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Just Trying To Be The Best Me I Can Possibly Be: Talking Points

by Anthony Jaffe

1. Whatever I do and whenever I do it, I do the very best I can – even if I have no idea what I’m doing. For instance, I now realize a television cannot be fixed with a simple application…

Announcements From the Flight Deck

by Geoff Wolinetz

Sometimes, at Work, I Feel like Maybe I’m Being Singled Out…

by Eric Feezell

Wolfman Taps… Or Something

by Dale Dobson

Polish Fact

A Polish Glimpse of Earth
Anglia -- England
Szkocja -- Scotland
Walia -- Wales
Irlandia -- Ireland
Wielka Brytania -- Great Britain
Zjednoczone Królestwo - United Kingdom
Niemcy -- Germany
Japonia -- Japan
Stany Zjednoczone Ameryki - The United States of America
Francja -- France
Hiszpania -- Spain
Wenezuela -- Venezuela

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Habla Español!
Los talentos de Andy Richter se pierden totalmente en "Quintuplets."
Andy Richter's talents are completely wasted on "Quintuplets."

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Literary Horsefeathers
Friday, June 23, 2006   |    Fiction

The Drug Diaries of Oscar Hammerstein II

by Dale Dobson

Work on “Green/Lilacs” adaptation halted unexpectedly. Lorenz Hart is dead. Dead, dead. I couldn’t go to bed. Sat down for drink with Rodgers and young Lerner before remembering Hart’s struggles with alcohol. Took a little marihuana to calm the nerves instead.

Turkish water pipe! Oh, mama! Spent weekend high as an elephant’s eye.

Jerome Kern has the best weed in town. Dreamt of ballet and Oriental broads. There’s a bright golden haze in the studio. Rodgers thinks I’m overdoing the weed. But if you don’t have a dream, how are you going to make a dream come true?

Big party at the house. Lots of grass passed around, crazy shit - dancers singing, actors dancing. Rodgers thinks why the fuck not, it could work.

Went up to Harlem to see my man, got stoned listening to Bizet. What was the name of that fine Nubian princess? Awwwwyeah, Carmen Jones.

Walter Winchell tells his readers I work standing at a “high” antique desk, wink wink. Asshole.

Yul Brynner rubs me the wrongest way. Thinks he IS the King of goddam Siam, Ruler of the Eastern Hemisphere, et cetera. Cueball bastard rarely without cigarette in hand but still dissin’ on the ganja man.

Line about Hart’s death turns up in My Fair Lady. Macabre shit. Lerner and Loewe, my ass. More like Leopold and Loeb.

Pipe Dream nominated for Tony, lost to lame-ass Pajama Game. George Abbott kept getting up in my face, going, “No cigar, eh Oscar?” Winking seven-and-a-half-cent show doctor motherfucker.

Josh Logan turned me on to some wild new kicks today. There is nothing like cocaine. Nothing in the world. There is nothing you can name that is anything like cocaine.

Talented kid, Sondheim, keeps calling me HammerSTEEN; dawg should know better. Snorted a few lines, checked out the MoMA. Stevie be rapping on colors in Seurat painting for six hours.

The sound of Rodgers’ music is driving me fucking crazy, yo. Took a little of this new LSD, wrote ersatz Kraut folk lyric for new show. Everyone claims to dig it, posers just humoring me. Makes me want to vomit. Not feeling so well these days.

Ah, sweet, sweet heroin. Window left open, rain cool on the skin. Wallet missing from nightstand. Good night, young lovers, whoever you were.

Dale Dobson writes, animates, and acts in the metropolitan Detroit area, and occasionally gets around to updating