1 Year Aniversary & why I can't do this any more (Pt.8 in a series)

What a notch in my bedpost. Bloggy -Blog is celebrating its one-year anniversary! In observance, I've been AWOL on an extended drinking binge, which also means that I've not been around to post anything on Bloggy-Blog. How ironic is that? I mean c'mon!

Now this handy tip:

if you're gonna sell your ventriloquist dummy on ebay,
you must light it effectively to lend a positive mood... this one's perfect!

This blog has been running on fumes for so long now, it's hardly worth the mention. But what great asphyxiating fumes we've shared over this last year, eh? If you doubt me, just get a load of them archives (especially the early ones)! By activating internet technology like a bilge pump, I've created a direct pipeline for the world to "peer into my stockpiles of shit", as Marie Antoinette would say. From nonsensical writings, to creepy photos and to more creepy photos. It's been said that if you placed all the creepy photos that I've posted here end-to-end, it would bisect the universe like a toothpick through an olive --and there I go again, yet another martini reference.

creepy photo # 3302000000.
the sorry state of bloggy-blog: asphyxiation,
hidden dynamite, wrong-headed politics, etc

My posts have diminished, admittedly, because the world has become such a politically charged place that the sophomoric activity of this blog is like a declaration of the developmentally-stunted. It's conspicuously irresponsible and out of touch. Meanwhile, everyone else around me has become radicalized and angry about the status quo and, what's most galling in a developmentally-stunted world, they're getting all the chicks! I've always known that the path to being cooler is just an fashion statement away but I'm stalwart, wearing the same unsexy shoes day after day.

another eternal moment's tick

upended chessboard

Deer These Days

These photos were taken this last weekend in Topanga State Park.

I don't know whether any of you have been reading up on these things but we have a real problem with the local deer population in the Santa Monica mountains. Their numbers have been infiltrated by Communists who, by exposure to the primal sway of jazz records, have converted their once abiding ranks into roving bands of loitering ne'er-do-wells. It's a sad and dangerous situation. This poppy consuming deer seen above couldn't even stand upright. All he could do was look for loose change on the ground and mutter incoherently.

The little guy in this shot approached and asked, "Please sir, can you spare a moment for global warming?". Naturally, I approached in good faith to sign his petition when a sudden burst of flames issued forth from his mouth and singed off all my hair. Then, like something from a horror movie, his head detached like a projectile heading right at me. With bulging red eyes and fangs extended, it began frenetically chewing open the veins in my neck. All I could do was protest that I was "on a nature walk to sample some fresh air, getting centered" ... that I was "hip" & "cool" but to no avail!

As I fled down the path in the opposite direction, I interrupted this pair's game of mumbletypeg. They blocked my way, took all my money, my clothes, and everything. Then I was trampled to death and I'm now blogging from the great beyond. Thank you reprobate Communist deer!

Stealing Your Soul With My Digital Camera

This is what results when I'm lying around with a laptop, fiddling with Apple's Imovie. What is it they say, "Idle hands are the devil's egg salad sandwich"? Thank you Steve Jobs for turning me into a complete vegetable.

Exclusive Celebrity Interview: Petunia Pig

Petunia Pig turned 96 years old this week and we're lucky to have her with us for this exclusive Bloggy-Blog interview. I caught up with Petunia after spotting her in upper Manhattan shopping at Keihl's with friend, and likewise ancient veteran of the stage and screen, Kitty Carlisle. I tripped Ms. Pig on the escalator exit and pinned her to the floor where the following interview took place.

_________________________

smouldering glamour: circa 1938

Bloggy-Blog: You started out in cartoons in 1937 in "Porky's Romance". Can you describe how this role came about?

Pig: I met Frank Tashlin, the director, at Schwab's Pharmacy on Sunset. They had a counter there with a soda fountain.

Bloggy-Blog: A soda fountain at a pharmacy?

Pig: Oh yes, but with a twist. In those days cocaine was very open and available. Schwab's had a guy there, the soda jerk, and he'd sprinkle cocaine into your root beer float or on your fudge sundae, whatever. It was a gimmick to keep the customers loyal. Consequently, Schwab's was a wildly popular scene. Very chic. The equivalent of Woody Harrelson's Oxygen Bar.

Bloggy-Blog: I believe Mr. Harrelson sold that a while ago.

