Archive for November 15th, 2012

Slouching Towards Betelgeuse To Be Born

So I was over on google images, searching for rude and abusive representations of noted slave-holder and Hebrew-fearer Ron “Rugs” Paul, when I was presented with a truly horrifying exposure of Captain Underpants.

By the evidence of this photograph, it seems that the man, maddened by his Loserness in the race for the presidency, has gone in for Frankenstonian Moreau-modification technology. And has thereby transformed his endowed penis into a multi-colored glow-in-the-dark thingie approaching the size of a small train.

What he intends to do with it, I shudder to think.

I reprint. You decide.


Drop, Kicked

The weirdity of humans: to this there is no end.

Take New Year’s Eve. For reasons Unknown, the American variant of human has developed a tradition involving ushering in the new year by dropping things.

This may have begun in New York City. Where, as the clock ticks into New Year’s Day, a large and colorful ball is, from a great height, dropped, while many humans, gathered below, shout and cheer and screech and weep.

Elsewhere across the nation, other objects are for the new year dropped. In North Carolina, a large pickle plunges into a barrel. In Wisconsin, humans heave to the ground a frozen carp, monikered “Lucky.” Pennsylvanians splat to the earth a 200-pound hunk of bologna. In Key West, Florida flutters earthward a giant shoe bearing a beaming drag queen.

And down in the tiny Appalachian hamlet of Brasstown, for many years the yeehaws assembled marked the coming of the new year by lowering from the roof of a gas station, in a plexiglass cage, a live possum, while braying “five, four, three, two, one! The possum has landed!”

These people were profiled here on red, and at some length, back in January of 2011.

Today, these people’s lives are utterly changed.

For, in a stunning victory for Godless Communism, an administrative law judge has ruled that the state of North Carolina cannot lawfully issue a permit permitting a bunch of yeehaws to cram a possum into plexiglass confinement, and then slowly lower the fear-paralyzed creature to the ground, while they shriek maniacally and loudly abuse tubas.


What Is To Be Done

I have said that I never considered myself responsible for the world’s ills, not for causing them, not for curing them. The world was in my view a jungle overrun with savages, just as it had always been. Most of its problems were insoluble.

I have said I regard any quiet corner of it, such as Honeybrook, to be a haven wrested from the jaws of hell. I therefore found it discourteous in a guest when he brought to it such a catalogue of miseries.

I have said that I have always been, and would continue to be, prepared to make sacrifices for my neighbours, compatriots, and friends. But when it came to saving barbarians from one another in countries no bigger than a letter on the map, I failed to see why I should throw myself into a burning house to rescue a dog I had never cared for in the first place.

I have said all this with brio, but my heart is in none of it, though I refuse to let this show.

—John Le Carre, Our Game

When I Worked

November 2012
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