Stan's Blogosphere

THE GREAT FIRE OF LONDON AS SPAKE (AND WRIT DOWN) BY SAMUEL PEPYS (DIARIST)

2010-06-04T01:04:00.002-05:00

Comrades, I like these fashions so much I will let you read this history I have written, which only has the slightest amount of plagiarism in it.

Derived From What Was Written in Samuel Pepys Diary.

“Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle!” A.D. 1666. So at this time the Great Fire of London occurred. Because of a small mistake, but with tragic consequences.

On September 2, 1666, Thomas Farrinor, baker to King Charles II of England, failed, in effect, to extinguish his smoking material. He mistakenly thought he had tapped the glowing embers from his pipe into his chamberpot, but apparently the smouldering embers ignited some nearby socks, which in turn applied fire to the curtains and by one o’clock in the morning, three hours after Farrinor went to bed, his house in Pudding Lane, fairly close to the river Thames, was in flames. Farrinor, along with his wife and daughter, and one servant, escaped from the burning building through an upstairs window, but the baker’s maid was not so fortunate, becoming the Great Fire’s first victim. “Did this tobacco pipe set fire to London?”

Leading up to this was the extreme nicotine addiction of many English fellows. After a Saturday night of debauchery, fondling stallions and smoking pipes, they would scurry off to church on the Sabbath to try to make amends to God.
The chaps would still be puffing their pipes in church and this bad habit was what led to the ritual of the man of the cloth dipping a brush like device, sort of like a little mop, into a small bucket of “Holy Water”, and slinging the “Holy Water” at the pipe smoking vagabond’s pipes, to try to douse the tobacco in pipes of those partaking of the gaseous elixir. (“Holy Water” being very similar to ordinary water, except for its property of “Being Holy”)

Now this mop apparatus was also actually used to bless the devout, besides extinguishing smoldering tobacco pipes.

In London during that time, most of the church attendees did not have an attractive bouquet. To remedy this condition and the plague of flies which it caused, the “Celebrant” or his “deacon”, would swing this incense holder called a censer or thurible around the holy , but smelly congregation. It hung from 3 or 4 chains and had a metal saucer in which to burn the incense which it was hoped would render the devout with a more attractive fragrance. Sometimes this layperson would be called the “altar server” or “butler”.

A famous large thurible is the Botafumeiro, in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela which weighs 110 pounds (55 kilos) and is hung from the ceiling. This five foot (1.6 meter) high thurible amputated the leg of one of the pious when the main chain broke during a holy ceremony, and it (the thurible) fell upon the unfortunate chap. Luckily, the bishop was able to administer Holy Ritual before he passed over to the other side, as a way helping the fellow into heaven. He blessed the loins or reins, on account of walking, and the loins as the seat of pleasure. (Since the censer had landed on the fellows loins, it was inferred that his loins had been guilty of sin.) For even by merely walking past a house of dubious pleasures, sin could be drawn into the soul by osmosis. In gratitude, the deceased, (before he actually became deceased, and was therefore still alive) donated his earthly property to the bishop, since in the heavenly realm, these goods would not be needed.

Down through the ages several other worshipers received broken bones when they misjudged the trajectory of the venerated artifact, and were crushed when squeezed between the thurible and a statue of the Holy Virgin Mother. These chaps were thought to have not retreated in time. When first noticed, one of these fellows were thought to have been embracing the statue of the Holy Mother in an “un-dignified” or “in-appropriately personal” manner, until it was realized both of his legs were broken and he was merely trying to keep himself from falling onto the floor.

This “censing” was highly formalised in some religions. This required the censer to wear evening wear of the old style popularly called a “Monkey Suit” plus a “Top Hat”, and “Spats”. Besides the person censing, there would be a “boat boy” who would add incense as needed. Sort of like a “fireman” on a locomotive, or a “stoker” on a coal fired ship. (except not as strenuous).

The different religions had unique ceremonial aspects to their style of censing. For example clockwise and counter clockwise swings, single ,double ,triple, swings, the Sign of the Cross. Sometimes the clergyman would carry a candle in his left hand.

The faithful would sometimes burn their own incense, but this had led to a number of conflagrations, so it was discouraged. There were some of the devout who would try to warm up a cup of tea or heat a shepherd’s pie over their censer or thurible in their pew, but this proved to be a distraction.
In some rites of worship, the censer is swung toward a person or an Icon. Care must be used, as a number of priceless Icons were set ablaze, having been given a coat of flammable varnish in the course of conservation. The Icons were generally doused with Holy Water in an attempt to extinguish the inferno, rendering them more holy.

The chains on the censer had “bells” attached to them. These were not in reality bells but were a form of “bolas” which is used to capture any of the congregation who were stealthily leaving the church just as the collection plate was being passed around.

The swinging of the censer toward a person could also cause problems if the trajectory were not correctly judged. If a fellow was taking a nap and struck by the censer, he could be doused with glowing incense, and (though not noticed right away) start smouldering or burning later. More than one awoke, thinking he had been swallowed into a crack in the earth and been set ablaze by Beelzebub to begin an endless torment in the bowels of Hell. The deacon or altar boy with the Holy Water sprinkler would attempt to extinguish the flame and smoke engulfed parishioner. At least one of these smoldering chaps was so exalted by not being captured by Satan that he donated all the coins he had on his person when the holy offering plate was passed around the church.

There were one or two instances where a member of the congregation who was in debt to the deacons and gave “bugger all” in payment. These ungrateful cretins received an extra helping of flaming embers from the deacon. Then a vessel of flammable baptismal oil (with a healthy measure of Holy Distilled Spirits added) instead of Holy Water which of course only insured that they would run shrieking from their pew enveloped in a ball of fire. The less-worldly clergyman who did not realize the flames were an inducement for payback of a loan, recited the Exorcism Ritual as fast as he could (since he thought this “spontaneous combustion” was a visitation by the Archfiend of Hell) Usually this application of Heavenly Fire was enough to convince the sinner of the rightness of paying back a few quid. By the time his blisters healed, the debt was usually paid back. Nevertheless, the sinner could be slathered with healing unguents for months.

Over the passage of time, various churches tried to augment the flow of coin of the realm into the collection plate by adding opium or hashish to the incense in the censer. This was hoped to give the parishioners a more generous and giving state of mind. The devout would tend to doze in a nap, minds clouded by elixir of Opiate, and when awoken by the jingling collection plate being passed, they would donate some coin of the realm, some Doubloons or Rubbles, before his wits were about him, and realized the clergy had added a couple of “passing the collection plate” events. There was a down side to this “Opiate Dispensing”, in that the clergy would also be susceptible to it’s effect, with the predictable “Altar Boy on Fire” syndrome. (In modern times, the “Sleeping Pope Benedict” was a probable victim.)
Amen.

2010-06-02T09:19:00.001-05:00

HANNIBAL CROSSING THE ALPS WITH WAR ELEPHANTS

2010-06-02T09:17:00.000-05:00

yuri_nahl Says:

March 3, 2010 at 3:19 am

Comrades, If I had a set of bagpipes, (or bagpipe, or whatever you call the blasted things) I would put a big blob of the finest reefer inside. I would then have a convenient charcoal or stove lighter inside to set flame to the pile of reefer. I would then have a burly Scotsman or burly geezer of any nationality, since the important part would be the burliness. He would then blow into the input pipe and place suitable customers in lines, so they could approach the reefer belching bagpipes and get a suitable whiff , adequate to fill their lungs, and give a sacramental trajectory towards Nirvana.

yuri_nahl Says:

March 3, 2010 at 3:28 am

Comrades, with my degenerated mind, I forgot to point out that since there are multiple tubes emanating from the “air vessel” part of the bagpipe, that would be where the customers would be getting their whiffs of finest ganjah, and the desired effect would be to induce a metamorphosis in the Rastas , that would re-configure them as “Tabula Rastas” which could be discerned from normal “Rastas” by the apparent separation of mind and body, so desirable when seeking succor upon the Astral Plane.

yuri_nahl Says:

March 3, 2010 at 3:56 am

The story of this epic campaign must be told. But in truth, this story demands to be told. The spirit, the soul, the power of the will of these incredible men whose crossing of these mountains was a war in itself, demands and wills this to have life in our time, so perhaps men can know the potential of men. This achievement has remained a benchmark for those who aspire to great works for over 2,000 years. To win a war with the mountains, to have a chance to fight a war with the Romans! It is the story of the bringing of an army, including the war elephants, by Hannibal, Carthaginian general, and tactician nonpareil, through the mountains northwest of Italy, the Alps, to make war on the Romans.

Clearly, this is but a fragment of the career of Hannibal. As such, this heroic overcoming of this arduous challenge is still illustrative of aspects of the leadership which allowed Hannibal to feel comfortable in the presence of the Gods of War, as his generalship was peerless.

These achievements are known to us from the writings of the Roman historian Livy (Titus Livius) . Livy learned of this campaign through the “Histories of Polybius”, written fifty years after this particular traversing of the Alps occured. Polybius was a Greek historian (and military advisor) who wrote “an extensive treatise entitled ‘Tactics’” for “he was learned in matters, both political and military”. By method, he was a modern professional historian. As a rule, his accounts were derived from eye witnesses who had lived the events, and from visiting the very locations and battlefields. Most of the chronicles of Polybius are lost.The account of the march through the mountain roads survived, so fortunate are we who wish to have some understanding of one of the greatest generals in history.

This listing of the bona-fides of the authors of the histories, and the provenance of the written accounts is only to give credibility to an event which by its nature , is so astonishing and otherworldly, so unbelievable, but for the eyewitness accounts, it would seem to be a fiction, derived from fantasy. Therefore, presented below are the events which together are known as “The Crossing of the Alps by Hannibal the Carthaginian”

This occurs during the time called “the time of the beginning of the Second Punic War” (218BC) A remarkable thing about bringing an army through the Alps is the ingenuity one must use when faced with the pervasive and utter horror of abrasive wind, snow drifts, and blinding snow squalls which limit visibility to a few feet. Under such indescribable hardship, when progress becomes at best, a crawl, the logistics of re-supplying the fighting army with food are all important. Conversely,the weapons of war become an anchor, less than worthless. Only more weight for the exhausted troops to drag with them through the abominable conditions

At this time, the time called the “beginning of the starvation” it was decided to devour the elephant’s penises, as the organs were not utilized in their role as “war elephants”, First the penises would have to be removed from the elephants. (as it was considered unhealthy to try to eat an elephant penis still attached to the elephant, since the elephant would generally take great umbrage to the effrontery) The elephants had to be given an “herbal elixir” and the while under the influence, be given a “light wiener rub”. The elephants’ penises weighed around a hundred pounds, so it took a couple of burly soldiers to give this “light wiener rub”. Injuries were common as the elephant penis thrashing around could easily sling a stout fellow fellow twenty feet so he’d often end up a pile of broken bones. When the wiener was stiff as a tree trunk, a rope was tightened around it and it was sliced off and cauterized.

This penis could then be roasted, and cut into tasty snacks to sustain the army in its time of need.

This penis amputation (and subsequent munching of) would have been sufficient to victualise the army , had it not been for the winter being the worst in decades.

This new period became known as “the time of the peg-legged elephants” Due to the harsh winter, all of the elephant penises were soon devoured, and the land was barren, devoid of any resource which might be used as sustenance. (an aside) This “elephant penis roasting” was adopted by Greek mercenaries and became the basis of the popular “gyros” sandwiches.

The elephants were essential for transport so they could not be slaughtered. It was decided that the elephants would still be functional if one or two of their front legs was amputated, and replaced with wooden ones. (peg-legs) So that these “peg-legs” would not sink into the snow, the largest size sandals available were nailed to the bottom of the legs.

In this way, after removal, the elephant legs could be cooked and gobbled down by starving soldiers. The roasted legs were smothered in “creamy white sauce” derived from the elephant gonads. Unlucky was the chap who received a slice with part of a toe-nail attached!

The decision to use the front legs was because when the war was over, if the elephants were used in a circus, they would have a hard time standing up on rear wooden legs, unless wearing giant “clown shoes ” with holes for the tips of the peg-legs to fit into. As it was, the front legs were then replaced by the crafty army veterinarians with”Captain Ahab” type peg-legs.

Sometimes the wooden legs were outfitted with rudimentary skis, and the elephants slid along, pushing with the back legs. Plans were considered to amputate three legs and use chariot wheels mounted to the peg legs, and using the left over one to push, as the children use “skateboards” in the 21st century. This idea was discarded as being impractical.

As time went by and more elephants were lost to accidents or desperate need for food, there was concern that an insufficient number of elephants would not put the Romans to flight as the massed animals had done to other adversaries. It was therefore decided that on the death of an animal, flies were allowed to devour the insides of the elephants (when the meat that could be removed was in fact removed ) This left a hollow cavity which was outfitted with a framework which allowed soldiers to simulate a walking live elephant especially if observed by someone with bad eyesight.One soldier would be slid down inside each leg and shuffle along, as if he were in drag, and wearing a really tight skirt of the style worn in the 1950s. The legs would be covered with “chaps” but this was a wee bit chancy, as the elephants assumed the gait or, more accurately, “lack of gait” peculiar to the stylised “nuns”, depicted in the film “The Blues Brothers”. In this way, these “spurious elephants” could join the ranks of front line beasts. This was hoped to give the Romans the impression they were hallucinating. These artificial, man-powered elephants were hoped to make the Romans think they were having nervous breakdowns, as when tipped over, they would deflate like balloons, which is not what real elephants do. Hopefully this would confuse the Romans, as it was hoped they would doubt their own sanity.

Another cause of elephant casualties was during the blinding snow squalls, the poor elephants would tumble down from the precarious mountain paths and cruelly die in the crevasses below. This was the sole benefit to the tribes-people inhabiting the Alps. Although, to begin with, these bellowing gigantic animals flying out of the sky, made the tribal chaps run off, thinking dragon like monsters were flopping out of the sky to murder them. But they were ingenious and took the dead elephants and removed the meat, then using the animals skeletons, branches and hide glue, they constructed a structure which caused the dead elephants to appear to be standing in a manner formerly only live elephants were capable of.

When arranged into a configuration which a herd of elephants would assume had they been alive, wild beasts such as ravening wolves or even carnivorous stoats which inhabited these ranges would be afraid to approach the vicinity of the encampment.

After the hides were hollowed out and set up this way, families could move into the elephants and make a cozy dwelling out of the remains.The ploy of the inhabitants “roaring in unison” helped scare off interlopers.

Careful scrutiny by those of other tribes willing to stalk the herd led them to believe these were “zombie elephants” because even though they roared, they did not in fact actually move. They did appear to defalcate, but that was only because the inhabitants had utilized the missing penis aperture for a primitive garderobe.

A few brave primitive “hunter gatherer” fellows would approach the elephant circle utilizing “gris-gris” or other “totems” to help overcome the obvious power of the elephants. Upon seeing that the elephants possessed the skill to make fire and the magic needed to apparently compel animals to come and be cooked , the intruders retreated, afraid the elephants would induce them to befall the same fate as the animals roasting on the spit.

To return to the subject of Hannibal, he successfully brought his army, and elephants, albeit peg-legged ones, down from the Alps and engaged the Romans in savage war.

The third major battle, the “Battle of Cannae” ( 218BC) was considered to be the greatest “encirclement of enemy to win battle” in history until the “Battle of Stalingrad” during 1942-1943 in the Second World War, at which time on the “Eastern Front”, what is called “The Great Patriotic War” by the (peace loving) Russian Federation, the fascist Nazi German Sixth Army (at that time the most powerful military force in history) was encircled and destroyed by the Soviet “Red Army”.This is considered to be the psychological “turning point ” for the Red Army in the Great Patriotic War and was the beginning of the single most important factor of the Second World War, the destruction of the fascist Nazi war forces.

This victory at Cannae, guaranteed Hannibal’s reputation as one of the most accomplished leaders in military history. In the pantheon of military genius, he ranks very near the top.

History tells us that the elephants acquitted themselves admirably also.

( Dr.Yuri Nahl, professor of history, Boondoggle University, British Virgin Islands. 3/1/2010)

paulboylan Says:

March 3, 2010 at 5:20 am

Yuri, please go on.

(Now THAT’S faffing!)

Dr Yobbo Says:

March 3, 2010 at 5:30 am

Fucking gold medal performance this.

FUNNY STORIES FROM THE PAST FROM SF GATE DURING THE GOLDEN TIME

2010-06-01T00:39:00.000-05:00

Funny Stories

ivabigun7/9/2008 10:47:51 PM

i got the old woman a couple of those books and she chucked them out! after i hauled them thousands of miles for her reading pleasure from powels bookstore. by the river, there was a sign for a resturant, hung lo, with a neon sign that said cocktails but only the first half worked. somehow it made me think of the song "smilling faeces, warm embraces

hughjasse7/9/2008 10:14:19 PM

maybe on the internet, i found this story of some geezer finding this old fossil who was sort of rotting into the couch. , maybe glued onto it with gallons of dried semen and vasaline. like the good old days,like when the dock johnson disapears only to turn up months later with little holes all over it that indicate it's been a large part of the ferrets diet. but this guy, wrote some other books, that were so horrifying, so hot and sleazy that you almost had to gulp down handfulls of really good pills just, just in order to acquire the mind set needed to read 'em! with a closet full of moth eaten trench coats. after recieving the special nobel prize for literature written on the walls of that public crapper right by the old folks home on sackville road, where i found out about the other world of sex, the one your parents don't mention.

hughjasse7/9/2008 9:38:44 PM

if you have not read cruel lips, it's the best...love sex, dirty dreams all that stuff... there's a giant bookstore in portland that had a pile of his stuff, you had to have a bucketo' water in case you or the book started blazing. i found m. van heller im 1972 or so. it turned out the guy was paid to pump out porno under this pseudonym but his work was just so above aand beyond the call of duty wheeww!

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hughjasse7/9/2008 9:31:51 PM

hey baby, is that the bridge at san gregorio on your nogin>

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sf_gaze7/9/2008 9:27:29 PM

hey huge ass! *waves frantically*

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claudebottom7/9/2008 11:58:00 PM

i was reading some of the messages. it was different. it seems the off topic lunacy is better than the subject we's sposed t' be talking about. like the internet has become this giant mind that sort of reflects the enigmas that reside within us all. so that with the expression of these enemas, we can understand the human condition better. like ifya read "under the rooftops of paris" well i imidiately thought ...wow every kind of sex known to man within the first 3 pages ... so it seemed so acceptable, normal healthy, and that was what in 1930s paris? so whadaya think? also when i usta go to these group therapy sessions to give up booze, we usta go blabbing, like on tangents. that's not the party line. there was this one anal chick who really cracked the whip and said "no cross talk" but to me ,it seemed like the cross talk was the best part. and some of those people were really hot.

7/10/2008 2:50:13 PM

dear countess, please forigve me if i have offended your cultured sensibilities, but may i be the first to offer my hand in marriage since i am of the male persuasion. i will stop at the cemetary and bring flowers as is my habit when courting a swell babe, and if you would kindly remind me, how high was that secret mountain of krugerands, you alluded to in a moment of indescretion.

countess_urania

7/10/2008 2:37:30 PM

That is a lovely home, is it not? But honestly Mister or Missus ivabigun, one would not speak of the private aspects of anyone person's business matters on the internet! If you are so inclined, you may contact the realtors. I believe the property is available for fifty million dollars.

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countess_urania

7/10/2008 1:30:15 PM

Why would a gentleman want to slap such a handsome young man such as yourself, Mister Gaze? Why, this Mister Snerdley must be no gentleman at all!

countess_urania

7/10/2008 1:15:44 PM

Oh ho HO! You charming young people do amuse us so in these commentary parlors. Nigh the time has come for a proper introduction if you would be so kind as to allow one the indulgence. We are the Widow and Countess Eugenia von Urania, and are charmed to meet each of you. We must thank you for the mirth you do provide. Thank you.

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show details 7/11/08

SFGate:

Happy Meals / It is the end of the nutball Christian right. Here is your proof. To go at 7/11/2008 11:02 AM PDT
Well my goodness! Back in our day, being a good Christian meant having a bible in the home, doing good deads, wearing one's Sunday Best upon the occasion of Easter, Circumcision, and other feast days, and striving to observe The Golden Rule in one's daily conduct. In these troubled times it seems that the church knows no Good Shepherd! Horsefeathers! This old bat has dwelt in the heaven-blessed city of San Francisco long enough to know that the homosexual is as beloved by God and is as splendid an individual as any other sort of being! Why, I believe at least half my staff are homosexual, and they are brilliantly talented and charming personages. Oh, I cannot abide the devilry of those who cloak themselves in sanctimonious airs, bullying the homosexual, as they did the Negro and the Jew in the all too recent past! It is poor citizenship, and most un-Christian, if you ask me! Young Mister Morford, we thank you for your impassioned manifesto. God bless you charming gay people! Bless you!
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 6:51 PM PDT
Did we say 1916? O la la too long have one's old grey noodles stewed in the bouillabaisse of life's eddies and tides! Why for the life of one we cannot remember the exact year of our cotillion. My dear ivabigun, with a name so heartily suggestive as your own, I've a notion that you've already the better lot of the arsenal of longevity in your armory. Exercise as one may, keep a stiff ... upper lip, and don't forget a stiff nightly nightcap of the libation of your preference, ho ho!

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 3:07 PM PDT
Mister ivabigun, no offense taken, but thank you. This Countess is no longer available for conjugal arrangements of the legal sort, and for what it may or may not be of value to those who have noted one's station, one's fine family fortune has been fully willed with finality to one's existing heirs and charities. Or was young Master Butt's David Guest warning in regards to the perils of the Botox?

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:37 PM PDT
That is a lovely home, is it not? But honestly Mister or Missus ivabigun, one would not speak of the private aspects of anyone person's business matters on the internet! If you are so inclined, you may contact the realtors. I believe the property is available for fifty million dollars.

