On first looking into Dahmer's freezer

Much have I travell'd in the Realms of Drivel;
All sorts of silly nonsense did I seek,
Including one mad foray to Shit Creek,
Where whacko weirdness made my head fair swivel.
Oft of one looney bin did travellers warn
Where fish-faced Conway rul'd his piles of merde
By ranting mad doolally - till I heard
Him yodel endless vomit-waves of scorn.
Then felt I like some sewage depot guys
When a huge doo-doo swims into their sight,
Or like craz'd Dahmer, when with baleful eyes
He gaz'd on some new victim numb with fright,
Who'd end up baked in hearty cottage pies,
Silent, upon a plate, with golden fries.


- Emma Chizzit

Again

The Eight Minute Sonnet

I once had a dream to write *Nobel prose,
(Or poems that would win me one of *those),
I stayed up all day, I stayed up all night,
Not to enjoy myself, but to write right.

One day I just happened to come across
Another poet, (whose fortunes, a toss
Between zero balance and bankruptcy),
And for 39 cents, he mentored me.

I gave him my pome, I gave him my pence! -
(Yes, I gave all of my 39 cents!)
I waited a week, (or was it two?) -
Then saw my pome writ in Sh-t Creek Review!

It cost me my fortune in bribe, it's true,
But who would'na paid it. Hey, would'na you?


- Lon Cheney, Miracle Poet

NB: A strict "No Refunds" policy applies to all bribes received by the Shit Creek Anti-corruption Monitor. No correspondence will be entered into on this matter.

+ II

What Horrors Lie Upstream?

As the canoe noses (!) up Shit Creek, unexpected weirdnesses will unfold...

Issue #3 of The Shit Creek Review, due to go online on March 23rd, will contain a few surprises, including...

* A switch to Quarterly publication, giving the editors more time to devote to soliciting bribes, engineering scams, and especially to their top-priority Nigerian Bank Account programme

* Thousands of poems by the Anti-Corruption Editor himself, Prolific Paul (by popular request)

* Son of The Shit Creek Review! - A subzine entitled

II
II will be focused on such themes as a particular author or artist, a particular type of verse or art, and anything else your crazed editors can dream up (depending on their supply of Clag, the snorting of which gives them most of their best ideas). More news on this as it comes to hand.

* The truth about Nigel's adventure trying to save a gerbil from being beaten to death by a psychotic transvestite in Liverpool while visiting his auntie

* Torrid encounters with the frantic and verbose but formless lurking "n/a" entity, known for its ability to type up to 13,000 insults simulataneously (though admittedly with frequent spelling and grammatical errors)...

Well, they won't actually be surprises, will they, now that I've told you about them? But there will be more...


...The reach was narrow, straight, with high sides like a railway cutting. The dusk came gliding into it long before the sun had set. The current ran smooth and swift, but a dumb immobility sat on the banks. The living trees, lashed together by the creepers and every living bush of the undergrowth, might have been changed into stone, even to the slenderest twig, to the lightest leaf. It was not sleep -- it seemed unnatural, like a state of trance. Not the faintest sound of any kind could be heard. You looked on amazed, and began to suspect yourself of being deaf -- then the night came suddenly, and struck you blind as well. About three in the morning some large fish leaped, and the loud splash made me jump as though a gun had been fired. When the sun rose there was a white fog, very warm and clammy, and more blinding than the night. It did not shift or drive; it was just there, standing all round you like something solid. At eight or nine, perhaps, it lifted as a shutter lifts. We had a glimpse of the towering multitude of trees, of the immense matted jungle, with the blazing little ball of the sun hanging over it -- all perfectly still -- and then the white shutter came down again, smoothly, as if sliding in greased grooves. I ordered the chain, which we had begun to heave in, to be paid out again. Before it stopped running with a muffled rattle, a cry, a very loud cry, as of infinite desolation, soared slowly in the opaque air. It ceased. A complaining clamour, modulated in savage discords, filled our ears. The sheer unexpectedness of it made my hair stir under my cap. I don't know how it struck the others: to me it seemed as though the mist itself had screamed, so suddenly, and apparently from all sides at once, did this tumultuous and mournful uproar arise. It culminated in a hurried outbreak of almost intolerably excessive shrieking, which stopped short, leaving us stiffened in a variety of silly attitudes, and obstinately listening to the nearly as appalling and excessive silence. 'Good God! What is the meaning -- ' stammered at my elbow one of the pilgrims -- a little fat man, with sandy hair and red whiskers, who wore sidespring boots, and pink pyjamas tucked into his socks. Two others remained open-mouthed a while minute, then dashed into the little cabin, to rush out incontinently and stand darting scared glances, with Winchesters at 'ready' in their hands. What we could see was just the canoe we were on, her outlines blurred as though she had been on the point of dissolving, and a misty strip of water, perhaps two feet broad, around her -- and that was all. The rest of the world was nowhere, as far as our eyes and ears were concerned. Just nowhere. Gone, disappeared; swept off without leaving a whisper or a shadow behind...

