We Don’t Get Along - Relationships among humans

Have you ever noticed how…people don’t get along? They just don’t get along…And then they get married. And they still don’t get along.
The whole process is like going forward with a mess that people generously call making do with what you’ve got.
Well why not hit the road jack?…you try and exchange wants, needs and desires, you say how about kids? When she says the neighbor’s make too much noise then you say okay let’s get married so I can change your mind…you find out that assuming responsibility means I’m assuming you’re responsible. Or like when she says let’s eat at this restaurant and you say we did, three times and it was equally awful each time, each in its own exquisitely horrible way. She won’t back down, and adds, well I think we should give it one more chance. Yes, that would be sporting I say, and while we’re at it, why not clone Hitler’s remains and give him one more chance.
He can’t be ALL bad, no?

Dick Cheney has a heart!

We recently received long awaited proof that former veep Dick Cheny does indeed have a heart when he had to have his replaced with that of an unknown donor. His recovery was described as remarkable, his moral compass however appears to not have budged from that irremediably-out-of-order direction it froze into a long time ago. It had long been speculated whether the former CEO of Halliburton, one of the biggest beneficiaries of the Iraq War or Iraq Attack as it is consonantally known, did in fact have a heart since his feelings on torture, and humanity in general indicated a singular lack of affection for the species. This operation put that speculation to rest, he did indeed have a heart, but it wasn’t doing much of a job. Will the new one change him?

Funeral speech declarations for those we didn’t like

His life was like a dish that once consumed leaves a bad taste in your mouth and in your mind A departure that closely resembles a breath of fresh air Now more than ever we hope that this new departure is indeed such, for the old one was a succession of false starts and breakdowns. Someone we shudder to remember and thankful for the fact they are no longer physically present to aggravate our shuddering. Moments like these make it clear that the deceased is best remembered with patience and compassion. Well there is one thing that can be said for the deceased and that will hopefully be followed by something else a tad less upleasant. Living with the deceased was like things are pretty much like right now. She was someone that you would probably have to have help remembering. She will always be remembered for being unmemorable. In fact her name escapes me. We knew this person as someone who always had it coming and the coming finally came Now with the departed truly departed we can say may God Bless Him without feeling a twinge of hypocrisy or Schadenfreude.

IPhone 5! Gosh!

The IPhone 5! What does the IPhone 5 have that the IPhone 4 didn’t ? - A higher price ! It’s less cheap ! - It’s newer ! - It’s name is different and therefore sounds different - As an IPhone 5 owner you will be cooler than the IPhone 4 user, in fact you will be ACAP, As Cool As Possible, in what passes for the présent - It wasn’t introduced by Steve Jobs - The Chinese workers who put it together suffered slightly less than those who did the IPhone 4 thanks to the international outcry accompanying Jobs-era working conditions (a curious variation on the classic American theme of sending ‘Jobs’ overseas) - It takes up less thickness in your Pocket - You can buy two IPhone 5s for the price of three IPhone 4s - The latest model uses up just a little bit more of those exquisitely rare and vanishing metals and rare earths, which has led to great violence in certain underdeveloped countries - It’s more sensitive to your finger pinching - And it’s just different, gosh!

Samaritain, de quoi mêles-tu?

