Vodou Kitty

Public Relations 101

2007-02-27T20:19:00.000-08:00

Today's scientific study results:
Garlic does not lower cholesterol.
Antioxidents do not prolong life.

Today's anecdotal observation:
Following up on Press Releases with newspaper editors is analogous to self flaggilation in sack cloth.

Nyah Nyah Nyah Nyah NYAH Nyah

2007-02-05T07:40:00.000-08:00

Kindly refer to the following in my August 9 post
I am in a slight funk from Super Bowl to the pre-season opening game. When football season starts, I ascend from my dour mood, and look forward to seeing if Peyton and Eli are going to choke at the end of the season, whether my favorite coach (Tony Dungee) will win more games than my least favorite coach (the evil Bill Parcells), and whether T.O. is going to pull himself together and play like the egotistical diamond-studded running back he is. Joy!
Good has overcome eeeevil. Peyton didn't choke, Tony won the SuperBowl and Bill Parcells retired.
There is a god.
Her name is Erzulie.

See You Next Year!

2006-12-22T06:49:00.000-08:00

Divine Intervention

2006-12-21T07:55:00.000-08:00

Finally,

2006-12-21T07:34:00.000-08:00

Before my computer is sent to hybernate for the rest of the year, I finish with my sincere hope that you embrace Astrology, and contemplate the similarities of those with whom I share my Sagitarial sign:
On my birthday - Don Johnson. (Much older, of course)
Around my birthday - Bette Midler, Richard Pryor, Woody Allen, Britney Spears, Gianni Vercace, Daryl Hannah, Ozzy Osbourne, Jeff Bridges, General George Custer, Walt Disney, Babyface Nelson, Jim Morrison, Kim Bassinger, Beau Bridges, John Malkovich, Brenda Lee, Frank Sinatra, Nostradamus and Beethovan.
If that isn't enough to convert you, then just go ahead and believe in your "scientific" what-have-you, and know that, as a unique combination of the above mentioned Captains of Humanhood, I personally can be explained only with the assistance of Divine Intervention.
Ask The Divine Miss M.

La Sirine

2006-12-20T15:19:00.000-08:00

Happy

2006-12-20T12:30:00.000-08:00

Vodou Kitty wishes you a very Happy Saint Nicholas Day, Happy Fiesta of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Happy St. Lucia Day, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Solstice, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwansaa, Happy Boxing Day, Happy Omisoka and Happy Eid'ul-Adha.

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!

2006-12-19T05:15:00.000-08:00

WHY I HATE CHRISTMAS

2006-12-19T05:14:00.000-08:00

December 7, 2006

ENTER THE “WHY I HATE CHRISTMAS” CONTEST

Bill Donohue, president of the Catholic League, and Don Feder, president of Jews Against Anti-Christian Defamation, have launched a “Why I Hate Christmas” contest today. Donohue explains as follows:

“On December 6, a Zogby Poll disclosed that 95 percent of Americans are not offended by being greeted with a ‘Merry Christmas’ while shopping. Don Feder and I would like to know more about the 5 percent who object and have thus launched our ‘Why I Hate Christmas’ contest. Contestants must answer the following questions:

1) Explain relationship with father

2) Explain relationship with mother

3) State what religion, if any, were you raised in

4) List all phobias, e.g., fear of God

5) List all superstitions, e.g., belief in global warming

6) State which historical figure is most like you: (a) Hitler (b) Stalin (c) Mao (d) Pol Pot (e) Rosie O’Donnell

7) State last time you hallucinated

8) State last book you read before crashing

9) State how many times you’ve laughed in the past 10 years: (a) once (b) more than once but not more than thrice (c) more than thrice but not more than five times (d) can’t recall

10) List all prior mental disorders

“Please send us a photo so we can post your picture on our website, along with your response. The winner will receive a free copy of the Charles Dickens classic, A Christmas Carol. Finally, we will send your statement to Jackie Mason for a free psychological evaluation.”

The Catholic League is the nation's largest Catholic civil rights organization. It defends individual Catholics and the institutional Church from defamation and discrimination.

Big Slide

2006-12-18T07:32:00.000-08:00

Bigger Slide

2006-12-18T07:21:00.000-08:00

Not long ago, we were Astorian bon vivants. We threw parties, were invited to parties, and mixed often with our favorite people.
Times have changed.
Astoria is a lonely place now, with few gatherings - even during the holiday season. Some with whom we were once inseparable now don't even bother sending me a birthday card, much less going to dinner, or getting together for drinks or a visit.
Paul thinks it's because we're moving, but I think not. It started before then - nothing substantial, but less phone calls, more gatherings in which we were not included... Something happened, and I don't know what.
I've racked my brains...what did I say? what did I do? what did I NOT say? what didn't I do?
We drew a blank. Neither of us can figure it out.
All I want for Christmas is my house to sell. It's too cold up here to feel cold on the inside, too.

Olive Garden Near Casualty

2006-12-17T23:10:00.000-08:00

"I barfed and barfed til I could barf no more," said the wispy creature, after having eaten barely a morsel.

Buckley's Busy

2006-12-17T13:09:00.000-08:00

No services today.
But the Lord said it's cool to eat at Taco Bell, now babies.
At least as cool as it ever was.
Don't put the scene down at the Olive Garden, though. Three hundred dug it there....DIDN'T DIG IT.
See you down the line, and when you find yourself without the first biscuit, keep stompin past the Olive Garden, dig?

Audacity of Hope

2006-12-16T10:17:00.000-08:00

Bharhach O'Bhamagh

2006-12-16T09:23:00.000-08:00

He doesn't have a chance.
First of all, I've officially killed off the apostrophe, so his name can no longer hold its meaning "Son of Bhamagh", or more literally "of the Bhamaghs". Second, we had our Irish president - John Kennedy. We're only allowed those every hundred years or so, and as so many have told him, "It may be too soon." He thinks they mean he needs more time in the Senate.
Third, he doesn't LOOK Irish. He's black Irish, descended from those Spainiardos who bobbed up the Atlantic coast and mated with the Catholic girls to the north. It was a good match, a solid match: one, who sponsored the Inquisition; and the other, who clung to Catholic dogma so tightly, the Inquisition looked like child's play. Their offspring were devout, with dark eyes and hair. Bharhach is a striking example, albeit one with an unusually good tan.
The Irish are usually pastey-white.
For those three reasons, don't bhank on Bharhach. Other people will give you overthought, incidental, superfluous rationale. Don't listen to them.
It's lack of apostrophe, one Irish president every hundred years and he doesn't look Irish. Those are his fatal flaws.

Debaucheryness

2006-12-14T07:03:00.000-08:00

Truthiness

2006-12-14T06:51:00.000-08:00

You know what it means. It's not truth. It's what you believe, based on a gut feeling. You just KNOW it, that's all.
And, it's the American Dialect Society's word of the year, coined by fake newsman Steve Colbert.
Truthiness is next to Godliness. God lives in Truthy, and the messages He sends me through football games are just a glass of wine, bowl of onion dip and potato chip away. My mother is the leader of a small cult of Truthys, and she wears a white habit, the official uniform of crazy.
Truthiness tells Sunnis to kill Shiis, even though they're both Muslims. Truthiness has told the English to hang onto their last little vestige of imperialism in Northern Ireland. Truthiness tells Arabs to hate Jews, and vice versy.
Before this year, I always thought it was a good idea to believe in something, because it's good to think of oneself as being loved by a big powerful somebody. No more.
Truthiness is actually next to Deviliness.
I can't prove it.
I just KNOW it's true.

Uh, well, um, ahhh, um, I, uh, it's, um...

2006-12-13T08:07:00.000-08:00

The Power of the Visual

2006-12-13T08:01:00.000-08:00

As a partner in an entertainment company in formation, I hereby concede that a visual can be so powerful that it can suck the words out of your head. Glurmph! Gone. You're speechless.
Words are insipid, except for maybe Jackie Gleason's "Yaminayaminayaminayamina."
It could, however, use a soundtrack. I vote for Michael Bolton, backed by Kenny G, bongo drums by Shiela E.
Know any bass players?

Cow Affront

2006-12-12T07:43:00.000-08:00

Dairy-Aire...The Udder Guys

2006-12-12T06:10:00.000-08:00

Being married to a witty, intelligent writer with deadly accuracy in voicing observations can prove costly, particularly on the Sabbath.
It is on that day that we join together as heathen and Vodouissant, read Lord Buckley, then drive across the Columbia River to 42nd Street Cafe. There we perform sacrifice of beignets, andouille sausage and chickory coffee for the spirits, via our corporal selves.
Splashing through the rain-puddled parking lot, just across the street on devilish red sineage, there it is.
Blasphemy.
A badly animated cow, viewed from the rear, looking over her shoulder announcing the presence of The Dairy-Aire. "Doesn't produce a compelling urge to eat there, does it?" he rhetoricized. "Nope," I thought.
On this particular rain soaked day, I noticed a smaller sign near their side entrance, "We're the Udder Guys."
The result of relaying my observance to the heathen writer was dead silence. Dead like thundering silence dead air has, when the radio should be playing, and isn't.
While we spoke no more of this, I know what we were both thinking.
You could have had a good name. A name that conveyed who you are, what you represent - something meaningful that is an overall part of your corporate communication plan.
And you went for the butt... tits and butt jokes. No, we're not prudes. Say what you want. Use words that are powerful when you are saying something powerful. No editing. I want assholes to sound like assholes.
Don't descend into the realm of potty humor. Stay with me here.
At which beer-soaked meeting at the Sea Hag was this idea scrawled on the back of a napkin? Didn't you sober up? Don't you have friends who tell you when you're being a moron? You don't want people to equate you with a cow butt. You're selling DAIRY.
Well, I'm sure it was a hoot at the bar when somebody slurred, "Dairy-Aire!" "Whoo hoo, that's a good one! Write that down."
"Wait, wait, we're the UDDER guys, get it?"
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
It's sad. Just sad, when you don't look at that the next morning, crumble it up and say "I'm NEVER drinking Zombies again!"
Imagine operating on that level all the time.
I can only hope that it was an economics issue: the person with the idea was funding the business with a below-market rate loan.
I can only hope.

Attractive Corpse

2006-12-11T06:55:00.000-08:00

Tales of Airport Security (c) Harry Shearer

2006-12-11T06:26:00.000-08:00

Harry may have copyrighted the title, but the story is all mine.
Sons of bitches! Idiotic, bureaucratic, ridiculous damned airport rulemakers have deprived me of one of my very favorite things.
A very long time ago when dinosaurs roamed the earth, my brother gave me a very incredibly cool little Swiss army knife. It was red, with the Swiss army insignia - not one of those hideous pink 'Ladies' knives. It had a little knife, scissors and nail file. Teeny tiny, but oh so useful!
Those sons of bitches took my Swiss army knife. Jesus tapdancing Christ!
Look at me. Not bad for my age. Sport a sort of bohemian fashion, but more hippie than burhka. I'm reading The Economist. Note to airport screeners - NO terrorists read The Economist. You can bank that.
Anyhow, with minutes remaining before the plane herding ritual, I am given an ultimatum. Go all the way back out of Security, mail it to myself from that post office waaaaaaay down there, and come back through Security, or give it to him.
"Grrrrr," I growl. I picture my suicide tape, hippie bandana tied around my head, pledging that killing this guard with my teeny tiny little Swiss army knife will improve airport travel for my fellow Americans.
But I stop. By the time I kill him, all those 15 year old National Guard kids armed to the teeth with rifles will riddle me full of holes ten times over.
"Grrrrr."
I surrender my weapon, but only because I intend to be an attractive corpse.

The Battle of Good vs. Evil

2006-12-11T05:27:00.000-08:00

In the NFL, God, in His Almighty Wisdom, smote the living crap out of evil Bill Parcell's Cowboys through the Diving Intervention He bestoweth upon His New Orleans Saints. Saints - 42. Satan and Cowboys - 17.
God sends me His messages through football games.
The Apocolypse is hereby suspended until further notice.
Ahhhhh-mennnnnnnn.

Eddie

2006-12-10T08:58:00.000-08:00

lookin' bugged

Quothe the Snoop Dogg, "Nizzlemore"

2006-12-10T05:33:00.000-08:00

The Bugbird (The Raven)

Richard "Lord" Buckley
M'Lords and Ladies of the Royal Court,
Edgar, the swinging Edgar Allan Poe's
magnificent torch, "The Raven,"
as translated into the semantic of the hip.

