The Dining Room is dedicated to the dead art of true life (formerly known as WONK). Your entry is welcome and will be judged by either Bob or John, whoever gets to it first.
Drawn midnight Sunday May 30, 2013. Check from midday Monday 31 May, 2013. Draw dates subject to change without notice. Entry is subject to LaughingCloudRecords Terms & Conditions (available from a participating store). N.B. John is not on the web – contributions will be relayed to John by pigeon. Employees (including pigeons, friends, relations, & acquaintances) of LaughingCloudRecords are not eligible to participate. No correspondence with Bob or John will be entered into. LaughingCloudRecords is operated by LaughingCloudRecords. Please type neatly.
THANKS FOR SHOPPING WITH US
Have you ever received a poem in the mail from someone you don't know? Perhaps you have spotted an interesting story in the newspaper, or been intrigued by the promotional literature on a biscuit tin. What about the translation skills native to the manual of your new printer? Do you have a friend in prison who writes to you? What do they say?
Laughing Cloud Records now offers you the chance to make $1,000,000.00 from such a scrap. And it’s totally free! Simply type your contribution in the place where contributions go, and leave us your banking details.
WHAT IS WON
WHERE DID IT COME FROM?
WHERE DID IT GO?
TYPES OF WONK DISCOVERED SO FAR (THE WONK PARADE)..
Perfect Wonk, Un-wonk, Dumb Wonk, Intelligent Wonk, Industrial Wonk, Beach Wonk,Country Wonk, Muggy Wonk, Heavy Wonk, Dilapidated Wonk, True Wonk, Serious Wonk, Idiotic Wonk, Half-Pie Wonk, Municipal Wonk, Island Wonk, Upper Class Wonk, Complicated Wonk, Nuclear Wonk, Colonial Wonk, Wonk Wonk (Wonker than Wonk), Lazy Wonk, “I Thought I’d Finished” Wonk, Anti-wonk, Fickle Wonk, Official Wonk, Avant Garde Wonk, Perfectionist Wonk, Hard-To-See Wonk, Normal Wonk, Spiritual Wonk, Handyman Wonk, True-To-Life Wonk, Shadow Wonk, Clever Wonk, 3-D Wonk, Auto-Wonk, Hard-To-Smash Wonk, Techno Wonk, Pretend Wonk, Concrete Wonk, Trendy Wonk, Scientific Wonk, Hollow Wonk, Fashion Wonk, Wonk-in-Space…
There may be others. Perhaps you have some undiscovered kind of WONK in your neighbourhood?
A BIG BAG OF RAISINS
CHUCK US YER LAP-PAPER
PASS THE DITTO
Something outdated or defunct
You’re completely wrong!
An interesting problem
Good, we got away with that
A darkness that shines
The improving of a thing by storing it out of sunlight
Depression-Era Religious Furniture
Nifty (or nifty appliance)
A bit of trouble
A lot of trouble
The colour of gloat & entrails
Any unmerkin-like thing
All is well
A metallic blue-green
Any democratically elected body
A pubic wig
The study of pubic wigs
‘Both’ but without the B
I understand what you mean
A light reddish/purplish brown
An obscure theory
Stolen. Something for free
More normal than normal
Unproven or non-existent
A noble challenge to an obscure theory
Any item resembling a merkin
The rightness of wrongness
A TYPICAL WONK SENTENCE
Atititititit hiab, you adverb. Wibble wibble. Ōth these radio steiners are thing. Twelve o’clock, this here squeaky cupboard-aged uncle is brylcream. Waho
can you speak wonkish? have a try
WOW!!!! THE PLACE WHERE CONTRIBUTIONS GO…
CLICK HERE to submit your contribution (this button is currently under repair)
CONTRIBUTION FROM: HRH Princess H.
Tokanui Psychiatric Hospital
Dear Ma’am, Your Majesty, Dear Mother
You are nothing but a discoloured female dog (q.v.)
Daddy and I are nothing but rape victims since you set eyes on us (q.v.)
There are a lot of discoloured illegitimate people out here; why don’t you even help us? You’ve made a mess. Clean it up Queen Dicky Bell.