Les crétins existent. La cretinté sévit depuis la nuit des templiers…depuis toujours, même lorsque tout se passe bien, à merveille même, vous descendez la rue en plein jour, façon de parler, vous voyez les phares allumés d’une voiture garée devant un garage et je ne sais pas pourquoi à défaut de pouvoir arrêter le cours du temps, d’abreuvoir les coupes et remplir les panses d’un monde en sursis, vous décidez de faire un geste car vous savez que les choses nous prennent par les petits cheveux bouclés qui voient rarement la lumière du jour et nous pensons devoir mourir un jour et avant ce trépas un geste à droite et pas très gauche, d’empêcher la grenouille de se faire écrabouiller, oui, vous faites ce geste de manière intéressée et non pas par amour de la grenouille vous pensez faire du bien du bien mais hélas bien bon mon bien, voilà le jeune homme garagiste qui vient au son de la frappe de votre main affairée contre ses carreaux et il vous demande ce que vous voulez car il sait même jeune et inexpérimenté que vous n’apporterez pas de la taule a être ramenée à la lumière, il sait que votre parole ne jouera pas dans sa caisse sonnante et trébuchante car la votre ne roule pas dans ce sens, alors que voulez vous vraiment dans la tumulte et les vapeurs de son échoppe là où les viscères les poumons qui on tenu tête littéralement en haut de la colonne et au sens figuré face aux effluves corrosives de leur travail et les méandres du cerveaux de ce jeune homme se perdent en conjecture avortée car la chimie de son lieu de travail le torpille et l’abîme. Et moi je veux rendre service ? Je dois conclure que dans ce mécano, cette vie devenue sculpture à la Tinguely avec jets d’eau où tout ce qui bouge ne fait que tournoyer autour de lui-même, ne fait qu’un tour lorsque je l’entends dire, et alors, ce n’est pas grave, comme si j’étais le derniers des petits enquiquineurs d’empêcher de tourner en rond ou en carré. Stupéfait par ces parts égales d’imbécillité et d’incivilité je n’ai pas de répartie d’autre que de partir. Il faut arrêter quand même toutes ces velléités de bon samaritisme, et se résigner à l’entropie naturelle des gens et des choses.

Drugs ARE our friends

How about a roundabout way of telling someone they use drugs: You know how they tested the water in all the big cities and found staggering proportions of cocaine in our drinking water and in everything downstream from the burg? So you have this friend you more than heavily suspect and you want to break the news that it’s no longer news so you tell them: “You know should be really careful about drinking London water because it sure shows up in your urine.” Why are we so fond of drugs? Prescription, non-prescription, and the so-called recreational because they let the Columbian and Mexican cartels have such a good time. What do they really ’recreate’ except mayhem? The fondness for drugs is akin to a need. A need for drugs, within this society. The fondness for drugs comes from our hatred of the present. What could possibly be worse than what is happening to you right now? I mean did you plan for this? Did you plan to buy and take all those drugs? The prescription to keep the multinational pharmaceutical companies afloat and the recreational to make sure criminals are kept occupied, otherwise God knows what mischief they would be up to. Daily life is not a drug. It is disruptive of our intoxicated condition however, and that can drive you to drug use. You wake up, or are awakened by a loud alarm clock, otherwise you might as well sleep in your bed as you would a coffin. You have to be shouted into awareness, it drives one to drink, just to be always a little out of date with what’s happening. Just to be. Is a drug, the biggest of all, however it is so all encompassing that it can be hard to handle. So it needs the little drugs, recreational, prescription and all around pharmaceutical, to dull its unsentimental edges. In fact it is quite difficult to tell your friends to stop dulling their edges with drug use for at least two reasons: it’s their life and you probably can’t tell the difference.

GM Memo

For General Motors, on the boss’s desk: The Buick stops here

Fractal Cauliflower

I was sitting there eating fractal cauliflower, you know that beautiful green vegetable they call cauliflower, a member of the family, however this one unlike its homely cousin has each little stalk; as in harass a movie star – stalker - and not bondage, as in stocks and bondage, being a Fibonacci sequence, like looking at a cross section of a nautilus spiraling outwards or inwards if you’re down, you hesitate to eat or cook something so perfect, so mathematically delectable, so you are contemplating the geometrical beauties of nature as they go down your throat in a cream ketchup curry sauce (please notice how all food stuffs here begin with a hard c sound) and someone tells you there is or was a website called Tweleted.com where you can see all yours and everyone else’s deleted Tweeter messages, is there a Threleted.com site where you can see everyone’s deleted deleted messages? Nothing is ever lost in the virtual world, every spittle, every drool, all the virtual snot you thought you had blown out of existence with repeated deletes. It’s all there and it can’t even fester. http://www.cyberalley.com/G-Home/R&D/R&D5/FofL06.html