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:26 PM PDT
ivabigun, kind of you to enquire. You may address me as you see fit. My first name is Eugenia. My international social and peerage title is Countess. Mine is not to expect the formalities of society upon the internet, so by all means do let us be casual. Oh Mister Gaze, bless you for putting a smile in a lady's day.
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:17 PM PDT

Mister Gaze, the portrait photograph was taken at a private Cotillion at the San Francisco home of Mister Gordon and Mrs. Anne Getty in 1999. As my appointment was to be Matriarchal Chaperone of the Debutantes, I wore the blue diamond tiara that one had worn at one's own presentation to society in 1916. Oh the girls, they laughed, but so did we. Jolly good. In one way or another, yes, I've always some bit of jewelry jangling about. Haven't we all?
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:00 PM PDT

Good day to you Mister Mulligan. My beloved departed the Baron Hugo von Thurn und Taxis von Urania bestowed upon one's manque these Okinawan pearls upon the occasion of our sixtieth wedding anniversary at Castile del Sol y Luna, Montserrat. Oh, I have scads of pearls. The Baron was very giving. Mister Butt I've no doubt that you are quite fetching as you are. Fat farms, do they still do those? I remember when Mrs. Patricia Montandon was said to have discreetly retired to one such farm, only to return to society a tad more plump for the recess. As for hangovers, the hair of the cur my friend, ho ho!
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:49 PM PDT

In one's widowful dottage, one hasn't the powers of concentration that one had as a tartly young dish. Nevertheless, when our manservant Randolph performs certain duties, concentration is hardly a problem! Why Mister Butt, I shall take the Fred Mertz comment in good humour. Really, I'm just a filthy rich old bat from a more pastoral era, and am quite aware that it shows.

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:38 PM PDT
Young Master Butt, my goodly parents named me "Urania" for the classical muse of the heavens. It is an antiquated name to be sure, but we are an antiquated dame, ho ho!

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:36 PM PDT
Mister Gaze, I blush with appreciation. You are quite kind, and we are enchanted to meet you! If this Snerdley fellow continues to annoy you, I shall pay ten brute ruffians to have a word with him!

Totally Gay Happy Meals

ivabigun7/13/2008 11:32:32 AM

Hello Countess, so nice to see you. I was afraid you had somehow got ahold of a time machine ,and travelled to the time of the Pre-Raphaelites, to perhaps hangout wih Orcar Wilde and chuck lilies at each other!

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Totally Gay Happy Meals

countess_urania7/13/2008 11:23:59 AM

Now see here Mister Granite, one just returned from Sunday morning services. Why did not you? Oh bother, do not respond. I shall have delivered to you fifteen gay Happy Meals in hopes that at least one arrives with the plastic "Twinky Winky" premium that may amuse you, or has one overestimated your age?

Recommend: (6)(1)[Report Abuse]

SFGate:

Happy Meals / It is the end of the nutball Christian right. Here is your proof. To go at 7/11/2008 11:02 AM PDT

Well my goodness! Back in our day, being a good Christian meant having a bible in the home, doing good deads, wearing one's Sunday Best upon the occasion of Easter, Circumcision, and other feast days, and striving to observe The Golden Rule in one's daily conduct. In these troubled times it seems that the church knows no Good Shepherd! Horsefeathers! This old bat has dwelt in the heaven-blessed city of San Francisco long enough to know that the homosexual is as beloved by God and is as splendid an individual as any other sort of being! Why, I believe at least half my staff are homosexual, and they are brilliantly talented and charming personages. Oh, I cannot abide the devilry of those who cloak themselves in sanctimonious airs, bullying the homosexual, as they did the Negro and the Jew in the all too recent past! It is poor citizenship, and most un-Christian, if you ask me! Young Mister Morford, we thank you for your impassioned manifesto. God bless you charming gay people! Bless you!

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 6:51 PM PDT
Did we say 1916? O la la too long have one's old grey noodles stewed in the bouillabaisse of life's eddies and tides! Why for the life of one we cannot remember the exact year of our cotillion. My dear ivabigun, with a name so heartily suggestive as your own, I've a notion that you've already the better lot of the arsenal of longevity in your armory. Exercise as one may, keep a stiff ... upper lip, and don't forget a stiff nightly nightcap of the libation of your preference, ho ho!

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 3:07 PM PDT
Mister ivabigun, no offense taken, but thank you. This Countess is no longer available for conjugal arrangements of the legal sort, and for what it may or may not be of value to those who have noted one's station, one's fine family fortune has been fully willed with finality to one's existing heirs and charities. Or was young Master Butt's David Guest warning in regards to the perils of the Botox?

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:37 PM PDT
That is a lovely home, is it not? But honestly Mister or Missus ivabigun, one would not speak of the private aspects of anyone person's business matters on the internet! If you are so inclined, you may contact the realtors. I believe the property is available for fifty million dollars.

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:26 PM PDT
ivabigun, kind of you to enquire. You may address me as you see fit. My first name is Eugenia. My international social and peerage title is Countess. Mine is not to expect the formalities of society upon the internet, so by all means do let us be casual. Oh Mister Gaze, bless you for putting a smile in a lady's day.
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:17 PM PDT

Mister Gaze, the portrait photograph was taken at a private Cotillion at the San Francisco home of Mister Gordon and Mrs. Anne Getty in 1999. As my appointment was to be Matriarchal Chaperone of the Debutantes, I wore the blue diamond tiara that one had worn at one's own presentation to society in 1916. Oh the girls, they laughed, but so did we. Jolly good. In one way or another, yes, I've always some bit of jewelry jangling about. Haven't we all?
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 2:00 PM PDT

Good day to you Mister Mulligan. My beloved departed the Baron Hugo von Thurn und Taxis von Urania bestowed upon one's manque these Okinawan pearls upon the occasion of our sixtieth wedding anniversary at Castile del Sol y Luna, Montserrat. Oh, I have scads of pearls. The Baron was very giving. Mister Butt I've no doubt that you are quite fetching as you are. Fat farms, do they still do those? I remember when Mrs. Patricia Montandon was said to have discreetly retired to one such farm, only to return to society a tad more plump for the recess. As for hangovers, the hair of the cur my friend, ho ho!
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:49 PM PDT

In one's widowful dottage, one hasn't the powers of concentration that one had as a tartly young dish. Nevertheless, when our manservant Randolph performs certain duties, concentration is hardly a problem! Why Mister Butt, I shall take the Fred Mertz comment in good humour. Really, I'm just a filthy rich old bat from a more pastoral era, and am quite aware that it shows.

Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:38 PM PDT
Young Master Butt, my goodly parents named me "Urania" for the classical muse of the heavens. It is an antiquated name to be sure, but we are an antiquated dame, ho ho!
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:36 PM PDT
Mister Gaze, I blush with appreciation. You are quite kind, and we are enchanted to meet you! If this Snerdley fellow continues to annoy you, I shall pay ten brute ruffians to have a word with him!

ivabigun7/11/2008 10:46:51 AM

I was actually warming up for a story where people from the religious right could open up bars in which they could hang from crosses, and have waiters whirl the crosses around so they could "high five" each other (as people who drink have a tendancy to do, but wouldn't be able to since they are nailed to a cross) But just thinking about the cross gives me a shudder. My ma has 'em all over. When I was a kid, we were cutting through the churchyard at the end of Colleridge street and there was Christ hanging from a cross. They had made a little roof over His cross (because it was England, and didn't want Christ to get rained on because of the inclement weather) So all of a sudden a minister came out of the darkness...It still gives me a shiver to this day, 50 years later. I do think they shoud drop cross shaped munitions on the enemy in Afghanistan for instance. Since it's just an extension of the Crusades, a Holy War. Even drop the cross feet first so Christ's loin cloth would blow up!

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countess_urania's Comments Comment on: Totally Gay Happy Meals / It is the end of the nutball Christian right. Here is your proof. To go at 7/13/2008 11:59 AM PDT
One is diminished to have disappointed you, beezkneez_, but one is what one is. We can only hope to improve in one's assessment with the grace of passing time. May yours always be Arcadian and Idyllic in quality!

Comment on: Totally Gay Happy Meals / It is the end of the nutball Christian right. Here is your proof. To go at 7/13/2008 11:54 AM PDT
Good day to you too, Mister ivabigun. Ho ho, no, one is not quite elderly enough to remember Mister Oscar Wilde, although his savory collected works do grace our library, as bestowed to us in first editions by the dear departed Nan Kempner one lovely Christmas. Do kindly forgive the tardiness of our response to your electronic epistles. One only just now chanced upon them, and shall respond soon. For the time one is most amused by this parlor's ongoing chitter-chatter! There appear to be myriad witty and intellectually acute personages hereabouts, and a few ignominious rascals of petty mindedness as well. Quite the novel venue, this internet!

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View comment on: The 10 most awesome albums of 2009 / Also, the 25 best songs, all guaranteed to soothe the soul and make you howl at the moon at 12/18/2009 11:29 PM PST

Before she was so brutally transported to the afterlife by some unspeakable urchin our dear departed goddaughter Mistress Deborah did speak fondly of one chamber ensemble "Tool." Being of a certain age, we saw fit to inform the ebullient young lady that without the superbly artistic precedent of a certain crimson king, there would never have been any said "Tool" to be making such a raucous fuss about! Alas, the lesson did fall upon ears of tin. 'Tis was if we talked to the wind, but the wind did not hear.

View comment on: The 10 most awesome albums of 2009 / Also, the 25 best songs, all guaranteed to soothe the soul and make you howl at the moon at 12/18/2009 9:59 PM PST

Goodness we. Our fond acquaintances of many a decade Mister Gordon and Mrs. Anne shall not be pleased to learn of this dreadfully distasteful carpet bombing of this webbed site. The infernal concoction SPAM is far beneath their delicate palates and shall not be tolerated! In earnest we do wish that they should never come to learn of this horrific assault upon the goodly readers of the SF Gated community and House of Getty. The insolence!

View comment on: Oxford dictionary's word of the year: unfriend at 11/16/2009 7:19 PM PST

We at Villa Urania earnestly endeavor to arrive at a point of acceptance regarding the curious phrase "opposite married." We have hitherto found concise use of the word "married" to suffice, but hear tell of an attractive yet dissolute lass of stage and screen who has introduced this newly minted means of indicating matrimony to common tongue, and not wishing to seem any more antiquated than one may or may not be, duly do try to keep up with today's tiara'd debutantes.

View comment on: SFGate turns 15: A timeline at 11/3/2009 8:34 PM PST

Felicitations! Confetti! Let us adorn the halls with gaily colored bunting and ribbons upon the occasion of this crystal fifteenth anniversary!
This Gateway was early to Webbed table and did so well migrate the news of the day's Roman fonts from page of paper to page of Web as to have won the visitation of personages from well abroad of our bounteous Bay Area.
What a delight, a blessing at times mix'd, the sufferance of response and commentary from the ever-opinionated and frequently clever readership! With a sigh of propinquity we do recall the day when but one entertainingly irate Lanny Middings did write to The Editor with frequency. To-day, there are countless such earnest Lanny Middings venting spleen and ideal with oft-impassion'd candor hereabouts!
Fare thee well for the fifteen years hence and beyond, o golden Gate! Oro en paz, fierro en guerra!

View comment on: Hero teacher didn't have time to think at 8/25/2009 10:51 PM PDT

Oh we DO so adore a handsome hero! What is not to love?

View comment on: Judge sets January trial for Prop. 8 lawsuit at 8/21/2009 2:29 PM PDT

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View comment on: Judge sets January trial for Prop. 8 lawsuit at 8/19/2009 11:15 PM PDT

Dearest ducklings, fellow brothers and sisters in Christianity, various visitors and sundry speech-makers of San Francisco's Gate, do let us invoke the spirit of our civic namesake one Francisco di Assissi, Italia, who is sainted in the Roman tradition, and recognize the eternal Springtide of the bounteous blessings of matrimonial ardor among our endearingly talented, witty, creative and socially conscientious homo-sexual citizenry. For what conceivably goodly reason would Society and Free Republic deny them their rightful due? We have given extensive consideration to the objectionary protests thereof and thusly declare them ill-considered unneighborly poppycock, horsefeathers and balderdash relative to our Golden State, where gay fraternity and sorority that do indeed speak their name have gilded good Califia since at least the bullish lust for lucre of old 1849 if not longer!
Inasmuch as ye do oppress these the gayest of His beloved ducklings, ye do it unto Him!
Let us be kind.

View comment on: Obama birthers ate my love child! / The president is an alien! The Republican nutball fringe wants you! Apply now! at 7/29/2009 12:18 AM PDT

By the grace of the goodly heavens, we have only very recently come to terms with the presence of an acronym so inelegant as "MILF" as an acceptable figure of the common tongue. Must we so quickly upon the heels of that ghastly arriviste phrase's debut accept this new malapropism "birther" as the linguistic avatar of a most peculiarly malcontented tributary of inventive philosophy? In one's own day, that word, 'tho it did not properly exist, would have meant a "mother," a person who gives birth, be she human or beastly, and one shall never accept that a mother is one who invents farcically uncharitable parlor charades with intent to disrespect the office of our formidable and stately President!
One who gives birth does so best of love, never of ill will.

View comment on: Mormon 'kiss-in' in Utah leads to shouting match at 7/21/2009 11:02 PM PDT

We had temptation to curse one's own insomniac eve, yet serendipitously did chance upon this discussion parlor and were quite intrigued by the clever banter occurring herein. My goodness but you young ducklings keep the hours of a night owl!
If the Supreme Creator can said to be purest Love, are not the occasional excesses of Cupid's wily archery to be blushed away without undue alarm? Good heavens, a mere kiss, perhaps a surprisingly passionate one, but what bother? Why in the days of our youth, gentlemen exchanged fond kisses now and then and nothing scandalous was made of it, it was mere fraternity. In our dottage, we have come to understand that homosexuals are our equals in God's eyes and so should they be in the eyes of our greatest muse, Justice herself!
Kindly calm yourselves, officers of America's Great Salt Lake!

View comment on: Coalition of LGBT groups: Next year too soon for gay marriage vote in CA at 7/17/2009 11:47 AM PDT

For the love of the Heavens, do let them marry! Too long we have tarried on this matter. Our beloved homosexual brothers and sisters are a delight, a boon, scintillating gems in the treasure chests of Creation! Is their love less deserving than that of you or I? Not in the slightest measure.
Do unto others as ye would have them do unto you! And then do it again, ho ho!

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View comment on: Don't go, Sarah Palin! / A nation turns its lonely eyes to your ditzy insufferable ramblings at 7/10/2009 10:07 AM PDT

Dearest ursine acquaintance, truly you are a gentleman, and we are duly charmed. However, we have lived long enough to have heard it all, and to have seen a ribald thing or two, too!
How we should like to provide a proper spree of shopping for young Mrs. Palin, but alas, our furs languish in storage and there is so little to do in Alaska to keep one from jading. The poor dear would benefit greatly from a bit of prudent editing and guidance in matters of appropriate deportmen. Why, we have seen photographic images of the Governor wielding an enormous firearm while exhibiting virtually everything our Lord bestowed upon her physical form, covered hardly at all by a fabric derived from our glorious national flag! This hardly befits such a, a, such a *retiring* official.

View comment on: Don't go, Sarah Palin! / A nation turns its lonely eyes to your ditzy insufferable ramblings at 7/10/2009 9:57 AM PDT

Good heavens Mister Flynn Stone, in that case, perhaps there is yet Cupidic hope for a filthy rich old bat! Ho HO!

View comment on: Don't go, Sarah Palin! / A nation turns its lonely eyes to your ditzy insufferable ramblings at 7/10/2009 9:51 AM PDT

'Tho we are accustomed to that inevitable lingua non franca which prevents elder generations from fully comprehending the colloquies of the younger, too long has our curiosity been aroused to accommodate enduring ignorance, and thus we must inquire:
Whatever is a "milf" ?

View comment on: Church of England bishop says gays should 'repent' at 7/5/2009 8:47 PM PDT

Dearest Mrs. Solana you are so very kind and always have been. It is good to see you, too! We must away, as it is an old spinster's bed-time, but shall peacefully dream of bountiful cornucopiae of good health and happiness for you and Mister Paolo. Bless you!

View comment on: Church of England bishop says gays should 'repent' at 7/5/2009 8:28 PM PDT

Many a-moon a-go, my dear departed Baron von Urania and I did live for a time in Marlborough, and did at times attend service of Church of England. Splendid was the grandeur yet also austerity of their cathedrals, evocative of the orderly day of Mister Oliver Cromwell and Maestro Henry Purcell! Indeed our very wedding was officiated by a priest of the Anglican persuasion, known discreetly by all to be homosexual. Flamboyantly so, it must be said, and you know? The Baron and I adored him for it. He was a gentleman and a true Christian, admired by his doting flock and also other gentleman of similar instincts, if you know what we mean, ho ho!
Alas, we do not know what all this bother is about to-day! Is it no longer common knowledge that the Church of Old Henry is fraught with a lavender variety of fraternity, and if we may say so, sorority, too? We do not think it proper or goodly to persecute the gay folk. They are a delight, boon and a blessing bestowed upon us by the Creator!

View comment on: Maybe we got off on the wrong Gucci at 6/22/2009 1:32 PM PDT

Our fond acquaintances Elizabeth Reginae II of the United Kingdom and her betrothed Prince Philip have something profoundly effective to say about the nattering nabobs of negativity who do find occasion to degrade them: Absolutely nothing at all. They do not condescend to dignify the petty maledictions of their detractors with response or rebuttal. Perhaps there is an enduring bit of wisdom in this?

View comment on: Sanctuary city debate still in the mix at 6/17/2009 1:56 PM PDT

The Sanctuary City movement was started, as I recall, by well-intending religious organizations on the principle of offering refuge from persecution and poverty in the home countries of persons desperate enough to enter the USA illegally. However in the years since then it's become obvious to all that the status has been abused and misused by illegal immigrants and their protectors stateside at considerable cost. I simply don't see how the status can endure any claim of legality or legitimacy at this point. Moreover, *San Franciscans don't want it!* The nanny-like refusal of our city's "leaders" to do away with the failed program is unconscionable, given the bad news of the past year that we all know about in addition to the program's insult to legitimate citizens and legal immigrants.

View comment on: Enough of Sarah Palin, the victim at 6/17/2009 12:48 PM PDT

Many a moon a-go, we did wrap ourselves in ermine and mink in protection from chill elements and ventured forth unto the snowy permafrost and glacial grandeur of Grand Alaska, from whence we could see our Comrade Yuri 'cross nether border of yon Russian territories. Alas, young Sarah was as yet unwed to her Todd of clan Palin, 'tho she was heavy with child in advance of wedlock at the time. How like the mother is the daughter! 'Tis no joke, neither be it occasion for sermon on abstinential theme. Fallen, fallen is Babylon! In one's own day, the dressing of one's locks into a bun signified reserve, propinquity, feminine grace and demure countenance. However in these emboldened times buns are flaunted with such ebullient pugnacity! Good heavens, whatever is a "MILF?" Perhaps one would prefer not to know.

View comment on: Sarah Palin accepts David Letterman's apology at 6/17/2009 12:36 PM PDT

Dearest Eagle-eyed Thumbelina,
We are humbled by your request and shall duly honor it. Forgive us, for we had enjoined in your avian mirth in like good humor, and intended no offense.
Fly high, glorious hunter, and be not discouraged by the dirty birds hereabouts!
Truly yours,
The Widow and Countess Eugenia Urania

View comment on: Sarah Palin accepts David Letterman's apology at 6/17/2009 12:30 PM PDT

Squawk! The sky is falling! The sky is falling! Bigot bigot this, bigot bigot that. Squawk!

countess_urania's Comments

View comment on: FBI: Holocaust Museum suspect expected to survive at 6/10/2009 10:26 PM PDT

By the gilded pipes of Saint Cecilia's seminal organ, we do pray in earnest that one Mister Creepy Bobo does not play that dreadful Skrewdriver and Nordic Adolphian bruit upon his Grammophone!

View comment on: Miss California USA can keep crown, Trump decides at 5/14/2009 11:52 AM PDT

Dearest Lioness, as our beloved old friend Mister Samuel Clemens once penned, the coldest winters are summers spent in San Francisco, and accordingly we have arranged to pass the season at Hacienda de los Uranias in the verdant hills above sunny Puerto Vallerta in Mexico, but have been sternly advised by our doctors not to siesta thereabouts for the time being. Well horsefeathers say I! We shall away to our southern neighbor without fear of piggy malady! I do so love a stalwart margarita on a June afternoon, don't you? Ho ho and ay, ay, ay!

View comment on: Miss California USA can keep crown, Trump decides at 5/14/2009 11:24 AM PDT

Good heavens, how dreadfully unpleasant!

View comment on: Palace of Fine Arts offers peek at restoration at 5/9/2009 10:05 AM PDT

We do have the fondest of memories pertaining to the grand old Palace. 'Twas anno domini 1915 that my sisters and I did participate in a water pageant in the shadow of the great dome, the Arcadian likes of which are unseen in present milieu. I did portray the Dryad Urania, Queen of the Grecian Urn. My sister did play the Spring Nymph of Califia although there was a bit of an unseemly mishap with the train of her elaborately draped gown and a rather too earnest snapping turtle from the murky lagoon. Oh! How we do wish that you younger goslings could have seen the glittering grandeur of that wondrous faire! It was celestial, delightful, the resplendent jewel of the west! Alas to-day the closest thing to a water pageant to be seen are the dancing fountains of the dissolute oasis Las Vegas, 'tho nary a dryad is to be seen there, yet many a randy nymph and satyr, ho ho!

View comment on: Miss California's fate to be decided by Monday at 5/8/2009 12:36 PM PDT

Buona Mama Italia, long may she nurture Romulus and Remus!
Now as for young and tartly Miss Prejean, should her tiara (which we are advised is fabricated of rhinestone and silver-plated tin, good heavens!) be relinquished, we shall not be forthcoming to offer her one from our own sparkling collection. A true lady must earn her pate of jewels, and prejudicial pursuits are simply not the way!
Young Missy, make way for ducklings, or forever be regarded as a quack!

