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

Local long-form name:
Rzeczpospolita Polska
(The Republic of Poland)

Learn a Foreign Tongue!

Learn Dutch!
Ik heb twee draaischijven en een microfoon.
I've got two turntables and a microphone.

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Friday, May 30, 2003   |    Fiction

Why Ari Really Quit

by Nick Jezarian

a.f.: Mr. President, I’m not sure you have the correct use of the word.

g.b.: Who’s the president, Ari Atari?

a.f.: With all due respect …

g.b.: Respect or not, who’s the tax-package-proposing, Texas-big-swinging-dick, ride-or-die President of the United States?

a.f.: Do I really have to answer this, Sir?

g.b.: You want me on that wall; you need me on that wall!

a.f.: All right already, all right. No more Nicholson quotes, please. A Texan doing Nicholson is like listening to Andrew Dice Clay woo Rapunzel.

g.b.: Rapunzel, that’s that Gwyneth Paltrow-looking long-haired nursery rhyme chick, right?

a.f.: Sort of, Mr. President

g.b.: What’s that you said Ariola?

a.f.: I said ‘Sort of, Mr. President,’ Mr. President.

g.b.: That’s right, Ari. I am the motherhonkin’ President. You see me land that jet last week?

a.f.: I believe it was more like you landed in a jet, not landed it yourself.

g.b.: Whatchu talking ’bout, Willis?

a.f.: That’s like saying you drove the roller coaster.

g.b.: I did that too.

a.f.: Oy vey—

g.b.: What’s that mean, Ari Safari?

a.f.: It’s Yiddish, it’s similar to when you say ‘oh brother’.

g.b.: Who, Jeb?

a.f.: Never mind, sir. Let’s get back to the task at hand.

g.b.: Right, the speech. Now I was thinking I could just always resort to the whole ‘at least I don’t fellate, heh, heh, I mean relate with my interns’.

a.f.: …and this is the problem, Sir. I think you do want to relate with your interns; that would be a good thing. What you want to say is ‘At least I don’t have relations with my interns.’

g.b.: …

a.f.: Yes, Mr. President.

g.b.: Then the joke doesn’t make any sense. I can’t say, ‘At least I don’t have fellations — I mean relations.’ It sounds stupid.

a.f.: Well …

g.b.: Listen Ari-a 51, the President needs to show the public a little humor, you know?

a.f.: You are actually planning on making that joke in public?

g.b.: In public? Hell, I’m going to do it on national TV. Ah, I said ‘Hell’—now I said it twice! Two bucks in the swear jar!

a.f.: I’m at a loss, sir.

g.b.: Hey, Ari, are you Jewish?

a.f.: Is that relevant?

g.b.: Who’s the President? How’s that for relevance?

a.f.: I think I might hate you sir.

g.b.: Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

a.f.: I hate both, sir.

g.b.: Oh Ari, so sorry. Tee hee.

a.f.: That’s it, I quit.

g.b.: Really?

a.f.: Really.

g.b.: Can you get me my chicken potpie first?

Nick Jezarian is clearly a superbly built creation resulting from the union of man, woman, and crustacean. Nick's crustacean heritage contributes to his being mostly belligerent, constantly angry, yet always amused. Considering Nick's criminal spelling and grammar habits, the fact that he is part of the Y.P.R. brain trust doesn't say much about the site. Josh and Geoff have driven Nick's writing to new levels as he sends his Guff to the staff in an elaborate binary code that can only be deciphered by the light of pixie dust. Nick is Y.P.R.'s resident hip-hop expert, as he owns three CDs and once stabbed 50 Cent. Nick's favorite word is "word."