Tag Archives: Block Island

Less is More Advice

Being an accomplished white middle aged man in my sixties, it’s my burden to give advice to others especially when they don’t ask for it. They’re the ones who need my advice the most.

I was walking to work after stopping at Breadcraft for my tasty morning pastry and large iced coffee. Ordinarily I don’t see color. Like, seriously, this was the first time I ever saw a brown man on Church Street. He was walking towards me hugging a cardboard box to his chest, as if it held all his worldly possessions. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty and his hair was tussled, but not in a fashionable way like mine.

I always treat people with the respect they deserve so I told him, “Hey, you there, these possessions are weighing you down. You need to jettison them. Be fleet of foot and light of heart. Don’t chain yourself to meaningless things. They just slow you down. Oh, yeah, and get a job, okay?”

When I got to my office of many windows, where I can look down on the street people, I wondered. Do I follow my own advice? Am I weighed down by useless possessions? Of course not, I laughed. I don’t need that mountain house. I haven’t been there in 18 months. I’m perfectly happy with just my high-rise condo and my beach house. I could jettison that mountain home tomorrow. As for my Mercedes, I could get rid of that, no problem. I’d just drive my Range Rover or Lexus. And three girlfriends? I don’t need three. Becca’s a pain in the ass. I could jettison her tomorrow. In fact, let’s get started on that right now.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and Some in Connecticut.

Grease-Dipped Benjamins

Being an important, wealthy, and virile businessman, I frequently find myself in Washington, DC. I bring my banker, Titmouse Beak, and my lawyer, Treacherous Gulp, because I need to accomplish a lot in a short period of time. I also bring suitcases full of grease-dipped Benjamins. You can’t open doors on Capitol Hill without those. I’m joking, of course. No one uses cash anymore; all those transactions are done electronically, but you get my point.

Tuesday morning we were walking by Union Station towards the Capitol. You could smell fried legislative sausage everywhere. Treacherous, Tit, and I are prosperous middle-aged men, so we love watching people fight. We’ll pay fat stacks to see professionals brutalize each other and then bet larger sums on who will limp away and who will go to the hospital. It’s wildly entertaining, and as luck would have it an amateur fight broke out in front of us.

Two men of indeterminate age started screaming at each other. One man was short and worn out. All his worldly possessions were on a blanket next to him. It was a small pile. Another man, tall and emaciated with all his possessions on his back, appeared to have stepped on the blanket. It was difficult to assess if this was an intentional provocation or accidental. Both men were jittery and having trouble standing upright. Nonetheless, the fight was on, and we started placing our bets.

The tall skinny guy should have had an advantage, but he couldn’t throw a punch. He tried slapping the short guy but lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. The short guy went to kick him, but he too lost his balance and collapsed on his tiny pile of possessions. These fighters had no physical stamina, and neither tried to get back up. Needless to say, the fight was disappointing and hilarious, but it reminded me of how, in Washington, DC, you get what you pay for.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and Some in Connecticut

Enlightenment and Joy

Anyone who has read this blog will say it’s mostly pointless. Long ago I proposed changing its name to Masturbating Chimpanzees, because truth matters. A careful reader will note I said mostly pointless, and I did so intentionally because my posts are the only ones worth reading. So congratulations on reading this post. I bring enlightenment and joy.

As you know I’ve been on a campaign to alleviate homelessness in Roanoke. When I walk down Church Avenue, I encounter homeless people. I patiently inform them that they wouldn’t need to live on the street if they would just get jobs. Sometimes I give them a dollar as a jump start to a better life. So far this year, I’ve given away $8.43.

Last February, right before that vicious polar vortex, I encountered one homeless man in particular. I’d seen him before but I’d never had the chance to give him my pep talk. He was messier than most with a raucous grey beard, blank eyes, and ancient clothing. I told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and gave him a dollar.