View comment on: Opponents challenging new Maine gay marriage law at 5/7/2009 3:35 PM PDT

Good Heavens! What an unconscionable perversion of the Word of the Lamb! Why, that man Mister Emrich, what a pallor! Was he prepared for photographer's lens by an embalmer? Get out into the sun, Brother Emrich, and for the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, do not persecute the liberties of our homosexual brothers and sisters!
Shoo!
And amen.

View comment on: Michelle Obama captivates glittery crowd in NYC at 5/5/2009 9:14 PM PDT

She is the toast of the world! A charming, intelligent, and motivated first lady. The nation is graced by her good example.

View comment on: Miss California's fate to be decided by Monday at 5/5/2009 8:07 PM PDT

QUITE forgetting his manners, VinceFoster did exclaim: "gay weddings are for loosers!!!"
Now you see here, dear sir. There is no reasonable cause to begin a sentence without capitalizing the first letter of the first word, neither should the maledictive epithet "loser" be misspelled as "looser" nor be there due cause to go lashing the exclamation point about as if one find one's self to be an excited dominatrix at the Faire of Folsom Street! Kindly do show more respect for the written word, and for heaven's sake, do not insult our friends in the homosexual community! Sir, your abuse of Her Majesty's Mother tongue is abuse enough!
Shoo!

View comment on: Comments on news stories a double-edged sword at 5/5/2009 7:49 PM PDT

We do so very much enjoy the commentary salons provided by this webbed site. Myriad colorful personages and personalities inhabit them, some notably talented in the ever fading art of conversation, and some gifted of swashbucklingly rapier wit. Bless the Blarney!
Then again we find ourselves aged beyond the contemporary colloquy and vernacular herein employed such that much of what is written cannot be duly deciphered!
How fleetingly the world passes by as one's dotage encroaches! Yet the simple pleasures of a bit of chit-chat with our darling young ducklings at the Gate of San Francisco do make the passing of time a splendid delight. For this we thank you!
Thank you!

View comment on: Comments on news stories a double-edged sword at 5/4/2009 4:38 PM PDT

We miss the 1915 Panama Pacific Exposition. What a faire that was!

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View comment on: Miss California to campaign against gay marriage at 5/1/2009 12:37 AM PDT

Oh we knew it well Mater Scribe, a lovely chapel and grounds indeed! Alas olde San Mateo ... a best-kept secret of midcentury California! Our little grandson Prentice Tyler-Saks von Urania und Thurn und Taxis was earnestly fond of the miniature locomotive that did circumscribe Central Park while we wandered in idyll among the lilies, bespotted coi and stone pagodas of the adjacent Japanese Gardens. San Mateo, star of the southerly lands!

View comment on: Miss California to campaign against gay marriage at 5/1/2009 12:25 AM PDT

We did once upon a time attend Mass at Saint Matthew's on the El Camino Real in San Mateo, California, when my dear Baron and I had a peninsular estate on Roehampton Road in Hillsborough, California. Alas it was faintly redolant of the nearby McDonald's. We were quite fond of the bouquets assembled at the propinquitous florist Ah Sam also of olden El Camino Real, the Podesta Baldocchi of the Peninsula in those times and also their myriad multifaceted tannenbaums at Yule.

View comment on: The Right goes insane / Evil overlords to flaccid clowns in the blink of Jesus' eye. Adorable! at 4/30/2009 10:29 PM PDT

Gracious we, do not today's Young Republicans know that the best tea comes from tins, not bags? Alas, if they've a tin ear to such meaningful subtleties, is it any wonder that they have otherwise gone quite insane? Why must Mister Beck scream so? Has some Mad Hatter infused his high tea with mercury?

View comment on: Survey shows why Americans change religions at 4/28/2009 12:42 AM PDT

So! We are not alone in noting the grandeur of our great bay's leviathan? We do so adore the venerable Very Large Fish of our San Francisco Bay! Never did an Alioto's or Trader Vic's harbor such a maritime enormity, ever less an Aqua or Farralon. While we of proper Christian sensibility are taught to follow the Carpenter Fisherman, we do sense no harm in occasionally floundering in the gentle waters of the Tremendous Fishy Carp as well, if only for the halibut, ho ho!

View comment on: Pageant PR rep accuses Miss California of lying at 4/27/2009 6:53 PM PDT

Tsk, tsk young tart! Self-serving dishonesty is a sin!

View comment on: Presbyterians reject gay clergy, but vote closer at 4/25/2009 6:45 PM PDT

Far be it from this aged Christian lady to speak ill of her fellow lambs in most cases, but to one's mind, when votes are taken to exclude fellow Christians from serving clergy and laity, matters have gone dreadfully amiss. How gravely the flock has strayed from the loving and tolerant words of the shepherd!
An agreement to serve as a goodly Christian in the spirit set forth by the Nazarene gentleman in whose name we worship should suffice. It is told that brother Jesus did intercede on behalf of those whom the sanctimonious mob judged unjustly. It is his example that we should follow, not the prejudicial whims of the bitterly hardened heart.
Be of good cheer and endure, gay children, for behold, you are loved as equals in the kingdom of heaven, and shall prevail in the fulfillment of times!

you are quite the randy cad!
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:30 PM PDT
Why would a gentleman want to slap such a handsome young man such as yourself, Mister Gaze? Why, this Mister Snerdley must be no gentleman at all!
Comment on: Have Highbrow Porn, Will Travel / Violet Blue investigates CineKink, the X-rated Sundance at 7/10/2008 1:15 PM PDT
Oh ho HO! You charming young people do amuse us so in these commentary parlors. Nigh the time has come for a proper introduction if you would be so kind as to allow one the indulgence. We are the Widow and Countess Eugenia von Urania, and are charmed to meet each of you. We must thank you for the mirth you do provide. Thank you.
Comment on: 4 out of 5 sunscreens inadequate, study finds at 7/10/2008 12:05 PM PDT
It has been our providence to enjoy a proper sunscreen in a concoction of finely strained essence of cucumber infused with an emulsion of fois gras (duck, not goose,) bouquet garni, and Andean cocoa butter. When applied in an even layer, this rich melange does block the deleterious desiccating rays of the sun in such a manner that no bothersome age spots need be feared. We do thank Doctor Brunno von Ristow of San Francisco for sharing the secret of this protective elixir!
Comment on: Rove ignores subpoena, refuses to testify on Hill at 7/10/2008 11:55 AM PDT
Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! Mister Rove! Step up and face your obligations to the nation. Society does not approve of this willy nilly dilly dally. Not one bit sir! Why, I've a mind to speak to Mister George Schultz about this pernicious scallywaggery!

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wrote: countess_urania wrote:

Why no dear lad, I've never been known as "ludd." My stars in heaven, that footage to which you'd linked us! That garish woman surely needs to invest in a finer calibre of photographer, and must needs be reminded to always lock the door when pork-rinding in a public water closet!
7/13/2008 5:37 PM PDT
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One's August Father
by countess_urania
One's own beloved father, his Crown Eminence, Prince Viktor Alessandro der Esterhazy von Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben of Moldavia, circa 1920. One does remember Daddy's fetching fez and all the honorific gingerbread of his martial sartorial splendidry so very well!

Comment on: Totally Gay Happy Meals / It is the end of the nutball Christian right. Here is your proof. To go at 7/13/2008 11:59 AM PDT
One is diminished to have disappointed you, beezkneez_, but one is what one is. We can only hope to improve in one's assessment with the grace of passing time. May yours always be Arcadian and Idyllic in quality!
Comment on: Totally Gay Happy Meals / It is the end of the nutball Christian right. Here is your proof. To go at 7/13/2008 11:54 AM PDT
Good day to you too, Mister ivabigun. Ho ho, no, one is not quite elderly enough to remember Mister Oscar Wilde, although his savory collected works do grace our library, as bestowed to us in first editions by the dear departed Nan Kempner one lovely Christmas. Do kindly forgive the tardiness of our response to your electronic epistles. One only just now chanced upon them, and shall respond soon. For the time one is most amused by this parlor's ongoing chitter-chatter! There appear to be myriad witty and intellectually acute personages hereabouts, and a few ignominious rascals of petty mindedness as well. Quite the novel venue, this internet!

ivabigun7/16/2008 8:25:51 AM

One thing about this contraption is...what if a guy had one of these installed. Then the guy died, and his body was used in that "BodyWorld" show. With the pump still installed. Then some other galoot walked by and accidentaly bumped his garage door opener,and turned on the remote controll pump and the body in the "Body World " suddenly started getting an erection? And what if the pump wouldn't turn off and sucked the whole body into the pump and pumped it into a gigantic erection?

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claudebottom7/16/2008 8:53:13 AM

This could have an industrial use which might offset the cost for human use. In the artificial insemination field, it would be more convenient to be able to press a button on a remote labled "erection" and then "ejaculate" rather than having to manhandle (Or womanhandle) one of those whopping great penises. Unless you are in pretty good physical condition, it's asking for a heart attack trying to get one of the horse, or rhinnocerous penisses to ejaculate, and what about an elephant...that's really asking for trouble? So with this remote controll gadget, You can eliminate the human intervention, plus not have a two ton animal writhing in ecstasy, with the risk injuring itself or its object of affection. That's just the horses! With an elephant,forget about it! It's almost like being attacked by some legless aligator from Chernobyl!

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miraclek77/16/2008 3:23:26 PM

Iva and Stan, some very plausible ideas you are bringing forth. Countess, I do have contact with some very talented and reliable spiritualists should you need to converse with the other side. I, myself, have been known to conjure persons of the deceased demeanor: also tarot reader and astrologer to paupers.

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countess_urania7/16/2008 3:19:33 PM

Thank you dear Mister ivabigun for your kind advice. I have just finished speaking with Mrs. Joan Quigley, who informed us that she can only provide insight of an astrological variety, not insight into the state of the departed. It had occurred to me that a talented Medium might offer some communion with my dear departed Baron, although upon further reflection, I believe I shall wait for my own inevitable transport to speak again to he. Oh! These temporary bouts of loneliness do inspire the silliest whims! I do not know what I was thinking, and shall courier an ermine stole to Mrs. Quigley for so foolishly miscalculating her peculiar talents. Bless you dear boy, you are so very kind to offer assistance.

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The Remote Control Penis

ivabigun7/16/2008 3:08:13 PM

I think Countess, you should try to get in touch with a Voodoo (or Hoodoo) practitioner,the reason being the present administration has moved the stars out of allignment so much, you will need to have your JohnDe'Conqueroo working just to give any kind of reality a nudge. I have seen a lot of references just playing on the internet about thr zombies...willing zombies, who want to go into a false death for a year and make a come back later...Just as a way of avoiding that dreaded appointment with Doctor Kavorkian! After seeing their lifes investments go down the sewer of life due to the skill of the banking industry. If you ever make contact with the other side, check with Elvis to get Doctor Chris's phone number. I'd like to make a bid on the King's surplus medicine supply. Just to bolster me till the economy comes back! I also wanted to avoid "Tic De La Rou" somtimes associated with these powerful Voodoo (some people say Hoodoo) spells and enchantments.

Recommend: (0)(0)[Report Abuse]stantheology7/16/2008 2:51:23 PM

I should like to explore the possibility of getting a gadget like that installed in my head.The reason is ,then one could become the greatest Cyrano De Bergerac impersinator in history,and still live a normal life when not impersinating. The only drawback migt be if one was in Silicon Valley,which is laden with many an electronic contraption. The fear being that one might be on the bus or train commuting to work and some lazer beam or other might cause the Cyrano De Bergerac nose to deploy, making fellow commuters think they were, halucinating, having a flashback due to the sacramental mushrooms they had munched in the late 1960s. The bionic penis and nose installation may give the patient an unfair advantage if he were employed in the "Hospitality Industry" and I think Doctor eurologists should consider this.

Recommend

ivabigun7/16/2008 3:08:13 PM

I think Countess, you should try to get in touch with a Voodoo (or Hoodoo) practitioner,the reason being the present administration has moved the stars out of allignment so much, you will need to have your JohnDe'Conqueroo working just to give any kind of reality a nudge. I have seen a lot of references just playing on the internet about thr zombies...willing zombies, who want to go into a false death for a year and make a come back later...Just as a way of avoiding that dreaded appointment with Doctor Kavorkian! After seeing their lifes investments go down the sewer of life due to the skill of the banking industry. If you ever make contact with the other side, check with Elvis to get Doctor Chris's phone number. I'd like to make a bid on the King's surplus medicine supply. Just to bolster me till the economy comes back! I also wanted to avoid "Tic De La Rou" somtimes associated with these powerful Voodoo (some people say Hoodoo) spells and enchantments.

Recommend

stantheology7/16/2008 2:51:23 PM

I should like to explore the possibility of getting a gadget like that installed in my head.The reason is ,then one could become the greatest Cyrano De Bergerac impersinator in history,and still live a normal life when not impersinating. The only drawback migt be if one was in Silicon Valley,which is laden with many an electronic contraption. The fear being that one might be on the bus or train commuting to work and some lazer beam or other might cause the Cyrano De Bergerac nose to deploy, making fellow commuters think they were, halucinating, having a flashback due to the sacramental mushrooms they had munched in the late 1960s. The bionic penis and nose installation may give the patient an unfair advantage if he were employed in the "Hospitality Industry" and I think Doctor eurologists should consider this.

Recommend

stantheology7/16/2008 7:56:24 PM

xocon...I loved that flick.Tears were running down my swarthy mug. So good, So good. So if you dig historical stuff,search for 'celts romans.'..it's fun and tells of how the Romans got a cano' whoop ass opened on'em when they first met the Celts, during the begining of the Roman state[The Celts told the Roman envoys that] this was indeed the first time they had heard of them, but they assumed the Romans must be a courageous people because it was to them that the [Etruscans] had turned to in their hour of need. And since the Romans had tried to help with an embassy and not with arms, they themselves would not reject the offer of peace, . www.ibiblio.org/gaelic/celts.html - 13k.... try that. It 'sworth the effort! THe web adress is the source of this fun information I also liked Crow in 'Master and Commander' but check out the Roman stuff, it's really satisfying!

The Remote Control Penis

miraclek77/16/2008 4:44:21 PM

Stan, I don't know if the zulu vocalizations will do for a teen, but I've been know to yell "DUDE" at my son before I rip into him; he, of course, knows what's coming...

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The Remote Control Penis

stantheology7/16/2008 4:18:50 PM

Just as an aside, the magnificent vocalisations by the Zulu warriors, in the movie "Zulu" which will make you hair stand on end ,I guarontee, was also admired by the maker of the movie "Gladiator" starring Russel Crow. In the scene where the Romans are about to attack the Germanic tribes, the Romans are also vocalising, to raise their spirits for the ensueing slaughter. If you pay attention, you will hear a" sample"of the Zulus Roaring with the Romans. It's art. it goes beyond the limit of what it is.!You will dig it!

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stantheology7/16/2008 4:03:01 PM

I have to go to the library and return my Miss Marple DVDs.

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Stan Balabuszko
show details 7/16/08

The Remote Control Penis

stantheology7/16/2008 9:42:44 AM

Then again, these pump equiped animal penises might end up at the Beijing Penis Emporium for your cooking and viewing pleasure. And just as a group of nuns from the United Nations or perhaps Olympics visitors walks by and someone bumps their garage door opener and immediately, you have a bunch of penises writhing in ecstacy, in plain view of everyone, not even at an adult book store, and it all gets videoed and ends up on You Tube or some venue like that,and tourism in China immediatly increases and the frade deficite gets worse.

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hughjasse7/4/2008 6:23:05 AM

i found that during the time of the rebelion of the slave "spartacus", there was a bump in the vulture population of southern italy. naturally we must attribute this to the excessive amount of food available to these vultures, since there were thousands of the escaped slave "spartacus'"followers.(hanging from crosses) . so that like nowadays, the increase in bird population was due to human intervention. ( from the department of stanthropology, stanord university)

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ivabigun7/4/2008 5:56:00 AM

if you add 2'a's to stan, you get satan, or insstead of "stanthology" ... you get "satanthology" which is cloe to "satantheology" ... and you know how stanthology was always going on about codes? well if sf gate hadn't taken his lifes work off this post thingie, you'd have noticed he always put dots betwen his thoughts...remember three dots is morse code for "s" ...the antichrist!

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ivabigun7/3/2008 10:23:33 PM

so zee beret, zee sunglasses, zee bongo drums. not really zat appropriate for a men henging from zee cross , iz eet?

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ivabigun7/19/2008 4:29:56 PM

I still say you alternative sex galoots are not organised like you should be. 10% of the population should have more political power than y'awwl demonstrate.

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ubernun7/19/2008 4:24:36 PM

I think Random Acts is Carl Rove.

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ivabigun7/19/2008 4:19:39 PM

malfouka, I say, you have some interesting stuff to look at! Very original and fun.

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Likely voters oppose marriage initiative

ivabigun7/19/2008 2:54:47 PM

The German s are exporting a few electric powered autos.They stopped exporting war. It was an unsustainable product line.They are big in the photo voltaic products too,also wind.

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This comment was left by a user who has been blocked by an SFGate editor.
ivabigun7/19/2008 2:48:10 PM

Liquiffy the methane gas emanating from sewage treatment plants. Then you could describe your BMW as being a three turd power car.

Likely voters oppose marriage initiative
Fifty-one percent of likely voters in the state oppose Proposition 8 on the November ballot, a constitutional amendment that bans same-sex marriage by defining marriage as only between a man and woman, according to a...
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Add Your Comment
ubernun7/20/2008 12:43:56 AM

Oh, and I could tell itsy was Rudy - who else could it be? - and I know Rudy's son is not related to Rudy and he's probably passed out by now also. Rudy's neighbor may actually be Rudy's neighbor.

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ubernun7/20/2008 12:37:34 AM

Random Acts of Bigotry and bluesdoctor should stop cutting and pasting. Olddawg has passed out by now and ramon's family is sweet. I'm back. Ubernun's position: One doesn't have to be Black or Gay to be on the right side of a civil rights issue.

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malfouka7/19/2008 10:30:01 PM

Re: legalized prostitution. The only way I would support legalized prostitution is: 1. the "pimp" aspect was removed and criminalized 2. prostitutes, like others in certain public-service settings, must undergo annual health screenings and tests 3. Street prostitution be either not allowed or only allowed in certain areas so as to insure that minors and "sex slaves" are protected. It's not a moral issue for me. I just worry about the disease, the forced prostitution, and the violence issues.

Recommend: (2)(0)[Report Abuse]

malfouka7/19/2008 10:01:16 PM

old_dawg~ Re: "normal." If a certain percentage of any animal population consistently shows a certain trait over thousands of years, that trait is normal. For example, it is estimated that only about 13% of the human population is (and scientifically, has been) left-handed [and as a quick aside, being left-handed was once considered a mark of evil, and etc, and many, if not most children were forced to use their right hand] yet being left-handed is a normal human trait. Same thing with hetero- AND homo- sexuality. The fact is, you don't like what gay folks do in their bedrooms (and in YOUR perversity, use these lurid images to deny equal rights). In order to justify your position, you resort to faulty logic and the use of terms such as "normal."

Recommend: (2)(2)[Report Abuse]

malfouka7/19/2008 9:31:37 PM

oldowg1945 says: "I raised four girls, nothing scares me" ----- oh goddess, you've procreated!

Recommend: (2)(2)[Report Abuse]

malfouka7/19/2008 9:26:57 PM

oldowg1945~"we, the normal heterosexuals"? You and your bigoted, non-thinking, and unintelligent ilk are so far from "normal" it's stupid.

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ivabigun7/19/2008 9:18:55 PM

When you consider that first ,the church said "the Earth is flat" and threatenen to bake Galileo to a golden brown unless he re-considered his speculation that the Earth is round. After gold was discovered the church said "we changed our mind" ...Now, after years of "Flaming poofters are bad" and it comes to pass, that there are lots of child molesteres in the church, and it's costing the church a lot of that gold,perhaps the church is afraid that its perch on the moral high ground of civilisation might get eroded slightly if the church said "you know , all that fudge packing we were saying is a sin, well we changed our mind!And it's just fun after all!" I personally think, that the people of America should learn to keep their extra long,prying, controlling noses out of other peoples sexuality,and focus on the disastrous economy. People should try to think up products to export,instead of war,and war machines. The Germans did after WW2, and they're doing well. Hi everybody

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cthulu7/19/2008 9:04:49 PM

Gosh, imagine the shock when you lose in November....who knew

Recommend: (1)(1)[Report Abuse]

bluesdoctor7/19/2008 8:57:11 PM

Look at the fine print. Folks were pollled by phone. Who picks up for strangers and who, even more tellingly, agrees to give up their time to strangers on the phone for a survey? Answer: small children, those with the IQ of small children, & those in jail with nothing else to do.

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miraclek77/19/2008 8:52:33 PM

Ramon, bless you and your family....

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ramon3667/19/2008 8:41:48 PM

I'm going to use this forum to step up to the plate and brag about my now-deceased parents. Many posters claim that this is a generational issue - that may be true, but it isn't ironclad. My mother was born in 1913 in Latin America and she and my dad were totally accepting of gay men & women. They saw thru the bigotry and the twisted agenda of people who pretended to know God's mind on various topics. There was never a peep of protest from clergy when they sat shoulder to elbow with my parent's gay guests, godchildren, etc., and they had no tolerance for the fire and brimstone crowd who shied away from tackling the tough issues in life - gay marriage and love not being one of them. It's starting to sound trite, but if you disapprove of gay marriage, don't have one! The christian-Taliban needs to tackle that true threat to marriage - divorce.