Le Figaro: Anesthésie Générale pas recommandée pour les personnes âgées

J’espère que ce titre vous fait réfléchir. Il semble qu’au delà d’une certaine âge, si on se fait endormir par l’anesthésiste on revient à la maison avec la moitié du QI en moins. Certes pour la plupart de nous cela ne pose aucun problème mais mettons que vous vous teniez à votre bribe de conscience et l’idée de se faire ravager les neurones en les endormant ne vous comble pas de joie…alors imaginez la conversation qui suit avec M l’illustre, docteur chirurgien professeur et chef de service, suite au paiement d'une grosse franchise qui vous garantit que le brave homme lui même et non pas un des internes notoires entaillera votre peau précieuse. Monsieur Le Professeur Docteur Chef De Service (MLPDCDS) : Alors ne vous inquiétez pas Madame, on va vous opérer. Oui oui oui oui oui, nous allons vous opérer, et pour protéger votre cerveau sur le déclin, pas d’anesthésie, non non non non non… Chouette, pensez vous alors, j’ai entendu dire que l’anesthésie rallonge le temps de cicatrisation …mais MLPDCDS est-ce que je ne vais pas avoir mal lorsque vos lames me tailleront la chair ? Ah Madame, vous avez le malheur d’être âgée, toujours mal vue dans notre société, mais par contre vous avez un atout considérable, celui d’être femme, et comme l’homme l’a démontré à travers les siècles les femmes sont beaucoup plus à mêmes de supporter la douleur que nous les pauvres hommes… Ah MLD, cela ne me rassure qu’à moitié, mettons un petit quart car il se peut que je sois située à gauche dans votre courbe qui décrit la capacité grandissant des femmes à supporter la douleur. Mais Madame, plus vous vieillissez moins vous rentrez dans nos schémas de confort habituels et plus vous devez vous complaire à la souffrance. M je ne m’attendais pas à un sermon, quelles seront les conséquences si je ne me fais pas opérer ? D’abord Madame je me verrai privé d’un honoraire considérable et vous risquez un vieillissement précoce du cerveau. Donc la voie de la souffrance m’est toute tracée. Une dernière question, si vous utilisez moins d’anesthésie est-ce que je ne peux pas avoir une réduction de mes notaires, au cas où je m’en souviendrai à mon éventuel réveil ?

Les Américains testent leur bombe la plus puissante

« Elle a explosé juste après 13h00 11/03/03 (18h00 GMT), a dit Nicholasa Brown, interrogée sur l'essai de la bombe MOAB (Massive Ordnance Air Blast - munition massive à effet de souffle), surnommée la "mère de toutes les bombes" (Mother Of All Bombs) en raison de ses initiales en anglais, qui aurait un pouvoir de destruction équivalent à un petit engin nucléaire. » ou dix mille kilos de dynamite si vous préférez. « Son emploi peut être très dévastateur contre des forces terrestres, c'est une arme psychologique", a déclaré Jake Swenson, un porte-parole de la base. » Avec des porte-paroles pareilles on craint pour l’intelligence des militaires. Effectivement si la bombe est employée contre les objets vivants, évoluant dans notre espace temps, tels les êtres humains ou les petites abeilles, l’emploi sera plus que très probablement dévastateur, n’est-ce pas ? Cela s’explique facilement car d’après le principe d‘exclusion de Wolfgang Pauli, dix tonnes d’explosif en pleine explosion et une être vivant peuvent difficilement occuper le même espace en même temps et en jouir pleinement. Une véritable arme psychologique car son explosion détruit toute trace de psychisme. La psychologie n’en mènera pas large une fois le corps réduit en résidu protoplasmique. Vous sentez la logique militaire, ou une absence redoutable de franchise : cette arme fera peur aux irakiens (les militaires américains pensaient à un moment ouvrir la guerre, la première ou la deuxième au choix, avec un petit MOAB) car après avoir réduit la moitié de leurs effectifs ou la ville de Bagdad en charpie l’autre moitié, humaine au moins, prendra ce qui lui reste de jambes à ce qui lui reste de cou.

Drone, shmoan, what’s the problem?

The other day I was thinking , My God what’s so stressful about being a drone pilot? Sitting there in the safety of some US Army base, in a comfy chair, hum of air conditioning, and then you go home and your three year old asks you what you did at work today…well sweety I was watching the screen in my office, on my screen is a man named Firuz, the picture is so clear and sharp that I can tell whether Firuz shaved the night before as a matter of fact I can see him shaving if he does it outdoors or near a window and I can see that he has a little house, almost a hut, made of brick and stone and earth and he has a wife who works around the house all day long and he has a little girl, two in fact, one just your age, and watching Firuz is like watching a movie of Firuz because the camera is sending me a picture of Firuz from thousands of miles/kilometers away and he also has animals, not like your gerbil but a goat and he shares a cow with a neighbor, quite rare and I have been watching FIruz 8 hours a day for the last three weeks but next week this job will end. And why is that Daddy? Well that’s when he’s scheduled for termination, the drone I’m piloting to take pictures will fly straight at him and …remove him from this life. Jeez, I mean what’s so stressful about that? Firuz can’t even shoot back…

