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| Fiction: Grandpa's Cookie Recipe added a few kicks to the mix |
The WriteRight Speakers Club (WRSC) had convened again; made up, mostly, of an insensitive bunch of self righteous bastards with neither award winning best sellers nor scholarly tomes to their names. This time, the WRSC Board met to discuss the grave matter of Grandpa’s profanity laced tirade at the annual Holiday dinner.
“I had to let the MoFos have it. I was tired of their shit. Oh, they know alright how to lampoon “hyperbole, digressive shmuckity shmuck and specious diatribe.” Grandpa scoffed. He took a sip of his pomegranate Kefir, and leaned back into his favorite armchair. I sat by the fireplace, waiting to hear his spiel.
“In the old country, Griots were highly respected. We were gifted orators; telling our stories to kings, their subjects, and even warriors on the battlefield. Each story was a yarn, woven over several days. People would gather to hear an oft told tale embellished; they liked the meanderings and even the illogical twists and turns in a story. Like life, our stories weren’t linear; they segued here and there, and were pithy with warnings and wisdom. But these old WRSC farts insist on order, precision, and a specific cadence…”
Why a specific cadence? I asked.
“Because most of our club members wear hearing aids and can’t hear a damn thing. They want our speeches LOUD and real slooooooow! It messes with my rhythmic flow. Sheesh, we have members who talk over each other, constantly interrupting my story. Others spend time preening or pontificating on material from decaying members. I keep telling the Board to invest in a bullhorn with a siren attached to help shut the Viagra deprived schmucks up but, Prissy Preamble, our club president, wants none of it.” Grandpa explained.
“Can you imagine the audacity? Prissy had the nerve to ask me why I was being so ornery; calling my fellow members Viagra deprived schmucks! I told her: Look around our club. Our members are all over 60 and that mess about wisdom coming with age is lost on them, for sure. They need some action on both ends and…”
What led to the tirade? I asked, interrupting my 75 year old Grandpa, before he launched into another invective.
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