Friday, February 11, 2011

CombatWords February 11, 2011: Sales, Commerce and the People Who Love Them

CombatWords February 11, 2011: Sales, Commerce and the People Who Love Them

A salesman is an it that stinks excuse, right? Nobody likes 'em, but everybody buys from them. Makes one rather suspicious of whether people dislike transacting as much as they say they do, doesn't it? I for one can't help but think that were it not for the liars, sales would be one of the most esteemed professions—at least in America. Would I be going too far if I said, 'fuck your anti-sales attitude?' Maybe not. Look around. You love your bookseller, your wine shop (YUPPIE!)... and yes, you love your lawyer if s/he kicks ass. Same with your accountant. Society's material nature conforms to the way we allocate the fruits of our labors. I think of it as a Kantian proposition: you universalize your values—if the world is cluttered with commerce, it is only because you are cluttered with commerce.

Combat Expiration: 12am PST, 2/14/2011

Critique Expiration: 12am PST, 2/16/2011

Bonuses/Penalties: +2 if posted by 8pm PST, 2/11/2011, +1 if posted by 2am PST 2/12/2011, -1 if posted by 6am PST 2/14/2011, -2 if posted by 12pm PST 2/14/2011.

The Rules:

Subscribe in a reader


  1. Dear Object of My Desire,

    I called her cold
    and she responded by
    adjusting her caller ID.

    I was desirous,
    persistent, lustful
    and determined.

    She was aloof,
    ambivalent, gated
    and on another line.

    My best tenders
    were deftly rebuffed
    while her yield flagged.

    What could she possibly see
    in that motley fool;
    that charlatan of the air?

    Perhaps I should pledge
    my undying devotion or offer
    to lower my commission.

  2. Fiji Mermaid

    She sits at the spinet, her knuckles encrusted
    with diamonds, the sparkling evidence of her recent E-bay spree.
    She grins as she withdraws notes
    from the Cole Porter Credit Union. I sit on the couch and try to calculate
    the days until that most financially romantic of holidays.
    “You’d be so easy to love,” she warbles, but the fact remains
    she’s awfully difficult to buy for.

    Mounted to the wall above her head as she plays hangs a plaster jackalope
    -it baffles me too- her father bought her when she was a child.
    Its ersatz horns are chipped; this replica of a fake has seen
    better days. We line up to see the centaurs in the Coliseum,
    the griffins in the cathedral stone, Barnum’s mummified siren,
    the County Fair’s 10th barnyard Wonder of the World.
    We cherish our hybrids, our chimeras, and gladly pay
    to be assured of their authenticity.
    I think of my bank account, the money that will soon change hands
    so I can prove to her our beautiful, unlikely beast exists.
    I hope I can afford to hope she is convinced.

  3. committed

    i am a mole
    living between walls
    clinging to lathe strip
    drywall mud
    dragging my pink tail
    through six miles of dust

    i suck hot suspicion
    between paranoid halls
    their voices vibrate
    i poke my fringed nose out
    fresh air upon my stained claws
    deaf and blind and oh so dumb

    mom has her knives out
    she's grinding them down
    their edges stochastic infinities
    and her eyes smell like rust
    her breath full of religion
    from a greased green bottle

    blood and fur gather in my belly
    leaves my breath sour
    because i taste doctors’ wires
    her phone call between my teeth
    there's no question
    she's buying what they’re selling

    they’ll come boots soon to leer
    with clamps and tongues of beer
    god have mercy upon this mole
    pulled assfirst through a hole

  4. Vise Sales, Vice Sails [CombatWords Poem, February 11, 2011]

    The purchase one dare not speak or name
    Has purchased the fullest claim,
    All secrets, its blame.

    Gilded pussy-pounce:
    Cats devour the sea by ounce;
    Rubs the pole in buxom dollar bounce.

    Speak me so horny, yowl in the heat;
    Star in a movie conceit:
    Plasma from starbeats.

    One's pulse is divided
    By molecules blood provided
    And needles injected. Sharps. Junk-sided

    Sails through the veins to pleasure, pain.
    Sales through the brain to leisure, strain.
    Sail all our sales; our treasure's slain.

  5. Asians been doing it for years,
    Yet here I stand and finger my plastic;

    There's imperfection in the affection,
    but the slackers transaction
    brings traction to the action,

    Cuddle me silly, charge me per hour,
    while I pour the wine that opens the flower,
    And you can only blame my wallet's resilience,
    But the only thing matters is the Girlfriend Experience