Wolftown

2011-04-14T16:40:00.002-05:00

MORTAL FRIENDS

2011-03-14T21:37:00.007-05:00

I fell in love with Ellie & she became my friend.
She touched the face of the state of Iowa.
Inga drew a picture on old Vera's back.
Vera drew a picture on the earth's back.
A stack of waffles and a radio became friends.
It was early March and they were making burritos in the kitchen.
You could see the rice stick to the air.
Clouds & a croquet match: they made a baby.
The baby was named A Perfect Afternoon.
Inga drew an elephant on the back of the antique store.
The drawing was so intricate --
a mix between snow & magic.
I thought it might have been my mortal friend.

2011-01-25T19:28:00.011-06:00

Kurt Vonnegut!

NEWBORN AND SLEEP

2010-12-30T14:01:00.010-06:00

While the smaller human sleeps,
observe its forehead:
how a glowing cord reaches to connect
to the mom-skull. This is how the pair
will integrate sleep patterns.
You can tell by the bright orange dashes
(flowing through) that a dream about mares
in liquid-dark has been shared.
The infant's world is, in fact, liquid-dark.
Its arms push
electric outer-space water. You can see by the firefly
bulbs of night-vision: the infant bends,
sleeping, toward the sleeping mom-skull.
People here call this
the "neon whisper."

Welcome to the World, Little Human!

2010-11-19T10:53:00.011-06:00

This is a print announcing Ellie! -- $25.00

2010-10-25T14:03:00.005-05:00

Flannery O'Connor!

from The Zygote Haikai

2010-04-02T15:27:00.012-05:00

8

Making a baby
is strange: how a golden fish
dies in a cave full of
plasma -- & pretty soon there's this
huge crying computer.

from The Zygote Haikai

2010-03-04T14:19:00.022-06:00

1

Was it cold, minnow
one, coming from the cosmos?
Tell me about the
ultra-violet rope
you pulled...
the clouds...
the tunnel
of your vibrant spine...

2

Balm & honeyspell
she scoops from the golden tin.
A bath on Wednesday.

3

You're my lone litter.
Pets can smell me from inside.
Most human vapor!
As you grow, we waft
ourselves in a silk of beast.
Sniff it: I'm your Mom.

4

Hi. You might wonder
about the cats -- why they jump
over cradles of
nothing. Well -- they've been
waiting, dusty fireworks,
for you. We've all been!

2010-03-04T14:17:00.009-06:00

5

Little baby, feels
like I love you so much I'm
eating you. Yes, weird.

2010-03-04T13:58:00.003-06:00

6

They say in forty
weeks, you'll want milk bad enough to
meet me face to face.

2010-03-01T18:33:00.003-06:00

7

From inside my stomach
you are kicking the cat that
sits on my stomach.

GNARLY

2010-02-10T12:37:00.017-06:00

It's gnarly this animal smell I have.
Don't worry,
my body is a gnarly factory.

I think
you are safe in there,
fur and whiskers, paws and a cobweb
of blood warping my body for a bit.

I set down my claw-cup. This is your cabin,
you mark it like a cat. Inside the belly of myself
I feel your small purr gaining frequency --
how at night the entire bed grunts with your
hooves and maw warmth.

Or you feel like a spider I'm not afraid of.
Soft. Made of cloth, not math. And after an evening

of gathering primrose & bergamot,
I chew the leaves to make you an internal bath.
Everywhere is the smell of feral
wolf; the underneaths of a dog tail.

Wait -- that's me I'm smelling.

POEM ABOUT YOUR DAD

2010-01-25T13:38:00.001-06:00

A person who is great
is Ben. He makes discs fly in the field. He
puts wood underneath
the de-humidifier. This way, the de-humidifier
has enough patience to de-humidify
itself. The de-humidifier needs
some help. I like how Ben works with it.
He is such a parliamentarian. The table reverberates
with the open window. Ben makes it open.
He has an OK way of letting in
all the beauty. Ben. Ben. Ben. Beauty.

THE BIRTHING HOUSE

2009-10-29T13:14:00.022-05:00

We don't get older, we just
get more detailed. Grandma

eats a small lighthouse made of taffy.
James paints a bottle-shape onto the window --

it fills with rain. With holograms of foam
wrapping around the loch's ledge,

inside the birthing house we wait
for your landing. This is from where

you'll see orange palms in the box-bay,
where one mirror reflects dogs

the same dogs can't stop
sniffing. Evening is squirrels dragging

strings of bulbs through the yard;
is Harry in a handstand behind the map-shed,

his basket of rainbow-trout
punching the air. Later,

when you put on that carved-head-of-bear
in your dreams, or find pickled

kale makes you salivate, know that
it's for this hillside

that your blood-sap aches.
Kerosene bottles lit on the dry-dock.

