Feelings

This KITTY has developed feelings for anonyMOUSE.

Is that so wrong?

Lyrical Balladry

Again, I acknowledge commentry so spectacular that, humbly, I provide for you the October 25 comment by Anonymous, postulating the following in regards to Stephen Hawking's concurrent divorce filing and seeking a new "assistant."

"My love he hath a-Hawking gone
Upon St. Stephen's Day
He has his maryjane wig on
so curly, blonde and gay

Whither go thee, Hawking mine
thy wheels all oiled and shiny
thy batt'ries charged so full and fine
thy ointment turpentiney?

Why down the lane, St. Agnes School
is having their recess
the very thought doth start
my drool
my lingam doth flouresce

The girls, the girls, the
Catholic girls!
all shrieky and at play
I'll mingle in my golden
curls
and nothing will gainsay

Oh Sister Mary Herbert come!
that strange girl in the chair
has asked if she may see my bum
she gives me quite a scare

The Constable was of a mind
to bop Sir Stephen soundly
but kept his truncheon back
behind
and lectured him full roundly

A man of your position roam?
I'm sure I can't conceive it
ain't you got some puss to
home?
whyever would you leave it?

He wheeled him gently to the van
and up the ramp he pushed'im
to the district court they
ran
where Magistrate fair squshed'im

Seeing as how you're England's pride
an astronomy star as it were
I could let you off with a
fine on the side
but it's really up to her

Hawking gazed upon the girl
and the girl she looked at
him
you'd think he'd make her want to hurl
but instead he roused her
quim

Sir Stephen you are very
cute
and your limpid eyes have
affected me
just give the Crown their
punitive loot
we'll pretend you never
subjected me

Then departing the court,
descending the stair
She grinned at Sir Stephen, passing his chair
Checking to see if Matron
might spot'em
She flashed Sir Stephen her
sweet rosy bottom"

Welcome to Oregon

Paranoia Strikes Deep

In the hundred miles between Portland and the Oregon Coast, I've become convinced that the state has instituted a traffic pattern strictly for the purpose of keeping the number of Californians on the road from growing out of control. It's a three lane configuration, where uphill traffic has a passing lane, but downhill traffic has a dotted yellow line and can pass in that same center lane. Downhill passers with the dotted yellow must yield to the uphill passers with a legitimate lane.
Basically, it boils down to one passing lane wherein one car is speeding uphill, and another is speeding downhill to pass the ubiquitous logging trucks and lumbering RVs who have been tooling along at a brisk 35 mph for the last 30 miles, building up varying degrees of hostility and resentment in the cars that follow them.
In theory, the passing lane is used for passing only. In theory, we could all share the world's abundance and no one will be hungry.
As cars zip into the uphill passing lane from behind logging bohemoths and downhill cars swerve precariously back to their lane before being hit head on, I wonder what it must have been like to be in the meeting where this traffic configuration was hatched.
"Those damned Californians are ruining our state.
Let's kill them.
But how?
Well, they all drive like demons. We could let them 'share' the uphill passing lanes.
Are you insane? Head-on collisions? Wait. Maybe you're right. No one in this state would use them.
Damned Californians, always riding our bumpers, looking like they have to get somewhere real quick, on their phones, acting all important. We'll lose a few of the locals, but I look at it this way. One of ours will take out a few of theirs. They don't vacation up here by themselves.
Let's see, we could let them pass if you can see 100 yards ahead. No, make it 50. They'll have to pass at 90 mph or they'll be road kill.
Hee hee. I think we've got something here."
That's how I think it went. If you're smart, you won't fall into this trap.
They're out to get us.

God Likes Me Best

Stigmata

I don't wish to alarm you, but I have the stigmata.
Well, actually it's only on the right side, but the way I see it, the nails weren't pounded in all at the same time, were they?
With my particular interesting religious background, you may doubt me. Just like Thomas, after Jesus had risen from the dead. Thomas had to go over and stick his hand in the wound Jesus had from the evil Roman guard's sword at the crucifixion.
Okay fine. Be a doubting Thomas. Come on the hell over and see it for yourself.
I have the stigmata.
The right hand stigmata (which is the best kind to have).
Open your hymnals to "Let It Bleed." Dr. John? The piano, please.
"Well, we all need someone we can lean on,
And, if you want to, well, you can lean on me.
Well, we all need someone we can bleed on,
And, if you want to, you can bleed on me."
God gave ME the miracle, so he loves ME best, and from this day forward, I'M making all the rules. Let us give thanks to the Lord. It is fitting and just.
Gratias agamus Domino Deo nostro. Dignum et justum est.
Amen

Barbro Jonsson, Nobel Foundation Accountant

Comment of the Month

I'm a cocky sort, but I know when I've been bested.
The following comment posted by anonymous on October 21 has silenced my blabby self.

