Interfaith Intercourse

UNTITLED, CRABWALKING

2010-11-16T19:28:00.005-08:00

ME:

I was listening to President Reagan's obie-winning rendition of Paradise Lost and it struck me: Milton's notion of God is that of a creator-battery whose juice expended upon the universe. Humans, then, were harvestable bits in God's odd garden below, and in the story Satan's master plan is to co-opt these energy bits to somehow escape from hell's reaming flames and regain heaven's joyful mouth.

GERALD:

Fuhst off, I don't follow the bible. And secuhnd, I don't appreciate no classical works dictating my ideas of heaven-n-heck. If there was supposed to be a God, he'd 've turned 9/11 into a giant candy and hot dog factory explosion where only a brave few died but his power's 're such that he'd make it rain. Candy. Raining Candy and Hailing Hot Dogs, and we'd all be terrible sad about the factory workers and their families, but good'd be our common grief to throw afore the plight of low-income wastrels, uneducated folk with the fear of God in their roots, Americans who vote against their economic interest as long as the candidates supports whites and guns and God - and shame on those thick-smarmed liberals, decrying decent folk who forgo Mammon for the supposition of a higher power worth upholding - but economics were damned anyway when the exploded victims' relatives got rich themselves, considering all the the book deals and suing deals about the Candy-Hot-Dog-Gun factory bust-up; hunger impossible with gift baskets for the bereaved, filled with comfort foods, toys, and liquor, some baskets consisting only of gold whiskey bottles sprouting from within like Sex herself!

Uncle Fuck went on CNN with Wolf Blitzer and spat fire about the miles of red tape he faced when filing his grievance claims from the fed's CHDG Factory Fund, and the white Wolf howled like a heated bitch dripping something journalistic, though Uncle Fuck didn't explain that the main problem was his lack of understanding the written word, but by then it didn't matter. Well, you can guess that the tape was played the next morning in the Oval Office, and the president put his commander hands on that broad wood desk and shouted "C'mon guys, let's help Uncle Fuck out," so loud that everyone's hair blew back in a wicked gust and the room smelt of early-morning coffee breath for days.

So Uncle Fuck got his money. But a few months later an underage prostitute with the nomme de hooker of Crystal Amy Roughton comes shuffling in to the local precinct with a battered face and broken wrists. She's wrinkled red like a dry cherry, but manages to drop a man's wallet with one of her dangling swollen hands, and before she falls to the ground, she points at the wallet and mutters: "this muhrfuckeh smashe muh faish ups". Arrested and investigated, Uncle Fuck, turns out, was a professional huckster who ran with Smyrna's elite, themselves a bunch of nouveau riche real-estate developers and perfume barons (or so I thought from their smell, because even at home they reeked of cheap sleeze while watching their dull shows that rivaled even my own dullest deeds. If they ever made a television show about me and my own, they'd realize that sitting around and smoking weed is boring as hell, although we'd probably be laughing all the way to Vegas 'cause by then we'd be mingling in tit bars with the relatives of dead factory workers, drinking liquor made from jew marrow and other delights). Rattled, they disowned the fallen rebel and local politicians were quick to return most of the campaign money that he'd dropped off over the years, an amount not enough even for a bucket of gasoline. After the CNN appearance he had become a hell of a celebrity, encapsulating the anger of his time, but the arrest ended that with as much certitude as God's final fart on the seventh day. The news reached the world in one great chattering inflow, like mothers at a baby convention shrieking about formulae or tender aureolae, and I'm sure some such gets said at these gatherings but you can't claim they care about all them babies that aren't their own.

Modern Chat Rooms

2010-11-15T16:19:00.000-08:00

In Amerka, it's hard to love soccer - if you can even call it love. The only person who can express a human's connection to sport worthy of words is George Will, although does anybody know who he is, because he's a stand-up guy, a columnist for Punch magazine and the like, but his descriptions of baseball - a sport I truly truly hate - make even my diamond-fisted fists melt into fists of admiration for the nuance and damnation that competition ought to mean. And that's what George Will describes: the nuance, but there is plenty more: competition strung together on a population's guts couldn't describe this for miles.

What is more puzzling is the chat rooms I want to present. We love chatrooms, and we think it's because we came of age with such other young sexy girls our age, usually very sweet and mature, who would private message us pictures of their weiners, which made for lingering memories. In junior high it was easy to ferment in such a gross stink of early-ish internet porn and odd web wandering, so I fell heavy for computers - a nerdy enough pursuit, which is probably why an online star wars gaming/fan club appealed to my weird automatic responses. This may all say more about how I was, and am, a loser, but one ought to check the website out: it still exists at http://emperorshammer.org. They too had chatrooms, but these weren't like AOL's "hidden tranny" rooms, these were safe zones where bizarre folk could socialize in the character of their chosen star wars personas. It was a lot of fun, and I made some lasting friends who are probably in their late fifties by now.

Which brings me to today, a dozen or some-odd years later, when I came across another chat room, I think for the first time since the wheat-tide of my youth, and it was like seeing someone from my past, recognizably less awkward, but still unattractive and boring, but as long as their not actively shitty, then it should be alright to entertain them. And from the following graphics, the entertained me if not more.

Err, you'll have to click on them to read them...
And I'm the asshole under the handle onetwothree

Galafianakis Archiviantis

2010-11-08T19:25:00.000-08:00

Galafianakis had a show called Late Show or some such and it aired on VH1 on 2002 or so. If Fishing with John can make it into the Criterion Collection... the problem is that Galafianakis' guest list included Eric Estrada from Chips, Ricki Lake from the sty, Bill Paxton, the Eels (?), and Eminem from when he was the lead singer in Everclear. etc.

I think that when you could say "what does a poorly produced television show look like" you could point to this; but Gfknis's problem is one of futurism: he was too damned good at his supposed height of 33 years old. If he's the innocent Parzifal in these clips, then in 2010 he's the experienced Destructress, Nicole Kidman's left nip in Dogville, having taken it by all the jews in town and now he's unleashing a comedy to destroy the medium - and to think that in 2002 the only mainstream comedy blockbusters were American Pie 1, 2, 3 etc and anything with Ben Stiller. Those movies were fucking Sirk melodramas updated to include semen and flute vaginas. Gross, stick a fork in me because I am grossed out like a girl.

Either that or the late 90's to early 2000's were the worst years of our lives. Thankfully, that's oh so true, and dubbly thankfelly, we were mostly too young to be immersed in it. And the only way to break free will be to wear suits and be conservatives, but not republicans, because young republicans still wear American Eagle and Pac Sun.

But in All wonder. Galafianakis is so far beyond and all we're laughing at is astral dust from a receding bum crack.

Also, here's one for my female audience. I once read VOGUE, a favorite of the future mothers of our society, and a fashion marm mentioned that anything Isabel Marant looked at, she had to own. I consider myself to be that fashion marm, and Isabel Marant to be Zurich GrfFlanakis.

While crying and shivering after I've bulemed all over the bathroom floor from antidepressent binges, I remember that some day I'll watch another clip of Gladafanlaiks on YouTube.

Krauthammer's Loge is an Uncharacteristic Aerie

2010-11-05T13:58:00.000-07:00

Krauthammer puts it succinctly:

"The conventional wisdom is that these sweeps represent something novel, exotic and very modern - the new media, faster news cycles, Internet frenzy and a public with a short attention span and even less patience with government. Or alternatively, that these violent swings reflect reduced party loyalty and more independent voters.

Nonsense. In 1946, for example, when party loyalty was much stronger and even television was largely unknown, the Republicans gained 56 seats and then lost 75 in the very next election. Waves come. Waves go. The republic endures."

His example is sparse, but it's a grand point: no matter how ridiculee the nation's bits, we are a doomed republic of tedious debates. Our (upwardly mobile, middle to upper-middle class 20-sormthirngs) generation is poised to out-conservative any and all previous generations, notwithstanding Sharia-bent Islamotards, but the leavener will be a Republican embrasure of social equality. Social Equality for gays may be the reason I don't vote Republican in every election that deserves it, but then again Republicans are hardly conservative in their governing anymore. The Democratic party, while not conservative, was co-opted by unions and the baby boomers; but unions represent national relics such as stevedores and bituminous coal darning, while baby boomers represent our parents, therefore we must destroy our parents and we must end the rights of the stevedore.

If there has been one healthy trend of the world, it's been a larger government, more taxes, less self-accountability, refined breasts of the western woman.... until, egads, I become a quote from Dick Armey's large-print Tea Part Mannyfesto, available at amazon.com's hospice commissary.

Note: Dick Armey and John Boehner (pronounced "look at me flick with a pinkie-finger my own boner") will always win over Vaginal Prussian-Cavalry and Morgan Hardclitorises (pronounced "hard-cly-tory-zzesz)

If Gatsby is nat God and God is nat Great then what does that make Gatsby?

2010-10-29T08:52:00.000-07:00

Soon to be! But current House Minority Leader John Bayner (pronounced BO-nerr) isn't yet quite to be sure, although who doesn't want to be held accountable for spanxing a process for personal political grain? Like idiot savants, do Republicans over exert half their brain pug knuckling in politicks while the other half lies sallow during the strictures of legislating (or de-legistlating)? One autistic nephew played with both hands; one on the piano and the other in his wiener. Sometimes Republicans do just that: play politics beautifully with one hand, yet drool to the tune of finger-banging their own urethrae at a crowded recital. The GOP will always be better at politics - period - because, period.

It must be overwhelming* to hear two parties exhort and flash in the commercial breaks amid the thirty-twelve hours a day of television that the average American watcher per diem. One campaign ad intones, supple: "Hey, I'm from the government and most definitely here to help you as long as you're a laborer or something stupid thereof," while the other party says "Hey motherfuckers, y'all pissed like a sodomized rodent? Y'all want to roll back this Big Gubbermunt Socialist Nigger?" And of course, I editorialized a bit in the former quote; period dot dot period. The problem, however, is that this daily bombardment, whether it's in campaign commercials or in this thing called The Internet that mid-western Freetards are finally getting around to, it wears on the Soul of Man, née Free Time. Interrupting the American Free Time Soul irks our race, even with claims of Rolling Back government like they was Wal-Mart's smiley faced mascot, even if they're extremely rad and religious and fuckable - political epigrammatic bombardment does not a small government make.

This is what has led the Teat Par-tay to lash out like Jiggolos at a Tia Tequila: Tear Patties (Boston accent aigu) are intent on criticizing government to the point of reasonably concluding what they see as wasteful programs of no benefit to them, but the price tag is thus itemized and labeled oh so clearly on every pay-check. And while they may not read legislation, they surely think about all the television they could watch with those added dollars. But their form of government requires agreeing to a two state solution, a precondition that they cannot consciously accept: by positioning themselves against government, the only way to advance their agenda is to infiltrate said government. This is a much more serious and scandalous threat than Islam - this is really happening! This is real life!

But we're not Rosemary, and I sure ain't having a Baby none time too soon. 'Twould ruin me hips.

If the Grand Perception of Democrats (GPD) is that they pursue of legislation, whether it be for the greatness of American humanity or for the self-serving strait of pussy, then they'll be pure as long as they can convince the average Americans who watch forty eight hours of TV a day that they're not Muslim. My point is that people will realize that they like (certain) government action, and that the TeaPers are confused. Either that or they'll just die off, most of them being over 65 and apparently without staples like money and health care, and Democrats will be super forever because Republicans acted like such assholes to the soon-to-be most important voting bloc ever: Latinos.

Besides, how can you do much of anything knowing that it'll all work out, society will never crumble. Unless it does, but even if it does, we'll all be forced to live in underground bunkers. Unless we don't have underground bunkers, so we might as well build some. And while we're at it, let's start hoarding ammunition. And grains and water. Period.

*Being overwhelmed falls into the Scared American category. These Teat Partierres are simply Scared Americannots, so it is imperative that we invade Iran.

Paranoia is as Timeless as a Rolex

2010-10-28T17:01:00.000-07:00

Communism successfully infiltrated our society like a male tiger forcing his barbed bit on a mate. Our institutions resemble the apparatchiks of Stalin’s dreams and our children suckle sugar bits chipped from candyland’s Siberian outpost. If not, then we successfully defeated the regimes of our parents’ youth through the paranoid operations implemented by Joey McCarthy and Johnny Hoover in the face of paunched sympathizers.

What, then, to make of The Islam’s veil scare: the soulful agenda of Shariah implementation throughout? Unless you’ve been tucked in Helen Keller’s lower hole for the last some-odd decade, then you’ve heard about the threat posed by Islamic necromancers and the upcoming Final Battle version 7.0. And because terrorists attacked us with planes once, it’s now acceptable for all of us to be complete pussies when it comes to eyeing not-too-dark-darkies, and not just high-miled on a plane, but even in your local bodega where that nasally Yemeni owner smiles and greets you with conspiratal niceties. But this Yemeni should represent just that: the bottom rung of America, owner of a bodega on shit-street central, suspicioned by whites, blacks, jews, but maybe not Mexicans and their ilk who can’t speak Phlenglish.

Samuel Huntington successfully invented three words: Clash. Of. Civilizations. His plurality denotes only a pair, however, in the modern day Capulets of the West and the latter day saints of The Islam. Regardless of who fucked who first (although, to be fair to The Islam, it was us, and we did it anally aught lube), we have an incredible advantage. There’s about a dozen Islam-oriented states: Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Indonesia, U.A.E., Pakistan, India, France, Sudan, Egypt, Delaware, etc., and I am hard pressed to make up any more. Obviously, this is a clash of 12 countries versus the rest of a world armed with fucking nuclear tear drops, fake tits and water, so we have some strategic advantages. The question I ask my brothers: is all the paranoia justified?