Bunk beds in the owl's lungs;
the dull lamp of cat-sleep.

CLAYMATION OF CAVEMEN

2009-10-20T16:37:00.076-05:00

A claymation of cavemen whirling under our eyelids,
& minerals sewn into both of our nostrils, we wedded

ourselves by the flag of invention
near the piney schoolyard of Egg Harbor.

In a lighthouse's forehead we lived among beacons.
We preformed small, meditative tasks there:

each calculiptical adgrain of the moon,
I poured a dish of stars into our minds --

After you were born, we took tours through your presence,
gulping your haze like an elixir of worlds.

Where did you come from? I wanted to know,
imagining a gravestone. A drum-head of ferns.

What kind of animals? How far did your hands go? You said:
Calm down. Put one stone on

another stone. You said: up from my heart
I thought of my head, and my heart came true.

2009-09-10T12:33:00.009-05:00

Sold!

TREE-VISION

2009-09-04T16:11:00.018-05:00

Give Ebenezer a gristmill ring on his thumb.
Tie up his shirt with a piece of his
shirt. What does he see behind the cat-tails? Be gentle.
Sounds of pounding in the distance. Ebenezer come

from the river to meet us; speaks from the shapes in
a marbled disk:

“Unfold the power of tree-vision:
how the fox’s fur sees more than the fox.
How one skunk fights its own reflection.
The bear-cub revolving in the hemlock's

constellation.” Beneath the concrete clouds
where we stand, a worm carries grist on its conveyor
of skin. The 1807 handbill on the bridge-post reads
“Do you hear that Pounding?”

MAKING MEDICINE

2009-09-02T12:34:00.051-05:00

The shovel is a bubble in the ground near Talissian.
His body a banquet of sunshine in this shovel.

It reminds him of how his body dragged ten-thousand
ancestors through dusk-rot while reaching this place:
Sky cloaked on Firs Phen Eugepei's shed.

He is telling his ancestors "See, a now is a now:
Be now veined-curtain or prism or screendoor. Be now
hummingbird that turns from us, weaving
though the yard."
& they follow the hummingbird to the feed cans.

Meanwhile, Firs Phen shows him a marble she's found
in the fern-brake, full of radar, foggy with spell.

His body moves his hand down to it.
(Sometimes his mind clenches but not yet.)
In his other hand: a magnifier. This will be medicine

> of building bundles in the forest's slight itch of burr,
> of waiting until the bubble blips from the rainbowy soil,
> of letting the marble recognize itself in his lifetime.

For it is said: he picks the marble up.

WHERE FIRS PHEN EUGEPAI SILVIORUM LIVES

2009-07-24T16:41:00.040-05:00

Mouse down into that gully wode --
under conifers shouldering conifers:

she's boiling ginseng in a hubcap
Firs Phen Eugepai Silviorum

and if you look down the trail bright as blood, (isn't), see:

1. Smoke wallpapering the elm's pallet violet.
2. Binary sunlight in slanted beakers of copse.
3. Her roof made from the hood of a V6 Viper and floorboards,
4. Her hut a stand of blossoming hemlocks.

Fifteen miles east is the Steamboat Landing...but

Firs Phen's got something she's stirring and she stirs it with a garden
gnome and even though it looks like she's boiling the gnome whole...
she turns, says "It is day 19." Hands you

an upside-down helmet full of acorn brew. Later,
when you finally see the daguerreotype

of all of this happening -- yes,
those are lucent lines, etched from your crown to sky.

____________________

KIDHOOD WATCH

2009-07-21T15:30:00.033-05:00

In the neighborhood, old, soaked with budding burgundy --
where Darren's blind mother pitched slow balls to us
on Friday the 13th -- I once saw the treeline inching in.

Born from a frightening decade of hairy men, mayham,
I took a kid's note of every frightening thing:

a portrait in the neighbor's upper hallway touched me;
my skinned knee watched a man crushed in a movie;
grandmother in the clawtub; brother's eye.

Something told me God was deep in basement --
and if I descended wrongly, he'd make my hands bleed.