It's a Bugbird.
And like I say, Poe --
Eddie Allen Poe was a swinger.
He loved to en-joy that good whiskey
and chase them little ladies all over the place,
undstand what I mean?
Now, you see Poe didn't want that bird,
he didn't need the bird,
he didn't dig the bird,
he didn't send for the bird,
he didn't even know what aviary the bird came from.
If they've knocked the bird on him post paid
he wouldn't have dug it.
'Cause he was hung in front
for a chick by the name of Lenore,
who had already swoop the satellite.
But that didn't bug Eddie.
He's still knockin' that torch and coal on there,
say: "Can they see me in Flip City?"

But just like I say, so many times,
when you don't want the bird,
when you don't need the bird,
when you haven't got the first possible use for the bird,
vrrrrpppt, that's when you get it.
And that's what happened to poor Eddie.

I want you to picture that cat:
he's sitting in his pad, he's all spread out.
He's flipped, he's flapped, he's had it,
undastand what I mean?
He can't make it.
If he had it, he couldn't swing it
so he's sitting there goofing the cool,
ya see what I mean?

He say:

It was a real drug midnight
swoooooooooooooooah dreary
I was goofing
Beat and weary
Over many a freakish volume of forgotten score
When suddenly there came a tapping
As if some cat were gently riffing
Knocking rhythm at my pad's door.

Ah, "'tis the landlady," I muttered
On her broom she flies the rounding
Sounding for her rent
WHICH only this and nothing more

Ehh, ooh, will I ever get out of this feeling?
Emmm, emmmm,

Ah, so solid I remember,
It was in that wrought December
And it's swingin', jumpin' ember
Blew it's phantom upon the floor
Groovily I woo'd the morrow
Still hung I sought to borrow
From my book kicks
To knock the sorrow
Sorrow for my gone Lenore
For that sweet, square but swingin' maiden
Whom the fly chicks tagged Lenore
Nameless here forevermore

Oooh, man,

And the silky wear deturning
Of each upper curtain
Moved me, hound me
With freakish flipples
Never dug before.
So that now to cool the beating of my ticker
I stood repeating, "'Tis some strange midnight stud
That's sounding a money beat on my pad's door.
A deuce to cool the morrow
Or some juice to drown his sorrow
Some lightweight riff this
And nothing more.
Jack!" I said, "Or Jilly, if I've crossed you.
Ha ha. Don't jump sore
For the solid truth is
This cat was napping
And so cool did you come tapping
And so light hip you came rapping
Rhythm at my pad's door
That I was scarce sure I dug you!"
Here I opened wide the slammer, Jack.
Swhoosh, I dug the breeze
And nothing more.

Ooh, what are they trying to do to me? I'll show them - what do they think about - get my way out of this - why they - uuumm, what was that? Look out, look out, look out! Take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, take it easy!

Stoned into the darkness peering
Long I stood there
I was hung there
Flipped and fitting
King spinning dreams
No mortal cat had ever rode before
But the gasser was unbroken
Diggin' so hard my wig was goin'
But nathin' shakin' nathin's sure
Just one radar blip was goin'
The whispered word: Lenore
This I sounded and it sounded back
Swoo-Swooooh, Lenore.
This one sad lick and nothing more

Oooh, why don't they leave me alone,
why don't they leave me alone?
They're draggin' me.

I backed into my pad
Still turning
All this jazz within me burning
And again I dug the tapping
A stronger beat then was before
"Unsolid hip," says I, "I don't dig
what that is jumpin in my window lattice.
Let me get hip what the rat is
And this big flip I will explore
Let my pounders stay cool
And this flip I will explore"
swoo-shoo, Jack, I drew a blank
And nothing more.

Swhoooo - Who do they think they are to do this to me?!

Gone full out
I found the shutter
When with many a flip and flutter
In there stomped a king sized bugbird, Jack
From way back days of yore
Not a minute tipped or hung he
Not a minute brought or down he
But with stance of king and queen
He swung above my sweet pad's door
Lit upon the bust of Paris
Sat goofin' there and nothing more.

"Unsolid hip," said I, "That you're not craven
Gasser grim and beat up raven
Goofin for the night's Plutonian shore.
Swing hip me to what thy tag is
On the night's Plutonian shore."
Flip the bugbird, "Nothing more."

Solid wig me this bird to dig me
Though it copped out not upon the score
We cannot help it
Being that no single human being
Ever was so sent by seeing a wig like this
Above his pad's door
With such a tag as: Nevermore

Now you see this blasted bugbird came bugging Edgar
and gave him such a dreadful time of it
that Edgar now wants to divorce the bird.
He wants to expel the bird.
He doesn't care whether the bird knew Lenore,
Eleanor or any of these cats.
He wants to blow the bird.
So he -
I think the bird put one too many Nevermores on him.
I don't know how much they weigh
but it was just enough to flip that little Eisenglas
at the end of the fuse and vrrrpppppt,
blow the whole gig.
Poe is now flipping.
He looks at the bird and he says,

"By this lick you have flipped my meter
You nauseous gasser!
You endless repeater!
Screw before I blow my red hot stack!
Go back to your Plutonian shore
Leave no feather on my heather
Take your black jazz blown together,
Leave this pad my torch unbroken
Screw from the roost above my door!"
Flipped the bugbird, "Neezever Meezore."

M-I-C (See you soon!)

2006-12-09T07:14:00.000-08:00

K-E-Y (Why? Because we LIKE you!)

2006-12-09T05:54:00.000-08:00

M-O-U-S-EEEEEEEEE

2006-12-09T05:39:00.000-08:00

Truth be told, I lost any semblance of false modesty when my mother married fothermucker #2 (the rocket science years - 1960 - 1968), who found it unnecessary to put a towel around himself between the bathroom and the bedroom.
My bedroom door opened onto this scenic corridor, and I watched my friend Katy attempt to say hello to him without collapsing in laughter during one such encounter. Ah, the family memories.
Understandably, I was confused by the brouhaha over Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction," having seen it with my own eyes during Super Bowl half time and taken little notice. I didn't even bother mentioning it to Paul when he returned for the third quarter. So what if the little Mickey Mouse Club guy did a stupid dance with Michael Jackson's baby sister? It was ridiculous, he knew it would be ridiculous, and that's why he left during half time. The FCC should have fined the broadcast for being the entertainment equivalent of dead air.
Why, then does this little Mickey Mouse Club alum picture seem so, I don't know, so creepy?
It's certainly not her nakedness.
Didn't her mother teach her how to exit an automobile (open door, legs together, swing legs and body facing the door, feet on ground, then stand. Fun Fact! It's also better for your back!)? Is it that she knows she's naked from the waist down and pretending that she doesn't? Is it that she doesn't know? Has multiple childbirth numbed her genitalia? Does being in the company of Paris Hilton suck your brain from your head (see picture below)?
Those are the questions. Because I LOATHE lewd, sniggering, Puritanical entertainment news coverage, I propose it be killed post haste by witty reparte or outright cattery. (For a sampling of appropriate Hollywood cattery, go to http://www.snarkywood.com/ )
Have at it.

Proof Positive

2006-12-09T05:15:00.000-08:00

that being around Paris Hilton sucks one's brain from one's head...Nicole forgot to eat. P.S. Nicole was arrested on 12/10 for DUI. She's 5'1" and weighs 85 pounds.
Eeeeeeeeeeek!

Tiger Cub Reporter

2006-12-08T06:29:00.000-08:00

How To Write News

2006-12-08T05:57:00.000-08:00

Periodically, there is an ad for a reporter for The Daily Astorian that I am tempted to answer. Since I am not a big fan of either the owner or the editor, I have not. What I have done, is assemble this little sampling of my writing skills in case I ever change my mind, or they die in a newsworthy fashion.

Sample Cub Reporter News Writing Skills

What I write: What I mean

According to published reports: I got scooped by The Oregonian
Activist: Will talk to press
Allegedly: He did it but Josh can't prove it in court
Beloved: Someone who's been around so long no one can stand them anymore (e.g., Jerry Lewis)
With News Wire Services: No original writing
Celebrity: Someone that has a publicist
Choked up: Definitely could have been crying
Confirmed bachelor: See "Flamboyant"
Conflagration: A fire in the first paragraph, a blaze in the second and an inferno in the third.
Controversial: He did something bad but I'm not sure what
Couldn't be reached for comment: Didn't return call by 5 PM
Dapper: Hasn't bought new clothes in 20 years
Diminutive: Under 5 feet tall
Effervescent: Won't shut up
Elite: See "prestigious"
Embattled: He should quit
Entrepreneur: Hasn't made it yet, but I'm doing a nice story about her
Exclusive neighborhood/school/club: I can't get in
Exclusive: No one else returned my calls
Family Values: Right-wing idiot
Feisty: Short, old female
Flamboyant: Homosexual
Gentleman bandit: He wore nice shoes
Good Samaritan: Too stupid to run away
Guru: See "Self-styled"
Hero cop: Died
Hero firefighter: Put out a fire
High-brow: Boring
Highly placed source: One who would talk
Hot button issue: Only Stever Forrester cares about it
Informed source: Reads The Daily Astorian
Innocent bystander: Too slow to run away
Intensely private: Not promoting anything right now
Investigating: Waiting for someone to drop a dime
Knowledgeable observer: Me
Knowledgeable observers: Me and the person at the next desk
Legendary: About to die
Long-time companion: They had sex once
Mega-mogul: Has made it, and is in process of losing it
Moderate: Fence straddler
Modest, well-kept home: Cockroaches are all dead
Mogul: Has made it, and I'm doing a hatchet job
Never: No clips about it in Daily Astorian files
Outspoken: Rude
Petite: Emaciated
Plucky: Someone who is ambulatory AND very, very young, old, or short
Political Action Committee contribution: Bribe
Prestigious: Indoor plumbing
Progressive: Left-wing idiot
Rarely interviewed: Promoting something right now
Recently: Lost the press release
Reportedly: Stole this bit of information
Savagely murdered: Murdered
Scandal-plagued: Guilty
Scrappy: Runt
Screen Legend: I am too young to remember his/her movies
Self-styled: Phony
Shocking revelation: Leaked on a slow news day
Socialite: Woman without job who owns a home between 8th and 28th Street, on the river side with a view
Source who spoke on condition of anonymity: Publicist
Street-wise: Hasn't been hit by a bus (so far)
Strident: Rude
Stunned: Couldn't give a decent quote
Superstar: Has a publicist and an agent
Tearful: May have been crying
Teen idol: I am too old to have heard of him
Temblor: I have a thesaurus
Troubled youth: He once lit something on fire, or Mayor's son
Unclear, uncertain, unknown at press time: No one will tell us
Venerable: Should be dead but isn't
War-torn: I can't find it on a map
Weeping: Tear spotted in one eye

So, do I get the job?

Santa DOES Exist

2006-12-07T06:00:00.000-08:00

and he drinks eggnog
and has knocked off a few elves

Tracking Santa

2006-12-07T05:43:00.000-08:00

I accept my bunch of heathen, godless friends for their steadfast belief in no belief in an intelligence superior to theirs. Okay, fine.
But, leave Santa out of this. Even French existentialist Jean Paul Sartre allowed for both 'pour soi' and 'en soi' - what you've experienced and what you've not. If poor old God got thrown out with the empirical bathwater, at least leave Santa.
Yeah, there are problems. The chimney thing, whether to have a fire, what about the kids with no chimneys, number of children in the world, etc., etc., etc.
Well, get over yourselves. I'm busy trying to get a bunch of entertainment lawyers to play nice, investors to fork over equity and Dr. John to pick up the damn phone, to answer these time worn Scroogie questions.
Here's what I will do, though.
Get your cynical selves to http://www.noradsanta.org/en/default.php and watch NORAD track Santa.
You DO believe in NORAD, don't you?

To Be ' or Not To Be '

2006-12-06T06:30:00.000-08:00

Apostrophe

2006-12-06T06:15:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's because I have one in my name.
Maybe it's because I went to Catholic school and punctuation meant both an arrangement of little dots, commas and dashes AND an occasional rap on the knuckles: the former, to assure meaning in written communcation; and the latter, to drive a point home on a physical level.
But there's no doubt that I'm a punctuation Nazi. And I have a graduate degree in apostrophe.
It appears that my breed is dying, and worse, we forgot to produce progeny. We watch with despair as possessives are written as it's and it is is written as its. They're strewed about with wild abandon on billboards, placards, sineage - even magazines and newspapers. I'm either OKEEFE or O KEEFE on credit cards, bank statements and junk mail lists. I guess they ran out, with all those meaningless high falutin' commas everywhere else. There were none left for my name.
So, instead of trying to change the world, I hereby declare the apostrophe dead.
No longer will I seethe when I see one where it doesn't belong. I'll just assume it's on its way to that happy place in the sky where punctuation is respected and treated well.
That goes for you, too, James Lipton. No more gushing about Bernard Pivot and his Apostrophe. It's over babe.

