Today I was thinking about fabulous quotes, and who's words do you imagine came to mind? Einstein? Churchill? Carrol? Whitman? Ginsberg?
no, my old wacky friend ____, whom I shall call "Kelso." He once said, in complete seriousness, "Dude, I totally punched him with my words."
If my friends and I were That 70s Show, he would have been Kelso, hence the name. Just to give you an idea. In fact, we were kind of That 70s Show. Only, you know, not.
Anyway, whether or not "Kelso" captured a praying mantis, a raccoon and a squirrel to keep as pets in a closet (luring them with unwashed dishes sitting open on the back porch for nights on end, no doubt--no, I'm not joking), and whether or not he once pulled me into his room, which was set up to be viewed "Only under blacklight, man," while asking me if I thought it would scare cute girls away, I know in my heart of hearts, that this quote contains wisdom by which all writers should live:
Punch them with your words.
Because you can't get any better than that. Period.
In the morning, the dog is insistent. She's got to pee. Got to scare off the rabbits and the deer. Got to take a dump. Got to get some damn breakfast. Got this, got that. She is beyond insistent. She's so on-task she could be an air traffic controller, provided she was ensured regular bathroom, food and nap breaks (which as we all know, poor air traffic controllers simply never are provided). As a leggy, weirdly overbred golden retriever--a lovely but tempestuous rescue--she stands right at face level while I'm sleeping. Even more so since I tend to end my sleep draping over the edge. Easy target. What does she do?
She punches me in the face with her mouth.
I know it's well meant. I get it; no thumbs = no door, no pee, no scaring away scary animals, no poo, no food. So I get punched in the face. With her mouth. All wet and wriggly, and pink-and-black-and-golden-furry. I don't wake to barking, not really. I think I sleepily smack the pillows as if she's got a snooze button hidden there, but .... Anyway, whopping me in the face with her muzzle is the closest she can get to punching me with her words.
Luckily I have thumbs, and words. I can punch people in the face with them. "Kelso," weirdo that he is, really had punched "Hyde" (I can't remember any more) with his words. "Kelso" had a way of making statements, that lovely weirdo of discord, him with his mismatched socks and Halloween costumes as dead Republican senator devils. Oh yes, it's all true. Apparently, Halloween political protests were great places to meet girls. Kelso, you see?
By the way, the praying mantis was one of my early Facebook friends. I no longer do Facebook, and fear I have lost track of itsy bitsy Wallowitz.
I used to tease "Kelso" about his socks mercilessly. Think I was jealous, me with my uptight business casual Wednesdays job where I dealt, in large part, with lateness and general nincompoopness. Teased, teased, teased. And yes, he's a true, true weirdo.
But who isn't?
So yeah, longwinded story short, punching people with words is why we're all here, right? Yeah. Rarrhhh. Rarrhh. Raaarrh.
Now somebody go check on the praying mantis, the coon and the squirrel, and everybody else check their socks. Matched? No? Good. Great. Grand. Wonderful. Now get writing.
Punch them with your words. And if it helps, mismatch your socks.
I dunno; it's worth trying, right? Who looks at socks, except for bit$y friends like me? Lol.