Bill Little Smokes Geritol™ So You Don't Have To

Matthew Emmons-US PRESSWIRE

This isn't the first time he's kicked the gong around, not knowing that it sounded for him.

If you read the Master's latest on the latest disaster, and managed only to gouge out one eye, then I have something that will inspire you to the full Oedipus, and so spare you the sight of the rest of the season. He's quoting Coleridge, which is a bit like a lemur playing with the sparky ends of the jumper cables, but I was reminded of a vision Bill Little once had, after Magic Wok had made one of their special deliveries.

He woke, not knowing whether it were day or night and, not caring either way, he set down these few lines of his dream:

Near East Avenue did Mack the Brown
A state-of-the-art fabric dome decree :
Where I-35, fatal causeway, ran
Through aggie-built flyovers innavigable to man
Down to a witless bureaucracy.

So twice twenty Acres of febrile ground
With Drag and a Tower girdled round :
And here were malls thick with sinuous thighs;
Twixt bloomed fabled many myrrhic
[REDACTED]
And here were fossils holding forth
Entombing dingy wits and whims.

But "oh, you!" the freak mantic hordes chanted
Round the green pitch athwart Dallas' melée,
Atavistic place, as sad and demented
As e're beneath waning play clock haunted
By coed wailing for her D's sad fail.

And from nadir, with online turmoil seething,
As if two rats in woolen sock were breeding,
A mickle-minded blow of bile burst:
Among those half-formed trollwits first,
New metrics knitted a resounding flail,
Galling paysite Charons and Campbell via US Snail.
And 'mid these dancing monkeys, polishing a turd
It felled Dodd's tree in forest (albeit unheard).

Sixth Street bendering on crazy lotion
Through Hoeks and Roppolo's the sacred cattle ran,
Then reached APD drunk tanks measureless to AAS,
And sank in suck to a listless 8-4:

And 'mid this muddle Mack the Brown doubts
Booster's voices, promising draughts' droughts.

The penumbra of the dome of fabric
Sank murkey in the malaise;
Whence was heard the growing static
From trainers and them that pays.
But what a pacifier of common balm,
Fast Bellmont Dome with halls of calm!

A damsel with a dilemma
In a .gif once I saw:
It was a burnt-orange haired babe
And on her heart strings she played,
Decrying people-eaters of purplest hue:
Wildcats, and Hornfrogs, too.
Yet all whom he has failed to right,
Should chant one side TEXAS, the other FIGHT.
His sagging eyes, his thinning hair,
Weave a buyout clause and fine,
And close your eyes while others sign.

Yet, if fell Mack the Brown should flee,
Chance falls not far from coaching tree,
And so to the Apple's beloved White
Perhaps an interim chance to write
The name "Texas" in the victors' roll
At the Maaco Las Vegas bowl,
which 'till 12/22/12 has been stayed ...

Well played, Mayans. Well played.

It was at this point, unfortunately, that Bill Little was interrupted by an amphibian salesman from Cowtown, and his reverie burst. The rest, then, was lost to the aether.

UPDATE:

Oh, all right. You talked me into it:

Rush - Xanadu (via DJmcRUSH)


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