His Royal Visage

2006-12-03T10:33:00.000-08:00

Lord Buckley

2006-12-03T10:32:00.000-08:00

It's all so very alive and jumpin' and in the pauses one can hear the atoms exploding out there in the Milky Way where the grass comes up every once in ten billion years and there are no moth balls or frigidaires, no box office receipts, no railroads,
no crucifixions rosy or otherwise ...
It is all very far out, your Lordship.
- - Henry Miller

Holiday Play Time

2006-12-02T07:42:00.000-08:00

Holiday Nappy Time

2006-12-02T07:41:00.000-08:00

Christmas Carols

2006-12-02T07:27:00.000-08:00

I come from a psychiatrically challenged family. Allow me to share a few of our own special carols.

SCHIZOPHRENIAC CHRISTMAS: Do You Hear What I Hear?
MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER CHRISTMAS: We Three Kings Disoriented Are
DEMENTIA CHRISTMAS: I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas, Who Are You To Me?
NARCISSISTIC CHRISTMAS: Hark, the Herald Angels Sing About Me Me Me Me Me
MANIC CHRISTMAS: Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and .......
PARANOID CHRISTMAS: Santa Claus Is Coming To Get Me
PERSONALITY DISORDER CHRISTMAS: You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why
DEPRESSION CHRISTMAS: Silent Despair, Holy Despair, All Is Lonely, All Is Sad
OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDER CHRISTMAS: Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell
Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, JingleBell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, ........
(better start again)
PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PERSONALITY CHRISTMAS: On The First Day of Christmas My True Love Said to Me, I Never Meant to Buy You A Gift
BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER CHRISTMAS: Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

You're welcome to share our family's carols.
Pick one. Any one.
Okay, well you can have two. But just two.
All right. Take them all. Why don't you just take everything? Why don't you just... (deep breath, deep breath).
Excuse me.
May you and yours embrace all that this season has to offer, with xanax, wellbutrin, valium and paxil for all, and to all a good night.

Word Nazis

2006-12-01T05:48:00.000-08:00

I quake at the notion of the very typing of the word "Nazi." The word police are everywhere. The N word? This time it's Nazi.
A very bright, articulate, well educated, successful local businessman in Astoria - each being extraordinary for its uniqueness - described the participants of a recent movie's spelling bee as "word Nazis." I felt such relief.
Before "spellcheck", I was a constant dictionary looker-upper. Sometimes I had trouble finding the word at all, so unsure about its spelling was I. Does it start with an "e" or an "i"? By the time I found it, I wondered, "Is this really worth the effort?"
It's interesting that I am intolerant (is that an "ant" or an "ent"?) of an analogous lack of precision in mathematics. As most women are, I am a terrible estimator. Whether a number is 10, 100, 1000, or 10000 sometimes escapes me, as I am also decimally crippled. But, with paper and pencil (or HP-12C), I'll get the answer, with six decimal places.
About 10 means absolutely nothing to me. What do you mean by about? Under? Close to? Closer to 10 than 5? Than 8? If the number is an exponent (is that an "ent" or an "ant"?), that makes a BIG difference.
Conversely, is my meaning changed by intolerence or exponant? You knew what I meant!
My step-father once told my mother that he was bringing home some people for dinner that week-end. "How many?" she asked. "Five or ten couples."
I burst out laughing, and both of them looked at me quizzically (originally typed with one "z"). "What's so funny?"
Mom looked panicked. I could see that "Please don't piss him off" look in her eyes, and said, "Nothing."
Silently, my mother made plans for seating and feeding ten or twenty people, while I was giggling to myself. He's a ROCKET SCIENTIST. Precise calculations are critical to success in his missions that cost taxpayers millions and millions of dollars a pop. And his best estimate for a dinner party has a 50% variance (ence?)?
So here's the deal. I'm a number Nazi, not a word Nazi, and if you wonder why I write notes to you having no big words, it's because I think you're a word Nazi.
And I think it's a far better thing to be a number Nazi, because meaning isn't lost when a word is spelled incorrectly, but meaning is demolished when a number is wrong.
Ask Count von Count.
Tell him Countess Spella O'Badlee sent you.

PETA SCHMETA

2006-11-30T08:45:00.000-08:00

Minks are mean little critters when they aren't allowed to serve their true purpose - being my new coat!

Only 291 Shopping Days Left!!!

2006-11-30T07:14:00.000-08:00

In a mere 292 days, I'll be 20,000 days old.
As a December baby, ten days older than some little Hispanic kid named Jesus (who has managed to create the miracle of winter shopping frenzy throughout the Christian world), I stood little chance of much birthday celebration. I grew to detest the phrase, "This is your birthday AND Christmas present."
Hint to Christians...don't conceive in March, or your kid will grow to resent the Messiah. Ask my brother, born December 28. It's a drag.
So, recognizing that religious resentment is causing more than a few worldwide problems, I prayed to the Hispanic baby, and came up with this divinely inspired resolution. On September 17, 2007, I will be 20,000 days old. Think of the possibilities!
No more 9/11, and all the horrific connotations it drags along with it. Now we have 9/17, a glorious day on which you can stop going batshit wondering whether the gift you bought will be the one I love the most!
September 17 is the birthday of fothermucker #2 (see August 11 for gory details). Now you need not worry whether his abandonment caused me permanent psychological damage! It is MY birthday obliterating his. Neener, neener, neener...
It is eleven days before a REALLY BIG birthday of Paul's! Unlike Jesus, I'd LOVE sharing the fabulous gifts and trips you're considering with Paul. (Need some hints? Look at October 5).
You can take advantage of all the after Christmas sales, and I won't even know it! I'll think you paid full retail price for that little three carat bauble, and won't you feel smart!
So, sit back and relax. You're off the hook this year. But next year...mark your calendars. September 17.
It's the new Christmas.

Santa Baby

2006-11-29T07:27:00.000-08:00

She's a Ho Ho Ho

2006-11-29T07:09:00.000-08:00

Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree, for me.
Been an awful good girl,
Santa baby. So hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa baby, a fully loaded Ferrari too (light blue)
I'll wait up for you, dear.
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Think of all the fun I've missed.
Think of all the fellows that I haven't kissed.
Next year I could be just as good
If you check off my Christmas list.

Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot.
Been an angel all year.
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa honey, one little thing I really need, the deed
To a platinum mine,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks,
(Sign your x on the line).
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Come and trim my Christmas tree,
With some decorations bought at Tiffany's.
I really do believe in you,
Let's see if you believe in me.

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring,
(I don't mean on the phone.)
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.

Hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry, tonight.

I Don't Need No Stinkin Turkey Braces

2006-11-28T06:34:00.000-08:00

Bird Beak OrthoDontic Pliers

2006-11-28T06:30:00.000-08:00

Turkey Braces for Pope's Visit

2006-11-28T05:29:00.000-08:00

This crawl slithered under an unnamed newscast, daring interpretation.
First, I pictured orthodontia constructed from Thanksgiving leftovers, then nixed the idea when considering that braces derived from such easily digested material would surely be coaxed off the teeth by the tongue then digested. That can't be it.
Perhaps the wild turkeys in the vicinity of the Pope's visit suffered from CBS (crooked beak syndrome). Surely it would be upsetting to Heir Pope to see God's warm blooded egg laying creatures which, after having escaped slaughter during the recent American holiday celebrating obesity and obliteration of the Native American culture, find themselves with an unsightly overbite.
Because the process of beak-straightening is a lengthy one, and the Pope's vist is imminent, I offer this closing from the turkeys, who expect to have their braces removed and beaks Pope-appropriate, should His Holiness deign to repeat his visit in the future:
"Prostrate at the feet of Your Holiness and imploring the favor of its apostolic benediction, we have the honor to be, Very Holy Father, with the deepest veneration of Your Holiness, the most humble and most obedient servant turkeys."
Damned crooked-beak turkeys stole this from the Emily Post Institute "proper closing for a letter to the Pope" but I promised to deliver the message, so there it is.
Damned crooked-beak turkeys.

Ghede

2006-11-27T08:21:00.000-08:00

The Fifth Commandment, if you're Catholic

2006-11-27T07:54:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, while posting Lord Buckley's weekly service ("Murder") from the Church of the Living Swing, I was proud that I knew that the sermon was about the fifth commandment. I looked it up in my Bible, and there it was. I'm soooooo smart.
If you're Catholic.
Jews and Protestants will disagree with me. It's THEIR sixth commandment, lower on their totem pole. Well, they really aren't supposed to have totem poles. In the Protestant first commandment, they can have NO other gods before HIM. The Jews have an additional commandment explaining in detail that HE'S the one, and don't start with your images or likenesses or bla bla bla with any other gods.
Catholics, we just can't have STRANGE gods before HIM. Perfectly reasonable.
Keeps the Star Wars crazies out of church, with their costumes and weird language and confessions that bore the priests to distraction. All their sins are in their imaginations, you see, and Father wants the real deal, if he's going to sit for hours and forgive sins.
Anyhow, neither Jews nor Protestants rank murder as high on the commandment list as Catholics, so if you ARE going to be stabbed by a jealous lover, it's less likely to be one of us.
In the spirit of full disclosure, and with my assurance that I won't murder you if you don't agree with me, I provide for you the NOT strange gods I have before HIM.
Baron Samedi - Also known as Banguele, Ghede, Gede, Papa Ghede, Eleggue, Baron Samedi is a major ancestral inter-ethnic god of the Gorovodoun linked to historical/mythical persons. He is the death aspect of Ghede, guardian of the grave, protector of children, god of sexuality, eroticism and libido: the eternal figure in black who controls the crossroad through which everyone must cross. He controls access to the dead: he is to the afterlife what Legba is to life.
Baron Samedi is history. He has intimate contact with the dead. He is dearly loved; his presence brings laughter, joy, singing and dancing. Neither good nor evil, he reminds us that understanding of death and life is beyond our comprehension. His obscenity in sexual matters is thought to be an affirmation of life in the midst of death.
He is generally portrayed as tall, slim and pale in formal attire - black hat, undertaker’s coat and cane. He wears a pair of dark glasses with right lens knocked out to watch those present, lest they steal his food.
Thanks to Bill for the great image of Baron Samedi. He's never looked better.
Erzulie - Erzulie is Dahomean in nature, from the family of sea spirits. The Creole incantation of Ezilie, she is the goddess of love, earth mother, and the female energy of Papa Legba. Represented by the moon, Erzulie is a powerful spiritual deity who is feared as much as she is loved. Erzulie is married to Ogun (Deity of Iron), Agwe (Deity of the Sea) and Damballah (Serpent Deity).
Goddess of the word, help, goodwill, health, beauty, and fortune, as well as jealousy, vengeance and discord in some of her aspects, Erzulie is the differentiating force between humans and other creation. She is not elemental, but the ideal - she conceptualizes, hopes, dreams, has creative artistry and ideality.
Erzulie is the most beautiful and sensuous woman in Vodou pantheon, respected, fabulously rich, jealous, mistrustful of women, worldly, graceful, fond of sweet drinks, eats/drinks with great delicacy and loves to dance.
Ultimately, Erzulie is a tragic presence. Sometimes she weeps uncontrollably because it is she who suffers the sorrows of the world. It is this suffering that allows woman to love her despite her haughty ways.
In the sense that her love transcends the earth, Erzulie is a virgin, the complete antithesis of the crude sexuality of Baron Samedi.

See? This is why Catholics can be Vodouissants, too. When they get bored with the Bible, they can spend time with some very interesting cats and kitties, and it's no sin because they're not strange. Strange is a man with three wives.
Not strange is a woman with three husbands.
Go in peace.

Murder!

2006-11-26T07:21:00.000-08:00

After Thanksgiving Sunday Services

2006-11-26T07:10:00.000-08:00

Murder
Richard "Lord" Buckley, 1906-1960
M'Lords and M'Ladies of the Royal Court,
we should like to do for you a portrait
on the wildest most fantastic emotion
since the first turn of the wheel on the axle.

Ah, this emotion is so frantic and so crazy
and so insane and such a narcotic
that they get huge groups of people
to play this game together.
An emotion so strong, so wild --
this whole thing is a portrait of Man's
inability to completely control . . .
WOMAN.

