Here Heffalump, Here lumpy lumpy lumpy...

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Pretty Please With No-Tariff Sugar on Top????

Bartlebee Links World Terror, George Bush/Neocons/Neoimperials

Reuters: Bush Links Saudi Attack, Iraq Election

Happy Hallowe'enukkah

Jingle bells
Batman smells
From 30 miles away
Batmobile lost a wheel
Robin laid an egg HEY!

The Appropriation of Fear

I don't know where to start. Somewhere in the timeline of the appropriation of fear, you'll find: Vanilla Ice and Eminem, Queer Eyes, glam rock, hair products for men, football quarterbacks, basketball coaches, Jesus. Essentially, fear is reduced if you can appropriate your enemies' values and strength and use them (or mock them) for/to your own benefit. The timeline continues with a Muslim (Mussulman) bent:

He so loved the world, He gave Himself. (Or: I Wish Bruce Tinsley Was a Shmoo)

I vaguely knew (or knew vaguely) the story of the Shmoo. But after reading the dogpatchusa article, I am convinced that Al Capp is our George Orwell. Damn those people who know how to slip social commentary into the Sunday comics with an artful, funful flair. Unlike this batard (there's a circumflex on one of them there ays).

Ah, here it is: â

¨

^-- umlaut in a snowstorm

One Out of Three Ain't Bad (or: Whew! My Middle Name Ain't Wayne)

In a chart of serial killer - childhood development characteristics - created by Ressler, Burgers and Douglas (1990), the three most frequently reported behaviors included day dreaming, compulsive masturbation, and isolation.

Vorpal swords

Oh yeah. I forgot to thank all you fuckers that voted for Bush and supported a foreign policy of death and torture.

"Secret" Army memo about Abu Ghraib

O frabjous day!

Sorry for the down time, faithful readers. Binge drinking, busted ignition amplifier, tooling around in a rented Mustang, geocaching (!) with the nephew, and other stuff I can't remember. What I do remember is this:

1.) Dear Mr. J.G. Ballard, thanks for writing Crash (as well as all the other fine books). After removing and installing a new pickup module in the Volvo, I now understand better the car/body connection. Note to the ladies: find a blind mechanic. (You know what I mean...)

2.) Dear Buttercup, thanks for the music and the politics. Keep on rockin' in the martial-law world.

3.) Dear N****, you are a bastard. I think you are a drug dealer. Don't let me catch you, fatty.

4.) Dear Terry Gilliam, please remind folks that The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is for kids *and* for adults with an Orwellian bent. I don't know what was going on in the world when you made the film, but it resonates strongly today.

lastly...

5.) Dear Spongebob and Patrick, I want to ride the Hasselhoff!!!!! I'm a goofy goober, you're a goofy goober, we're all goofy goobers!!!!!! Goofy goofy goofy goofy gooofy goo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Temporary change of venue

Only because I wanted more than two people reading my rants today (I'm a validation slut, sue me), I planted my soapbox over at Styro's place. She knows how to make and keep friends.

Gay pirate rock music

Tonite. Taco Land. Hallowe'en. 9 p.m. "The Swishbucklers" See you there (in costume!!)

Angels and Insects

(Thanks to Valerie)

Moby Dick, Mon

I was about to obey my brain and start writing a post entitled "Jamaican Cooking Lesson".

In fact, it would have gone a little something like this:

"Today I learned that dry rub is not a masturbation technique, but is instead a way to flavor chicken"

My brain kept running with the idea, though. The synapses had picked up the scent and were bowwowwowing their way to the real fugitive idea. I recalled that what I was making fun of was a way of preparing "jerk chicken". You see where my mind was going with this...

Almost there...

Which reminded me of the greatest innuendo ever written, Melville's "Moby Dick". I could talk your antennae off about the stuff in there. Most people snort at just the fact that (on one of many levels) it's a book about sailors. There's so much more there, though. The cooking of the sperm (with the not-oft-spoken-of-in-these-terms squishing of sperm chunks and finding other sailors' hands), Queequeg and Ishmael in their bunks, etc. In fact, it's like people who don't eat all the chicken off the bone. They just go for the easy stuff. Not my sister, though. She takes it down to the bone.

To

the

bone

.

Boo Radley

In addition to my super power of behaving like Boo Radley around women (slight exaggeration), I apparently have the qualities of a rare earth magnet. Does this mean I have flecks of iron sticking to my body? Fortunately/unfortunately, no. It means I strongly attract married women, lesbians, already-in-a-committed-relationship women, people who need directions, and Jesus avatars (ie, winos with a strong philosophic bent). Despite this, I am incredibly happy. Must be the puppy. Or the goat cheese. Je t'aime fromage de chevre.

calfe'en

Look! I didn't potty in my big girl pants.

Fear is the mind-killer

Metaphors fail me...You want to run on a campaign promise of providing hope instead of fear, then stop brainwashing people with this shit. You know what burns my ass more than a flame about yea high? The rhetoric of "We have to be successful 100 percent of the time and the terrorists only have to be successful once". Scary, huh? Then why don't you reassure the populace by telling them about the money you're pouring/not pouring into biodefense and preparedness. We'd all feel better knowing that there are jet cargo planes waiting to dispense vaccines in outbreak areas, that local health officials can work seamlessly with their federal counterparts, etc. Please repeat after me, America (and you thought sci-fi was all about space marines and chest busters):

"I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when ...

it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain."

---Frank Herbert, Dune - Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear

Perrito

"What kind of dog is she?"

"HE is a mini-pinscher . . . a mini-loaf pinscher."

EDIT -- and by popular request, in his Lemony Snicket pose:

Create your Lego self

Be seeing you.