Pig: Oh, did he? Anyway, Hollywood was full of stories of stars being discovered at Schwabs Pharmacy. People like Tallulah Bankhead, Alfalfa Schweitzer, Lassie, and lord knows... They were all plucked from Schwabs. So one day I'm in there when this oversized lug in a pinstripe suit sits next to me at the counter talking his head off. I thought maybe he was hawking insurance.

Bloggy-Blog: Tashlin?

Pig: Yeah. Or "Tish-Tash", as he was also known. He tells me he's a big-shot cartoon director at the Schlesinger studio and the whole nine yards. Meanwhile, he's sucking up this banana-whip cocaine cocktail and he gets this idea, see?... He says something like, "Hey doll-puss, what'ya say you come down to the Termite Terrace [the studio's nickname] for an audition? We need to cast a dame, a girlfriend part, to work with Porky in his new motion picture... and you're da' spittin' image. A real pip!" And so I went down to the casting office that afternoon.

Bloggy-Blog: So, just like that?

Pig: I was so naive. But sometimes you need a little of that to get places... fortunes have been made by way of blind naivete, ya know what I mean?

screen test excerpt

Bloggy-Blog: What kind of work had you doing before then?

Pig: A little of everything. I filled in various chorus girl jobs here and there. I was in a couple of Busby Berkley things, way, way in the background. At night I worked clubs like the Macambo where Jack Benny was a regular with his own booth. On odd days I'd waitress this little place down on the east end of Hollywood called "Laughing' Jack's Canteen". Lots of sailors and mugs there. 'Seemed like every night the boozing led to fist fights and stabbings. I was a Cigarette girl, hat check girl, coat check... random things to make rent.

Bloggy-Blog: I see. So now you successfully passed the audition. Then, the next day, you're supporting Porky Pig in "Porky's Romance", in 1937. People talked about you as an overnight sensation and, in fact, you were the real deal. What was it like going from a meager lifestyle to working with a big star like Porky Pig?

Pig: Well, it was exhilarating. You bet. I mean, they're all bastards in Hollywood but I was very excited to be there and smitten with Porky in the very early days. I had to demure from my crush and keep my composure as a professional. Particularly In "Porky's Romance", I played a woman who was more attentive to her Pekinese dog than to the romantic offerings and boxes of chocolates showered on her by Porky's character. ...a stark reversal of our so-called "real-lives" around the lot. Along those lines, I would later see what a real swine Porky could be.

Bloggy-Blog: That Pekinese dog was played by--

Pig: A fellow from the San Fernando valley, a bit player named Xavier Pierce . A year later, he was run over by a Red Car while crossing Selma. In his pockets, they found a collection of various silk panties, fishnet stockings and the like. Something was going on with "X" that they never quite figured out. It's always the quiet ones.

Bloggy-Blog: Speaking of gender ambiguities, wasn't it Hedda Hopper who wrote, "Petunia looks like Porky's double, only in a woman's dress, heels and 'come-hither' lashes"?

"oh Poooorky?"

Pig: Yes. But I didn't care. Let me tell you about the "dreaded" Hedda Hopper. She was a hack with a deadline and a column to fill --a parasitical, battle-axe with a sick talent for proffering reams of yellow journalism. The problem was that she did wield a heavy-handed influence around town. Jack Warner, in particular was scared to death of her. Of course, Jack carried himself with his blustery exterior but he'd completely buckle to whatever was brought to bear by Hopper, the Catholics and the Hayes Commission and all that. Actually though, there was nothing hugely offensive in her review of "Porky's Romance".

Bloggy-Blog: You don't think her statement was - -

Pig: Sure, I was a large burley woman with a 5 o'clock shadow. But I was voluptuous like Mae West. As a dancer I knew how to carry myself gracefully, while dressing complimentary with the Art Decco sensibilities of the day. Hollywood Stars weren't so much the pretty runway models, like you have now, you understand? We were larger-than-life characters. Consider Cagney, Eddie Robinson, Petey Lorre, Popeye and those type of guys. All short, stocky and, one could say "ugly" but with top billing!

Bloggy-Blog: It seems that even Porky would never stand a chance in today's world of fashion over talent.