These four things happen before a heart attack

Your wife leaves you Your dog dies Your team loses You total your car or even worse, you wife leaves you and punches you on the left shoulder at the same time. Your dog dies and you carry the weighty carcass with your left arm, draped over your left shoulder. Your team loses and you punch the flatscreen with your left hand, and still fulminating total your car after misadjusting your seat belt and wrench your left shoulder and the whole left side of your body. You are already a long way of the way there. Left shoulder pain is a bad sign. If your wife loses you when your dog dies after seeing your local team lose the finals because you totaled the car while driving their star player to the match it would probably be a good idea to enter the witness protection plan, kill yourself or leave town before you are felled by a much deserved and unsurprising heart attack.

Sourd ou aveugle? Il faut choisir!

Une société de taxi spécialisée dans le transport d’enfants sourds depuis leur maison et l’école décide d’engager quatre chauffeurs sourds. Après tout quoi de plus normal compte tenu du fait qu’ils pourront communiquer avec leurs charges par le biais de la langue des signes, atout qui faisait défaut aux conducteurs entendants qui se trouvaient souvent démunis face à leurs passagers sourds. Alors l’embauche va bon train jusqu’au moment ou le courageux patron est informé du fait qu’il est interdit selon le code de travail d’engager toute personne sourde dans le transport d’enfants…apparemment les sourds sont considérés comme un menace pour les enfants…et de surcroit il se trouve que le patron de la boite est aveugle. On n’a pas pu lui lire la totalité du code de travail avant l’embauche.

Je Tripote

Je tripote Je tripe je tripe tripe tripe je tripe ooote Oui je tripe tripe tripe ote Je tripote mon ipad et je tripote Mon iphone et je tripote mon smart phone Et je tripote mon ipad et mon ipod mais plus ma femme Et moi non plus mon mec Depuis que je tripote mon i xistence Pourquoi tripoter la chair quand je tripote en claire sur le clavier de mon pote je tripote je tripote je tripote jusqu’au trépas…

Prendre corps

De nos jours, dans notre société on n’acquiert pas un corps qu’à partir du moment où l’on commence à le perdre, c’est à dire la vieillesse. Pour nous les gens, le corps déclinant c’est le gros de nos conversations et advient le trépas ce dernier constitue alors la matière même de nos discours… : Oui, le vieux Jeannot est mort, 104 ans, les quatre derniers mois il lui a fallu une sonde pour vider la vessie tellement la prostate était devenue énorme. » Voilà tout ce que nous allons retenir du départ voire de l’agonie de ce Jeannot….Bien que sur le plan pédagogique vous l‘avez là la leçon d’anatomie gratuite, pour ceux qui n’en avaient pas la moindre idée de l’existence voire de l’emplacement de la prostate. C’est donc un organe qui appuie sur la vessie, qui mène obligatoirement à la zezette ou au zob. Sauf que chez les femmes c'est autre chose. Alors grâce faite à ce décès qui nous a mis au claire quelques organes essentielles pour notre existence. Après tout, le mot autopsie veut dire ‘je vois.’ Vous voyez ?

Life on other planets

It now seems far more than just an annoying certainty : There are so many other planets out there in space that the chances of their not being life on any one of them is infinitely small, even infinitely small life, so there certainly is life out there, and a lot of it can compare favorably with what life we’ve given ourselves here on earth. However, one thing that may very well be unique to the earth sphere are tv series, scientists are still speculating on the possibility that given so many inhabited planets there might easily be a True Blood or a Game of Thrones or maybe even a Homeland out there and that with enough worlds maybe even the endings will be the same. And with enough more worlds maybe there will be no death penalty in the otherworld America, no halitosis either or a tendency to say euh, and maybe also perhaps no rampant paranoia and drugged out ADHD children…but then again it could be worse on other worlds, they could all be obese, or snarl like Dick Cheney and mistake their lawyer friends for quail and fill them up with buckshot, which is toxic. This is all possible since after all there are so many other worlds, which is maybe why no one is behaving as if they cared about this one.

