Category Archives: Nonsense

As The Midget Said To The Mouse, Verily, Verily, Verily, These Untruths…

And so it came to pass that the midget stood before the mouse and
verily, verily, verily,
he spoke these words:

You must bring me a smelly cheese that has an image of the virgin,
and it can not be the part of a trap,
for the clap that you spring is a devil’s plaything and not of the flesh,
Nay!
It is equal part Zeitgeist and Poltergeist, and brings with it the fire of
keys-tapping keyboard keyhole cracker-jacks, and rice.
You can hear about it in the papers at dawn, all dew-y wet and rigid.
The cent!
The site of live-birth!
The taste of blood and crumpets!
And you must show me the way to the hidden doorway of your mind,
for there, and only there, will I find the hidden doorway of your mind,
and I must see through the walls of deceit and tables of chestnut,
and tear with claw and tooth thru’ the hidden doorway of your mind!

Oh, tiny mouse who stands before me, know you this!
There is no unEarthly Paradise that waits beyond the shimmering hills,
and there is no smelly cheese left in this awful city of smoke and mirror;
only steel and meal, wheat and meet, and lies! all lies!
You must resist the tempting truths of the nay-sayers and yea-sayers;
they carry with them unopposed the strength and splendour of the
summer lightning and pouring pain!
And all of these things do I know with my giant brain and my tiny feet,
for I am not the messiah,
and the caterpillar that steals the record is duly bless’d in his instant.

Just then it flew in from the stained glass shattered window,
a magnesium golfball from Tiger’s bag of pricks that tore
verily, verily, verily,
through John Deer’s left foreleg and split the pew on which he sat.
The crowd sat silent as John Deer lay bleeding red on the carpet;
then all stood up to play and sing.

Dearly beloved, we dedicate this prayer to your future health and vigour.

 

{apologies to Butthole Surfers for riffing on a song.  *burp*}

I Am The Walrus

‘I Am The Walrus’ by Lennon/McCartney

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
I’m crying.

Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.

Mister City P’liceman sitting
Pretty little p’licemen in a row.
See how they fly like Lucy in the Sky, see how they run.
I’m crying, I’m crying.
I’m crying, I’m crying.

Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog’s eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen, I am the walrus,
goo goo a’joob.

Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don’t come, you get a tan
From standing in the English rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen, I am the walrus,
goo goo g’joob, goo goo g’joob.

Expert textpert choking smokers,
Don’t you think the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty, See how they snied.
I’m crying.

Semolina Pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.
Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen, I am the walrus,
goo goo a’joob, g’ goo goo g’joob, (goo goo goo joob goo goo goo joob goo goo gooooooooooooo joooooooob)

To-morrow (the 18th) is Paul McCartney’s 62nd birthday. Well, actually it’s already his birthday, as it’s late at night here and he’s in the UK… *grin* So… Happy Birthday, Paulie! I thought I’d channel a little of John’s mojo for you. After all, everyone knows that you were the walrus! Cheers!

Below is the shortest quote I’ve used yet. There is a reason for it. Julie, can you guess? I’ll bet no one else can… *grin*

“Eureka!” -Archimedes of Syracuse

*BBBZZZZZZZZZZTT*

Good evening, my loyal droogs! How are thee this fine and frolicsome evening? Me, I have been having a most entertaining and enlightening time of it, yes indeed; a good day all ’round.

First of all, I had a splendid lunch with Doc. E. and friend-Julie wherein we discussed our respective projects. That’s always fun. We shall continue the conversation next week — hopefully by then I’ll have gotten closer to a final topic choice! So hard!

Then, I got electrocuted at Kaiser, which was a most interesting experience — highly recommended. My hand tingled for the next two hours. Weird. It was all very nifty and scientific — electrodes on me flesh and a little taser in his hand… *zap* *zap* ‘jerk’ goes the Liam! Fun. *grin*

I have just added yet another essay to the collection; this one my first attempt at fiction criticism. Be honest — does it suck eggs? Balls, maybe? *shrug* I got better by the second one, and no question. Still, ‘t’was a fun paper to write and very quick.

