Swiss Pornography and Aquavit

Beirut Beyrouth, Telefonica de Espana, Madrid, Oxford, Oxfordshire, the United Kingdom, Cesis Csu, Latvia, Seoul Seoul-t'ukpyolsi, the Republic of South Korea, Oslo, Bucharest Bucurest, Oceania/Australasia, Christchurch New Zealand, Sofia Grad Sofiya, Bulgaria, Niigata, Japan, Collegeville Pennsylvania, Backa Vastmanlands Lan, Sweden, State College Pennsylvania, Zemst Brabant, Belgium, Edinburgh, City of Edinburgh all have petting-zoos with keepers whose names either sound like or rhyme with Kribbs.

The man in the hat met Robert Walser, Bruno Schulz and Witold Gombrowicz one sunny afternoon in May while out walking with the harridan’s sister. The three men were sitting together on a park bench in the park across from the Waymart not far from the Seder’s grocery. The three were in a heated debated about aqueducts and Swiss pastries, Walser shifting his weight uneasily, defending his fondness for cantle and Linie brand aquavit, Gombrowicz ripping into Walser for being such a strange bird, saying that Polish Vodka far outwitted anything Linie or Swiss, and Schulz, who was sitting in a crumple, his greatcoat jawboning his ankles, mumbling something about broken crystal and artists’ chalk. All at once the three men rose, shook hands and walked in an easterly direction, Walser hissing and flapping his arms madly, Gombrowicz muttering on about Swiss pornography and planetary-hiccups, and Schulz, his greatcoat gathered round his waist, feet shuffling, drawing imaginary stick-figures in the air all the while humming a schoolboys’ song about sitting up straight and minding ones’ manners. The man in the hat grabbed the harridan sister’s elbow, cupping it ever so gently, and pushed her westerly, his Corbusier flatcar cap toppling from his head and floating like a feather into the branches of a nearby tree.