Saturday, June 13, 2009

Tire marks on forehead mean loss of face--Globe and Mail caption winner!

The last time I had a mental block over a novel, I decided to work with my hands for therapy...and it seemed to work.
I got a job in an auto parts company...and suddenly, it seemed I had met all the horses' asses that had been addling me all my life...all over again. The punk foremn who said he would kick my face in if I "fucked up again", the resident genius puzzle solver for the New York times whle himself pushing a broom, the bossy welfare chick who finally got a job and got to be a kind of straw boss trying to boss me around, the reformed biker trying now just to hang onto his mortgage in toubled times; hey, a job is a job.
Now back in the work force, I realized I had been missing something. Missing having to work for somebody else and having people shit on you. Bottom of the pecking order again..Boy, did I need that.

But the masochism was starting to pay off. I suddenly went on a publishing streak in the periodicals and magazines. The more people shat on me, the more productive I somehow became. Yeah, yeah, I know....My favourite novel,--Venus Wore Furs, by Leopold von-Sacher Masoch.
Masoch! Yeah.
Anyway, bottom of the pecking order, shat upon by those higher ups, I had to make amends. I had to win at something, and win so resoundingly that they would know for sure that they were blind, lazy, stupid, and that I was an enemy not to be stalked ightly.

Well, old Herodotus said never be petty. But damn..
I had to make amends.
So I looked for things in the media having to do with the automobile industry that would somehow elevate me back to fame at least in my immediate bailiwick, the tire storage area, and, well, "God is good!"
I found a contest I could enter that had to do with tires.
Yep, there it was in the Globe and Mail, some poor Chinaman with skidmarks on his face.They wanted a caption.
Hah. Does a cat have a tail?
I used to be champion caption writer for the Sunday Sun.
So I sent them something. You can see it above.
Ah pettiness, thy name is Ivan.
Hey, it got me taken out for dinner by the boss.
Local hero-- very feral.
Also should have had my name changed to Will Bragg.
Vanity, vanity, everything is vanity, says the preacher.
My wife once took my named, anagrammed it and came out with Vain Porkchop.



Charles Gramlich said...

In German, my last name means Grief and Sorrow. Not as good as vain porkchop but it is descriptive. said...


Good grief. :)

Jo said...

Foot Elvs.

***wink*** ;-) said...


Elves afoot for Ana Gram! :)

the walking man said...

Each tire comes with its own Morai to repair flats. said...

Goog moral to good motto.

ea monroe said...

Ivan, you know more characters! ~Liz

I'll have to try the name thing. said...


Should be some kind of contest in you local paper.
I won the Globe one three times in a row....And then they pulled the contest back. Ain't no more.
Geez, I always manage to clear out a room....My stuff too risque? Agh.

Mona said...

"Now back in the work force, I realized I had been missing something. Missing having to work for somebody else and having people shit on you. Bottom of the pecking order again..Boy, did I need that."

Your masochism reminds me of The poem where King Copechua married a beautiful beggar maid. The story ended there in the poem, but I always used to imagine, that if it went further, it would be like this:

After the king married the beggar maid, she grew thin and sick and willowy! Healers came from near and far and were not able to heal her sickness. The king sent word:Anyone who heals my Queen would have half my kingdom.

A Wise man came and looked at the Queen, studied her history. Then he ordered a room to be built, in which there were a lot of shelves and ordered different kind of food to be placed in them. Then he told then to send the queen in there each day.

The Queen began to gain weight and was healthy once more.

The king , out of curiosity, went to see what was happening in the room. He saw that the Queen went to each shelf and begged " Please give me something to eat in the name of God. I am hungry". Then she would pick up a bit and eat from there.

I think, the Queen was 'Missing something" and it was the begging...

They are right...old habits die hard... said...


That is a wise and touching story.

In my own case of the frog prince, I can't help sticking my head out of the carriage, produce a tongue of startling lentth--and snag myself a mayfly.

the walking man said...

Mayfly's are pure protein, snag a few of them to promote muscle mass. said...

Yep. Been feelin' poorly lately.
Living in Quebec for a while.
Had to jump high to avoid the restaranteurs.

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