‘Alphabet Soup’

A: The nervous valedictorian whose never had to wait in line: an obnoxiously pragmatic symbol of standard.

B: This buttery consonant either capitol or lower case, always gives me a secret tickle shiver when written. God bless you B, you’re so debonair.

C: The only child, the spoiled brat of the group, the corrupt and callous pit of a Washington cherry. Marked by delusional confidence and malcontent. C, you deserve yourself.

D: About as much insightful motion as a four sided wheel. Sterile.

E: E is one of the elders, a real vet. Festooned with the elegant laurels of a life well lived. Proud of convention and down with pretension says E.

F: A glyph of deviance whose forward nature often unearths discord. This filthy, faintly sinister, lewd mess up is the ominous figure that all the little lower case letters are advised to steer clear of.

G: G and E were high school sweethearts, got hitched at 18 and still look in each other’s eyes like new lovers. G is prudent, yet resolute, zealous, but blasé. A gallant pillar of principal.

H: We don’t see H all that often because H spends most of the time in the gym toning that classic palindrome look. A real blue-collar, proletariat work-horse that likes books about war and talking dirty in bed.

I: This is a prim and pernickety, self- seeking super model with the IQ of a pear. Slow-witted sweetness.

J: With aesthetic grace and salacious subtext, this tenth character is surely trying to break your heart. J is kind of an elitist but has the wherewithal to be so. An impulsively confident consonant. Proclivity for J.

K: K carries around an anxious nerve, which may be credited to prescription abuse. Comically intrusive, however a serious sanguine. This social casualty is buckling under the pressure of phonetic rehab.

L: Standing tall with lasting class, L is a bona fide humanitarian, a dyed in the wool sage, and irrefutable hero.

M: Adorably modest freckles paired with strawberry blond hair, that’s M. I had a crush on M in the 3rd grade. With an innocent and naively acute sense of humor, M is a gem.

N: If M is feminine, than N is her fraternal twin brother. Like M, N doubles as another member of the cast, Z: whose slick, arcane front rubs off on its vertical cousin.

O: The most orgasmic of all the vowels. This voluptuous friend is the only one to bridge the integer grapheme gap, a special feature indeed. O has a jovial, impassionate soul that quite honestly makes me want to hang myself in a shower stall. Oh, the a-cynic void.

P: P tries too hard to fit in. Not the last kid picked, but close. Underneath, co-dependence and insecurity plague P’s fragile spirit, while on the surface a cheerful, flamboyant facade is all over the show.

Q: An undeniably refined specimen. Q has a sizable conceit that demands notice but ironically is the letter least penned in troop 26. Perhaps born in France, maybe the northern Rhone region, where the Viongnier grape grows almost exclusively. A floral white wine, with notes of over ripe apricots and an over ripe attitude if you ask me.

R: R always has racy, prophetic opinions, but can’t remember where its drink is. Down in the southern cockles of R there is a clear propensity for immoral and guiltless dispositions. This cleaver renegade has the coolfiery fervency of a radish.

S: Charming in spite of that swank, S is a natural seducer. Odds- on S wears a sultry red dress and pumps even to a baseball game. Kisses like a stripper and rocks socks in the buff. A clear-cut metropolitan slut.

T: Kind of an alphabetic chameleon. Maybe the outdoorsy type, or maybe a chaps sporting Texan spitting at a rodeo. Perhaps the tyrannical tribal head of an ancient civilization that sparred its empire to collapse. In any case, T is a mystery to me.

U: Although four blocks down, U pulls at the coat tails of Q like a begging child in the check out line of a busy grocery store.  Possible the least pleasing letter to pen, U is an unstable, wobbling joke. No doubt T and V shove it back and forth like a rocking horse. Poor U.

V: Goose, up, two olives, slightly dirty, ice on the side. This one here was born at the top of the corporate ladder, no climbing required.  A power suit, the daily news and a cup of brew illustrate this capitalist viper quite well.

W: W played football with G at one of those proverbial ivy institutions and has since raised a family in an old house on the hill, slogged in law, then became a selectman or some small scale political figure.

X: The grim reaper in this class of 26. X is a variable that certainly marks the spot. Its pornographic persona makes Y a little uncomfortable, or maybe a little aroused.

Y: Give me a Y! Cartwheeling, and cheering, and tumbling its way down to the end of the list, this one’s favorite color is clear.

Z: Zipping and zigging and zagging around the bowl, Z is undoubtedly the fastest kid in the cluster. The cat who came to school just for lunch who now sweet talks all the freshman college girls into some sexual positions, but never any emotional investment. High five Z, but you may want to check for an STD.

Brandon LaPrad Bye