This wild, wild, crazy, insane, far-out mother,
non-stop, screamin' crazy mad emotion --
and this emotion is... Murder!
MURDER!!

Murder...very expensive...murder.

For there is no man --
no man --
who has lived who has not said to himself
at one time or another:
"That woman. That woman. What is she doing to me?
Lying to me. I know it. I know it. Cheating on me.
Yes, yes, yes...
Talking while I'm talking.
Leading me around by my nose...
SPENDING MY MONEY!!!

"Ohhhh, I'll murder her."

The scene is a walk-up flat in Greenwich Village.
There are two characters in the scene.
One is a man...and the other...a woman.

The woman's head...ohhh, ahhh...is not on her body.

In the man's hand is a long, lean, mean, keen...bloody knife...
with the blood -- ahhhh, ahh, ahh, ah -- not yet congealed --
ohhhhh ahhhh ohhhhh --
just dripping, dripping, dripping, ripping...
lightly...lightly...lightly...lightly...

The man's conscience speaks first:
"Ahhh! Hoo! Hay! Oh! Oh! Ah, you brilliant mind!
You great super-egotist genius.
Look what you have done!
Look at her lying there.
Her head cut from her beautiful body.
I know what you're thinking.
You have plans. You have money.
Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run!
They'll pursue you. They'll bring you back.
They'll put you under those hot lights.
They will ask of you: the motive.
And you best have the motive.
The police want the motive.
The papers want the motive.
What is the motive?"

The man, himself, speaks:
"So, they'll want a motive, eh?
Well, I'll give them a motive.
And I swear to you that I can see the look
on their stupid, sweaty, sadistic faces
staring down into mine when I tell them
that I killed her because . . .
I LOVED HER.
Oh! Oh! Ohhh! Oh God help me I loved her.
Everything she did.
The way she walked.
The way she talked -- everything.
I loved her so much I could think of nothing else.
Day in day out. Year in year out.
Oh God I loved her.
Oh! When I tried to seek escape in sleep
she'd come into my subconscious mind
like she had a secret trap door.
Come in like a little girl --
like a tall one, like a thin girl.
Oh God.

"And the...and the...and the...
and the rotten, vicious, monstrous things
she did were to me...beautiful.
Beautiful! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. . .

"I loved her. I loved her.
I loved her so -- ahh ahh ahh ahh ...
I can still feel the -- ahh ahh --
exquisite pressure on my wrist
when I grabbed her beautiful neck
with a knife and the blood --
Ohhh! Woah! Woah! Woah!
Ha ha ha ha ha -- the rich, red blood.
Oh God! I did it! I did it. I'd do it again.
I'd do it a thousand times.
I told her. . .she wouldn't listen. . .I did it.

"Cut her up. Slice her up into little pieces.
Cut her up. Slice her up -- chop up her fingers.
Ship her away. Ship her away. Ship her out.
Put her in the car.
Ship her, ship her, ship her.
Cut her up.
I told her...I'll do it a thousand times.
Not he, not they -- Me! Me! Me!
I'll do it again. I'll do it again.
I'll fix her. She can't show me.
I'll show her -- you bet your life.
I'll do it again. . ."

"Henry?"

"I'll do it again."

"Henry?"

"Yes, yes, yes . . ."

"Henry."

"Huh?"

"Henry, I want you to go out out to the hen house
and feed the hens before breakfast dear."

"Ah, oh, ahh yes dear...I was just taking five."

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

From Parabolic REVELATIONS of the Late Lord Buckley: A Collection of Six Lessons by the "Hip Messiah", Pye Records/Nonesuch, 1963

Josh

2006-11-25T06:08:00.000-08:00

Cheney Hunt

2006-11-25T05:29:00.000-08:00

The election is over. The smarmy commercials are out of my face. As predicted on October 19, the Democrats won. But don't worry. They're the very definition of screwing things up.
My friend Josh is now being mentioned as an '08 senatorial candidate. It's much like being a fat celebrity. The crosshairs are steadied on one thing - HE'S PRO DEATH PENALTY!
Well, I know Josh. He's a ridiculously nice person. He is smart. He is loyal. He works effectively within a pathetically small budget. None of that is news, although candidate-wise it should be. HE'S PRO DEATH PENALTY!
I'm not pro death penalty, and I discussed that very thing with him at a party. He was polite, asked pertinent questions, listened intently and thanked me for my opinion. It was strangely unreal, as though I were dreaming and would soon wake up to Bill O'Reilly calling me a liberal slut at the top of his lungs.
On the other hand, I like Josh. Love his wife, Cindy, too, although I'm a little pissed off at her for taking some other friend with her to Amsterdam. I'll get over it, though.
She's lived in DC. Josh hasn't.
I fear for what it will do to him, like good cops that see too much horror to cope. For example, he'd be subjected to guys like this - also big death penalty supporters...
Cheney Going Hunting on Election Day
From Associated PressNovember 05, 2006 3:52 PM EST
WASHINGTON - Vice President Dick Cheney will spend Election Day on his first hunting trip since he accidentally shot a companion last February while aiming at a covey of quail on a private Texas ranch.
The vice president, after working at the White House on Monday morning, will head to South Dakota to spend several days at a private hunting lodge near Pierre. Lea Anne McBride, his press secretary, said it was an annual hunting outing and said Cheney spent Election Day in 2002 at the same lodge.
He will be accompanied by his daughter, Mary, and his political director, Mel Raines, who will help him keep track of the election returns, McBride said.
On a Feb. 11 hunting trip in Texas, Cheney shot attorney Harry Whittington in the torso, neck and face when he pulled the trigger on his 28-gauge shotgun. The vice president later called it "one of the worst days of my life" and said, "The image of him falling is something I'll never ever be able to get out of my mind."
The shooting was ruled an accident. Whittington was hospitalized for six days.
How can one be subjected to guys like this and not lose his soul?
Wait...Josh is also an atheist.
And pro-choice.
No one will ever mention that he comforts the families of crime victims long after their case is news. No one will ever mention that he vigorously prosecutes cases for persons in cases referred to as "NHI" (No Humans Involved).
He's a great guy.
We probably don't deserve him.

Big Love

2006-11-24T06:53:00.000-08:00

Little Love

2006-11-24T06:52:00.000-08:00

Bless Me Father, For I Have Watched

2006-11-24T06:13:00.000-08:00

Like repentant Lent observers following Fat Tuesday, I confess this, after gobbling turkey, apple-cranberry-sausage stuffing, sweet potatoes, corn something, sorbet and two glasses of bubbly.
There are two television shows that I cannot stop watching. The first is well written, well acted and well produced Big Love on HBO. It's about a Mormon man, his three wives and their countless children. The husband is attractive, sincere, hard-working and likeable; and his wives, interesting and alluring in very individual ways. There's the loyal, pretty, intelligent first wife; the modest, traditional, ideologuish second wife; and the young, emotional and exuberant third wife.
The characters are complex and believable, and the wives seem to me to be the kind men would pick if they could have whomever they wanted on a committed basis. It's intriguing to watch their honesty, their interaction, frustrations and family structure. I love all the women, too, and wouldn't let go of any of them either.
The other is my shameful voyeuristic vice. It's The Girls Next Door reality show on E. It's about Hugh Hefner, the 80-ish, sniggering, creative force behind the Playboy brand. Now with his magazine, tv show, soft porn videos and a club at the Palms in Vegas, Hef and his three girlfriends - pretty, blonde, silicon breasted Holly; sultry, smart, blonde, natural breasted Bridget; and athletic, young, blonde, silicon breasted Kendra - all live smiley and partily at the Playboy Mansion.
The characters are simple and unbelievable, and the girlfriends seem to me to be the kind dirty old men would pick if they could have whomever they wanted on a committed basis. They're always happy, flirty, ditzy and perky. They're little blonde drag queen Uncle Toms and Hef is Massa. I can't look away.
Hi, I'm Kitty.
I'm a deeply closeted multi-relationship voyeur.

Old Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T08:03:00.000-08:00

Old Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T07:58:00.000-08:00

Transition Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T07:40:00.000-08:00

I was trying to remember the last time I was with my family for Thanksgiving, and can't.
New traditions are in the making, ones with dear friends merrily chatting, looking fabulous at whatever four or five star restaurant we chose; and at home, a turkey breast and Paul's delicious cranberry relish for turkey sandwiches on toasted sourdough bread on which to chomp while watching football games.
No arguments. No hysteria. No recriminations about old hurts. No bla bla bla about Jesus while my food's getting cold.
Wise brother Billy observed that the last meaningful family relationship I had in LA died with my Meema late in 1980. I needed twenty additional years of hanging on like the last leaf in late fall before I moved away and started being thankful that I have great friends and no one bothering me during the game.
Gratias, Billy, for wisely observing that change is good.

Gratias

2006-11-22T07:40:00.000-08:00

Fabulous friends

2006-11-22T07:39:00.000-08:00

Foxy Roxy, Lotta Moxy

Happy Happy Birthday Baby

2006-11-21T15:54:00.000-08:00

Weavers, 1957 (when Big Mac was just 17)

2006-11-21T15:34:00.000-08:00

Happy Happy Birthday Baby, although you're with somebody new
Thought I'd drop a line to say that I wish this happy day
would find me beside you.

Happy Happy Birthday Baby, no I can't call you my baby
Seems like years ago we met on a day I can't forget
cause that's when we fell in love.

Do you remember the names we had for each other
I was your pretty, you were my baby
how could we say goodbye.

Hope I didn't spoil your birthday, I'm not acting like a lady
So I'll close this note to you with good luck and wishes too
Happy Happy Birthday Baby.

Evil in the Fall

2006-11-20T08:03:00.000-08:00

Missing Mass

2006-11-20T07:47:00.000-08:00

Anyone who was raised Catholic will tell you that there is a statistically significant positive correlation between the amount of guilt one feels, particularly in that groggy state between sleep and consciousness, for not attending Mass on any given Sunday, and the amount of Catholic religious training one had. "It's a MORTAL sin," your brain whispers, "that can send your soul to eternal damnation, unless you make a good confession before you die."
My Vodou cannot kill that whispering demon, so my eternally damned soul instead watched the battle between good (Tony Dungy's Colts) and evil (Bill Parcell's Cowboys). Evil won. I believe that was the first sign of the Apocolypse.
Readying myself for the Second Coming, I really regret having failed to provide services from The Church of the Living Swing yesterday. Forgive me, O Lord.

Is This the Sticker?
Richard "Lord" Buckley, 1906-1960
(Cf. Macbeth, Act 2, Scene 1, lines 31-64)

Go, sound my chick to hip me when my juice is ready.
I'll be straight when she knocks the gong.
And you, make your sack and cool.

Is this the sticker which I dig deep in front,
The handle touting my flipped fingers?
Groove, let me dig your frame.
I'm hip you come on like a voodoo,
And yet, you rock me the most.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to the pinch
As to the scene, or art thou but a sharp freak of wig
Flying from an off-beat wig tilt?
I dig thee yet in form as this which now I am double-bugged by.
Thou hast false hipped me into this way of blowing
And hipped me....
Oh, that the sticker was the only lick.
My peepers are made the emblems of my other charges,
Or else, capping all others, I dig,
This is Cinerama!
And on thy blade and swinger
Flipped founts of the jumpin' red
Which was not the issue before.
Just another blowing phantom.
It is this bloody flip
Which hits thus to my glimmers.
Now, over my sweet sack world
My natural kicks won't jump
And bad dreams stomp and tilt my nod pads uncool go.
Boon voodoo buddy stallions
Tops Hecate's most phantastic jazz,
And with it, the twisted monster cat,
Sounded by his look-out, the gnasher,
Who's gut thunder his swatch mates with groovy temple
And swings with Tarquin's tall non-stop strides
Straight to his mad kicks.
Moves like a crazy scare-crow in the stoneyard.
Now, thou solid and firm-set sod,
Dig not my strides, which way they blow,
For fear that I shall knock a stone
And make known my riff.
And cool my wigs from the free drags that blow so righteous.
While I flip, he grooves.
Sounds to the heat of framed fiends too cold breath hips.
I must cut and it is covered.
The chimes call me.
But dig it not too rosy, Duncan,
For it is the swinger that will take you
To The Garden or to Heat City.

Translation for the squares...

MACBETH: Go bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. Exit Servant.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going,
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one half-world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd Murther,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives;
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
A bell rings.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. Exit.