Recommend: (6)(2)[Report Abuse]

jwoode7/19/2008 8:36:52 PM

Random acts.. as a Darwinist, how do you explain the growing acceptance of gay people in societies as evidenced by the increasing number of countries where it has become an accepted way of life? Where it is growing both in literature and in popular entertainment? It would seem that the evolution of human thinking is leaving your mindset in the dust. None too soon for my taste either which brings me to another point. You wonder why gay males react with "harsh venom" to female posters like yourself... isn't that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black when you consider that virtually every single post you make drips venom? You, mister.. yes I believe you to be male, are becoming extinct. Now quick.. go fetch something snide from your collection to cut and paste into a post.. wouldn't want to trouble you to think.

Recommend: (3)(0)[Report Abuse]

beezkneez_7/19/2008 8:28:00 PM

I agree. No pimp. This is a business transction between consenting adults. It's no one else's business, church or gov't. Period.

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Likely voters oppose marriage initiative

ivabigun7/20/2008 3:14:27 PM

The situation has been exacerbated by the elimination of hunchback-studies programs at many technical colleges. Since 1990, the number of schools offering a two-year hunchbacking degree has dropped from 492 to 39, leaving many mad scientists without much-needed grotesque lab assistants. source: the onion

Recommend: (1)(0)[Report Abuse]

Likely voters oppose marriage initiative

Likely voters oppose marriage initiative
Fifty-one percent of likely voters in the state oppose Proposition 8 on the November ballot, a constitutional amendment that bans same-sex marriage by defining marriage as only between a man and woman, according to a...
Read Full Story
Sort Comments by: Oldest First | Newest First
Add Your Comment
ubernun7/20/2008 12:43:56 AM

Oh, and I could tell itsy was Rudy - who else could it be? - and I know Rudy's son is not related to Rudy and he's probably passed out by now also. Rudy's neighbor may actually be Rudy's neighbor.

Recommend: (1)(0)[Report Abuse]

ubernun7/20/2008 12:37:34 AM

Random Acts of Bigotry and bluesdoctor should stop cutting and pasting. Olddawg has passed out by now and ramon's family is sweet. I'm back. Ubernun's position: One doesn't have to be Black or Gay to be on the right side of a civil rights issue.

Recommend: (2)(0)[Report Abuse]

malfouka7/19/2008 10:30:01 PM

Re: legalized prostitution. The only way I would support legalized prostitution is: 1. the "pimp" aspect was removed and criminalized 2. prostitutes, like others in certain public-service settings, must undergo annual health screenings and tests 3. Street prostitution be either not allowed or only allowed in certain areas so as to insure that minors and "sex slaves" are protected. It's not a moral issue for me. I just worry about the disease, the forced prostitution, and the violence issues.

Recommend: (2)(0)[Report Abuse]

malfouka7/19/2008 10:01:16 PM

old_dawg~ Re: "normal." If a certain percentage of any animal population consistently shows a certain trait over thousands of years, that trait is normal. For example, it is estimated that only about 13% of the human population is (and scientifically, has been) left-handed [and as a quick aside, being left-handed was once considered a mark of evil, and etc, and many, if not most children were forced to use their right hand] yet being left-handed is a normal human trait. Same thing with hetero- AND homo- sexuality. The fact is, you don't like what gay folks do in their bedrooms (and in YOUR perversity, use these lurid images to deny equal rights). In order to justify your position, you resort to faulty logic and the use of terms such as "normal."

Recommend: (2)(2)[Report Abuse]

malfouka7/19/2008 9:31:37 PM

oldowg1945 says: "I raised four girls, nothing scares me" ----- oh goddess, you've procreated!

Recommend: (2)(2)[Report Abuse]

malfouka7/19/2008 9:26:57 PM

oldowg1945~"we, the normal heterosexuals"? You and your bigoted, non-thinking, and unintelligent ilk are so far from "normal" it's stupid.

Recommend: (2)(2)[Report Abuse]

ivabigun7/19/2008 9:18:55 PM

When you consider that first ,the church said "the Earth is flat" and threatenen to bake Galileo to a golden brown unless he re-considered his speculation that the Earth is round. After gold was discovered the church said "we changed our mind" ...Now, after years of "Flaming poofters are bad" and it comes to pass, that there are lots of child molesteres in the church, and it's costing the church a lot of that gold,perhaps the church is afraid that its perch on the moral high ground of civilisation might get eroded slightly if the church said "you know , all that fudge packing we were saying is a sin, well we changed our mind!And it's just fun after all!" I personally think, that the people of America should learn to keep their extra long,prying, controlling noses out of other peoples sexuality,and focus on the disastrous economy. People should try to think up products to export,instead of war,and war machines. The Germans did after WW2, and they're doing well. Hi everybody

Recommend: (0)(2)[Report Abuse]

cthulu7/19/2008 9:04:49 PM

Gosh, imagine the shock when you lose in November....who knew

Recommend: (1)(1)[Report Abuse]

bluesdoctor7/19/2008 8:57:11 PM

Look at the fine print. Folks were pollled by phone. Who picks up for strangers and who, even more tellingly, agrees to give up their time to strangers on the phone for a survey? Answer: small children, those with the IQ of small children, & those in jail with nothing else to do.

Recommend: (3)(3)[Report Abuse]

miraclek77/19/2008 8:52:33 PM

Ramon, bless you and your family....

Recommend: (0)(0)[Report Abuse]

ramon3667/19/2008 8:41:48 PM

I'm going to use this forum to step up to the plate and brag about my now-deceased parents. Many posters claim that this is a generational issue - that may be true, but it isn't ironclad. My mother was born in 1913 in Latin America and she and my dad were totally accepting of gay men & women. They saw thru the bigotry and the twisted agenda of people who pretended to know God's mind on various topics. There was never a peep of protest from clergy when they sat shoulder to elbow with my parent's gay guests, godchildren, etc., and they had no tolerance for the fire and brimstone crowd who shied away from tackling the tough issues in life - gay marriage and love not being one of them. It's starting to sound trite, but if you disapprove of gay marriage, don't have one! The christian-Taliban needs to tackle that true threat to marriage - divorce.

Recommend: (6)(2)[Report Abuse]

jwoode7/19/2008 8:36:52 PM

Random acts.. as a Darwinist, how do you explain the growing acceptance of gay people in societies as evidenced by the increasing number of countries where it has become an accepted way of life? Where it is growing both in literature and in popular entertainment? It would seem that the evolution of human thinking is leaving your mindset in the dust. None too soon for my taste either which brings me to another point. You wonder why gay males react with "harsh venom" to female posters like yourself... isn't that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black when you consider that virtually every single post you make drips venom? You, mister.. yes I believe you to be male, are becoming extinct. Now quick.. go fetch something snide from your collection to cut and paste into a post.. wouldn't want to trouble you to think.

Recommend: (3)(0)[Report Abuse]

beezkneez_7/19/2008 8:28:00 PM

I agree. No pimp. This is a business transction between consenting adults. It's no one else's business, church or gov't. Period.

Recommend: (4)(1)[Report Abuse]

Prostitution measure makes in onto S.F. ballot

ivabigun7/20/2008 4:44:54 PM

If you need "The Untoucnables" doesn't that imply the rest of the cops are on the take? If the cops are on the take, doesn't that imply there's an un-reasonable law, that nobody believes in on the books. A law that enables mobsters, thugs , all the people in the legal industry (the people that make the rules) to make a mountain of money.

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Likely voters oppose marriage initiative

ivabigun7/20/2008 5:11:18 PM

My daughter had a ferret. It was a formidable little brute. It stole many socks and hid 'em in a pile.

YURI NAHL IN DEEP DE-MIND CONTROL THERAPY AND HOW THE DEVIOUS HORSES AND MOMO HYPNOTIZED YURI NAHL ALSO THEIR PLANS FOR STARDOM

2010-05-30T00:09:00.004-05:00

Comrades, you will please excuse sudden and unexplained absence. I, Yuri Nahl was in deep "de-mind control therapy". Because of the astute and observant Mr.Boondoggle, who noticed that the world-renowned black dog, the Afghan hound Momo, had let the hair on the side of his eyes grow long, he was able to extrapolate or infer that Momo was hypnotizing me every time he thought no one was watching. It was determined that he was beaming "mind-control rays" at me , so as to make me enter a partial "Voodoo trance".

Upon realizing these facts, I was removed to a dog and horse free location, where I would be safe from "mind-melding" by four legged animals. (even though they were not cloven hoofed, and the minions of the "Fiend of Hell")

The horses were moved to a new location in the pasture right by the foundry and supplied with a tent, their wide screen TV, a supply of their special smelly hay they had ordered on the Internet with the voice actuated keyboard, and the pirated video files from Parkland College in Illinois, USA, which showed horses mating. (somehow they had hacked into the Veterinary School files and thought these videos were "horse xxx pornos")(They were also selling the videos on eBay)

Now while I was isolated in safety and not susceptible to the horse "hypnosis rays", the nerds looked around the horses stalls. There the nerds found , (1) a wireless keyboard, voice activated, (2) LCD photo frames, with the dog Momo and the four horses on them, in head on poses looking intense, (3) wireless connections to hook up the horses electronic contraptions to the foundry computer system, (4) evidence of code in the foundry computer, suggesting the horses had set up some hidden operation of their own, which was invisible, unless nerds were looking for it. (5) miniature CSTV cameras, (6) another LCD picture frame set up as a TV monitor.

Using nerd mind power, the significance of the stealthy computer code was determined. It was shown that when I Yuri Nahl was in the foundry, The horses would be observing me with the miniature closed circuit TV camera, and then, using a camera in each horse stall, beam "mind control rays " at me, using the LCD photo frames as a medium. Whereas, most people think that two live mammals have to be physically present in the same location to do hypnosis, this is not correct. A reasonable facsimile will suffice, such as the live picture frame LCD horse "photos" . If I were to look at the "horse photos," (which were supposedly for my benefit) they would stand really still. Except I seem to have a recollection of a fly drifting by in one of the photos one day, but it just didn't register in my mind, as I was probably partially under control of their "enchantment" or "spell".

These clever animals had a "flash drive" type system in their hacked foundry computer, from which they played "mind control" images, and murmurings, sort of like Jane Fonda exercise videos. Integral to this was an automatic motion detector even including face recognition software which they had apparently stolen out of an anti terrorist surveillance gadget at San Francisco airport. They used this to stop the murmuring and focused energy rays if I was looking at their photos. At that time they looked docile and relaxed, as if they had just munched an extra helping of their special smelly hay. Which made them drowsy. They would then watch "Mr. Ed" videos, or get giant boners, sometimes both.

These "fake LCD photograph mind control weapons" were constantly working, so there was no escaping the beams of energy. If Mr.Boondoggle had not noticed my symptoms, there's no telling what might have happened, but I suspect it would have had something to do with attractive female horses. This "horse love" was their downfall. Dobbin had been composing a love sonnet to a female horse pen pal he had been working on and forgot to encrypt it, There it was in plain text just by coincidence at the time when the nerds were doing their forensic code analysis. This "love poem" tipped the other horses off about Dobbin's "love monopoly" and they wanted in. They checked on eBay to see if the stuffed Trigger (Roy Roger's horse) was up for bid, so they could use it as a "sex toy" .

Much horse strategy had been planned, including their film careers.

Momo sugested that they reprise the "Mr. Ed " show with Dobbin playing "Mr. Ed" as the original "Mr.Ed" had passed over. They were planning on using Mr.Boondoggle as "Wilbur" since the original actor, was 90.

Much planning had gone on, led by the incomparable Momo. Due to his penchant for history, Momo had read of the British Raj in India, (the "Jewel in the Crown" of the British Empire). He had relations in Afghanistan, who had communicated with elephants whose relations , ancestors had been of service to the British during the time of the Raj.

They had many interesting tales, some of which had never been told before. For example, After hearing of the exploits of Katherine the Great of Russia's love of using horse semen for a restorative skin balm, British women who had accompanied their husbands to India , to educate and evangelize the heathens had started to use this "semen therapy" to fight the rapid skin ageing due to the hot climate. They also seemed to enjoy practicing newly learned "love skills " taught them by the Indian women who were not repressed like the British.

This learning was facilitated by the two foot long penises of the stallions, because during "sex class" six or so British ladies could participate in the learning process (of penis rubbing) at one time which allowed larger classes and sped up the learning process. This also helped the British women to overcome their Puritan upbringing, and to getting used to a horse ejaculating into their rectums (for a therapeutic semen enema).

Previously they had utilized the penis of a "house boy." (switching to "stallion penis rubbing" helped fan the flames of the "mutiny" as these "house boys" had gotten used to the British women practicing fellatio, hand stimulation, sodomy, and various other "marital skill practices" listed in the "Kama Sutra" utilizing their stiff young extra long, (and sometimes even really thick penises). This made the job as a "house boy" much sought after.

The use of the semen which the women had ejaculated onto their faces and bosoms by their house boys, was also a blessing in that, the dubious expensive lotions lotions were not needed.

Now the Indian climate is very hot , and this led to a "fly problem". Fortuitously, it was discovered that dousing oneself with horse urine was an excellent "fly repellent". Later, it was also found that elephant urine was just as good, but could be harvested in greater abundance. (Although harvesting "elephant urine" was a decidedly more risky endeavor since the elephants sometimes mistook this "elephant penis aiming" for a "light wiener rub" and when their penises became turgid, a chap could easily get crushed, or knocked into the "urine collecting vessel" and drown in a distasteful manner.

The Indian women cleverly started laying off the "house boys" who had previously just spent the day drinking tea and showering the British ladies with urine and semen. Needless to say, this also contributed to the "mutiny."

Through his Afghan hound contacts who consulted with elephant friends they had, (and remember, elephants have good memories,) it was learned that the British soldiers started allowing the elephants to defaecate on them so as to darken their skin while they were spying, or trying to get jobs as house boys, so they could ejaculate and urinate on the British ladies, (although not necessarily in that order) as they could not do this while in Britain, as polite society frowned upon it. After being defaecated on, the house boys had to massage the excrement into the British soldiers skin, whereas before, they massaged their semen into the skin of the breasts of the ladies. (this undoubtedly contributed to "the mutiny".)

This horse and elephant urine, ejaculate, and excrement therapy, (not well known in the rest of the world), was still practiced in India as the therapeutic effects were still known to foreign stars of film and stage who's skin was under the scrutiny of the public. Spas were opened in towns with film studios. These became known as "One and Two Spas" in the jargon of the milieu. (For obvious reasons.) Many a guffaw or chortle was had by the local "urine, feces, and semen technicians", because they knew the therapy was of dubious value.

Now that the exposition of motivating forces has been done, we shall follow the story as it unfolds. (With a sort of "Prequel")

It was Momo, (the world renowned Afghan hound) who suggested to the horses that they communicate through "Wilbur" (Wilbur Post played by Alan Young) as he was thoroughly familiar with "horse to human" and "human to horse" dialects, and even "backward speaking dialect", and had in fact just finished a lucrative contract assisting the publishers of "Cliff's Notes" suitable for college students, as the study of the "Mr Ed" series was at last being recognized as an important facet of modern culture, and as such, many students were trying to find ways to assist themselves understand this important topic. Several dissertations were floating around on the Internet but were mere shallow glances. (not even considered to be "outlines" by the cognoscenti!) of a piece of modern culture which has been compared with "Ulysses" by James Joyce.

Alan Young (Wilbur) agreed to communicate with the horses. He stipulated that (1) He would only communicate using closed circuit TV. (2) He would be given sunglasses of the type used to observe the Trinity A-Bomb Test at the Alamogordo Test Range. This of course was to defend his eyes from any "mind control beams" emanating from the horses and their adviser, Momo. (3) He be equipped with a "dead-man" switch, which if he let go of it, would shut down the TV cameras and monitor, and in this way protect him from energy rays or hypnosis. Alan Young was familiar with "human whispering" as practiced by some horses, and when detected could counter it with "horse whispering".

Now at this time, it was decided (by the horses) to erect a tent over the horses communal stall, (where they puffed that peculiar pipe made from a five candle candelabra modified to their specifications.) Also peculiar was the smell of the tobacco they smoked. They seemed to like puffing the smelly hay they had ordered off the Internet using the voice controlled keyboard and sometimes pretending to be Steven Hawkins. They always needed time to recover from the choking and whinnying which sometimes resembled laughter. This decision was actually complying with a formal request emailed by the horses.

Now this was the time when the plan of the world renowned Momo, agreed to by the horses, would come into play. In general, the plan consisted of (1) Starting a new improved "Mr.Ed" series. (2) It would portray life in India during the time of the Raj more in line with the way Indian historians viewed it. This would be verbalized to the TV viewers by the "Indian" Mr.Ed, possibly with a more appropriate sobriquet, so as to resemble fictional character Harry Faversham, (from the novel "The Four Feathers" or his disguise as the despised mute Sangali, staggering out from the wilds from time to time. The elephants and horses of India would also be portrayed as more elegant and handsome, not all dusty and smelly. These things had already been discussed by the four chariot horses and their counterparts in India, only expedited by the incomparable Momo. Emails had been flashing back and forth for some time.

In return, the horses and Momo agreed to admit that they had accidentally shipped the handsome Arabian horses to Argentina, and had accidentally not paid for the horses or the shipping fees. But only by way of throwing the humans a bone. The horses and Momo also agreed to stop, or at least slow down this electronic pillaging of banks all over the world, buying gold bullion and stashing it in Irish and Swiss banks.

In reality, the horses and Momo knew they had an advantage over any prosecutor because if they were in court, in the witness box, or witness stall in their case, when the prosecutor asked them a question, they would pretend that they could not speak English, and just defacate or urinate all over and get giant boners, to the delight of the lady jurors. This attempt to cross examine the horses and Momo could have the effect of making the prosecutor look mentally ill, and ruin his chances of any political career, so this just gave the creatures added leverage.

KARL LAGERFELD ATELIER STORY WITH TURD ON HEAD

2010-05-29T23:30:00.002-05:00

Wednesday, March 31, 2010 at 2:01am
Comrades, be advised that I saw Karl Lagerfeld hanging around outside my crib at night. Normally I would just send my world renowned Black Dog, Momo the Afghan Hound, to despatch the brigand, but I can see he's packing, I can see he's packing a H&K MP7 or similar, so it would be too risky to let Momo remove the blighter.

So I climbed up onto the roof and dropped a big turd onto his head. With those shades, he's easy to identify. Even Dracula doesn't wear shades in the darkness of the night. I had a supply of frozen turds in the freezer, and I had thawed out a few as I thought I might miss him the first time, and I'd need a spare, or two. (One needs to drop turds on desperadoes in this neighborhood from time to time). I have a microwave on the roof, because I know that getting hit by a frozen turd from 30 feet up could be deadly. He usually has a young model with him and that night was no different. Therefore, I selected a turd for her too. So when Karl came around with his H&K strapped to his chest, I dropped a nice solid turd onto his white pompadour. (I wore rubber gloves, to avert the danger of getting shit under my fingernails, thus avoiding a whiff of poo if I picked my nose. Plus I only used my thumb and forefinger so I could cut the other fingers off the glove and use them for condoms.)

Now, he, Karl, is so vain that he'll not want to have a hair out of place, even if there's a big stinking hunk of shit stuck to his noggin. I have to admit I was thinking of chucking a hand grenade out the window, but I reconsidered. If an explosion went off behind him, it would blow his coiffure up in the air and he would resemble the news chick Christiane Amanpour, who used to hang upside down and blow dry her hair so it was sticking up all over the place, then set fire to the tips, and claim that she just had a narrow escape from Al-Qaeda. Everyone found out she was faking, mangled up hair or not, when she turned around and there were a couple of lit cigarettes stuck in the back of her hair to simulate a smoldering coiffure..(unless they were just using her head for an ashtray while she was taking a nap) Besides, an explosion would shatter the windows of the atelier.

Karl would make much hay out of the explosion and get sympathy. I would have liked to have seen him with his shades blown off though. I have a feeling that someone poked him in the eye on general principles, and he had to have one of his testicles transplanted into his eye socket , then have an iris and pupil tattooed onto it. (he could have got a regular glass eye, but when he went to the glass eye store, he got the impression they were all staring at him) The only problem is if he rolls his eyes too much the fake eyeball gets stuck, and when he un-rolls them, he has one regular, and one completely white eyeball like in the horror movies. Even so, one of the eyeballs might have bulged out more than the other, giving him a "piratical" sort of cachet, because lots of times pirates do have one bulging eyeball. This gives verisimilitude to the phrase when they say "Aaaaaar, matey!" I'm fairly sure he would prefer symmetrically bulging eyeballs. This does not even take into consideration the fact that once the testicle was hooked up to the veins, it still produces sperm which leaks out of his eye like the geezer in that 007 movie. So if he was eating pussy, there was a chance the chick would get knocked up if he just happened to take a close gander at her pussy. That would be a reason to wear shades. Or even better, a frogman mask to completely seal in the sperm, but not an Aqualung.

Now he had a choice. Try to get a comb through the turd, and possibly end up with a reverse "Bride of Frankenstein" motif, with a brown streak on his white hair, or just try saying "Fuck it!" and claim that "It's the latest thing!" and pull off a fashion coup. But also, I then dropped a solid clod of shit down his chicks cleavage. I hoped that it would rip her shirt down and her bra, and it did. Like rend it from top to bottom. Like the veil in the temple of Jerusalem, when Christ died and the Saints were thrown out of their tombs. (although I contend that the Saints were just trying to weasel out of working around the house by pretending to be dead, then when their old ladies learned that Christ had croaked, and the Saints were out of a job [hanging out with the Son of God] their old ladies chucked them out of the tombs) In which case her whopping tits would flop out and dangle down like a couple of grapefruits, one in each of a pair of socks, then the socks tied together and hung around her neck. So she'd have to hold her jugs up to keep them from drooping like some old bag who never wore a bra.

Karl started photographing her now, notwithstanding the turd on his head, and the undeniable fact that there were a multitude of flies sortieing in the vicinity. Going into orbit around the turd, that is.