To-morrow, I have no more lofty ambition than to get Melvin an oil change (that’s me Toyota, for those of you not “in the know”), and maybe do some reading. Isn’t my life just the very model of rock star excess?! All those wild parties and drugs and cheap women and fast cars… Or maybe it’s just books. Yeah, that’s more like it. I read books. Don’t you wish you were me? I know I do. *grin*

Hey, Haddie! What happened to your Web-log, foo? You’re even more boring than I am — looks like nothing’s happened to you in more than a month. Has your job been out-sourced to Elbonia yet? Are you teaching the natives COBOL? Have they offered you their patented shrunken-head recipe or taught you how to spear fish with swizzle-sticks? Be sure to update your log whenever you return to Planet Earth.

Ooo, speaking of Earth… Julie has figured out what’s wrong with me! Isn’t that great? Isn’t that what friends are for (to highlight our deficiencies and offer clever rationales for them)?! Okay, it goes something like this:

I am not Liam. Liam is in stasis in a subterranean chamber on Titan (you know, that methane-atmosphere Saturnian satellite that looks so purty in yer telescope). His body is ageing but his mind is a blank. Meanwhile, I have replaced him. I am, therefore, from Titan.

However, I have no actual memory of this fact, as I am on a secret mission to gather data on Earth societies and my programme managers would like an unbiased report. So long as I think I am an Earthling, I will be able to gather data unconsciously and naturally through my experiences, which will then be off-loaded into a computer matrix back home when I am recovered at some later date (and a slightly-confused Liam is returned).

My mysterious physical ailments stem from minor errors in the morphing process that transformed my methane-breathing silicon-based body into this carbon-based human replica. The morphing machine is very advanced, but of course, all computers suck, and I got stuck with a few anomalies during the transformation. Since my physiology is not actually that of an Earthling, and is only disguised as such, the doctors have been unable to locate a source for the strange reactions and sensations — they are originating in organs that have no Earth analogues and cannot be seen through my disguise.

This theory also neatly explains my continuing perplexity regarding typical human social customs and practices. One would expect that a native-born Earthling would not question such obviously-logical, practical, and useful inventions and innovations as:
      high-heeled shoes,
      advertising,
      single-variable calculus,
      breast implants,
      television,
      door-to-door salesmen,
      political correctness,
      contemporary art,
      Jennifer Lopez,
      ghettos and homeless people,
      evangelists and missionaries,
      American football,
      automated telephone systems,
      Hormel’s tasty Spam,
      thermonuclear weaponry,
      and George W. Bush.
And yet, I remain thoroughly confused by these any many other examples of human engineering and creative talents. Clearly, there are gaps in the knowledge that was available on my planet for advance programming of bio-agents. I am sure that someone far more intelligent than I will be able to take the information that I have gathered and make some sense of the above list.

I’m sure by now you’re all wondering… “hey, if you can’t remember any of this, how does Julie know that you’re an alien, anyway?” Well, that should be obvious enough, even for the human intellect. You see, Julie’s an alien, too. Of course, she has a different mission and a different planet of origin, which means that she was allowed to retain her memories. Surely you’re familiar with the old saying, “it takes one to know one”?

Julie saw through my disguise immediately, but waited until to-day to find a polite way to broach the subject. I mean, how do you tell a guy, “Umm, Liam, actually I don’t think that you’re even human….” Now, most folks would get kind of upset or be traumatised by the revelation (that, or they’d think you were insane for mentioning it in the first place…). Since I am not human, my response was typically Liam-ish: a raised eyebrow and a muttered “fascinating…”. Then I laughed. And updated my Web-log. *grin*

Okay, I’m tired. You may leave now.

“The ideal of beauty is simplicity and tranquility.” -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Cheesy Accents And Dust Storms

Belike ye wish I should relate mine happy an’ plentifull adventures of th’ day? Verily, I would indeed do so, and at length, but prithee I beseech ye grant a stay until the morrow. This e’en me dogs is dead and me skull is soft wi’ ale.

