The CEO of our company declares at the annual meeting that his priorities are (in order of importance): God, Family, Company.
I think he means it.
He is not ashamed of his open hostility.
I envy his narrow-mindedness.
At home,in my shower, a single ant crosses the vast white wall.
He stops for a moment to check his compass.
He must be looking for food for the collective.
I wish I could tell him that there isn't any here in my immense bathroom.
It is a journey of many days through the desert of my living room to get back to the colony.
I wonder if he will make it considering that his knapsack with provisions can not hold much.
Either way, he will miss the daily meeting.
Deep beneath my house, where thousands of frantic legs trample on toes and heads, the queen starts the meeting.
The ants already know her speech by heart, but they all stop their work, face her, and listen with razor-sharp concentration.
The speech consists of that one terrifying word, spoken with utter conviction, over and over again.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Leftist rant no. 2334 (with a whack at religion included)
My unpleasant paternal grandfather (he himself a wealthy man) used to say: “Poverty has to keep them (the rabble) in line”.
It is interesting to note that the morality imposed on the poor is, of course, only suitable to the poor.
The rich, enlightened as they are, with their religious backers, have no need for such celestial restraints.
Mother Teresa was very much opposed to divorce, but not for her friend Diana Spencer who was “obviously unhappy in her marriage”.
Religion is, and always has been, used to separate society into rich and poor.
In all American elections the majority of people in the poorest states consistently vote against their own economic interests, while being riled up by very clever Republican strategists with bogus issues like god, guns and gays.
It is considered in bad taste to quote one the biggest mass-murders in history, but I think uncle Joe made a very good observation when he said; “Mankind is divided into rich and poor, into property owners and exploited,and to abstract oneself from this fundamental division,and from the antagonism between poor and rich, means abstracting oneself from fundamental facts.”
The conservative mindset is a deplorable one.
When you unpack the relentless propaganda and smoke-screens you will find what lies at the heart of this way of thinking.
It goes like this: “I’ve got mine and you can all go fuck yourselves”.
It is interesting to note that the morality imposed on the poor is, of course, only suitable to the poor.
The rich, enlightened as they are, with their religious backers, have no need for such celestial restraints.
Mother Teresa was very much opposed to divorce, but not for her friend Diana Spencer who was “obviously unhappy in her marriage”.
Religion is, and always has been, used to separate society into rich and poor.
In all American elections the majority of people in the poorest states consistently vote against their own economic interests, while being riled up by very clever Republican strategists with bogus issues like god, guns and gays.
It is considered in bad taste to quote one the biggest mass-murders in history, but I think uncle Joe made a very good observation when he said; “Mankind is divided into rich and poor, into property owners and exploited,and to abstract oneself from this fundamental division,and from the antagonism between poor and rich, means abstracting oneself from fundamental facts.”
The conservative mindset is a deplorable one.
When you unpack the relentless propaganda and smoke-screens you will find what lies at the heart of this way of thinking.
It goes like this: “I’ve got mine and you can all go fuck yourselves”.
Ave atque vale, Janet Jackson
This poem was written by Vincent V. The Lesser, two hours after he was notified that his favorite celebrity had passed away in an unfortunate lawn-mower accident.
The siren has left us, all hope is now lost
Her mellifluous voice is no more
Oh Janet, oh Great One, what I would not give
For just one celestial encore
We miss you we adore you, we weep and we mourn you
In stardust your name will be writ
May flights of angels welcome you home
You pretentious, talentless twit
The siren has left us, all hope is now lost
Her mellifluous voice is no more
Oh Janet, oh Great One, what I would not give
For just one celestial encore
We miss you we adore you, we weep and we mourn you
In stardust your name will be writ
May flights of angels welcome you home
You pretentious, talentless twit
The Holy Hour
By Sister Agnes Lubricius (1955-2007)
Bleak and cold is my cell and my heart
But a bride of the Lord I am
Stale is my bread and the silence I dread
Austere is this life for The Lamb
The nights spend alone a hard cot is my throne
Its touch so ice-cold and blunt
This sinner’s life, with sorrow it is rife
Thank God I can play with my cunt.
