The Ember stooges around with Stooge Pile

Une Petit Livre du Stooge – Seth Scriver

The Ember    |    Elizabeth Prater    |    June 17, 2010

So we take a touch of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers and Fat Freddy’s cat, we slip in a semi-consciousness of Big Daddy Roth and Philip Guston, we bypass (but can’t ignore) Spongebob, Ren and Stimpy and a legion of bulbous co-fiends, we remember we are in Canada – doff our deerstalkers and don our lumberjack flannels – we cultivate the fuzzy, the flaccid and the wrinkled, we doodle a bit, we pull out the airbrush and go stoner mental, then we bundle it in a sack and sit on it. And we are enthroned, I would say, on a stooge pile.

I’ve resorted to the scatter gun because the terminology eludes me: Stooge Pile? Scriver’s Montreal city-slang has put me in the corner. If I’m to retain my own urban insouciance, founded on a solid pretense of cross-tribal savvy, I need to know - what exactly is a stooge pile? I’ve come at this in a literal mode and a logical mode, but I still can’t resolve my primary predicate: is it a pile of stooge or a pile of stooges? Is stooge to pile as shit is to heap, or as Horse is to Show? Or is it the pile, any pile, that a stooge accumulates in the course of their stooging? A stooge is a dim-witted straight man; a patsy or a schmuck. A stooge can be a stool pigeon or a cheap skate, or a parasite who doesn’t pay his way. But what kind of pile does a stooge accumulate?

So we take a touch of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers and Fat Freddy’s cat, we slip in a semi-consciousness of Big Daddy Roth and Philip Guston, we bypass (but can’t ignore) Spongebob, Ren and Stimpy and a legion of bulbous co-fiends, we remember we are in Canada – doff our deerstalkers and don our lumberjack flannels – we cultivate the fuzzy, the flaccid and the wrinkled, we doodle a bit, we pull out the airbrush and go stoner mental, then we bundle it in a sack and sit on it. And we are enthroned, I would say, on a stooge pile.

I’ve resorted to the scatter gun because the terminology eludes me: Stooge Pile? Scriver’s Montreal city-slang has put me in the corner. If I’m to retain my own urban insouciance, founded on a solid pretense of cross-tribal savvy, I need to know - what exactly is a stooge pile? I’ve come at this in a literal mode and a logical mode, but I still can’t resolve my primary predicate: is it a pile of stooge or a pile of stooges? Is stooge to pile as shit is to heap, or as Horse is to Show? Or is it the pile, any pile, that a stooge accumulates in the course of their stooging? A stooge is a dim-witted straight man; a patsy or a schmuck. A stooge can be a stool pigeon or a cheap skate, or a parasite who doesn’t pay his way. But what kind of pile does a stooge accumulate?

Is Seth Scriver the stooge, this little book his own pile of leavings? Or is he the master of stooges, the bringer forth of degenerate caricatures and soggy hot-rod toons. Scriver’s Stooge Pile is humming with delirium and visual energy fields tuned to stoner-pitch. His petit sac is chirpy and messy, sweet on the tooth and fizzy on the eye.

The happy sack holds dollars, the shrivelled dog holds the sour disillusion of a withered cartoon career. The Scriver stooge is for the most part swaddled – the hulking man-child moves about in flannel or fur; his friends look on from behind their woolly beards, hunting caps and glistening probosci. Blissful savants, blissful idiots, Bring your own plaid, bring your own cushion stuffing – watch as a stooge army assembles.
 



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