Mangled Thoughts

Here is the original story by F.Scott Fitzgerald. Readers can readily agree why he never published it: as a story it peters out . So, Fitzy wrote The Great Gatsby, and buried the other in a cellar. I managed to get my mits on it. Spodsman is John Kerry. Here goes:

It is the `blistering 2000s’, as the penman Hudboy Spodsman coined it. Critics appropriated the phrase, to celebrate as well as describe Spodsman’s life, times and ouvre, the darling of the leftoid intellectualistic establishment.

Spodsman died in November 2004. I remember that day well. My friend, Hudsy, was driving his Grumbler sportscar at a blistering pace, escaping the Washington riots, to his hide away ranch in downtown Colorado.He crashed. At 30 k.p.h, he hit a wall of homosexuals, `Save the Dickie Bird Brigade’, the `We Will Love One Another Movement’, and the `I’m collectivized front’ led by a Bishop who happened to be a member of all those consciousness raising fronts.

Groupies who had just torn down the U.N. building with the assistance of mortars, shoulder mounted rocket launchers and concrete-buster explosive packs. Their handi-work complete, they had regrouped and were marching onto Capitol Hill to do on a grander scale what they had done to a building which, none the less, deserved it.

The grumbler, the groupies, oh the carnage. It was as if a can of tomato soup with baked beans had been leaked all over the road in one great jumbled potage, the lid ripped off with a blunt instrument. They became his funeral pier. The petrol tank exploded, skunk fuel spewed out in streams of fire, immolating Hudsy and the gang. How ironic, how touching, how fitting they should have died together in one great shreiking heap, they were his fans .

In retropsect, it was a sad day. Sales of his 35 works fell from 1,295 and 1/18 a year to a lousy 2 and 1/97. This was no way to treat the true heir to Derrida and Focault. At that rate, the publishers stopped the titles, they were lost forever. It was a great tragedy for me, Hudsy and his books had helped me become the Senator I am today, fat, happy and rich.

All that remained to the great Spodsman was a phrase, the blistering 2000’s.

Well, readers, you can tell , as I say, why Scotty gave that one the flick and buried it, or so he believed he had, forever, and wrote the Great Gatsby instead.

Ya, Fitzboy had studied Nostradamus too, burnt the midnight candle deciphering and de-fogging Nostrodamus’s smack inspired pearlers.