Pig: Exactly. But remember, it was good to have a gimmick back then too. There's always been a great deal of showmanship in this business, talent or not. I used heavy Max Factor rouge in perfectly delineated circles, which was my own trademark. I was lucky to be blessed with a natural skin radiance that lit up on the silver screen. So I wasn't threatened by catty remarks coming from Hollywood gossip rags. I was happy during that period. I'd hitched my wagon to this anthropomorphic stuttering pig juggernaut. Cartoons were a staple in movie houses all across the country! And, of course, I was finally making some pretty decent bread. I don't mind admitting that I bought plenty of hats and chewing gum. It was good.

Bloggy-Blog: And yet, from there the trajectory of your career was rather rocky. What happened?

[to be continued]

William F Buckley Week (Yes it's been that slow)

There's really no need to watch the following video past the profile shot of Buckley's independently moving hair. Priceless. SCTV, by the way, was arguably the best show in the universe.



As a bonus, here's Buckley and Chomsky kicking it around in the late 60s. Just for fun and irritation purposes.



Pt.2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R9Samvw6Z08

Nothing, sorry

There are chain saws roaring on either side of my apartment this morning. It's got me on edge. I understand that people do feel very threatened by the overgrowth of residential oak branches and palm fronds. After all, you can't let those trees get the upper limb. We must hack at them and trim them back! It's the only language they understand. Give a tree an inch and it'll be a bastard on your back for life.

I know for a fact that the crew operating the chain saws get a macho kick from the sound they make. They're just a bit too enthused to rev the gas motors in salivating anticipation of the actual cutting. It's the old primordial snarl of territorial rights. Yes, they want to taunt the tree before doing their merciless act of mechanical chewing and spitting up chunks of debris.

So, I guess there's nothing I can do about this noise situation... or is there? I mean, what can I do? I feel like John Henry vs. the legendary "Inky-Poo". It would be' like arguing with an automatic weapon. But I'm determined not to be out-whined by a machine -not as long as I've got breath and a Blog. At least for my peace of mind, I need to go out there and actually see if he city didn't, in fact, hire a bunch of guys just to dramatically interrupt my normal sleep pattern. ...I'm gonna go out and have a look.

OK, I'm back. Aside from the chiding I took for wearing my blue velvet pajamas with the cute drop drawer hatch, they admitted that there was no purpose to infernal chain saw racket beyond the sheer sadistic pleasure of annoying me. What a relief! For a moment there I though I was paranoid.

The Mother of all Posts

In yet another rant designed to alienate every last person I know, I just have to ask: How did sports reporting slither its way into becoming a legit part of newscasting ?

I wonder.

I just can't see any justifiable reason why my daily viewing of brutality, murder and mayhem must give way to an interval of sports banter! It's as though you're not a normal member of society if you just don't give a crap about it.

There's typically some bumbling, but lovable, oaf by the name of "Buddy" anchoring the sports segment (I'm merely deflecting my jealousy here because he's the same "jock" who always got the chicks in high school --which, for me, was a morbidly depressing tip-off at how unjust the universe was, and is). Somehow, by his very presence, the sports reporter inspires all the other anchors to relax from the shackles of feigned serious expressions. They spot the Dodger pin on the lapel and become completely docile, receptive to any suggestion. Yet, eventually, the news team must collect itself and press on with the hard-boiled stories of brutality, murder and mayhem. Now away from the camera, the sports anchor is unplugged by a technician and, with great solemnity, wheeled back to his chamber of suspended animation.

With all the preceding in mind, I'm encouraging my fellow Blogger-thusiasts to vote Yes on Prop. 132, which shalll relegate all sports broadcasting to its appropriate time slot (around 3 am), never to be integrated into news programming again. Sponsored, of course, by the clean wholesome fun people here at BloggyBlog. "We Love Shaved Pits!"


Meanwhile, here ya go: Tampa Bay 4 vs. N.Y. Yankees 6


[Afterthought: I will give Vin Scully credit as a baseball announcer, as I recall his nasally voice wafting out of AM transistor radios during summer days of yore. Its effect on me was, no less, narcotic-like: "Don Drysdale on the mound...." Ahhhh, yes. Lemonaide, dichondra grass and Scully. Otherwise, I have some kind of genetic deficit when it comes to being a sports spectator. Me Not Caring: 6 vs. The World Not Caring That I Don't Care: 10.]

