Holy fucking hell!
Where'd I go so damned wrong?
Stone hops on taut water.
Got a certain poetry to it, don't it, Captain? Aiya. There will be a reckoning. And by reckoning, I mean "the act or instance of estimation or computation, taking the relevant matters into consideration to settle accounts or regard something in reference to a fixed or accepted basis." Or else heads will roll. Well, mine, anyway. And I don't believe mine head was made for rolling.
Enough with poetry! It is time for prose and line breaks!
One of my dudes at The Varsity,
one of my associates, so it goes,
identifies himself as bangla.bhai@... in email addresses.
An infamous terrorist in Bangladesh, this Bangla Bhai,
with an Old West twist to his name. Bangla Bhai (the Bengali Brother
[See? English and Bengali: not actually so far apart])
of the JMJB, caught and hanged by Bangladesh not seven weeks ago—
but my associate stole his name long before that.
He almost went with itsthejews@... but reconsidered:
"someone would get offended," he said.
A very thin set of people finds it funny.
Not people who think "Jews," and not people who think "Muslims"
and not people who suck in greedy scowls whenever they hear the nouns
"TERRORISM" or "ZIONISM."
Not even a little bit funny at all.
And that is why I like it.
Schedules are everything. What's happening? Put it in a calendar, and put the calendar in a calendar, and set the alarms. Context first, then the text inside, and let the damn subtext figure itself out.