I never saw him again. In fact, it’s been nine months since I thought of him, but last night was frigid and he appeared, uninvited, in my mind. That’s when I realized my pep talk and dollar must have saved him. I drove around Roanoke this morning, and he’s nowhere to be found. All because I gave him a second of my time and a scrap of my wisdom. It’s easy to make a difference in the world. All you have to do is care.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and some in Connecticut

Cerebral Thoughts on How to Live a Purpose-Driven Life

When I see or hear someone doing or saying something I find offensive or the least bit disruptive to my sense of propriety, I ask myself a question. Does this idiot’s conduct affect me? If I can come up with some possible way it does, I immediately tell the degenerate to stop, or I will post his picture on Grumblr where me and my fellow like-minded Grumblrs will Grumbl at him.

If the answer is no, this malcontent’s conduct doesn’t affect me in the slightest, I ask another question. Is this pervert finding joy in doing whatever it is she’s doing? If so, I immediately tell her to stop. And if she doesn’t, it’s straight to Grumblr with her.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island (and Some in Connecticut)

Correcting an Injustice

So many wonderful characters are found in American folklore.  You have Rip Van Winkle, Harriet Tubman, Calamity Jane, John Henry . . . Cocaine Bear.  Their fame is deserved, and our culture rightfully honors them.  But, sadly, fame is fickle and not all of our heroes are still treasured.  Some have been forgotten.  One icon’s fate has been particularly cruel and unjust.

I speak, of course, about Tug the Wicked Pirate.  He wasn’t wicked at all.  He was a happy-go-lucky stiff who loved to dance – usually by himself.  And he was only called a pirate because he had one eye (having shot the other one out when he was 13).  Tug was famous for sailing his sloop, The Charmed Snake, all over Pungent Sound where he seeded the clam beds around Block Island.  Scholars say he spread more seed than Johnny Appleseed, and his left hand was more calloused than Paul Bunyan’s.  He single-handedly saved Block Island’s clam industry. It is long past time for him to take his place in the pantheon of American folk heroes.

So the next time you eat a clam, think Tug the Wicked Pirate.  And, if this post has inspired you, join us on Block Island on August 16th (his birthday) for Tug the Wicked Pirate Day.  There’ll be fireworks.

Saffron Crow, American Folklore Scholar

Kinda Like Loam – A Testimonial

When Uncle Wood died, we were bereft. No one knew what to do with his wrinkled corpse. He hadn’t made any plans for his burial. We were stuck.

So we turned to the internet for solutions. Surprisingly, there are lots of laws restricting what people can do with corpses. Fortunately, we found Raven Breathless’ Kind Like Loam (patent pending). It’s the almost natural way to speedily decompose unwanted corpses.

So we shipped Uncle Wood up to Block Island and about six weeks later a bag of Kinda Like Loam arrived at our home – just in time for Christmas. The bag was really heavy, but once we removed Uncle’s titanium knees, iron lung, plastic heart, and the sharp blade he used as a tongue it was much lighter. But where to dump him?

Having ruined so many Thanksgivings, no one wanted to sprinkle him near the house. So we settled on Dr. Pepper Park, where we found a thriving cherry tree and poured out Uncle Wood at its base. We chose a cherry tree because Uncle’s nickname was Soft Wood. It just seemed perfect.

And it was. Within 5 days that tree died, and after a burst of heavy rain some of Uncle Wood ran into the Roanoke River. All the catfish turned belly up. And when you poked them, they exploded. The air smelled like Uncle Wood and rotting fish. It was exactly what he would have wanted.

Thanks so much, Raven Breathless. Now we can’t wait for Auntie Blister to die.

Saffron Crow, Special Correspondent for Corpse Disposal

Great! Now You’ve Exasperated Death.

You’d think I’d be rich – these days being what they are. You’d think I’d be living like a bankruptcy attorney during the Great Recession. But I’m not and that’s your fault. Oh, I’m busier than ever – what with the many spectacular ways you’ve learned to efficiently kill each other – I’m just not getting paid.

In the old days, the family made sure I was paid. Depending on the society, they would put coins on the departed’s eyes. Most cultures had similar traditions. Humans knew how to show appreciation. But as you evolved, you got stingy. I am officially exasperated.

