The Ecphorizer

Barren Haute Wadder (A Fay Retail)
Burt Schmitz

Issue #17 (January 1983)



Won spawn atom three beers lived in a dratful dip florist. Agar juice bland cootie, culled Ladle Wretched Ratting Hoot, wanton her whey anemone pathos inter florist deucey her grammar who awl sew livid depend the dock force, but Tammany rodes custer to looser weigh. Atlas the party ladle gull sour hawse and wind insight. Worsted hawser thrip airs! The horse worse a band earned. She gotten a cheer, annal egg claps. She felon deflower, an herder but. She saw poor rich in boils. Ones two haute, a neuters two coal, alas was write. She edit. Thin esteem in pull cauterize, and cheese tripped. Artery wile, the neck agile god tarred and slippery firm lane in the haute tup, and Wendover to the bat rheums. A grate BIK matters was heart, an udders to surf, but tethered ladle caught field gut. She winnows leap. The bars cumin; Your Sam Ager, Your Sam Miner, enters a Momma (Aladdin aims). Teacup bare, Your Sam Miner, whaled "Samba de satin 'ma chere' ants racked!" "Treble!" sad mobber. "Ma Porsches eight two!" ante criterion blooey snows.* "A grill with gouled heron red sin moped!" Their raquetty Carson woke Rat Wretching Hoot hew scrimmed inter! She flew ought adore, thought addresser pence, and necked, runt ardor knell forum. She dint a Virgo tooth bares hearse akin!

Mural: Fewer freight obeyer bud ox, kipper weigh firm haute tups inner dock!

* Actually, no one cared that he had a new status W. 


Burt Schmitz is a Western history and Civil War buff.  He is former secretary of the Lockheed Canoe Club and once worked as a cartoonist in Indiana.

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On the Simple Pleasures of the Poor
Warren Fogard

Issue #17 (January 1983)

In Callowdown the country fair,
A gallimaufrey gathered there
With potty noses red or blue,
Fright wigs and rags of sundry hue,
A flapping, cheering, clam'rous throng
They prod their sotted 'king' along,
That worthy lifted stunned and pale
From durance in the city jail,
And plied with scepter, crown, and wine,
With leave to choose his Columbine
Who stumps beside him; trait'rous bitch
To lead her lord 'cross stone and ditch
With lying cant of "Free! You're free!"
So fetch him to the gallows tree.

Cruel hemp instructs
An evil waltz;
A mad mazurka
Tripped to music
By the drum
And bugle corps.
Give us a taradiddle there
We'll watch the dead man dance on air.
Such simple joys abound
In Callowdown. 


Warren responded to our request for biographical information with the statement that he "was a high-wire walker until he got strung out.  He now spends most of his time avoiding getting strung up."

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