Hawking found a way to connect his voice synthesizer (basically an
electronic vibrator with rheostatic control of
amplification) to his tongue and was caught
wearing a blonde maryjane
wig within 1,000 feet of a
catholic girls' school...
specifically prohibited by
the terms of his current
probation. It was this which led to his divorce
procedings and to his discovery of glistening
pink lobes and pulsating
prominences with intermittent
ejecta in Mt. Wilson
archive sector 15A beyond
the Pessary Arc System.
We hope this data is
helpful.
The Nobel Committee
Stockholm

Relevant and Material

Incompetent Irrelevant and Immaterial

I'm not a lawyer, but I watch one on TV. No, not Law and Order. Can't stand that "doink doink" sound they're always playing.
I watch Perry Mason while I'm eating lunch. I love Raymond Burr. I loved Japanese monster movie Raymond, I loved the ever-expanding Perry Raymond and I loved Ironsides Raymond after he got too pudgy to walk. He's got a commanding voice, one that you want to listen to, like Walter Cronkite back when news was newsy.
Perry and his nemesis District Attorney Hamilton Berger (Ham Berger, get it?) had only one drawback that I can see. They had only one objection - "I object, Your Honor. That's incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial." Wow.
It would be hard for me to have only one objection. I find so much objectionable, in manners, speech and behavior. But if I had to narrow them all down - and they are many - I think I'd borrrow this one from Perry and Hamilton.
Incompetence is pervasive. Finding someone who knows what they're doing is rare, and finding a person who actually does the thing that they're good at, rarer still. Incompetent works, and it sounds more polite than "stupid."
Irrelevance is ubiquitous, too. Why else would I constantly be thinking, "So?" when I read or hear something? What the heck does THAT have to do with anything?
Immaterial is related to irrelevance, but has an air of specificity I like. Immaterial might be material to something - just not what we're talking about.
Nice alliteration, too, with all the "i's". Two four syllable words, followed by a fiver for a little punch.
So, while I'm not an attorney, if you see me with a slight frown and pursed mouth, you can assume I'm thinking "incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial."
Welcome to the secret society of the three i's.

July 17, Feast of La Sirine

Immortality

Want to buy a spectacular present for someone this holiday season?
Just so happens that if you call (801) 245-9491, you can order a Sci-Fi/Fantasy calendar that features one of my pieces of art work on July 17!
Isn't that fabulous?
You know, in the Celtic book of days, July 17 is described
"When asked what were the three sweetest things he had ever heard, Cormac mac Airt, the Irish Solomon replied, 'The shout of triumph after victory, praise after wages, a lady's invitation to her pillow.'"
How very perfect.
So go order lots of them for your friends, but don't buy one if you're a child or related to me, because you're getting one for Kwansaa.

Lord

Thank You, Lord

Maharaja, or The Cop Out

Richard "Lord" Buckley, 1906-1960

M'Lords and M'Ladies of the Royal Court,
the story of the cop-out.
Cop-out is a kind of a chap that you have around,
once in a while, sometimes for many years,
that you want to kill him.
But you just can't quite get to it.
'Cause every time he gaslights you,
he comes around with such a wonderful story
that -- he entertains you so strongly with the story
that you forgive the accident or the catastrophe
or the flip or the delinquency.

Now, you see there was this Maharaja.
He's a big Maharaja cat.
He had seventeen elephants and twenty-two camels
and a hundred and eighteen chicks in the harem.
And he had gold vaults and silver vaults
and jewel vaults and vault vaults
and all kinds of gold laying around the place.
Very rich cat.
And he had a buddy cat by the name of Hoobadoo.
And this buddy cat, Hoobadoo, he was real close to the Mah, see.
You want to see the Mah, you got to see Hoobadoo
or you ain't going to see the Mah. Understand?
He was real tight with the Mah.
As a matter of fact, he was so tight
when the Mah's heart goes ding,
the buddy cat goes dong.
Ding, dong!
They had a heart beat kick going together,
that's how close they was understand.
And the Mah dig the buddy cat 'cause that's the boy.
He's in tight with the Maharaja all the time, see?
So, the Maharaja wake up one morning
in his eighteen foot double king-size Indian bed,
with all the silks and satins and the incense going,
in the private sacred chamber
and the Maharaja is sleeping the sleep of the king.
And he hear a little rustle in there
and he say, in his subconscious mind,
say, "What's that cat,
what's somebody doing messing round
with somebody going to get killed.
He say, "What kind of a lick is this anyway?"
And he sneaked out the corner of the end of his eye
and he see a big, tall psyche cat standing there
with a saber hanging down, the big cutter.
And he look up and he see this long beard.
and he see the head of the guards.
And he hear the man say, "Master!"

