Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
This is how the left makes a political video
Move over James O'Keefe, Jason Mattera, and Steven
Crowder because this is how you make a political video.
Monday, March 29, 2010
'Elmo' by Ron Porter
A knock at the door confirmed his nascent suspicion;
they were there all along. Waiting in the wings. Now
they are made real, these demons of the mind. Men
too willing to act as judges, ready to pull information
out of his head like so many rabbits. The audience
cheers: they want blood; anybody's blood as long as
its not theirs.
The accused: "What do you want with me?"
First agent: "Are you Elmo?"
The accused: "Yes."
The first agent: "Is there a more comfortable place to
sit, somewhere we can speak in private?"
The accused: "I'm not sure what you mean; I don't
really want you in my house."
The first agent: "You don't have a choice; the infraction
is too grave. Again, someplace more comfortable"
The accused: "Again, I don't want you in my house."
The first agent: " A moment of your time."
The second agent: "Listen, Buddy, we got your number.
Whether you like it or not, we are coming in."
The accused: "OK. You're in; what now?"
The first agent: "Sorry to inconvenience you but it has
been brought to our attention that you may be involved
in un-American activities."
The second agent: "And it is up to us to find out just what
you are up to."
The accused: "I understand too clearly that there are nuts
out there and that you are just doing your job..."
The second agent: "We do the speaking; first question: Do
you own a gun?"
The accused: "No."
The first agent: "Are you emotionally disturbed, because if
you are maybe it is not us who should be speaking to you;
we have men in white coats."
The second agent: "What's it gonna be; they or we?"
The accused: "How about neither; I want you out of my
house."
The first agent: "Not so easy once we are engaged."
The second agent: "Yeah, the system is a monster. We see,
eat up guys like you all the time."
The accused: "Funny world, eh. It has become so political
that I cannot write that it is politcal or say something that
may be out of step. I am just trying to understand myself.
A person stuck in traffic, a person that other people tailgate."
they were there all along. Waiting in the wings. Now
they are made real, these demons of the mind. Men
too willing to act as judges, ready to pull information
out of his head like so many rabbits. The audience
cheers: they want blood; anybody's blood as long as
its not theirs.
The accused: "What do you want with me?"
First agent: "Are you Elmo?"
The accused: "Yes."
The first agent: "Is there a more comfortable place to
sit, somewhere we can speak in private?"
The accused: "I'm not sure what you mean; I don't
really want you in my house."
The first agent: "You don't have a choice; the infraction
is too grave. Again, someplace more comfortable"
The accused: "Again, I don't want you in my house."
The first agent: " A moment of your time."
The second agent: "Listen, Buddy, we got your number.
Whether you like it or not, we are coming in."
The accused: "OK. You're in; what now?"
The first agent: "Sorry to inconvenience you but it has
been brought to our attention that you may be involved
in un-American activities."
The second agent: "And it is up to us to find out just what
you are up to."
The accused: "I understand too clearly that there are nuts
out there and that you are just doing your job..."
The second agent: "We do the speaking; first question: Do
you own a gun?"
The accused: "No."
The first agent: "Are you emotionally disturbed, because if
you are maybe it is not us who should be speaking to you;
we have men in white coats."
The second agent: "What's it gonna be; they or we?"
The accused: "How about neither; I want you out of my
house."
The first agent: "Not so easy once we are engaged."
The second agent: "Yeah, the system is a monster. We see,
eat up guys like you all the time."
The accused: "Funny world, eh. It has become so political
that I cannot write that it is politcal or say something that
may be out of step. I am just trying to understand myself.
A person stuck in traffic, a person that other people tailgate."
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Winter of Discontent 1591
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front,
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other;
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mewed up
About a prophecy which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul - here Clarence comes!
Brother, good day. What means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front,
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other;
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mewed up
About a prophecy which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul - here Clarence comes!
Brother, good day. What means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
My NYT's Wedding Announcement
Greta On Her Wedding Day
Dr. richardporter PhD.*, son of Dr. Charles Darwin
Porter and Susan B. Anthony Porter, in defiance of
an equestrian lawsuit filed by the animal rights
organization PETA, and having being sentenced in
absentia in the great state of Alabama for crimes
against nature, wed his long time companion and test
lab specimen, Greta Watts G.E.D., an aboriginal
monkey from Yulee, Florida. The right honorable
Dr. Ringley Jr. officiated. Eddie Cantor cantored
and served light refreshments.
She is the daughter of Almagail Bigtail, a howler
monkey, veteran singer, and dancer, who, by the
way, is teaming up with another veteran howler,
Joan Rivers, to perform Brects "Mother Courage
and Her Children" at the Public.
