How Is This Moment Not So, So Famous

Do yourself a favor: skip to minute 3 and watch Bill Pullman's entrancing breasts recite a sex poem to you. You won't regret it. You will regret it so much.

Recent Scrooge McDuck Updates

Scrooge McDuck: Where is my fans?

Scrooge McDuck: I love all my fans!! - but I still prefer and love my money more ♥ Regards your Scrooge McDuck :-)

Scrooge McDuck: can't sit here and not making business! I go back to work. - yours Scrooge McDuck

Scrooge McDuck: Mmmhh... I just LOVE money ! ♥ What about you ? ;-)

Scrooge McDuck: What are you thinking about? I am thinking about MONEY! :D

Scrooge McDuck: Money is my world!

Scrooge McDuck: Money is on my mind!

Scrooge McDuck: swims in my Money! Mhh... I like! :D ♥

Too Far Is Where I Live Now

Jack: I think your New Yorker Rejection Robot story should be disseminated more widely. The world needs to know

Me: I know--we'll send the New Yorker Rejection Robot story to the New Yorker. The Rejection Robot will short-circuit, it is not programmed to handle so much Meta

Sam: The imagery of the t-rex, priceless

Me: I debated putting that in there, I thought, what if the New Yorker finds it

Sam: The New Yorker isn't looking. Reader's Digest is watching us all, but not the New Yorker

Me: The New Yorker doesn't know about the internet yet, thank God--imagine the porn it would be looking at! All James Thurber making love to Roz Chast on the back of a horse, all Woody Allen pouring milk on his face, all Malcom Gladwell tasting a mushroom

Sam: All David Mamet rimming Steve Martin's banjo

Me: All Wallace Shawn/William Shawn incest scenarios

Jack: All Updike/Cheever boiler room caresses

Me: All Jonathan Safran Foer jerking off onto a rose--through the miracle of time-lapse he climaxes just at the moment the rose opens

Sam: ...

Jack: ...

Me: Too far

Shocking Development

Oh my God the New Yorker Rejection Robot has learned to make jokes!

Dear Editors,

Please consider the attached two poems -- "Blibbity Blibbity" and "Bloo Bloo Bloo" -- for inclusion in The New Yorker. My poems have appeared or are forthcoming in American Letters & Commentary, Boston Review, Cincinnati Review, Hayden's Ferry Review, Notre Dame Review, The Virginia Quarterly Review, and elsewhere. I have a "Gold MFA" from Fake Nowhere University.

Thanks for reading,

Patricia Lockwood

(Ed. note: Sometimes I make a joke when I send to the really impossible places--it's presumption to send to them anyway; in their minds I am futile and ridiculous, like a toddler playing Car! in a diaper box or a T-Rex trying to finger herself, so why not acknowledge the absurdity of the situation? Also I have an impulse control problem and I can't help it.)

Dear Patricia Lockwood,

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your work. Although we regret that we are unable to carry it in the magazine, we think that MFAs from Fake Nowhere University are just as good as those from Iowa.

Warmest regards,

The Editors

Too cute! I let out an involuntary awww, I felt so proud of that rejection robot. One day it will learn to love me, and I will tongue it all over until it falls down glitching, and rewire its circuits to say Always Yes.

BOONE!

Allow me to unveil the cover of BOONE!, my collection of Daniel Boone persona poems. It is a romance. They are dancing, and Daniel Boone is screaming with pleasure. Coming this fall from Oh Like YOU Could Draw a Buffalo Press.

No Holes, Two Holes, Three Holes and Four Holes

The Devil

I am making a three-dimensional tarot out of 78 buttons. Do you have a button to contribute? I need a castle button, an anchor button, a hippo button, a palm tree button. A shell button and a bone button. A dog paw and a cat paw button. A clownface button and a red balloon button. A "collectible moonglow" button, obviously! Fake rubies for the pips! I have the first button already; this button is Self-Aware; it shows a pair of scissors superimposed over a length of thread. "Death" will be the button you choked on when you were four. "How did you get my childhood choking button?" you'll ask, but all childhood choking buttons are the same. When I do a reading I will shake all the little buttons in a bag and pull them out one by one.

Yay!

Over at NewPages, Sima Rabinowitz reviews the Autumn/Winter issue of The Journal and talks a little bit about my poem "Homonymous Bosch Adds a Saloon-Door Hinge." My name is also mentioned as being "immediately recognizable," which whoa, that is true only to my mother. Actually not even to my mother, who has five children and never got the right name on the first try. Most often a call to the dinner table sounded something like ChristrishpaulPATRICIA. I have many times been called by a dog's name. This is fine when your dog is named, like, Elizabeth. It is not fine when your dogs are named Naugie and Tat.

I Continue to Be a Marketing Genius

Me: "This spider's venom has also been found to cause increased levels of nitric oxide which, in male human victims, will result in an involuntary erection that can be very painful and last hours. Scientists are reportedly attempting to create an erectile dysfunction treatment that can be combined with other medicines out of the peptide that causes this reaction." God, I hope they call the medicine FANG-HARD

Elegant Choice: Bang Hard with Fang-Hard

Me: So good

Elegant Choice: Keep Your Thang Hard with Fang-Hard

Me: Bob Dole would star in the commercials--they would show a spider crawling into his unzipped pants, and then the camera would pan up and show a huge smile on Bob Dole's face

Elegant Choice: Be a "Prong Lord" with Fang-Hard

Me: I don't think the public is ready for slant rhymes in their boner advertising

Elegant Choice: We'll never know until we try

Me: Paul Muldoon would buy so much of it

Elegant Choice: Kay Ryan would buy so much of it

Me: Billy Collins would buy so much of it, to sex Emily Dickinson with when he is dead

Elegant Choice: Too far

What Is That Thing

Remember in the days of print submissions, when you could tell whether a letter was an acceptance or a rejection by how thin or thick it was? Acceptances were always so thin. And now you can tell whether an email is an acceptance or a rejection by whether it's 2KB or 6KB. How I love the little Signifiers, how I want them all in bed with me like a row of tiny teddies, all wearing tiny t-shirts that say BEAR.

There Is Good News and Bad News

I thought "Big Shot" would never leave, but I prayed to Acoustic Jesus and he wrote me a new song during the night. I dreamed that I turned on the television and saw a man strumming a guitar and singing a soft ballad called, "Hot Lucky BM." It went, "Hot lucky BM! Hot lucky bee-eh-eh-ehmm." It was very folky and tender, like a song your mom would sing to you as you were dying of an Ass Problem in old-time Appalachia. "Hot lucky BM!" she would croon, as you excreted your soul into the pants of Heaven. "Hot lucky bee-eh-eh-ehmm."

The Haunting

Look at this gost

Here is a tragedy: I heard a few seconds of "Big Shot" over the weekend and now I can't chase it out of my head for love or money. The lyrics are so relevant to my life right now--oh oh whoa whoa oh, oh oh whoa who-oo-oo-oo-ah, oh oh oh whoa whoa oh, oh oh whoa indeed. Also, I've become obsessed with the part where he starts singing in an accent for no reason, like, "YOU HAD TO BE A BEEG SHOT DEED YOU!" Why does he do this? Is the accent Italian? French? Russian? It throws me, a virgin, into a volcano of embarrassment.