It is with great pleasure that Cloozoe's International House of Pancakes (we're regretting the name more with each time we have to type it) presents its editorial staff. Without undue modesty but -- at the same time -- with a profound lack of humility, we may fairly state that no expense was either spared or underwent; that each of the editors was chosen for their splendid erudition and sterling character; and that the selections were made only after the most exhaustive search among the first few people who came to our mind.
Drake - Executive Editor, Sergeant-at-arms
Black Hills Bill - Poetry Editor; Sage; Crank; Director, Outreach to Mormons Program (Emeritus); Resident Expert on Snow.
Cwfly - Legal Affairs; Historical Oddities; Squid
Ted Golden - Economics; Antiquities; Stewart Granger Fly Rods
DeFazio - Host: Dear DeFazio - Answers to your intimate questions on relationships, dating and marriage; Grooming Tips
Amazing Woody - Jack Pines
Melvin Pittsnogle - Country Living; Pathos
Tina Brown - We really have nothing for her to do, we just felt sorry for her so we put her on the masthead
Owing to the fact that the contributing editors have each generously agreed to work for a sum toward, or indeed at or below, the lower end of the conventional compensation range and that in a few instances they perhaps haven't actually in so many words even agreed to accept the position, we felt it only fair; nay necessary, to be relatively liberal in terms of our requirements of them. We have none. We require nothing. In fact they don't have to contribute a damn thing if they don't want to. Wouldn't surprise us in the least. Virtually worthless bastards. Fuck 'm.
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Editors. blecch :x
ReplyDeleteBRAVO! HUZZAS! MY FAVORITE KIND OF PEOPLE.
ReplyDeleteWally, we'll see how you feel by next week.
ReplyDeleteI'm abandoning the Outreach Program since it's
ReplyDeletea one-Hatch proposition and returning to Dakota Terrtitory in hopes of catching a first-rate welcome-home-again blizzard in Dakota Territory.
But after the hearty welcome here ("Editors. blecch"), I'll soldier on as resident muse-struck and cranky sage. My editorial philosophy I've taken from Robert Frost. No one has been corrected into greatness. Excepting maybe Cloozoe and Drake. But I'm getting too old to keep pulling those Formerly Clark's VWB bozos from the drink when they get in over their waders.
BlackHillsBill
Dear Tina:
ReplyDeleteLets talk Big Brown's, girlfriend.
I'll always miss the shack out back in Aspen.
Bernie, that bitch, can't take those memories away from us. Who's toasting with Tang now wiseguy?
I remember the time he noted those half dozen #22 midges on the Chinchilla band of your she-male
Stetson. "I can make those into Royal Wulffs" he gloated.
Hope to catch you opening day on the reservoir.
Cousin Mercer
Dear Mr. Bill;
ReplyDeleteIn consideration of the depths of your experience and success with the Outreach program as well as our presumption that you are currently available would you, sir, be interested in a position as The Western Director of the Jehovah's Witness Protection Program?
Ken,
ReplyDeleteWhile it is true my Black Hills family tree has twigs and branches and even bark beetles thereon, all of ecclesiatical bent, none of them has felt protecting witnesses is an especially good idea.
For the most part, they have tried to avoid
witnesses wherever possible, as befits their
high professional calling.
Most notable among them was my Great Uncle BlackHillsPaul, the famous missionary to the Sioux. The increase of BHP's faithful flock was nearly always achieved by circumspection and stealth--and rarely with any witnesses hanging around to cluck and criticize.
But caught off guard (in what the family has preferred to call "the posture of prayer") BHP's apostolic career met an untimely end at the hand of an onlooker raising both objection and hatchet over the fervor of BHP's ministrations.
His scalp is now prominently displayed in the tourist tepee at Mt. Rushmore. I revere him of course, but have no desire to follow in his
footsteps. I must save myself for my students in Remedial Flycasting 101. Drake and even, surprisingly, the Anti-Waffler Cloozoe are becoming quite adept at steeple casting. Which
is to say they prefer to throw their lines higher, not farther. But thanks for asking.
Yours in the Faith,
In my officious capacity as Resident Expert on Snow and Poetry Editor, I must report that only a brave last-ditch effort enabled me to make it back to Dakota Land (So Fertile and Rich That I Think It Is a . . . Honey) in time for the first blizzard of April. Tonight winds howl as the flakes drift and pile with reckless abandon which was making me homesick. Compared to what's going on outside tonight, the trip from Utah's snowy Salt Lake City through Wyoming's whited-out Medicine Bow Range was as nothing, mere child's play. So, instead of greasing up a few fly reels tomorrow, I'll be lubing the snow thrower.
ReplyDeleteBut nature always brings consolation to Dakota anglers--through the ufailing example of Minnesota, that state admitted to the Union in order to provide Dakotans sports entertainment.
And not just watching the GOP watching Al
Franken watching the counting of votes either. Or wondering if Nicky Punto's glove will be enough this time to bring the Series to the Twinkies or the Twinkies to the Series. No.
There is more. For the ice once again is thinning on Lake Minnetonka, and soon, very soon, Ole Hindbjorgen will again watch as his fishing hut sinks slowly into the widening hole started from the small piercing by his auger last December, and he will again snatch up his Granger Victory for a go at the bluegills beginning to test the surface in the open water near the shoreline.
Depend on it. Our fly fishing life can be
seen like a bug gnawing out of an apple-wood
table from an egg deposited earlier in a living tree, hatched at last by the heat of an urn, and causing Henry Thoreau to speculate
upon the beautiful winged life which might burst from the "the many concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society."
Meanwhile, for me, there is this matter of the April day to be faced in the morning. Frost (Robert)has that part down cold (so to speak):
"You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind come off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March."
Yours, who finds that the metaphor for his 75th year is to keep blowing the ice out of his ferrules,
BHB