Bleak and cold is my cell and my heart
But a bride of the Lord I am
Stale is my bread and the silence I dread
Austere is this life for The Lamb
The nights spend alone a hard cot is my throne
Its touch so ice-cold and blunt
This sinner’s life, with sorrow it is rife
Thank God I can play with my cunt.
Simulation
by Amy Wofford Fraffraf (when her nome de plume was still Salt Creek)
They are such flirts - so coy and cold,
displaying to our glassy eyes
mirrored hist’ries, backward told.
They borrow requisite surprise
from future built by axiom.
Their farewell whisperings and winks
supply the questions that will come
to answer, “Did you really think…?”
They are such flirts - so coy and cold,
displaying to our glassy eyes
mirrored hist’ries, backward told.
They borrow requisite surprise
from future built by axiom.
Their farewell whisperings and winks
supply the questions that will come
to answer, “Did you really think…?”
Ode to my balls
by Cuthbert Merrybottom III
On oceans wide as Hades’ scorn
A tiny boat endures
Its fishing line a spider’s spine
The naked nymphs it lures
In ink-black sky an inaudible sigh
From he who roams these halls
A grinning mouth, a look down South
God, I love my balls.
On oceans wide as Hades’ scorn
A tiny boat endures
Its fishing line a spider’s spine
The naked nymphs it lures
In ink-black sky an inaudible sigh
From he who roams these halls
A grinning mouth, a look down South
God, I love my balls.
Yes, but does she get naked?
by A.A. Mills
The ties that bind, that squeeze and blind
The wild, the wise and the wicked
Shoot pheromones on dry, white bones
For silver tongues to lick it
The moon is up and far and near
For all but the dull and sated
The Phoenix yearns and the question burns
‘Yes, but does she get naked?
The ties that bind, that squeeze and blind
The wild, the wise and the wicked
Shoot pheromones on dry, white bones
For silver tongues to lick it
The moon is up and far and near
For all but the dull and sated
The Phoenix yearns and the question burns
‘Yes, but does she get naked?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mr. Definitely
(This relates to a broadcast from some months ago.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ew9CngVeFA
What are you to do when you are the producer of a talk show on HBO and you need to schedule a panel of three guests and you already have booked Christopher Hitchens and Salman Rushdie?
You don’t want to run the risk that the episode becomes too wordy or bookish, or -God forbid- too intellectual, so, for counter-balance, you make sure that your third guest is a grade-A moron.
The producers of Bill Maher’s show must have been thinking along these lines when they, in their infinite wisdom, decided to complete the trio with Mos Def.
For all you people unfamiliar with the hauntingly beautiful and hopelessly romantic world of rap music, Mos Def is also known as ‘the intelligent rapper’.
If you have already watched the linked Youtube video you will at this point begin to wonder how feeble and disorderly the minds of the other rappers must be if, by comparison, this impudent piece of trash is considered intelligent.
I will help you out here; yes, most rappers are indeed excruciatingly, phenomenally, Sarah Palinly dumb.
Besides that, they are also inarticulate, vulgar, lewd, shallow and misogynistic to the point that the Taliban starts to look respectable, and the black community is doing itself an enormous disservice by not abjuring these talentless, base and odious clods.
Mos Def ‘aks’ a question which results in a little tussle with Hitchens, who, bless-his-whiskey-sodden-heart, will have none of the show’s politically correct bullshit.
First my mind dwelled on the history and the particulars of the black community in America to explain the behavior of this fractious turd, but then it dawned on me that his attitude is perfectly in line with our pop-culture.
Mr. Definitely simply asserted that his opinion, uninformed and deranged as it was, had just as much value as everyone else’s, simply because he held it.
If there was one thing I could alter in my chosen country of residence it would be that we stop giving credence to an opinion merely because it exists.
PS.