Lynx

And here's a LINK to some interesting animation. Apologies in advance if this is something that's been traded around the web by hipsters last year. There's some good stuff here that points in the opposite direction of computer 3D gloss, which only enhances its return-to-form charm.

G'nite.

The Smell of Blogging

If you'll pardon my boast, pushing certain buttons here on the "blog-o-sphere" to gain readership, influence, and complete subjugation of the masses has become like child's play. Oh, and by the way... I hope you don't mind that, since its inception, Bloggy-Blog has been a front for certain, shall we say, "human experiments".

It's no big deal but many of the preceding posts have contained doses of plutonium and assorted isotope rays. Some of you have fared better than others; some don't write in anymore, but hey... I've earned enough pocket change from the US military for my daily 10-cent pony ride in front of Lucky's Supermart. That means an awful lot to me. And although some maneuvering intellectuals out there cry "victim", you have no idea how much this data is mobilizing Congress to finance some very accommodating fallout bunkers complete with Starbucks and FREE Internet.

In terms of having a wildly successful blog like this one, with or without covert human experimentation, you have to understand the whole endeavor in terms of its cultural ties to the long-forgotten office mimeograph machine. If you worked in one of the big aerospace outfits during the Cold War days of Southern California (and suffered male-pattern baldness), there would always be some clown using the mimeograph machine to pass around one-liners and off-color jokes to the work force. This self-appointed crank was serving a vital communal role, in terms of providing a needed stress relief valve to his colleagues. After all, they had weapons to build under deadline and they were also concerned with plutonium and human experiments. But now the community has gone global and so goes the reach of such utilitarian idiocy.

So as long as you've got an eye for the REAL relevant pastimes in the work-a-day world, i.e.: Peeing Calvin bumper stickers, daydreaming about "boobies", chewing on pen caps, you've got the right stuff. That's exactly the aesthetic you aim for because most people are dropping in while chained to a desk.

In summary: good blogs are essentially electronic joke mimeographs to distract from the impending terror of our eventual conversion into skeletons. But what I miss the most, and what computers don't supply, is the comforting smell of a fresh mimeograph.

I need hugs.

Protesting the Infinite Paradox with Calvin

Non-Threatening Pastimes Stolen From NPR

I just overheard an NPR host encouraging listeners to write in to answer the following survey question: "What film do you watch over and over? ". I went to their website and couldn't find the bloody link. Perhaps it's now expired. To vent my disasppointment, I'm going to bring it here and ask YOU, the astute reader of this blog, to answer the same question.

Ready, go.

I will collect the responses and make a pie.

iMonkeyPaw Pt. II

Charlie Bo Barley said...
I wanna hear the audio file!

___________________

OK, HERE it is. As usual, it's all rather idiosyncratic and you can't bob your head to it.

Oh, and the corrupted music notation software (previous post) was part of Logic Express, although the "song" was actually recorded on Garageband. It's a long story of no particular import... and that's the wonder of blogging.

iMonkeyPaw

Listen up you mugs,

I have this here whatch'call "music software" that'll print out what which you push on the 88 keys, see? No matter what you play, it usually looks very impressive, see? It's as if you brought your composition to life using a pen and quill. It really gets the dames all excited. You can't miss! Even you non-musician dopes can do it.

Here's a little number of mine, which you can play, entitled "Proclimation de constipation". Now get crackin'!

Macca Spuds

Youtube.com is loaded with Paul McCartney clips. His face is everywhere, doing this and prattling on about that. It's like he's cruising to supernova for billions of fans on a global satellite link. The good news is that he's finally gotten 'round to showing us how to make mashed potatoes in this video --and I say it's about time!

Uber Geek's Remote Blog Overdrive

I'm at an Apple store. Someone left their "Photo Booth" photos on the desktop of this demo computer. Here's one of them:

Free-Association Fun and Whimsy

OK, I'll going to start with one simple word in the comments' section. You must reply with a response word that you free-associate to it. The next person adds to that and on-and-on... It's the perfect game to play while on long car trips or while comatose, etc.

Ready, get set, go!

My Tom Cruise Makeover

You may have heard the rumors. It's true, I've had some surgery done. Yes, I'm moving closer to looking like my nemesis Tom Cruise, so that I can displace his Star status and impress the ladies. ...and that's pretty much what it comes down to, if I'm going to be motivated to leave the house on a daily basis.


