That last poem was about a woman I was introduced to during my recent travels. Her name was not Marie but she actually was an organic horticulturalist and as soon as she said it I said that I was going to steal that for a poem. Those words just feel good in the mouth. Go ahead and say it out loud right now: organic horticulturalist.
It’s fun to say, right?!
This is one of those times when I would have to agree with William Burroughs in that the sound and the feel of the words is the source of our pleasure (as opposed to their meanings). I guess we should take that with a grain of salt though since Burroughs also once wrote the sentence, “Naked Mugwump twangs a lute.”
The editors here at Standardkink have been quietly muttering “the organic horticulturalist” to themselves since I wrote that last poem and they have also been composing a list of other professions which are similarly pleasurable to say out loud:
The desirable phlebotomist
The despondent urologist
The schizophrenic meteorologist
The syphilitic televangelist
The condescending dentist
The quadriplegic archaeologist
The incestious epedimiologist
The lovelorn mixologist
The flammable typist
The buoyant marine biologist
The forgetful hypnotist
The disoriented oncologist
The hearing impaired flutist
The vengeful zoologist
The moist philatelist
The inconsistent arsonist
The incarcerated organist
The debauched hydroclimatologist
The engorged pederast
The hypoglycemic pediadist
The agoraphobic aerialist
The carnivorous mammalogist
The cunning linguist
The cantankerous gastroenterologist
Spoiler alert, “The Moist Philatelist” is totally going to be the name of my band’s next album.
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