One guest complained of the 'semian like noises'
emanating from the bride throughout the cermony
labeling it "unsettling". Another guest in a similar
vein complained of a foul odor coming from some
of the guests. One guest described the smell as
'feral'. At the request of the groom, the cermemony
made no mention of supernatural beings or Chichita
bananas.
Dr. richardporter, 34, is in his 16th year of residency
in a government sponsored program aimed at re-
introducing Yorkshire Terriers back into the wild.
He is the son of a tenured professor of anthropology
at Columbia University, who, when giving the toast,
admonished the guests against interspecies marriage
warning them: "What's next, Sarah Palin for President?"
He also noted that "George W. Bush is the exception
that confirms the rule," while simultanously feeding Ms.
Rivers a peanut.
The bride's Father, Marty Watts, a silver backed gorilla,
and part-time barber to the stars, and great grandson of
Cheeta, had to be tranquilized and forcible removed
from the ceremony after another guest cut him off in the
buffet line. One guest remarked, "You hate to see it
when that happens".
The bride wore white, but instead of tossing the
traditional garter belt she instead bared her teeth at the
freightened unwed female attendees and threw feces on
them.
The couple will vacation in the Galapolus Islands where
they hope to attract a cult following to support their unique
lifestyle.
[For more information visit their website:
www.iwannamarryamonkeytoo.gov]
* Dr. richardporter's degree could not be confirmed by
Bringham Young University
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Friday, March 05, 2010
J.M. Coetzee
Seafood poisoning, a cigarette lit as the person is
drifting off to sleep and that sets fire to the sheets
or, worse, to a woollen blanket; a slip in the
shower - the back of the head - the bathroom
door locked; a lighting bolt that splits in two a
tree planted in a broad avenue, a tree which, as
it falls, crushes or slices off the head of a
passer-by, possibly a foreigner; dying in your
socks, or at the barber's, still wearing a
voluminous smock, or in a whorehouse or at
the dentist's; or eating fish and getting a bone
stuck in your throat, choking to death like a child
whose mother isn't there to save him by sticking
a finger down his throat; or dying in the middle of
shaving, with one cheek still covered in foam,
half-shaven for all eternity, unless someone
notices and finishes the job off out of aesthetic
pity; not mention life's most ignoble, hidden
moments that popple seldomn mention once
they are out of adolescence, simply because
they no longer have an excuse to do so,
althouth, of course, there are always those
who insist on making jokes about them, never
very funny jokes.
I did not want to know but I have since
come to know that one of the girls, when she
wasn't a girl any more and hadn't long been
back from her honeymoon, went into the
bathroom, stood in front of the mirror, un-
buttoned her blouse, took off her bra and
aimed her own father's gun at her heart, her
father at the time was in the living room with
other members of the family and three
guests. When they heard the shot, some five
minutes after the girl had left the table, her
father didn't get up at once, but stayed there
for a few seconds, parlayzed, his mouth still
full of food, not daring to chew or swallow,
far less to spit the food out on to his plate;
and when he finally did get up and run to the
bathroom, those who followed him noticed
that when he discovered the blood-splattered
body of his daughter and clutched his head in
his hands, he kept passing the mouthful of
meat from one cheek to the other, still not
knowing what to do with it.
drifting off to sleep and that sets fire to the sheets
or, worse, to a woollen blanket; a slip in the
shower - the back of the head - the bathroom
door locked; a lighting bolt that splits in two a
tree planted in a broad avenue, a tree which, as
it falls, crushes or slices off the head of a
passer-by, possibly a foreigner; dying in your
socks, or at the barber's, still wearing a
voluminous smock, or in a whorehouse or at
the dentist's; or eating fish and getting a bone
stuck in your throat, choking to death like a child
whose mother isn't there to save him by sticking
a finger down his throat; or dying in the middle of
shaving, with one cheek still covered in foam,
half-shaven for all eternity, unless someone
notices and finishes the job off out of aesthetic
pity; not mention life's most ignoble, hidden
moments that popple seldomn mention once
they are out of adolescence, simply because
they no longer have an excuse to do so,
althouth, of course, there are always those
who insist on making jokes about them, never
very funny jokes.
I did not want to know but I have since
come to know that one of the girls, when she
wasn't a girl any more and hadn't long been
back from her honeymoon, went into the
bathroom, stood in front of the mirror, un-
buttoned her blouse, took off her bra and
aimed her own father's gun at her heart, her
father at the time was in the living room with
other members of the family and three
guests. When they heard the shot, some five
minutes after the girl had left the table, her
father didn't get up at once, but stayed there
for a few seconds, parlayzed, his mouth still
full of food, not daring to chew or swallow,
far less to spit the food out on to his plate;
and when he finally did get up and run to the
bathroom, those who followed him noticed
that when he discovered the blood-splattered
body of his daughter and clutched his head in
his hands, he kept passing the mouthful of
meat from one cheek to the other, still not
knowing what to do with it.
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