Hate music leads to Sikh Deaths

So, if you believe the analysts or read the newspaper or listen to the news or are permeable in any other way to what other people are trying to tell about occurrences you were not present for, then you may be utterly convinced that that very sad excuse for a human being who shot six Sikhs before shooting himself – if you think about, it it’s a shame these people don’t perform these acts in reverse order, shooting first themselves and then their intended victims, I mean it’s all about bullets and the freedom to wield a firearm – anyway if you believe that hate music was absolutely necesary in forging his murderous acts then you had better stop listening to that there Nazi-loving classical music : Wagner, Strauss, Hitler’s faves, even Haydn, I mean after listening to Jozef Haydn’s String Quartet in C major (the Kaiser-Quartet), Op. 76.3, I just want to rush out and join the Wehrmacht and button on one of those fancy swastika cufflinks and knock down a Knockwurst. The Haydn quartet gave its melody to the German anthem, popularly known Deutschland Uberalles, and was even banned in Germany after the allies invaded in 1945. The Allies knew even then about the dangers of music. On a recent note, Syrian dictator and mass murderer Bashar Al Assad has the following playlist : Leona Lewis' “Hurt,” Chris Brown’s “Look at Me Now,” featuring Lil Wayne and Busta Rhymes, LMFAO, including the hit, "Sexy and I Know It." On February 5th of this year he bought “God Gave Me You" for his wife Asma, sung by country star Blake Shelton, but not before first shelling Homs, his third largest city, and killing thousands of his fellow Syrians in celebration. Then again, there is certainly a very long list of people who had murder on their minds until a heaping of Conway Twitty or Loretta Lynn set their souls on a more peaceful course. So make sure you listen to the right stuff and you won’t wanna kill.

Where did our cum come from?

The Neanderthals mated with other human species, one such called the Denisovans and they also mated with the species that made it, the one we have today that developed ketchup among other marvels. Scientists claim that by analyzing a section of a little girl’s pinkie they can, yes they can, retrace the whole bleeding genome and by examining our, the collective our, DNA describe how much of the guys who didn’t make it has in fact made it up to the present day, well cradled within our genes. And immunologist Peter Parham, at the Stanford University School of Medicine, analyzing both modern and ancient alleles, which are immune-system genetic components —figured out that one of the Denisovan-modern couplings most likely took place in what was and still is now southeastern China. He has even found the divan that such a coupling may likely have taken place on with the scantiest trace of seminal juices from the frantically humping pair. Other scientists, dust experts, feel that the stratum is indicative of unnaturally unsettled dust and deduce the goings on had to have been hot and heavy, thus the frantically humping. These conclusions will countenance no contradiction. He has also found some evidence – this meaning more than nothing but less than a lot - that a Neanderthal-modern pair – can you imagine the fashion conflict? Sweetheart I haven’t seen that hairdo in five thousand years, either you put your hair up the right way or we do it in the dark - mated in west Asia. That limits it to somewhere between Istanbul or Constantinople if you prefer and Saint Petersburg. Of course these cities were but dim and fantastic illusions not to see the light of any day for tens of thousands of years, but these couplings took place on this earth, somewhere. Had to have. And not during any old super bowl where the principle attraction has let her teat burst forth from her corset, disturbing the well seated libido of the screeching thousands Of Moderns, to where all this has led.

Russian Orthodox Church Patriarch Kirill I makes $30K Breguet watch disappear up his sleeve

Aptly described in the New York Times as a modern day miracle, a photo showing Russian Orthodox Patriarch Kirill I wearing a $30K Breguet watch was re-released the next day with the watch gone and his cassock’s black sleeve grown longer to cover it. The people who did the photo retouching must have thought they were enormously clever except that they forgot to retouch the Breguet timepiece’s reflection on the glossy wooden table top on which the Patriarch was resting his holy forearms. Even miracles have their limits. Costly timepieces are an ancient tradition in the Church, and even before it was a Church, Jesus was known to be quite fond of his Audermars Piguet which he consulted frequently to make sure he was on time for his sermons, resurrections, and especially his fateful appointment with Judas. Otherwise history would not have been the same. Or not as we know it. The Russian prelate swears he never wore the thing, or that had he been seen wearing it that that would have meant something else was intended. These are his words, proof enough that the servants of God work in mysterious ways that are often quite close to what we lesser servants call dishonesty. Jesus only wore his watch to show that he wanted to be like us, that he needed reminders of things like the passage of time when in fact his connectedness with what is hardly betokened such a need. Had Jesus worn such a watch we could assume that it had been a gift from a wealthy patrician and that Jesus knew when to make peace and when to act otherwise. He wasn’t worried about the publicity. And he didn’t lie.