Of course, I would also outlaw Rod Stewart albums and demand a formal apology from the Canadian government for Celine Dion.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ew9CngVeFA
What are you to do when you are the producer of a talk show on HBO and you need to schedule a panel of three guests and you already have booked Christopher Hitchens and Salman Rushdie?
You don’t want to run the risk that the episode becomes too wordy or bookish, or -God forbid- too intellectual, so, for counter-balance, you make sure that your third guest is a grade-A moron.
The producers of Bill Maher’s show must have been thinking along these lines when they, in their infinite wisdom, decided to complete the trio with Mos Def.
For all you people unfamiliar with the hauntingly beautiful and hopelessly romantic world of rap music, Mos Def is also known as ‘the intelligent rapper’.
If you have already watched the linked Youtube video you will at this point begin to wonder how feeble and disorderly the minds of the other rappers must be if, by comparison, this impudent piece of trash is considered intelligent.
I will help you out here; yes, most rappers are indeed excruciatingly, phenomenally, Sarah Palinly dumb.
Besides that, they are also inarticulate, vulgar, lewd, shallow and misogynistic to the point that the Taliban starts to look respectable, and the black community is doing itself an enormous disservice by not abjuring these talentless, base and odious clods.
Mos Def ‘aks’ a question which results in a little tussle with Hitchens, who, bless-his-whiskey-sodden-heart, will have none of the show’s politically correct bullshit.
First my mind dwelled on the history and the particulars of the black community in America to explain the behavior of this fractious turd, but then it dawned on me that his attitude is perfectly in line with our pop-culture.
Mr. Definitely simply asserted that his opinion, uninformed and deranged as it was, had just as much value as everyone else’s, simply because he held it.
If there was one thing I could alter in my chosen country of residence it would be that we stop giving credence to an opinion merely because it exists.
PS.
Of course, I would also outlaw Rod Stewart albums and demand a formal apology from the Canadian government for Celine Dion.
Ai, quelle horreur!
(This refers to something that happened a few months ago, yet the abomination in question is so foul and heinous that a warning in retrospect is justified.)
There is a darkness growing at the edge of our city.
Whatever is touched by the icy fingers of this sour and cold fog will whither and shrivel as if caressed by the Prince of darkness Himself.
It surely is a portent of the immolation of all that is just and fine and beautiful in our land, of all that we hold dear and cherish, of every valuable prize we have wrested from Nature by our long and hard struggle against the indifferent elements.
And I have the burdensome and sorrowful task of being the bearer of this catastrophic news.
You and I, brothers and sisters, friends and foes, will have to make our stand, and we will have to make it in this year of our Lord 2009, for something truly wicked this way comes.
Of course, you already know what I am talking about, since you have felt that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach for weeks.
Very soon now, the monstrosity will be upon us.
I speak of S. Darko, that unholy sequel to one of the best motion pictures of all time, Donnie Darko.
I beseech ye of little faith; resist this cinematic demon with all your will and boycott this piece of shit film.
Trailers are available on Youtube but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dczcw0aNMEo
There is a darkness growing at the edge of our city.
Whatever is touched by the icy fingers of this sour and cold fog will whither and shrivel as if caressed by the Prince of darkness Himself.
It surely is a portent of the immolation of all that is just and fine and beautiful in our land, of all that we hold dear and cherish, of every valuable prize we have wrested from Nature by our long and hard struggle against the indifferent elements.
And I have the burdensome and sorrowful task of being the bearer of this catastrophic news.
You and I, brothers and sisters, friends and foes, will have to make our stand, and we will have to make it in this year of our Lord 2009, for something truly wicked this way comes.
Of course, you already know what I am talking about, since you have felt that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach for weeks.
Very soon now, the monstrosity will be upon us.
I speak of S. Darko, that unholy sequel to one of the best motion pictures of all time, Donnie Darko.
I beseech ye of little faith; resist this cinematic demon with all your will and boycott this piece of shit film.