There are very angry fucking shit-holes here too, in your mess. Pull me out Bess.
Dr. Medlicot thought that he heard a voice like yours calling him to buy a motorbike and leather gear. But he didn’t do it because he was afraid that it was a trick by someone playing a trick on him.
HRH Princess H.
P.S. We know that you breed horses, but the average IQ out here is about 40 – 50.
96 Tutaenui Road
P.O. Box 304
Dear Ma’am, Your Majesty, Dear Mother
I want A.W. Tattersfield or someone else at Thames to get this letter on an England bound ship at his wharf as I have previously written to Prince William, Prince Harry, Prince Philip, Prince Charles, Princess Margaret and yourself and had no reply by NZPO.
Daddy and I are being tortured by a billionaire Russian/USA/Negro/White/Jew and we beg you to write to the Prime Minister in any way at all, but mentioning us. Also, we are very ill.
The 1948 letter saying we were dead was forged.
In N.Z., royalty, the two of us, are just another minority group, like Italians or Catholics. We beg for the privilege or right to say: “that is not the royal way” but Negroes are blind and deaf to everything except similar penises and beating up the others. That is not the white way.
HRH Princess H
Coalition broadcast: "Attention, noble Afghan people. The coalition countries have been airdropping daily humanitarian rations for you. The food ration is enclosed in yellow plastic bags. They come in the shape of rectangular or long squares. The food inside the bags is halal and very nutritional. In areas away from where food has been dropped, cluster bombs will also be dropped. The colour of these bombs is also yellow. All bombs will explode when they hit the ground, but in some special circumstances some of the bombs will not explode. We do not wish to see an innocent civilian mistake the bombs for food bags and take it away believing that it might contain food. We would like you to take extra care and not to touch yellow coloured objects thinking that they might be food bags."
Taleban broadcast: "Noble people who only fly. We are indebted to you for your information. We did not know that long squares are rectangles. We always thought they were high-rises and tasted yucky. We have been eating the cluster bombs for two weeks now, especially the banana flavoured ones, and are not confused at all. No problemo. You are so nice. Although rather high. When can we touch you?”
CONTRIBUTION FROM: B
Julian shows me his new remote controlled scrub-cutting machine, imported from Germany. I show him a hillside of long grass, gorse and broom. Julian has a couple of teeth missing and smells of tobacco. Broom’s no good, he says. It simply won’t be masticated.
He tells me about the job he’s doing yesterday where some birds are nesting in the scrub and when the scrub-cutting machine mows them down brown feathers go shooting up into the air. That’s how you know if you’ve toasted a family of brown, ground nesting birds. He reckons the mother birds just wont leave the nest, even at the approach of some remote controlled screaming disaster machine. And off they go, eggs and mother bird all, shooting up in a puff of brown feathers.
CONTRIBUTION FROM: Paul Simmons
EXPLANATION OF LOVE (Hoover Dam 2001, for the girl from Ipanema)
Fell in love today
I couldn't help myself
It was the way
She wore her shoulders
In the blazing sun
The way her jeans
Lazily to her hips
Her lilted walk
Just followed her around
We never spoke
I never heard her voice
Or knew her name
Where she was from
Perhaps from Tennessee
I don't know
I loved her though
It was just
The way she walked
The way she wore her hips
The way shoes
It was not
It was the way she wore it.
The above item, although lovely in its own way, was not considered by either Bob or John, strictly speaking, to be WONK as such, but was felt worthy of inclusion due to the amazing lack of interest in this section of the website
CONTRIBUTION FROM: Telegraph Group
He has been called “the cleverest man in the world” and shook academia to its foundations when he announced that he had solved a fiendish mathematical problem that had baffled the planet’s best brains for a century. Yet Grigory Perelman, a 43 year old Russian mathematician, has spurned plaudits and wealth to live like a hermit. He lives in a two bedroom flat with his elderly mother in a dilapidated Soviet-era tower block in St Petersburg. Recently he proved again that he rejects society’s norms.
