Tag Archives: Hypocrisy

What Are You Worried About, Darling?

O.K. You’ve produced a movie and it sucks. At an epic level. It’s the next Garfield. Rotten Tomatoes refuses to review it because there are not enough rotten tomatoes in the world to throw at it. What do you do?

Saffron:  Are the two male leads super hot and androgynous?

Producer:  Of course.

Saffron:  Can you get them to spit on each other at a film festival? 

Producer:  No.

Saffron:  Can you get them to pretend to spit on each other?

Producer:  No, only one of them will agree to that?

Saffron:  Can you just say they spit on each other?

Producer:  I can do that.

Saffron:  O.K.  This is manageable.  What about the female leads?  Can they stop talking to each other and act really pissed off when they see each other?

Producer:  That started nine months ago.

Saffron:  Perfect!  Things are looking up.  Can you leak that to the press?

Producer:  Of course.

Saffron:  Did the director get romantically involved with one or more of the stars?

Producer:  Of course.

Saffron:  Excellent.  Did they have so much sex it disrupted filming?

Producer:  Actually, there were several complaints about that.  The director is several years older than her male lead.  It made me uncomfortable.

Saffron:  Wait a minute!  This is an older woman with a younger man?

Producer:  I'm afraid so.

Saffron:  Fantastic!  You're golden.  That is all anyone will talk about.  Your movie is guaranteed to make a lot of money.

Saffron Crow, Foreign Affairs Editor and Movie Consultant.

Mrs. Muzzle

   By Monday morning,
   a furious Mrs. Muzzle
   pounced on Uncle's lap,
   took her petite paw
   and gave his smirking lips
   several wicked smacks.

   But he continued to talk
   as if he was used to that 
   repeating a tedious tale
   about a dubious time
   when Smear the Queer
   was a Hunger Game
   the neighborhood kids 
   would play.

   And everyone was proud and happy
   though no one was proud and gay.

   Problem people stayed silent 
   otherwise they were gagged,
   and proper people spoke English
   with a Midwest accent -
   the same one Jesus had.

   Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

The Honor Men

   Good God - 
   I almost forgot the Honor Men!
   Those pillars of conformity
   with their orange blazers
   and Jeffersonian rectitude,
   afflicting us with their boozy breath
   and stale pretensions in the rotunda.

   And look how rotund they've grown to be!

   They're oranges teetering on toothpicks;
   oranges soaking in whiskey
   squirting bourbon when squeezed;
   oranges that should have been left
   to rot on the trees.

   Humor the Honor Men!
   For they upheld the Hypocritic Oath
   as long as their withered arms could.

   Humor them
   because their members have shriveled
   and their influence has petered out -
   leaving them petulant and confused
   because their time has come and gone.

   But what will happen to the country clubs?
   Who will boldly sail the shallow waters of our bays?
   Who will smoke cigars and waylay waitresses?
   Who will presume to know what everyone wants?

   Just as I think these thoughts,
   a vast image of the Tower of Babel
   troubles my sight.
   And hundreds of disparate parties
   espousing thousands of opposing beliefs
   swell on the lawn like some tumorous growth;
   each wearing orange
   and each vowing to uphold the Hypocritic Oath.

   Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief 

   First published in Scarlet Leaf Review