So'd cover my hide with numbers, burdock, with plucked honey-
suckle, counting. I took up football helmets. Designed
a mechanical horse with three different speeds: that imaginary

enemies couldn't poison me. Through pathways gnarled with willows &
pumpkins, crept my quiver and bow, my shoulders and toes.

_____________________

WOLFTOWN, VA

2009-05-10T16:31:00.009-05:00

Wolftown is a quiet place in the brain.
There is one sign swinging there. It says 'what?' on it.

Behind it is sky and there is something else. A spout of water which sparkles in the air.

Have you ever been there?

Yes I found dogs.

Did their fur smell of the grave?

They were very directional. Their fangs sang a song about wind-chimes and things.
I opened my mouth and took them in. In the thunder snow. Where scrawny mongrels
often roam loose.

NOTICE

2008-01-06T20:41:00.000-06:00

The vacuum came to the party with you.
Silent.
It was silent.
Later I found the vacuum outside on the porch –
and the vacuum gave me deja-vu. Except:

Instead of the vacuum in the deja-vu,
in the deja-vu, it was you. And
we were working the evening’s air machine together –
springs and pulleys – with our noticing.
Noticing you notice me notice you.
Posting all our moves.

Today, I am hoping to run into you, and I do –
You are taking a walk with the vacuum.
I want to speak with you alone. But no.
Deja-vu.
The vacuum.

CLAM TIME

2007-11-10T23:01:00.003-06:00

One clam emerged & saw the cliff lift-up
its paw to phantom-itch the water. What
occasion! This ‘Being Alright’ inside
Clam-Time still fortified, while guards along
the obelisk clocked-out their shifts with smoke
from knobby lanterns. Our clam sat. Around
him acorns, cedar-root, knobs, dog-ticks, soil…
you know. Hence, clam pearled. He draped the leaves
with fibrous, marbled nacre. He, (clam), shelved
himself by minutes, little opal time-
deposits & checked-out 1:15 A.M. to nest
that minute in the guard-lamp’s optic. Opal!
All the night-shore shimmered. That old ruse,
ah Clam-Time? You tricky chiaroscuro.

parasol

2007-06-14T15:48:00.001-05:00

"Then there was the circus, and it would come to town, and it would beat us down with its tinny joys. Then there was the strong man who was found dead by the river, face down in the mud, a 300-year-old parasol lodged in his kidneys. That was a bad time, actually. Actually, I don't really miss those days."

from "Rumors of My Demise," the recently recovered text chronicling the life and times of Virge Piersol, chronicler of Wolftown.

Wheatgrass. The Band.

2007-06-11T13:36:00.001-05:00

Begin opening music. Cloud from stage left. Cloud falters, makes a sound like "tssp..." No. That isn't the cloud. That is the gas pipe, something hissing awkwardly from its single valve; but -- it's not gas that's coming out. No! Tiny leaves fly up, meet in the air, and out from them grow the branches of a tree! Cool! A freaking tree -- but what kind is it? It is a hickory brocade -- the very symbol of Wheatgrass! Who is on tour again. Who is putting on their guitars in the back. Who is preparing their arms with juice to play fourteen hours straight UNDERWATER. That is the new big thing I guess. And look now, on the rainbowy hill of old vans -- there they stand. Seven feet of pure cloud.

THE ARRAY OF ZIP-CODES IN PAW PAW, WEST VIRGINIA

2007-05-14T15:01:00.003-05:00

It’s so green, I’m losing my balance. I nail window-frames onto
fir-trees to measure distance. Boys out back find themselves
with water-hoses. We blend like Siamese twins to everything.

This morning, I awoke and you aren’t ever here.
A shower evolves in the woods, the carpet
unrolls for no reason at all. All this while
I imagine mouthing-out words
on your chin. Outside, the disconnected
telephone poles slouch beneath the weeping

willows, & a boy in the bushveld pretends
he’s Paul Revere, whispering “ One Mississippi, two
Mississippi...” I exist in no one's diary.

THE HANDS OF THE BARGEMAN'S

2007-05-07T09:55:00.000-05:00

The hands of the bargeman’s
hands inside my hands –
We are moving through an ancient
table of contents. Out of our heads

comes the now-hoof, the now-hoof stamping
always from the front of our heads.

The bargeman watches my
sideways anthology
digging out from the skull that I carry.

It is a formidable sight:
the eye-socket and knee cap
wanting like below-grass-moles to meet.

I am a little afraid. If I touch
the antler, then I am the antler,
twice as long as it even, but I’m also
just the antler’s dream.

