Sally Forth

Hey, remember The Fourth of July, 2003? We don't, but found this in our archives:

Fourth of July Fourthiness.

Independence is on the march, patriots.

& Recently . . .

Kurt Cobain's Ghost with an Invitation to a Fourth of July Picnic and Fireworks by Angela Genusa

"B.L.T.": A Review by Will Layman

Ten Tiny Poems by Brian Beatty

Angry Words from a Gnome Who to This Day Continues to Think the Human Genome Project Was Actually The Human Gnome Project by David Ng

Key Party, N.Y.C., Circa Always by William K. Burnette

A Day on the Phone with Mythological Norse Firewarrior, Bringer of Storms by Aaron Belz

Polish Fact

Major illicit producer of amphetamine for the international market; minor transshipment point for Asian and Latin American illicit drugs to Western Europe.

Learn a Foreign Tongue!

Impari L'Italiano
Wham, bam, grazie, signora.
Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

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Wednesday, April 2, 2003   |    Fiction

Mistakes I’ve Made …

by Josh Abraham

“Ten bucks? I don’t know … Well … You look like an honest sidewalk showman …”

“I bet I could eat a whole bucket of clams …”

“Oooh, look: a black kitty with a white stripe … !”

“Hey, look at that puppy! He must’ve finished a whole box of powdered donuts … !”

“Sure, you can pay me in Internet stock … !”

“Wait, wait—you’re telling me all I have to do is mail 100 dollars to these ten people and send a letter asking for the same to these hundred people, and I’ll be a millionaire in six weeks? Hmm. Sounds logical to me …”

“Don’t worry—we can extinguish the flames with this jug of Bacardi 151 …”

“I don’t care how many Olympic medals she won. I can beat a girl in a fistfight …”

“Two for Freddy Got Fingered, please …”

“I don’t care what happened before. I still say I can eat a whole bucket of clams …”

“Doctor, schmoctor. That festering pustule will heal itself in no time …”

“I bet I can pull the gun from that cop’s holster …”

“It doesn’t matter which wire you snip; they all lead to the same thing …”

“I wonder if that freezing metal pole tastes like strawberry …”

“I cah puhh mah tonnn off mahselll …”

“I can’t see which gas pipe is leaking; it’s too dark in here. Do you have a light? No, no! Don’t light a match! Are you insane? You’ll kill us all! Here, use my Zippo …”

“I don’t usually give my credit card and social-security number over the phone, but you sound like a nice telephone escort girl …”

“Say, these nice, barefoot hillfolk will lead us out of this creepy forest …”

“Look, somebody left an open, unmarked bottle of apple juice right here in this soggy refrigerator box behind the dumpster! What a find … !”

“Mr. Voight, I’d like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage …”

“Gosh, you look like you could be in high school! But what would you be doing in this bar if you weren’t 21 … ?”

“Heck, if you’re already on the pill, why waste a condom … ?”

“Pay a barber? Hell, I got scissors and two mirrors …”

“I bet this Raiders helmet can stop a bullet. Here, take my gun and shoot me in the head …”

“At last, my time machine is complete! Now I can travel back to 19th century Ireland and get myself some good potatoes …”

“Well, that didn’t work. It appears I’ve merely sent myself back two years in time. At least I can stop myself from wasting ninety good minutes and ten hard-earned dollars on Freddy Got Fingered. Hey, look, there’s a bucket full of clams …”

Josh Abraham was born in Algeria in 1913. He spent his early years in North Africa, working various jobs—in the weather bureau, in an automobile-accessory firm, in a shipping company—to help pay for his courses at the University of Algiers. As a young journalist, his report on the unhappy state of Muslims in the Kabylie region aroused the Algerian government to action and brought him public notice. From 1935 to 1938 he ran the Théâtre de l'Equipe, a theatrical company that produced plays by Malraux, Gide, Synge, and Dostoevski. During World War II he was one of the leading writers of the French Resistance and editor of Combat, then an important underground newspaper. Abraham's fiction, his philosophical essays, and his plays have assured his preëminent position in modern French letters. In 1957 Abraham was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. His sudden death on January 4, 1960, cut short the career of one of the most important literary figures of the Western world when he was at the very summit of his powers. No, wait. That was Albert Camus.