Alas, Poor Yorick! David Foster Wallace Is Dead!

"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times..."

The author of Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace apparently hanged himself Friday, September 12, 2008. The first policeman on the scene reported that Wallace's dead hand was still clutching a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey.

"Yorick," I used to say, "If you ever stick your head in that metaphysical microwave oven, I'll try to achieve a fleeting notoriety by writing an absurd obituary!"

"Hamlet, you unscrupulous idiopath," Himself would reply, "When I go, I'll take you with me! But now it's time for another game of horsie."

Leaving half a bottle of Wild Turkey for the cops was a typically kind gesture by our dear old clown. "Whoever finds me will probably need a drink," as Himself would say...

[Verbatim transcript]

Yorick: Taint not thy mind... (inaudible)

Hamlet: (inaudible)

Yorick: (inaudible)

First Grave-digger (inaudible)

[Verbatim transcript ends]
 
 

S/Z

I'm supposed to meet an upper-case seductress
on the 69th page of this book!

Ess
over
zed,
baby!

Zed over ess!
 
 

Why Obama Wins Again

This is exactly why Barack Obama will be re-elected. He’s an incredibly charming con-man, and Romney doesn’t have a chance against him.
 
 

Radio

Brain like a cheap radio
News from TokyoRomeBuenosAires
Sad tunes from Texas and Oklahoma...

Gossip from the stars somewhere
driving around in their dream cars.
 
 

Mom and Pop

Your mom's butt blotted out the planet!
Your pop's meat-trombone moshed my emoticon!

Now it's time to chop them up!

Chop them up into
WOP-BOP-A-LOO-BOP-A-LOOP-BAM-BOOM!
 
 

 
 

Flesh

Guy comes in with a meat-cleaver.
He wants to sell us
human flesh
out of a portable ice-chest.

I would keep it for myself, he says,
but I want to make
room for you
in my ice-chest.