Michael Richards

2006-11-18T08:44:00.000-08:00

A Condition Called MR

Holiday Fucking Greetings

2006-11-18T08:33:00.000-08:00

Does anyone else remember the Michael Richards show? He's the guy who played "Kramer" on Seinfeld, and had a badly written, short lived sit com about a wacky private eye. Don't remember it? No problem. Neither does anyone else.
Late in the year that it DID run, Michael Richards recorded a message saying, "Happy Kwansaa from all of us at the Michael Richards Show."
I wish I had that recording. If I did, I'd play it at the end of this charming little story...

Richards Has Angry Outburst at Club
From Associated Press
November 20, 2006 11:06 AM EST
LOS ANGELES - Michael Richards stunned a comedy club audience, shouting racial epithets at people who heckled him during a stand-up routine.

The 57-year-old actor-comedian, best known for playing Jerry Seinfeld's eccentric neighbor Kramer on the hit TV show "Seinfeld," was performing at the Laugh Factory in West Hollywood Friday night when he launched into the verbal rampage, according to video posted on TMZ.com.

The tirade apparently began after two black audience members started shouting at him that he wasn't funny.

Richards retorted: "Shut up! Fifty years ago we'd have you upside down with a f------ fork up your a--."

He then paced across the stage taunting the men for interrupting his show, peppering his speech with racial slurs and profanities.

"You can talk, you can talk, you're brave now mother------. Throw his a-- out. He's a n-----!" Richards shouts before repeating the racial epithet over and over again.

While there is some audible chuckling in the audience throughout the outburst, someone can be heard gasping "Oh my God" and various people "0oh" after Richard uses the n-word.

Richards performed the next night at the Laugh Factory without incident.

Calls to Richards' representatives were not immediately returned early Monday.

He refused to comment on-camera when reached by CNN, but the network reported that he said off-camera he felt sorry for what had happened and had made amends.

A Big Hug from Minnie

2006-11-15T08:43:00.000-08:00

The Mouse Around Your Neck

2006-11-15T07:38:00.000-08:00

Wal-Mart Recalls Minnie Mouse Cardigan Sets Due to Strangulation Hazard
WASHINGTON, D.C. - The U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission, in cooperation with the firm named below, today announced a voluntary recall of the following consumer product. Consumers should stop using recalled products immediately unless otherwise instructed.

Name of Product: Minnie Mouse Cardigan Sets

Units: About 14,000

Distributor: Wal-Mart Stores Inc., of Bentonville, Ark.

Hazard: If the cardigan is buttoned, the ribbon woven around the neckline poses a strangulation hazard for children.

Incidents/Injuries: No incidents or injuries have been reported.

Description: The pink cardigan is sold as part of a three-piece set which also includes a light pink turtleneck and denim pants. The cardigan has a pink ribbon woven around the neckline. Minnie Mouse is embroidered on the lower left front of the cardigan. The cardigan was sold in sizes 12M, 18M, 24M, 3T, 4T, and 5T.

Sold exclusively at: Wal-Mart stores nationwide from July 2006 through August 2006 for about $15.

Manufactured in: China

Remedy: Consumers should take the recalled cardigan away from children immediately and return the entire three-piece set to Wal-Mart for a full refund.

Mouse In the Clock, Chapters One and Two by Bill Bill (since Kitty is busy being blown to Kansas by the winds on the Oregon Coast).

2006-11-14T15:44:00.000-08:00

THE MOUSE IN THE CLOCK
Chapter One
So long as we are on about Christmas..(do try
not to say "Bills!" again
until January at the very
earliest, there's a sweet
pussy..I mean, kitty.
(Though a mouse, I am of the manly gender and tend to get those two cherishing
diminutives mixed up)..
I think I would like to share with you one of the most dear and warmly held yuletide traditions in all of Mousedom..a treasured tale loved and lovingly repeated every year since time before memory. Each mousehearth, no matter how tiny its fire, has its eager huddle of old and young alike waiting for the grayest senior to begin the story. I always think of Greatgranny telling it way back when I was just barely up out of my puphood.
"This is not," she began, "a pretty tale on the whole. There is blood and treachery..coldheart sadness..there is the
sharp bite that crushes.. and the dear one who never again comes home.."(wee Timmy snuffled and his widowed mum held him close)"..but there is also the great courage of a tiny heart..a loving pair whose sweet legend still resounds in our lives
..what it means to truly give a gift..and some thought of why we live as we do and where. Are we, then, ready to begin?"
Gleaming little eyes all 'round and smiles and nods and bold Maudie called "Go it, Gran!".
She looked into the rose glow beneath the twigs and rocked twice, three times, and cleared her throat:
"So long ago that this housing estate was one of the ridings of a great house..so long that there were no electric lights, no radiograms, no railway engines and no automobiles or motor-bicycles..so long that the humble folk stood still and took off their caps when the great folk passed along the road..but not so long that there were not already clocks!"
"Yayyy!" Timmy burst out
and was gently surpressed.
(You see, everyone knows
..each and every mouse that now lives.. knows this story. It is not the knowing of it that is enough, really, but the telling of it as we are all together wintering over the Cold Blowing that
matters, as you shall soon see in Chapter Two.)
THE MOUSE IN THE CLOCK
Chapter Two

Greatgran continued "Yes, there were clocks! And as you all know this is very important to our story.
A particular clock of great age and stature lived at
Dudgeon Hall, an estate that sprawled in the wilds of west England below the edge of the great mysterious downs and above the miles of gradient to the sea. On a sort of almost level shelf of rolling
hills and forest right under Dugeon Down to the east were the home parklands of Dudgeon House..some five
good english miles on a side..and right in the middle rose the yellow-brown stones of Dudgeon House. Christopher Wren stopped over to idle an hour for tea one June afternoon on his way to Oxfordshire.
After examining the edifice both in and out, with
his eyes wide and his mouth open, he said, to the
Resident, smiling wryly, "If we may believe Grachus the Younger (and quite frankly I don't think we can) Palladio came to England in the year 243 anno domine..just toward the end of the Roman Era. If he did come (mind you, I don't think he did at all)
he just may have had something to do with the central lower storey of your house! What d'you think of that, Sir?" The Resident thought carefully for a several moments and answered, "Well, Mister Wren, if you knew what you were talking about (and I think it most unlikely that you do) that would be very fine and interesting news, indeed!" Both men then seemed
to take much comfort that there was nothing conditional about the tea. Not many years away from
Mr. Wren, the great estate gardener, Capability
Brown came. Beginning in the house, he walked the
long hall peering at the panels. "I say," he asked,
"are these Grinling Gibbons?" That era's Resident,
a stolid fellow with pig-shite on his rough boots
and ten times interest in his tenant's ploughing
practices than the artistic ply of a gouge chisel,
replied, "Aow nay..they's bas-relief carvings, them
is!".

Squared Up Nazz

2006-11-05T06:21:00.000-08:00

Sunday Services Postponed

2006-11-05T05:53:00.000-08:00

Lord Buckley spoke to me while Morpheus was diggin on my eyebrows and God's lanterns were shinin in the sky and said,
"You been sparkin the vine wid so much false hip on the Nazz, baby. All this jumpin salty has me foul headed. Time to buddy with some cats and kitties that practice credulity before you is miles from noplace, and shook and bleedin inside.
Now you put it in the book, lay it down, put it down dat we gotta knock the corners off these squares - dat the main day cat on top want mi'lords and mi'ladys to romp 'n' tromp and wail and jump and be groovy and frantic and sweet and strong. Vance the worthy and swoop the scene from the hung up, backed up, framed up and jacked up cross loaders and double dealers dat is hangin up the sweet rhythm of life cuz they out of their skulls and duckin' the flow.
You have one groovy day full of the glorious ecstacy of cathedral headed beauty and dig each other rightously. Not much of a wig stretch, if you cool yourself and swing for the moon."
Thank you, Lord, I'll speechify this. Stay cool, and I'll catch you down the road.

There's Brother Billy

2006-11-04T07:13:00.000-08:00

...and "Billy Boy" Billy C

2006-11-04T07:06:00.000-08:00

Too Many Bills!

2006-11-04T07:02:00.000-08:00

Under the post titled BILL Parcells, Anonymouse BILL (we'll call him) snuck the following little gem on the day before heavily armoured BILL Fedun misinterpreted my gayly sardonic little Christmas romp as the ravings of one in whose cornflakes someone pissed.

Too many bills, I'd say. Sadly, I bid farewell to Parcells and armoured Bill. Dear anonymouse Bill (we'll call him) is a keeper, to wit...

Sometimes I lie in my little bed behind the foot-
moulding in the sitting room and read a bit of Talleyrand before sleep
in the handy micro-edition
from Prentice-Hall-U.K.
Contrary to what you might
think, the soft droning purr of the big brindle
tabby lying just beyond
my penny-size entryway
(inboard of and slightly above the quarterround) is rather a lovely soporific instead of some sort of dire portent or threat. The best of us simply live
with it, you see. Now and
then we do get the odd
depressed mouse or even an
occasional frankly- psychotic one..though I
personally think, from my
armchair genetics study,
that these traits have been by nature bred out of
us with the help of a harsh environmental mechanism: sad and mad mice are terribly vulnerable and are often 'disappeared'
before they have the chance to marry and create
issue. Take my great Uncle
Maurice, for instance. Not
mad by birth, he came home
from The Great War with a
very odd superbright look
in his little marmite eyes
and a whiskers twitch that
was very very disturbing, especially to the little ones who would whine and
hide behind Mummy. He had been in ground munitions with the BEF throughout the second Ypres Offensive and was always muttering about fuse lengths and flash delays and such like
and seemed to be fond of collecting stinky volatile
liquids.
There was a tom everyone
especially hated, very stupid but extraordinarily
mean. I won't offend your
tender sensibilities by
telling you what he liked
to do to us. Anything you
can imagine is bad enough.
Uncle Maurice began to
call the tom Kaiser Bill
and blurt out things like
"Cut his bloody ballocks off and hang'em on the Wire! That's what I say!"
and "Hangin's too good for
him! He wants another
worser end, he does! Summat like poor old Herbert with his guts draped out all over the parapet and a-crying for his mother 'til he faded!"
I had the feeling it was
only a matter of time. A
day came when Uncle Maurice
turned up absent as we say
and all feared the worst.
I did notice that U.M.'s
materiels were gone missing
and there was an unusual
scent in the general air..
like a garage or a car park
or a petrol kiosk...
By the big hallway hole,
then, the one nearly as large as a shilling that a
catpaw and much of a fore-
arm can get in..a reaching
clawing arm and we knew by
color it was Kaiser Bill..
Maurice by the hole just inside and drenched and ragged and bloody but smiling a hideous smile and with both hands he prepared to
scratch the kitchen match
the size of a mouseball bat
across the lath.."Hai! It's me boys!" his voice
screaming with dark joy,
"anyone care for a bit of HOT PUSSY!! Hahahahaha!!!"
Of course the whole lot
went up..Maurice too, which I must believe he intended all along. We put
him out, too late, while (at the risk of portraying us as sadistic) we enjoyed the sound of a thoroughly
accelerant-conflagrated
Kaiser Bill richocheting
off the household walls
until he, too, like poor Herbert, faded.

Logo of Catholic League

2006-11-03T06:18:00.000-08:00

for Religious and Civil Rights

Serendipity

2006-11-03T06:04:00.000-08:00

In response to yesterday's "War on Christmas", "Stag" writes:

"Just ran into your blog by clicking the "next blog" function on blogger. No comments. And its been, what, nearly a year! Hmm. But this SO calls for a comment.

"Merry Christmas, and may you face an eternity of damnation and misery."

my my, who pissed in YOUR cornflakes? Don't you have homeless people, addicts or nursing homes to which could use this energy instead of turning it to hate?

Me...I got no time for anybody who wishes eternal damnation and misery on somebody who is told to separate church and state in a department store. Don't you think such disgust should be saved for child pornographers and serial killers?

Oh, and may the Mass of Christ be solemn and full of light for you and your family."

"Stag" is

Bill Fedun
Age: 50
Gender: male
Astrological Sign: Leo
Zodiac Year: Monkey
Industry: Arts
Occupation: sword and armour maker

Note the logo of the Catholic League above...

You don't suppose that..., well, Bill, if you're a soldier for the League, or even if you just make their shields and swords, please know that I write with tremendous subtlety, and while I certainly understand if you missed it, I was just kidding around with pissed off Jesus and his army of Christian (preferably Catholic) soldiers.

Now, just put the sword down, and we'll talk about this, okay?