Seamless teeth, ladies and gentlemen. That's the ticket to celebrity. A perpetual smile endears you, swiftly moving you up the red carpet social ladder. People are automatically going to be thinking, "he knows what he's doing, follow his lead... he's got big teeth!"

As an actor, you need one expression in your arsenal to cover all the emotional bases of the "leading man" character. The piercing eyebrows have it! Trust me. This simple move will get you by whenever you need to convey the look of determination, concentration, intrigue, anger, protectiveness, etc. Meanwhile, your confident big teeth will distract from your mediocre acting skills, as your demographic was weaned on TV and toothpaste ads.


With the Summer power outtages hitting major metropolitain areas, you can stand in the middle of the road and use your highly reflective teeth to remind drivers to stay in their appropriate lanes.

So ladies... what'ya think? I know you're impressed!

Ambivalence Ho!

I listen to a lot of NPR, college radio and BBC when I'm at work. At the same time I'm working up graphics which accompany the fluffiest of all broadcasting: news flashes about Britney Spears' earlobe hemorrhage, Jessica Simpson's plastic surgery, Tom Cruise's teeth memorialized by the Vicar of the Universe, etc. So, I get an earful of considered, academic broadcasting cross-influencing my brain as I'm toiling with putting together disposable entertainment dreck under deadline. It's truly a self-loathing exercise and I should seek immediate help.

Recently I've noticed a lot of airplay on these radio station of Johnny Cash's final recordings. There's a kind of obligatory side to all this, like how NPR tends to feature little back woods stories about folksy people and their naive art, which is eventually fetched up, exploited and sold by city hipsters. These stories are conspicuous in how they try to bring some fresh air into an otherwise suffocating didactic stream of "smart people" news and music... but I digress.


So, like I saying, there's these last recordings of Johnny Cash. I'm having trouble with them because they couldn't make me feel more ambivalent. They situate me right, exactly in the middle between like and dislike. I just started reading a bit about these recordings and their undertaking. I'm admittedly sadly well behind the curve. So, I guess from what I'm learning, many are saying that the critics who object to these recordings as synthetic and half-assed should just get over themselves.

But ambivalence wouldn't be ambivalence without me saying that I sort of like these recordings too. That is, to the extent that Cash could probably read a Bazooka Joe comic and immerse the ear with his inimitable quivering soulful texture. That can't help but pay off. But, again, I still get a bad taste in my mouth about the whole exercise of recording the guy during his dying days, and doing this just because we want to salvage some last particles of something that our current culture cannot even come close to delivering in a popular form. It winds up making us all look pretty lame.

Having said this, I'm just ambivalent enough to welcome my legions of readers to try to persuade me either pro or con about this whole stupid mess. Ready, go.

-Mandingo

I'm Changing My Name

From this time forward, I shall be addressed as "Mandingo".

Thanks,

Gerit

Losers Blowout!

[click for a rush]

Weee!!! Hey kids, it's the latest screen saver, free for the download from Geritopia Enterprises! Yes, it's almost too incredible to believe! This is the actual one-hit Romanian band, The Night Losers, in their prime configuration as your own screen saver! So save your screen today with these jaunty fellows! Feast your eyes and fetishize this incredible group of musicians. Fixate on each personality and dream about 'em. There's the "cheeky" one, the "quiet" one, the "cool" one, and the one with "perpetual ice crystals above his top lip"! They're so cuuuuute! Build an altar to 'em. Share with your friends! Write a doctoral thesis about the Night Losers and their impact on post-colonial Marxist industrialists and how they once cut you off in traffic! Eat an entire rum cake! Mix and match. Look deep into the dark gaping maw of mortality. Feel the force of its gravity sucking you in! Do it, do it, do it!!!

News Flash: "Berserk" dog destroys Elvis' teddy bear

click THIS

My MTV

This here Romanian band, The "Night Losers" has style. They are my favorite. Watch, you'll see.

Photos for no Reason pt.2

Even more of my photos presented for no justifiable reason or context.