Deodorize your Fate

Does your fate smell? Do your fates smell? You don’t know the insect, cause it’s ambuguous. But if your fate smells then you can get a grip on it. We can deodorize it. Your fate should not smell, it should perfume. You need a perfumy fate, entrance those around you with aromas nothing short of celestial, because though you are walking through your life, through the valley of dirge and desperation, often the male feeling if your home town teams suck, dragging your fate through cesspools of indecision, reaction and diminution, the stink that accrues thereon can be dealt with before death. Must be dealt with…preferably before death. When you die, slowly, suddenly, deliciously, decrepitously, be it the biggest surprise of your life or something you have prepared with in fabulous tender foresight, you will, according to the Tibetans, be in a new field of possibilities, where you will have to choose. And your fate may still smell, even in this immaterial place. Lights will present themselves, a blinding terrifying flash of the great Buddha Vairocana or the friendly little luciole lights of friends, family, bowling club or dart tossing buddies, and here again your smelly fate will either lead you into that small scared choice of the faces of your truly disappeared past or otherwise where realized souls go if your fate does not smell. The choice is celestial or sad. Usually it's back in the body and oh so subject to its smelly, undeodorized fate. Once again.

Je suis spécial

Parfois on se promène, et tout d'un coup il y a un bel écureuil européen avec sa splendide panache rousse qui s’approche d’à peine deux mètres de votre auguste personne…vous n’avez jamais joui d’une telle intimité avec cette espèce et vous vous demandez si soit la méditation zen que tu comptais démarrer cet été soit ta résolution de nouvel an de ne plus jurer à longueur de journée a en quelque sort changé ton aura. Peut être vous vous approchez du Saint François d’Assise qui a pu discourir auprès des oiseaux qui ont posé aile et bec pour l’écouter. Vous vous dites que c’est tout à fait remarquable, délicieux même de se sentir tant soit peu sanctifié de son vivant sans devoir passer par un martyre quelconque, fascinants et variés qu’ils fussent. Nimbé de ce doux délire vous vous cogner le tibia contre la barrière des tulipes Green Wave variété extravagante et réputée et vous vous souvenez sur le coup osseux que vous vous promenez au Parc Floral de Paris et que lesdits animaux n’ayant pas été agressés par des visiteurs de mémoire d’écureuil se sont habitués à eux en toute confiance…vous n’êtes pas encore saint ni en odeur de sainteté, persévérez quand même….

Here is a typical Fox News headline : Solar eruption mistaken for refueling UFO spaceship

You can just imagine a whole series being churned out non-stop: browsing deer mistaken for armored assault vehicle, cigar smoking school teacher mistaken for Mexican drug lord, Fox News presenter mistaken for journalist, penis mistaken for doorstop, United States mistaken for peace loving nation, Sun mistaken for large ball of gas, bathtub mistaken for presidential candidate, testicles mistaken for falafel sandwich, mistakes mistaken for the truth, silence mistaken for depression, intelligence mistaken for rebellion, stupidity mistaken for the norm,

La nourriture, les fruits

Qu’est ce qui se passe avec la nourriture ? Je vous le demande ! Vous vous souvenez le jour, il y a peut être pas si longtemps que ça, vous faisiez les courses en toute confiance au Monoprix, ou chez Attac, le joli nom!, Leclerc et vous vous rapprochez du rayon fruits et légumes, tout en pensant de manière distraite à vos collègues, et alors vous êtes tombés nez à nez avec un truc qui s’appelle le ‘clemenvilla,’ le clemenvilla, ça ressemblait à une petite orange ou a une grosse mandarine Alors c’est quoi ? Un croisement entre une clémentine et le bandit mexicain Pancho Villa ? Arriba muchachos! Pancho Villa plus clémentine, égalent clemenvilla. C’est évident! Est-ce que vous savez qu’en août 1916 les USA ont envoyé 111,000 soldats en Mexique pour faire la chasse à Pancho Villa et ils ne se sont jamais même approchés du bonhomme ? Ca vous rappelle une autre chasse à l’homme dans les montagnes et le désert de l’Afghanistan? Car bientôt nous allons voir le ‘Ladenvilla’ dans nos rayons fruits et légumes. Une saveur explosive !

