From the archives: the full text
I especially treasure "bastard donkey-headed mites" as an epithet because it seems to imply the existence of legitimate donkey-headed mites got 'tween the lawful sheets.
To my eternal shame I had never heard of Mrs. Ros until Dr. Hart kindly shared with us this crowning achievement of the Western literature. I think we have finally discovered the true inspiration for Vogon poetry.
Verily, she truly was the Nicolas Cage of Northern Irish authors.
She lived like that lonesome lord who slew the savage striders which spread their insatiable sails to wrest the windy riches from the greedy grip of gusting gales, and thereby get the germ of the freshly fallowed fields.
Even so her fame was fanned by the society of self-satisfied scorners, who, wandering the waste of boredom, in the desert of desultory delight. Such supplicants plied her pen, gasping gullets turned toward the nib, not for wise nutrition, but to mock the mother of their mirth.
In this day of discernment, we wise proffer poor pearls to the debt due her numinous name, though in vain, for it is that ceaseless debt of the shoat to the sow.
We can never repay what we owe Mrs. Ros, but maybe sometimes it doesn't hurt to try.
So she truly is the Corey Feldman/Tommy Wiseau of literature ...
Someone who mimics certain forms of expression without actually understanding, why things are done in the way they are done. Still, there is a certain chaotic creativity behind those strange metaphors. It is certainly a skill of its own to come up with them.
Glorious. Ordered. Looking forward, though I can't imagine a better appreciation of her work. Bless you, DBH.
Thank you, David. This post was a welcome respite and a reminder that all cannot be dark in a world where such glorious absurdity exists. There is a lightness and tenderness in my being this morning thanks to this exposure. I understand your reservations, but your love is clear, and I am grateful that you chose to share it.
I'm reading this on a brightly dark day. I'm warm while it's freezing and happy because I don't have to be. It's a miserable, beautiful day. - Thanks for introducing me to this awfully hilarious writer! Perfect timing.
Christ is born!
Can you please give a hint of the contents of St. Scandalbags?