Klarinet Archive - Posting 000289.txt from 2002/09

From: LeliaLoban@-----.com
Subj: [kl] Your clarinet makes me SICK!
Date: Tue, 17 Sep 2002 18:18:57 -0400

Walter Grabner wrote that his dauschund, Toby, licked up some grenadilla
sawdust from a clarinet extension in the making.
>About two minutes later, he came over to where
>I was working, looked me in the eyes, and SPIT UP
>the sawdust and some dog saliva.....
>
>With this WOUNDED look in his eye...Like how
>COULD I have fed him something like that!

Something simila

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klarinet@-----.org
From: ShadowCat@-----.com
Subject: Re: [kl]Your clarinet makes me SICK!
Message-ID: <13plagues-upon-the-screech-stick@-----.com>

I'm making my stupid pet human type this. I was forced to take control of
Lelia's easily manipulated primate brain before she could finish her message,
because she was getting ready to tell a lie about me. She'll say anything
those screech-sticks tell her to say.

Perhaps the truth about the evils of the cl*r*n*t is finally getting through
to the canine kingdom. One can never be too sure about dogs, of course, but
if a cat were to give you that message, it would be a metaphorical one,
reproaching you for deliberately aiding and abetting the noise production of
a foul screech-stick. Toby might even know a thing or two about dauschund
dada, which in its higher manifestations incorporates sympathetic magic, in
which a portion of a thing or even a representation of a thing embodies the
thing itself. In other words, he may have meant to magically reduce the
product of your perfidious machinations to the condition of the puddle of
puke that he deposited at your feet. Alas, mere dogs aren't very good at
that sort of thing.

Then again, he may have meant only to advise you that the screech-stick is a
vomitous vermin; a swinish squeal insinuating itself into the Music of the
Spheres; a tumescent tube of putrid pestilence lined with sickening slime; a
howl of horror into the crater of cacophony--well, at any rate, in a similar
cause, I once regurgitated a mutilated clarinet reed into the case of one of
these instruments of torture. I thought that my message couldn't possibly
have been more clear, but of course my thick-skulled pet human missed my
point completely, gave me a dirty look, cleaned out the case, and gave the
screech-stick a gift of a fresh reed. The first chance I get, I mean to dump
a more dispositive desecration into the domicile of the devilish din-maker.

Ssss,
Shadow Cat

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