2010-10-05T11:43:00.001-07:00

24/7

Artificiality in the Age of Surgical Hymen Reparation

2010-10-04T20:18:00.001-07:00

“For women who don't want to undergo a surgical procedure, a cheaper, faster path to "revirgination" is available in most sex novelty shops: a Chinese-made artificial hymen that, when inserted, purports to create a lifelike sensation for the man and emits fake blood when ruptured.”

- Keith B. Richburg in The Washington Post, August 16th, 2010.

Revirginization? Superb! Superb, that is, until some upstart entrepreneur decides that their day-spa-cum-hymenoplasty clinic ought to do a full on Bloomie’s display for the tourists spread double-breast along fifth avenue.

The Washington Post dishes about the spreading popularity of the procedure in China, where the pressures of saving the thinnest of membranes for that special guy demand the radically cosmetic procedure, a procedure that smacks of Africa’s clitoridectomy problem.

The barbarity ends there, however, in that this surgery relates to the inner bits of womanhood while the axing of a clitoris leaves visible wounds on the victim. It is as much a scar as results from the machete’s, whose reach which has left generations with a visible reminders of trauma to match the lasting psychological skeins of war. The currents of violence are slick, and the joke of artificial hymens, available over-the-counter at a number of novelty asian retailers, (along with any number of dildos and protruding objects to take one of these blood pouches out for a joyful ride) is that they’re cheap, safe, and provide the “lifelike sensation” that some betrothed asshole requires. In short, they’re the obverse symbol of the West’s morning after pill: a prophylactic against shame.

Surgical hymen rejuvenation does not a Nobel Laureate make; but it does extend the front on which women fight for our shit-eating approval. Knowing our own society’s Mickey Rourkian obsession with plastic surgery, is it any wonder that these extremes export well? The cost of surgical revirginization runs to the low-low price of 757 USD$, a significant amount of Yuan even for the rising middle class, so if a woman is to independently afford the stitch they most likely are the daughters of The Party or Industry/Commerce. The prosperity of China’s leaders allows for their girls to experience western standards of sucking and fucking, but the ivory dictates of purity drive these same daughters into the arms of loving femme-doctors who receive breathless adoration via text the morning after, of course.

What's Going to Happen to All the Meteorologists? Perhaps they'll all die off

2010-09-29T17:47:00.000-07:00

Talking about the weather comes to moot when you start talking about The Weather Channel. The offspring of meteorologist and media entrepeneur - in media, the equivalent of Tyler Perry and Kate Bosworth - in 1982, it followed CNN’s strategy two years prior of “broadcast-un-end”, both bannering a service to provide programming to match the earth’s compulsory spin. Childhood was introduced to a fantastic amount of information, much as our generation was interrupted by the internet and all its intensities.

With internet, The Weather Channel is in a much different situation now than CNN in that news events require a team of folks to be on site, listen, ask, perceive, process and distill the situation in a way to require a human to still be the communication’s medium. Weather, however, has become a vale of technologically-prescribed algorithms, programs receiving from a stock of who knows how many modules precise and widespread, a network centralized and computed without the need for meteorologists. Workers at this network-driven Weather Channel are not weathermen but programmers, refining their bits not to meet the need for weather forecasts, but simply more weather, the result of users’ consumption electric. So may many meteorolgists join in the death from an Internet’s fantastic ash cloud.

Tolerate the Medieval in your Fancy, Man!

2010-09-13T15:22:00.001-07:00

The theme continues; the majority of Americans still’re slower than retards wearing ankle weights. Through a failure of doin’, I point that the wellspring of our democrakatic republic - voting - has been commandeered by the same bloc that put us into [what? a... mess of ecolutionary, economicary, terrorist-spawning rhetorictions,?]; the same bloc that refers to computers as ‘light machinations’ and whose blow jobs are still called ‘five-cent warmth bonuses’, i.e., Anyone Over Forty and Sometimes Thirty Five.

How to define this stupidity? Is following advice from the peddler who advises you to vote against your own interests; is that make you stupid? Is it depend on the advice or your reaction thereof? If I’m in the practice of ink-mixing, and a politician comes along and says “all ink-mixers are going to get a tax break if I’m elected”, and it turns out that he’s a lying, cheating, war-mongering chick with a dick, well, at what point do I become an ass for voting for this guy? If he is a lyer then I won’t vote for him again and democracy remains pure. But what if he pulls through with his promise and breaks my taxes so that I may use the extra capital to hire on a few extra workers, expand and improve my process, etc.? At what point in this democracy should I start being concerned about the poor humanitarian decisions of our elected officials so long as the general economy, ahem, hummm.

Why care about your money? Usually, if you’re over 35 (and (definitely) if you’re over 40), then you’ve got much more at stake than the uni-limbed victims of foreign policy. Besides, we don’t actually hack arms off. Our violence is more like “we, the American representatives to Panama, would like to offer you training and guns and the like,” so that we can, say, overthrow the current hostile government and build a canal. I would argue that most of the time these interventions are worth it, and that the amount of lives destroyed (or maimed) should never be as bad as the overall uplifting powers of economic progress! Think of all the jobs created by the canal, then and now; globalization! And this scope is quite international.

As I’d say to a friend: is being a bigot not enough to grain credit with the autistic masses? There are plenty of bigoted things to do, but in a civilization where lynching nigroes or employing under-age sex girls is widespread and encouraged, then there’s nobody to draw a comparison to. There’d be no Sara Palin to say “those east coast caviar suckling faggots can suck on my hairy flaps” because everybody would be too busy lynching folks or teaching creationism to the seven children of their seven wives. What gets Palin elected is some smarmy strutter with a few years of civilization in his breeches coming along and pointing a stritched finger at her and saying “thar’s the she-devil! Thar’s the one that believes in some-odd God”!

“Reality Through Chicanery: The Princess Feels the Pea, Confronts it and Rejoices” and "When Something Doesn't Feel Right"

2010-08-12T07:10:00.000-07:00

I came across middle-agers on the fine summery fiery street walk of a manhattan space-scape and listened as they lowed, “it’s a shell game, oh whoa, gel shame”. Given a choice, the easiest choice of all (one with two options), they froze: who should regulate the web advertising networks’ use of private and personal information on the Internet, the Industry Itself or the Government. Betwixt, a populace stands infirm.
, petrified turd.

In the triforce of Consumer, Industry, and Government, it’s hard to find an equilibrium in ye olde seesaw: the more successful an advertising firm wants to be, the less liberty a consumer has; this is the result of an ad networks’ sorting and filtering personal internet habits to create said premium product: the highly targeted ads which are the result of all this data mining. A bad example comes to mind in that the more I know of my roommates drug-sniffing habits, the more I can successfully market my cocaine/meth/powdered foreskin to him. While it’s not fair to say that advertisers are trying to sell products that consumers are literally addicted to (one cuts the foreskin powder with Newport tobacco to increase the cravings), it should be understood that corporations do not have in mind the easy to dismiss notion of a “public good”.

It is too easy for a cynic with his fingers in someone else’s shorts to claim that the government has no time for the public good, but this thinking must be destroyed. For these people, a trip to the libertarian paradise of central Africa might rape them into clarity. For the rest of us, it must be understood that our government functions quite well for what it is and the onus is on our anus to follow the News-ous.

Necessarily, we must understand the tendency for folks to support Industry over Government: industry is rarely held accountable for blatant fuckery, whereas government officials are easily identified and thus excoriated for whatever (see: Politics). It seems as though there’s a psychological slip in play when politicians are routinely singled out, face and name all over for their role in trysts and bribery, whereas businessmen in the exact same situation are as blameless as the Islamic man who rapes a woman for leaving the house without covering her head, condoned by a community as tsk tsk what a dumb broad indeed (see: Predatory Lending).

When industry folks begin to believe their actions as for the benefit of the consumer, a problem of continuity ensues. I agree that the industry should self-regulate, but it shouldn’t be under the guise of well-meaning buffoonery. Just as Google’s motto states “do no evil”, this ought to be followed up by a detailed explanation that for all the “evil” a cynic makes of their business practices, they are actually benefiting quite a group of folks - all while making a pretty penny. Nobody should feel guilty about making money while claiming a noble carrot, but they oughtn’t believe it! But too many folks do believe it, and I believe that this misbelief can lead to (deep waters enter...) a crisis in self-realization and “a life well-lived” (http://www.aei.org/speech/100023). Ugh, too much?

This and other points will be explored in a continuing series of short pieces I call “Reality Through Chicanery: The Princess Feels the Pea, Confronts it and Rejoices”

Tit toditael

2008-10-22T10:05:00.001-07:00

Alright idiots, Tip's back after a serious bout of thinking. If you'd like to know what sort of drinking he's talking about, take as evidence the amount of time passed between the beginning of this post and this point here. Now here. Now here. Now here.

It hit me at the Bronx zoo the other day: after warming up my projective capabilities with organisms relegated to the gulags of the food chain ("Awww I sometimes sniff my freshly-laid poo too!") I shelled out the $3 it cost to enter the Congo. And for the first five minutes I had considered my money not-too-ill-spent: fake mist mixed with fake ferns and fake exotic/organic rainforest tree trunks, the tails and other physiological traces I caught of strange animals were worth at least $1.25 (or a Busch diesel tallboy). I was even getting a little horny, like what happens with the mom and her son in the greenhouse of Zola's La Curee. The I reached the pot of gold: the gorilla exhibit.

For lack of light I had a hard time getting oriented at first ("this must be what it's like to first arrive on the other side of the protective zoo bars") but once my eyes adjusted and my ears became accustomed to the pitch of seven-year-olds' screaming I got a good look at the scene: a grassy knoll covered in imported central-African deciduous herbage, playing couch to a dozen hairy Silverback gorillas of varying age and size. The parents slept or watched their children play/wrestle or chew on sticks and rub their mammaries. The faces of us superiors betrayed memories of more innocent times as if we had lived in that dreamy artificiality ourselves. Couple rubbed each other's elbows and children piled on top of each other for a better look. Transcendent.

In a darker corner of the exhibit was grouped a bunch of the aforementioned youngsters whose peals my ears took a minute to get accustomed. They were intent on what looked like an exceptionally large beast who was leaning back against a tree trunk at a ninety-degree angle to the spectators, but about six inches away from the protective glass. Every forty seconds or so the group of kids would scream with delight or disgust and push closer or farther from the glass. I inched in for a better look: gorilla on display (Bigsie?) was working his jaws reflectively with his right hand out as if both proposing and contemplating a conflicted statement for the first time; there were bits of brown I-don't-know-what on the sides of his mouth and his fingertips, but I didn't have enough time to make a guess as to what the stuff might be because at that moment he gave me an answer ("Here he goes!" one of the kids screamed): tipping his head back and shaking it for a second, Bigsie lurched forward and vomited a neat brown poo ball (with chunks and nuts, yes) into his hand, looked at it, then ate it once more.

I gagged, naturally. The kids screamed and laughed and clamored for a better look at the next one. It was worth $3, yes. I had seen something I wouldn't have thought to have seen at home. Here was the reflective image of a beast in captivity whose numbness and ease of life had pushed him to an extreme form of engagement and consumption. He wasn't eating because he was hungry; he wasn't vomiting because he felt sick. Food and medical attention would be provided to him without fail; toys and sex and exercise were all at his disposal. I read on the placard that Bigsie was the first gorilla to have been successfully birthed and raised in captivity at the Bronx Zoo. Not once had he met with challenge or despair but had rather been afforded, arguably, the easiest life a Congolese Silverback may have ever known.

The life in the cage was a homogeneous community without threat from within or without. In this way it would accord with what Fukuyama (or Hegel before him) would have called an 'end of history', wherein the seeds are sown for the overcoming of the master-slave dialectic, where man can devote himself to self-knowledge and the completion of science. In this way Bigsie could be, perhaps, the gorillas' Philosopher, with nothing to do but use the tools he has available and contemplate his role in the world order. It would be easy to pin his behavior on what we know about the death drive: the repetition of a foundational event in order to regain control of a situation, no matter how painful that event may be. His action could be the same as little Hans' "fort - da" that introduces the concept to Freud in the first place. Deleuze would move it beyond Oedipus, however, and take special note of the action taking place: the mouth/digestive machine and its predicated flow. Bigsie is acting not simply according to a death drive but in contemplation of the makeup of his very existence, namely, synthesis. Stuff goes in, stuff comes out. It's true that he reverses the order and doesn't allow the machine to do its work (and this is where the death drive is appropriate), which may be the appropriate place to stop this here and think, then, about why the kids liked watching it so much.