We at the Shit Creek Anti-corruption Monitor, led by fearless Convenor Paul Stevens, are pleased to release the explosive "Shit Creek Files", a sorry tale of allegations, corruption, malfeance, nepotism and general doo-lally that is unparalleled in our times. These files are published for the very first time in history below this announcement.

To help in our investigations, please donate to the Shit Creek Anti-corruption Monitor via the Shit Creek Bank, Nigeria, at the address below. Cheques payable to Paul Stevens, please.

Important!

All bribes to the

Shit Creek Anti-corruption Monitor,
Shit Creek Bank,
P.O. Box 666, Lagos, Nigeria.

The Shit Creek Files

~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr Caratacus,

My secretary, Ms Danna, sent my bribe money to that address in Nigeria you so thoughtfully provided, and she got back a notice in exactly 16 words that they only handle yellow cakes ... some with ganache frosting ... but no poetry submissions.

Yours,
Lon Cheney

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Lon,

"Yellow cakes" is code for poems; "ganache frosting" is code for sonnets. Your order has been accepted. Send us details of your bank account number and password so we can finalise the shipment.

Best Regards,

Paul Stevens

Shit Creek Anti-corruption Monitor

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Paul Stevens - Monitor;

It is with pure joy, if not happiness, that I read your reply to my reply. I did not realize that my letter constituted an order. Tears well in this poet's eyes in delight.

I would like to submit my poem, first, to see if it is acceptable to your Sh-tty Review.

(I must tell you, in all modesty, that I have been advised by those in-the-know who have read it that I have certainly directed my work to the proper venue.)

Here then, without further ado, my poem:

Abandoned at Birth

God sleeps off insobriety
In soft folds of clouds,
His ears numbed to complaints
Of inferiors He has created,
In endless number,
With such wanton abandon.

The hills are dead and deaf;
Mountain streams, long dried out,
Unpuddle.

The saints one prays to
Decline to get involved.

I await your acceptance notice of publication, upon receipt of which I shall forward the items you requested, along with my father's maiden name.
.
Yours in Poetry,
Lon

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Lon,

We have already transferred all the contents of your bank account into our own. Consequently we are delighted to inform you that your consignment of yellow cake poem has been accepted for a future SCR, some time within the next 25 years. How soon it actually appears will depend on your degree of kinship to myself, Paul Stevens, Shit Creek Anticorruption Monitor and Editor-at-Large. If it turns out that you actually are me, it will of course be published immediately on multiple pages.

In the meantime we seek your permission to post the consignment of yellow cake poem into the Shit Creek Review Blog

http://theshitcreekreview.blogspot.com/

Since we have noticed that your bank account is now empty, no further payment will be necessary for the blog publication.

Yours in Uranium Poesie,

Paul Stevens

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Paul Stevens, (or Dear Myself, if I turn out to be you),

I am in receipt of your most alarming e mail of the first inst, and I cannot believe you so easily gained access to my account.

