The O’Brien and Palmer Show – PART ONE OF TWO

by L. S. Johnson

INTERVIEWER: My guest tonight is comedian Timothy Palmer, who recently returned to the stage for a nationwide tour. Please welcome Timothy Palmer. [applause]

PALMER: Thank you. Thank you very much. It’s great to be here, John.

INTERVIEWER: Before we get started, I must tell you that we polled tonight’s audience before you arrived. Over the years you’ve done some remarkable cameos in films and television, and we asked the audience what was the line they most wanted to hear you say. The winning line was from ‘The Ladies of St. Agnes.’ [laughter and applause]

PALMER: My God, I’m funny and I haven’t even said anything. [laughter] It’s every comedian’s dream. [He starts to stand up] Well, I’m off, you can put my fee in the mail. [laughter]

INTERVIEWER, handing PALMER a slip of paper: This is the line in question. [to audience] Ladies and gentlemen. Timothy Palmer, from his memorable cameo in ‘The Ladies of St. Agnes.’

PALMER, looking directly at the camera: They never taught us this in Sunday school! [laughter and applause]

(Continue Reading…)

The Cuckoo of Vrežna Mountain

by Filip Hajdar Drnovšek Zorko

I realised I was in love with Ivor the day he went up the mountain to speak with the goddess.

We were at that age when the affectionate ease of childhood tips over into something different, when every touch could be the casual brush of friendship or something more and I would never know in advance which was which. There were many times, in those days, when Ivor would take my hands in his, larger and warmer and smooth with the orange-blossom oil he rubbed into them; and I would jerk away with some hasty apology and adjust my trousers while he was not looking. To this day, I find the smell of oranges arousing at the most inopportune times, of which, in a town known for its citrus trees, there are uncomfortably many.

Which is to say that it was not entirely unexpected, this matter of my being in love with him, except insofar as I had never considered the option until it was upon me; and if we had been boys further up the coast, away from the Oracle and her mountain, perhaps this would have been a cause for celebration: the sort of slow exploration of love and youth that ends, mutually, in a friendship deeper than it was before. (Continue Reading…)

Houyi the Archer Fights the Sun

by Cynthia Zhang

“I,” Houyi the Archer says one bright August afternoon when the thermometers hit 103 and the teenagers crack eggs on the sidewalk to see if they’ll fry, “am going to fight the sun.”

“Husband,” says Chang’E, three thousand years into immortality and long past reacting to these types of statements, “please do not fight the sun. We only have the one left, and most people would not appreciate having it gone.”

“Some might, though.” Above them, the ceiling fan whirls, valiantly trying to assuage the heat. The maintenance company, when Houyi called, gave the next available date for fixing the air conditioning as Monday, which — while not too far away — is crucially not today. “The tanuki pack in Arlington Heights or all those hipster vamp kids in Logan Square, I’m sure they’d come down to personally thank me. Besides, I didn’t say I was going to kill the sun. Just rough it up a little, teach it a few lessons about respect.” (Continue Reading…)