••• Saturday, January 13, 2007

Seymour Cluze 

When I started Thursday's post, I had no intention of starting a contest. But as soon as I typed the sub-title Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory, a song started marching through my brain. Initially I couldn't put my finger on the title of the song, but I recalled singing it as a child. At school and at church.

Later in my childhood a lyrical bastardization was applied to this very tune. This version was a call to arms, if you will, against the dictatorial habits of educators. And rulers. Also in that sordid version there was mention of rotten fruit and a legume, of sorts. And there was violence. Lots of violence.

But why, mother, why?
Why this song with that hat?
That hat we call The Republic?
What is the connection?

I can't tell you that.

But I can tell you the non-connections.

It's not about the big ass. ::Okay, it's ALWAYS about the big ass, except for today.::
It's not the button.
It's not the orange.
It's not pop, rock or country or contemporary, period.

Let's review Thursday's Lead-in:
Now, let's say I'm at this dead president's funeral, and some guy comes up to me and tries to take my hat, but I hold on to it, but the guy won't let go, and pretty soon we're fighting over the hat, pulling back and forth, and pretty more soon a crowd gathers to watch ,and after a few minutes the crowd starts singing a song about what we were doing. The song is a tribute. To the fight. Over my hat. My orange hat, with the Big Ass Button.

A Mulligan
In fairness to the people who have already submitted answers to the contest, sans the bounty of heretomentioned clues, I am extending the contest deadline to January 14, 11:59 p.m., EST.

Those who have already submitted may resubmit and are encouraged to do so given the new set of clues. ::Ahym::

Prize is yarn on the right. Pink alpaca, lace weight. Enough to web a small nation. It suffers from factory oil-itis.

Lame Blame
Cabana boy is on a much deserved ski trip with some fellows, which leaves me Chief Listener of The Cakers. In his absence, I was kind of imagining a bit more time at the blog and needles, what with no need to worry about my husband worrying about my priorities, including what's for dinner and when.

Evidently I was being over-imaginative.
There will be No Great Posts This Weekend.

You seee, my girl has needs. Needs which require full-scale, rapt adult attention. To not hang on her ever word, I run the risk of inadvertently granting permission for her to superglue Cheddar's ears together atop his head or agree to drive a band of rogue kindergartners to Chuck E Jesus for a sleepover. ::Gawd, just jokingly thinking about sleeping on those floors makes me want a skin transplant.::

So I gotta.
Real post coming soon.
I have no idea what that means, or if it's even true.
It is Lie Like a Shitbag Saturday, after all.

P.S. Email contest submissions c/o Marcymayy at AOL the dot the com. Put Contest in the subject line.


Comments: Post a Comment