You have informed me that you "have already transferred all the contents of [my] bank account into [your] own." Surely you don't mean the entire 39 cents! I was depending on that sum to help defray the cost of the stamp needed to send you my poem "Abandoned at Birth" via snail mail.

Regarding said poem: you further state "How soon it actually appears will depend on your degree of kinship to myself, Paul Stevens, Shit Creek Anticorruption *Convenor and Editor-at-Large. If it turns out that you actually are me, it will of course be published immediately on multiple pages."

In that case, I can only devoutly hope I am you, as I have never had a poem of mine published on multiple pages ... let alone one.

I am delighted to know, however, that if I am me, you will "In the meantime [sick] seek [my] permission to post the consignment of yellow cake poem into the Shit Creek Review Blog", which of course you have. Or, if I am you ... I have. If, however, we are both neither, I confess I do not know how to proceed.

As you have now rendered me completely bankrupt, I am glad to know that "No further payment will be necessary for the blog publication."

http://theshitcreekreview.blogspot.com/

Yours (or Mine, as the case may be) in equal Poesie,
Lon

PS *Regarding your usage of the word *convenor*, I confess the spelling was new to me, (as was the entire word itself).

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Lon,


You mention ("In the meantime [sick]") that you are not well; I am sorry to hear that. As to "Convenor", in Nigeria and Australia we have vigorous committee cultures with many committees, administered by Convenors (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/convenor), formed for the purposes of sleazy poetry self-publication and bribery facilitation. Shit Creek prides itself on the efficiency of its own bribery and sleaze infrastructure.

Your esteemed (and steamy!) poem is published on the blog. 52.5% of all proceeds revert to The Shit Creek Non-Profit Committee (of which I am the Convenor). You will find the poem here:

http://theshitcreekreview.blogspot.com/2007/02/up-shit-creek-again.html#links

It just remains to say, in the words of my hero, Doctor Faustus,

Consummatum est!

With the utmost probity,

Paul Stevens

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Paul Stevens,

I write to you in a mixture of wondrousness and incredulity! Thanks to you, I am a published poet at last!

You say that your zine gets 52.5%. I trust I shall receive the exact same percentage, which will go far in reinstating my presently defunct bank account.

You cannot imagine with what pride I reported this news to my mentor, Sister Gonzaga! She said from the very little she had heard about you, that she was not surprised you had published me ultra vires. I don't think anyone can blame me if I myself am moved to utter the joyous Cathargo delenda est!

I am eagerly looking forward to seeing the news of my having been published posted in our church bulletin this coming Sunday! No parishioner will ever dare pooh pooh my poetic talents again after they read:

"Our own Lon Cheney's religious poem about God, "Abandoned at Birth", has been published in the prestigious literary zine, The Shit Creek Review."

Probittily yours,
Lon

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Lon,

Well of course ultra virile, c'est moi, as my mentor Asterix the Gaul used to say. I think the percentage you receive after our 52.5% is deducted is even more than we get - minus of course our 72% discretionary surcharge.

Your publication in The Shit Creek Review is guaranteed to impress your fellow parishioners, to lead to world fame as an acclaimed and admired Important Poet, and to bring personal happiness, total fulfilment and romance a-plenty (though sometimes unfortunately in scenarios involving gerbils).

I am sorry that you have had an unsuccessful experience in our blog's comment section (which is incidentally run by my nephew Wallace). I can only advise that you keep trying when the urge comes upon you to leave that very special message on the blog. Nil desperandum!

Here's hoping we can effect many more harmonious yellow cake transactions together in future times yet to come.

Fundamentally yours,

Paul Stevens

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Paul Stevens,

Thank you for your reassuring, tho fraught-with-some-inaccuracies, message.

I am a bit confused by my math ... if I understand yours correctly, The Sh-t Creek Review gets

52.5% - SCR basic charge + 72.0% - sircharge (I am assuming you are the *sir* charging), which Totals - 124.5%

Is this correct?