Great bureaucracy defying events

Haven’t you ever wanted to stick it to the powers that be? To the people hiding behind the institutions that really do run our lives? Remember that retard you knew in high school who loved Jello and who is now your local Homeland Security Director? You can see him talking now: We know the enemy, we know who she is because we know she fears Jello…especially the light colored flavors, yellow, pink, and especially the green one, yes green." In Republican science and metaphysics, not liking yellow means you’re a coward, pink means you’re gay, and not liking green means you’ve got ties to the ecological and global warming believer movement. I know it’s backwards logic but were you expecting something coherent maybe from those who deride facts?

Black and White Blood

Racism, I never understood it, I mean they - that would be white people - let black women nurse their children, oooh black milk, yes they nursed their children but they couldn’t set their black asses on that white toilet seat. A Black doctor, no that’s for everyone, not a doctor for blacks but a doctor who was considered black by race and everyone that would go to him, Charles Pierce, developed the blood bank, I mean I guess his people had seen enough blood to make him an expert, so he’s the head of the blood bank in the whole of the US of A and the Red Cross - first of all it’s WWII, you know you remember that war that just and noble war to get rid of Hitler and replace him with the head of General Motors ? That was what the Opel was all about, American Nazi Car - anyway it’s WWII ok, we need blood big time, so Mr that will be Doctor Pierce is running the blood bank and the Red Cross tells him to SEPARATE BLACK BLOOD FROM WHITE BLOOD, yes you haerd , that’s Gaelic for heard me right, And how can you tell ? I mean about the difference between black people’s blood and white people’s blood? Well it looks different on black skin I suppose, Here I’m talking about you look under the microscope and you can just tell right away which cells have been whipped, branded chained, and exploited for over 200 years, it’s written in the genes, I been oppressed so don’t mix oppressed blood with free happy white blood, so he refuses, Dr. Pierce, I mean he refuses to separate the bloods from the crips no the bloods from the bloods, so they fire him…. “Hey, we got an injured GI here, losing a lot of blood, can you send some one ? Ok what color ? The blood? It’s red asshole, No, I mean the skin , Look he’s in a coma and it’s dark I can’t tell, Well hold up a flashlight or something, Look he’s covered in mud, Give him a bath, I don’t bathe niggers, just kidding, I think he’s black, Oh sorry, no more black blood in stock, or equally surreal scenario would have an injured white soldier refusing a 'black' blood transfusion…

Faites attention… connard!

Dans le métro parisien nous les parisiens sommes fendus d’un effort considérable envers la gente étrangère. D’abord l’avertissement en français pour vous prévenir que si vous êtes du genre tête en l’air vous risquez fort de vous trouvez les fesses coincées entre la rame et le quai, car grande est la distance qui sépare le train de la descente dans certaines stations comme Bastille. Ensuite, les voix sans accent ou au moins je le suppose, donnent la relève en anglais à l’intention de ceux allergiques à l’idiome local, suit l’espagnol, l’italien, l’allemand, et le japonais. Seuls ceux dont la maîtrise leur permet d’entendre et comprendre malgré le boucan ambiant sont en mesure de témoigner du fait que plus nous avançons dans les langues qui nous sont étrangères, plus le message est corsé. Dans l’Espagnol on entend dire « faites attention…espèce de nouille », l’anglais traite le voyageur de pizza pourrie, italien de mal habillé et inélégant, des insultes conséquentes dans la péninsule… le tout pour que vous ne ratiez pas la marche, ensuite l’allemand plus dur de nature où vous vous entendez traité de frigo mal fabriqué dont l’isolation est pourrie et pleine de limaces pour finir avec un martèlement japonais bref et lancinant qui vous assène puissamment le souhait de vous voir périr fort douloureusement en enfer le tripes à l’air si vous êtes incapable d’enjamber convenablement l’espace qui sépare le train du quai. Alors tout le monde, bien compris ? Le français reste poli et diplomate quand même.