In: From life
Finnegan’s Wank (no, the apostrophe isn’t a typo) is pretty amusing, though I’m partial to P. William Grimm’s hilarious Finnegan-as-Dubliner moneyshot:
Finnegan sat in the corner, spent. He was sad now. The softest part was always the hardest part. He spit on the ground and looked around. He grabbed a dirty towel and weakly cleaned himself. A big fart let loose from his fat ass. The magazine he used was called Phoenix Park, and Finnegan made a note to himself to remember the title. It was a keeper.
The bachelor’s apartment only had one room, other than the bathroom. The only sink was in the bathroom. Finnegan kept a hot plate on a table near the only door in the apartment. He occasionally cooked grill cheeses on the hot plate. He had never cleaned the hot plate. He owned two dishes, and he would clean them in the shower at the same time he showered himself. He owned one fork, and cleaned it with spit.
Through the dirty window, Finnegan spied a bird flying. He coughed once and turned away from the window. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling, scratching his belly. He imagined the two Asian girls he saw at drycleaner earlier in the day. They leaned over a sink, each washing a shirt. One was tall like a tree. The other was squat and short, like a stone. They were both beautiful. They were both perfect. Each time he jerked it thinking of them, he felt closer to them. Every day he felt closer to them.
Finnegan waited to get hard again. It wouldn’t be long.
I had another go at James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake last week, this time with Joseph Campbell’s A Skeleton Key to Finnegans Wake, but Campbell’s key left me even more confused than before. The jury’s still out, at least until I can come up with a way to balance both books.