Armored Bill

2006-11-03T05:45:00.000-08:00

Catholic League Knight (White) vs Vodou Kitty (Black)

2006-11-03T04:36:00.000-08:00

Jesus' Birthday, Gone Wrong

2006-11-02T05:52:00.000-08:00

“Blind guides! How terrible it will be for you… Snakes! Sons of vipers!"

"It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas"

2006-11-02T05:47:00.000-08:00

It's Beginning to Look Like War on Christmas - 2005

To: You Pagans

From: Catholic League of Religious and Civil Rights (via pissed off Jesus), with love and prayers that you'll recognize Christmas as the birthday of Jesus Christ, the head of the one, true, holy and apostolic church to avoid eternal damnation and bad Christmas presents

October 26
New York, NY—In 2005, the Children's Museum of Manhattan honored holidays for Hispanics, Jews, Muslims and African Americans, but not for Christians. In October the museum featured Hispanic Heritage Month, as well as a Ramadan in New York City Festival; the latter event meant that children were read stories about Islamic traditions. There were no Columbus Day events for the city's Italian Catholic community. In November, there was an Eid in New York City Festival for Muslims, but Christians got nothing for Thanksgiving. Jewish and African-American holidays were celebrated in December when the museum honored Hanukkah and Kwanzaa, respectively, but there was nothing for Christians at Christmas, save for a "Fruity Fondue" event.

November 3
San Diego, CA—The regional director of the Anti-Defamation League announced his distain for "Christmas programs" and his support for "winter programs." Morris S. Casuto explained his reasoning by saying, "School and public events should be designed to enable diverse communities to participate without feeling left out or marginalized."

November 3
Huntington, WV—Marshall University instituted a decoration contest emphasizing non-Christmas symbols. "The main idea in our contest is to enrich [the] campus according to the winter tradition," explained Christina Burgueno, associate professor of modern languages and a member of the contest committee. "There is such an amount of diversity now at our campus. We want to celebrate the traditions of other people, people from other places."

November 9
The Catholic League started a boycott against Wal-Mart, citing discrimination against Christians. Two days later, Wal-Mart folded, yielding to the league's three demands. Ergo, we called off our boycott.

Our troubles with Wal-Mart began when a woman e-mailed the company complaining about its policy of encouraging its employees to say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." The response she got, from a Customer Service employee called Kirby, was astounding. Here's what Kirby said (we are reproducing his statement exactly as it was sent, errors and all):

Walmart is a world wide organization and must remain conscious of this. The majority of the world still has different practices other than 'christmas' which is an ancient tradition that has its roots in Siberain shamanism. The colors associated with 'christmas' red and white are actually a representation of the aminita mascera mushroom. Santa is also borrowed from the Caucuses, mistletoe from the Celts, yule log from the Goths, the time from the Visigoth and the tree from the worship of Baal. It is a wide wide world.

The woman then e-mailed Kirby's statement to us. Our first reaction was that this was obviously the work of some underling. Wal-Mart, being a behemoth of an organization, could not possibly police everyone in every department. But we decided that Wal-Mart's top public relations person should know about this; we were curious to see what he or she might say. So we e-mailed Kirby's remark to Dan Fogleman, Wal-Mart's senior manager in public relations. To our surprise, Fogleman not did not disagree with Kirby, and even proceeded to give us a lecture on diversity. Here is part of what he told us (again, we are not correcting the errors):

As a retailer, we recognize some of our customers may be shopping for Chanukah or Kwanza gifts during this time of year and we certainly want these customers in our stores and to feel welcome, just as we do those buying for Christmas. As an employer, we recognize the significance of the Christmas holiday among our family of associates…and close our stores in observance, the only day during the year that we are closed.

After being insulted again, we decided to do one more thing: to see how Wal-Mart treats Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and Christmas. What we found was revealing. By typing Hanukkah into the search engine of its website, 200 items appeared. Typing Kwanzaa yielded 77 items. But when Christmas was entered, here's what appeared on the screen: "We've brought you to our 'Holiday' page based on your search."

That was it. On November 9, we issued a news release titled, "Wal-Mart Bans Christmas; Boycott Launched." In it, we said that when we initially read Kirby's statement, we assumed "he might be drunk." We also said, "It's nice to know that Wal-Mart is closed on a federal holiday." We immediately contacted 126 religious groups spanning seven faith communities asking them to join with us in the boycott.

On November 10, Worldnetdaily.com flagged this story on its website as the lead news story. This led to a string of interviews on talk radio around the nation. In every case, listeners were livid: they felt betrayed that the "family-friendly" retailer would do this. So they e-mailed Fogleman to let him know what they thought. Bill Donohue e-mailed Fogleman his own missive: "Now that Wal-Mart is standing by its position, I hope you're ready for our next move. Don't forget, we have the next six weeks to pull out all the stops, and we will."

Meanwhile, Wal-Mart spokeswoman Jolanda Steward told the press that the store was just trying to help its customers "celebrate their individual needs and wants." To which Donohue said, "I thought Wal-Mart was a department store—not a Wellness Center." Then Donohue got hold of the e-mail address of a senior Wal-Mart official, Ryan Loken, and sent him the following note:

Wal-Mart has made a huge mistake taking us on just at the start of the Christmas buying season. Why you are keeping Fogleman on as your PR man is mind-boggling. Have you seen worldnetdaily.com? Are you aware that our staff has been doing one radio talk show interview after another all day, with many more scheduled? Ask Fogleman how many e-mails he has received and what people are saying.

The Left has unfairly attacked Wal-Mart for years. But now you've angered your base—conservative Christians.

To put an end to our boycott, read the news release I wrote today. I'm not asking for the moon. But I will tell you this much: we have the money, time and determination necessary to keep this up for the next six weeks. In other words, the ball is in your court.

The November 10 news release listed three demands: "We want a) an apology for insulting Christians by effectively banning Christmas b) a withdrawal of its insane statement regarding the origins of Christmas and c) a revision on its website."

When Donohue got to work early on November 11, news reports were carrying the Wal-Mart apology, saying that Kirby had been fired. Then Donohue checked Wal-Mart's website and found that by typing Christmas in its search engine, customers were taken to the Christmas site. We thus declared victory and an end to the boycott.

November 28
Olympia, WA—Public school teachers in three districts (North Thurston, Olympia and Tumwater) were no longer permitted to engage in activities that promote any particular religious holiday. Instead, students were encouraged to participate in "change of season" activities. "We can't promote one belief over the other," said Paula Quinn, principal at Lydia Hawk Elementary in Lacey. "At Lydia Hawk, we have a very, very, diverse population, and I try to be very sensitive to that."

November 29
Wellington, FL—A Wellington Village Council member withdrew his request to include a nativity scene in the annual holiday display after getting little support from village and business officials. The holiday display included a Christmas tree and a menorah.

November 29
Jefferson, GA—The Jackson County School System sent a letter to teachers prohibiting them from wearing "any pins, angels, crosses, clothing" with any religious connotation or affiliation, and from referring to any party as a "Christmas" party. Christmas songs with religious wording were removed from the winter concert.

November 29
After a public outcry, Lowe's home-improvement stores were forced to change banners that referred to Christmas trees as "Holiday Trees" in English and "Christmas Trees" in Spanish. The store decided to call all Christmas trees by their proper name.

December 1
The Catholic League contacted Lands' End clothing store about the use of "holidays" instead of Christmas in its catalog. Printed below is part of the reply we received from Merlin W. Gorsline in the Customer Relations Department:

We find ourselves in a difficult position with this issue. As a result, we have adopted the "holiday" terminology as a way to comply with one of the basic freedoms granted to all Americans: freedom of religion. We recognize that Christmas is a Christian holiday, and one of the foremost teachings of the Christian faith is a love for one's fellowman—no matter what [sic] his race, religion or creed. If we knew which customers feel as you do, we would be delighted to send them catalogs with "Merry Christmas" splashed throughout the pages. However, we don't.

After fielding our complaint, Jackie Schutty, an executive from Lands' End, told us on December 7 that "the information that was recently shared by one of our Lands' End representatives does not accurately reflect our company's position." She also said, "We apologize for any confusion and appreciate the opportunity to clarify our position."

December 1
Auburn, AL—Auburn University's Student Government Association renamed the university's annual Christmas tree a "Holiday tree" in a press release announcing the tree-lighting event.

December 1
South Florida—Florida Atlantic University called an "EMERGENCY" meeting about the controversy surrounding the school's "Finals Week" tree. For the past six years, the "Finals Week" tree—adorned with lollipops, Fritos, etc. (courtesy of the faculty)—had been on display at the end of each semester. Mark Tunick, a professor and interim dean, made the mistake of e-mailing 57 employees encouraging them to support "the traditional finals week Christmas tree with snack." Professor Martin J. Sweet said religious symbols don't belong on campus. Student government officials and faculty members pledged to hold "multiple meetings" to deal with this issue.

The Catholic League could not resisting noting that the same university made headlines following Hurricane Katrina: condoms were promiscuously distributed to students. This is the same school that caught our attention in 2001 when it hosted the anti-Catholic play, "Corpus Christi."

December 3
Chula Vista, CA—Six girls were barred from performing their hip-hop dance routine at the city's "Holiday Festival" show because they wore "Jesus Christ Dancers" shirts at the event. A city official prevented them from performing because of the message on their shirts and the Christian music that accompanied the routine. An attorney for the American Family Association stated that "The city allowed a Hawaiian prayer dance, a belly dancer and other 'holiday' performers, and there was a tree-lighting ceremony afterward where a rabbi lighted a menorah."

December 6
Glendale, WI—The Glendale-River Hills School District had a written policy stating that songs with "dogmatic religious statements" were banned from concerts. But this didn't stop the school's concert from including Hanukkah songs.

December 7
Shawnee, KS—Deputy City Manager Carol Gonzalez barred Joseph and Mary actors from the town's annual Christmas celebration because she felt it crossed the line between the separation of church and state.

December 7
Federal Way, WA—A nutrition services employee mistakenly placed the words "Merry Christmas" on lunch menus for all 23 elementary school. In response, the district recalled and reprinted them with the greeting "Happy Holidays." A school spokeswoman for the district said "Merry Christmas" on the menus violated the school system's policies because "it has a religious connotation for some people."

December 7
Medina, WA—Medina Elementary School removed a "Giving Tree" with mittens labeled with gift ideas for the poor after a parent complained that it had religious connotations.

December 7
Bartlett, TN—The Memphis Library system erected a nativity scene that included just three farm animals and a shepherd boy. The presence of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, along with the Three Wise Men, were deemed "inappropriate" by school officials.

December 8
Manhasset, NY—At a Christmas tree lighting celebration, Town of North Hempstead supervisor Jon Kaiman became frustrated when the Rev. Nick Zientarski gave a traditional Catholic blessing. In the midst of the blessing, Kaiman was overheard saying, "This is nonsense," "We're not doing this next year," and "I can't believe this." When Rev. Zientarski finished his blessing, Kaiman immediately took the microphone and told the crowd, "I just want to make it clear that this is in no way a religious ceremony. We're here to celebrate the holiday tree lighting. This is no place for a religious ceremony." After public outrage, Kaiman apologized to Fr. Zientarski and the people of North Hempstead for his behavior.

December 12
Sacramento, CA—Patricia Sonntag, director of the Office of Services to Students with Disabilities at California State University, Sacramento, banned 4th of July celebrations, along with Christmas, from her office. Here is her directive:

With the new year, we will now celebrate the seasons and holiday without decorations in the public areas and hallways. This is a secular university and we are a public service area that has a diverse employee and student populations [sic] even in our private offices. In order to avoid offending someone else, we will not display celebratory reminders. This specifically includes Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Valentines, 4th of July, St. Patrick's Day and Easter, off the top of the list. I, for one, am the worst offender and celebrant. Time has come to recognize that religious discrimination, as well as ethnic insensitivity to certain holidays, is forbidden. I am sorry if this offends anyone, but it is time to start the new year differently.

December 13
New York, NY—Condo board members at Donald Trump's luxury 220 Riverside Blvd. building refused to allow a tenant to put a nativity scene in the lobby of the building, even though they displayed a menorah.

December 14
Chicago, IL—The Theatre Building Chicago hosted the play, "The Eight: Reindeer Monologues," by Jeff Goode. The play is about sexual harassment by Santa and an abused reindeer.

December 19
Mine Hill, NJ—An elementary school changed the title and lyrics to the Christmas carol "Silent Night, Winter Night" at its "X-mas Files" concert. Children were also banned from writing "Merry Christmas" in class but were allowed to write Feliz Navidad. For the concert, students were encouraged to bring in musical selections but were told not to bring any religious songs.