[click for larger]

hey it's the domino's mascot in
the dumpster, everybody

my brother would never divulge where
he got cool toys like this. pre-ebay

only thing missing here are spanky & buckwheat

marilyn in plastic again

ghost chair

probably the weirdest picture of me ever.
at my parole hearing



all photos: copyright Gerit Vandenberg
please keep this blog going with your kind donations

Photos for no Reason pt.1

Scrapbook junk from my personal collection of crap, posted for no particular reason. Enjoy, or don't.

[click for larger]

shot off da'TV: doin' "the mouse"

wall of popsicle dreams

view from 3rd & Highland: a prophetic glimpse into my current plight

'pedro warehouse door

doing big work at "Jumbo Clown" studo around '87

twilight zone shot of susie

_________

all photos copyright: gerit vandenberg

Babies Bouncing and Otherwise

This is my first post written while reclining and pants-less with my new (last-year's model/refurbished) powerbook. It's all part of my physical de-volution which will ultimately find me wrapped in a fetal position around the computer, along with various tubes which transport fluids in and out of my body. All my muscles will finally give way and atrophy. And, of course, I will be hairless and suspended some sort of amniotic lime jello. What other hideous direction can all this be headed?

Meanwhile, I recently did a vanity search of my name on Google and found a couple of new items that I didn't even know about. Looks like I won an award from the prestigious BDA (never mind that I was a bottom-feeder on the crew) and I'm also noted as "Producer" on a couple of Cranes' music listings. The Internet is scary that way. Thankfully, I haven't seen any mug shots or images of me lying in coffins yet 'cause I know they're flying around out there. Still, I do a fine job of being an ass here.

So, dig me. Soon I'll have to moderate this Blog pseudo-anonymously for "Mr. Vandenberg".

They Might be Goldstate

Go over to Goldstate and see what happens when some odd fellows formulate lyrics for a song, on this very special edition of Oprah.

Kim Jong-il's Personal Vendetta Against Me

What better day to lob an intercontinental ballistic missile at Los Angeles than the 4th of July? One can just imagine the captive audience already lined up on lawn chairs and applauding the community fireworks show. Then, Boom! -- a very impressive mushroom cloud consumes the sky. Requisite applause, hooting and a complacent suck-up of beer follows. Instinctively the crowd takes this as the finale. "Gee honey, our faces are melting off our skulls... maybe we oughta go back indoors and watch something starring Tim Allen. That always seems to help".

It turns out that Kim Jong-il's latest attempt to settle the score with me wound up being a dud, at least for the time being. If you've been following this story, North Korea's latest long-range missile attack on Southern California fell a bit short and into the ocean only minutes after launch yesterday.


In better times, Jong-il and I were solid and together in China during the 60s, along with Eldridge Cleaver. We'd been training to liberate the name and likeness of Bugs Bunny so that it could be used indiscriminately without regard to royalty tariffs and/or fees --the very blight of Capitalism. It was during this period that I'd borrowed a No2 pencil from my comrade, which I subsequently misplaced. Soon after, I was being confronted with accusations of conspiring to abscond with the "Peoples' Pencil". So, it's because of this incident that Kim Jong-il has been plotting against me for all these years.

Yes, LA's future annihilation is all my fault.

Some say that the leader of North Korea is a demented man, whose worm-holed brain is teeming with syphilitic spirochetes, but I know that this really a tale of unrequited love between a boy and a shiny yellow Ticonderoga pencil.

the end

The Way to Survival in These Troubled Times

Someone much cooler than I am emailed and enlightened me to this fine and invigorating video.

Live Gary Coleman Cam Coming Soon!

I had to delete the preceding post's pic of Gary Coleman in Jail. While I thought it was one of the more curious artifacts of popular culture "gone wild", there was something hauntingly sad about it which put a crimp in my being able to eat ice cream and enjoy it. You cannot cry and eat and maintain proper spiritual balance.

Meanwhile, I hope this image of a pony will somehow make up for the damage.

contemplating sinful deeds

This Month's Complimentary Screen-Saver

[image of gary coleman in jail removed
because of guilt pangs... ]

(GC paid his dues many times over, so be nice to the li'l feller. --BTW,this could be
a bloggy-blog exclusive. I don't think even The Smoking Gun has this image.
Although they do have THIS fantastic one.)

