B Rant: willie mays’ in essay data bass (LIVE)

by Brantly Martin

Issue IX

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B = me 
Rant = declaim violently and with little sense; rave


You just can’t get the good stuff anymore. It’s all secondhand Chinese bullshit. One bite and there is no doubt you’ve been hoodwinked. It’s not just the texture; the skin. It’s the actual meat; the bones. It’s the lack of nutrients, the obvious peasant lineage. Generations of neglect. A clear result of greedy wholesalers and distributors. They never should have expanded their operation. None of us mind paying a little more to ensure the upper class carrier and third trimester farming we’ve been promised. How can they expect me to eat a fetid fetus?


I know what I did. I’m ready to plead guilty. What I can’t concede, and not just because of the harsher sentence, but because of what’s right, and, as far as I’m concerned, constitutional, is that my crime falls under the love crimes statute. How can the prosecution prove that I struck that man out of adulation, fondness or lust? They can’t. It’s all conjecture. Where’s the evidence? And don’t tell me it’s that I kept saying I Really Think You’re Great Man as I bashed his head against the fucking PATH train guardrail.


When the sirens went off and I looked skyward over Tompkins Square Park and saw the distress signal hologram I knew it was a result of my egregious breach of email etiquette .... The Professionalism Police, suffering from recent layoffs, had begun relying more heavily on New York’s latest superhero, Professionalism Guy .... Otherwise known as P-Guy or, to those most familiar with him, Guy .... I’d met him socially on a few occasions but had never been singled out as being that guy needing a personal visit from P-Guy. 

When the hologram over Manhattan morphed from .. Professionalism Guy the citizens of New York summon you .. to .. Shame on you Brantly Finnegan Martin .. and fireworks exploded over the Freedom Tower, Empire State and Chrysler Buildings, and, I’m told, the Piave, my instincts were confirmed .... Preparing for one of the inevitabilities of modernity I stopped work on my novel, cancelled all afternoon meetings pertaining to the production of the very publication you are holding right now and rolled a stoge.

Having suffered the misfortune of flying bookless from Venice to New York some weeks prior, I’d been forced into reading Delta’s Sky Magazine .... After the article on Istanbul and before the articles on Carlos Danger and the latest rich kid was an article on none other than P-Guy .... It was titled Portrait of Professionalism .... In full regalia .. green cape, teal wristband, head to toe white spandex, war paint, Venetian mask over war paint .. P-Guy stared into the camera and off the page with a pitch perfect and satisfied shit-eating grin. 

P-Guy doesn’t get around like other superheros .... He takes a Citi Bike .... When I looked down over Avenue B I saw him carrying the bike up the stairs and into the lobby .... Gesu Cristo .... The doorman buzzed, Professionalism Guy is coming up, he said, He says you can call him anytime, Brantly .... I let P-Guy in .... He made coffee, took a piss, sat at my kitchen table and began .... Do you know who I am .... I’ve been doing this .... I don’t know where you people .... I’ve never .... It’s because of me .... You’re lucky .... I will make sure  ....

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