Thursday, December 06, 2007

I am a Young Hot Shot, writing the Young Hot Shot poems that shoot and ping and leave your shitty retinas smoking. You are befuddled and scratching your head. I just whip off my ray-bans and cackle in your direction.

I am invited to read in Norway, where I single-handedly revive the Norwegian Poetry Scene with my reading of Cat Piss In A Didgeridoo's Dead Dying Laser Cornhole. Think William Carlos Williams crossed with "Eruption" crossed with Goya crossed with Carrot Top. Having inaugurated Language Prop Poetry, I travel on to LA.

While taking a steam with Robert Pinsky and Robert Evans, hashing out the details of a new Laureateship-themed Reality Webcom, throwing out the names of possible co-stars, a Chris Elliot here a David Spade there, I spot my future wife Kelly McGillis.

Off come the ray-bans, my shorts and my future in show business. I do the one thing you should never do when you are the Young Hot Shot. Walking backward lockstep with Pinsky and Evans, fingers snapping in time to a lean walking bassline. I reach back, pull out a diamond-studded pool cue and line up my shot. Paul Newman is jaded, outside the frame.

In essence I reach for Cupid's Rifle, not Cupid's Arrow. My come-ons all fall off Kelly McGillis like so much jello from a lunch tray. She is the lunch tray. I shoot a ping, then a zip, then zap, then ping-zim-Zinn. All of it fails utterly to impress Kelly McGillis.

She is walking away on Lyle Alzado's arm. I am crest-fallen, shrinking back to being just another young poet, another dreamer with a few too many twinkles in his eye, all little-kid wonder and prozac fueled slacker ranting.


JimK said...

Nice rant!

Weldon Gardner Hunter said...

This is hilarious, dude - and nice use of the word "crestfallen."

Mike H said...

I didn't realize that Lyle Alzado was RIP, and wondered if I should substitute Merlin Olson, but it just didn't work.

sandrasimonds said...

I want to nominate this post for a Pushcart Prize.

kevin.thurston said...

come on, i work every day, i need more content

zdpieper said...


hey, write a fake
trashy, expose-type

y'know, all the dirt:
rehab in Miami w/ Cory Feldman,
yr. brief stint as tour manager
for The Rock Bottom Remainders,
your sketchy on/off involvement
w/ "The Superficialist Movement
(TM me)" ect.,

Mike H said...

And my real bad days... trying to snort up all the coke I spilled on Kelsey Grammar's chest hair... my short tumultuous marriage to Morgan Fairchild. It may end up being "as told to Dave".