On a Beech tree rudely carved

An abeyance, for now, in the TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS, while I attend to other matters in advance of a four-day vacation, whose duration will be passed without proximity to our little work-a-day blogosphere.

Due to recent travels along the eastern length of New York, weekend sleep has been scarce, and I've fallen into a regressive pattern of afternoon naps and morning misery. This is to be expected, of course, when all energy is concentrated on the short evening hours where a young man's activity is expected to peak. Nevertheless, the forthcoming hiatus will come as a welcome reprieve, and may afford a chance to regain a proper circadian rhythm. I must admit, however, that the preponderance of investments in future slumber have yielded precious little in the way of return.

There is something terribly obscene about the typo "teh." It is worse by far than any other misspelling, grammatical error, or miskeyed term in our native tongue. Exactly why this is so, I can't quite explain, though I theorize that it hinges on our perception of "the" as a bulwark of language, without which our manifold nouns would crumble into pidgin nonsense. Too, there is the error's guttural pronunciation, calling to mind our thoughtless neanderthal predecessors, whose resurgent influence is keenly observed in the youthful zeitgeist. The congregating hordes of English debasers- enemies from within- would be wise to make use of the corruption as their principal arme de choix.

Now, a rhyming alternative history poem about the airborne dog fight between Baron Von Richthofen and Eddie Rickenbacker, which may have occurred had the former not perished a mere eight days before the latter's first foray.


FLYING CIRCUS, RE-VISITED

Fearless Eddie Rickenbacker
left his helmet in the locker
and said unto the gens d'armes,
"Today my soul is free from harm."
He swaggered to the waiting plane-
a Nieuport 28 from Spain-
and once the rear guns were aligned
(and confidential papers signed),
he made the tiny engine sing
and woe! the Hat (was) in-the-Ring.

Sipping on his grail of tea,
the Baron smiled, sick with glee.
He thought of evil things he'd do
aboard the Albatross D-2.
A finger traced the Kaiser's crest;
the wicked German beat his breast.
Soon with gestures quick and mean,
he drank a human blood canteen
and in a flash- his craft aloft-
the deathly red beret was doffed!

The pilots met above the lake
called Jungfernsee ("the steady drake")
and circled twice around before
they made the mounted guns to roar.
But Rickenbacker saw his chance:
he flew up close, he drew his lance
and leapt into the German plane-
a tactic some had called "insane."
But with a shout of "U-S-A!"
he slew the baron; Oh, hooray!