They started to put me back together. First with a delicate jolt my eyes were reinserted in their sockets. (Fear not, faith, love, hope are your guiding lights.) Then they fetched back my inner organs. Fortunately, none of it had yet been cooked or ground into sausage meat. (Vaincu, mais non dompté.) It’d still be nice to have a mild fall. As a consequence of my own magnetic drives, my innards immediately flew back into place and refastened themselves in rapid reverse as soon as they were reinserted. (Marriage is the key to a happy life.) A slight disorder in the arrangement of my reconstituted inner organs gave rise to a few minor organic problems. (Saint Florian moved into the new German Theater, enjoying a nightly storm of applause.) But I immediately noticed what was wrong and jiggled my inner magnet power lines AC-DC back and forth a bit, criss-cross, one two one two one two one to rearrange the beam in my eye. I tugged and twisted with a fierce magnetic fury till everything was back in its proper place again. My knowledge of man’s inner workings came in awfully handy here. (A year’s probation, then a permanent position in the Prussian civil service.) Yes, indeed! My solid parts had meanwhile reassembled, only my blood was still lacking. (Bordens sweet milk chocolate.) The scullery maids held the cup of blood beneath the incision in my side and whisked with a backwards motion. The king gave off a loud groan. My inner magnetism worked wonders drawing a thick gush of blood from the rich red cup up into my thirsty wound. (A girl is not allowed to be told what every woman must know.) My arteries slowly swelled, my inner parts pumped blood. But my heart as yet refused to thump, I was still dead. (WET PAINT.) The butcher brought his knife back to the wound in my side, pierced deeply and promptly pulled the blade back out, and—the wound closed shut. (Tear along the dotted line and mail to the above address.) That’s why every woman considering matrimony ought to find out the facts. So I had all my parts back together again with just a few things missing, since shreds of my physical self stayed stuck to the knife. Where there’s a will there’s a way, they say, if the moment is ripe. But a good deal of blood was lacking since the king had drunk it. (All for the Worker’s Cause.) I’ve been a little anemic ever since. Take the bird home with you and buy yourself a cage. They lowered reel real pulley-like. Then I had to rise, intuitively I felt it, and so I rose; rapidly at first, then ever more slowly till I was standing upright. (My ticker and yapper are out of wack.) In Burgundy arose a maiden fair; I’m only a woman, sir. Be mindful, child, of where you’re bound! Be pious and good! Have faith and face life without fear! (Vote Socialist!) The two cupbearers assumed a ceremonial stance beside me and grasped my clumsy paws. (Prescriptions filled for all health plans.) Alas, my childhood days are gone, life’s bitter battle has begun. I was very curious how exactly they intended to bring me back to life. (Isthmus Organizer by Jefim Golycheff.) Touching artworks is strictly forbidden. I felt dizzy. (Strindberg silently undermining Stramm.) Our dear old teacher liked to spice up his lessons with a little humor, and we were glad he did. (A snatch of sunshine.) I believe in absolutely nothing. (Trombone tones.) You guessed it! Arise, oh gentle Sunday School teachers, Germany needs you! (What a man ought to know about pregnancy and birthing!) Your mouth is a semi-circular saw. (Dr. Sunshine, D.D.S.) The butcher picked up his cudgel again (The tragedy of becoming human), stood before me (Consider man’s behaviour during pregnancy) and softly lay the brutal instrument against my split skull. (Rudolf Bauer is an artist, after all.) Anna Blume bathed in lilac blue roses shoots barbs blank abed in a Posturpedic mattress. (Ripe for plucking, inwardly composed.) Partial explanation misses the point. Then the butcher took a mighty leap backwards. (The Colonel is and will always be a gentleman even if he happens to be an idiot.) The woman must know everything about it. A mighty crash resounded as the cudgel separated from my head. The occasion suggests a book for women only. Table of contents: 1. How to Hook a Man. -2. The Tamed Shrew. -3. What Girls Look for in a Guy. -4. Advice in Kissing. -5. How to Make an Impression. -6. How to Respond to a Bouquet of Flowers. -7. Is Fear of Marriage Justified? -8. Causes of Coyness. -9. Old-fashioned views. -10. How to Take it Slowly. -11. Some Good Advice. -12. Is Love Blind?-13. How to Recognize True Love. -14. A Prospective Suitor’s Past. -15. The Most Intimate Facts. -16. The Rebirth of Religion. -17. The Dark Star. The butcher leaped backwards to his original position. (He should be your Lord and Master.) She’s the boss’s right hand, no blemish on that girl’s good reputation. (Jamais embrassé.) The severed sections of my skull flew back together, I was more or less my old self again. (A sweet consummation.) You don’t know how to make dumplings, dear, and pickles make my face break out. After all, theatre is only geared to figments of the imagination, artificial people. Delivery upon receipt of payment, the book is lavishly illustrated. It was an uncanny feeling to be alive again. Seltzer sails aloft luminous scent of Maria. I sensed that a little posturing Lazarus-like was expected of me, so I postured. (The king is dead.) With a sweeping gesture I marched over to the princess and silently gave her my hand. (Kiss me!) The princess fell down on her sweet knees before me. (We’re all from the same neighborhood.) The doctor, meanwhile, gnawed on ham hocks. For a continuation of the help wanted ads, see the Sunday supplement. She begged me with all her heart to save her father. (Heaven Can Wait) I knew that kindness wasn’t called for here, kindness is the sign of a fool. (Be adamant Anna Blume.) (You’re at a dangerous age.) “Your father, the king,” I said, “the king stays dead.” (Whet your blade on a genuine seal skin barber strap.) The doctor swooned. I ordered that two yellow candles be inserted in the holes in his majesty’s royal gut and that they be ceremoniously lit. (Postage stamps are acceptable forms of payment.) When the little flame burnt all the way down into the king’s innards, the king exploded. The people called out a rousing hip-hip-hurrah on my behalf. (Socialism means work.)
Posted on: Sun, 22 Sep 2013 02:55:52 +0000
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