Updated: Apr 23, 2023
“I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of ensuring one’s immortality.”
- James Joyce on Ulysses (allegedly), Ellmann 521
I have zero desire to be kept busy arguing any longer than it takes to play Wordle. Especially, by a mad Irish genius who carried panties around in his pocket.
But I am down to play Ulysseordle, Telemachordle, Nestordle, Proteordle, Odyssyordle, Calypsordle, Loturdle Eatordler, Hadeordle, Aeolordle, Lestrygordle, Cashordle Boylordle O’Connordle Fitzmaurodle Tisdordlle Farrordlle, Scyllordle andordle Charybdordle, Wordleing Rordle, Sirordles, Cyclopordle, Hokopokordle Harakirordle, Nausicoordle, definitely Gertyordle MacDordle, even Oxordle of the Surdle, Spermatozordle, Circeodle, or Nighttordle for all you Nabokovordle Homerphobordlers, Nostosordle, Eumaeordle, Ithacordle, Penelopordle, Bloomordle, Throwawayordle, McYertle the Turtledovordle, that Lankylookordle Galootordle over there in the Macintordle.
And someday maybe Finnegordle Wakordle.
What’s in your pocket?
Updated: Apr 23, 2023
Without her, Ulysses would not have been born.
She wrenched the plump book from the most megalomaniacal mother ever. Poor Mina Purefoy’s “three days bad” labor was smooth as a fresh pint of Guinness in comparison.
A British racing rag, The Sporting Times, published an early review under the headline "The Scandal of Ulysses." This piffle was written by some humorless hump cowering behind the Twitter troll handle “Aramis.” Less musketeer than party-poopeteer.
The stick in mud with a stick up his ass tweeted the Modernist masterpiece was written by a “perverted lunatic who has made a speciality of the literature of the latrine.”
Sylvia hung a huge advertising placard of the pony paper’s April 1st issue above the desk in her indispensable bookshop for all to see. Joke’s on you, Killjoyamis.
Give ‘em Hades, Sylvia!
- Flash Fiction from The Red Brick Alley
“Isn’t eleven too old to tug around a little red wagon?” Fantastic Freddie said with his big, fat mouth.
“Isn’t twelve too old for Captain Altar Boy to pull his pants down past his knees just to take a whiz?” Jaggerbush sat in his Wave Motion Wagon and drifted down the Red Brick Alley one mile per hour.