Wren-friends, below I present to you the Mother of All Run-On Sentences. One Neddie Jingo, Esq., in a veritable raptus of synaptic and lingual release following a grinding week or two of slaving for his bread and butter, wrote it:
“Taking advice exclusively from a tightly closed coterie of self-satisfied, ideologically blinkered sycophants in expensive suits who had themselves never been within a thousand miles of a shot fired in anger, gulling an apathetic public with a mindbendingly oversimplistic vision of American liberators being greeted with sweets and flowers by a grateful, cheering Iraqi public whose only thought was of forming off into Whigs and Federalists and drafting a Constitution second only to our own in its wisdom and humaneness - and not, for example, looting every unguarded building (that is to say, every building but the Oil Ministry) down to its electrical wiring and faucet taps - through his proxies denouncing as a traitor any person who expressed doubt about the benefits of an unprovoked preemptive war of choice against an enemy whose danger to this country was, to be kind, greatly exaggerated if not blatantly lied about in a coordinated campaign of misinformation, and failing to account for an international insurgency movement that is ideologically bent on pushing anything remotely Western into the Mediterranean - a development that was, it must be observed, predicted with complete accuracy by many of those selfsame people who were denounced as traitors for even entertaining the idea that not every half-baked, half-assed, but wholly self-righteous thing America does in the world is of universal benefit - the President, in a fashion completely in keeping with his lifelong proven record of intellectual laziness, dismally poor
self-discipline, and achingly self-evident sense of enormous personal
entitlement, clearly did not plan for the postwar situation, and now has a 30% approval rating in the polls to show for it. Asshole.”
Is this not a thing of beauty? And the second sentence, which stands all alone, strong, brave and true, gives it that tiny pinch of salt that transforms it from the merely delightful into the sublime.
The last time I read a sentence this long was when I picked up “The Deerslayer” by James Fenimore Cooper many years ago. I'd decided I was in need of Education, having not been forced to read the classics as a young person like so many of my peers. Also, "Hawkeye" on M.A.S.H inspired my curiosity.
Alas, the unreadable JFC mired me in the dense muck of his words, where I sank like a stone and suffocated. Trust me: The outrageous and very readable Jingo is a lot more fun.
P.S.: This post was inspired by the clever-yet-modest -- and very good writer -- Kevin Wolf, who you must now please go visit so he won’t be mad at me.