Nunya (as told to me by Monk Wilson)

Grandmother was picking up pecans in her front yard, when Daughter came by.

"Mother, stop bending over and showing all creation your backside."

"Daughter, is my underwear showing?"

"Yes!"

"No, it is not. I am not wearing any underwear."

Doublepluslessonful day

A quick post before beddy-bye. Lessonful, indeed:

1.) A corollary to the "absolute power" dictum is "an eensy-weensy bit of power corrupts absolutely" (you were expecting "eensy-weensily"?). Case in point, the clerk at the Bexar County sheriff's office. If you want the details, ask, but it involves one of my long-winded stories and allusions to Kafka's "The Trial" and John Schlesinger's film "Marathon Man".

2. You snooze, you lose. The friend with whom a mutual agreement was made that we would marry if we were unmarried by the age of 28 is married.

3.) I now understand my dad's philosophy that participating in marketing surveys is a citizen's duty. I understand it, I just don't practice it. In my case, I really wanted 25 dollars an hour for two hours of giving my opinion on the "usability" of a certain company's website. Again, if you're interested, you can ask, or just wait for my dad to take the bait and post a comment. He claims he doesn't know how to post a comment, but I think he's just being bashful.

4.) I utilize the car and the toilet for much the same purpose: useful reflection on life, the universe, and everything.

5.) During tonight's car ride home from mom and dad's house (how many families watch the debates together?) I figured out that my trouble (one trouble, at least) with romantic relationships is that I have been subconsciously modelling my behavior on Boo Radley. Not that I am preying on children, but that I'm nigh hopeless with communication yet at the same time idiot-savantically talented when it comes to finding tiny gifts for people I like.

6.) We have always been at war with Eastasia.

B9

Tonight, it's Buttercup versus the audience during the special "Battleship" version of Grackle Mundy. BYOB. C U THERE.

Recalibration

I don't do this often, because it is such a delicate instrument, but I need to recalibrate the guilt-o-meter. Right now it goes from "I farted" to "I love you". Would y'all mind giving it a once over and telling me if I've adjusted my settings correctly? Thanks in advance.

The Rule of Three

I am not sure where all of my political beliefs fall on the bell curve, but I do know this: I am for less government regulation of the cab and private investigation industries. I am probably against regulation of other industries, too. I just haven't wanted to be a baker yet.

Because of regulation:
I do not have my own private investigation company. In fact, if I provide investigative services without being licensed, it's a misdemeanor the first time; a felony the second. According to the State of Texas I need "three years of verifiable work experience performed on a full-time basis in the field of investigation". Bastards. Because of regulation, there is no listing for Amazing Grace Investigations in the phonebook. Our motto: What once was lost, now is found. (Also, I can't drive a Ferrari and wear short, tight shorts.)

Because of regulation:
I can't drive a cab because I do not have three years of licensed driving experience in the United States (or elsewhere, for that matter. Long/short story for another time.). The city subsidizes classes to teach drivers English, by the way.

You know why Uncle Henry can spin tales of his days as a longshoreman, newsie, alchemist and midwife? Because he didn't have the government breathing down his neck for three years of verifiable experience.

It's raining, it's pouring

Bathroom freebies

Found these stickers in the bathroom when I was at Grackle Mundy last week.



(Location situation: makes more sense if you saw stickers with this slogan all over the place.)

But you can't tuna fish

I was telling someone this story the other day, and I always wanted a good reason to use the old tuna fish joke as a story title, so with further ado:

My job at the deli lasted all of three weeks. At first I was only trusted to chop romaine lettuce (my sister's cred didn't extend to me yet -- she started working there before I did). To move me up the deli ladder one day, my boss decides to let me make the tuna salad. There was a 3-ring binder with all the "secret" recipes. I follow recipes like my boy Mojo follows buttholes. When it came to the instruction "drain oil from can", I was confident. At home, you know, you just open the can but leave the lid in. Hold the lid with your thumbs, turn upside down over sink, and squeeze. No more oil (or water if you can afford the fancy white albacore).

At the deli, the tuna can was about the size of . . . well, metaphors fail me at the moment, so just imagine an industrial-sized tuna can, ie. bigger than your head. Though the scale was different, it was just like the cans at home. I cut the lid open, gripped the can, and put my thumbs into position. I had to let gravity do most of the work for me, not because I was being paid minimum wage, but because my thumbs weren't long enough to push the lid with sufficient oil-expelling force.

I continued on to the next steps, stirred, and dumped the unctuous slop into its serving bowl. The boss looks over my shoulder to see how I did.

He said, "I thought you said you knew how to make tuna fish."

I'm no liar, so "I do. What's wrong?"

"You didn't drain all the oil out." He was right, but I did it just like at home, so what was the problem? "We'll have to throw it out. You have to pick the tuna up by hand and squeeze the oil out of each handful."

Lesson learned: Stealing from the register is much easier than draining oil from a can of tuna.

Grow some balls

I was absolutely riveted by the debate last night. Bush sounded exactly like people I've earwitnessed during business meetings: you did something wrong, your boss calls you in, and you just choke when you try to explain all the good reasons why things are fucked up, repeat yourself idiotically, smile, repeat steps 1-3.

Would you describe the insurgents as "vociferous"? "The enemy understands a free Iraq will be a major defeat in their ideology of hatred. That's why they're fighting so vociferously." Dick. I know, I know, high pressure venue, etc. I probably would have said "vicariously". But the guy is the leader of a super power and there's an aide no less than 10 feet from him carrying the nuclear launch "ball".

Mojo only has one testicle right now. It's the size of a immature lima bean. STUD!

Vietnamese food lesson

Do not slice dried red peppers and later touch your penis.