Trailers are available on Youtube but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dczcw0aNMEo
To a necrophiliac unknown
To a necrophiliac unknown,
By Irmtraut von Flokkenstoffen, (1901 -2004)
The hot, wet skin it furrows your brow
With warm breasts you’d know not what to do
If a cooler love is what you crave
Well, have I got something for you
If rigor mortis your passion sets free
Then after the eulogy is read
Just wait about an hour or two
And come fuck me when I am dead
By Irmtraut von Flokkenstoffen, (1901 -2004)
The hot, wet skin it furrows your brow
With warm breasts you’d know not what to do
If a cooler love is what you crave
Well, have I got something for you
If rigor mortis your passion sets free
Then after the eulogy is read
Just wait about an hour or two
And come fuck me when I am dead
Racial drift
"Manners are more important than morals", said Oscar Wilde.
"Karma simply means that a good action has a positive result and a bad action has a negative result", said a Tibetan wanker.
I smelled shit.
I was forced to.
For a good 20 minutes the vilest miasma wafted from a steaming pile of excrement and up my lamentable nostrils.
And there I was, stuck in the seat of an overcrowded bus that was making its way through Chicago’s congested streets, with no alternative but to endure the stench.
I was motivated to write this mainly because I had a thought, or rather, a visceral reaction, the sort of which is usually expressed by folks who are quite far to the political right of me.
I have always known that there are at least two Americas; the one in which I live and one in which a great portion of America’s blacks live.
In Chicago, these two worlds are very much separated.
I live North of down-town in a neighborhood called Lake View, and the people there are almost uniformly pleasant and polite.
Even though there is a large baseball stadium here, surrounded by a great many bars where large amounts of alcohol are consumed regardless whether the Cubs win or lose, there are hardly ever any fights and the only clear signs of the indelible stamp of our lowly origin are the usual honks and extended middle fingers of the motorists.
In Chicago’s vast black ghettos in the West and the South things are quite different. To illustrate; the vast majority of Chicago’s annual 600-or-so murder victims (and perpetrators)are young black men.
The two black women entering the bus are young. I estimate they are around 18 years old. One has what appears to be a shower cap on her head so I suspect that she has just received some form of hair treatment, or otherwise fashion has ,once again, taken a harsh turn without anyone notifying me about it.
She also has a tattoo on her cheek.
Upon entering the crowded bus the girl with the shower cap on bumps into a gentleman, who, according to shower cap, doesn’t apologize authentically enough for her bumping into him and a torrent of abusive language,which goes on for a full 2 minutes,is his punishment.
After this incident the young ladies sit down in the seats behind my girlfriend and me, and for the next 20 minutes they regale us with the wondrous tale of another maiden called Takisha.
Now, I wish I could tell you in detail what their discussion was all about, but since their accent was quite alien to me I could only make out the general plot line of their story.
The original thesis, proposed by shower cap, stated that Miss Takisha was both a motherfucker and a ho.
She was very adamant about her position as she repeated the words ‘motherfucker’ and ‘ho’ multiple times in each sentence.
The rebuttal from her interlocutor centered around the proposition that she was convinced that Takisha was both a bitch and a motherfucker.
Though their lack of enunciation was at times confusing, we were all fortunate that they made up for this slight deficiency by speaking so loudly that all of us on the bus could enjoy their spirited conversation.
My girlfriend, tormented by the endless stream of obscenities, suggested to me (in Dutch) that what these ladies were producing was verbal diarrhea.
The people on the bus, mainly white and Asian, were all thinking what I was thinking. Of this I am convinced.
And this thought is what surprised me and prompted me to write this entry.
It goes like this: wherever shower cap and her companion go is a place where I don’t want to be.
I was horrified by the idea that these people would move into the apartment across from me with their hostile, vulgar and ignorant ways.
And then another thought made its questionable appearance.
I remembered how police forces in cities across America are accused of ‘escorting’ young black or Latino people out of white neighborhoods when they are found walking or driving around there, and I was shocked to find myself thinking that I would have no problem at all with the Lakeview police escorting shower cap and co. out of my neighborhood.
I know myself fairly well and I know I am not a particularly bigoted person.