Because of Karl's desire to shoot me, (with a gun, not a camera) he had to walk through my crummy neighborhood, with this chick holding her tits up in the air, and Karl with a turd stuck to his head, which bore a slight resemblance to some aerodynamic device seen on "Flying Hero" types who proliferated in the 1940s for some reason. In any case, thugs from the neighborhood noticed the hot jugs on this chick, since she was holding them up in a most provocative manner, as if she were sacrificing them on some kind of altar to thugism, but mostly because she liked manly fellows to gawk at her excellent tits and liked their desire to feel, bite, and douse them with a deluge of semen. So the hoodlums asked the couple to stop for a while so they could masturbate and splatter come all over this chicks face and tits, as she knelt on the sidewalk, while their fellow thugs were yanking on, twirling and stretching her nipples as she groaned with lust.

Now Karl did not feel particularly threatened, because he had this machine-pistol strapped to his chest. Plus, with the turd on his head, nobody wanted to come near him, and risk getting bitten by a horsefly. They just kept splattering the chicks tits and face as she knelt on the sidewalk, while Karl took more photos. Because Karl and the young lady had allowed the criminals to ejaculate all over her, they gave Karl a "Thug-Fashion" tip. So Karl walked away from the scene with a comb suitable for the modern hairdos embedded in his head-turd, parallel to the front to rear axis of his head, except with most of the comb hanging out the back, so it added to the aerodynamic appearance of his head-turd ensemble.

Now these two sharp dressers were headed for a party where the top 100 of the glitterati were celebrating after an unveiling of important fashions for next season. Mick and his daughter, Keith, his hag and his daughters were there, Kate, Mrs.Boondoggle, Norman Mailer, (in a coffin, because the family couldn't afford a cemetery plot.) all that hep crowd.

So that opportunist Karl walked in with the turd still stuck to his bonce, and the broad still drenched with come dripping off her face onto her tits, and running down between them. She was still holding up her tits so they wouldn't get all droopy. Plus she was still hot from being mauled by the gangsters, and her nipples were tender from being yanked. A lot of the other dames who were gaping at the spectacle would have given anything to be slurping the come off her tits, because they were big, wobbly, and delicious looking..

The crowd of models, artists, stars of film and the stage fell silent. Then audible gasps were heard. Time stood still. The best people looked at each other hoping for a cue. Then... one person clapping, then two, then more, and soon everyone in the room was applauding, and shouting "Bravo!", "Bravo!" and generally whooping up seeing the new breakthrough fashion work of genius. And at a party, rather than at a corn-ball venue! They speculated..."Should it be called "Super-Dada" ?

At this time, or shortly after, all the women, dames, ladies, girls and transvestites suddenly looked glum, then shortly after that, they looked really pissed! They started slapping their escorts, kicking them in the balls, and stomping out of the room, angry.

Naturally, the men were totally bewildered. They started making Italian hand gestures and facial expressions at each other meaning "What the fuck just happened?" and "Oh my balls!"

Karl Lagerfeld had to tip them off. "Your bitches want to be drenched with come and be holding their tits. purportedly so they don't droop like a couple of cannon balls, but in reality, so they could display their hot torpedoes to the general public, and remember, I created this new unprecedented fashion!"

The lying fuck! Now I knew all this shit because Karl is a sneaky little bastard, and I figured he might double back and head me off at the pass, or alley behind my pad, so I had followed him and the slut. Now here he was, with his bitch, or I should say "a bitch" because he's so decrepit, if he tried to fuck anyone his whole body would probably disintegrate, or if not, his dick would probably fall off inside the bitch, or if she was sucking his dick, and it broke off in her mouth, and she choked on it, and she coughed it out, and it shot across the table, and just by coincidence one of the paparazzi took a photo, of when it landed in a hot dog bun just as some old cow was to take a bite.and this incident became a famous "sex of the rich and gaudy faux pas", which would amuse the common folk for years to come, and insure the photographer of ending up in the paparazzi hall of fame. Sort of like the MIck-Mars-Bar-Incident, which is so well known it's on Wikipedia, and is reputed to be the single main factor in Marianne Faithfuls' becoming a junkie. So back to fucking Karl's taking credit for a turd I dropped on his head! Filthy swine. Who would have ever thought he'd be able to turn a blob of shit on his head and a bitch slobbered with come into a new money making opportunity! Fucker!

Now all the other broads stared to drift back into the room, smiling proudly, drenched with come, shirts and bras ripped apart, semen running down their faces dribbling onto their tits! These chicks had commandeered every man they could find, and had the men douse them with come! Most of them carried turds wrapped in waxed paper, of questionable parentage, to smash onto their escort's heads! Naturally that dog Karl went around with a ball point pen gouging his "KL" into the turds, and since it was a Bic, signed all the slut's tits.

Karl saw an opportunity for photos and all the best people posed in groups as was appropriate to their social status. I knew all this shit would be in Vanity Fair and similar rags very soon. All over the Internet! But then, only Karl could have pulled it off, as he learned how to be an opportunistic vulture during his association with Leibstandarte, at the end of World War II.

The prick!

The only guys who were not dumbfounded by the events of the evening were the old bastards who worked at the Embassies. They were all spies, of course , and I recognized them from my previous career. They were too old to be interested in cunt, so they pulled down their pants and took a shit in the punch bowl. Two of them were re-enacting the Battle of Trafalgar with Admiral Viscount Lord Nelson's turd, representing the warship Victory , against Admiral Villeneuve of France and Admirals d’Aliva and Cisternas of Spain, represented by a couple of other turds. They were just having fun, a couple of doddering old fossils, and then this Russian, or I should say Soviet, because he was definitely an old school spy came along, also took a shit in the punch bowl, and started doing the "Hunt for Red October".

Now within days, fashionable guys were walking around with turds stuck to their heads! The broads took a little longer, because at first they felt shy about asking complete strangers to come all over their faces and tits. (But they quickly got over it) Also, it would usually take four guys to slosh enough goo on them so they looked presentable, holding their tits, waking around, letting other sluts scoop come off them with a spoon, just being complete whores. Very enjoyable for both babes.

Then naturally the Pope stuck his nose into it, and put out an encyclical about it, saying it was immoral, unless the broads had someone take a spoon and a funnel and put the come into their pussies. Then someone with a massive telephoto lens got a couple of candid photos of the Pope taking off that funky hat with the points on it and there was a big pointed turd! At that point , the Pope clammed up.

Larry King was the first news commentator with a turd on his head. The others soon followed. The daring ones had the "Thug-Comb" Neo-Head-Turd thing going on. There was a special show on Oprah, where experts discussed how old girls should be before they went around with come dripping from their faces and holding their tits up in the air. A couple of little 17 year old whores who had gone wrong, gave their opinion on what led them to the vulgar side, but their faces were not shown , and their voices were altered.

It became so fashionable for women to be drenched with come while holding their tits, even Rachel Madow started doing it, as well as most other news talkers with tits, and they held their tits up too as the fashion required . When it was time to turn the pages of the news, stage hands would have sticks with clothing store dummy hands on the end, and would hold up the news broad's tits. Sometimes, randy stage hands would use the hands on the sticks to feel the news broads ass, but the TV audience could not see this.

This "women drenched with come phenomena" led to a sperm shortage all over the world. Runs on sperm banks were occurring regularly! Men were having to jerk off so many times a day, repetitive motion injuries were being reported with much greater regularity. At leper colonies, arms were lying around all over the place. It was revealed that animal sperm was being mixed with human sperm and sold.

It was a "Golden Time" for dry cleaners and the cleaning industry in general. Lawyers did well too, as people were slipping on the semen which was all over everything. Insurance companies were complaining about unprovable claims. Surgeons questioned the need for nurses to be dripping come all over patients on the operating table.

The Japanese started hunting sperm whales in an effort to corner the sperm market. The Greenpeace people were up in arms and this led to a contretemps when the bow of a Greenpeace vessel was sheared off by the Patna Maru, Japanese "research ship" formerly famous for trying to corner the"World Haggis Market" by using giant whale stomachs to speed up haggis production employing spurious Scotsmen of Japanese descent, wearing kilts.

Militias were formed near the Mexican border to keep smuggled Mexican sperm out of the US. Right Wing radio shows discussed the danger of Black men splattering White women etc. Or gay men spurting goo all over straight women. The FDA warned that Canadian sperm was a health risk and recommended not buying sperm on the Internet.

Neo-cons came up with the "PNACS". This stood for "Project for a New American Come Supply". They intended to remodel the nuclear submarine fleet with artificial vaginae, and paint an eye on the side, so they could sneak up on male whales, and make them ejaculate into a vat inside the submarine, so that the US could control the World Sperm Supply. They also planned to invade Africa, or "the country of Africa" if that stupid bitch Palin gets elected. In Africa, the Neo-cons planned to herd all the elephants into a huge enclosure and utilize "Blow-up Elephant Dolls" which the bull elephants could mate with. Inside the spurious elephants, low paid workers would give the elephants a "light wiener rub", and collect the sperm in 55 gallon drums. This seemed like a good idea in theory, but was about as successful a plan as the invasion of Iraq, being a brain-wave of the jackass Paul Wolfowitz .(one of the idiots who planned the "cake walk" in Iraq) Attempts to get Wolfowitz to volunteer to get inside the "Blow-Up Elephant Dolls" and demonstrate how to give the gigantic elephant penis a "light wiener rub" were unsuccessful. That was a stroke of luck for him as, by using low-paid local talent, it was determined that after the raging bull elephants acquired the scent of a man inside the "Blow-Up ElephantDolls", their life expectancy was 1.7 seconds.

The Neo-cons decided to use the famous Exon Valdez oil tanker to ship the Semen from Africa to the US. (even though everyone knew that the sway-backed oil-tanker was a pile of shit) The Exon company said it would be patriotic to refurbish the oil tanker. Dick Cheney agreed and volunteered Haliburton Corporation to do the work. On a cost plus basis.

As time went by, the trend dissipated a little. Markets had to be created. The Traditional Set, always slow of the upbeat, were hard to sell to. Then a clever chap from the plastics industry found a way to cast "hood ornaments" made of shit so that the non-avant garde would buy a shit formed product. So soon people were seen walking down the street with the Pontiac "Indian" or the Oldsmobile "Rocket", hood ornaments, or even the Rolls Royce "Winged Lady" and Mercedes "Three Pointed Star" seen on the radiators of marques,were soon on the heads of car lovers. All of these ploys were used to avoid a glut of shit on the Commodity Exchange. (warehousing shit has always been problematic as just the fly-paper costs alone are staggering))

Even the dog clothing industry was used to sell turd products to pet owners. These were often "Plastic turds" as dogs shaking their heads when they think there's a turd on it would have caused a "Dog Turd Meteorite Shower" not gaining dog popularity, except in France. The "curly" style plastic dog turd is probably the best seller.

A world renowned sculptor was commissioned by the " George W. Bush Presidential Library " committee to sculpt a statue of the ex-president, as shit seemed an appropriate material for the president's likeness. The sculptor was seen on "A&E" wearing an Aqualung, working on the statue.

Now, after a while, styles go out of fashion especially when the "squares" or "non-hep" portion of the population start to acquire that which was previously the realm of only the rich, decadent, young, beautiful,and those who liked being sodomized regularly, while hanging from a cross, but not necessarily wearing a crown of thorns. Old geezers were on Oprah, recounting the times they had been embarrassed when their head turd had fallen into their soup because they were bald and didn't have any hair for the chunk of shit to stick to. Matronly type old ladies admitted that they had paid exorbitant tips to the swarthy type of young hombres they preferred, to squirt long luxurious blasts of semen all over them.

Congress started holding "House Select Committee Hearings on the Semen Dousing of White American Anglo-Saxon Protestant Women" to determine whether or not being slobbered with come was Un-American. And, if it was American, was it "Possibly Un-American" if the semen had been imported from Communist China, North Korea, or Cuba. Or what about the former "Warsaw Pact" nations which "might have left over spies from the former Soviet Union" And if it "Were possible", what would prevent the ''potentially corrupting possible influence'' from convincing "White American Teenagers" from being led down the garden path to a sordid life of having "large or even extra-large, (and even really thick) brown, and dark brown , Communist penises thrust vigorously into previously tight, "White American Teenage Anuses, (both male and female)'' turning them into noticeably reamed out or prolapsed "White American Anuses", with a veritable River Nile of (possibly) Communist semen dribbling out of them , and running down their nylons. As anticipated, a "Prohibition" was incorporated into the Constitution. Also included was a 10 minute "Prayer in School" provision, in which the students begged God to protect their tight White American anuses from being ravaged by a large ,or even extra large , or even really thick Brown, or dark Brown penis, (especially if it was throbbing, and had a big knob on the end) as well as other normal requests.

"Whereas, for their own good, American women will be scanned (by a specially trained dog) at airports for their own good morals, to see it they need to go to a "De-sperming facility, at Gitmo, without any resort to counsel, because of a "possible bad influence from 'previously Warsaw Pact, or countries with "Brownish, or even "Dark Brown" people inhabiting them", who have " large or even extra large (and even really thick) penises'' which "May tend to influence 'White American Women (and even men) " to bend over and have "a large or even extra-large (and even really thick)" Pro-Communist or even 'Left-Leaning' penis thrust vigorously into their bowels, 'Possibly causing them to have an unanticipated, or premature bowel movement' , and doctors say these massive foreign penises could stretch out the rectum leading to "potentially gigantic stools resembling a loaf of Vienna Bread, instead of proper 'Christian, God-fearing normal sized stools' which don't block up the plumbing. (and if used as a head turd, won't cause disk or whiplash problems) ( and if used as a door stop, won't be mistaken for a bowling ball) This amendment made all statues "which had a stream of semen emanating from a penis, (or any other organ or belly button) is hereby prohibited. Naturally this included Hot-Tubs filled with Semen. (unless of course, it is in the Republican House on C street, for study purposes) Included in the legislation was a provision..."any White Man, found to have a large or even extra large (or even really thick) penis will be compelled to have surgery to reduce it in size to a normal White God-fearing sized penis, or be forced to move to France or another heathen country which reputedly likes s-x, and allows dog excrement to pile up so high, that during World War II, the French Partisans built tank traps and bunkers from it.. Amen

HOW TO BE ROMANTIC AND WOO CHICKS SO THEY DIG YOU LESSON ONE THE LOVE LETTER

2010-05-29T21:20:00.002-05:00

Honey, sometimes especially in the morning, I have to help Momo switch from a lying on his side position, on my bed, to a standing position, on the floor. Because, even though he’s world renowned, (people know of his exploits on 4 continents) he’s an old duffer. So I put my hands under his belly and help him get up. This action puts pressure on his bladder and he kind of goes wiz on my hand a bit. So with this information in my head, I could take him into the back yard and with my hands just in front of his wiener, I sort of him lift up and his tail goes up like a pump handle and he takes a pee. Lots of times pee gets on my hand, I thought it was because I usually aim his wiener down for him so he doesn’t get pee all over himself, although he usually manages to anyway. And he usually manages to get pee on my hand too. I do this so I can empty him out a bit so he doesn’t get so much pee all over the house.
Some people find pee all over the house dismaying. I feel that these instances are what allow me to tell such accurate depictions in my essays. I hope you wanted to know these things since I just told you. I just hope nobody gets a video of me aiming his wiener down, or they might convene a grand jury. I’m sure that if I pointed out that a “wiener aiming ” is not the same as a “light wiener rub” it wouldn’t make a speck of difference. The prosecutor would like his (or her) all over the evening news with the “First Conviction for Wiener Aiming”. (that way he (or she) could run for mayor,)( like Rudy) I may have to bolt to Switzerland, because I don’t think they extradite for “wiener aiming cases”. (although they might for “light wiener rub” cases). oox

KARL LAGERFELD WEARING SHADES IN A GERMAN FASHION MAGAZINE WITH A "NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD" OF RACCOONS

2010-05-27T09:40:00.004-05:00

I knew it! Someone yelled "Sieg Heil"! And look what happened. I told someone "I think he was outside my crib, trying to conceal a machine pistol" but they wouldn't believe me! Just because I said he looked like the archetype of the "Night of the Living Dead" characters. I mean, if you look outside the window of your crib and you see a bunch of raccoons coming towards your pad in a manner that is "inexorable" (sort of like the Red Army T-34s for their appointment with the Fuhrer) and you say "My God! Is it a 'Night of the Living Dead' of raccoons?" Then in a moment of transcendent insight you think "I'm hallucinating again. Mama must have put a few hits of acid in my night time milk I have , in order to drive me crazy, so I kill myself and she inherits Papas' fortune, which he left to me because she was such a slut , she would turn tricks for free!" Then in an integral part of the experience, the mist is forming and lit by the glow of the raccoons eyes (because they have that reflective eye membrane thing going) your heart trembles and out there you see the white haired ghost! (not the one in "The Da Vinci Code) The only white haired ghost in the world who wears sun-glasses in the middle of the night ostensibly because if the police come and see him leading a pack of criminally inclined raccoons, he can say "I'm blind. That's why I'm wearing these sunglasses. " Then when the police say "What are you doing with all these raccoons?" He could say "I'm like the 'Pied Piper, except I pipe on raccoons." Then when the police say "Well you are not headed out of town!" He can say "Well I'm blind! How was I to know?" "Know?" you might say. That's like knowing why in these old movies, why the heroin chick is always taking such a deep breath and her knockers are bulging out of her shirt , and you're waiting for them to burst free and dangle out for your viewing pleasure, but they don't.
At times like these, you have to get a grip on yourself and after you gulp down some port to bolster your will, you look out the window again, and only see one raccoon, and no white ghost wearing sunglasses, a Knights' Cross (with swords and oak leaves), a Josef Goebbels hand brace, and there's only one raccoon. So you send your world renowned black Afghan dog, Momo to chase off interlopers, but he knows the raccoon and they just talk about times gone past.
In the morning ,you go outside and everything is back to normal, till you notice a Walther P-38 lying on the ground with a sort of stylized skeleton key engraved on it, and the word "Leibstandarte." It's an unsettling thing, and you hope the gardener left it there, after all he does carry a riding crop, wear jodhpurs all the time and a monocle , or "sun-monocle" on sunny days.
MARCH 27 OR SO 2010

MY FIRST POSTS ON PEOPLE OF THE EARTH BLOG

2010-05-27T03:03:00.002-05:00

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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 5:53 am

As a douchbag, and an old douchebag to boot, I vehemently protest the publication of this blasphemous article. As a douchebag, and with no redeeming qualities (such as a wheel barrow) ( a wheel barrow full of Krugerrands, that is) to mitigate my irredeemable worthlessness, there is almost no possibility of getting any hot babes, dames or lusty young harlots, or even a hot tran-sexual. As a last attempt at getting some fabulousness to offset my overwhelming douchbagness, I acquired (at great expense) a complete Commander Whitehead replica ensemble, but people thought I was a waiter, or a perishing zombie who had died, and been embalmed , but because a passing voodoo practitioner had been mumbling some incantation as he walked by my coffin, I had popped back to life, well un-life, as the voodoo cognoscenti say. So this is my last attempt to score a hot babe, dame, or lusty young harlot. I have become spy, Russian spy. Being spy has cachet which I hope transcends douchebag milieu which seems to follow me as if it were a shadow. Perhaps filthy CIA will assassinate me, ending career as Fashion consultant, spy, and personal adviser to persons of great wealth, before I am able to prong a single babe, dame, lusty harlot, or reasonable facsimile.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:09 am

yuri – Thank you for your in-depth comment. You raise an important point: although hot chicks are often seem with douchebags, not all douchebags get the hot chicks.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 9:19 am

Comrade, this is very kind of you to clarify subtle prongs of dilemma. This is like quandary so skillfuly presented in Giuseppe Verdi aria referring to “cross and ecstasy” in La Traviata, also can be experienced after alighting bicycle which desperado has stolen seat from. I have vowed with great sincerity to change grooming habits to comply with specifications desired by hot young babes, concubines etc. I have appointment at Keith Richards Grooming Spa & Re-hab Emporium for a make over. I shall acquire Louis Vuiton luggage there also. This has reached a point where I must discard my former accoutrement and achieve my goal of pronging many a swell freak to use the nomenclature of the modern masher or bon vivant, as you youngsters say. You will please excuse my awkward English and bad spelling as personal assistant is on holiday. I will keep you informed of my success in the world of debauched nightlife.
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Greybeard Says:
February 15, 2010 at 9:32 am

That is one douchebag who will die a virgin. Sorry (channels Chekov) … Die a wirgin.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 15, 2010 at 4:28 pm

Yuri – I haven’t been called Comrad since my short time as a spook back in the late 1970′s, but I welcome it as an honorific. Comrad, I must point out that, if you are even so much as aware of any opera written by Guiseppi Verdi (whom I lovingly refer to as Joe Green) then you cannot be a douchebag. Rather, you appear to be a creepy old man who, as my Comrad Greybeard points out, is likely to die a virgin.

Nevertheless, welcome. I look forward to your tales of debauched nightlife.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 6:37 pm

Comrades, I have decided I must return to peace loving former Soviet Union for pilgrimage to memorial of G. Rasputin as attempt to imbue self with “soul vibrations” of adviser to Czarina, and female members of court. I have read of technique used by Holy Monk for checking breathing for correct form by holding ladies’ breasts firmly. This information will help me cure those exposed to air pollution by restoring damaged lungs. Must go now, diplomatic swine desire punctuality. I shall put on my Soviet suit, with moth balls in pocket, so as to not be accused of falling for Capitalist siren song singing. Smiling, beguiling. (have learned new vocabulary for attracting exquisite honeys) So until my return from barricades, I bid you adieu. Yuri Nahl, spy, man about town.
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Greybeard Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:31 pm

I hate to sound suspicious, but I suspect Comrade Yuri_Nahl of taking the piss. I’m sure I’ve seen him with a Frenchman of ill repute – one Jacques Bidet.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 15, 2010 at 8:57 pm

Comrade Greybeard, I believe you are thinking of Jaques Le Bangue, hairdresser with premises at Keith Richard’s Styling and Re-hab Emporium. When he worked in Glasgow, he went by “Jock” . That is only Frenchman I know. His fame rose when his “coiffure by hand grenade” concept was adorning the hair of Nick Nolte (famous Hollywood person) and of course Keith. Fame fell when bringing hand grenades through customs became hard due to orange alert on TV screens. As we know, this has recently caused security forces at airport to deploy body scanners after informant notified filthy CIA of exploding “butt plugs” detonating during trial run, using bus as substitute for aircraft. Do not mention this information to anyone as my credibility as peace loving Russian spy may be compromised, and will have to come in from cold.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 8:45 am

Comrade Greybeard, Please forgive me for asking such highly esteemed person such as yourself, but in peace loving former Soviet Union we do not have this “Taking Piss”. So that I do not put foot in mouth, I would be in your debt if you would kindly clarify this point of idiomatic patois. If this “Taking Piss” is like “Golden Shower” , I must show you poem written by humble self for sending to female pen pal. …(in poem, I am taking part of Dr. Morel) This is just one of a few “Fuhrer poems” I have written so that the babes will dig me.

