Thursday, August 17

salinger parody, as told by coyote

Maybe you should call him Holden Coyote, if you're into all that naming business.

Remember that coyote that got caught in NY's Central Park a few months back? And everyone was wondering where in the hell did it come from?

Well, I just got around to reading a hilarious story about that coyote that was in the New Yorker. Yeah, that was ages ago, I know. But I was traveling in the spring and it takes a while to catch up on my reading.

Anyways, Ian Frazier did a perfect impression of Holden Caulfield, the guy who tells his story in this book The Catcher in the Rye, if you know that. Here's a bit of it so you can see what I'm talking about:
If you’re really interested in hearing all this, you probably first want to know where I was whelped, and what my parents’ dumb burrow was like, and how they started me out hunting field mice, and all the “Call of the Wild” kind of crap, but I’d really rather not go into it, if that’s all right with you. It’s not that I don’t have the time, residing here in Queens and all, where I can rest up conveniently, and not be a hazard to the joggers and the ducks and so on. In Queens I really have quite a free schedule, between feedings, and pacing back and forth, which I don’t really have to do but I do it anyway, because the little kids seem to enjoy it, and I feel it is expected of me. One so-called biographical fact I will mention, just because I find the whole business so damn aggravating, is that before I was here I did not have a name—not Otis, not anything—and I wish I didn’t have one now. It’s really not coyote-like. To have a name at all, that is, let alone Otis. I guess you’d probably have to be a coyote to know what I mean....
If you want to read more of the coyote spilling his guts, click here


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