Enow wi’ this whiny prattle; aroint wi’ ye, then! Take off, ye surly sheep-biting fustilarian pignut! Have ye not better business in th’ world? Zounds, ye’d think that mine own life was of such great import! Wherefore art ye still about? Begone, miserable mewling idle-headed dizzy-eyed lout! Fie, and leave off!

Anon the morrow, lads and lassies… fare-thee-well… and sod off. *grin*

“Why, then the world’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.” -William Shakespeare (from ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor’)

I Am A Tuna Fish Sandwich

Apologies to Berke Breathed for the subject line.

Hey there, how are you all this fine evening, my loyal droogs? Myself, I am in tip-top condition, and quite energetic. I did have it in mind to rant on the Palestinian situation, but I think I’ll spare you all the polemic for this evening. I’m thinking of drafting a lengthy editorial about it, though, so when I do, you can expect to see it here first.

I managed to get 1⁄4 of the way through producing a study guide for my World War II test. As the test is on Tuesday, you can guess what I’ll be working on to-morrow night as well! *grin* I’m not writing anything out for the essay questions, but I am going over them in my noggin. I’ve just come up with my answer for the first choice, and it’s really quite good–I hope she picks that one!

After Tuesday’s exam, I go back into writing mode. The draft of my existential review is due on Friday, and I’m only half-done. Still, I know what I want to say, I just need to get sufficiently inspired and tear into it. My next step is to tear apart Kundera’s usage of Nietzsche’s eternal recurrence: it is absolutely wrong. Since it’s the foundation for his lightness-heaviness polarity, I have just cast a brick through the window of a very beautiful novel. Huh. Oh, well. I wonder if anyone else who’s reviewed the book has attacked his use of Nietzsche… it would be interesting to see what literary critics would have to say about my reading. I am, after all, just a simple historian, and not an English major! *grin*

In other news…

I have recently determined that poodles are evil. More specifically, the toy poodle, which is clearly a work of unspeakable darkness. Recent scientific and archaeological research conducted by Halliburton, inc., has proven beyond all doubt that the poodle was designed to be used as a tool of Lucifer, in his eternal battle for the souls of helpless old ladies, mentally-retarded youngsters, and gay Frenchmen. I hereby single out this wretched beast for swift and mercilous destruction by issuing the following royal edict (on my authority as 42nd earl of Neutopia, and acting regent for the crown):

    1. No citizen of Neutopia is to have any dealings, whether financial, social, or sexual, with a representative of the evil race commonly referred to as “poodle.”

    2. Any citizen caught fraternizing with such vermin will be forcibly sterilized and sent to the spice mines of Kessel; do not pass “Go,” do not collect $200. There are no exceptions, and ignorance of the law is no excuse.

    3. “Poodles” are hereby declared persona non grata and are to be expelled from Neutopian territory immediately, with all applicable force. The use of “Louisville Sluggers” is highly recommended as a means of subduing the spiteful creatures prior to transport.

    4. Any citizen that knowingly aids in the efforts of a “poodle” to evade detection by the authorities and to remain within Neutopia, will face a para-military firing squad comprised of near-sighted mariachi musicians, without benefit of a blindfold and cigarette, or even dark sunglasses.

    5. Any “poodles” remaining in sovereign Neutopian territory beyond 1 May 2004, are to be defenestrated by the nearest citizen. Defenestration should not be attempted in buildings smaller than three storeys, and must not be done on the ground floor. If a suitable structure is unavailable, please contact the proper authorities for instructions in alternate methods of disposal.

    6. Finally, all citizens of the sub-species “felis domesticus” are authorised to attack and consume the remaining “poodles” at will. No citizen is to interfere in the right of “felis domesticus” to devour “poodles,” even if they decide to do so atop your favourite oriental carpet while you’re serving tea to Aunt Millie from Cleveland.

Thank you for your support, and remember to say “Nope” to “Dope” and “Ugh” to “Drugs.” Only you can prevent forest fires. And don’t tell anyone where I touched you, it’ll be our little secret.

“If you don’t know where you are going, any road will take you there.” -Lewis Carroll