Riders On The Storm

A while there some time back, a penguin attempted to assassinate my daughter.

My daughter the well-known award-winning deviant.

The penguin assumed the form of a coffee mug, and then rudely hurled my daughter to the floor. The penguin committed great violence teir mind is clear but their soul is madto her hand. It could have been terminal. But fortunately a kindly doctor immediately washed over my daughter great waves of opiates. So she felt no penguin pain.

Heretofore, my daughter had believed penguins to be benign—yea, verily, even Goodly, even Godly—beings.

This: my fault. For I had failed to advise my daughter, as a Good and Proper father should, that penguins are in fact a veritable Fount of Evil.

There is a Reason why penguins live only in the Antarctic.

This is because, long ago, the other animals, minerals, and vegetables of the planet, exiled the penguins there. Because of the penguins’ Great Evil. That—the Great Evil—is also why the animals, minerals, and vegetables, they ripped the wings off the penguins. And replaced them with flaccid flippers. So the penguins would not be able to lift off the continent of Antarctica, and thereby invade, befoul, plague, the rest of the planet.

That penguins are Foul Beyond Measure is not generally appreciated . . . until they suddenly run utterly wild, and commit bedeviled acts like attempting to transport my daughter to a hospital, morgue, or asylum.

Few humans have been able to penetrate the seemingly pathetic, waddling, flightless, nimrodness of the penguin, to regard the great seething evil that truly roils inside them.

In fact, the “human” who has best understood the penguin, is not a human at all. “He” is instead an alien from space, here on this planet as an anthropologist. Documenting, for those Out There, the numberless weirdities of this planet.

In one of his very first films, Fata Morgana, “he,” this alien, traveling on this planet under the rubric Werner Herzog, devoted the first five minutes or so of his feature to endless looping shots of an airplane struggling to rise from an airstrip to ascend above the Sahara desert. He kept looping this footage, until even a human could understand that air travel, at this time, on this planet, is stone-mad.

Some 36 years later, in Encounters At The End Of The World, Herzog traveled to the very bottom of the world, in order to prove absolutely that penguins are, likewise, stone-mad.

In the clip below, Herzog nakedly exposes a penguin who has so flipped his lid he is determined to extinguish his being. Like Sylvia Plath. Or Ernest Hemingway.

This is sad.

But it also sad when penguins hurl my daughter to the floor. Or drown Jim Morrison in the bathtub.

One of the doomed Morrison’s last songs, it was “Riders On The Storm.”

In truth, the song was originally envisioned as “Penguins On The Storm.” But after the penguins drowned Morrison in that bathtub in Paris, they intimidated the remaining band members into changing the song’s title, and many of the lyrics.

Hints of the original tune, they do survive. In, for instance, these lines:

there’s a killer on the road
his brain is squirmin’ like a toad

For anyone who has ever had a daughter whom a penguin suddenly and unaccountably hurled to the floor, these lines will ring true of the Great Evil that dwells within the flabby flightless breasts of these Antarctic—yea, verily—Satanic creatures.

The penguins must be stopped. No longer may they be permitted to run utterly amok, drowning lizard kings in the bath, sprawling my daughter to the floor.

That is why tonight I ordered from Amazon the oil paints.

For I intend, in oil, to freeze the free-range insanity of the utter nutter penguin fleeing into the freeze, depicted there in the Herzog film.

This painting, once completed, it will spread among the people like scabies, like swine flu, like chunder chunked from the grunting heaving pig-lips of Runt Limprod.

And once they have viewed this painting, all the People, they will Know, that the penguins, they are a Menace.

And therefore, the people, once Apprised, never shall they allow the penguins to hurl my daughter to the floor again.

But. The penguins. Somehow they Know. For I just went out on the back porch—braving the storm—to have a smoke.

Here, it is raining. Here, it is hailing. Here, it is snowing. Here, out back, is a sheet of ice.

And here, now, waddling, across that sheet, and in numbers limitless, come, determined, the penguins.

the horror
the horror

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15 Responses to “Riders On The Storm”


  1. 1 Miep April 2, 2014 at 4:40 am

    Keep talking, angel. If only to keep letting some of the rest of the rest of us know that they haven’t gotten us all, not get, not yet.

  2. 2 Miep April 2, 2014 at 4:47 am

    We’re not dead yet. Shared, oddly. why the hell am I awake, this is a horrible mistake!

  3. 3 Miep April 2, 2014 at 4:54 am

    Hatred is difficult. I pick ticks off from my dogs, do I hate them? Should I hate them? They are just doing their parasitical thing.

  4. 5 Miep April 2, 2014 at 5:05 am

    I made a mistake and failed to sleep in a reasonable, sensible, timely manner; and have thus lapsed into a state of quasi-madness. Please accept my apology. I expect to get back to you much later today.

  5. 7 Miep April 2, 2014 at 10:21 pm

    Okay, I’m back. This is funny. I like it.

  6. 8 poco April 3, 2014 at 8:31 pm

    Okay, I don’t get it.
    Is this about the UN report on Climate Change?

    • 9 bluenred April 3, 2014 at 9:04 pm

      Hi poco.

      No, it’s just pure whimsical nuttery. My daughter recently tripped and fell and injured herself while carrying a penguin mug. As this could not possibly have been her fault, I concocted an alternative explanation: to wit, that penguins are Evil.

  7. 10 Rain Jeys April 4, 2014 at 1:12 am

    The penguins. They continue to plague. Earlier this week, I had to pull a piece of penguin porcelain from my finger, where it lodged during the initial attack and refused to budge.

    I do not wish to believe the penguins are evil. But your evidence, it is compelling.

    Do you remember that sticker I gave you, years ago, that said:

    “One by one
    the penguins
    steal my sanity”?

    A portend, it seems.

    • 11 bluenred April 4, 2014 at 1:43 am

      We can no longer coddle these creatures. They are Cheneys with flippers. As I explained above, there are Reasons why all the other animals have exiled them to Antarctica. The penguins are, simply, Evil. It was bad enough when they drowned fattening dope-soaked expatriate musicians in the bathtub. But now, now that they are hurling you to the floor, plaguing for months your fingers, they Must be Stopped. Herzog—he Knows their Madness. He has tried to Warn. But the humans, they will not listen. And now they are out there, the penguins, yet again, tonight. Creeping across the grass. Coming for me. First, as you suggest, they want my sanity. Next: they will be coming for my soul.

      the horror
      the horror

      Everywhere they be. Even jungle to jungle . . . .

      • 12 Rain Jeys April 5, 2014 at 11:47 pm

        Under no circumstances should souls be rendered to the penguins. That’s how they get you. First you think: Ooh, a mug in the shape of a penguin! Cute! And then it sits there, in your cupboard, plotting. Until the time is right to strike.

        Clearly the penguins already have my sanity, as well as a fair amount of my blood.

        • 13 bluenred April 6, 2014 at 8:13 pm

          Clearly, it is not enough that have been cabined to Antarctica. They must also be removed from all decorative objects. For, as your case proves, from these they may extend their Evil.

          • 14 Rain Jeys May 3, 2014 at 11:14 am

            I also have a robe adorned with penguins. Currently it lives on top of the bookcase, where it has been appropriated by Vinnie. Usually he just lays on it, but sometimes he attacks it and then, once it has been slain, drags it about the house in triumph.

            So hopefully he is keeping that decorative penguin object in check.

            • 15 bluenred May 3, 2014 at 11:20 pm

              The robe should be immediately set on fire. The ashes should be mixed with glue and then applied to the tires of a police car. Only in this manner may you throw off the Curse onto someone who Deserves it.

              So let it be written. So let it be done.


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