Let's Argue

During the Swivel War when Colonel Harlan Lee Harvey Booth sashayed down the runway with his beaming headlights pregnant with tassels, there were unspeakable rumors of brothers smiting brothers down at Ye Ol' Political Woodshed. And who was pulling the strings again? None other than that clown-head-buried-deep-in-the-collective-mammaries -- "Jejune Jacques de Mountebank"!

He's the one to watch this Season on ABC, D, E, & Effin'-G.

Indeed, many a bearded wannabe fell to the charms the musket's yawn that fateful morning. Another wispy prat never to see the glories of a steaming donut stuffed with shaving cream. It was a bitter shite. You could stack the carcasses end-to-end and sideways, but what for? For it would have been better to have gone surfing that day. All this waste, simply because the TV broke down once again. In these days, Indian test pattern brought in pestilence and lawsuits late from the cleaners.


When Dad read this, he took his newspaper and rolled it into a mighty tree trunk, then smoked it gingerly at the dovetails. His quest for the perfect carton of milk had, once again, been thwarted. With deep furrows in his plantation cornrow, he marshaled his five daughters to pick up arms, legs, and vacuum Europe spotless before the health inspector arrived. But when the white-gloved Pekingese armada arrived by sea, taking Dad unawares, they discovered wagon wheels and arrow heads scattered in an untidy manner among the prairies.

Enter stage left: a strutting moose wearing an 11-gallon hat bellowed unto these lost pickles-for-brains saying, "Verily, for we must argue and not know why, until another generation has passed wind and packed my verbal payload into holy cannons".

This is why the electric President and his cabinet full of animators will pour latex over their skeletons everyday at noon for the kids. With sinews of steel and pumping cylinders, they know precisely which toes you need massaged. If there wasn't a sensual kink in their days of waning prowess, wigwams would still stand. You could even park your car there and order a rootbeer. But no.

The Freeze Bell: Help or Hindrance?

Once, in the 4th grade, I was idly folding construction paper into various objects. I quickly mastered the traditional pointy hat and the little alligator figure. Still, I wanted something better, something cool to lend me a bit more street cred with the ladies (I was, after all, in need of repairing my public image which had taken a nose-dive ever since I wore maroon corduroys to class the previous week). So, with a little perseverance, I managed to take an old Fudgesicle wrapper and fold it into a functioning time machine! I set the controls to 6/20/2006.


Presenting my time-regression Blog, from a time when there were no Blogs and no time to make 'em:

Recently the suits at my school instituted the "Freeze Bell" to signal the end of recess. Upon hearing the bell, everyone in the playground must immediately hold motionless until the second bell signals us to walk back to class in an "orderly" fashion. So no matter if you're kicking a ball, playing in the sand, or moving upwards on the swing... you MUST freeze in place or the yard monitor with the German accent will drop a boulder on your head --at least that's the word going 'round and no one's had the nerve to test it.

I find the freeze bell to be slightly demoralizing. It's on par with Pavlov's dog. Some kids get confused upon hearing its stimuli and drool all over themselves. The ritual reduces me and my esteemed classmates to the states of adolescent mannequin figures, silent sufferers in need of restroom facilities.

Yesterday, when the bell went off, a pitbull ran up and began tearing at my arm. All I could do was stand there will a stupid grin while he made a meal of me. I think I may need some legal council.

The End

____________________

Test:

1. How did the preceding story make you feel?

a. ecstatic
b. like you wanted to shout 'hallelujah' when it was over
c. afraid
d. numb
e. all of the above


2. When the bell goes off, you must:

a. check both ways and then run into an on-coming car
b. return the human skull to your friend with the trenchcoat
c. make enough roquefort dressing to feed the planet
d. freeze
e. think of sex


3. The Yard Lady with the German accent is:

a. your first lesbian encounter
b. very nice and nobly suffering an unfortunate stigma
c. a talent scout looking to represent the next great tap dancer
d. into eating paste along with the kids
e. a devout hamster enthusiast and mason


4. A Time Machine can be made from a simple Fudgesicle wrapper and:

a. a little love
b. the sweat of your brow
c. elbow grease
d. wishful thinking
e. 10 pratfalls and an exploding cigar


5. A 4th grade classroom typically smells like:

a. petunia and rosemary
b. mucous and crayon wax
c. rancid debris from a can of spaghetti-o's
d. stale milk
e. shit or "poo"

Good Night & Good Luck

Apparently Kim Jong-il will be launching a ballistic missle into my front lawn within the next 24 hrs. That should help to rid my flower bed of those pesky snails once and for all. If you don't hear from me again, I just want everyone to know that I am sorry but I won't be making it to the next "Anthrocon".

