Latent lucid, loathsome, or likable literati lingering, loitering and lurking, but laboring loftily, laughably, lamely, or laudably, lampooning loquoaciously lately among local luminary Broadcomatons?
(How's that for a lil' ‘literation!)
In response to a recent query from RD regarding the origin of my AKA: it comes from a speech from Macbeth (Act IV, Scene 4):
Macbeth:
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
creeps in this petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
their way to dusty death.
Out, out brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow,
a poor player who struts and frets his hour
upon the stage, and then is heard no more.
It is a tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Ah, but not to be outdone, our bright budding Broadcomaton literatus similarly skillfully soliloquizes sensitively, slyly, scornfully and scandalously satirically, but scoffingly yet starkly schizoid so:
My concept of Shakespeare as interpreted and updated by Randy Newman and Mike
Nichols (sic):
(Act 14, Take 23) "Roll 'em"
Mac the Trader:
Mañana, Mañana, Mañana
Creeps another prey to pounce,
and another daytrader cursing,
the last syllable of recorded time.
And all the bad trades have
left but a dusty note in that
deathful drawer. Out,out brief pixel!
Life's but a broken trader,
a poorer player that struts
his stuff in his hour before the screen,
and then is glimpsed no more.
It is a tale told by a hoodoo,
full of bluster and guff,
signifying nothing.
What say you, beautifully brave, boorishly blundering, bird-brained, benign, benevolent, bewitching, bitterly, brutally bickering, badgering, battling, belittling and bantering batch of babbling, burping, blatantly bipolar, bawdy befuddled and bemused biped Bohemian Broadcomatons?
Be it bull?
Be it bullion?
|