Out of the back of our knees
the bargeman wimples
his glowing ropes onto this present time’s slush.

A beaver swims beneath us.
Compilations of our lives
reflect in the cedar branches he dives for,
toothing his dam with the rudder’s timed creak.

Damn, I think. Even though I’m
the hero, the story still’s going
to say that I die.

We look down. The oar-handle
in our hands -- between my fingers --
rings with the threshold of its
not even being.

shortpants

2007-04-27T15:43:00.000-05:00

"Wolftown used to be a completely different sort of place. How I miss those days, back when I was in short pants. There was Lassitude, Mr. Gupta's yogurt and mango lassi stand in town square, and we would sip and sip and get sour belly aches and oh! how we loved it. Now everything has changed. Now we can never regain our innocence. Nor our beverages. Nor our short pants. Now when I wear short pants, children cry! Nothing is the same, no nothing!"

from "Rumors of My Demise," the recently recovered text chronicling the life and times of Virge Piersol, chronicler of Wolftown.

Listening to the Mandolin on our Porch

2007-04-20T15:18:00.003-05:00

Wait. Stop playing the mandolin for a second –
Do you hear that owl’s note rising from the
sunken garden? I wanted to touch that owl
behind the castellated Gothic style house, but
you had the owl-touching gloves and you

were not with me. The air, all around, was
geometric with rhododendrons. Picture
what it would look like from inside an
armadillo’s clear shingling…Alright give me
the mandolin for a second; listen to this song: Out
past the barracks, where it always smells
like waffles, a basset hound empties his lungs and

bladder in the hummock. What does it feel
like, all this calm? Being clothed in a suit of devotion
so fully, I start to swim in my own twin.

Saved on the desktop of the Wolftown Public Library computer

2007-04-04T14:37:00.001-05:00

HTML codes for sorrows

Rainy day = &blue;
PMS = &stillcountsacute;
Grief (personal) = ̵ouch;
Grief (general/global) = &#OUCH;
Betrayal = &#stop;
Heartbreak = &Uventricle;
Tumor= &#nothanksacute;

Chandelier Makers

2007-03-09T15:16:00.000-06:00

Recently I have been working with the University of Iowa's Department of Chandeliers and Chandelier Makers. I love it and it has been going really well -- Chandelier Makers work with both chandels and liers, contemplating how their components fit together. They lead the industry in understanding how to use 'things' to the maximum advantage for a chandelier. They work closely with Things Engineers. Consequently, Chandelier Engineering draws upon the multiple mathematics of the mind in order to create An Enormous Chandelier of Thinking in the end.

Electronic Greetings many use

2006-11-25T14:43:00.000-06:00

Here are some great sites for Electronic Greetings that many people use and like to receive! Send an interweb greeting today:

http://www.didyouforget?.com/still_alive/all&night&waiting/scaredID=pleasevisit.jpg

http://www.stuckmemory.com/theres.this.one.thought&/oldtimes/gone.gif

http://www.whos_there.com/what&was&that?/ISthere.someoneat.thedoor/itwa5-probably#Nothing11644#wait=whos_there?.html

Holiday Greetings: suggestions and warnings

2006-11-21T16:03:00.000-06:00

--You should mention births, deaths, marriages and moves, so that the old college room mate who finally makes it out to your part of the country for a visit knows your wife's name and how many kids you have, and how many of them are dead.

--Cute things the kids have said are always popular; it shows they are growing and it isn't bragging. Children on television are particularly clever.

--Write about your outside interests; your hobby, pastime, recreational activity. Champion crotcheter? Chronic masturbator? Aunt Ida wants to know!

--Memorable meals, particularly if you cooked them yourself and discovered something, are interesting without bragging too much. "We started putting oak scraps from Ed's woodshop on the coals when we barbecued salmon . . ." or "He was still moving when we started on his leg, but he quieted down soon enough!"

--I remember when: If, sadly, you are house-bound, the children have moved away and you haven't read any great books, you don't have to write about this year's aches and pains. Write about Christmas when you were a child, or how you met your spouse, or your funniest date in high school. "Not much happened this year. Christmas always reminds me of the time during the depression when we made ornaments out of tin foil. . .".

--Don't leave out any notable fits of vomiting, sweats, or moments of sheer terror upon glimpsing the black hole of your impending death. The kids want to know, and it helps them to enjoy themselves.

/Start/__Fri 12/16/2005 9:20 AM

2006-11-08T22:00:00.000-06:00

> Mason City -- I just shipped a package to you. Are you near Templar City?

