Tag Archives: Nacho King

Cella is Tripping. Nachoolic. Quick Fiction.

Lots of people only use one type/grain /grain perimeter/size/endpoint/shape/scoop layer/etc. as their base chip selection for nachos. This saddens me. A tremendous error, and an urban legend, really, like believing the northern wind is not your ally, or that cocaine is a bad idea for wedding parties. Just a real closure to the possibilities of life, I feel.

Folks, you can use secondary, even tertiary (Nacho King, anyone? How did you think they so quickly dominated the Philippines?) layers of foundation, especially if the nachos are going to be utilized as primary entree. The laws of superposition still do apply, obviously, but I’ve pushed those theoretical constraints many times.

Example?

Just last week, at a local mixer (OK, keg/key/self pity party) involving all of my unemployed neighbors, I brought a platter of nachos (I always do), but no ordinary entree–rather I established an underpinning of roasted plantain chips, a schist of flax seed tortilla, then even threw in (OK, placed ) a thin but even sedimentary layer of plain ol’ store-bought kettle corn chips (fried). Did they go over well? Does a mountain dew? A McCarthy go all Cormac? A bull doze? Does Blake Butler straddle train seats and shout all crazy when hammered drunk???

Hell yea!

(Um, sorry Blake)

People kept asking for the recipe but I told them that would be like Mozart playing at your house and then handing out laminated cards of sheet music. At the extreme edge of nacho construction, it’s not the dance, it’s the dancer. But I digress…

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Lunch. Can anyone say Argentina? Thank gods for Latin American and the regional influence on nacho topping considerations, especially the bean of black.

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Cella is tripping like a car-struck sparrow. Check out Ander Monson (and my interview of), Matt Bell, Peter Schwartz, more.

I also heard their flash fiction editor was total badassness.

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Quick Fiction took my story!!! Yahoooooooooooooooooo

I tried three times before. They said 1.) No. 2.) Uh, no. 3.) Dude, we can’t even open your document so forget about it, and then 4.) Hell yes, mofo!

I am yappy. Quick Fiction advocates, adores, annihilates, other a words to the image/idol/glim-glammer of FLASH. I am humbled to appear in their wonderful pages.

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I think I should publish a collection of poetry about Jesus walking into a bar.

Here’s one by Susan Rothbard at pif. (scroll down)

Here is one by me at Press 1 (scroll down, #6)

Elimae is basically ridiculous now. I thought last issue kicked the can of placenta, wings, hmm. But wow. The new issue is glow, and large, and glowing large, like lightning off the throb of waves, whales slick backs. Sick.

You should read it all. For example…

Blueberries (by Brandi Wells)

We eat blueberries while he drinks a Newcastle and I sip chocolate milk. Really, I am drinking the Newcastle and he is drinking the chocolate milk, but I thought it sounded better the other way.

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Anaïs Nin? A hack. Go read KGM.

I will drink a giant glass of red wine with you any day, KGM. But no fucking Big Macs. No way. Lord…

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Am I the only one to notice that no one seemed to care when Updike died? I think he got about 14 seconds of coverage. Weird. I don’t want to get into all the reason he was hated–many I see, some I don’t see–but I still thought it sad and odd and sad. 61 books aren’t what they used to be, folks…

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On the way out of Chi town I hit this place for nachos # 8 of the trip:

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I give this place a 4. I could go into detail but going into detail about mediocrity is a loser’s game. Or to put it another way: Just how much life you got left to live?!

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