I also know that no amount of public money will ever close the racial divide in our country if people keep behaving like shower cap.
"Karma simply means that a good action has a positive result and a bad action has a negative result", said a Tibetan wanker.
I smelled shit.
I was forced to.
For a good 20 minutes the vilest miasma wafted from a steaming pile of excrement and up my lamentable nostrils.
And there I was, stuck in the seat of an overcrowded bus that was making its way through Chicago’s congested streets, with no alternative but to endure the stench.
I was motivated to write this mainly because I had a thought, or rather, a visceral reaction, the sort of which is usually expressed by folks who are quite far to the political right of me.
I have always known that there are at least two Americas; the one in which I live and one in which a great portion of America’s blacks live.
In Chicago, these two worlds are very much separated.
I live North of down-town in a neighborhood called Lake View, and the people there are almost uniformly pleasant and polite.
Even though there is a large baseball stadium here, surrounded by a great many bars where large amounts of alcohol are consumed regardless whether the Cubs win or lose, there are hardly ever any fights and the only clear signs of the indelible stamp of our lowly origin are the usual honks and extended middle fingers of the motorists.
In Chicago’s vast black ghettos in the West and the South things are quite different. To illustrate; the vast majority of Chicago’s annual 600-or-so murder victims (and perpetrators)are young black men.
The two black women entering the bus are young. I estimate they are around 18 years old. One has what appears to be a shower cap on her head so I suspect that she has just received some form of hair treatment, or otherwise fashion has ,once again, taken a harsh turn without anyone notifying me about it.
She also has a tattoo on her cheek.
Upon entering the crowded bus the girl with the shower cap on bumps into a gentleman, who, according to shower cap, doesn’t apologize authentically enough for her bumping into him and a torrent of abusive language,which goes on for a full 2 minutes,is his punishment.
After this incident the young ladies sit down in the seats behind my girlfriend and me, and for the next 20 minutes they regale us with the wondrous tale of another maiden called Takisha.
Now, I wish I could tell you in detail what their discussion was all about, but since their accent was quite alien to me I could only make out the general plot line of their story.
The original thesis, proposed by shower cap, stated that Miss Takisha was both a motherfucker and a ho.
She was very adamant about her position as she repeated the words ‘motherfucker’ and ‘ho’ multiple times in each sentence.
The rebuttal from her interlocutor centered around the proposition that she was convinced that Takisha was both a bitch and a motherfucker.
Though their lack of enunciation was at times confusing, we were all fortunate that they made up for this slight deficiency by speaking so loudly that all of us on the bus could enjoy their spirited conversation.
My girlfriend, tormented by the endless stream of obscenities, suggested to me (in Dutch) that what these ladies were producing was verbal diarrhea.
The people on the bus, mainly white and Asian, were all thinking what I was thinking. Of this I am convinced.
And this thought is what surprised me and prompted me to write this entry.
It goes like this: wherever shower cap and her companion go is a place where I don’t want to be.
I was horrified by the idea that these people would move into the apartment across from me with their hostile, vulgar and ignorant ways.
And then another thought made its questionable appearance.
I remembered how police forces in cities across America are accused of ‘escorting’ young black or Latino people out of white neighborhoods when they are found walking or driving around there, and I was shocked to find myself thinking that I would have no problem at all with the Lakeview police escorting shower cap and co. out of my neighborhood.
I know myself fairly well and I know I am not a particularly bigoted person.
I also know that no amount of public money will ever close the racial divide in our country if people keep behaving like shower cap.
98 %
.…of everything is crap
I vaguely remember this maxim being uttered by some real person in the cold light of day of this harsh realm we find ourselves in.
Or perhaps I was the only one who heard it reverberate through my septan cranium during one of the many chemically induced stupors I used to call Friday night, or Tuesday afternoon.
Regardless, someone, somewhere has said it and if they haven’t, they should have, for it is true.
This theorem is easy to prove.
No doubt, you will all nod your wise and recently washed heads in silent agreement when I say that for every ‘One, by U2’ and ‘One headlight, by the Wallflowers’ one will be tormented by 98 “Achy Breaky Hearts, by Pretentious MulletHead” or similar auditory offense against good taste and common decency.
