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excerpt: A Note from the Underground

Master tile mason Robert O’Rourke settled his considerable bulk on the stool adjoining young Maurice, his assistant, and hailed: "Landlord!" The crumpled bartender turned away from the television set mounted at the end of the bar where several early morning denizens of the Pearl of Erin were attending the final countdown for the launching of the space shuttle Discovery and padded over to be of service.

Swallow Myself

I’m doing it. Swallowing myself. I know the act is simple, I’ve been eating since before I was alive.

Buried in Cups

I eat a lot of yogurt, and the plastic-cup containers keep piling up. A while ago I decided it was time to get rid of them, and thought of a few ways I could put them to use: I could stage a demonstration to shame the yogurt industry into doing something about the billions of throwaway cups they crank out each year. I’d ship the cups to France and unload them on the dock, then pour (biodegradable) corn syrup over the pile and roll it into a huge ball.


The Brooklyn Rail

DEC 03-JAN 04

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