Things that annoy pt. XLVII

gag-reflex guarantee

Apple is running a very stupid ad campaign on their site exploiting the time-honored divide between computer platforms. A dunderhead duo introduce themselves: "I'm a PC" and "I'm a Mac" -- the respective ersatz twins of Gates and Jobs. While I have been a Mac user forever, the spot is so cloying about how hip (and unshaven, like me) you are to own a Mac that I felt compelled to drown my machine in the toilet.

There's a better life in the next world for my underdog Mac.

Now that I've gone there, I might as well finish. I've encountered people who take the PC vs. Mac thing quite seriously, like willing foot soldiers on a consumerist Jihad. It's yet another American "culture war" -this one premised on silicone. It's not difficult to see that both sides of the contest, so deeply invested, are losers.

I, on the other hand, am perfect. I never go there. I never proclaim anything so ridiculous. My hands are clean. I just plug in my Ipod ear-buds and stay neutral, cool, un-shaven. OK, everyone look at me now.

_____________________

Ahh, Blogging. A safe womb for my cardboard fiefdom.

Thank you for reading. Please leave your generous donations and gifts with the drunken rabbit (see below).

Nostalgic for Quicksand

A friend recently pointed out that there aren't enough movies featuring quicksand these days. "What ever happened to quicksand?", he pleaded. Indeed, this is an insightful question if ever there was one --one that points to some sort of corrupting cultural shift. Have we all become too cynical for quicksand?

Quoting now from data stolen from another blog: "According to some new studies, instead of slowly sinking to your death, quicksand victims will actually float once they get about waist deep. Quicksand is a mixture of fine sand, clay and saltwater. Once agitated, the mixture transforms from a loose packing of sand on top of water into a dense, liquid soup. Moving around just makes things worse so the advice is: Stay calm and eventually you'll float your way to safety. Stretch out on your back and just wait for your legs to pop free."

As you can see, we live in a very smug world where quicksand has been reduced to something that can be out-smarted by rational thought. But one has to wonder, where has the romance gone? What about the eroticism of seeing the female form being pulled from quicksand? This is the real agenda behind why I'm very pro-quicksand. Let's hear it for quicksand!

Yeah Quicksand!!!

Raw text without the cheap supplementary visuals

Here's the full alphabet as far as I understand it: a b c d e f g h i j k lm n o p q r s t u v w x y z. It's still just a work-in-progress kinda' thing and I'm not certain that all the letters are in the right order. If anyone knows of any additional letters of the alphabet to add to the series, please send them in. Speaking of: I've eaten alphabet soup and Alphabet cereal. The I's don't have it and the X's are X'cellent. There's something so very Dada-esque about eating vowels and consonants, wouldn't you agree? I've also sent letters through the mail and those I've had to lick, but we won't get into that.

This is all a grand way of procrastinating my writing music to one of the "songs" in the lyric contest, posted May 16th. I obviously have many important things vying for my attention.

Big Drunk Rabbit

Here's a flawed but instructive walk cycle I made while trapped in my apartment waiting for the maddening holiday traffic to subside. Idd'n't Cuuuuute???

More Screen Savers For The Kids

Screen Saver

Here's your FREE bloggy-blog screen saver. Wow! Just click and download. That's all ya' gotta do folks! I want these distributed all around the globe, especially the polar ice caps where it really counts! So do your part today!

Lyric Contest Mk:II

Go ahead, throw some lyrics at me. I'll create a completed recorded tune to the one I like the most. We've done this before & we can get through it again.

Ready?... GO!!!

*note: contestants relinquish all rights to material submitted. all copyrights from finished recording become geritopia property. subsequent product merchandising, records, hats, cd's are licensed to geritopia and all geritopia subsidiaries, including, but not limited to: squaresville records and money-hungry-chimps inc. geritopia reserves the right to hang lyricist by the ankles and collect all loose change that falls to the ground, including car keys but exempting passes to all andrew lloyd webber musicals, which remain sole property of contestant, if so willing and expressed.