Picking up the telephone, the bearded genius, who is jobless, found himself being offered an academic prize worth US$1 million. He politely but tersely told the American institute offering it that he would have to consider whether he wanted to accept the money or not.
“He said he would let me know at some point,” said Jim Carlson, the president of the Clay Mathematics Institute. “He did not give a sense of timing but I do not expect it will be tomorrow.”
CONTRIBUTION FROM: Frey Byrd
it's a straight street
i’m a crooked man
going through the window
with a gun in my hand
it's a straight street
i'm a crooked boy
i shoot you dead
with a plastic toy
i’m a ball of wool
i'm rolling round
about to fall
out your mouth
i'm a ball of wool
i’m out of hand
i'm a mighty lord
who has no land
it's a straight street
my crooked old hands
creeping through your lawn
a creepy little man
it's a straight street
it's too straight you see
too straight straight straight
for bent old me
I always loved the light of day
I once forgot, it went away
light so bright you can barely see
I want to take it, take it with me
I can’t hide from the day of light
I can’t hide from the dark of night
dark so black you can barely see
please come, come & hide with me
What’s going on with all you pop heads?? What’s with all this poetry? Gimme the biscuit tin!
CONTRIBUTION FROM: H.O.W.L.
Do not be alarmed. We have taken over your website. The explosives you can see strapped to my head, although quite real, are intended to be an example of terrorist hairstyling. As you can see, I am speaking from a remote desert location. We have no desire to harm innocent contributions.
CONTRIBUTION FROM: Max
Oh Pedro, where are you?
I’m right here watching TB ads
Oyoii! Hab you fed the cats?
Oh Pedro, you son of a beetch
I know you been with that whore
& you haben’t eben cleaned the horse
(Maria sings while washing the baby)
I once knew a cow called Daisy
she was kinda hazy
she ate the hay & slept all day
sure was fucking lazy
So Pedro grabbed his shotgun
put his boots & socks on
black & blue & fairly new
a hundred per cent pure cotton
Oh Pedro! etc
CONTRIBUTION FROM: Phillip
To gee or not to gee, that is the equestrian
CONTRIBUTION FROM: Graville Dunstan
I’m dreamin bout white four poster pillows and a woman with big eyebrows. I just came in from the pool. The book I been reading is all about the science of preserving humans in nappies; that way we’ll never need knives and forks on the long haul to the Dogstar. It’s hard to say if the idea of taxes will ever catch on. Too much opposition from the pygmies.
The pathetic number of contributions to The Dining Room over the last few years has led to a resolution by the board of directors of laughingcloudrecords to discontinue accepting incoming messages of any kind
CONTRIBUTION FROM: Daniel
Assis, étendu, j’aimerai parler un français que tu ne puisse comprendre, l’autre, celui qui gît hors de la banalité. Crier que je vois du bleu, du brun, la date ignorée, le déhanchement de quelque femme beaucoup trop étrangère. Les situations s’entremêleront encore longtemps, comme je les ai vues se rire de nous, de notre pauvre recherché. J’avais l’impression de rater une pièce qui portant se jouerait si aisément.
Maintenant, ce maintenant trop present – me revoilà au même point, ne sachant où vous distinguer, trop loin de moi-même pour en rire suffisament de sérénité et la dignité. Les feuilles de pluie s’abreuve, je voudrais que ce soit de moi, je voudrais ce vouloir.
Tu manges les raisins bleu, ta chemise est bleue, en face, les bras bougent périodiquement. Quelqu’un d’autre agit d’une façon semblable ailleurs, pose les gestes que tu en attends. Je me concentre sur les morceaux éparpillés, les mots que j’aurai dû employer, les autres-que-mots. Enfin: où en arriver si ce n’est qu’à mordre toute ligne appâtée?
Je reassemble les morceaux éparpillés.
ALSO AT THE DINING ROOM:
THE STUDY OF WONK (learn more about Wonk)
WONK: THE INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE OF LOVE
OVER-WONKED? (try the Wonk Retreat)
THE OPPONENTS OF WONK (are they real?)
WHY WONK WORKS (and yet doesn’t)