And the Maharaja say, "What is it dog?"

"Something terrible to tell you, Master."

"Something terrible to tell me.
It better be something terrible to tell me
to wake me up at this time of the morning.
Fooling with the sacred sleep.
It'd better be very important!"

"It is very important, Master.
Lagadow, your heartbeat, has done something terrible."

"What?!"

"Yes, something terrible!.
When you went into your beautiful quarters last night
with the lovely girl,
shortly after that, he has taken nineteen of your best chicks
and three buckets of pearls and he has been long gone since -"

He say, "What?! Ha, call the guards,
find immediately!
Find him! Hacha, ratta! "

Wham! The guards take off in full pursuit after this Labadoo.
And they're going a ding-ding-ding
and a boom-boom-boom
and they got to find this here cat
because the Maharaja is in a white heat.
Oh, he's shook up, he's shook up something terrible.
And if Labadoo had've pulled his foot out just two seconds before,
out that swamp, he'd of been alright.
But he was just tick-tock later, vrrppt and they snapped him,
and they gave that cat the most interesting, hee hee, ride home
you ever saw in your life.
They slung a hair rope around this cat here
and put it through the saddle of the horn of the horse
and ring-a-ding-ding back
and this cat is bumpin' and snappin' and flippin' and flappin' up and down
all through that marshway all the way back to the court.

Now we come back to the Maharaja's court.
The Maharaja's sitting up there in his big golden throne.
And it's one of those wild looking court places
with the tall fluted columns
and all the nobles,
all the mad, wild, greedy, lustful, cheating, larceny nobility,
who are dead enemies of Labadow,
are gathered there to see fate take its cut.
And the great big giant doors open
eighteen foot tall and scrolled in gold
and some cat done come in there
with a sanscrit kit and sanscritted all over the place
all kinds of crazy writing.
And the Maharajah's sitting down there
in his big golden throne and this long room
and these giant doors open, swang on open
and two giant guards stand there
and they got something between them.
It looks like a pair of second class gypsy laundry
that was the only thing left on the island of Hoobadoo
after the great hurricane of Lagadoo.
He's a beat looking cat.
He looks about seventeen bulged up, split out mushrooms
hung up in bad shape.
This cat is dripping and flipped.
But these cats wheel on back with their two big arms
and they take this mushy bunch of humanity
and they go, whssssssss! Scoot him. Vrrppppt.
Up he goes.
And it was no trouble at all for him to slide the extra thirty feet
right to the feet of the throne.

And the Maharajah's sitting up there.
And the court is silent.
And the Maharajah says:

"Friendship.
Yes, friendship is a very beautiful thing.
Very beautiful indeed.
Revered friendship. Friendship the Heartbeat.
Is it possible?
Is it possible that a man could share his confidence,
share his honor, share his integrity with another human being,
and love him like a brother?
And feel the thrust of the knife stuck in him for his love?
Yes! Look at that dog lying down there.
That corrupted piece of humanity.
Deep in the shame of his larceny.
Wound in the wild, wild theme of his horrible error.
To dare to go against the man that trusted him: The Maharajah.
Look at him, hee hee hmmmmm,
perhaps you have something to say, my beautiful one
before the skin is plucked from your ugly body piece by piece.
And may I further tell you that you shall enjoy public shame
for you shall be killed in the courtyard in full view of the people.
Speak your last words"

"Oh, Great! Oh, Great Beautiful Star of the East!
Oh, magnificent man! Oh, Shining Light!
Oh, Great Reason for Life!
Oh, Beautiful One, listen to me.
Though I am but baggage at your feet,
beat, broken, sick, ruined.
Look at me, Great Beautiful One!.
And let me tell you only that I love you!
I love you!
I've always loved you.
I will love you through time, time immemorial!
I will love you.
I will love you forever no matter what.
I don't care, I don't care, I don't care.
If you only knew Your Majesty,
the reason of the accident was to save your life.
To save your life, Your Highness!
They told me if I did not flee and do this that they would kill you.
That's what they told me, Your Majesty.
I beg you.
Look! Look, Your Majesty, look,
look at the greedy, larcenous faces!
Look at the lust and the vulgarity and the madness upon your subjects.
Look at them looking at me.
Many was the time I kept you, Your Highness,
from their filthy hands when they would deal you death.
Look at them, Your Majesty, look at them!
And then look upon the face of the man,
the slave that loved you, that still loves you.
That will forever love you no matter what.
I don't care! I don't care!
I love you, that's all that matters.
Look at them and then make your decision,
Beloved Star, Beloved Light of Light,
Oh, Wonder of Wonders, look at them and then decide."

"Lagow!"

"Yes."

"Take this dog into my private chambers. We will discuss this matter in private."