So I’ve opened my own business. It’s on the internet and Block Island – in the same strip mall as Drinkie McFalldown’s Wee Irish Pub and Ted’s Definitely Used Cars. Bring in a corpse. Any corpse. I don’t care. But the person must be dead before entering the building. And for the low price of $200.00 I will give you fertilizer – a few weeks later.

Using the most advanced social sciences and certain secret spices I have perfected, that corpse will decompose before you could ride a horse to Canada – turning into a fluffy, almost environmentally-safe, Kinda Like Loam (patent pending). It can be used for any horticultural purpose – or unclogging toilets. Did your hippie uncle love pot? Turn him into Kinda Like Loam, spread him across your weed patch, and then smoke him. All you need to do is bring me a corpse and $200.00 (cash only – I no longer accept crypto). Testimonials to follow.

Raven Breathless (formerly known as Death)

Thoughts on the Dangers of Pretending to be a Poet (Part 5)

Delusions of grandeur. Pretend poets think they’re special. Which is ridiculous. Poetry never saved a life. It hasn’t cured cancer. I’m certain it never will considering how much liquor it drinks.

Have you read Lewis Carroll? Pure nonsense.

So this is a message to everyone who pretends to be a poet (and that is every poet living and/or dead): get a real job. You will be happier and so will your family. Poetry has never solved any problem. You know what has? Money and hotels.

If my lazy-ass son had a real job, instead of masturbating all day and calling it a poetry blog, he wouldn’t keep asking me for money. I wouldn’t keep telling him no, and I would love him.

Poetry is easy. I will show you. I literally wrote this off the top of my head three minutes ago.

The Ballad of Knowgood Carp 

I know damn well
when I cast my spell
I will be okay
on the Judgment Day
because I have more money
so I can buy God's honey
and if I want to bone ya'
what I'll do is phone ya'.

Do better than that, B.S. Eliot.  I defy you.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and Some in Connecticut

Annie Ernaux’s Exteriors: The Most Honest Review Ever

Don’t read this book. It’s a fraud.

I don’t normally give book reviews, because I don’t normally read books. They’re a waste of time, and this one sure was.

First, it bills itself as a memoir. Now, when I think of memoir, I think of great men, like myself, doing great things, like own hotels. To my surprise, this memoir was written by a woman. I was immediately suspicious. What has she ever done? The answer is nothing. She rides trains all day and makes observations. I could do that, but I have better things to do. And for this kind of crap someone decided this Annie Ernaux woman should be awarded the 2022 Nobel Prize in Literature. It just confirms why I never had any respect for that award.

Second, Annie Ernaux has no friends. Nor should she. She’s a voyeur who is obsessed with eavesdropping on strangers – as if strangers can tell us anything about ourselves or our world. Yet, she seems to think so. Here’s something stupid she said. “It is other people – anonymous figures glimpsed in the subway or in waiting rooms – who revive our memory and reveal our true selves through the interest, the anger or the shame that they send rippling through us.”

The only time a stranger ripples me is when she’s sexy. Then the hunt is on, and she won’t be a stranger for long.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and some in Connecticut

Pungent Sound Open Mic Night

We are thrilled to announce our first ever open mic poetry reading gala. 9:00 p.m., this Wednesday at Drinkie McFalldown’s Wee Irish Pub (where your drinks and your dignity come cheap) – Block Island’s favorite place to get blindingly drunk.

Do you approach poetry with humility? Are you concerned you don’t comprehend (even partially) life’s deepest mysteries? Well, fuck off.

We’re looking for self-confident poets who are prepared to give simple answers to complex problems. Do you have a loud voice and a tireless tongue? Are you unafraid of hecklers? Willing to throw a sucker punch? Then this is the stage for you.

And don’t forget our sponsor: Ted’s Definitely Used Cars – Home of the Definitely Used Smell.

Treacherous Gulp, Esquire – Master of Ceremonies