Cynthia Dall's
Ankle Socks Taste Like Raspberries
by M. J. Nicholls
Aww… the
rats done chewed up me Leslie Garrett albums.
Blighters! Ho-ho-ho… I have a sweet idea (sweet
like sugar, stupid like a wombat). How’s
about I learn the difference between Yazoo &
Yahoo? Guh-haw, guh-haw, guh-haw.
Yazoo is a
delicious milkshake. Bananas and fruits
compressed into a cow’s love. Yahoo is a
delicious search engine. Words and ideas squeezed
into a motherboard of hate. Gather round, ye
hobos and schlocks, and hear ye the tale of the
Yahoo Yazoo Scandal!
Oh, it began,
like so many scandals, at the bottom of Cynthia
Dall’s inflatable shoes. The former lover of
Bill Callaghan (lo-fi alt-rock misanthrope and
one-time Smog leader) was attending a
counterculture bash in New Somewhere (a town in
America that bears no relevance to the tale) when
a wasp ate her ankle socks.
Munch-buzz!
Munch-buzz! The wasp nibbled and slurped and
gulped and guffawed.
Oh, Ms.
Dall, your ankle socks done taste like
raspberries!
“Pardon,
Mr. Wasp?”
I am
enjoying your ankle socks, you hipstress you.
“Do you
mean to say, Mr. Wasp, that my socks have a
flavour to them, such as one might taste in, say,
food?”
You’re
pretty. Let’s make honey, even though
I’m a wasp and not a bee.
“No
thanks, Mr. Wasp. I intend to take these
raspberry-tinged ankle socks and introduce them
to a cow right away!”
I patented
that idea, hussy.
“You be
wasp. Me be woman and hipstress extraordinaire.
Better stick to sucking socks, sugar.”
Curse you,
Cynthia Dall!
So Cynthia (or
Cynth) went from the bash and walked into a field.
Locating a lonesome cow (Joe), she introduced his
udders to the flavoursome qualities of her ankle
socks.
“You like,
don’t you?”
Oh, Cynth!
What is this madness I am feeling? Fie o’
fie on the fee-fiddle!
“Be calm,
cow. You are but a pawn in this new milkshake
revolution.”
Oh, Yazoo!
Let me love your socks as I love grass!
“Yazoo,
eh? Hmm. Sounds like a good name for this
milkshake revolution thing. I will flavour all
the milks in the world, sell them in brightly
coloured plastic bottles, and they shall be
called… Yazoo!”
So it began.
Some annums later, when James Stewart’s
daughter Millie invented the internet (rubbing
three cables and a stick together), Cynth struck
chocolate milk (in a figurative sense) and
plopped her venture online. The man responsible
for inputting every word onto the internet, Biff
– a former Frank Zappa roadie –
misspelled ‘Yazoo.’ Can you guess what
the misspelling was? Can you? Oh, you fiend!
Guess, lover!
Yes –
Google. Cynthia went on to be the CEO of Google.
The Google inventor now sells flavoured milks
form his beige tepee somewhere inside the
crescent shape that forms when pixies weep. Woe
is he.
So, ack-ack!
That was the Yazoo-Yahoo scandal. I trust that
your nodes were charged by that mini-tale. If not,
you will meet your dragons when the blimps come
back from their Air Hex.
Munch-crisp.
Jet into the future.
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