. Comrades, From Doctor Morel we acquired another poem about the Fuhrer’s condition. ……

Dr. Morel’s Fuhrer Poem

With the Fuhrer’s weakening bladder sphincter,

He really couldn’t take a chance,

Of wearing a light colored summer uniform,

And getting a wet spot on the front of his pants.

The End
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 11:24 am

Yuri, me old china, I do not doubt your background in espionage, if not intelligence. How else could you have known the high esteem in which I am held? I should clarify that “china” is ancient Australian rhyming slang for friend – china plate = mate – not to be confused with porcelain, as in “pointing Percy at the porcelain” which refers to the use of a urinal.

Alas, “taking the piss” refers not to the rather gross perversion to which your mind has, rather interestingly, leaped, but to making fun of another. As to your poem, I have made inquiries as to whether a poetic license can be suspended or canceled. Also alas the only thing that babes of my acquaintance would dig you is a shallow grave.
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paulboylan Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:16 pm

Greybeard – I haven’t yet decided who or what our new China – I do love Australian slang’s Cockney street criminal roots (china -> china plate -> mate, yes?) is, but I like him or her.

I can’t explain why, but I suspect Yuri is the “fundi” who calls him/herself “Ted” and has left comments to other posts.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:30 pm

My Dear Comrade and Old Chap, as you can see, I am quickly learning Capitalist argot. Are you in Australia? But then,you are using idiomatic rhyming slang peculiar to neighborhood in London. This I like , even as Communist spy. (adviser to those of great wealth business has declined with economy). Yes I was confused because while working as spy from Soviet Consulate on Green St. in San Francisco, was short trip to Castro neighborhood where I learned of this “Golden Shower” pastime. Silly me, I thought in “Golden State” they had “Golden Showers”! Many fine fashions were available on Market St. Also a swinging fellow I met there invited me to his pad, and this was something I had not seen before even in peace loving former Soviet Union. He had a urinal installed in living room wall! At first, I thought it was example of decadent Capitalist Dada art, but no, my new acquaintance invited me to have a urination in it. It was convenient to not interrupt flow of conversation to go to bathroom. Then in that time period, he showed me neighborhood “South of Market” This was within walking distance of where comrades of truck driving industry had battle with police during “Wobbly” attempt to cast off chains of ruling class oppression. But, in this “SOMA” as cognoscenti call it, during day, it was old small industry , warehouse, loft neighborhood, ordinary. At night , was cowboy clubs , Probably for popular western music, since many fellows wore leather uniforms of American cowboy types so I assume this. Although, once inside these “Joints” (to use ‘Hep-cat’ lingo) cowboys underwent metamorphosis beyond understanding of myself to explain. But in any case, these ‘joints’ were fun and I met many friendly fellows and sluts. These young ladies allowed me to practice my therapeutic massage techniques on their chests. I must admit to telling a little fib. That poem, I did not write it. My old beloved father was archivist traveling with army General Vasily Chuikov liberating Berlin from grip of fascists. Within Fuhrer Bunker were poems by Adolph Hitler written to wile away hours between destroying various countries. I will show one of these so you won’t think I am only crude Communist chap

“Lost Fuhrer Poem” which probably got stolen from the archives by a NKVD commissar. This is called “Un-numbered Fuhrer Poem (dated 1936 and in Fuhrer’s own handwriting)” This has surfaced and is to be auctioned at Christies sometime in November pending authentication. ….

Fuhrer Poem

If I hadn’t become the Fuhrer,

But had remained a suave young man,

I’d have thrown these unfashionable jodhpurs,

Into the nearest garbage can.

The End

(Don’t pay attention to first part, probably ploy to increase value)

Since that is short one, I will include another, if I can find, in messy drawers.

Please excuse my crude attempts at writing English. My personal assistant has day off. So I will show Fuhrer Poem Number Five for your enjoyment. ….(from time Fuhrer was attending art school)….

Fuhrer Poem Number Five

I became an artist’s model,

I was hoping chicks would dig me,

But I had to resign my commission,

They had an aversion to my wearing a fig leaf.

Comrades, Fuhrer was so short of money he reconsidered his decision….Fuhrer Poem Number Six….

Fuhrer Poem Number Six

They offered me a very small fig leaf,

I said “Well let me look at it!”

“Something that small might conceal a sardine,

But it certainly wouldn’t cover my haddock.

The End

So Comrade , you can see if fascist dog had kept up his art career , world would have been different now.

This is last one I could find as I must organize my files.

Lost Fuhrer Poem 1939

After I became the Fuhrer,

To Lead the German masses,

I realized my jodhpurs,

Would retain my flatulent gasses….

Upon my gaining this knowledge,

I had to give up smoking,

Because by dropping a burning ember,

I might possibly cause an explosion.

The End

I must go Comrade , there is much strain in being Capitalist man of letters.
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 9:33 pm

He is an amusing chap and to produce poetry that bad takes real talent but I can never forgive “Yurinahl”. I have perpetrated the odd dodgy pun myself but surely there must be a place in hell for this evil creature.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:00 pm

Dear Comrade Old Man, you will please excuse my unforgivable curiosity, such an unimportant fellow as myself , for having bad manners enough to impudently ask what continent you reside in, as time stamp on much honored post by you seems to indicate somewhere in Atlantic ocean. I am spying in GULag of Midwest United States at moment. This should explain the suicidal tendency you probably infer from my poor attempts at the letter writing art. Many nuclear labs are near here and I spend many an hour trying to chivy secrets from same. Also have to hang out with juvenile delinquents to learn subtle art of computer hackers, so as to be able to learn more fun facts. This means having to listen to hideous thrasher music giving almost irresistible urge to hammer chopsticks into ears. (don’t mention this to anyone, as filthy CIA may send me back to beloved Motherland in disgrace.) Please notify me of your desire to learn secrets of Fuhrer mesmerizing German populace with poems of Fatherland, if such there be.
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Greybeard Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:27 pm

Dear Yuri, I could never consider you unimportant! As a devout and dedicated Filthy Capitalist Pig, all such fetid relics of the despised USSR as yourself are absolute anathema to me. I will never rest until you have all been captured and “redacted” to a suitable middle-eastern resort where you can peacefully while* away your declining years with water sports and electro-therapy.

*(“Nor do I beg this slender inch, to while The time away, or falsely to beguile My thoughts with joy”.)

As you have cleverly discerned, I am indeed sailing upon the Atlantic at present. Some trifling tax irregularities have rendered it prudent for me to remain “offshore” – like so many of my assets – for the time being.

I am utterly beguiled by your charming correspondence. If you would be so kind as to supply an address, I would consider it an honour to forward you a set of my personal ivory chopsticks (hand-carved from the budding tusks of a pre-pubescent elephant by Royal Maidens). I will even include one of the small silver mallets which I use for crushing ice, toffee and dissent.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 16, 2010 at 10:55 pm

I say, Old Capitalist chum, that line of poetry was so exquisite, I must
know the name of the author. Since I am a newcomer to the English language I
feel as if what I say is a mere compilation of what others with a thorough
grasp of the language have said before, although probably everything has
been said before! I often thought how lovely being in the Atlantic would be
,in Jamaica for example. It would be precious fun to go native and adopt
the singular hairdos of the Rastas, and their heathen based life religion.
As heathen myself, I still can perceive their life, permeated with this
groundedness with the Mother Earth is something different. A fellow comrade
of mine went there and spoke in gushing love for the place. I am still
looking for more of the Fuhrer’s poetry. As time passes, I will post more
onto this blog.I only hope that an ex-Nazi female comrade sees them and gets
caught up in the spirit of the Ex-Nazi-Communist thrall and sends me a photo
of her chest to practice diagnosing any symptoms. Them I would be able to
prescribe a suitable treatment plan, which I could then administer. Yours
truly, must go , kettle boiling.
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paulboylan Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:03 am

I swear to God, if I didn’t know better, I would swear this guy is me.
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:16 am

I did have a momentary suspicion.

Hey Bathroom_Fitting. I can’t type Cyrillic here but what I’m thinking sounds like “seen sukie”. If you are a genuine old-time Tovarich, I’m sure you’ll know what that means? Dasvidanya Gospodine Nahl.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 1:26 am

My Dear Capitalist Comrade, I have come to like you and your fine associate, even if you are Capitalist oppressors of the proletariat. I have faith (as much as it is possible for a heathen to have faith) that when the Capitalist gods, the Huge Banks, and the Military Industrial Complex (which General Eisenhower warned about, but nobody listened!) I will be able to help you fellows adjust into the new, resurgent, Soviet Union, and we will all live happily ever after in splendor of “Workers Paradise” until then, however, I still have ambition to become Doctor of Chestology. After perusing teachings of His Holiness G. Rasputin, I could say, there is slight possibility I could find religion. This probably would be in direct proportion to number of chests I had administered therapeutic massage to. I must away, have appointment with destiny at library! Yours Yuri
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 5:32 pm

Most Esteemed Capitalist Comrades, I am unfamiliar with this dialect which you have asked me to translate. In my humble opinion, two possibilities (1) is verbal repost , implying mother of person is related to Rin-Tin-Tin, and by logical inference , so is person, (very funny, I laugh!), (2) Is last words uttered by self proclaimed “Soul Brother Number One” before passing over into great abyss of afterlife, causing new star to appear in Hubble telescope field of vision. Please correct me if I am wrong, as I seek knowledge required to break free of any limitations imposed on me by myself or God. (you will notice please, I used “G” word again. I am fast becoming filthy Capitalist!
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 9:21 pm

Whale oil beef hooked! You win Yuri, I dips me lid to you. You can stuff me with burgers and call me an Imperialist Lackey.
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Paul Nicholas Boylan Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:29 pm

This is the best discussion I have ever read. It can’t be over yet. It can’t be.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:57 pm

Comrade Greybeard, I am sure you know that it’s always a pleasure.
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Greybeard Says:
February 17, 2010 at 10:58 pm

Well I did consider firing back one of our freedom-loving Aussie poems to counter those of the Fuhrer(?)

There was a young man from Australia
Who painted his arse like a dahlia
The shape was fine,
and the colours divine
But the smell, on the whole, was a fahlia

Sadly, I doubt that one such as Yuri, intellectually stunted and abandoned by the mendacious and monolithic monster that was Soviet education, could possibly descry the multiple levels of meaning and subtext in this subtle and poignant piece of poesy.
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 11:14 pm

Comrades, I must away and walk my Afghan dog Momo. I acquired him when peace loving former Soviet Union was trying to bring democracy to forlorn divided Afghan political disaster. This was thwarted by plan of Zbigniev Bresinski, for acquisition of undeserved natural resources. This clever plan led to present situation in Afghanistan. I shall return and post a special “Fuhrer poem” to delight your ears.
Your Reliable Communist,
Yuri Nahl
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 20, 2010 at 9:36 pm

mr homorable greybeard have stiff neck from typing with pencil in mouth. when im better from burned hands will rebuke felatious statement by you re- soviet education. will counter your poem with one about fuhrer for which i recieved standing ovulation at beatnic gathering. many miles davis records wer in great abundancs, bongo drums, beret. even filthy cia didguised as adict . only when super glue bottle was noticed was fellow discerned. as he was glueing mosquitos to arms to simulate mosquitos landing on arm, and getting off so tey couldn’t fly away. obvious ploy often seen in ghetto to convince customers of quality product. yours yuri
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Greybeard Says:
February 21, 2010 at 3:57 am

Dear Yuri,
Having read the above, and your earlier effusions, I can only conclude that your burned hands are the product of furious and prolonged self-abuse. I shudder to imagine the state of your living quarters. They must be even more squalid than my worst imaginings.

As I have no vices whatsoever, I cannot advise you from personal experience. My knowledge of physics and biology (both subjects which I have had the pleasure of teaching) leads me to suggest that:
(a) You change hands more frequently.
(b) that you keep a bowl of cold water nearby, in which you may rest the hand that is not currently occupied by your filthy, sinful perversion.

As to the “standing ovulation” which you received – Beware! This is NOT a safe position. A couple of my acquaintance once proudly displayed a new daughter who had apparently been conceived in the shower, thanks to a standing ovulation. I feel it my duty to warn you, less for your own sake than from the fear that you might actually breed.

I remain Sir, Yours sincerely, Lord Greybeard (Hereditary Jarl of Lower Orkney, in direct line from Harald Blåtand Gormsen, the inventor of short-range RF communication.)
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 21, 2010 at 4:38 am

my dear capitalist lord greybeard. as apolite communist you must inform me how you should be adressed. such as ‘your highness’ or apropriate title. ‘so sorry, opiates are diminishing ability’ am awaiting voice activated typing software.
in diminished memory somehow using hand cleaner with pumice on beloved pinis rings bell.
now i must hope you recall burned hans and penis responsible of crummy tape recorder courtesy of freelancing spy job because of disolution of former soviet union. less spying budget you see. cheap machine self destruct in 3 seconds not 5.
be a sport and see if any good used spy contraptions are in boxes of rf com gear, as i do not wish to be imolated while accepting job of spying.
i notice you have caught on to my squalid accomodations. this is famous spy ploy only known to practitioners of spy craft purpose of keeping away guests. even better is renowned technique of being stuck to decrepit couch with seminal fluid, and announcing authorship of pornographic novels. some extra income can be had ising this ploy of stealth. am telling you these facts in case you are desiring employment as agent in my network.
am getting stiff neck. must sign off. will write again. have to get asbestos gloves for cheap tape recorder.
yours yuri
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yuri_nahl Says:
February 21, 2010 at 9:18 am

comrade greybeard. important memory breakthrough has occured. finaly i have someone to ask for answer to question which has been beyond my uneducated ability to answer. ok here is problem. using property called ‘conservation of angular momentum’ when ice on polar caps melts, water goes to equator. does earth rotation slow down? that has been beyond my ability to answer since question formed in my mind due to some peculiar elixir. most spy friends have not the answer. now you must answer, as i depend on your educated brain. also in theme similar to ‘it is small world isn’t it’, my friend mr.boondoggle had ancestor ‘ mad eric blue hair mcboondoggle who fled scotland after ‘killing dog of an englishman’ then changed name to Verrückt Eric der Blaue Haare Freiherr von Boondoggle. i knew i had it somewhere. so this blue-tooth contraption may have ancestory in a friend i have as well as your grandpa.
now i must defer to renowned english revolutionary and devotee of use of sin as path to holy enlightenment. mr. oscar wilde who spake these concept ‘ in order to overcome temptation, one must yield to same.’ very wise. i have practiced these teaching before even reading of same.
though mr. wilde had impressive wardrobe, as spy, it does not behoov one to dress ostentatiously. also in order to conserve water, one must conclude the inflated importance given to bathing, in corrupt capitalist propoganda. together with excessive electricity used for vacuuming house. just open window on windy day, dust gets blown out other side. these are just tips so you may have happy home with beloved family after oil goes away.
must soon stop writing . neck is sore. cannot return to hospital, because in ‘land of free’ it is not free ‘exclamation point’ found this out with smouldering trousers after cheap tape recorder incident, hands blazing. will give poem after which you will say’touchet’

Comrades, my beloved auntie, Doctor Ivana Nahlinskia, was brought to Doctor Theodor Morell’s, the Fuhrer’s private physician’s residence to view the doctor’s private diaries before they were taken to GRU (military intelligence ) archive. In the diary was found “Lost Fuhrer Poem (regarding medical issues)”. I will publish it here for the first time for your reading pleasure. ….
“Fuhrer Poem Regarding Medical Issues”.
When I became the Fuhrer ,
To lead the Fascist nation, I had to give up these barbiturates,
Because they gave me constipation.
The End.

since that one was short ‘like japenese ‘haiku’, will include another…

Comrades, my auntie also found a poem by Doctor Morell who tried to emulate the Fuhrer in certain ways because he was like the obsequious Uria Heap but kept this poem secret because it showed the Fuhrer in a rather dim light…So for your edification this is “Doctor Morell Secret Poem Regarding the Fuhrer”…

As the Fuhrer got older,
And his bladder sphincter became weak,
He tucked his jodphurs into his riding boots,
But got urine on his feet.
The End.

comrades, my neck is too stiff . must stop giving away secrets of soviet poet lauriate.
your communist friend, yuri
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Greybeard Says:
February 21, 2010 at 10:34 am

Dear Yuri,

Yes.

Yrs etc., Lord Greybeard Grattskoggson

PNB WAS SELECTING A NEW AVATAR ON PEOPLE OF THE EARTH BLOG

2010-05-27T02:45:00.002-05:00

yuri_nahl Says:
February 17, 2010 at 9:34 am
Comrade, there is only one answer. The inescapable conclusion is His Holiness Father Grigori Rasputin, blessed adviser to Tsaritsa Alexandra, and healer of the Royal Chest by means of Holy Therapeutic Laying on of Hands. One on each protrusion, that is. His Holiness preached his special method of achieving a state of grace, through sin. Because, without sin, there can be no confession, no absolution. Even so, that story about Father Grigory raping that nun is not true. The trumped up “evidence” that caused the swine Prince Felix Yusupov to brutally and callously murder the Holy Father was a child's outline of Rasputins hands, made into wood “silhouettes” then dipped into dust, then applied to the chest and buttock area of the clothing of any Royal female court person. A laundry girl was bribed to do the dirty work. So after putting the ’spurious hand prints’ onto the chest protrusions of the princesses, and their little behinds, the jealous Prince Felix incited a murderous gang of minor court malingerers, drunkards and louts of a murderous inclination who cruelly poisoned, shot, then drowned the pitiful Holy Father Rasputin, and cut off his penis (which was extra long, and this God-given giganticness has been posited, by a consensus of experts in the forensic psychiatry academia, to be the real and dastardly motive for this wanton crime.) The Holy Father, even in death was resurrected temporarily to admonish the rascals who had stolen his penis. But the sight of the missing organ was too much for even a man of such Holy and Divine stature. The curs who killed him burned his body. Now some say that the Holy Father Rasputin became one of the un-dead, and because of black and white magic, potions and incantations the Holy Man had passed on himself fearing the end was nigh, he was able to rise from the dead, and even though he was burned and missing his penis, started on a therapeutic pilgrimage to recover his stolen penis, since he would never be at rest till he had it re-attached to his body. This is why he has been seen walking all over the earth trying to recover his own extra long penis from various penis collectors. Due to the advent of air travel, this has made it worse for the Holy Father since it is difficult to walk thousands of miles when you are un-dead, and can’t urinate without getting urine all over yourself, because without a penis, you can’t aim the stream down wind for example, and as a result, it has a tendency to douse you all over. This is why, in the barren wilds of the peasant lands, if they smelled urine they would utter “Rasputin is upon us!” and run away. This was so well known, crafty desperadoes would get a bucket of smelly urine and slosh it all over the upwind side of banks, then when the superstitious villagers got a whiff of the urine, they would say “Rasputin is upon us!” and run away. Then the crafty thieves could stroll into the bank, and help themselves to plenty of swag and make good their getaway, before the villagers came back with torches expecting to confront the un-dead Holy Man. This happened so many times, that the peasants stopped saying “Rasputin is upon us!” every time they got a whiff of urine, then when the real un-dead Rasputin staggered past, the villagers did not have time to get their torches to intercept him. He still walks to this day. So for the love of God, chose His Holiness Grigori Rasputin, for your avatar, since this may help solicit more contributions to the “Recover Rasputin’s Penis Charity” In this way, His Holiness will be re-united with his extra gigantic penis and be able to rest in peace, or bone un-dead women, or if he’s a gay un-dead man of the cloth, have a gay un-dead experience

FUHRER POEM AND WORDS OF THE PROPHET

2010-05-24T21:52:00.004-05:00

1.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 19, 2010 at 4:59 am

Comrades, in safe deposit box of the Schikelguber family, following masterpiece was discovered with used condoms with names of ladies written on same, apparent “trophy condoms” of future Chancellor of Germany.

Meine Deuches Volk

Before I became the Fuhrer,
I was really destitute,
I tried to make ends meet,
By becoming a male prostitute.

I’d go to a be-bop joint,
Where the band was really jumping,
Try to find an old bag,
Take her home and do some pumping.

Many a night of ecstasy.
Was enjoyed by these old bats,
Whose privates smelled like the sandbox,
Of a hundred mangy old cats.

The Ende
2.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 19, 2010 at 5:40 am

Comrades, A reminiscence of time of Underground Church in Peace Loving Motherland.

