What would modern Shakespeare look like. Box Office fags should clearly run the world, instead of being cramped in a sweat box enforcing pernicious rules. They need to be redeployed. Because this stage rattling shit just happens now. James Joyce said that the ordinary is the proper domain of the artist. The extraordinary can be safely left to journalists. Gay Talese gave it his meticulous all, researching the Lorena Bobbitt matter. I might argue that he and Jimmy Breslin occupied a space between journalist and artist, a crawl space maybe, bigger than a box office, but nobody will pay writers like this again, not for the next 40 years. In 2060, somebody somewhere will pay them, a hurt megalomaniac perhaps, and the new version of men and women, a model clearly on the wane, will once again gather the details of various types of collision.
Lorena Bobbitt, Columbian immigrant grifter, did what one does, attached herself to a good looking dull normal lug. When one is from another culture, it can take up to a year to distinguish just who is a loser. I offer up the earlier pairings of Caucasian men and Japanese women as a specimen. Nothing is better than Japanese women, nothing was worse than these men, but the hybrid vigor of their offspring may sustain the remnants of the market economy. If one takes the long view it’s really a win win scenario.
John Wayne Bobbitt had a stutter. Not dumb, maybe, but falling under the large umbrella of learning disorder. Common enough. Why, who among us can work the steamed milk function on a stranger’s cappuccino machine? I challenge the gabbiest spokes model of a physicist to go to another’s dwelling and figure out their multiple remote controls. The Carol Wright Gift Catalogue, the LL Bean of the shut in crowd, features a Remote Caddy. This is a good idea and an excellent start, but not quite enough to help our hypothetical physicist in this situation.
Rusty Truck 