Confucius Say “One Who Drinks and Writes Will Suffer Great Humiliation”

Earlier this week, while enjoying my afternoon beer break, I decided to visit one of my favorite writer hangouts, Zoetrope Virtual Studios. I haven’t been active there in over a year and a half, but I still lurk in some of the private offices, occasionally post on the main discussion boards -- but only, unfortunately, when I’ve had a bit of booze. I attribute this to my guilt and frustration over not being productive, fiction-wise.

So I go to Zoe and discover that I’ve been invited to a new office, and upon checking it out, find that it seems to be a fun place to set my beer, so to speak. I see that there are over seven hundred writers that are members of this office, and that the host has a wonderful sense of humor, which she proves by posting random computer-generated topics with which we writers can do what we please. Some write poems, some flash fiction, some pithy comments -- everything goes here. I’m intrigued. Perhaps more than I should be after three or four beers.

One of the topics of the day is “Lionesses Have No Manes -- How Do They Know When They've Grown Up?” Well, goodness, I can do this! What a great way to introduce myself to the group! I’ll post a humorous poem, by golly, and everyone will laugh and laugh and love Ms. Lori to the point of adoration. I will be the Queen Clown of this office! The slightly less depressing Sylvia Plath! The Kathy Griffin of letters!

I’m so excited, my fingers can hardly keep up with my deluded brain. And this is what I wrote (keep in mind that I honestly thought this was a shining example of poetic brilliance):

Adult Lionesses Have Hairy Vulvas

As a little girl-cub on the wild, wild plains
I often envied my older brothers' manes
And dreamed of the day I would get mine
From dark midnight to the morning sunshine
But when Mother explained that wasn't to be
That my head would be bald for eternity
I wept with such fervor, but it did no good
And vowed right then not to embrace womanhood
Then one day, out of the blue
I noticed a hair -- not only one, but two!
As each day progressed, more hairs did appear
And soon realized I had nothing to fear
For I am beautiful with this wooly patch
That covers my nether regions, belly to snatch

As you can see, this is not a shining example of anything but the work of a fey drunkard, yet when I hit “post,” I was confident that this quite possibly was among the best I’d ever written.

But see, I only had four beers in the fridge, so my delusion sadly turned to realization about five, six hours after my literary assault, which was when I checked back in the office to reread my masterpiece.

And then I repeatedly punched myself in the goiter.