virgil reality
The uncertainty principle has taken a lot of abuse through slipshod interpretation over the years, but the Northumbrian random sheep poetry (from the comment box) may set a new standard.
Nicholson Baker, The Everlasting Story of Nory. You're liable to love or hate this one. No plot to speak of, just two hundred pages in the mind of a nine-year-old American girl living in England, full of observations like:
Shakespeare's name was probably William R. Blistersnoo but he thought he needed a preferable name in order to be famous, and since there was tons of stabbing and spearing of people with swords in his plays he thought, 'Let's see, William Swordjab, no. William Fight? No. William Killeveryone? No. William Stabmyself? No. Aha! William Shakespeare! Yes, that will be just the thing.' In Shakespeare's plays what they would do, according to the drama teacher at the Junior School, is they would have an outfit on and they would sew a pig's bladder in a little tiny place under the outfit that would have a little mark on it so that the person knew right where to stab. The guy would go king!—stabbing lightly at that particular spot, and blood would instantly coosh out from the pig's bladder.
'But wouldn't they run out of pigs quite quickly?' Nory thought to herself. 'And therefore run out of pig's bladders, and therefore they could not do another play?' Shakespeare would have to go on stage before the play and say, 'As you may know, we cannot do any of the blood we were going to do tonight, because we have run out of our lovely pig's bladders. We checked in the cupboard this morning, but due to good business, and a number of highly gruesome plays, we have run out. Please enjoy the show. You can have your ticket refunded if you would rather not see the show without blood, since early next week we will have more fresh pig's bladders shipped to us. We are also going to be getting some big, fat, juicy cow bladders in stock that we will be using for some extremely disgusting effects in a play I will be finishing soon. So please, dear friends, sit back and enjoy the show.' And say if somebody was in too much of a rush and forgot to empty out the urine and pour in the blood? In the big swordfight Shakespeare would stab the guy. 'Die like a filthy scoundrel, you midget!' And then, pssshooo, oh dear, that blood's a bit on the yellow side, hm. 'Oh, yellow blood, is it?' Shakespeare would say. 'You monstrous, yellow-blooded confendio master! Hah-hah! Return to your imperial distinctive land!' Hack, chop. And a little later he would take a smug giggle and walk off the screen.
I loved it.
