Thursday, March 12, 2009

Possible first sentence of my autobiography, no.1

When women had feathered hair and men moustaches, when photographs came back from the lab already color-faded and with rounded corners, when the president of the world's richest democracy--though it was at the time suffering a hideous economic disease called stagflation--was known as a peanut farmer, and his brother Billy was famous for putting his name on a brand of beer, a woman of only 22, in labor with her first child, was being driven eastward on West State St. in Boise, being driven straight to nauseation by her husband (and his black moustache) who swerved his blue Volkswagen van around the traffic-free early-morning street to avoid the intermittent pockmarks of unrepaired potholes.


T. Smitty said...

I like it. Just be sure to leave enough evidence so your inevitable follow-up biography is sufficiently scandalous, but not so much so that you go to jail while sill alive.

Anonymous said...

I would lean more toward raised by wolves... or birthed from the stygian slime... it's important to remember the power of myth
(those who die at the age of 27 are excluded...)

cuore said...

I love it.

I'd forgotten the rounded edges. And how all those pics stick to the photo album, ripping the paper of the back when you remove them.

Aaron Nuttall said...

Thanks, Cuore--unfortuantely I had to change 'rounded edges' to 'rounded corners' since that's what I shold've written in the first place. But why change a blog post when everyone who will read it has already commented? Maybe I'll change it back.