More WSJ responses, Fucking, In my ASs

2008-10-21T12:29:00.000-07:00

Here's the article referenced

Bravo Bret Stephens: the wunderkind does it again on the pages of the Wall Street Journal, writing about Colin Powell and showing penile integrity as he done did it! That's right, be scared, because soon McCain will lose the election and a socialist-fascist-communist regime will spread its red labial flaps across the sacred symbol's eagle. Do you understand how much the editorial page here smells like desperation? What does a young kid like you have to gain if McCain is elected? What do you have to lose if Obama is elected? The personal fear was evident in the liberals (let's just stick with Krugman, because he's always frightened about something) when Bush was elected, and then re-elected, because they knew that people would be killed and inequality would be allowed to reign o'er our nation. But reaaaallly, what is it for you? The neo-con tradition will end here, but how can you argue your hawkish stance without explaining what you have to gain? Do you like the idea of the economy trickling down? Does that turn you on? The only true explanation would be that you have never been good at anything, and somehow you found out that you don't have to be smart in order to get ahead: you just have to be belligerent. But you, Bret, you're really good at that. I noticed that your column is supposed to do with global perspectives on politics, but you just threw that idea out this week because you were itching to just go crazy and denegrate anything that Colin Powell could say about his former employer and the current state of his party. And that picture? Really guys? Who made the call "let's use that picture that Drudge used because it makes Colin Powell look like a monkey dancing between two rap stars." You guys are way smarter than I am, and if I'm able to make the connection of three black men, two of them "gangster rappers" (because according to every conservative white male that reads this newspaper, any rapper or black man in power is a gangster), and generally creating a cheesy and illegitimating aura around Colin Powell. Also, great placement on the link to Rush Limbaugh's rant (and seriously, the NYTimes, Washington Post, Financial Times and the Economist would never link to someone like that. To put it into perspective, how many times has the NYTimes linked a quote from Arianna Huffington within a McCain-bashing article? And hey! At least the Times recognize their bias, whereas who are the liberals in your opinion page?). So, finally, to take a play out of the McCain campaign's book, I'd like to call you out for having a second rate newspaper that nobody reads and is losing money, financially woeful, disgustingly behind in terms of technology and ideology, and doing a grave and everlasting injustice to the diminishing conservative intelligentsia. So Fuck you. (you can edit these last three words out if it allows for this to be printed)

News you can Use

2008-10-16T13:10:00.001-07:00

Russia is fucking screwed. Not only is the price of oil going down faster than a transvestite on eddie murphy’s lap (HOOOO!), but their most promising young athlete just died. His name was something, and he was from Russia. He was 19 and was a 1^st round draft pick for the NY Rangers. The story behind the story is that this was no case of a young athlete dying because of complications of being Russian and stupid. No. I believe that this young boy was actually a secret journalist, and this explains why he mysteriously died while playing hockey. In fact, according to myself, people don’t just die in Russia. Anyone who tells you otherwise is most likely a spy, a communist, someone related to me, or even is me. It usually is me. I will tell you one thing while doing the other. That is the cornerstone of the Russian. Russian is a man/woman hybrid creature that feels and looks like Dobby from Harry Potter. In fact, has anyone ever noticed how much Dobby looks like Putin? Is this the great conspiracy of our time? No, no it isn’t.

The great conspiracy, or rather, the great bummer (because it’s not a conspiracy at all, it’s just a bummer for Russia and Venezuela) is that oil is plummeting. I remember when people actually cared about going green, and driving hybrids, and eating dehydrated cow shit and other ecologically sound things. The recent economic asshole (as in the brown thing in the middle of your butt, not in reference to a jerk) fucking has eroded their power and destroyed any chance for a “resurgent Russia”. So fuck that. Russia can suck my dick and kill me if they want to because they’re already insignificant. Sort of. Hehehehe. They’re more like a bunch of douchebags with no style; the inbred rich neighbor who just lost his job, but has to keep up appearances because he’s worried his girlfriend will leave him, even though she’s fat and ugly and also his cousin.

But I bet a blowjob from Russia would feel nice. Like, reaaaal nice. Like the kind when you’re like “suck harder” and then Russia would be like “mmph mm phhm!” and it’s hard enough to understand what russia’s saying because your dick’s in her mouth (or his, because if Russia were a dude, I’d let it suck my dick; but only Russia-as-a-man could get away with this. Don’t get any ideas you faggots), not to mention that Russia speaks Russians, so it would be like “MMMМНѮД ДДДMѸѸѸ” and shit. But the main reason that Russia gives the best blowjobs (only second to Israel, for obvious reasons) is that Russia had a lot of work done. Her mouth is huge, great jiggly tits, and she’s always wasted, so she’ll put it so deep inside her mouth she’ll think she’s sucking on a bottle of Stolichnaya! HOOOOO!

I forgot what I was talking about, but irregardles, I remembered and shall now continue. Oil fell below 70 dollars a barrel today. Because of that, Russia will no longer be able to afford all the bullshit stupid crap that it bought over the last year since a barrel of oil almost became as expensive as an ounce of weed. I know that oil’s not their only thing, but oil prices were helping them even more than natural gas! And even natural gas is slowing down. I just want to know when the weed market bubble will burst, although it’s been steady at about 50 bucks a bag for a while. The bags have been getting smaller, and the prices stay the same. Fuck that. Weed can suck my dick.

Foreign relations is probably my best subject, and this article shows why: I’m articulate and I’m all about getting my dick sucked by Russia.

WSJ opinion responses

2008-10-16T09:53:00.001-07:00

Rove the boy wonder has everything to lose in this election. All that he's worked for will be snapped away and he knows it. The desperation is evident and tastes like copper. It strikes me as odd that he is writing pieces like this in the WSJ because who does he think he's converting? I can understand a need to rally the troops, but the people who read this newspaper are egg-head republicans, not the masses who make up the republican base. These egg-heads are rightfully pissed about the Palin decision (because really, her as president? Nancy Reagan had more cred than her for simply being married to the big guy!). But that's fine, Rove can say whatever he wants because he's Rove. For now, that is. Who will listen to him once Obama's in the White House? Will he even have a weekly article here in the Opinion page? What will Karl Rove have to offer once his empire crumbles? He exploited and over used his own dirty tactics, and now they're backfiring, and he's confused and scared, and his legacy as well as Bush's is over. End of Story.

A Tale of Two Shitties

2008-10-09T12:30:00.001-07:00

How to transfer phones. It’s simple and easy as shit. You answer, mumble something really fucking quickly so it flusters the caller. If you are successful, you will hear an unsure response of ‘hello.. eh-o?’ Next, it is imperative – IMPERATIVE – to listen what they ask next because this is what determines your next response. There are three types of callers and they all require different responses. The first caller would be the confused dumbass trying to do business with you because your company is somehow connected to what they are trying to do. In our case, as an arts-oriented publishing company, I receive calls usually once every two weeks of people looking to sell artwork. These people are generally retarded fools who should have been hit by a car while crossing the road at night dressed in all black. But they didn’t, so you must question their motives. Mostly, they are lonely old people who are slowly going senile and have no friends or relatives that care to hear about their once-a-week bowel movements. The next type of people are people who need to be transferred to so-and-so because they’re working with them or they’re an artist or a gallery trying to get hold of such-and-such department and yadda yadda blah dee fucking doodley boo. Finally, the last client is the best because they represent a fusion of smegma, tragedy, and ingenuity. These are the types of people that drive the industrialism of America! They typically ask about the “boxes of packaging tape we were interested in” or “who makes decisions regarding our real estate.” They are mostly scam artists or opportunistic has-beens that either are working in obscure unmarked warehouses in southern California or holed up on I-95 in rural Ohio, living out of their car, clutching onto a list of stolen contacts from their previous job. These types of animal won’t let you go: you can feel them twisting the phone in their hand, trying to juice any amount of money from your ears, doing anything they can; saying things like “Hey boss! Ready for the weekend big guy? Yeah, who isn’t, right? How ‘bout we include a 5 dollar Starbucks giftcard for ya, boss?”

OHhhh they won’t let you go. They say stuff, you say stuff. They’re insistent. You’re indifferent. You mourn the underlying layer of filthy silt that makes up the free market. But you are also secretly aware that you have the power; you can hang up anytime but you don’t because your head swells with power. The power! The true tragedy lies in the power and strength you get from dominating these older men (and they are always men, the Willy Lomans of the world, but with some inexplicable ability to survive; for these men would never kill themselves, they’d just beat their wives or their meat, whichever is closer)

Identifying the Independent Voter 10 - 08 - 08

2008-10-08T11:08:00.000-07:00

The majority of independent voters are poor, retarded, white women from the northern-midwest who probably think they’ll get raped by gangs of black men if Obama is elected. Poor, retarded white men are not as scared of the rape factor as they are of the fact that while they don’t mind Obama, they’d rather have fantasies about fucking Sara Palin in the mouth; maybe other holes too, but mainly in her mouth.

(Source: NYTimes)

The Sara Palin Movie

2008-09-29T15:28:00.000-07:00

Sara Palin is not related to Sarah Palin, so Fuck You you neo-conservative Fuckwads with nothing better to do than google Sarah Palin all day looking for smear sites in order to shut them down, and then you misspell her name, and because of that, you come to our site, and because of seeing our site, you're sterile, as if you had had mumphs in late adolescence, you convalescent bigots.

Yeah, and for all you stupid ass liberals, right on, because you can't spell Liberace without Liberal, so yeah, nice, i'm all about liberality

;;;;;;;;;;;=========''''''''--------3333333322221--][[]][[]][][][][][][][[][][

2008-09-25T07:10:00.000-07:00

Everyone is fixed on wall street, making it hard to come up with anything relevant. I don't know wall street and I wouldn't care except I'm finally understanding that my money, my taxpayer money, is finally being fucked with. My muh-muh-muhhney. I worked in highschool and then a little during college, and I understand that I've helped pay for the iraq war, so every 1/10000000000^th of a penny that goes into making bombs probably came from me, and I'm sorry for all the harm I've done. But what am I to say? It seems like every fucking op-ed writer this side of the atlantic (and then some) have been talking about whatever is going on, and they say the same things over and over:

This is a lot of money

It could be an interesting investment on the part of our government

It's really complicated even for those who thought they knew what was going on

Henry Paulson is a dick

Sooooo… the plan so far is that if this gets as bad as it could be, as in, so bad that people are rioting and there are food shortages, then it's time to go to Canada and start an organic farm

But it's not going to get that bad. People have always been talking about bad things, and look where we are. We're eating and drinking (except for a bunch of assholes who usually can't drink alcohol because they're ex-addicts and/or think that alcohol is bad (which it isn't, based on studies and such), and we're living and breathing, and playing board games and drinking and eating and orgasming and origamiing and watching moives and playing videogames and reading stupid shit on the internet and writing stupider shit (i.e., this) on the internet.

Things are fucking right on right now. Things are always bad and good and bad and good and worse and awesome and shitty and superb.

One of the stories missed this week is how the LHC (Large Hammer-Time Collider) has been shut down until at least next April because some fucking engineer was jacking off on one of the magnets that runs the thing, and he forgot to wipe, and ended up frying the shit out of it. This engineer's name was John Updike. Yes, the same John Updike that wrote some shit about rabbits or something. The same John Updike whose last name sounds like Up and Dyke, which is awesome because it makes me hot to think about getting all Up in a Dyke, ya hearrrrd?

Anyways, what the fuck else has been happening. Sarah Palin has been the slut of the General Assembly this week, first giving head to Kissinger, and then to mohammar Singh, and some other people we shouldn't care about, because she actually isn't doing anything. Not a goddamn thing. She's just going around flaunting her perfect 44 year old tits and shapely ass and wiping kissinger's excreta from her pouty lips. It's funny because I think that kissinger's chode must be all of 3 inches long, but 8 inches wide, so she planned ahead by putting on extra lipstick and such.

It's almost too easy to make fun of her. Where the hell has barack obama been? I don't know if I'd want to go down on Obama because he'd be all like "Change" and I'd be all like "mmmbbbhgg" because his dick's in my mouth and he'd be like "Yes we can CUM!" and then I'd pass out.

I don't know if Michelle would be down, but whatever.

I also need to get a picture of the new girl who works in the finance department because her denim jacket is fucking AWESOME, so bejewlled and shit

The Physical Impossibility of Republicanism in the Mind of a Democrat Living

2008-09-17T10:19:00.000-07:00

The importance of message boards has been lost on me ever since I was a member of the Emperor’s Hammer dot com, where star wars geeks would unite to play each other in TIE fighter vs X-wing on our 56k modems in the mid to late nineties. I haven’t thought much recently about how message boards have changed, but apparently they’re quite a force on some major websites (NYTimes, WSJ, Gawker, PerezHilton, FinancialTimes) hehehehe.

An interesting thing just happened to me, and while it may not be terribly awesome (because cool people like us are so goddamn discerning in our fucking awesome rad neat tastes), it is an interesting peek behind the scenes of the catastrophe that might soon befall the mccain camp.

There was an article about Palin and her experience and whatnot on the Wall Street Journal today or yesterday or something. I didn’t read the article, but I did read the comments.

I won’t post the comments here, because I believe it is better to go to the site and see it, because I’m not talking about the comments. Well, I am, but I want to talk about a unique feature that each of these comments had: On the upper right side of each comment window, there was a rating system of 5 stars. This continues with the great tradition of the right wingers who think a gold star should be given out to the awesome people in their club, especially retarded evangelicals, or other tribal groups (I should make the distinction that retarded evangelicals are no different than regular evangelicals, I’m just trying to make the point that they’re all completely fucking lobotomized).

Back to the gold star rating system. The responses elicited by the Palin article fell into three categories:

1) The somewhat informed left leaning conservative who actually responds to criticism of Palin with their own historical and political facts. In fact, I shouldn’t say they respond to the criticism as much as they hammer it home by pointing out falsities among the other commentators on the board, and then pulling from other contemporary criticisms of their subject, in this case Palin.

2) The somewhat informed right leaning conservative (and is therefore mildly brainwashed by rhetoric and a lack of caring for “numbers” and in-context statistics) who just regurgitates what they have heard other right leaning conservatives say, without checking facts (and these are the guys who get clobbered by the people from #1). I think a great example is Eric Baum, and I know I wasn’t going to post any of these, but this explains what I meant to a T:

Measured by years in public office, Palin's experience is weak for a Presidential candidate,
although still arguably better than Obama's (and she's not a Presidential candidate).
But measured by actual accomplishments, she is a shooting star. As Mayor she (a) cut
property taxes by 40%, (b) built the town's athletic complex, and (c) won reelection
by 50% over the previous incumbent. How many other politicians at any level have cut property
taxes by 40%? Zero that I know of. How many mayors build a town's main complex? Some,
but its unusual. How many politicians at any level win reelection by 50%? Zero that I
know of.

As Chair of the Energy Commission and then Governor she
(a) cleaned out a huge nest of corruption, mostly in her own party,
(b) negotiated a $40 Billion gas pipeline, the largest infrastructure project in
north american history,
(c) passed a serious ethics bill
(d) renegotiated the deal with the oil companies
(e) returned a big part of the surplus to the Alaskan people
(f) achieved an 80% approval rating?
How many politicians at any level do any of these things? Virtually zero.