December 19
Centennial, CO—Heritage Elementary School officials banned a student from bringing a nativity scene to school and telling the story of Christmas. The school also barred candy canes that contained a story about their religious symbolism, and cookies shaped like traditional Christmas symbols.

December 19
Texas public school teachers were told that they could not mention the word "Christmas" or tell the nativity story.

December 29
Holliston, MA—The Central Street fire station was forced to remove an illuminated cross and menorah after a resident complained it violated a new town policy.

Politically Correct Trees:

The following venues replaced Christmas trees with "Holiday Trees": Hagerstown, Maryland; Duffy Square in Times Square, New York; Overland Park, Kansas; Roanoke, Virginia; Bangor, Maine; Westminster, Maryland; and Auburn University (a vote by the Student Senate to change the name to 'Christmas tree' lost 22-4). In lieu of a Christmas tree, the following venues had a "Giving Tree": the Naval Academy; Lousiana State University; University of New Mexico; Madison, Wisconsin; and West Hollywood.

In place of a Christmas tree, there was a "Grand Tree" in Atlanta; a "Union Tree" at Purdue University; a "Peace Tree" in Washington Park, Illinois; and a "Friendship Tree" was found in Hoffman Estates, Illinois and Manchester, Massachusetts.

The display of secular "Holiday Trees," alongside the Jewish religious symbol, the menorah, was commonplace, ranging from places like San Diego Hospice & Palliative Care to Langley Air Force Base in Virginia to the Village Hall in Gurnee, Illinois.

Christmas Vandalism:

From nativity scenes to secular Christmas displays, vandals hit the following places: Birmingham, AL; Homewood, AL; Montgomery, AL; Bella Vista, AR; Eureka Springs, AR; Little Rock, AR; Van Buren, AR; Campbell, CA; Covina, CA; Fremont, CA; Glendale, CA; Martinez, CA; Newport Beach, CA; Fresno, CA; Los Angeles, CA; Walnut Creek, CA; Westminster, CO; Cape Coral, FL; Delray Beach, FL; Longboat Key, FL; Miami Springs, FL; Medley, FL; Port Saint Lucie, FL; St. Lucie West, FL; St. Petersburg, FL; Belleville, IL; Galesburg, IL; West Frankfort, IL; Olathe, KS; Marrero, LA; Brockton, MA; Cohasset, MA; Londonderry, MA; Quincy, MA; Glen Burnie, MD; Greenbelt, MD; Severn, MD; Port Huron, MI; Waltz, MI; Bay Port, MN; Marquis Point, MN; West St. Paul, MN; Woodbury, MN; Asbury Park, NJ; Branchville, NJ; Hamilton, NJ; Howell, NJ; Old Bridge, NJ; Prospect Park, NJ; Sayreville, NJ (police found 27 baby Jesus statues in the car of a suspected thief); Trenton, NJ; Holbrook, NY; Larchmont, NY; Pearl River, NY; Troy, NY; Hilton Head, NC; Wilmington, NC; Cheviot, OH; Dayton, OH; Fremont, OH; Hamilton, OH; Whitaker Park, OK; Medford, OR; New Kensington, PA; Watsontown, PA; Wilkes-Barre, PA; South Kingstown, RI; Lexington, SC; Allen, TX; Grapevine, TX; Houston, TX; Killeen, TX; Murfreesboro, TN; Draper, UT; Logan, UT; Fredricksburg, VA; Eatonville, WA; Seattle, WA; Madison, WI; New Berlin, WI; Oak Hill, WV.

A large blindfolded Santa was found hanging from a tree in Miami Beach, FL; in Boston, vandals decapitated Santa; Santa's throat was cut in Lincoln, NE; a dead Santa turned up in Oklahoma City, OK; a bloody Santa holding a severed head was displayed in New York City (this was done intentionally by the homeowners); and in Orlando, FL, a bloody Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was found swinging from a tree.

In closing, Jesus enlightened me to say:
Merry Christmas, and may you blasphemers face an eternity of damnation and misery for screwing up my birthday. Ite in pace.
That's Latin for "go in peace," you pagan.

Coach Parcells

2006-11-01T07:22:00.000-08:00

Gently coaxing the Christian Children to football victory

Wet Socks

2006-11-01T05:52:00.000-08:00

Last night, bleary-eyed, staring at the television with a kindly, Santa-looking guy imploring me for money for babies with flies on their faces (before), turned uniformed and scrubbed little soldiers for Jesus (after) thanks to the Christian Children's Fund (don't worry, 80 cents of every dollar goes to these kids), I thought, "Shut up, Santa guy, I've got problems of my own."
It's turned damned nippy up here and the floors are icy. Always properly socked, my feet still feel cold. Then, it happens.
I step in a puddle. Aaaaaaargh!
Wet socks on a cold floor. Damn. I hate that feeling.
I hate that feeling as much as I hate watching football and hearing John Madden go on and on about Romo - and it's NOT Bill Romanowski. It's some new schmuck quarterbacking for old schmuck Coach Parcells. The moniker ROMO is taken, boys, and it's NOT for this guy.
Then you turn on a Chargers game and they blab about LT and it's NOT Lawrence Taylor - it's some kid named LaDainian Tomlinson. LaDainian is NOT LT. He's LDT.
Romo and LT were killers, maimers, wild-eyed maniacs who played football with a vengeance, the way it is supposed to be played.
Let these new little football panty-waists get their own nicknames.
And, listen, Santa guy. 80 cents of every dollar means that 20% of your money isn't going to the little kids with flies on their faces, and that's no bargain.
Give 'em to me. They're tough little fuckers. I'll make football players out of them. I can be as big a jerk as Parcells.
I'll coach 'em on a cold day with wet socks.

Grouchy Catholics Making a List - And Checking It Twice

2006-11-01T04:55:00.000-08:00

Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights
2005 Report on Anti-Catholicism

Miss Kitty warns...
If you use this "outing" of blasphemy as ideas for your own pagan humor, it counts as a "double mortal" sin. I doubt a mere priest's absolution will help you there.

BUSINESS / WORKPLACE
January 18
Dawn Eden Goldstein, a copy editor with the New York Post, was fired when it was discovered that she ran a pro-life website in her spare time. In an interview with Gilbert magazine, Goldstein claimed that chief copy editor Barry Gross told her, "Some people already think the Post is conservative, and we don't need New York readers also thinking it's a Christian paper and that there are Christians working here." She was fired two days later, after she edited a story to include the fact that "in-vitro fertilization routinely results in the destruction of embryos."

January 28
Tempe, AZ—Outside an Oregano's Pizza Bistro in Tucson, AZ was posted a large photograph of Pope John Paul II with a sexually suggestive message, "Chicks dig It," written underneath. The president of Oregano's responded to a letter from William Donohue stating that the photo was immediately taken down.

February 15
The Catholic League contacted Hallmark about a greeting card that showed a picture of a nun saying, "I'm so excited about your birthday, I feel like doing a cartwheel." The inside of the card read, "Oops. Better not. I just remembered it's 'No Underwear Day' here at the abbey." After being contacted by the Catholic League a Hallmark executive stated that the company would cease further production of the card.

February 17
New York, NY—A fashion show titled "Fashion in Focus" aired on the television station WNYE. In the show, models wearing clothing designed by Mark Montano walked down the runway in crowns of thorns and held their hands in prayer. Two of the models made the sign of the cross upon reaching the end of the runway.

March 17
South Florida—Several shopping malls renamed the Easter Bunny "Peter Rabbit" or "Garden Bunny" so as not to refer to a Christian holiday.

March 25
Scott Bloch, the head the Office of Special Counsel, came under attack again from the left-wing non-profit group Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility (PEER). His offense? Hiring three graduates from the Ave Maria law school. Jeff Ruch, the director of PEER, attacked Bloch on a National Public Radio show hosted by Bob Garfield. Ruch had previously stated that "Scott Bloch's personnel practices are taken straight from the Da Vinci Code rather than the civil service manual."

April 17
A non-Catholic put what he claimed was a Host consecrated by Pope John Paul II up for auction on eBay. eBay officials initially defended the decision to allow the auction to continue, but later changed their policy and labeled the Eucharist off-limits for sale.

After complaints by the Catholic League, league members, and much media attention, the seller voluntarily gave the Eucharist to a priest for proper disposal.

April 26
The Paragon gift catalog featured four kitchen towels with pictures of nuns carrying drinks. The captions on the towels read "Sister Mary Merlot," "Sister Mary Mimosa," "Sister Mary Margarita," and "Sister Mary Martini." The product description stated that "Fun-loving nuns host happy hour on gentle humored kitchen towels starring sisters of the immaculate concoction."

May 5
Washington, D.C.—A nun was denied access to the Walter Reed Army Medical Center because she was wearing her habit. A hospital administrator claimed that soldiers could be offended by seeing religious persons on their floor in the hospital.

May 10
The mail-order catalog, Favorites, advertised a night shirt featuring an angry nun holding a ruler with the caption "Sister Mary Menopause."

June 1
Posted on the website pianoladynancy.com was a picture of three urinals shaped to look like the Blessed Mother. The operator of the website insisted that the photo was of real urinals and refused to take it off her website.

June 15
Indianapolis, IN—Two former editorial writers from the Indianapolis Star sued the paper, claiming it was "consistently and repeatedly demonstrating…a negative hostility toward Christianity." The lawsuit claimed that the editor and publisher said editorials perceived as proselytizing or containing Christian overtones could not be printed in the paper.

June 24
Chicago, IL—An employee of the Allstate insurance company was fired after a homosexual group complained about a column he wrote for a men's journal. The article denounced same-sex marriage, but was written at home on private time.

July 6
Treks Bicycle Corporation ran an ad during the Tour de France that featured three broadcasters identified as Bob Roll, Phil Liggett and Paul Sherman. All of them were depicted holding scratch-off tickets. Roll had a statue of the Blessed Virgin and two votive candles, but unlike Sherman and Liggett, he didn't win a prize. Roll opined that "All my mojo, juju and voodoo and I get nothing."

July 18
The Mississippi branch of the Bethany Christian Services adoption agency refused to allow Catholic couples to adopt children from its agency. After intense media pressure, led by the Catholic League, the Bethany's Mississippi board members voted unanimously to accept applications from Catholic families.

August
Noble Works, Inc., a Hoboken, NJ-based card company, distributes a line of what it calls "outrageous" cards called "Extras." A good number of the cards mocked Jesus, and one depicted the Holy Family in the manger with a caption above the Blessed Mother that read, "Immaculate Schmaculate. That f***king hurts!" After a Catholic League member registered a complaint with the president of the company, he wrote back saying, "How about we leave my silly cards aside for a little while and go examine some of your priest 'private' lives and practices?"

August 3
Augusta, GA—A sign outside a bar stated "CATHOLIC SCHOOLS HAVE THE BEST SEX EDUCATION." Catholic League member Mel Le Pan fought back, putting out a news release voicing his objection to the sign. After a local news station covered the story, the sign was removed.

September 3
The company T-Shirt Hell sells shirts that are offensive to Catholics, gays, blacks, women, immigrants, Native Americans, Jews and the handicapped. Some of the most offensive shirts that attack Catholicism include:
* "Mary Was Only A Virgin If You Don't Count Anal." The shirt has a picture of Mary holding a Scared Heart of Jesus, with her finger to her lips.
* "ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG." This shirt shows an old Pope John Paul II flashing a rock-and-roll hand gesture.
* "JESUS DID IT FOR THE CHICKS!" This shirt has a drawing of a crucified Jesus giving the thumbs-up gesture.
* "MOTHER F----ING TERESA."
* "CATHOLIC BOYS start much too early." The picture shows a priest standing behind an altar boy.
* "Molested by a NUN." The word priest is crossed out and NUN is stamped in as a replacement.

September 19
Elder-Beerman department stores (a division of Bon-Ton Stores) removed an offensive t-shirt after the Catholic League wrote the chairman of the company. The shirt in question featured the phrase "Who Can Resist a Catholic Girl" encircled by Rosary beads.

October 5
The Philadelphia Inquirer ran an advertisement by the law firm Eisenberg, Rothweiler, Schleifer, Weinstein & Winkler seeking victims of sexual abuse, but only victims of priests. The ad read: Legal Counsel to VICTIMS OF PRIEST SEXUAL ABUSE.

October 12
Two doctors were sued because a woman claimed that they violated California's anti-discrimination laws. On religious grounds, the doctors refused to artificially inseminate the lesbian. The Superior Court ruled that the doctors could not use religious grounds as a defense. The California Medical Association first backed the doctors but later changed its position after a gay group complained.