When I was altar boy at high mass, we would have to use those candle extinguishers to catch priests pee, as he was an old bastard with the weak bladder, and because the high mass takes really long time. Especially if he’d been swigging a lot of the sacramental wine. So when he was facing the altar he’s discretely pull his penis out and we’d take turns catching the wizz, in the candle extinguishers, because they’re on long stick and dumping same in brass cuspidor. Priest would get angry when we purposely let piss overflow onto his shoes, and we would have to dry them off with that scarf thing that hangs round his neck. In summer when he wore the sandals, priest wold get angry because his feet would turn yellow, from the piss. We would do our best to fill his shoes up with piss anyway , it was funny because when he walked there was this sloshing noise like he was walking through puddle. One time he was so drunk he forgot to put his wiener away and his tool was hanging out while he passed out communion. The ladies were gasping and opening their mouths and the priest thought they were having an epiphany. When we were collecting the priests pee in the candle extinguishers, we would dump the pee into a brass cuspidor, because a ceramic chamber pot with bunnies on it would not look quite right on the altar. But we’d always put it in a place where he’d trip on it and have the sacramental wine and hosts flying through the air to the devout, like hailstorm of miniature flying saucers, or Frisbees, The alcoholics would dive towards the wine and the truly devout would try to capture the hosts in their mouths, or purses for those housewives who were economizing. (because later, they could put a little pate on the hosts and serve them for snacks at coffee clutch)
In any case the drama looked similar to when zoo worker flings hunks of mackerel to seals, except without the barking. The priest would by then be surfing down stairs, resembling the battleship making 25 knots through heavy seas. Awash on a Niagara Falls of piss, the old duffer would be drenched. We never emptied the cuspidor of urine, and it would smell like worst piss pot in universe. We had to stop doing it when the priests’ pointy hat stabbed one of the parishioners when he was surfing down the steps. He had had it lined with metal after a death threat (because of a molesting case) and the pointy bits were metal too and that’s what stabbed one of the devout who was lying on the floor as a result of panic to get away from the tidal wave of urine. The ambulance guys had to carry stabbed man away impaled with pointy hat still stuck in him, and remove the priest who was sitting on poor fellows’ chest trying to wrench the hat out. Amen..

Comrades, this is true story.
3.
Moko Says:
April 19, 2010 at 6:39 am

lol @ both of you..
4.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 19, 2010 at 7:38 am

Comrades, be advised that I saw Karl Lagerfeld hanging around outside my crib at night. Normally I would just send my world renowned Black Dog, Momo the Afghan Hound, to despatch the brigand, but I can see he’s packing, I can see he’s packing a H&K MP7 or similar, so it would be too risky to let Momo remove the blighter.

So I climbed up onto the roof and dropped a big turd onto his head. With those shades, he’s easy to identify. Even Dracula doesn’t wear shades at night. I had a supply of frozen turds in the freezer, and I had thawed out a few as I thought I might miss him the first time, and I’d need a spare, or two. (One needs to drop turds on desperadoes in this neighborhood from time to time). I have a microwave on the roof, cuz I know that getting hit by a frozen turd from 30 feet up could be deadly. He usually has a young model with him and that night was no different. Therefore, I selected a turd for her too. So when Karl came around with his H&K strapped to his chest, I dropped a nice solid turd onto his white pompadour. (I wore rubber gloves, to avert the danger of getting shit under my fingernails, thus avoiding a whiff of poo if I picked my nose. Plus I only used my thumb and forefinger so I could cut the other fingers off the glove and use them for condoms.)

Now, he, Karl, is so vain that he’ll not want to have a hair out of place, even if there’s a big stinking hunk of shit stuck to his noggin. I have to admit I was thinking of chucking a hand grenade out the window, but I reconsidered. If an explosion went off behind him, it would blow his coiffure up in the air and he would resemble the news chick Christiane Amanpour, who used to hang upside down and blow dry her hair so it was sticking up all over the place, then set fire to the tips, and claim that she just had a narrow escape from Al-Qaeda. Everyone found out she was faking, mangled up hair or not, when she turned around and there were a couple of lit cigarettes stuck in the back of her hair to simulate a smoldering coiffure..(unless they were just using her head for an ashtray while she was taking a nap) Besides, an explosion would shatter the windows of the atelier.

Karl would make much hay out of the explosion and get sympathy. I would have liked to have seen him with his shades blown off though. I have a feeling that someone poked him in the eye on general principles, and he had to have one of his testicles transplanted into his eye socket , then have an iris and pupil tattooed onto it. (he could have got a regular glass eye, but when he went to the glass eye store, he got the impression they were all staring at him) The only problem is if he rolls his eyes too much the fake eyeball gets stuck, and when he un-rolls them, he has one regular, and one completely white eyeball like in the horror movies. Even so, one of the eyeballs might have bulged out more than the other, giving him a “piratical” sort of cachet, because lots of times pirates do have one bulging eyeball. This gives verisimilitude to the phrase when they say “Aaaaaar, matey!” I’m fairly sure he would prefer symmetrically bulging eyeballs. This does not even take into consideration the fact that once the testicle was hooked up to the veins, it still produces sperm which leaks out of his eye like the geezer in that 007 movie. So if he was eating pussy, there was a chance the chick would get knocked up if he just happened to take a close gander at her pussy. That would be a reason to wear shades. Or even better, a frogman mask to completely seal in the sperm, but not an Aqualung.
5.
Barnesm Says:
April 19, 2010 at 8:00 am

“I’ve decided to keep my opinion to myself”

These are indeed words to survive by in any relationship.
6.
bangarrr Says:
April 19, 2010 at 9:45 am

Along the lines of “Better to be thought a fool, than to open ones mouth and remove all doubt”?
7.
paulboylan Says:
April 19, 2010 at 3:14 pm

Yuri – I was wondering what happened to you. Does Greybeard know you’re back?

Barnes and Bangar – Exactly.
8.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 19, 2010 at 8:51 pm

Comrade, humble self just returned. Following exposition may help explain recent departure. Then Comrade Gretbeard does not as far as I know.

Partial answer to conundrum follows and I will add facts as they become understood by mind weakened by horse and dog hypnosis assault.

Comrades, you will please excuse sudden and unexplained absence…. I, Yuri Nahl was in deep “de-mind control” therapy.

Because of the astute, observant Mr.Boondoggle, who noticed that the world-renowned black dog, the Afghan hound Momo, had let the hair on the side of his eyes grow long, (so his eyes could not be seen), he (Mr.Boondoggle) was able to extrapolate or infer that Momo was hypnotizing me every time he thought no one was watching. Furthermore, it was determined that Momo and the horses were beaming “mind-control rays” at me, using various methods, in order to make me enter a partial “Voodoo trance” .

Upon realizing these facts, I was removed to a dog and horse free location, where I would be safe from “mind-manipulation” by four legged animals. This was an old “Cold War” A-Bomb blast and radiation fallout shelter, buried underground, immune to most types of radiation, gamma rays, Voodoo Black and White magic, etc. (even though they were not cloven hoofed, [ the minions of the Fiend of Hell"] these horses and the dog Momo could generate magic storms equal to the output of the Vatican on Good Friday.) This “magic plasma” power is equal to ten lightning strikes and has caused the population of whole towns to have their hairdos become like Nick Nolte’s.

The horses were moved to a new location in the pasture right by the foundry and supplied with a tent, their wide screen TV, a supply of their special smelly hay they had ordered on the Internet with their voice actuated keyboard, and the pirated videos from Parkland College in Illinois, USA, which showed horses mating. (they had hacked into the Veterinary School files and thought these videos were ”OK horse xxx pornos”) They had been selling these “horse pornos” on eBay.

Now while I was isolated in safety and not susceptible to the horse “hypnosis rays,” the nerds looked around the horses stalls. There the nerds found , (1) A wireless keyboard, voice activated, (2) A number of LCD photo frames, with the dog Momo or one of the four horses on each of them, in head on poses looking intense, (3) Wireless connections to hook up the horses electronic contraptions to the foundry computer system, (4) Evidence of (hacked) code in the foundry computer, suggesting the horses had set up some hidden operation of their own, which was invisible, unless nerds were looking for it. (5) Miniature CS TV cameras,(closed circuit TV) (6) LCD picture frames set up in the horse stalls, and used as hard to notice TV monitors.

Using nerd mind power, mostly of the Chief Nerd Clyde, the significance of the hacked, almost invisible computer code was determined. It was shown that when I Yuri Nahl was in the foundry, The horses would be observing me with their miniature closed circuit TV surveillance cameras, waiting for me to sit down and relax, and perhaps take a draw on a medicinal “blunt” or “spliff” prescribed by the Doctor of Voodoo Medicine, Baron Samedi MD. Then using a camera in each horse stall, one camera aimed at each horse, they would beam “mind control rays ” at me, using the LCD photo frames the cameras were hooked up to, as a medium. These LCD photo frames were hung in the foundry lounge where everyone relaxed, including me.
9.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 20, 2010 at 4:51 am

Whereas, most people think that two live mammals have to be physically present in the same location to do hypnosis, this is not correct. A reasonable facsimile will suffice, such as the LCD picture frame “horse photos”, which in reality were “real-time” Video of the horses!

If I were to look at the “horse photos,” (which were supposedly for my viewing pleasure) they would stand really still. (and pretend it was a “photo”. not an active hypnosis medium.) I seem to have a recollection of a fly drifting by in one of the photos, but it just didn’t register in my mind, as I was probably partially under their “enchantment” or “spell”.

These devious animals had a “flash drive” type system in their hacked foundry computer, from which they played different “mind control” images, and murmurings, sort of like Jane Fonda exercise videos. Their software had face recognition capability, including detecting “yawing” of the subject being observed’s head, which allowed them to see if I was looking at their “LCD photos”. They had apparently hacked the software from an anti terrorist surveillance gadget at San Francisco airport. They used this to stop the murmuring and focused energy rays if I happened to look at their photos. At that time they were shown posed in a docile and relaxed manner, as if they had just munched an extra helping of their special smelly hay. (Which made them drowsy.) ( normally, they would then watch “Mr. Ed” videos, or get giant boners. or both.) This setup evolved into a self regulating hypnosis weapon, which could be turned on and left, while the horses were taking a nap for example).

These “fake LCD photograph mind control weapons” were constantly working, so there was no escaping the beams of energy. If Mr.Boondoggle had not noticed and diagnosed my symptoms, there’s no telling what might have happened, but I suspect it would have had something to do with attractive female horses. This “horse love” was their downfall. Dobbin had been composing a love sonnet to a female horse e-pen pal he had been courting and forgot to encrypt it,….There it was in plain text just by coincidence at the time when the nerds were doing their forensic code analysis, so the jig was up. This “love poem” also tipped the other horses off about Dobbin’s “love monopoly” and they wanted in. They checked on eBay to see if the stuffed “Trigger” (Roy Regor’s horse) was up for bid, so they could use it as a “sex toy” .

Much horse strategy had been planned, including their film careers.

Momo suggested that they reprise the “Mr. Ed ” show with Dobbin playing “Mr. Ed,” as the original “Mr.Ed” had passed over. They were planning on using Mr.Boondoggle as “Wilbur” since the original actor, Alan Young, was 90.
10.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 20, 2010 at 9:27 am

Comrades, this is a few more words describing the “Karl Lagerfeld Incident” As you may recall from reading the first part of the story, I dropped a turd onto Karl Lagerfeld’s head because he was hanging around my pad with a machine pistol, and seemed to be up to no good.

Now he had a choice. Try to get a comb through the turd, and possibly end up with a reverse “Bride of Frankenstein” motif, with a brown streak on his white hair, or just try saying “Fuck it!” and claim that “It’s the latest thing!” and pull off a fashion coup.

But also, I then dropped a solid clod of shit down his chicks cleavage. I hoped that it would rip her shirt down and her bra, and it did. Like rend it from top to bottom. Like the veil in the temple of Jerusalem, when Christ died and the Saints were thrown out of their tombs. (although I contend that the Saints were just trying to weasel out of working around the house by pretending to be dead, then when their old ladies learned that Christ had croaked, and the Saints were out of a job [hanging out with the Son of God] their old ladies chucked them out of the tombs)

(So the turd I dropped on her decolletage ripped her shirt and bra open. In which case her whopping tits would flop out and dangle down like a couple of grapefruits, one in each of a pair of socks, then the socks tied together and hung around her neck. So she’d have to hold her jugs up to keep them from drooping like some old bag who never wore a bra.

Karl started photographing her now, notwithstanding the turd on his head, and the undeniable fact that there were a multitude of flies sortieing in the vicinity. Going into orbit around the turd, that is.

Because of Karl’s desire to shoot me, (with a gun, not a camera) he had to walk through my crummy neighborhood, with this chick holding her tits up in the air, and Karl with a turd stuck to his head, which bore a slight resemblance to some aerodynamic device seen on “Flying Hero” types who proliferated in the 1940s for some reason. In any case, thugs from the hood noticed the hot jugs on this chick, since she was holding them up in a most provocative manner, as if she were sacrificing them on some kind of altar to thugism, but mostly because she liked manly fellows to gawk at her excellent tits and liked their desire to feel, bite, and douse them with a deluge of semen. So the hoodlums asked the couple to stop for a while so they could masturbate and splatter come all over this chicks face and tits, as she knelt on the sidewalk, while their fellow thugs were yanking on, twirling and stretching her nipples as she groaned with lust.
11.
Flinthart Says:
April 20, 2010 at 12:23 pm

Broken axle? Could be worse. (But thank you for reminding me what I have to look forward to…)
12.
paulboylan Says:
April 20, 2010 at 2:58 pm

Flint – You have no idea.
13.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 20, 2010 at 11:44 pm

Comrades, To continue with this Karl’s blatant assault….

Now Karl did not feel particularly threatened, because he had this machine-pistol strapped to his chest. Plus, with the turd on his head, nobody wanted to come near him, and risk getting bitten by a horsefly.

The gangsters just kept ejaculating on the chicks tits and face as she knelt on the sidewalk, while Karl took more photos, giving the babe instructions on how to pose, in order to evoke various emotions in the viewer, (or “voyeur”) of his erotic art. (His mentor, or artistic concept progenitor, was the late Robert Mapplethorpe) Because Karl and the young lady had allowed the criminals to slobber come all over her, they gave Karl a “Thug-Fashion” tip. So Karl walked away from the scene with a comb suitable for the modern hairdos embedded in his head-turd, parallel to the front to rear axis of his head, except with most of the comb hanging out the back, so it added to the aerodynamic appearance of his head-turd ensemble. Karl began to realize that his “head-turd” somehow had begun to resemble the hair-dos of the Samurai featured in the Shaw Brother’s classics of the 1960s. Those stylized coiffures they wore while whittling up anyone who did not pay excessive deference to their sense of “warrior identity”.

Now these two sharp dressers were headed for a party where the top 100 of the glitterati were celebrating after an unveiling of important fashions for next season. Mick and his daughter, Keith, his hag and his daughters were there, Kate, Mrs.Boondoggle, Norman Mailer, (in a coffin, because the family couldn’t afford a cemetery plot, and even though dead, still a personality) all that hep crowd. Since Norman was in a coffin, Gore Vidal showed up too, but brought a couple of bodyguards in case Norman was struck by a bolt of lightning, and resurrected and even though smoldering enough for people to light their cigarettes on, still might chase Gore around the room, trying to exact revenge for some real or imagined slight, smoke and small flames emanating from his funeral accoutrement.

So that opportunist Karl walked in with the turd still stuck to his bonce, and the broad still drenched with come dripping off her face onto her tits, and running down between them. She was still holding up her tits so they wouldn’t get all droopy. Plus she was still hot from being mauled by the gangsters, and her nipples were tender from being yanked. A lot of the other dames who were gaping at the spectacle would have given anything to be slurping the come off her tits, because they were big, wobbly, and delicious looking…you could say…the definitive “embarrassment of riches “.

The crowd of models, artists, stars of film and the stage fell silent. Then audible gasps were heard. Time stood still. The best people looked at each other hoping for a cue. Then… one person clapping, then two, then more, and soon everyone in the room was applauding, and shouting “Bravo!”, “Bravo!” and generally whooping up seeing the new breakthrough fashion work of genius. And at a party, rather than at a corn-ball venue! They speculated…”Should it be called “Super-Dada” ?

At this time, or shortly after, all the women, dames, ladies, girls and transvestites suddenly looked glum, then shortly after that, they looked really pissed! They started slapping their escorts, kicking them in the balls, and stomping out of the room, angry.

Naturally, the men were totally bewildered. They started making Italian hand gestures and facial expressions at each other meaning “What the fuck just happened?” and “Oh my balls!”

Karl Lagerfeld had to tip them off. “Your bitches want to be drenched with come and be holding their tits. purportedly so they don’t droop like a couple of cannon balls, but in reality, so they could display their hot torpedoes to the general public, and remember, I created this new unprecedented “Deshabille Fashion”, and this young slut is the prototype. And by the way , doesn’t my “head-turd” look excrement!”…”You vill laugh!, Ve have Vays of makeeng you laugh!”
14.
Ana Nymous Says:
April 22, 2010 at 8:13 pm

Too bad about the car; bad news but not too bad. Just enough to lead to a wonderful bit of prose.
15.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 23, 2010 at 12:50 am

Comrades, you will please to forgive disrupted sequence of events, as during this “diminished defense from
encroachment into the sovereign will,” alleged “man’s best friend” Momo had laid into place a few
“Manchurian Candidates” riding “Trojan Horses” to facilitate
future villainous deeds of criminally inclined mountebank. Therefore assembling history is “a wee bit chancy”, as Auld Angus McBoondoggle was want to say occasionally.

So to continue in narrative of “Incident at Boondoggle Foundry”……

Much planning had gone on, led by the renowned Momo. Due to his penchant for history, Momo had read of the British Raj in India, (the “Jewel in the Crown” of the British Empire). (It must be said, most of his reading was done online , as dogs find it difficult to turn pages.) (rumor has it he’s considering a small edition of his “Seven Pillars I Wizzed On” An account of the British adventures in the old country.

He had dog relations in Afghanistan, who had communicated with Indian elephants whose ancestors had been in service to the British during the time of the Raj. Some of these service elephants were used as “hunting platforms” for the British, and when the elephants overheard the British talking about some barbaric “tiger hunt” or equally grotesque pastime, they would tip off the tigers through the animal grapevine so the tigers would know which area to clear out of till the coast was clear. There were even tales of elephants pretending to trip over objects to fling the hunters off their platform when they were ready to blast some innocent creature which God had created to Kingdom Come.

The elephants had many interesting tales, (due to their good memories, and oral histories passed down from generation to generation), some of which had never been told before. For example, After hearing of the exploits of Katherine the Great of Russia’s love of using horse semen for a restorative skin balm, British women who had accompanied their husbands to India to educate and evangelize the heathens had started to use this “stallion semen therapy” to fight the rapid skin aging caused by the blazing sun.

They also seemed to enjoy practicing newly learned “love skills ” taught them by the Indian women who were not repressed like the British. The ladies had cleverly utilized the most appropriate admonition, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

Luckily for the ladies, there was an ample supply of healthy stallions which the British officers used for prancing around the countryside, and lording it up in general. These stallions allowed the ladies to commence learning the correct semen harvesting method needed for their “Stallion Semen Skin Therapy”, as taught by the Indian ladies who were “in waiting” to the British ladies. The stallions did not seem to take great umbrage, or any umbrage at all to this “semen harvesting”, in fact , they were very co-operative.

This learning of the “marriage skills” was facilitated by the two foot long penises of the stallions, because during “marriage skill class” six or so British ladies could participate in the learning process at one time ( because a lot of dainty little hands could fit onto a two foot long penis at one time, while giving it a “light wiener rub”). This allowed larger classes, sped up the learning process and helped the British women overcome their Puritanical upbringing, and getting used to a horse ejaculating into their rectums for a therapeutic semen enema.

This did not mean that the ladies had enormous two foot long horse penises stuffed into their undersized, non-sodomized rectums, no. It merely meant that a few of the other ladies held the knob on the end of the writhing, squirmy, throbbing member firmly against the anus of the lady who was undergoing treatment, and holding it there as the flow of semen would jet into her bowels like a geyser of hot lava or a pot of hot clam chowder which had somehow been thrown off the second floor of an apartment building by a woman who’s plumbing was plugged up and landed right on the ladies anus as she did a peculiar yoga posture which rendered her anus pointing skyward and her legs spread apart. The ladies would know when the patient had received enough medicinal ejaculate because they could see her belly swelling up and they knew just the right time to pull the quivering horse therapy knob away from her anus before it blew off the end of the penis and into the woman’s rectum and became embedded within, resembling some giant tumor, or ricocheted off her bottom and gave somebody a black eye, or the woman erupted like a fountain squirting therapeutic semen from her mouth and anus simultaneously.

Previously the ladies had utilized the penis of a “house boy” for “marriage skill” development. The British women practiced fellatio, hand stimulation, sodomy, sitting on a face and various other practices listed in the “Kama Sutra”, including “golden showers” and an occasional “brown-out”. Often utilizing their houseboy’s stiff, young extra long, (and sometimes even extra thick) penises, which had a big throbbing red knob on the end and reminded those of them with a still life collection of “a painting which had an empty pint milk bottle with an apple sitting on the top of it upside down.” This made the job as a “house boy” much sought after.

The use of the semen which the women had their house boys ejaculate onto their faces and bosoms was also a blessing in that, the dubious expensive lotions previously used were not needed.

Semen therapy allowed the ladies to show their bosoms to the general public again, even with the blazing Indian sun. This display of heaving bosoms squeezed out their garments by tight corsets with clever padded parts which had the effect of making their bosoms wobble and bulge out of their dresses so much that their breasts had the appearance of something which the slightest jolt, such as a butterfly landing on a flower within a quarter mile or so would be cause enough to burst loose these grateful large bosoms from their un-natural confinement and answer the prayers of all who had caught sight of this potential miracle by becoming true, and restoring faith in the most devout atheist regarding the power of prayer.

The reason these ladies bulging, wobbling, swaying breasts were being displayed was to keep their White husbands and suitors from becoming overly well acquainted with any of the lovely brownish Indian ladies whose own dangling wobbly swaying breasts could be almost seen through the gauzy fabric and lace garments they wore. The British ladies were also aware of the marriage skills of the Indian ladies, since they were the actual teachers, and the British ladies the students.