Eric Baum

3) Finally, the last category is the one liner retard who probably makes up the majority of the republican base, and usually just says what he thinks, without backing it up with any fact. These guys are also referred to as “yo dudes” and “assholes” who probably were on the front lines of the current Wall Street debacle we are in. With any luck, they will be impotent and bald by 40, and die without knowing the true value of art and love.

SHEWW…. Okay, lots of ‘splaining done, but HERE IS WHERE MY ORIGINAL POINT COMES INTO PLAY.

The gold star system pertains to all three of these types of commentators (one gold star being “not worth reading” and five gold stars being “very good” or whatever). It was interesting that when I added up the gold stars for each commentator, the average reader response was as follows:

The Left Leaning, somewhat informed conservative scored an average of 3.9375 gold stars out of Five

The Right Leaning, somewhat informed conservative scored an average of 2.8333 gold stars out of Five

The Retarded Conservative Dumbasses scored on average 2.3333 gold stars out of Five.

What I have failed to mention thus far is how there were only 3 examples of the right leaning commentaries. The Left Leaning commentators had five more total responses (and I should also mention that there were only ratings on one page, so on one page, there were 14 commentaries, 8 of them left leaning, 3 of them right leaning, and 3 of them retarded)

I read somewhere (just kidding, I don’t read so I make shit up as I go!) that the Wall Street Journal was a right-wing, fuck-the-poor, fuck-the-liberals kind of paper, but to see what’s going on in their commentary section is quite surprising. Out of 14 rated responses, over half of them were from people who shouldn’t even place their eyes on the WSJ for fear of retinal damage (i.e., the left leaners who criticized Palin).

I also heard (just kidding, see no evil, hear no evil, something something evil!) that Murdoch has been fighting with the trolls and ogres that run the WSJ’s demonic agenda, and that this may all be a product of his famous purges. But ichs donts tchinks so. Ichs tschinks that this could all be minor evidence of the fact that the republican/right leaning base is not getting riled up. This could be evidence that the left leaning obama voters are taking the charge, and this may have to do with the fact that republicans are old, stupid, and retarded. In that order.

I will soon do a follow up about more of these ratings, but I think the articles themselves have a lot do with it. I couldn’t really do this with, say, some stupid ass business article that only assholes might understand, but I could do this about an article criticizing mccain’s health plan, or obama’s economic agenda.

The worst is yet to come (all over our faces, ohhhhhhhhhhhh… ohohhhhhh, stuffing Palin’s face in a pillow while getting her from behind, oHHHHHHHH… lick that salty Alaskan beaver… OHHHHHHHHHHH!)!)!)!)!)!)!)!))!)!)!)

There's my Dick in the Dark! There it is...

2008-09-16T08:15:00.001-07:00

Is it possible to use the term progressive when describing a political tactic that is based in regressive cultural mores? Of course! The Political Attack could be seen as a beautiful progression and evolution of tactics that are regressive in their nature. What does that mean? The McCain camp has shown us that their most recent and advanced political strategy, with all the flair and hyper-intelligence of a 21^st century campaign, is based on nothing more than a referendum on whether you would fuck their vice presidential candidate. And it’s more than that: would you rather fuck Sarah Palin, or vote for a black man.

The choice of voting with your dick (and you’re probably a guy, because only men can read and see) is appealing to a purely biological instinct to stick it to her. And we don’t even have to imagine Palin on all fours, her sweat beading down the small of her back, ohhh, so salty, like salted moose or beaver… beaver… ohhhh… something something, I was saying something about us not having to imagine it, because we can just photoshop her face onto a porn star’s body, covered in cream, and sell her out of an ice cream truck.

But I don’t know… There is an inherent trust we put in people who are attractive, and this is an ancient explanation for a lot of politics, from Reagan (the movie star) to Biden (with his hair and teeth), Obama (a strong virile man with a deep voice and solid-set eyes) and JFK (except for that FUCKING accent which made cockney slang sound like a nightingale cometh).

This should be terrifying on two levels: First, we have a lot of fucking retarded people who are definitely going to look at her, and their gut reaction has more to do with the fact that she’s pretty and young and can talk and say words like manifestation and cyclical without stuttering, and, well, that goes a long way. I don’t think it’s unfair to say that these voters really deserve a big ‘ole gold star for being so darned discerning in their personal quest for truth and justice and decency in god’s country, where the white should still be the only ones to vote and abortion should only be exercised when we invade other countries and kill the babies within the wombs of our enemies. Yeah, a big ‘ole gold star is in order for them.

For who, though? We could start with the mentally retarded; not the “nyerrr nyerrhhaa” drooling kind, but the seriously retarded evangelicals or weekend Christians.

“but ohhh, Buttter, how can you honestly make fun of people for believing in god, I mean, people can believe what they want, and it’s freedom, America, nyerrrrhhhh.”

No! No! Believing in god is completely retarded, and this compassionate understanding of those who are retarded and believe in myths should be stopped, because the leniency we gave these retarded fucks has elected not one, but two terms of semi-dictatorial incompetence. And these people are seriously retarded, no joke. And it’s one thing to say “oh, but these are great stories and we should be following their teachings, blah blah BLAAHHHHHHHH” but no! NO! These are fun stories, but they have so little to do with this day and age. It’s fine though, to read the bible, get a sense of what’s being said, but do it as though you were reading the greek myths, because you can get the same values and lessons that the bible says in the myths. And it’s pure fucking luck that the bible got its start, so fuck you bible you fucking jew fuck, and fuck you god, you dumb asian asshole.

But it’s great that god made bombs and we have war and the military gets to do stuff and we get to twist our nipples as we chant USA USA USA and such, and hide from the personal insecurities we have, and the fact that we drool over the secretary in our Topeka offices, as we masturbate to shitty internet porn because we’re too old to know how to find decent internet porn, but too young to stop caring about our dicks. We’re like 40 years old, dammit, and bored and we believe in myths and magic, and we love listening to the disc jockeys in the morning talk about shit that’s only one step away from fucking Reader’s Digest. We’re 40 to 45 years old, and we’re sad and bored and mild, and we wish we could have had sex with one (just one!) thin girl in our lives, but we didn’t because we were always ugly and stupid and shy and shitty, and we never got to bang a thin girl, and now it’s too late because who wants to fuck a 40 year with thinning hair who shops at old navy for his ‘weekend clothes.’ Who wants to fuck this kind of a guy? His wife won’t fuck him anymore so he’s reverted to masturbating - more than ever in his life, more than when he was 16, more than when he was 19 and in college at Cincinnati State - and while jacking off, getting his dick ready, getting it hard because it's hard to get hard these days, he’s alone, the only one awake in the house, and his homepage is cnn.com because he’s so worldly, and he sees Palin. And while he’s getting his limp willy hard, trying so hard to get it there, he just focuses in on Palin, and her mouth, and her lips, and I bet she’d look so fucking hot with her hair down, and her glasses off, naked, with just enough meat on her to grab, but not too much that he’d be reminded of his wife; and she’s straddling him, but he’s ashamed because he can’t get it up, so he gets to rubbing his nipples and biting his shoulder, trying to just feel, because he thinks he might have felt once before, and he hasn’t felt anything in so long, because he’s disgusted by his boring wife and disgusted by his boring life (and rhyming these over and over in his head, life, wife, life wife) and he can now only get off to the vice president’s picture while biting his shoulder at 3 in the morning. And seventeen minutes later he comes, and he comes all over her computer screen, just smearing his swollen red-raw member all over the cool, convex screen, and he goes blind for the length of a second and a half, because it’s such a goddammed release, and he has to throw away the keyboard because it’s done for, filled like a girl gets filled with man milk, and he throws it away and blames it on the dog, because that’s all he can ever do: blame it on a different species, because he is man, and man is so pure and good, and the only thing that separates us is our understanding that when we get the keyboard junked up with sperm, we have the intelligence and insight to throw it away before our wife catches on, because the party would be over then, and boy, does that man like to jerk it like a dog.

And, lo, the present administration brought a sense of insecurity and shame to us, and me personally, that our generation had not felt before. The insecurity from the world hating us and the markets being completely bonkers (even though I am removed from the world of finance, I feel this insecurity bled over to my frantic job search which took months of slamming doors until I found a lucky lucky in from a friend) and the shame of knowing how badly we fucked over so much more of the world (I know, we’ve been doing it for a while…but this seems so present and different that I think there’s been a resurgent urgency in our fucking them these last eight or so years).

It’s just fucked. There is no hope, there is no more “oh, but I want to think the American people are smarter” because they’re not. We’re truly retarded. We’re so fucking retarded that it’s amazing we can even find our limp dicks in the dark anymore at 3 am. The McCain administration knows the retarded nature of the undecided electorate, but they took the risk that we were stupid enough to not read/understand the issues, but smart enough to find our dicks in the dark. And we are. I’d fuck Palin and stick her face in a pillow while licking the sweat off her back, which tastes live beaver… ohh beaver…. Ohhooohhhhhhhh….

30 References to Singularity Before 1990

2008-08-29T07:20:00.000-07:00

This is the bibliography of Dr. Vernor Vinge's essay "The Coming Technological Singularity"

    [1] Alfvén, Hannes, writing as Olof Johanneson, _The End of Man?_,
           Award Books, 1969 earlier published as "The Tale of the Big
           Computer", Coward-McCann, translated from a book copyright 1966
           Albert Bonniers Forlag AB with English translation copyright 1966
           by Victor Gollanz, Ltd.

    [2] Anderson, Poul, "Kings Who Die", _If_, March 1962, p8-36.
           Reprinted in _Seven Conquests_, Poul Anderson, MacMillan Co., 1969.

    [3] Barrow, John D. and Frank J. Tipler, _The Anthropic Cosmological
           Principle_, Oxford University Press, 1986.

    [4] Bear, Greg, "Blood Music", _Analog Science Fiction-Science Fact_,
           June, 1983. Expanded into the novel _Blood Music_, Morrow, 1985

    [5] Cairns-Smith, A. G., _Seven Clues to the Origin of Life_, Cambridge
           University Press, 1985.

    [6] Conrad, Michael _et al._, "Towards an Artificial Brain",
           _BioSystems_, vol23, pp175-218, 1989.

    [7] Drexler, K. Eric, _Engines of Creation_, Anchor Press/Doubleday, 1986.

    [8] Dyson, Freeman, _Infinite in All Directions_, Harper && Row, 1988.

    [9] Dyson, Freeman, "Physics and Biology in an Open Universe", _Review
           of Modern Physics_, vol 51, pp447-460, 1979.

   [10] Good, I. J., "Speculations Concerning the First Ultraintelligent
           Machine", in _Advances in Computers_, vol 6, Franz L. Alt and
           Morris Rubinoff, eds, pp31-88, 1965, Academic Press.

   [11] Good, I. J., [Help! I can't find the source of Good's Meta-Golden
           Rule, though I have the clear recollection of hearing about it
           sometime in the 1960s. Through the help of the net, I have found
           pointers to a number of related items. G. Harry Stine and Andrew
           Haley have written about metalaw as it might relate to
           extraterrestrials: G. Harry Stine, "How to Get along with
           Extraterrestrials ... or Your Neighbor", _Analog Science Fact-
           Science Fiction_, February, 1980, p39-47.]
          
   [12] Herbert, Frank, _Dune_, Berkley Books, 1985. However, this novel was
           serialized in _Analog Science Fiction-Science Fact_ in the 1960s.

   [13] Kovacs, G. T. A. _et al._, "Regeneration Microelectrode Array for
           Peripheral Nerve Recording and Stimulation", _IEEE Transactions
           on Biomedical Engineering_, v 39, n 9, pp 893-902.

   [14] Margulis, Lynn and Dorion Sagan, _Microcosmos, Four Billion Years of
           Evolution from Our Microbial Ancestors_, Summit Books, 1986.

   [15] Minsky, Marvin, _Society of Mind_, Simon and Schuster, 1985.

   [16] Moravec, Hans, _Mind Children_, Harvard University Press, 1988.

   [17] Niven, Larry, "The Ethics of Madness", _If_, April 1967, pp82-108.
           Reprinted in _Neutron Star_, Larry Niven, Ballantine Books, 1968.

   [18] Penrose, R., _The Emperor's New Mind_, Oxford University Press, 1989.

   [19] Platt, Charles, Private Communication.

   [20] Rasmussen, S. _et al._, "Computational Connectionism within Neurons:
           a Model of Cytoskeletal Automata Subserving Neural Networks", in
           _Emergent Computation_, Stephanie Forrest, ed., p428-449, MIT
           Press, 1991.

   [21] Searle, John R., "Minds, Brains, and Programs", in _The Behavioral and
           Brain Sciences_, v.3, Cambridge University Press, 1980. The
           essay is reprinted in _The Mind's I_, edited by Douglas R.
           Hofstadter and Daniel C. Dennett, Basic Books, 1981. This
           reprinting contains an excellent critique of the Searle essay.

   [22] Sims, Karl, "Interactive Evolution of Dynamical Systems", Thinking
           Machines Corporation, Technical Report Series (published in _Toward
           a Practice of Autonomous Systems: Proceedings of the First European
           Cnference on Artificial Life_, Paris, MIT Press, December 1991.

   [23] Stapledon, Olaf, _The Starmaker_, Berkley Books, 1961 (but from
           the forward probably written before 1937).

   [24] Stent, Gunther S., _The Coming of the Golden Age: A View of the End
           of Progress_, The Natural History Press, 1969.

   [25] Swanwick Michael, _Vacuum Flowers_, serialized in _Isaac Asimov's
           Science Fiction Magazine_, December(?) 1986 - February 1987.
           Republished by Ace Books, 1988.

