocks that together can predict the
future, an adverb that looks like a clock.
a vintage poster from the Monterey Pop Festival, a painting
of a mushroom, conceptual disdain, a pair of tweezers
that's been stuck under the radiator, memories of times
that never existed, a 1960s elementary school science
textbook, a rock that you got for Halloween, the sound of
your lips when they glow.
So long, fucker.