December 5
An obscene ad for a statue of the Virgin Mary was accidentally published by a Catholic magazine. The statue, "Extra Virgin," was the work of an admitted enemy of the Catholic Church from England. It showed the Virgin Mary standing atop a serpent wearing a delicate veil of latex.

Miss Kitty warns again:
Don't you DARE smirk. While it's only a venial sin, it will definitely affect the size and quality of your Christmas presents.

Catholic League of Religious and Civil Rights

2006-10-31T09:30:00.000-08:00

Sister Mary Foamymouth, Publicist

Business/Workplace/Blogs

2006-10-31T09:14:00.000-08:00

2005 Report
on Anti-Catholicism

BUSINESS / WORKPLACE

May 10
The mail-order catalog, Favorites, advertised a night shirt featuring an angry nun holding a ruler with the caption "Sister Mary Menopause."

2006 Report
on Anti-Catholicism

BLOGS

Oct 31
Pagan blog Vodou Kitty features the unholy Anonymous blaspheming one of God’s own anointed.
Kudos for his characterization of the Jesuits, though.

No Need to Pretend

2006-10-31T08:26:00.000-08:00

Anonymouse Says:

2006-10-31T08:24:00.000-08:00

(pretend, dear friends, for
just a moment that the charming illustration of
pussy giving mousie spoon
rides before dinner is just
above these paragraphs. thank you.)

O MUS DOMESTICUS
ANOMINE ET
INAMORATA MEA

a matins devotional
in the style of
St. Katze-Hibernia

Well, not really. It does
get their attention though.
I remember when I lived on
stale zwiebach fragments and dried la leche league drops in the glass-enclosed
mother and infant pew at old Holy Name, and Father
Flaherty went all broody about going over to the
english mass and drank a
whole gift jeraboam of
Connolly's Rye that the
refectory sisters were holding back for Christmas
and the Bishop had him taken to St. Meinrad's downstate to dry out and the two young Jesuits who
drove him scared him half to death with their dark
glasses, shoulder holster
bulges and stinky Gauloise-Bleu cigarets.
Fading in and out of reason in the back seat,
trying not to panic from the strait-jacket under his shoulder-draped black alpaca topcoat, he begged:
"Please, bhoys..good bhoys y'are naow..oi really
hav'ta wee. Won'tcher stop
for me an' loose this restraint a whoil? Any gas
station or corner store
would do as well..pleese?"
When they finally did stop at the crest of a deserted rural hill on the steep bluff side and undid
the crossed hand-pocket ties behind Father's back,
the two Js were behind him and he thought sure and he heard the full-back hammer-cocking click of a Walther-P.38. Shuddering in terror he sank to his knees and clasped his vestpocket rosary between his hands and blubbered:
"Ohhh sweet Mayry an'
Jaysus! Don't ye do it,
bhoys! Don't ye be after
shootin' me naow! Oi swear
oi'll nivver take anuther
drop so long as oi live! With the celebacy an' all it was me only comfort for
forty years but oi can leave it off! Soady pops an' buttermilk, that's me
from naow on t'Judgement!
Oh say a word naow, won't
ye? Just one word o' relief of the shootin'?? Oi'll be good! On the Sacred Heart of Mayry oi
will!"
Jesuit one looked with
a wry smile of recognition
at the Zippo in his hand
which he had just snapped
loudly shut, took a rancid
draw on his Gauloise and gently said, "Aw come on now, Father..let's get back on the road. Just stand up and take your whizz, will you?"
Now I'm only a mouse.. and an anonymous mouse at that..but I swear you can
have a narrative pause that is as full of imposed indignity and chargrin and embarrassment as any stated sentence. And at the end of it, Father
Flaherty looks up at Jesuit one with a face like Tiddy O'Faolin caught in the poorbox and he says miserably:
"Oi..done it, arready."

There's Gravity In a Lap Dance

2006-10-30T06:30:00.000-08:00

October 27, Revisited

2006-10-30T06:02:00.000-08:00

On October 27, I opined that Oregon configured traffic with the specific objective of killing California motorists. Some time thereafter, dear anonymous pointed out that Pennsylvania and Ohio motorists were similarly targeted half a century earlier.
Eerily, wheeling in on the threads of tiny vibrating strings came a crazy little scientist who's now concurrently looking for a new assistant and filing for divorce.
This is a paradox, since Hawking conceded that time travel is possible - but only in the future.
"On the other hand, the future is open. So we might be able to warp it enough, to allow time travel. But because we can warp space-time only in the future, we wouldn't be able to travel back to the present time, or earlier," he quipped, through his voice box designed by the man whose slut wife ran off with the Prof eleven years ago.
So was he real in this story, or is he real now? You decide...

Don't feel bad, Oregon. Back in the fifties, Ohio and Pennsylvania were discourged from trying to
get to Virginia in an automobile by a maniacal
death-trap teenage chicken
racing beer-drunk coal trucker thing called...
(dum dum dummmm!) The West
Virginia Turnpike. Three
lanes, Mlle. Chatette:
yuh gotcher left side an'
yer raight side and yer
suicide! (Very. funny.
officer! May we proceed
now at our own risks or must we endure more gems
of mountain law enforcement wisdom?
Now yew jes watch yer
mouth. If they wuz a moving violation for smart
ass, I'd be moved to violate yer entire damn trip with a whole wad of $200 tickets! How would'ye like that, huh?
This appalachian powder
keg was disfused at the last moment by an odd sound
of squeakysqueakysqeaky etc
and all eyes turned from the berm to the mid-lane.
Oh dear god, said my wife
quietly, what...is that.
The cop was blase. Aw shit,
Ma'am, that's jest thet
little internationally renowned astrologer boy
from Engeland? They Queen
she made him a knaight an'
stuff. He's all pathetic an' crippled up which is
why he has him thet little
electric motor chair? He
cain't speak niether an'
he has him a kinda speaker
box thing sounds like this
H U L L O O F F I C E R
W A S I G O I N G T O O
F A S T H A H A H A ! !
I don't know how he does
them execremation points, but they in there alright.
Why the wig? He looks
like Senor Wences' Johnny
with horn rims.
Well, someone tole him they wuz a big ole girls' Catholic boarding school
in the mountains up beyond
Beckley an' he been trying to get up there for a month. I couldn't see how
the hell a little ole cripple boy from Engeland
would know his way around
over here so I jest axed
him straight out, "How the hell," I said, "do yew know where the hell yew
are going?" You know what that brilliant little crippled-up fucker said? No. What.
B Y T H E S T A R S
Y O U I D I O T H A
H A H A ! !

In a Humble Spirit, May We Be Accepted by You, O Lord

2006-10-29T10:09:00.000-08:00

Hip Us, Lord

2006-10-29T09:23:00.000-08:00

The Hip Ghan
Richard "Lord" Buckley, 1906-1960
My lords, my ladies of the royal court,
an incident from the life of the precious Mahatma Ghandi.
Now, you see, like I 'splained to ya, they called this here cat "The Hip Ghan,"
that's what they call him. Everybody call him The Hip Ghan.
The sweet, precious Hip Ghan.

'Cause India was swung India. He wailed India. He gassed India.
He grooved India. Now I'm gonna tell you why.
Ya see India was bugged wid da lion.
Every time India gets a little extra scoff inthe cupboard, wham! here come the lion.
Chomp! Swoop the scene and there stand the poor Indians, scoffless.
Bugged them to death.

That was before the Hip Ghan blew in on the scene, you see.
And the day that The Hip Ghan blew in on the scene seem
to be the lion's big swingin' day,
'cause he was into that scoff patch up to his shoulders,
scoffin' up an insane breeze.

So The Hip Ghan back away about thirty or forty feet,
and he holds out his arms cool wise,
and he do a running bop jumpin' whap,
whapped on that lion's tail so hard that thelion swooped the scene
and that gassed India. It gassed 'em.

So naturally in return they want to gas him back.

So Mr. Ribadee, the Indian Patrillo1,
he sent out the notes to all the Indian musicians,
to the ribadee players, the dong-dong players,
the dang-dang players, the ming-long players,
and all the reed-heads, the lute heads, and the blute heads,
and all the blowin' heads there was to come on in,
that they was gonna gas a big jam session for the Ghan.

And whew, here dey come, here dey come!

They come groovin' into this big place to send and swing The Ghan.

And when they all get in there together Mr. Rabadee, the Indian park triller,
he stand up, he say, "Boys, you know what to blow.
'When the Saint Comes Marchin' In.'"

They say, "Groovey."

So here come The Ghan,
with them twenty-six chicks with the horn rim glasses,
nineteen manny goats, and two spinnin' wheels.
And he look so sharp and so fine and so groovey,
cause he got a nice clean white dau-dau on,
and the love light is beamin' through his glasses and gassin' the whole scene.

And they swing him in and they sit him down on some nice groovey sofa pillows,
silkin', that is, and they cool the nanny goats, and the chicks all cuddle,
and they start to blow.

And my lords and my ladies, I'm goin' to hip you.
You may have heard a lot of jam sessions blowin' off.
You may have heard of New Orleans flips.
You may have heard of Chicago style.
You may hve heard of all kinds of jazz jumpin', the wildest,
and the most insane, you may have heard of many musical insane flips,
but you studs and stallions and cats and kitties
never dug any session like these cats blew.

They wailed so hard that the snakes in the jungle
picked up on the lick and come stompin' in for the session,
had to send out the snake guards say, "No dancin' tonight,boys.
We just hippin' The Ghan, that's all. Playin' a little jam session."
Brought the poor snakes clean down.

And they had to send around the wig tappers, you see what I mean.

Sayin', "Jack, I can't put that wig back on you, man. It's goin' in the same hole.
You blowin' too hard. You gotta cool youself for a little while."

And they blowin' up such a crazy, groovey scene that it was double euphoria head.

And when the scene was all over, Mr. Rabadee, the Indian park triller,
he swing over to The Hip Ghan and he do a nice swingin' bow,
and he say, "Oh, great, sweet, swingin', groovey, double-clutchin',
high, non-stop, pine top goal of all double swings in beauty."

And The Hip Ghan say, "Well, if I ain't,
I'm a big, fat, groovey pole on a rough hill on the way there."

He said, "Tell me something."

Say, he's a very hip cat, The Hip Ghan was.

He said, "Tell me somethin'. Did you dig the scene?"

And The Hip Ghan say, "Baby, when I hear them rabadee players,
and thedong-dong players, and them blute blute players,
and the flip heads, and thewood heads, and the reed heads,
and all these boys wailin' up such an insane love breeze
it brought to me the beauty, and the mysticism, and the wonder,
and the gorgeous theme, and the gorgeous wing,
and all the great wild non-stop etherea that is Mother India."

So Mr. Rabadee say, "Well, your sweet hipness,
I like to twisted my wig gettin'; this session together for you,
but I sho' did enjoy it, cause I see the beauty in your face.
But would you do me a little favor?"

"Of course, baby."

He said, "Tell me, which one of the instruments did you dig the most?"

So The Hip Ghan look at him and the love look came on his face
and he say, "Well, baby, the music of all India which I dig the most,
the instrument, you ain't got here."

Mister Rabadee said, "Man, what are you sayin'?
I got the doong-doong players, and the bang-bang players,
and the lebedee players, and the reed heads,
and the lute heads, and every head that I could dig up
that swing out of the jungle here
and you tell me that the one you dig the most I ain't got here."

Said, "Dat's right."

He said, "Well, sweet double hipness, great beloved non-stop beauty,
straighten me. Cause I'm ready."

And The Hip Ghan say, "That's right, that's right. Well, here's the lick."
He said, "Baby, the instrument of all India which I dig the music the most of,
that swings my soul up in that great cathedral head of beauty is the music of the ..."

(scat song interval)

He said, "...the spinnin' wheel, baby."

(scat song) ...knock a little patch on the cat's pants...

(scat song) ...swing a coat on grandma...

(scat song) ...get a little juice on the table...

(scat song) ...swang up get a little circus money...

(scat song) ...He said, "The spinnin' wheel, baby."

"I hope I didn't bring you down."

1 "Patrillo" was the name of the Chicago musicians' union's Business Manager, hence the man you would call to put together a band.

Feelings

2006-10-28T07:41:00.000-07:00

This KITTY has developed feelings for anonyMOUSE.

Is that so wrong?

Lyrical Balladry

2006-10-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-27T07:22:00.000-07:00

Paranoia Strikes Deep

2006-10-27T06:36:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-26T08:06:00.000-07:00

Stigmata

2006-10-26T07:54:00.000-07:00

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