   [26] Thearling, Kurt, "How We Will Build a Machine that Thinks", a workshop
           at Thinking Machines Corporation. Personal Communication.

   [27] Ulam, S., Tribute to John von Neumann, _Bulletin of the American
           Mathematical Society_, vol 64, nr 3, part 2, May, 1958, p1-49.

   [28] Vinge, Vernor, "Bookworm, Run!", _Analog_, March 1966, pp8-40.
           Reprinted in _True Names and Other Dangers_, Vernor Vinge, Baen
           Books, 1987.

   [29] Vinge, Vernor, "True Names", _Binary Star Number 5_, Dell, 1981.
           Reprinted in _True Names and Other Dangers_, Vernor Vinge, Baen
           Books, 1987.

   [30] Vinge, Vernor, First Word, _Omni_, January 1983, p10.

Couilles Platine

2008-08-28T16:20:00.000-07:00

Balls of fucking russian steel. I would like to propose a nomination of the acerbic kind, like biting at your throat with a russian dog with russian black boots. The award for the man who has said fuck to a lot of things that most of us wouldn't - the kinds of things that only happen in a Woody Allen or Herzog movie. Something so funny and metal balled.

Russia Adopts Blustery Tone Set By Envoy

Let's break this sentence DOOOOOOOAAAOOWWWWWWNN.

1) Russia - You know they're going to start big, starting the sentence with Russia just puts up that Iron Curtain on your spine, so your whole body just gets heavier and you sink into that broken old lady hunch that just feels so Russian.

2) Adopts - Adopts... this is the least harmful of the words. It could mean that they didn't start off with this tone, or maybe there was no tone to begin with, but it's an interesting and very business-like word to describe the change in Russia's voice over the recent Conflict.

3) Blustery - This means that the envoy interviewed (oh FUCK YEAH) was drunk as SHIT, and not even on vodka. He was probably drinking straight isopropyl or cough syrup laced with apricot schnopps.

4) Tone - There couldn't have been many other words used, but Tone gets a good point across that the recent attitude of the russians is going to stay for a bit. I find Tone to be this abstract thing that could just go whrhrrhrhrhhrhrhrh forever.

5) Set - this is the cement of both the Tone and the Envoy. It's trying to lay blame on this one man, but the Tone, it seems, has been set, literally, to be a long standing attitude by the Russians.

6) By - this is simply a preposition

7) Envoy - This alludes to a couple of things. First, most envoys (especially from Russia) are quite respected diplomats. It is a huge whatever to be an envoy, with an ambassadorial aura, and for someone in such an official position as This Guy:

(Thanks getty images!)

So the new cold war? I don't think that either country (US or Russia) want to lose the money. What stopped this most recent war was the crashing Russian stock market, and the hemorrhaging of foreign capital out of the state. This is more of What Happens after any country is humiliated but later becomes rich off of something. And Russia is rich as shit. I know that nobody reads this, but Russia is rich as shit!

They're so fucking crazy rich, and people in russia have just gotten so rich overnight that we now have to deal with a bunch of crazy russians who have worse taste than the Jackelopes of Jersey Fucking City.

So, not only do we have to deal with a bunch of Jagons from Russia beating their meat with and Iron Fist, but we also have to deal with the kitschiest billionaires EVERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!

WRRRAHOAOAOAOHAOHROHAHOROHAROHAOHRHOOHARHOROHHOROHROHROHROHOHROHAOHWWWWWW

(zizek) taken without permission from lacan.com :: re: the achilles heel of adbusters

2008-08-25T09:36:00.000-07:00

So where do we stand today with regard to communism? The first step is to admit that the solution is not to limit the market and private property by direct interventions of the State and state ownership. The domain of State itself is also in its own way "private": private in the precise Kantian sense of the "private use of Reason" in State administrative and ideological apparatuses:

"The public use of one's reason must always be free, and it alone can bring about enlightenment among men. The private use of one's reason, on the other hand, may often be very narrowly restricted without particularly hindering the progress of enlightenment. By public use of one's reason I understand the use which a person makes of it as a scholar before the reading public. Private use I call that which one may make of it in a particular civil post or office which is entrusted to him."

What one should add here, moving beyond Kant, is that there is a privileged social group which, on account of its lacking a determinate place in the "private" order of social hierarchy, directly stands for universality: it is only the reference to those Excluded, to those who dwell in the blanks of the State space, that enables true universality. There is nothing more "private" than a State community which perceives the Excluded as a threat and worries how to keep the Excluded at a proper distance. In other words, in the series of the four antagonisms, the one between the Included and the Excluded is the crucial one, the point of reference for the others; without it, all others lose their subversive edge: ecology turns into a "problem of sustainable development," intellectual property into a "complex legal challenge," biogenetics into an "ethical" issue. One can sincerely fight for ecology, defend a broader notion of intellectual property, oppose the copyrighting of genes, while not questioning the antagonism between the Included and the Excluded - even more, one can even formulate some of these struggles in the terms of the Included threatened by the polluting Excluded. In this way, we get no true universality, only "private" concerns in the Kantian sense of the term. Corporations like Whole Foods and Starbucks continue to enjoy favor among liberals even though they both engage in anti-union activities; the trick is that they sell products that contain the claim of being politically progressive acts in and of themselves. One buys coffee made with beans bought at above fair-market value, one drives a hybrid vehicle, one buys from companies that provide good benefits for their customers (according to the corporation's own standards), etc. Political action and consumption become fully merged. In short, without the antagonism between the Included and the Excluded, we may well find ourselves in a world in which Bill Gates is the greatest humanitarian fighting against poverty and diseases, and Rupert Murdoch the greatest environmentalist mobilizing hundreds of millions through his media empire.

Cory Arcangel + Bruce Springsteen - We are we are we are we are we are

2008-08-20T17:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Assholes,

Buttter and I have been bleeding the internet in the weeks following Cory Arcangel's glockensperform of the Boss's Born to Run and, having found but a paltry queef of response, it seems we're going to have to stuff one. And by "we're" I mean "I am" (as in "we sure used to/still do love throwing pencils into foam ceilings").

A precursory note: this sentiment both would have most likely become apparent on its own and has no real bearing on what's going to be said here, but Bruce Springsteen's music fucking sucks; blindsided delight with Arcangel's piece has no place in its deconstruction. I am consequently going to keep editorial to a minimum.

And the initiator: poop poop pee dingleberry.

There were three elements to the what happened (outside of setting and audience, the "aura"): the performer Arcangel<<>, the Accompaniment video/sound, and the +_+_Blemish.

Having only a minute's google worth of the disposition Arcangel would be bringing to the table, he presented himself as I would have expected: nonchalant, yet dorky and keen on what he was about to unload. This was to be his first performance of the album from start to finish. First performance, having not practiced this easy-to-master-in-an-hour work all the way through ever. Full stop. And he took it refreshingly seriously. Visibly counting (marginal notes included bars of rest i.e. "one mississippi, two mississippi…"), sweating and drinking (not enough), the few laughs he elicited at the beginning became absurd as the piece wore on. Note that he treated it as any orchestral percussion player might have, looking up rarely and taking every chance he could to sit down between movements
The bootleg videos of Springsteen (though not all songs had accompanying video; one had still photos, another lyrics with Japanese translations…) showed the crowd a rare glimpse of what a Springsteen concert might actually feel like…energy, emotion, pitiful jock reunion piss…the video quality was shitty, the sound rarely less shitty, portrayed 10X10 behind and on Arcangel and his glock(enspiel).

The Blemish (see the picture below) was the black horse of the night. Before the performance started it looked as if the projector had been knocked off-kilter and was exposing some sort of blue panties, the type that would surely be readjusted to cover come showtime. This wasn't the case, however, and to make matters fucking crazier the Blemish showed us its true power: after about seven or eight minutes of video it changed to white. Another interval would go by and, just when you would start to forget it was there, it would change color again (to pink, green, red, yellow, etc).

Taking these elements in concert gives us an interesting analysis. It should take pages (and it should take pages, really, but nobody fucking reads this shit) but for the sake of space I'll just give you a taste. If you want a true exegesis you can email Tip Tuddley at ilovepuppies@cuddlecradle.net.ca

First: Why Bruce? Any paratextual information (i.e. Arcangel's personal feelings) are only going to lead us to some sort of circular relativism. The Boss was, like him or not, the voice of the Jersey-centric proletariat for about twenty years. And it would perhaps be tempting to say something drastic ("Born in the USA"="Le Marseillaise" for example) except that Bruce's drug is of the narcotic variety, not the schizo-o o O O O O yeah we know I know you know mmmbop. And what is his role today? A nostalgic fist-pump-inducer that produces townies, stagnant eternal-adolescence townies. And whereof comes this townie? The incapacity, for one reason or another, of an initiatory force, be it an overbearing state, college, military, etc. to instill in its recipient a desire to overthrow. So whereas the proletariat of yore was rallied to frenzy, our modern-day hick is coaxed to bed with Bud and Bruce. Ugh and wait this is going to be a whole aghghgh...

Anyway next: Why the glockenspiel? It has an obvious role in Born to Run, a sort of marching band glitz that blah blah blah who gives a shit. In German glockenspiel means "play bells", which explains their sonar similarity to a Fischer Price toy that, say, Silent Barn has on the back of its toilet. It is an instrument of dreams (it has a key role in "Die Zauberflote") and childhood, which if taken into account with the aforementioned fixed maturity of the bridge-and-tunnel crowd makes the choice so very choix. Arcangel may have appeared to have been nervously performing for a group of dorks but his message was in essence one of mockery, an "are you serious?" to our wasted parents.The obvious progression here is a bland commentary on the end of history à la Williamsburg. What makes shit worse was the omnipresence of foot tapping and mouthing of Springsteen's lyrics........ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

But what about the Blemish? It could be argued that its role was simply ornamental (or its operator could have been a third member of the performance, as with the lighting team at a show) (yes I used to go to jam shows), a hip-ish askew that puts everyone off. I'd like to think its role more radical, however. As this bitch noted, most of the crowd didn't seem to even know any of Springsteen's music (which is 1. bullshit and 2. she clearly is a joke): they weren't dancing around or bobbing their heads – and I can see here where it may appear I'm contradicting myself, but she clearly knew what a boss show should be like e e e e e. From the back it was clear that the music was penetrating most of the crowd. Everyone was there to see Arcangel, we knowwww, but both his presence in front of the screen or his abject withdrawal from a third of the performance contributed to make him, well, transparent. Thus returns the opiate quality of Bruce's music, making the Blemish the only savior-element to remind us of the performance's role as subversive art. I'm getting fucking beer muscles here: were it not for this missing piece the performance would have been complete, finished, understood. Yet as it stands we walked away with a fissure to pour over, something that kept the (I hope) multitudinous recountings from stopping at "it was cool".

Going down on construction

2008-08-15T07:55:00.000-07:00

I think what i'm doing here has to do with a couple of things. I like the idea that short and uninformative posts are rewiring our brains. I don't understand the idea that you can start posting images or video or whatever, and as long as these media come from "artists" (i.e., people who identify themselves as artists through interesting and progressive websites).

No, it's fine that these people are doing this, for example a lot of the shit the rhizome links with (but not really rhizome itself I've found, which is actually pretty good at describing what's going on), or loshadka, or... http://www.gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooogle.com/, which is affiliated with rhizome (just recently in fact, one of the associate editors just signed on board...), and nastynets (but I may be wrong about this last one, not sure what it is... in fact, it might even be someone's art project to throw assholes like myself off of their trail). More on this later. essentially, nothing's being described. And fine, does this make me look naive? Of course, butt that's the point.

Can we bring back discussion? It need not be honest! I can lie a lot if you like, but it'd be nice to write things out. And I rarely trust many of the conversations going on the message boards right now, it's too much.

To continue proving my point (and sadly without saying much else) I'll post another piece of art by a famous internet artist:

Drudge Report, Martin Sheen-Wilder; Black on Gray Pixels, 1997.

2008-08-15T07:50:00.000-07:00

All The Youths Seemed Rather Excited and Optometristic, Damien "it" Hirst "so good"; plywood on enamel gauze, 2003; Museum of Contemporary Contrapuntual Studies: Oslo, Norwegikistan.

Creating Art out of Not even Air

2008-08-14T14:49:00.000-07:00

Digital Preteen Internet Post, Armchaired Mike Sblinzter; 1998, Ash on Gravel; Museo Parconato: Madrid, Spain.

The of What we Do (or, how to sound interesting without being interesting)

2008-08-14T12:51:00.000-07:00

"premium black granite"
Eurasian Natural Stone
Granite on polyester, 500,000,024 B.C.E
From the series "Premium Stones from Eurasia" (1984-2003)

We have been in the wild west version of the internet for too long. Who will protect the masses? Is it fair that some people are complete asshole nerds and learn computer coding while the rest of us don't even know how the english language works?

Maybe, maybe is the answer.

So what is there to be done, and how can we innovate in a web where so many people are better than us (me)? Well, because I don't know about hacking. O but I used to! Does anyone else remember those cool hacker-ish programs from the early days of AOL? Tiddly and I were talking about that the other day, with bombing peoples inboxes with spam or something and everything. In fact, I don't think much has changed in terms of how easy it is to "lag" someone/a server out of existence (not existence, but in internet time, a day of being down for a major server would be catastrophic).

Example: A million people trying to visit a site over a matter of seconds will slow the site down, especially if it's a site like the one for Georgia's president. With that many people, it's easy to understand how a server will get overloaded.

Simple simple understanding? Not much has happened since the innocent days of lagging someone off AOL, and frustrating them. The wait to get online (through phone lines!) was such a drag.

It's useful to understand.

But what happens when it doesn't get so simple. What happens when these hacker memes evolve? It's funny to think of a computer virus, being man made, evolving, but this is a great way to understand how human thought evolves and adapts.

