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Medsisms 4/27/2004 7:03:12 PM
My book 'The Hope Chest - By Arthur Meds' is peppered with random thoughts and sayings. The following is a list of the best and the worst. I will update it as time, desire, and feedback allow. Sit back and enjoy.
Many writers have coined memorable lines and phrases: “To be or not to be.” “I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers.” “It was the best of times.It was the worst of times.” “Damn, I can’t believe I shot a hole in my foot.”
While critics have never considered any of Arthur Meds’ works to be quotable, perhaps no other author has created thoughts, ideas, and scenes that were so absurd and distorted.In order to achieve this level of confusion and chaos, Arthur has peppered through his books nonsensical sayings that his wife (during the divorce proceedings) referred to as Medsisms.
Today, the term refers to any saying which on the surface is meaningless, and when analyzed detracts from the reader’s intelligence.
A few examples are noted below:
You can’t parallel park a bus.
He wanted to run.He wanted to fight.He wanted to play the violin.He couldn’t.This bothered him.
The hamster would not have been discovered were it not for the curiosity of a drunken waiter.The discovery did not please her.
On the side of the van was a rather barbaric mural depicting The Last Supper.
The large red ball, however, remained a mystery.
He came from a distant, but quite comfortable world.
Except for four bathrooms and a small almost unrecognizable statue of Akhannatenikhaniten, there was nothing for the gate to protect.
They would often talk about his progression from crawling, to walking, and finally to hiding his mother’s keys in the diaper box and taunting the cat.
Two short years after Maxwell Alexander Noiton was born, he celebrated his second birthday.
He did not get along well with other children, so he was an only child.
He was an old bearded man with Wrinkles.Wrinkles was his dog.
One hand was slightly larger than the other, but so slight was the difference that no one ever noticed it.
For the first time, he was beginning to regret the bargain he made while facing east, patting his head, and chanting to the Great Goat.
There it was.Rather, what was left of it.The red brick and green stucco house was on fire.
It was an unusual number and was usually preceded by, ‘For a good time call…’
It’s a whale.Dolphins don’t eat cupcakes.
His voice was meek and gave the impression that he had the mental capacity of a small furry woodland creature.
It was evidently extremely damaging to the very fabric of space-time to write a poem about a leaf, set fire to it, and send it back in time.
Their neighbors shunned them.Their friends ridiculed them.Even strangers sent them hate mail and taunted their cat.
This book was not written by me, but by a fictitious character which I created.