>> Mason City is inside of Templar City. It is inside of cat's heart there. I hope
the package is neither too big, nor made of knives.

> Does this cat feed off of personal checks and money order invoices? If so, the
package will fit neatly in the pancreas...or she will need an additional pouch
protruding from the abdomen.

>> She has no abdomen; rather she contains energy in a floating vessel connected
to her birth certificate.

> We will keep this in mind for further postal emergencies. If the cat responds
violently to bar codes, she can digest municipalities and voter turnout to quell the
pain.

>> I know.

I am asking 15

2006-10-17T22:11:00.000-05:00

This piece of artwork is an unparalleled lineart rendition of Matt Leinart. It captures his game face composure, plus allstate sportsman trophy. Bits of the background reveal sidelines and are reminants of actual gamescores. Available in both USC and Cardinals colors. I am asking 15.

What bothers me most

2006-09-07T09:13:00.000-05:00

From: Madam Felicia Hines. 4 Old Church Street, Chelsea, SW1W, London, England.

Sir/Madam

Here writes Madam Felicia Hines, suffering from Cancerous ailment.

I am married to Engineer Silas Hines, an Englishman who is dead. My husband was into private practice all his life before his death. Our life together as husband and wife lasted for three decades without child. My husband died after a protracted illness.

When my late husband was alive, he deposited the sum of 10Million GBP (Ten Million Great Britain Pounds Sterling) that were derived from his vast Estates and Investment in capital market with his bank here in UK. Presently, this money is still with the Bank, and recently my Doctor told me that I have limited days to live due to the (LUCAMEA) Cancerous problems I am suffering from. Though what bothers me most is the stroke that I have in addition to the cancer.

You are to collect 5% of the total sum and all your expenses during the job would be from the huge sum. As soon as I receive your reply through this my confidential email address: mrsfeliciahines@yahoo.co.uk, I will sign a Letter of Authority from Royal Court of Justices that will legally make you my late husband and me Next of Kin hence empower you as the original beneficiary of the fund and I will equally give you the bank contact where the money is presently deposited in UK. My happiness is that I lived a life worthy of emulation.

Please always be prayerful all through your life.

Yours sincerely,Mrs. Felicia Hines.

Frightening Cloud for Sale

2006-08-10T14:46:00.000-05:00

Happens to look like a skullhead. 70 douplins, obo.

the summer sleeping catalogue

2006-07-15T12:18:00.000-05:00

attention, late nighters. for just $39.95, this 'totally chilled-out' summer sleep-in can be yours. a coolish, vaguely rain-scented breeze wafts in the window (until noon when it starts to feel like a tropical disease). the sheets are tangled around your legs. the neighbors have not yet begun their infernal barbecueing. we love the way this sleep-in ends abruptly, when you wake up sweaty, confused, and angry.

free shipping! order now!

Ask a Hair-Style

2006-07-12T16:50:00.000-05:00

Dear Hair-Style,
Have I been neglecting Ann?

Sincerely,
Maybe

In responce to Maybe, Annford AN:

Dear Maybe,

Maybe. You may be neglecting Ann. I would ask Ann.

Sincerely,
Hair-Style

Thank you, Hair-Style

listen

2006-07-12T12:08:00.000-05:00

Hey there are 5 nuclear facilities facing meltdown with thousands of lives on the line! I'm sorry to be rude but you have to understand the circumstances. There is no time to worry about feelings in a time like this. I may be a bit abrubt but let me assure you it is entirely neccessary to accomplish the goal of saving lives, human lives, american human lives, thousands of american human lives!

At 12:51 on July 12 Helen Harriet-Knowles said...

Dear Writer - They used Blowfish algorithm. How can you tell? By the tab on the file headers. Can you decrypt it? CTU has a proprietary algorithm. It shouldn't take that long. We'll start by trying to hack the password. Let's start with the basics. Write down nicknames, birthdays, pets -- anything you think he might have used.

Unimportant

2006-07-11T13:39:00.000-05:00

Dear Hair-Style,
Is my relationship unimportant?

Sincerely,
Unimportant

------------------------
In responce to Unimportant, Radford, VA:

Dear Unimportant,

Your relationship is very unimportant, yes.
In the Future you should aim to give less time to it.