Please disregard everything I've said. I just feel lame for writing it all, realizing it's awful, but I sat here typing for too long to let it go to waste.

So here, how do we go from 'blogging' (which is a term that makes me feel like a fucking 13 year old girl with a crush on a fat kid) to more like a... seriously considered thing? HAHAHA. We wait, wait until the time is right and start to get someone neat to find this. Who is that neat person? He (and it will definitely be a guy, because girls just don't like to play Risk) has not been born yet. I think he'll be a mix between Kemesh and Dionne Warwick.

The Smell made from Kemesh's house is from a paranormal soup clerk, to give away the ending that I made for it and will subsequently never be published for lack of a publisher and a story. But how will the story continue? Now that they've found the hair thing, with turnipenis syndrome. I just hope that amateurs (like us) give up soon, because without us, it would make me happy.

Disregard that last sentence.

Wow, I never thought becoming a woman would ever feel so damn liberating.

Sadly, I have not become a woman. Disregard the last two sentences.

And, because nothing would make sense without a picture [I put it at the beginning of the story]:

Because we like to screw and drink and pretend we're miniature girls licking ass

2008-08-13T23:24:00.000-07:00

(imagestolenfrom4chan.org)

"
"They met my look and replied to it with a serenity not known since the sweet pulp slid south through Eve’s untarnished pubic hair."
- Tiddly
1/4" x 5"
varnish on oil on varnish, 2005
"
-Gregoe
2 1/4" x 5"
Keyboard on Typepad, 2009

Wow. Normally don't like to link things, but this is too good:

It has to do with a robot named Wall-E (its real name is Gordon)

LINK

This is interesting for a few reasons:

1_
@_
3_
3

The first reason (1_) is that the robot has living tissue for a brain

The @ reason (@_) is that (as I understand it) the researchers made a few living brains, and they are different: "It's quite funny - you get differences between the brains," says Warwick. "This one is a bit boisterous and active, while we know another is not going to do what we want it to."

So how is this going to affect corn prices? Not much. Corn and soybean prices have been falling for a while since their peak in [insert a couple of months ago or something] and we could attribute this to a boon year. A reputable news source (a few news sources) reported this fact, and I believe them!

So, score one for news, score me for nothing.

I just want to know how we are able to feed so many people of the world? Doesn't this seem odd, that everyone is eating all the time? I have a friend who - at any given minute - is eating or smoking weed or sleeping. And he doesn't smoke weed and sleep all day, if you know what I mean *wink* *wink* *wink* *inner thigh lick* *wink*

Corn prices are not going to be affected by a brain made out of living tissue, as opposed to a living brain, which is what most of us have anyways.

Soybean prices are dropping too, but whatever, it's important, but whatever. Just know that it's important, and there should be smart people looking over it *wink*.

That last wink was directed towards the government, for all it's worth. That last wink suggested that maybe we shouldn't trust speculators and such. But they make a lot of money, which drives interesting people to make interesting sports cars, if you like to think of it that way.

And I'm all about interesting sports cars, and interesting other things too, like exotic chocolates and shiny electronics, although all cool electronics need not be shiny.

And matt drudge is a major douche even though I visit his website as often as I pee each day. (which is 3-4 times a day on a good day, I think)

And please submit your nude photos to kweefmegazine@gmail.com for my viewing pleasure.

Thank you in advance for the hot nude action, ohhh ohhh ohhh i'm so hot for nude action.

Almost as hot as the action in Georgia! [segue] Cuz it's hot pocket time in the far eastern european area stuff. I don't know what to say. Russia is asserting itself, and Georgia fucked up. It sucks that pregnant chicks lost their husbands. How can you say that sort of thing in a much more poignant way? Death deathDEATH. People die each day, but is it acceptable when a nation is at war? Why don't I ask some of the THOUSANDS AND MILLIONS OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE ACTUALLY SEEN THIS SORT OF THING AND BEEN A PART OF IT?

Sorry (and I am really sorry. I try not to get emotional, ever; I'm in a good mood), i'm just a priveleged asshole who has never seen this sort of thing firsthand, therefore, I have found it really easy to move my fingers in a not-too-rapid-succession on the keyboards and just type type type for the three people who might (but wouldn't have read this far) read this.

Ersa

2008-08-13T12:11:00.000-07:00

(continued from Kemesh's House)

A breath of sweet saccharine came in behind me. This was not your everyday plume, no, no, not this no not never. Mib do you smell that? I said, but it was too late, I was outside her ten-foot hearing range. Mib? Still nothing. My own ears, trusty, they were still hanging on there, they. You two still with me? I said, and sure enough I was sure I said it. The heweh sound of with was even audible, that. My stars.

So it was upon me and me alone to turn up those stairs and seek out this pallor. Step one, step one, step one, I said aloud (and sure of it) for in these mephitic times the numbers tend not to go up but in, not down but in. Finally I reached step one and the smell was stronger still. These are some days, these. Are you on to something Ersa? Mib said from the bottom of the stairs, Are you on a trail? Sniff sniff my nose replied. Can you hear me Ersa? Mib said again. She needed visible evidence, it was clear, so I raised my hand, hush.

I left her and headed toward a window down the hall upstairs. It wasn’t getting any stronger necessarily but the dust down the hall had been disrupted, I could see that, I could see that in the way it waited around in front of the window. Crick crick went the floorboards beneath the carpet. Can you hear me? Mib said once more, belching like the trusty foghorn out on Hare Wick point. She, Mib, bone and morrow. As things turned out the smell was indeed getting more something. The dust paid its respects as I blustered in and reached for the knob of a door as yet unseen. As…yet………….unseen….and opened it.

Center of the room stood a creature the likes of which I don’t feel at liberty to describe. My, I said, this is a big one. It was draped in stretch blue from head to heel and from the sides of its head sat these scraggly-looking dust mops. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was overweight – not knowing what truly constitutes the species’ range of girth – but were he man I would not hesitate to say he were fat, no. And how. My eyes traced up his dimpled forelegs, over a strange turnip that must have been the source of his reproductions, over the vast pillow of a midsection, only arriving at last at his eyes. They met my look and replied to it with a serenity not known since the sweet pulp slid south through Eve’s untarnished pubic hair. I did the only thing I could think to do and sat entranced. That were the last thing I remember with any amount of certainty.

Series Part 3 of a of 3 Part Series

2008-08-12T15:31:00.000-07:00

The narrative of these videos:

-Finding happiness Part 1
-the Fear Part 2
-Realizing I'll never go back to the pre-war era Part 3

And what you don't realize is that I just made this up just now.

The Fourth Part of this three part series is a user competition to submit to me your best nude photos. My e-mail is kweefmegazine@gmail.com. keep it classy

Part 2 of the Series entitled "Pride and Prejiduce Don Quixote A Christmas... Joyce ...Carol... Oates Sucks at Writing (2005)"

2008-08-11T14:47:00.000-07:00

The current series has been going great, and I couldn't have done it without the support of our fan. Thanks y'all! The letters of support have been flowing (and I mean flowing, wheeew!) in. And they're not stopping. Geese louise! Naw, Naw Naw, This is party time, like Geese LouisXIV, so come come come on sheila, it's a time a dosin da wreedling!
Oy ya Puckah! Bliggle Me barggle for a jinky freaks?

This next Part (part 2 of series 1) is based on the Inherently Divine comedy of the microcosm of race relations in South-Central Asia.
Theretofore, this comes with the apt title of:

"[IFTBNRMFRNBIWSHMPSBJOWRIADAAIDIMLCBWAIDSBDBIDHAIDS;IIHBTBMOOGS
tgfsbwhwwhpatwtfwwlaobaawwcoswtoofauaosmiol? (oil on canvas, 2009)"

Even though the coincidences are Huge, the preceding letters in bold do (not (but do, really)) really stand for:

"[Insert Future Title], by Nora Roberts, my favorite romantic novelist, but I wish she had more pictures sometimes because jacking off while reading is a dying art, and I'm no artist, much like children born with AIDS, but differently, becuase I don't have AIDS; instead, I have begun to blame my obesity on genetics, so THANK GOD FOR SCIENCE BECAUSE WITHOUT HIM WE WOULDN'T HAVE PENISES AND THEN WHAT THE FUCK WOULD WE LAUGH AT OR BE ASHAMED ABOUT WHEN WE COMPARE OUR SIZE WITH THAT OF OUR FATHERS AND UNCLES AND OTHER SEXY MEN IN OUR LIVES?"

The New New Website you've all Been Wanting And YEARNING AND SCREAMING OHHHH MY GOD I WANT IT SO HARD, I DON"T CARE THAT YOU"RE BLEEDING ON ME

2008-08-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

We are in the process of changing a website (this website) from Current Format (the current format you see RIGHT NOW!) to Future Format (which will be a Military Gossip Blog, so we'll talk about which cologne colonels wear, and who's sticking it to who, and because it's DON"T ASK DON"T TELL, then we'll just make most of it up (but not really! it's all going to be real!)

And Close Parentheses again.

*This Series is Called:
"Pride and Prejiduce Don Quixote A Christmas... Joyce ...Carol... Oates Sucks at Writing (2005)"

*This is part 1 of a series I like to call:
"EGPFTVOTM-T-U-CIIDBDTRAWHFMAACMFLAAHITHCBASCBDMTFCAWTDDTGCSWFAIWTPAWITMOSWINMBAFIKWHTPTIDHBIJSPAT;P1 (2008) Watercolor on Rye; Scrap Metal; Absorbant Glass"

Which Stands For:

"Exploring global poverty from the views of the middle-to-upper-class Irish immigrant descendants born during the Reagan Administration whom have found marijuana as a coping mechanism for laziness and a high inner thigh hair count but are still cool because drinking makes them feel cool and when they don't drink they get cranky so without further adieu I wish to present a window into the mind of someone who is not myself but a friend I know who has these problems that I don't have because I'm just so psyched about things; PART 1 (2008)"

Part 2 will be more of the same, and then Part 3 will be not too different, but different enough so that you can't really tell the three apart.

* - The Series is titled "Pride and Prejiduce Don Quixote A Christmas... Joyce ...Carol... Oates Sucks at Writing (2005)", But Part 1 of the Series is titled the longer title in bold.

People Who Are Much Better At doing This Than Us

2008-08-08T11:38:00.000-07:00

I have compiled a list of people who are much better at this than US:

http://itsworthitall.blogspot.com/ - This hilarious broad is christian and doesn't have any clue that you can't fucking call something "banana chocolate chip bread without the banana or chocolate chips" blah blah something something, but get my point at least?

She also took about 100 pictures of her kids swimming. Psoriasisly? Psoriasisly.

http://ewertonpadilhafotografo.blogspot.com/ - This guy is an Amazing scat photografiater

http://schepenkrabbendijke.blogspot.com/ - and this one's for J$

A BIg day for things in the world

2008-08-08T10:45:00.000-07:00

IMAGE STOLEN FROM Time.COM. Please don't sue me or my friends, i just want to prove a point of how tacky these fucks are.. even though this picture doesn't really prove my point. In fact, I would bang the SHIT out of this gal, and I'd let her burn my genitals slowly with that AMAZING cigar she has. And then we'd get her fur shawl real sticky, if you follow me. Don't follow? I'd jizz all over her shawl, and then I'd rub semen in with the blood from my penis burns, and make a sticky but sweet mixture, and the pour it even more into her shawl, and then we'd go out dancing and such, but i'd probably pass out, not because of pain, but because of LOVE. Love, and then I'd have a child with her, mostly to fulfill biological obligations, but also to have an heir that would someday feed me, and he'd be a rich russian megamillionaire, and hopefully at some point he'd by a soccer team, because, boy, do I love soccer.

Today, the eighth day of the eighth year of america, there has been something amazing happened:

RUSSIA invaded GEORGIA

the OLYMPICS started, overshadowing the PARAlympics yet again

The OIL bubble may be deflating (because a burst is too easily made into headlines)

So what does this mean for your evening communique?? The beauty of Russia's move was in the timing (obvioso!), because they've been planning on going in to Georgia for a while, but who really cares as long as the olympics are going on? Maybe the west, but it's too late for any sort of fun response. There's not much that can be said. This has something to do with Russia's original plans (on paper) to withdraw their soviet-era bases from the region. That couldn't have boded well for the futuristic cold war that we are soon to fight, because they need bases too, goddammit (especially if we want this one will be as fun as the last)! Yes, this has to have something to do with Russia's self interestes.

I read a book years and years and years and years ago (i.e., I never read a book) about how countries do things out of self-interest. What is russia's self-interest? Buying stuff and orgasming! And drinking! So, how does this help russia's three main self interests? By protecting themselves, making bases that say "FUCK YOUSE GUYS" against NATO's advancement (essentially, Georgia is the front line on NATO's anti-russian operations).

I told my family to leave Atlanta and head for the Stone Mountain. The protecting spirits of the dead confederate generals could and would help them, but I believe that the rocket launchers installed within R.E. Lee's eyeballs will do the trick.

WAR! This is the first war that I can remember... NOT! Gotcha! Anyone remember the War on Drugs? Or the War against AIDS and CANCER and CANKER sores! Or the War against our Libidos? What I meant to say is that this is a balls on your fists war, with a western nation versus russia. What the fuck is russia's classification? Gotcha again you STUPID fuck (and when I say "you stupid fuck," what i meant to say was: FUCK, you are much smarter than me)! They're not classifiable because they don't have class! Get it? Russia is the borscht belt of Eurasia. Not including the natives, russians are the corniest advanced peoples in the world, but they are not to blame. We should blame their lack of decent television and historic stupidity.

But no, no no!!!! Warrrrrrrr vvvvvrroroorrooooooooomm go the tanks! BOW PLAST!!

PLAST BOW!! WRREOOOMMMVMVMMVMV (this is the sound of an idling [russian] tank)!

And where did the russians get all their money to update their tanks? They do have a fine economy, a strong economy, and as long as they're making money from unfathomably beautiful deals of corruption, then everyone's cool. Except for the ones that get jailed for standing up to the government. Luckily, nobody reads this, except for maybe governments of foreign nations, so fuck russia and fuck the us because they can suck my butt all day and all butt long BUTT BUTT BUTT IN MY BUTT

I prefer russian soil in my butt, but lately i've been prescribed thai butt sticks for that extra sense of satisfaction and savoriness. The US butt sticks have gotten, eehhh, AS LIMP AS GEORGE BUSH'S PRESENCE IN OUR LIVES.

Where the fuck did georgie W go???? Do you remember a time when he was everywhere? I do, and it felt so real and alive, like we had one of those "oh i hate you but you make such sweet love" types of deals that only cool people have, and now it's just "ohhh, you can stroke me, but it's not the same oohhh... ohhhhh... it's not the same georgie!"

Condie had a real fucking pathetic article in the most recent (as in like a month ago) issue of Foreign Affairs, entitled THE NEW AMERICAN REALISM. You know what she talked about? Democratic Development. How is this the NEW american realism? Has this not been the great excuse used by the Neoconservatives for, oh, I don't know, at least a million years? Well, maybe not a million, but maybe hundreds of thousands of years.

I think I'm just bummed that the Olympic opening ceremonies went off without a hitch. There was so much anticipation! Has anyone been feeling this too (DEATHLY SILENCE FROM NOBODY, CONSIDERING NOBODY READS THISSSSSSsssssssssschhhhaaaaaa)

It's really nice to do heroin and type. I love just shooting up like 20 pounds of heroin and huffing goose paints and writing blogs, jeeeze louie Armstrong! if you just type oijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijojoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoijoij really quickly, like with your three fingers on your right hand, then you'll totally release stress.

So, a big big day. Oil is finally falling, the Euro is falling, Georgia is falling (actually, it's interesting, because I don't know if Russia has the balls to go through with a complete Georgian takeover, but they'll certianly put South Ossetia (or however you spell it) under their Irony Fist).
And the olympics are falling into a time warp, with the opening ceremonies to be aired 12 hours after they start! Talk about futurism!

No no no, scratch and sniff that, don't talk, only moan slightly for the dying georgian civilians, and how.

Kemesh's House

2008-08-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

(continued from Girls Next Door)

A dry wind rustled the hairs below Kowter’s chin. It was thick with dust and a speck must have caught her in the eye because she stopped with her circulating and sat on the step. She sniffed a bit and upon closer inspection it appeared some of that new dirt dammed up in the gulley below her cheeks. You okay Kowter, I said. You doing okay. Good a time as any to leave her, Mib said. I agreed of course so we turned and opened the front door.

Well, there was a smell indeed. It is like rotting potatoes, Mib said, and with a pinch of salt, at that. Sure is, I said, yup. Kemesh was the queen of her coop, and in the way of a bygone besides: she had canes in the cane pot and a telephone in the hall, those being beside a four-post coat rack (never holding more than two coats, we heard, but this trip only now confirming that supposition; a lighter one for the trades and a heavier for the winters); the crimson trimming the stairway carpet was curlewed and kept, it being the first thing she would set her nephew to on his yearly upkeep, she told us; the glass chandelier (we had to flip on, and find the switch behind that winter coat) was a piece of queer pride for the house. And I realize as I blow on here that it may not be the most opportune time for me to continue to go into it.

As things unfolded we decided on a general tour, Mib and I. First floor, second floor, basement. Don’t wander out of earshot, she said, lest you find something. Lest something find me first, I thought. Lest something find you first, Mib thought, I thought. I looked at the back of her head as she sank into the dining room and took special note of the veins beneath that willowy hair. She was my Mib, and she was my very Mib.

(continued as I see fitinued)

4chan and such

2008-08-02T20:21:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to figure out some more stuff about these posting boards (4chan, 2chan, etc....). they've been around forever, but what do they meaaaan? There is a lot that has to do with Asian culture, but the involvement seems to be worldwide.

WHY WHY WHY. There are few results when searching for people talking about it. And, of the people that talk about it, it is mostly discussions about why it sucks these days, compared to the past.

Now, what I found out is that 4chan is tame compared to 2chan, which is purely in some gobblygook language (get the pun? it's only a slant pun, like a slant rhyme, because i don't know if the japanese are technically gooks, but a Vietnam Veteran would say otherwise).

And, I found out that my recent fun word of Whoot has already been transcribed by most internet/computer people into the thing w00t, so... fuck, nothing's original. Although, I must have stolen it from them, and for that, I'm really truly sorry - sorry that they SUCK and don't ever get laid because I'm all about getting laid by lonely nerdy chicks who usually type out w00t on their futuristic and nerdy computer internet devices when they orgasm all over my face.

Sadly, they only have virtual orgasms, which really makes me feel like a much smaller man with a much larger penis than i ought to have been born with.

The pictures that these girls post (and I know that only girls post this because guys could never be this creative and artistic) are usually scatological with an urban twist. This is actually what most artists these days do:
Artists these days (and probably starting with the first true artists) are scientists that suck at writing, but good at drawing. They usually start out with a question that they want to find an answer to, like "the relationship between consumption and a virgin's desire", or "the connection of the guatemalan gay community's forgotten ethics"

I'll talk more about this, but all i have to say is artists are underfunded (and in a few cases, overfunded) scientists that suck at writing, and are less creative and less prone to color blindness.

Fuck you you fucking artists, I could tell you all about the reproductive chemicals of nematodes (but I won't, because I don't know shit about that stupid shit. I'm not a scientist, I'm a fucking artist you stupid retard bitch fuck anal licker)

But anal licking's fine. Fine if you're a stupid fucking artist that's all about painting stupid shit or whatever because you think it's cool you fucking fart fuck knocker!

Fuck you artist

Fuck you scientist

You're one in the same you fucking scumbags (and this picture is of an artist-scientist hybrid. This communion of souls results in the owl-looking man you see, which resembles one of those conan o'brien things. In fact, this is from conan o'brien, it's the image they used for Mel Gibson and Marcus Aurelius or something)

-Buttter Gregoe, Social Security Number: 35-092-912-231-90210-90210-90210-232323-2310-90210

Posting things at the speed of Rapid Succession!

2008-08-01T16:16:00.000-07:00

So, I thought we were cool. no no, I know we're cool. No - I'm coooool, the others are... myeh at best.

But, I really can't compare myself the these FUCking Spaniards, especially the young girl teenage ones that make something like 50 posts (38, but fifty makes it sound like more) in one day. One fucking day. She has 50 posts under the august headline, and it's been august for less than, oh, i don't know, 24 hours?

http://camirossi.blogspot.com/

This is the enemy, defined, signed, sealed, delivered. But not really. She just makes us look like chumps, and chumps like us hate things that make us look at things like ourselves. It really has something to do with low self esteem.
I'm assuming she's already signed a book deal, and being no older than 15 or 16, she already looks way cooler smoking cigarettes than I ever did at her age.
Now here's the catch. This smarmy little "chica" (espanyol for 'betitted one') has gotten it into her mind to pull a "jaiponese" move. Like, for instance, she and her friends find it necessary to put their hands over their mouths in every other pic. I've never seen anything like this before. Is this one of those cultural barriers I've heard so much about? maybe, but I've got a mexican sister and a gay brother, so I assumed I had my bases covered in terms of culture.

No, she does it because of a deformed mouth, and I really feel bad because it is a sad sad affliction that spanish speakers get through constantly having such a smaller vocabulary than english speakers. Yes, english has a big number of words. big number of words indeed. i think only russia comes close to the big number of words we have.

Potato, Hockey, Albatross, Drum, Economy, Taco, et cetera et cetera et cetera

These are just a sampling of the many words America has, because honestly, I can't tell a fucking word of what people from the UK+Ireland say. I just tune that out.

AmericairemA = pronounced a-MARE-ih-CARE-ee-ma

2008-08-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

AmericairemA = pronounced a-MARE-ih-CARE-ee-ma

So, look at this:
1) Take away the first a, so that we have MARE-ih-CARE-ee-ma.
2) Take away the E on MARE, and the m from -ma at the end, you have MAR-ih-CARE-ee-a.
3) Now, take the -a from the end, and put it after the -ih:

WHAT???? SERIOUSLY DUDE?????

MAR-ih-a CARE-ee

MARIAH CAREY

Is that how you spell her name? Most likely, yes, and all that to prove my point that mariah carey is the most american name ever, because you can spell america in a mirror-like fashion, forwards and backwards, and still find her name jumbled in there.

http://online.wsj.com/article/wonder_land.html

So, mutiny at the Wall Street Journal? No, but yes. So in this thingy written by some guy I don't know, he said a bunch of stuff:

1) McCain is fucked
2)

So, there you have it.

I don't really know much, but I don't know how Obama could possibly lose? I'm excited, but then again, Bush et. al. did so well at building an absurd infrastructure of the right that it's going to be years before they can be pulled back to the left.

Another interesting point? No, this is not interesting:
This november, when there's an election for president, there will also be more congressional elections. The guy who wrote the thing above, that I linked to, made a brief point about this, with the republicans " facing a 10-to-20 seat loss in November,"!!!!!

WHAT? WHAT?

And, the House of somethingsomething (House of representatives!), being led by the democrats, only has a 9% approval rating? Luckily, I get all my sources from this one essay, because one a day keeps something something away. It just doesn't make sense. Why would the GOP expect to lose 10-20 more seats while the democratically controlled house is the poster child for that 9% approval rating.

It could have something to do with Bush still, the war, economy, all this was somehow (or so people like to think!) orchestrated over the last few years by the GOP, when they controlled Everything, with a big E.

So are the american people stupid, or is it that the wall street journal is owned by a primitive life form.

Stupid me! It's me that's the stupid one!
Of the few things that help this predicament, I would hope that smoking dope wouldn't be smoking one of them. The Audacity of Dope. Written and edited and published by our in-house staff of minority journalists. This really means whites, blacks, latinos, et. al. (The et al means Armenians, Asians, Russians, et. al. ad infinitumination). This is the new coalition of americans. And I don't know if they're necessarily stupid. Naive? yes, but not stupid. Naive, no, no no... They're not naive, or stupid. They're just - myeeeeehhhhhh - how do you say it in this language? I'm sorry there's not really a word to describe it. In Greek, the word is Kellimapopopolis, which roughly translates to "I love you like a sister" and "Noble Disgust".

Our trained staff does love each other like sisters. But we also have a Noble Disgust for one another. My Irish ancestors probably hated the Asians, but the Africans hated the Europeans, and we all know that the Europeans are too pussy to hate anyone, so that's why we deported the SHIT out of them over the past 2 some-odd years.

[Insert more talking points here]

Tickle my Snatch #2

2008-07-31T12:18:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!! Now I've been thinking long and hard about the next fantasy-tickler...and after hours of deliberation, the winner is....

GEORGIE AND JEANNETTE!!!!!

Oooooooo I could just lay on my back and let them go wild!!! Aaaaahieeeeeeeeooouuueeeeee!!!

Internet smArt: DOMAIN NAMES v.2.03231 2

2008-07-30T11:06:00.000-07:00

This is internet

VIDEZ

2008-07-30T09:03:00.001-07:00

So many great things to watch. Somtimes we don't want to read. Time to drop out of life with bong in hand

Anyways, i straight up stole this from loshadka.org, and i hope they don't care, but since nobody reads this, i don't care! WHOOT! I'm just having a hard time thinking that anyone that I don't know personally (or even that my friends know) are coming to this site. So, if you are coming to this site, and we don't know you, call me at 404-376-8716. If you are a russian hacker, please let me know so that I don't give out other more fun information first.

Okay, a one other video: http://www.damonzucconi.com/index.php?n=Work.SlowRave

And, if you want to check out what experiments are going on with one person in the pursuit of obscure flash animations (if they can be called animation) then check out http://mrdoob.com/blog/

okay, and more stuff I sort of stole from damon zucconi :

Girls Next Door

2008-07-29T14:17:00.000-07:00

And we’ve dipped into some gravity. Cavity…smlaviny. For fear of branding what this here does I’m going to keep the prose loose, flawed; crackly, cropped. Empty Speech is a password, an exercise of recognition that begs for little more than the proper response – an open door, a smile, a stiletto in the balls. As such its message is misrecognized by those who must misrecognize (censors, roughly, the Shah…) and only those who must understand do.

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

Another neighbor two doors down had been complaining for eight or nine days about a smell. Something potato-like (and salty?) she said, something pretty rank. Perhaps it was a dead rodent in the walls, we suggested, but after touring her yard (it was well kept, mind you) she returned and shook her head, no. It was in the yard too. I don’t smell anything, we said. Me neither. Just the olive smell of wild spring composting.

Well maybe that’s your smell, we said. Maybe that’s the culprit.

Another week went by and by the time Kowter reached us Sunday morning she was a bit out of breath. Which isn’t something to get too disorderly about? But on this particular occasion there was some distressing news: nobody had seen Kemesh since she made that stink-racket Saturday prior. Mib chewed on the end of her thumb as she was liable to do when there was an amiss and I rubbed the vein under my knee, as I am liable to do. We should do some knocking, she said. I suppose it’s right we do that, I said. Kowter nodded consent: she knew we would conclude like we did and she had played patient while we worked out the words.

On reaching Kemesh’s front stoop Kowter turned and stopped. I’m going no further, she said, not in that curse hole. It’s not further, it’s father, Mib said, and get your damn mitts off me. Sure enough Kowter was pawing away at Mib’s front in a strange circular pattern, as if she were trying to write something. There were tears in her eyes. My breasts, Mib said, you’re erecting my mammalian protuberances…(continued tomorrow)

recent things i found out

2008-07-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

HOOOOOOO!!!!

