By Tammy Salazar
On the final day of the Hazelville Grain Symposium, Tommy dazzled the Future Farmers of America with his keynote address on the unparalleled virtues of corn. He moved passionately and methodically from tortilla chips to whiskey to grits, and then on to the wonders of ethanol and corncob pipes, until even the most ardent wheat and barley supporters were on the verge of tears.
“There is nothing,” Tommy roared, pounding his fist on the dais, “nothing at all that corn cannot do!”
Scarcely had the words left his mouth when a band of crazed Norsemen rowed ashore and began pillaging the stores along Main Street. Then the robots arrived, and after they had slain the Norsemen with their pincers and whirling blades, they started vaporizing the townsfolk. Then a meteorite smashed into the Redenbacher Senior Center.
Yet those endless fields of Silver Queen sweet corn did nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. Just stood there, green leaves fluttering impotently in the cool morning breeze.
(This is the final entry in Salazar's celebrated "Corn Trilogy," which includes the Indiana homemaker's other "a-maize-ing" tales: A Lesson at Breakfast and Tender is the Corn.)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
OH, BUT FOR A KERNEL OF COURAGE!
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4 comments:
I've suffered from corns as long as I can remember.
And there's something I can't seem to do WITH corn: I can't properly digest it. Corn in / corn out.
Sure makes dropping the kids off at the pool a lot nicer, though; like having a smattering of little ball bearings liberally applied to ease my morning.
(It seems appropriate to use the word "smattering" when talking about poop.)
Mr. Jorgan,
You are without question a scatologist of the highest order. I urge you to use your special gifts to better this world of ours.
Oh, corn is powerful. But it is fickle, sir. Fickle.
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