[Vision2020] The Swarthy Winds of Opyr

[Edna Wilmington]

Forum Members,

Aw, shucks. I guess I saw Joan's quivering
announcement coming.

Reluctant, but constrained to respond in kind, and
casting forbearance to the swarthy Winds of Opyr, I
reply:

Quick. Look! Is that a Bozo Filter between Joan's
ears, or is it just stuck in them?

No wait, over there!  It's Joan's goat tied to a stake
in my back yard!

I am honored.  To rate Bozo filtering this early seems
quite the achievement for a rookie like me, especially
since Joan still listened to Mr. Wilson filter-free
until HE punched out.  I've become quite the
supra-scoundrel, haven't I?

Whether she has her Bozo Filter engaged yet or not,
these three things impressed me most about Joan's
serenading swan song to Edna the First:

To begin with, she criticizes me for posting "windy
disquisitions."  What a joke.  And this from the buxom
literary equivalent of Light Beer from Miller. 
Taste's great, but definitely less filling.

Second, Joan criticizes yours truly for being
"self-satisfied." Then, without missing a hypocritical
beat, she, the local, self-appointed, supreme panel
judge of rhetorical excellence and figure skating,
proceeds to diagnose my writing style as "symptomatic
of...New St. Andrews" because it sometimes includes
premise, evidence, and conclusion.  Now that's a
devastating critique.  Crushed, I plead guilty on all
three counts, Your Honor.  That must be why some Lit
majors, even sporting graduate degrees, can't find
work.

Third, I had hoped that Joan could do better than
trotting out another boorish comparison between her
opponent's arguments and flatulence.  I feel more
flattered than all other recipients of her most
prestigious award, though.  I managed to win this
adorning string of pearls to describe my whistling
wind:

"NSA wheezes begin with a blustery roar, pass into a
deep intestinal whine, and end with painful passage
through a tightly contracting sphincter."

Quite the momentous literary achievement, don't you
think?  Straight from the Grand Master herself. 
Gotta' admit, she's had a lot of practice.  Can the
audience please hum "We Are the Champions" in the
background for me?  And boy, those NSA students must
really get up under Joan's skin and nestle in pretty
deep.  Dug in like an Alabama tick, as Jesse would
say.

I only have one question, Sister Joan.  Would that be
considered a premise, evidence, or a conclusion? 
Ouch! Was that a ruler rap across my knuckles?

Thankfully for Joan, she's free to stop grunting and
rise from The Grand Commode now.  Her own cavernous
bowel's all empty. Rose's "blowing it out my fair,
wide, backside" quip and all of her crowd's previous
references to farts make this latest one ring, shall
we say, kinda' hollow.  Tis a spent image, deary. 
Apparently you've been watching too much Stern late at
night, or perhaps reruns of Katie Couric's
colonoscopy.

Well now, come to think of it, I notice someone else
already caught me off guard with an attack that
included a word rooted in "masturbate" and linked with
my thoughts.  Whoever it was beat Mr. Fox to the punch
(no pun intended).  So when Joan arrived at the
storehouse, the standard repertoire was all tapped out
- nothing but cheap blow bubbles left.

In the words of that great and muscular hero, slayer
of Brutus, and intrepid rescuer of the confused damsel
in distress, "Toot! Toot!"

Now I'm really ROTFLOL, Saundra.

Edna Wilmington

P.S. (i.e. Parting Shot) Dearest Joan, I realize
you're a woman of the world, but have you ever enjoyed
the deep pleasure of thinking and writing to the
issue?  Girl, you really should try it.  It's so
exhilarating.  Now move over; I need a cigarette.



--- Joan Opyr <auntiestablishment@hotmail.com> wrote:
> Near the end of what is one the most vacant,
> meandering, maundering, 
> toffee-nosed, stuck-up, silly, malodorous diatribes
> it has ever been my 
> displeasure to read, Edna the First asks us to
> please not consider her 
> pompous.  Okay, Edna, would you settle for
> self-satisfied?  Arrogant?  
> Snotty?  Narcissistic?  Because believe me honey, if
> you were a cake, you'd 
> eat yourself.
> 
> Just for the hell of it, before I abandon this topic
> and add Edna to my 
> ever-expanding Bozo filter, let me offer a last
> observation.  Ms. 
> Wilmington's writing style is symptomatic of the
> self-important, windy 
> disquisitions that pass for sound rhetoric among the
> denizens of the New St. 
> Andrews.  Typically, an argument features a premise,
> evidence, and a 
> conclusion.  NSA wheezes begin with a blustery roar,
> pass into a deep 
> intestinal whine, and end with painful passage
> through a tightly contracting 
> sphincter.
> 
> In short, they stink.
> 
> Briefly and terminally,
> 
> Joan Opyr/Auntie Establishment
> Serving Idaho's liberal elite since 1993
> 
>
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