When I was young I had really bad asthma. In fact, I had such a bad asthma attack when I was two, I was taken to the emergency room and given some odd drug. My parents said that when we got home from the hospital, I started running around like a crazed fuck. I couldn't stop going crazy and for hours i ran around the house (luckily i kept my clothes on, HOOOOO!!!).

Anyway, I had a heartrate of 130 bpm, and for a two year old, that's fucked. My mom thought I was going to die, which would have been hilarious (for me, not for her).

My parents called the emergency room back and asked what to do. They said to give me benadryl, and after three more hours, I slowly began to fade fade fade...

I think this fried some shit, hopefully.

Three or four years later, while at a gas station in rural georgia, my brother was pumping the gas into the family car. He was about eight or nine. He took the nozzle out of the intake, but left his hand on the trigger. He pointed it into my face. WHOOOOT!

I was taken to the hospital and they shoved charcoal into my stomach to sop up the gas. They also put glow in the dark eye drops into my eyes to search for signs of gasoline damage to my retina. WHOOO! Talk about a sweet halloween costume! GLOW IN THE DARK EYES!

I asked my dad over dinner if he could score a bottle of glow in the dark eyedrops next time he was in the emergency room. He said FUCK YEAH because we're the coolest family in smyrna, ga.

When i grow old and have kids, i'm gonna fuck them up, and they're gonna be great artists.

Scope Hamptons <3

2008-07-25T09:28:00.000-07:00

Scope Hamptons opens today: who better to ask about the long and forbidden history of the event than Richard Gere? I met up with him after a publicity shoot for Pretty Woman 18 years ago.

Tip Tuddley: Any plans for this evening, Dick?

Richard Gere: Well once I get out of these sweaty clothes (Mr. Gere removes his shirt, flexing his abs when it gets stuck over his head) I was going to hop in the shower and do a little meditation. Maybe catch a tea.

TT: Sounds like a good night to me. So you’re not planning on heading out to the Hamptons for the vernissage?

RG: No, you know, I was thinking about it but the scene last year was pretty slow. Plus I did tons of pretty bad coke.

TT: I’ve been meaning to ask you about that: does the hypocrisy of a drug-addict Buddhist ever bother you?

RG: If I had my leg-pit tickled for every time I was asked that…well you know it does turn into an interesting conversation almost inevitably. It’s all about destruction of the ego, Tip. It’s like Rimbaud said, “I often enjoy getting drinking blue wine in the bowels of the cocaine vessel.”

TT: Oh Arthur, you had so much to teach us!

RG: So I don’t think I’ll be heading to Scope this year. The art market has really become a chance for…(continued next page)

2008-07-24T17:29:00.001-07:00

I had a large monk friend named brother Raphael who loved soda to the point that it makes me sick to remember him. He used to shit these great lumps, and when they plopped into the water below his balls, they would fizz like antacid tablets due to all the carbonation stuck in his gut.

I remember walking into his room once (the door was always closed) and I found stacks of soda cases (cases!) from the floor to the ceiling. The bottles were not empty, but filled with cigarette butts, and his desk was rotting because of the sugar in the air.

Europeans were singing american songs outside, like YMCA, but they have no idea how to pronounce the letters so it came out "YAYYYY MA CEE YA! la la la la la la YAYYYYY MA CEE YA!"

It was actually an amazing medley, with air guitar to the tune of ode to joy and beethoven's fifth, and under pressure, but they only knew the refrains that we all know, so each tune lasted fifteen seconds, and then they stopped clapping and things got awkward. not for them, for me, because I was trying to sing with them, and not being drunk or european I became incredible shy and withdrew from the window back into my raphael's room with the bottles of Coke and cigarettes.

The singing was mainly done by men, but the talking afterwards was done mainly by the women (girls). Had I killed myself then, I would have missed all the stuff that happened now.

I require a tug: zulu

2008-07-24T10:19:00.000-07:00

John Bolton's first foray into politics was for the failed campaign of Barry "call me betty and slap my tits" Goldwater of nineteen thirty three. A few years later the stock market had "failed" and we were in a "depression". But here's the rest of the story:

While trekking (as in star trek) through the wilderness of arizona (maybe his home state?) Big Barry came across three large naked men approaching. The men were coughing up red foam, but did not look pained or in discomfort. Goldwater began scribbling down notes which were to later evolve into his epic "The Conscience of a Conservative". By 'notes' I mean, he wrote down the title "conscience of a conservative".

"Ahoooooo," said one of the naked men as they walked up to goldwater's carriage.

"hello good fellow, may i offer you some of my libido?" responded Goldwater.

"That is kind, but not kind enough. We want more - we always do - but we are willing to let chance decide whether we put you into a vegetative state so that your family and friends will have to battle over whether to pull the plug or let you live, constantly dribbling like we do," answered the man.

"but you dribble red foam from your mouths, and you walk and breathe like ordinary people." said Goldwater.

"Yes, but we are even more ordinary, and for this we have been cursed by the great Native American Gods: Utu and Lenorammamamamamamamama. They ride on the shoulders of white men and negroes alike, making love to whomever, whenever," said the man.

"I have no idea what's going on," said Goldwater

There was a pause in the talking as Goldwater looked at the three men standing in front of him, became slightly aroused, then slightly less aroused as he thought that he did not size up to any of them - not in the penis, but in the sassiness and areola size.

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

Whenever typing John Bolton I want to type John Roberts instead, maybe baby?

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

John Bolton is the greatest statesman to ever have liver.

________________________________________________________

Tickly my snatch

2008-07-24T09:28:00.001-07:00

Here's a fun section: a newly-minted list of people or things it would be pleasurable to have your leg-pit tickled by.

And the inaugural tickler is.....A TABBY!!!

He's so darling!!!!

An Explanatory Node

2008-07-20T13:11:00.000-07:00

Where Buttter introduced himself with concession I will introduce him via parable: a short tale of a young colt in fevers ashore.

Some four years ago, while resigning himself to his afternoon routine of trot, banter, shit, reflect, a certain Category III stallion faltered: a carriage had arrived, rare for this time of year. The air had become suddenly still. Birds stopped chirping, rabbits receded into their dens. On the side of the carriage was painted an oyster, of the worst type of kitsch, surrounded by matte foam. The door to the carriage opened and out of the shadows emerged a flank the likes of which he hadn’t seen in years. The ass continued, followed by a ribcage and shoulder sublime. There were dots where he had seen lines, hooves where there would be dirt. This alien vessel was treating him to a nee parfaite and he was all too happy to play the Paphosian oarsman. A whisper – peeeee – escaped his anus. In his tunnel vision Boundary (the horse) finally caught a glimpse of its head, the most perfegg of all. He didn’t have to look down to know his reveries had left him with something of a horse’s boner.

The days that followed were spent on a cloud, floating over the river. His trainer had arranged for an introduction. Sparks flew. Dreams were of love and piqued with sorrow. Before long he inserted his gigantic dick in her vagina for about fifteen seconds. It was harmony unseen since that rabble of pre-Caelusian chaos, when dark was light mixed with moisture-semen.

Almost one year later Mien (the mare) gave birth to a crumpled little package, wet. It stumbled at first, as most foal do, and went nose-deep into a heap of father’s newly-placed shit. And this is where it got its name, Big Brown, executor of the biggest flop in horseracing history.

The next few years have been consumed and regurgitated and as such aren’t worth your or my time. It seemed fit for some light to be shed on the genesis of a life misinterpreted and dismembered, questioned and cajoled. Crescent. Crisp. Big Brown may have failed his Triple Crown foray, but does that discount the rare souvenir his father deposited deep inside his mother? Will our modern times relinquish its bloodthirst for meaning?

With these words I bid you remain attentive to the insightful whore residing in these pixels. His services are yours, his cavities agape.

John Bolton is The Dream American Dream

2008-07-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

John john john john j=j-j-j-j-j+j john Johnny johny Joooohn Bolton, the first American. The last American. The first American. and now the last again

Sometimes, when you are feeling lonely, just think how lonely it must be for angels, who can probably not have sex because of how many things are illegal in heaven. Demons have sex, but only anal, and lube is never allowed. This is what John Bolton fought for.

He was born with a three piece suit on, in the United Nations headquarters, and it's funny because Margaret Thatcher is his mother. She gave birth to him while voting on UN resolution 838483 which outlawed Africa. His father is Father Time.

He was not raised, but whatever the opposite of raising would be: lowered. It doesn't make much sense, but because of technological advances in physics, he was able to lower himself from old age to middle age, back to not too old, but not too young, so he's about 60 I bet right now even though he was born in the mid-80's.

Our first interaction was during the first Iraq War in the late 80's or something. Luckily, history repeats itself. George Bush was president, and Reagan could still wipe his own ass (meaning before he got retarded because of dementia and crack (little known fact, but the whole say no to drugs was started by Nancy to get Reagan off drugs! LOL)).

John came up to me and said "Gregoe, I read your op-ed in the Times and I did not like what I saw, sir." This was odd because I had never written for the Times. In fact, I had only written pamphlets describing Oklahoma's historic arsenic factories. But I decided to play this game of mice catching cats in heat. "John," said I, "do you have any idea why I wrote that piece?" and this was a huge gambit because I still did not know which piece he was talking about. "Well," he said through yellow teeth and the eyes of a flamboyant valkyrie, "You're a science crazed freak.

"I thought that maybe you would like to join my cabal. I am looking for advisors and I think you have what it takes, you hillbilly sex mechanic."

The first time you're called a hillbilly sex mechanic, you freeze. Time freezes, your balls freeze, your face contorts slowly, you have daydreams that last for days, but in reality only a few femtoseconds have passed. The second time you're called a hillbilly sex mechanic, you get angry, mad, steamed, pissed, irate, and itchy.

The third time I was called a hillbilly sex mechanic was when john fucking bolton, the teenage ingrate son of Margaret Thatcher, decided to let loose his (totally) fuckable moustachioed mouth. Wave after wave of slime and sex and emotion filled my hair, my teeth, my spine, and I felt like HAL from "A 2001: Space Odysseus", completely emotionless, red, large and mechanical.

"Hubbababrooo!" he shouted to get my attention, "do you want to position or not? It's assistant cabal leader, just give me your salary requirements and a cover letter. My e-mail is Cuddles69@GOOGLEsingles69.com."

"I didn't realize there was an open position," I said. "Besides, you hardly know me, and I'm a writer, we don't get along well with others, especially politicians."

John looked at me, long and hard, and I knew he was undressing me. But it's alright because I already was a little turned on because of the beads of sweat on his brow. He is not afraid to look you in the eyes, and then look at your pants zipper where your wee-wee usually pokes out it's head, and then he looks back at your eyes, and then back at the zipper-wee-wee-hole, and then back at your eyes.

"I'm not a politician," he said. "I'm a statesman, and a card carrying member of the PKK."

"The PKK, aren't they the Kurdish separatists trying to overthrow Turkey?" I asked.

"Yes." he replied.

Awkward silence.

[Scene]

What i meant to say about john roberts that i couldn't say yesterday because he's a super dork

2008-07-16T14:28:00.000-07:00

My original comments about John Roberts, the former poster boy for democracy and a poster man for the ointment industry, were flagged by the FCC for being too... too... racist. I called him a dirty cracker jack fingering walrus.

According to amendment 7.08.SC-2 of the FCC's penal colony code, it is illegal to call former U.S. ambassadors words like "cracker" and "jack" and "fingering walrus". What I didn't know, is "if said offensive words are preceded by an identifier verbal type conglomeration, per resolution 17.03.SIO30-393.3, the parties resulting in the words associated above, but not before, the last word stated in the row may be able to finger [sic] yourself."

This is a formal resolution, but the FCC, upheld by the UN and NATO, and signed by the members of both Britian and Liberia's parliaments. This is a legal document, that was not supposed to be read by the members of the public, i.e. my interns, and therfore not subject to prosecution.

What we were also told was that we were also told to edit our newspaper and told that we were was to sit. The bureaucratic language they spoke was translated by our Farsi translator, who took a picture, and then drew an animated sketch to accentuate our asses:

By reviewing the law, we were able to break free, but only after having harsh sex with nazi chinchillas and erotic college mascots.

P.S., I'm the one with the sexiness all over

John Bolton

2008-07-15T10:54:00.001-07:00

John Bolton is the smartest guy I know personally. The others ask for regime change; John Bolton is a regime change. His arguments for Iranian regime change in the WSJ's July 15th issue is one of the most influential ever made for now.

The only thing you need to know, however is that "[w]e will be blamed for the strike anyway, and certainly feel whatever negative consequences result, so there is compelling logic to make it as successful as possible."

Yes, but before we do that, let's take a page out of the great vaudeville classics and redirect the pain:

Mr. Bolton is the brother of teen idol Michael Bolton, and together they have created one of the greatest duets in history: the older, mustachioed, bespectacled and general hussier of the two, John, adopted a role as statesman and philosopher, whereas Michael became curly haired and eccentricly sexed. The first Behind the Music ever made was about them, and because this was done before CNN, people thought they were the Presidents of Americans.

Fast forward to three months ago, or something like that. After being politely refused breakfast at the UN eatery for the fifth time, John Bolton realised he was no longer the ambassador to the U.N. (representing the United States and England and China, the first man to be a tri-mbassador, pronounced trimbassador)

Some people like to use the label neo-conman, but I like the nom de gruyere assigned by the great human rights activist Sissy Spacek: ambassadorable

2008-07-08T17:41:00.001-07:00

www.wikipedia.org

LInk

2008-07-08T17:37:00.001-07:00

www.google.com

SplinterFaith

2008-07-08T17:36:00.002-07:00

The splinterfaith thing is going great

Interfaith

2008-07-08T17:36:00.001-07:00

The Interfaith intercourse thing is going great

2008-07-08T17:09:00.000-07:00

Amazing things