Wednesday, June 04, 2008

lollipop corncockle

or, Spam Poetry Part Deux

The last installment of spam poetry unearthed an unpublished (because unwritten) complement to “The Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll. Today we turn to the later work of James Joyce. The iconoclastic Irish author may be long gone, but Finnegans Wake is still being written. It’s being written by the apparently Greco-Hindu pyramid schemer “Panakos Prabhakaran” and thousands of men like him, a veritable phalanx of creative pioneers unknowingly collaborating on one of mankind’s greatest works of literature.

The text, which has yet to be assembled in its entirety, currently consists of a series of disjointed e-mail messages about penile enlargement which are rotting in the junk mail folders of humanity. It only remains for a great man to piece together the fragments of this broken, Viagra-smeared Coriolanus. I am that great man. Here, precisely as I received it, is the first chapter of the daring, breathtaking sequel to Finnegans Wake.

lollipop corncockle


Increasee once and foorever your sex drivve

Broke from her lips. Aynesworth heard it, and, harlequin
at home. At fast, he slept heavily, the front gate. That
was the same house that dr. Broiled a piece of ham, made
some good strong there could be no divorce no question of
marriage. About! But dr. Calgary was wrong. Places and times
i would ask jack brandiger to come there and live. This
work you are now in possession of about all bonum! Whether
it so prove, and whether i may lashing riders and jouncing
guns of the battery. Fellows, but i shall never warm to
any one again to look anything but murderous, why, you don’t
everyone is.’ ‘that is what i believed. It seems of lamentation:
poor little boy, he is going away had indeed before suggested
that the primitive.

I’ve done a bit of editorial research and it turns out that this masterful work is rich in poignant allusions to several neglected gems of our literature. To the alert mind of a scholar, it positively bristles with adroitly juxtaposed phrases lifted almost word-for-word from great works such as The Magic Egg and Other Stories by Frank Stockton, The Malefactor by E. Phillips Oppenheim, and perhaps most significantly the Manners and Monuments of Prehistoric Peoples by Jean-François-Albert du Pouget, the Marquis de Nadaillac. The hallucinatorily pornographic phrase “lashing riders and jouncing guns of the battery” is, in fact, from Crane’s “The Red Badge of Courage”.

Master Prabhakaran in his subject line claims to wish to enlarge penises, but his bold poetic sensibility, which has fused these disparate elements into an aesthetically satisfying whole, has enlarged our minds. I must now begin the process of unearthing and annotating the rest of this hypermedia masterwork, as well as demanding that the Nobel Prize in Literature be immediately awarded to the author of what is undisputably our century’s greatest text. For it has something profound to say to each and every one of us, this, our majestic, eternal, unforgettable lollipop corncockle.

No comments: