In furtherance of the Fairness Doctrine and Equal Opportunity for Offense, submitted to the Editors and Readers of OS.
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
-- Christopher Marlowe (1592)
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
-- Sir Walter Raleigh (1599)
Christopher Marlowe was murdered in 1593, according to official records "stabbed to death by a bawdy serving-man, a rival of his in his lewd love", but most likely by his political opponents, of whose number was Sir Walter Raleigh. Sir Walter, when it came to be his turn, was beheaded in 1618.
Is this a prologue or the posy of a ring? No matter, let us be headed to the heart of the matter, the recovered transcript from the Bangalore Bunghole cockpit recorder of Catamite's colonoscopy conversation. The conversation was recorded to cover multiple asses to ensure that no asses got colonized by tortious lawyers. It differs markedly from earlier published reports.
_______________________________
" Could I have your goodname, sir."
"Catamite Bastard."
"Excuse to me, sir, but you must not initiate this confabulation in this abusive fashion."
"What do mean abusive, pinhead. That's my fricking name."
"A million sorrows, Sahib. You are most aptly yclept, if you will permit me to say. OK, Sri Bastard, and what service may we be performing for your goodself today?"
“Colonoscopy. C-O-L-O-N-O-S-C-O-P-Y.”
“Yes, Sahib, sir, please do not to start out yelling. I am only in Bangalore, not the Antipodes. Let the loudmouth CocaCola man chew on Antipodes for a while. Another fucking Master of the Universe type. Ok, a lesson for him in post-colonial reality. You mean colostomy.”
“No. I don’t mean colostomy. Different part of the alimentary canal altogether. Colonoscopy. C-O-L-O-N-O-S-C-O-P-Y.”
“ Alimentary is pronounced "al" not "el", behenchod (1) sahib. Are you bamboozling (pace Yann Martel) to me, sir? So he thinks he's a funny guy. I'll play straight man, then. Yes. What is it for?”
“Well, if you really need to know that to answer the insurance question, they need to shove a camera up mom’s ass to check things out. C-O-L-O-N-O-S-C-O-P-Y.”
"Arse, not ass, sir. And convoluted Umriccan syntax, Sahib. "
"WHAAAAAT"?
"Unless you are to be shoving camera (regional syntax gets their goat, haha) up the anus of your mother's donkey. In which case you are covered no way. Do you need veterinary division"?
"NO, I DON'T NEED NO GODDAMN VET. I JUST WANT A CAMERA UP MY MOTHER'S ASS...SORRY ARSE."
“ Yes. I have that now. Camera up mother's arse is reimbursed at 100% of the 80% Medicare pays.”
“I understand that, ‘Judy’. The problem is that no one where we live has a contract with you.”
"That's Joo-thee, sir."
"WHAT?"
"Joo-thee, sir. Means "shoes". In honor of Muntazer al-Zaidi who threw shoe at white imperialist devil George W. Bush. Yes. I am finding two Clonosopy (clipping those vowels Oxbridge style gets these Yanks' goat, too) doctors in your area for you. Have you tried calling them?”
“No, we use carrier pigeons now in the United States because of the economy."
"Sorry to hear that, sir. Is it because of all the outsourcing of all the high value, high intellect jobs?" (BOOYEEAAH, HAHAHA.)
"WHAT ARE YOU, A FUCKING COMEDIAN? Of course I called them. How else would I know that they don’t take your insurance?”
“Sir, please calm yourself. No need to use American vulgarities. Hey, Ram, listen in, yar. This bozo's calling from some hillbilly Dogpatch, where they don't have doctors. And if the doctor's a desi that'll really fry his ass. Yes. Is one of them Dr. Patel? Have you tried calling them?”
“Them? There’s only the one..."
"Oh no, sir, there are many Dr. Patels. "
“Judy, don’t interrupt me again. I didn’t interrupt you, don’t interrupt me.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that sir. It is just that Dr. Patel is my fourth cousin and he...”
“FUCK YOUR FOURTH COUSIN..."
"Sorry, sir, that is not to be allowable by the law of Manu, which was written 3500 years before the birth of Jesus the Christ."
"FUCK MANU. FUCK JE.....Awright. I'm calm. So let’s get back to the original insurance question I have.”
“Yes. This procedure is 100 percent reimbursable to the patient.”
“I have no idea what you just said.”
“Yes. This guy is thick, yar. I will give him a simple example. Well, if the clonoscopy costs $100.00, it would be fully reimbursable.”
“$100.00? This C-O-L-O-N-O-S-C-O-P-Y is not taking place at the Medecin sans Frontieres clinic in Mombasa, ok? This is the states. It’s going to cost a lot more than that. It takes place in a hospital and she’ll be sedated for it. Think thousands. If it was a hundred bucks I’d just take it out of the cat’s ‘Treatie-Money’ jar.”
“ You took my example literally, you fool? All right, you are going to get it right back. Should I check for someone in Mombasa? There is definitely to be a Dr. Patel in Mombasa. Also lower caste Patel, who can be of extreme service as veterinarian to your cat. ”
“You know what, Judy? I need you to put me on hold, and find another representative with a better grasp of the English language.”
"Sahib, while I improve my grasp of the English language, you should perhaps obtain a better grasp of the American reality. You are in rapid decline. Your glory days are gone. Cowboy capitalism and warhawk adventurism has brought you to your knees. Your economy is in ruins. Your health care system is ranked lower than Cyprus. Cyprus."
"FUCK CYPRUS. AND FUCK YOU, DOTHEAD. I WANT YOUR BOSS."
"And furthermore, welcome to the 21st century, Kipling Sahib. What makes you think an American job is more important than an Indian job? If you can get an American to perform my job, go find him and get him to do it. Better hope Obama can get some of you guys off your asses and find you some WPA projects to work on while the rest of the world moves on. The age of American imperialism and Hollywood hegemony is over. I will get my Didi now."
"Deedee?"
"No, that is pronounced thee-thee. Term of respect for my supervisor, means elder sister. We are non-hierarchical, family-oriented, anarcho-syndicalist call center."
(‘Judy’ places me on hold at 16:32 into our conversation. Deedee comes on at 21:44.)
“Deedee?”
“No, Sri Bastard. Only Joothee can call me Didi. You may address me as Mrs. Muraliranganam. I understand you need a colostomy.”
“NO. My MOM needs a colonoscopy. C-O-L-O-N-S-O-C-O-P-Y.”
“No need to be raising the barn door expostulating so loudly, sir. You lost an "O" in there. Is she there to authorize you to speak to me on her behalf?”
“Deedee, sorry, Mrs. Multilingual Lingam...."
"Excuse me, Mr. Bastard. You just called me a very filthy name."
"(Snivelling now). Look, Mrs. Mumblemumblemumble, I'm terribly sorry. I meant no offense. PLEASE.....HELP..... ME."
"That is much better, Bastard. Who the hell do you guys think you are? Think this globalization stuff is just going to go away? Still treating us as if we were coolies. Know any of your unemployed willing to work for $10 a day, six days a week, taking calls night and day from idiots with an attitude like yours? Suck it in and deal with it."
" (Crying). I want to talk to an American. Pleeeease. An American. White, black, brown, doesn't matter. I'm not prejudiced. (Loses it. Starts bellowing.) USA...USA...USA...USA...USA...Made in America. Only in America.USA...USA...USA...USA...USA....”
"Yes, Mr. Bastard. We will arrange that anon. Please to be on hold."
(Music. Muzak version of Vivaldi's "Four Seasons", probably "Winter".)
Deedee calls out: "Hey, Shyamsundar bhai, got a live one here. Ice him for a couple of minutes, put on your best John Wayne accent, and let him down easy. By the way, your name is Cliff."
(Time passes. Shyamsundar, born in Edison, NJ, BA Rutgers, MBA Paramus State, who looks a lot like Sanjay, Malakar not Gupta, picks up the phone.)
“ Hiya there, pardner. This hyah's your ole buddy, Cliffo. How's it hangin', ya sly bastard?"
"Oh, thank God! Oh Jesus, Mary, mother of God, and all the saints. Hallelujah! We are saved. A gen-you-wine, 18 carat, 64 dollar...
A..M..E..R..I..C..A..N
WOOF
Note:
(1) behenchod: Term of endearment in Bangalorean regional dialect.
Picture credit: Oil painting by William Holman Hunt. The Hireling Shepherd. 1851. Manchester City Art Galleries.
The above represents the disjointed effort of Crazy Dog and Anonymous, who merely acted as the color commentator, so to say, and hereby disavows all liability for the product above.
_________________________________________________
The Passionate Shepherd to his Love 
OME live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber-studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
__________________________________________________
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd
F all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
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Comments
and we will feast each day on hog
that stoves and ovens, pans and woks,
Grills, or crock pot cooks.
Not beat me with a stick or stone,
If thou wouldst comb my matted fur
I wouldst be the happiest cur.
laffoutloud
Lea, Lisa, you are both so wise, to have discerned the brilliance of this canine's humble efforts.
jane, I think you might have dodged a bullet. Was Raleigh's reply read by the party of the other part at some future eventuality?
Caruso, thanks for the corroboration. But the $64 question is, will this get on the Cover ;-)?
To be fair to catamite, who is my bosom buddy if not (yet?) my butt buddy, this sort of thing would try the patience of a saint. But, the problems, as I think most of us realize, go way beyond what taking out a few easy laughs IMHO at the expense of some poor chipmunk in Chennai who is also trying to feed his (and increasingly her, which is not normative in South Asia) family. The problems are structural, it is our problem, and I hope we can deal with it without the kneejerk anti-them response. Enough soapbox.
WOOF
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
A dozen horny treasures yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feel their cocks
By shallow rivers, in whose falls
Those shepherds wash their nasty balls.
Thou deserv'st not either stick or stone,
In fairness, this is good service done,
Thank ye from thy friend - ANON.
You are all smart bipeds, one must assume,
That you see in the scrivenings of this pesky pooch,
More than a bagatelle or a mere amuse-bouche.
Wayne, "scrivenings" a favorite word, thanks for bringing it back to the fore of fried frontal lobe.
Smith, more anon, Anon ;-).
Zumalicious, one of thy thumbs in all thy purple Bulwer-Lyttonian majesty is worth a thousand thumbs by other mortals :-).
WOOF
A flatulence unbidden
Tho' telling this I choose to parse
My words and keep some hidden
The mockingbird doth here delight
In calling-out Din Gunga
Kiplingesque in his own write
Exclaiming "Cowabunga!"
And all of this to file claim
Employing local medic
In arrears - 'tis such a shame
Affords no anesthetic
I wish I could rate often my favorite canine.
Tom, take an extra bow: anyone who would even think of rhyming Cowabunga has definitely a bright future ... in poetic lunacy :-).
bbd, you make me blush. And an old geezer dog blushing is not a pretty sight. Actually, not unlike Sandra, the writing comes pretty easy (especially this one, as I had catamite's text to rip off and riff off of.) But this might make you techie Masters of the Universe laugh, those two damn light blue and would you believe "thistle" boxes took the longest time to format and get just right. This editor. Grrrr.
WOOF
Thanks. I wish I could rate this more than once.
You just made my evening! I laughed so much outloud that my 19 year old son thought I was having some kind of attack! I could just "see" the scene, all ringing in my head with the Oxford and Indian accent mixture, and the head movement so typical, meaning "no problem" when there is one actually.
You cracked me up. I will have good dreams tonight.
Thank ye for visiting my pastoral Ar-ca-dy,
Sarah_in_USA, it is as you say:
"Yes, yes" can mean "no, no" in lands far away.
This diversity business is a tough nut to crack,
But if anyone can do it, it will be -- BARACK!
HWOOF (Hallellujah WOOF)
Thank you, thank you all. You really do have this old dog blushing.
WOOF
The editor employed in the "New Post" page is TinyMCE. It is highly customizable, and offers many more tools to the blog author, should OS management so choose.
Just another instance of OS's utter disregard for the blogging experience, IMO.
(rated)
Customer: I'd like to ask you a question about the belt on page 63 of the catalog?
ME: Certainly, ma'am, how may I help you?
Customer: Can you tell me if the best is bi-sexual?
ME(stifling hysterical laughter): I beg your pardon?
Customer: I said bi sexual...like can a man or woman wear it?
ME (peeing pants and rolling on the floor, but not laughing, yet): Certainly, ma'am. Would you like to order it?
Customer: No I just wanted to know.
ME (trying not to lose it): Thanks for calling and have a nice day.
Bi-sexual=unisex Who knew?
Let's just say it's a double edged sword out there. rated.
When I was at UNL, the Daily Nebraskan ran a story--probably around Valentines Day--with the first couple lines of the Passionate Shepherd, as well as "A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou," and attributed both to Shakespeare. I fired off a blistering letter to the editor about not checking and double-checking quotations before going to print. Bad enough the writer didn't check, but inexcusable for the editor to do the same. Jeez.