If so, I shall be lucky to get my original 39 cents deposited back into my account.

And could you explain that thing about *gerbils*?

(BTW - I'm afraid I am no longer welcome at my church. The parishioners nailed a statement to the church door, accusing me of blasphemy. They claim that my poem inferred (implied? said!) that God was a drunkard with a hangover.http://theshitcreekreview.blogspot.com/2007/02/up-shit-creek-again.html#links

Sister Gonzaga was especially offended by the name of your zine. She said she thought it a
sh-tty name, and not fit for the eyes of miners. (Personally, I don't know what miners have to do with anything.))

I have another poem already waiting to be sent. Are you ready for it? If so, just say the word and I will forward it, along with the 39 cents it seems you find sufficient as a bribe.

In closing, I have sent this correspondence to this SILLINESS thread because I fear the hostility that might eventually arise in that other precinct where only SERIOUS POETS should commune.

Fundamentalistly yours,
Lon

*I thought that the Gaul's first name was Charles, not Asterix.
**And does your nephew Wallace have a dog named Gromet?

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Lon,

Yes, we pride ourselves here at Shit Creek High Command on our Quality Inaccuracy cpabilieties capablitieys- I'm so pleased you noticed.

Your figures regarding percentages are correct, Please note however that a Reassessment Fee (135%), Audit Levy (100%), and Clerical Handling charge (340%) now apply (at 22% per annum compound interest). Luckily we have your credit card numbers to recoup any monies outstanding.

Re: gerbils. We believe the matter was raised by QEDster HP who rumour has it is a gerbil farmer. His allegations regarding N. Holt's fracas with a psychotic transvestite over the victimisation of a gerbil are being rigorously investigated by the Shit Creek Central Intelligence Agency. Rest assured we will get to the bottom of this malodorous matter and Holt will if found culpable be strenuously chastised by a team of riding-crop-wielding equestriennes.

I am appalled by your treatment at the hands of your parishioners and can only suggest that you convert to Satanism. Our Spiritual Counsellor Paul "The Beast" Stevens is available for consultation for a small fee.

Please send any further poems to our email address on the Shit Creek Review Blog site http://theshitcreekreview.blogspot.com/ , along with cheque and proof of kinship to the Editors. Alternatively you could post them here - we will then charge them to your MasterCard.

Sleazily yours,

Paul

PS: Asterix de Gaul was formerly President of France. Prophesying the Coming of The Shit Creek Review, he once famously said "Après moi le deluge", which translates as "From my posterior a great flood". It remains our motto.

~~~~~~~~~~

Claudia Grinnell: My hero is, was, and will be Obelix.

Oh, sorry...I didn't read this at all.

I wasn't even here, as a matter of fact.

~~~~~~~~~~

Paul Stevens: Par Dieu! In fact, Depardieu! A fan of Obélix, hein? But you need not worry about being here, Claudia. I think the rule is just that you mustn't tell anyone about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Paul Stevens,

You said:

*I am appalled by your treatment at the hands of your parishioners and can only suggest that you convert to Satanism. Our Spiritual Counsellor Paul "The Beast" Stevens is available for consultation for a small fee.

*Was that a pun on your name "Paul"?

I thank you for the counselling offer and may avail myself of your services. Does your church have any relation or affiliation with The Church Of Latter Day Satans?

You say:

"Your figures regarding percentages are correct, Please note however that a Reassessment Fee (135%), Audit Levy (100%), and Clerical Handling charge (340%) now apply (at 22% per annum compound interest). Luckily we have your credit card numbers to recoup any monies outstanding."

Let's see what we have here so far: 135% + 100% + 340% = 575% + 22% per annum confound interest = ?

You'll have to do the math, here. You lost me at 575%. (Are you by any chance a subsidiary of Halliburton? A member of my family, (whose name I cannot divulge, but whose initials are D.I.C.K.), once worked for that company, and he noted that your method of charging looks very familiar.)