Sincerely,
Hair-Style

------------------------

Thanks, Hair Style!

found in the wolftown library computroserve

2006-07-07T16:08:00.000-05:00

Hello my friend! I am sorry. This my third letter to you. It is similar to that two letters did not reach you. I decided to test the destiny and to get acquainted with the man on the Internet. This third letter to reach you will would be desirable to trust me that. I allow to you mine email and if you will want can answer. By the way my name is Irina and i live in Kazan city in Russia. I like to get acquainted with people and to get pleasant acquaintances.
I shall wait your letter.
Bye!

A Private Missive to Miss Elisabeth Bennett

2006-07-07T10:01:00.000-05:00

My Dear Elisabeth,

I was sitting on a shady knoll quenching my thirst with honeysuckle as I have been wont to do when of a sudden two forms encroached upon my line of vision. That line being somewhat disturbed already by my usage of a monocle in place of proper reading glasses therewith it hit me I had been played a fool! Scrambling to recover my dignity and my propriety notwithstanding I hastily buried the used honeysuckle and picked up the crochet mallet I have been wont to carry with me in the event such an occasion should make itself known to me. As I slowly approached the shapes, my petticoat begain dragging through the mud and my slippers became lodged there in a most unfortunate way. I say unfortunate as one who had, up to then, not really known any true misfortune. My pride, my caprice had kept me at arm's length from scores of eligible young men, as my mother was wont to shrill to me on mornings, but misfortune--of the sort one reads about in the Sunday gossip pages of the Post--no, that my unhappy form I had never chanced on. All that, dear Elisabeth, was about to change. . .

Leaping Event Event

2006-07-07T00:07:00.000-05:00

Examine this Lovely 'photographer's-graph' documenting our Wolftown Annual Leaping Event Event!

What Wonderful Times were had by all the Leapers and Thank you once again to Wolpa for the utility of his Mustard Sky Word-Plotland, allowing the Leaping Event Event to be quite a memorable one!

feelings

2006-07-06T22:18:00.000-05:00

Dear Wolftown,

Here is a helpful tip that your reader may find useful. I have the ubiquitous problem of persistent stains surrounding my chamber pot (as I am sure all of your readers have struggled with). I found a clever solution to this menacing dilemma. If I concentrate more during urination and control my diet, I am able to almost lessen this problem entirely. I hope this tip helps your readers as much as it has enriched my life.

I see you, Isabel Rochester!

2006-07-02T15:16:00.000-05:00

Isabel --

I know very well your regards and accompaniment with my husband's plot and his meeting with you plotted since. But don't infer me to let my railing down on the skulldugging and hustling instruments in your dealings. My husband, his placated disposition un-awares of your geology-minded wag and riverdigging-feet, did not need the sacrafice of your company in order to ink your properties onto the lace of (in my civilized fears) the unravaged baby wolf of our plot's plot. Isabel, do not blush. By no means does your sashes swishing distract my intent. I entreat that this message will make you wellawares that I have, indeed, invested a small portion of my eyes beset upon you. I see you Isabel Rochester!!

Ad Astra per Aspera

2006-06-29T21:28:00.001-05:00

Today's "Hair-Style's Daily Tip" Is: "'Ad astra per aspera' is a famous slogan from the period between Vercingetorix and Tarquinias Prescus. What it means is still unknown. And how indeed this saying comes to mind today! In so much as small boys throw rocks at the car. In so much as I want to start yelling. It all leads us up to todays Tip: 'Stop yelling. It is all too much.' I should know -- I am a hair style."

Terrible Comment

2006-05-16T18:51:00.000-05:00

Somebody Please Write a Terrible Comment Here:

2006-05-05T11:45:00.000-05:00

To answer your question Scott:

Snakes on a Plane is a humorous story of love and life among English gentility during the Georgian era. Mr Bennet is an english gentleman living in Hartfordshire with his overbearing wife. The Bennets 5 daughters; the beautiful Jane, the clever Elizabeth, the bookish Mary, the immature Kitty and the wild Lydia. Unfortunately for the Bennets, if Mr Bennet dies their house will be inherited by a distant cousin whom they have never met, so the family's future happiness and security is dependant on the daughters making good marriages. Life is uneventful until the arrival in the neighbourhood of the rich gentleman Mr Bingley, who rents a large house so he can spend the summer in the country. Mr Bingley brings with him his sister and the dashing (and richer) but proud Mr Darcy. Love is soon in the air for one of the Bennet sisters, while another may have jumped to a hasty prejudgment. For the Bennet sisters many trials and tribulations stand between them and their happiness, including class, gossip and scandal.