From the Couch Trip, with Dan Aykroyd.
He has just escaped from a mental hospital, is impersonating a psychiatrist, boarding a flight to LA in first class in barely disguised prison clothes.
When the flight attendant asks him if he will have anything before the flight, he does not stammer out some feeble drink order, like I do:
“A Bag of Macademia Nuts!
“All your available cheeses!
“A dozen Raspberries with Crème Fraiche!
“And a Double Shot of BlackBush!”
A little non-plussed, but totally dominated by his suave insistence, the attendant thoughtfully asks, “would you like the shot on the Raspberries?”
“NO!” he states firmly, yet unruffledly, on the side, straight-up!”
We memorized it for our next trip, but got demoted to coach by some cost-cutting dragoon.
Brother:
I wonder if this word is more common in cattle country.
· Date: 1579
1 : to incite or rouse as if with a goad
2 : to drive (as cattle) with a goad
I always thought of this as "persistant persuasive pressure" and not the optionless prodding with a pointy stick.
Naw, man,
Coax, or cajole, even,
But goad, is to use the sharp stick.
Or in modernity, the taser-like impetuatator . . .
Brother:
Now I know....but (whenever this term came up) it was always people "goading me" into things. At least the way I heard it...I thought folks meant I was being talked into it but they meant I was being pressured to an inevitable outcome "right out of the chute"
PukkaDave:
Well it’s good that you know now, anyway . . . 8^D . . .
But I assumed you were the goad-er, not the goad-ee
Brother:
"The good of goad depends" he said.
Then added as he nodded,
"On which end of the stick you are:
The Prodder or the Prodded"
An ordinary traffic warning of the potential for high winds in the south of
But, observe the found poetry herein: the way that VIOLENT springs from the cloven VENT, like Aphrodite from Jove, with an internal rhyme that seems positively familial, if not incestuous.
Rejoice in the stentorian hudibrastic of VIOLENT(violence) and DEFENSE, which in its oracular simplicity reverberates with joycean connotations and imputations.
And even more sonorously, metaphorically, this cogency warns us to prepare for the turbulence we inexorably approach: the Winds of War, Tsunamis of Debt, Cyclonic challenges . . .
Yes, this is Found Poetry . . . maybe I should not claim to have found it . . . some nameless bureaucrat in the French Hiway department has been charged with conveying this message . . . has he taken care with it, or dashed it off? Did he consider its import or was he perfunctory?
All Art is Found . . . but you have to be looking! Was this bureaucrat looking, or am I the first to see it? So often, when you find what you did not know you are looking for, did not realize precisely what you would find when you came across it, yet recognize it immediately, as the Truth-with-a-capital-T . . .
It is Luck, to find it, but Luck is when Preparation meets
I forget what exactly we were talking about, but basically I was thinking out loud while analyzing family finances . . . when Mrs interrupted me and said “Number talk puts me to sleep” . . . we were in bed, and she wanted to go to sleep, anyway, so I gratified her . . . “the square of the hypoteneus is equal to the sum of the squares of the other 2 sides of the triangle” – zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . . . she needed no more from me . . . .8^D . . .