I once had a MasterCard, but seeing as I am in trouble with my Master, (Who issued the card), due to that unfortunate reference in my poem, http://theshitcreekreview.blogspot.com/2007/02/up-shit-creek-again.html#links, I have lost all credit-ability with Him.

My defunct bank account, (which was defuncted by you, as you know), is still not in receipt of the 39 cents you owe it, so that won't work, either.

Here is the poem: (You will note I've learned not to refer to the Deity any more in my poems.)

YOU
by
Lon Cheney
(or Paul (the Beast) Stevens, if it turns out I am you ... or you are me.)

Romeo had his Juliet,
Tristan his Isolde,
Wallace his Gromet,
But what do I have?

I have you.

You,
Who never shares
The chocolates I send,
Not even the cherry ones
You abhor.

You,
Who never lets me
Smell the flowers,
Nor lets me gather rosebuds
While I may.

You,
Who never drinks to me
Only with your eyes.

Who needs you?

If you have the Gaul to publish this in your Sh-t Creek Review, I'll give you 5 bucks American, (which I will have to borrow from you.)

By the way, I think your translation of "Après moi le deluge" was incorrect. It does not translate to "From my posterior a great flood". You would do well to adopt another motto. May I suggest Notre canoë a perdu ses rames.

You also said:

Re: gerbils. We believe the matter was raised by QEDster HP who rumour has it is a gerbil farmer.

I knew HP was a Farmer, but I thought he was a mike Farmer, not a gerbil Farmer.

Yours in Querulousity,<---(I suspect that may not be a word.)
Lon

(You are quite a gentleman. I just noticed I have been misspelling your SN - Caratacus - and you never once corrected me. Thank you. :)
~~~~~~~~~~

Ally Meath: Not reading, err, not really here, err, just to say that I like the Druid, Getafix.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr Cheney,

I regret to inform you that Mr Paul Stevens has disappeared taking the entire contents of the Bank of Shit Creek Deposits account with him. We are investigating reports that he was last seen heading by canoe up the Creek towards the Central Station. We will send a steam launch in pursuit to bring him to justice.

I am one of his nephews, also called Paul Stevens. If you make substantial deposits into our Nigerian Branch account, we guarantee to deploy the funds towards ensuring the recovery of your previously disbursed monies.

I am trying to restore order to the chaos of Mr Stevens' files and papers. When I have achieved that I will reply to such of your queries as I can reasonably answer. I am waiting on delivery of a potion from Getafix to stimulate a Surge of sufficient energy for this very complex task.

Yours in Sorrow,

Paul Stevens (Shit Creek Recovery Task Force)


PS: I found this amongst Mr Stevens' papers. I include it here in case it may be relevant.


To M3

What goods have I that you might rent or hire?
What services for which I might ask charge?
What properties positioned for a buyer?
What differentials might I arbitrage?
My elegant investments show no yield,
My treasures pawned, with no cash to redeem,
My stock has crashed, my bankruptcy revealed,
My wealth the plaything of some bank clerk's scheme.
Into a harsh receivership I fall,
All assets stripped, divided, auctioned; all
Derivatives expired, both put and call.
So, grim accountant, scan my books and tell
Me: What of me remains that I might sell?
Does lack of credit serve but to appall?

~~~~~~~~~~

RH Epstein: The horror! The horror!

~~~~~~~~~~

Paul Stevens: "Mistah Stevenz — he abscon-Ded!"

~~~~~~~~~~

QED

Up Shit Creek Again

Abandoned at Birth

God sleeps off insobriety
In soft folds of clouds,
His ears numbed to complaints
Of inferiors He has created,
In endless number,
With such wanton abandon.

The hills are dead and deaf;
Mountain streams, long dried out,
Unpuddle.

The saints one prays to
Decline to get involved.


- Lon Cheney


Your Editor is well and truly up Shit Creek. It's worth reading the entire thread to see the depths to which your intrepid Editor will sink in his quest for... for....?

Honi soit...

...qui mal y pense!