Likewise one can, without even trying, point at 98 heinous and horrific visual infestations of the ether, disguised in the innocuous sounding euphemism ’television programming’, such as; Dancing with the tarts, American Dilhole and The News, before one, exhausted and delirious, can state that Shooting Stars and Fawlty Towers are well worth watching.
However, like all good rules there is an exception to this one and that is, of course, people talking on their mobile telephones (usually loudly) in public.
Of every one hundred ‘conversations’ that are forced into my immaculate and well-shaped ear exactly zero are of any interest to me whatsoever.
I’ll admit that I may be a wee more punctilious than the average citizen.
I’ll even grant you, perplexed reader, that I hover towards fastidiousness.
Oh sod it! All right,I’ll admit it;I am a cantankerous old fuck,but when is the last time you overheard anyone saying anything remotely interesting on their wireless monstrosity?
“We have just landed and we are almost at the gate”, “ And, like, she was, like, uh, oh no you didn’t, and I was, like, Whatever!”, “ dude, wassup ?”, “fo-shizzle, ganizzle I’s be out the dos, hos”.
Aren’t we lucky that we have satellites orbiting our troubled blue sphere that are linked up just so that we can,with digital clarity, send to and fro these important, beautiful and wise communications?
About every 5 years another alien spacecraft carrying inhabitants from some distant galaxy comes a-speeding towards Earth, eager to meet the creatures that hurl these millions of strangely coded messages into the universe.
However, when they come close enough to hear what we are actually saying, they invariably shake their over-sized heads and mutter, disappointed and slightly pissed-off;
“Dude, that’s one lame-ass species. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I vaguely remember this maxim being uttered by some real person in the cold light of day of this harsh realm we find ourselves in.
Or perhaps I was the only one who heard it reverberate through my septan cranium during one of the many chemically induced stupors I used to call Friday night, or Tuesday afternoon.
Regardless, someone, somewhere has said it and if they haven’t, they should have, for it is true.
This theorem is easy to prove.
No doubt, you will all nod your wise and recently washed heads in silent agreement when I say that for every ‘One, by U2’ and ‘One headlight, by the Wallflowers’ one will be tormented by 98 “Achy Breaky Hearts, by Pretentious MulletHead” or similar auditory offense against good taste and common decency.
Likewise one can, without even trying, point at 98 heinous and horrific visual infestations of the ether, disguised in the innocuous sounding euphemism ’television programming’, such as; Dancing with the tarts, American Dilhole and The News, before one, exhausted and delirious, can state that Shooting Stars and Fawlty Towers are well worth watching.
However, like all good rules there is an exception to this one and that is, of course, people talking on their mobile telephones (usually loudly) in public.
Of every one hundred ‘conversations’ that are forced into my immaculate and well-shaped ear exactly zero are of any interest to me whatsoever.
I’ll admit that I may be a wee more punctilious than the average citizen.
I’ll even grant you, perplexed reader, that I hover towards fastidiousness.
Oh sod it! All right,I’ll admit it;I am a cantankerous old fuck,but when is the last time you overheard anyone saying anything remotely interesting on their wireless monstrosity?
“We have just landed and we are almost at the gate”, “ And, like, she was, like, uh, oh no you didn’t, and I was, like, Whatever!”, “ dude, wassup ?”, “fo-shizzle, ganizzle I’s be out the dos, hos”.
Aren’t we lucky that we have satellites orbiting our troubled blue sphere that are linked up just so that we can,with digital clarity, send to and fro these important, beautiful and wise communications?
About every 5 years another alien spacecraft carrying inhabitants from some distant galaxy comes a-speeding towards Earth, eager to meet the creatures that hurl these millions of strangely coded messages into the universe.
However, when they come close enough to hear what we are actually saying, they invariably shake their over-sized heads and mutter, disappointed and slightly pissed-off;
“Dude, that’s one lame-ass species. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
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