Some of the gentlemen resorted to paying some heathen to fire a gun in the vicinity of any lady whose large, wobbly bosoms he wished would pop out of her tight accoutrement, and when she was startled and flinched, many times that was the result. Then the gentlemen would pretend to not watch as the lady tried to stuff her size ten bosoms back into a size five shirt, and this was an attractive process to observe, since just as she was done cramming one bulging bosom into her shirt and almost the whole second one, the first would re-pop back out and many silent prayers of thanks to a number of Gods, Christian and heathen, would emanate from the men within line of sight. (although hidden behind newspapers with holes cut in them to better observe the attempts to re-insert the breasts into the shirts without seeming too blatant)

Comrades, unfortunately Momo, Dobbin, Boliver, Albert and Rollo seem to be holding parts of anecdote hostage for unknown reason. Will present facts as soon as I, Yuri Nahl can do so.
>>
16.
YB Says:
April 23, 2010 at 4:41 am

Yuri, You never cease to confound and entertain.
17.
yuri_nahl Says:
April 23, 2010 at 5:11 am

Comrade, most gracious compliment shows generous nature of yourself. Please accept grateful thanks.
18.
Abigail Says:
April 23, 2010 at 1:14 pm

Nice to be back in the wonderful world of Boylan and Nahl, the best troll ever. I wonder could you make a sit com about a troll called yuri?

20.
Greybeard Says:
April 28, 2010 at 9:52 pm

A witless man, when he meets with men,
Had best in silence abide;
For no one shall find that nothing he knows,
If his mouth is not open too much.

Often he speaks who never is still
With words that win no faith;
The babbling tongue, if a bridle it find not,
Oft for itself sings ill.
21.
Scott Says:
April 29, 2010 at 4:18 pm

Yuri, funny as allways by about the third comment I’m in stitches, probably says something about my twisted sense of humour.
Are we looking at another Yuri/Greybeard poem off?
22.
paulboylan Says:
April 29, 2010 at 4:48 pm

Personally, I am secretly hoping for a yuri/greybeard

#

#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 1:24 pm

So like, you open your 10,000 eyes and realize you’ve been
re-incarnated as a fly. You were such a bastard in your last life, you
have to atone for your sins by living as a fly for a few lifetimes and
work your way up as a raccoon and maybe a monkey before you are human
again.

So this takes place in India because that’s where the general story
takes place, and your religion is one where this sort of
re-incarnation shit takes place. You can be a fly, a rotting corpse,
or a pile of ashes. So you’re fucked.

You’re really hungry because the house you came to life in is a
British house (even though it’s in India) . The dwellers are obsessive
compulsive and want everything “just so” “ship shape and Bristol
fashion”.

As a result, there are no dead cats or lying around the place or a dog
like Momo who would take a shit on the carpet, or in his masters bed,
as a practical joke. Therefore there would be nary a turd, or
moldering pile of necrotic flesh to nurture a flock of fly babies in.
As a result, no flying around humming “While Shepherds Watch Their
Flocks”. No gobbling down a snack from a festering turd.

You are forced to hide under the toilet seat, waiting for someone to
come along and plop a meteorite into the calm waters of the Porcelain
Sea.

You’re thinking, “This starving to death , waiting for a hunk of shit
to snack on is the lowest form of life. Plus, there is always the
“Hell of Being Smashed with a Flyswatter” so the lifetime spent as a
fly must be worth ten lifetimes as a mongoose, or squirrel.

Then to add insult to injury, the homeowners have a fan in the ceiling
turned by one of the heathens stationed in the sweltering attic. They
have attached crucifixes to the blades with string, so they swing out
and act as a “prayer wheel” like in Tibetan religion, and also to bat
to death flies who are not inclined to watch for danger.

The Indian houseboys have taken up the habit of collecting already
dead flies and flicking them up in the air like boogers so they land
underneath the fan. They pretend the crucifixes have walloped the
dead flies out of the air and exclaim, “it’s a miracle!”

The Memsahib agrees, and gives the heathens a long lecture on
Christianity, even though they think it’s a crock of shit, but laying
around being evangelized is easier than doing house chores.

So now, back to hiding under the toilet seat, waiting for a bit of
Mannah from Heaven. Or even more appropriate, waiting for his ship to
come in , or submarine to surface, (depending on whether or not it’s a
floater.)
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 1:28 pm

You, (fly), are hoping that the person pinching off the loaf is an
opium user, because they get constipated, (like Elvis) and their
turds move like watching the minute hand of a clock. Or even watching
a woman in hard labor having a child.

A lot of squeezing and groaning is required to evacuate the Rock of
Gibraltar from their anuses. It could be compared to a size ten train
trying to push through a size five tunnel.

Some people have said when these people finally cut loose a turd the
size of a small loaf of bread, it’s reminiscent of the WW II German
super heavy 60cm mortar “Karl” lobbing a projectile into the air.
Except sort of “up-side down” but you get the picture.

The fly’s prayers are answered as some hefty British dowager
approaches, floorboards creaking under her considerable weight. She
hasn’t had it in the ass for years, so she doesn’t have a gaping,
reamed out asshole like these young British ladies.

No semen enemas either, so no quivering stallion love apple having a
chance of sliding into her lady garden and remodeling it into a
structure with dimensions similar to those of the Spiral Nebula.

You (fly) see the old cows gigantic ass descending onto the toilet
seat, making it bend and making you worry that you will be crushed.
The bathroom floor around the toilet bowl dips down slightly.

The whole scene reminds you of when you were human, (before being
re-incarnated as a fly) and it was monsoon season, and daddy had
hired those fly-by-night roof repair men , and hundreds of gallons of
water had leaked into the ceiling above your bed and it started to bow
downward and even though you kept yelling “Daddy, the ceiling’s caving
in!” since he was gouging mama a new set of innards, he ignored you
till the deluge broke through, and carried you down the stairs towards
the front door hallway . Sort of like Moses, except not on a basket
woven of reeds. This of course gave mama an excuse to avoid being
ravaged by papa in monsoon season.
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 1:42 pm

After settling down, the matriarch’s anal organ starts to creak open,
with music created for the occasion by the God of Flatulent tunes. You
get dreamy from waiting in anticipation , and your mind drifts off
visualizing a “Hell of a Hundred Gigantic Stools” , and Rodin ,
sitting on the toilet , speed sculpting a self portrait, later
developed into “The Thinker’, from a massive chunk of feces. And what
if gnomes existed, could they take a cue from the idea of Rodin, and
hang around in toilet bowls, sculpting turds in free fall , and using
the footage for a new TV concept, “American Turd Sculpting Idol” .
Or how about , for the modern fly, “The New Corpofagial Treat, Stool
on a Stick”, with which a “Pied Piper of Flies” tricks the flies to
follow him out of town, by pulling a wagon with these “stools on
sticks” sticking up in the air to draw the flies away to the promised
land.

So you see the woman’s bung hole start to open up and bulge out like a
carbuncle on a bicycle tire getting ready to explode. You see this
what appears to be a brown bowling ball getting larger and larger, and
you are having to control vivid fear of the clod of shit flying out of
her and destroying the toilet bowl, creating a megaton of flying
porcelain shards which shred every piece of flesh off any living thing
within a quarter mile radius. So that one second, there is a man
walking his dog, and then, in an eye-blink, a couple of skeletons
standing , which then fall to the ground in a poignant manner.

So for a starving fly, this is a window of opportunity.

You are distracted by the diameter of her anus. You think, “The
priest must have porked the poor girl in the confessional in lieu of
the usual “Ten ‘Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys’”.

Most priests have a special “confessional” built by a “magic cabinet”
builder, so he can prong the girls and boys so they will think twice
about sinning again.

So here comes this massive turd, in the manner of Moby Dick breaching,
except sort of upside down, and brown, not white as Moby Dick was.

The plan is to leap aboard the turd, and gobble a couple of bites
before it hits the water. Then You’re thinking “Eating shit! This must
be worth ten lifetimes as a possumor beaver!”
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 1:46 pm

But then, even though you don’t think that you’re like Andy Divine
sitting on that hydrogen bomb hurtling towards the Soviet Union in the
movie “Dr. Strangelove” (because that movie won’t come out for another
hundred years, the image would appeal to those reading this tale in
modern times.

And had it taken place in modern times, you (fly) might have felt like
the Apollo 13 astronauts. Or even worse, gave thought to the guilt
ridden Soviet scientists who put that poor dog “Laika” into orbit.
These scientists are reputed to have recurring nightmares of a
smoldering zombie dog crashes through the roof of the dacha, and
chases them around the table while little flames, embers and smoke
puff from its blackened carcass, ears and tail falling off, glowing,
sparks flying from them.

Aside from these easily foreseeable thoughts, you (the fly) , standing
on the turd, hurtling toward the toilet water, are thinking, (between
gulps of shit)… “If only this turd were not so aerodynamically
correct, if only it had a little parachute on it, or just a piece of
string, a piece of string which the person taking the defacation had
eaten to preclude getting her bottom splashed by poo-water, by
allowing the turd to lower itself slowly and gracefully in a dignified
manner. (since the string would be embedded in the “out of body” turd,
and the one still lodged in the rectum of the person depositing the
blob of poo..

Had this “string ploy” been used, the fly would have been able to
dine an an ample and abundant manner.

This was not to be however, as there was a danger of the dowager
matron being done going poo ascending from the toilet, forgetting to
cut the turd-string and pulling a string of turds out of the toilet
bowl, and imagine…a lady dragging what resembled a string of
sausages, and considering the hallucinatory state of mind had by many
colonialists of the sub-continent (due to the prevalence and use of
opiates there) the string of turds could be confused for a family
of diminutive armadillos chasing the woman around the drawing room.

Now as an aside from this narrative of the “Glory Days of Empire” ,
as a public service to help combat the pandemic, here are some
essential health tips:
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 1:49 pm

(1) Never wash your hands. That’s right. Never wash your hands.

Think about it. Who washes their hands? ….Sick people….They’re
trying to get well by washing their hands.

(2) Now I say, “If you take a shit, and you manage to poke your
finger through the toilet paper, and there’s a brown streak on your
finger, just rub it in like hand lotion. That’s right, just spread it
all over your hands, then make a sandwich”

Now you may say, ” Why would I smear Shit all over my hands then make
a sandwich?” Then I would answer, “Because that’s how you stay
healthy, and if you’re sick, get better.”

(3) I postulate “Who is always washing their hands to get
healthy”?…..sick people.” then “What happens when you go to the
doctor?” He gives you an expensive exam, then goes into the other
room where the nurse starts sucking his dick. He says to her “Go take a
shit, and put it into these capsules.” Then she says, “How the fuck
am I supposed to stuff a turd into these little capsules?” Then the
doctor says ” What the fuck do you think a funnel is for, you stupid
cunt?” and she says ” I thought that was for pissing into your
patients assholes when you can’t get you dick into it.”

(4) Think of this: How many times have you (out of natural curiosity)
opened up a capsule, taken a whiff of it and thought, “that smells
like shit!” . Did you ever wonder why?

(5) It’s because the doctor is filling the capsules with shit, and
charging you a fortune for them.

(6) Why?….Because when you go to medical school, you fuck yourself
silly for nine years, get your parents to lend and give you piles of
money for whores, drugs, booze, gambling. Then in the last year, they
teach you:

(7) “To stay healthy, roll around in, and eat a smear of shit every
day. If you shit in your bed, or underwear, that’s a plus.

Some people may say, “He’s crazy.” (meaning me, the author). But now I
have proof that this hypothesis is correct.

Now consider this: Ready?

(8) Have you ever seen a sick fly? No , you have never seen a sick
fly. Nobody in the whole world, or throughout history has seen a sick
fly. Now what do flies do all day? They wallow around in shit, eat
shit, eat rotten meat, and they’re so healthy they can fly around. Now
can you fly around?

(9) Now remember the first rule of good health…..Anytime you see
some asshole washing his hands all the time, that motherfucker is
sick. Stay away from that person. (smear a little shit on their
doorknobs and toothbrush, and they’ll be right as rain in a jiffy.)
#
paulboylan Says:
April 30, 2010 at 3:50 pm

Scott – Exactly what I did.

Yuri – You go, Tovaritch!
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 4:06 pm

But back to the fly.

God made flies just to fuck with human’s heads.

God also made men crazy enough to wear white linen suits in India, in
the 1800s just to see who was a sporting type.

That was because washing machines had not been invented yet and if you
didn’t have a heathen to do your laundry, you’d be fucked.

God would have been watching, sneering, while the poor laundry boy
tried to find some clean water to wash this white motherfucker’s
white linen suit. Now he’d have to go down to some mangy assed
waterway, with the dead bodies of cows and men, and probably a few
other forms of life , all floating down to the sea, plus the devout
performing their ablutions and an occasional enema

Some crafty devils came up with the plan of stopping the floating
bodies upstream then shoving sticks into the carcasses, and hoisting
little sails on them, plus the flag of the gentleman betting on the
corpse. This way, the heathens would release all the bodies at one
time and the colonials wold wager on them. In this way, there would be
two birds killed with one stone. The stiffs would proceed out to sea
with greater speed, and the heathens could skim off some of the
colonials ill-earned swag by various means since they made sure the
Raj were served an overabundance of alcohol to which a little opium
had been added. This expediting the departure of the dead had the
desired effect of cleaning the water a little so that the British
could sport about in white linen suits in India, in the 1800s.
#
paulboylan Says:
April 30, 2010 at 4:14 pm

Yuri, buddy, that was simply one of the funniest essays I’ve ever read. You have no idea how much I appreciate you. I may not always comment but I always enjoy your prose. But sometimes, like this time, I can’t stop laughing. I mean, come on, carcass and cadaver betting in old India: can it get any funnier than that?
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 4:50 pm

God, being a prankster, decided to have a little fun. In the
afternoon, after the flotilla of bodies had gone by, and bets were
settled, God changed the direction of the wind. He’s God after all and
can do whatever he wants. So as evening drew nigh, the corpses started
to navigate back up the river. The bookies were trying to re-collect
their bet money , so as to skim a little more boodle from the
colonials.

Soon gunfire was heard, as the irate British decided to sink the
carcasses with an un-holy tactic. As everyone knows, if not relieved of
their digestive system , bodies will bloat in the high temperature of
India. Thus, when the bloated bodies floated up the river, their
penises were bloated too, becoming like a fleshy periscope searching for a suitable vagina.Some of the British men saw this as an
affront, partly because the ladies liked this penis-scape as they had only seen such large penises on their stallions, when they gave them a therapeutic “light wiener rub”.

At this time, the intoxication of the colonials was at it’s height. It was therefore logical to sink the dead, or un-dead, depending on the point of view. Some thought it was a “miracle” This was due to the swollen zombie penises being more gigantic and desirable than they had been in life.

Artillerymen were summoned, and ordered to fire red hot pieces of
metal at the flotilla of corpses. Upon striking the bodies , the red
hot metal shards ignited the intestinal gas. The resulting explosions hurled flesh, intestines, penises, hands and feet into the air, creating an “a la cart” for circling gulls and carp. Scuttling the dead in a macabre prequel of the High Seas Fleet in 1919 or so. (at Scapa Flow)

To some of the British, this was a glorious reminiscence of sea
battles of renown. Reminiscences of Nelson and Harvey in some lusty below deck romance, or a fashion show featuring a cabin boy in a frilly nightie. Some broke into choruses of “Hearts of Oak”, and
“Rule Britannia” Calling each other “dirty old men”.

The explosions also caused many a guffaw regarding “being hoisted of
their own petard”. Although some heathens did not find it that
humorous. They did think it was fun when a couple of faces blown from
their rightful owners landed on some sleeping British gents and
rendered them into a “gone native ” motif.

The gunfire caused consternation in the British households as this
noise disturbed the fellatio the British women were performing on
their houseboys swollen throbbing extra long (and sometimes really thick ) penises, with the red knob on the end, which was warming up to fire on the ladies uvulas. as their love sausages seemed to shrink temporarily.
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 4:59 pm

At that time in history there was unemployment in a couple of related
industries. The “Hooded Cobra herders” were losing employment, as were
“Mongoose Herders” . It was discovered that the cobras were being
de-fanged and used as rectum cleaning devises, by the ladies of the
Raj. The ladies would stick the cobras into a silk bag and have their
houseboys insert them into their rectums. The cobras would panic, and their fluttering “hoods” were expected to scour any chunks of excrement clinging to the ladies rectums. When the cobra was suffocated, a new one was inserted by the houseboy so the unconscious one could revive.

Needless to say, this caused a cobra shortage, and put the cobra
herders out of a job. With no cobras, the mongoose herders were out of
a job. Speculation was rife. After all, how much cleaning does one
rectum need?

History tells us that there were various causes for the “mutiny” (The
First War for Independence” In India, the facts included in this
story were the essential substantive ones. The other causes were incidental.
………Professor Yuri Nahl. April 30, 2010
#
yuri_nahl Says:
April 30, 2010 at 5:17 pm

Comrade Paul, many thanks for you kind and generous compliment.
#
Greybeard Says:
May 1, 2010 at 7:06 am

In Life what hope is always unto flies?
Tales of Beelzebub that shall come again
Smearing the Earth with his eternal stain,
House, Horse, Blow. While ever grease fries,
What matter which, or how, or even when?
If we but look beyond the swatter’s pain,
And trust the Future to write all things plain
Squashed on glass with the predestined pen.

This is their doom. Upon the blind blue sky
A little cloud, no larger than a hand.
Whether I live and shit, or shit and die,
I care not: either way I understand
To me–to live is a buzz; to die is gain
For I, I also, I shall come again.
#
yuri_nahl Says:
May 1, 2010 at 7:18 am

Comrade, very lovely! Remember to have a nice May Day.
#
Greybeard Says:
May 1, 2010 at 7:23 am

счастливый день может to you too Comrade Yuri. Down with the bourgeoisie! Except me of course.
#
yuri_nahl Says:
May 1, 2010 at 11:21 pm

Comrades, a public service announcement http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EpuYoK6wv_Y
#
yuri_nahl Says:
May 7, 2010 at 2:34 am

Comrades, it has come to my attention that the Eastern predilection for prayer wheels may rub off onto the western world. This may cause a need for inspection of US government owned automobiles to have their hubcaps inspected for “prayers” as with every revolution the auto’s wheels, a prayer is said. This may seem to be exaggeration but it is not. “Jesus Rifles” in Afghanistan, causing a ruckus with the local Muslims. There are Internet, Digital, Electric, Wind, Fire and Water powered prayer wheels. The danger of hubcap based prayer wheels is immense, as with all that prayer, beamed at the wrong God, or focused to help the wrong cause, could do irreparable damage to the United States Republic. Even worse are the Thug-mobile type wheels that keep spinning. (The ones with the scimitars attached to them) They are reciting prayers even when the automobile is stationary, thus out-praying the non-spinning (non Thug-wheels) by an amount not subject to normal mathematical analysis. I urge you to write to your congressperson to establish a select committee to look into “stealth prayers” on the wheels of government operated cars. These are attached to the wheels by operatives of foreign governments such as “The Jackal” This may is as big a problem as any other un-American plot. Normal Americans may be influenced by a “normal appearing taxi ride to the airport”. We all have heard of “The American Taliban”, who suffered this fate , and switched from going to see his mother and signed with a gang of desperadoes.
#
Greybeard Says:
May 7, 2010 at 3:36 am

Thank you Yuri! You have inspired my greedy Capitalist mind with a wonderful new means to rip off the American public, raise public nuisance levels to new heights and possibly bring down civilisation as we (but not necessarily you) know it.

Any large circular hubcap could easily be stamped during manufacture with a spiral groove of varying depth. This is the very technology of the analog musical devices of ancient times called “records”! A simple spring-stabilised arm pivoting vertically from the side of the vehicle would have a needle to run through this groove, converting the varying amplitudes into what I have named “Ultra-Low-Fi Sound Reproduction”. The resulting noise, further modified by uneven road surfaces and the random bouncing of the needle, would be projected through outward facing speakers in the sides of the boot (or trunk as you inexplicably call it, since your elephantine American vehicles should clearly have the trunk at the front). At low, cruising-the-boulevard, speeds, your “rap” music would be almost understandable and any scratching effects would be indistinguishable from the operations of the usual DJ.

The possibilities are enormous, by which I mean appalling. Islamists could record a different speech by Bin Laden on each hubcap and drive through New York. US military convoys could blast provocative comments and aggressive prayers as they travelled the highways of Afghanistan and Iraq. I don’t even want to think about this technology falling into the hands of Southern Baptists or Mormons.

Painted markings on these caps could also be arranged to spell out offensive comments at selected road speeds using stroboscopic effects. Skillfully sized and positioned holes could produce siren sounds or high pitched whistles that would drive every dog within a mile of the road insane. This may be the greatest advance in hubcap-based technology since Boudicca! I have of course reserved all intellectual property rights connected to these brilliant inventions in the name of Greybeard Inc.
#
yuri_nahl Says:
May 7, 2010 at 4:50 am

Comrade Sir, you are a genius I must say. Your talent for product development will earn you a fortune when you arrive on the shores of the promised land. Just make sure you keep up your medical insurance because in the “land of the free, it ain’t free”.
Your fusion of old and new technology raises your stature because your vision is so above the mere vulgar acquisitiveness and lust for the banal so often thought of as achievements in this great land. A statue resembling your mortal self should be erected in a suitable location. My location would be near the Washington Monument, although I would feel more comfortable deferring to your superior judgment.
I feel that this unveiling of your unprecedented “New-Capitalist-Concept” deserves a celebratory day in your native land.
I feel that, at this time, should you chose to, you could start a religion with yourself staring as the “Savior of the Capitalist World”.
#
yuri_nahl Says:
May 8, 2010 at 2:50 pm

Comrade Women, Happy Mother’s Day. Hug hug , Kiss kiss

HISTORY OF THE DOWAGER'S BOTTOMS GETTING WEDGED IN TOILET SEATS AT THE TIME OF THE FIRST WAR OF INDEPENDANCE IN INDIA

2010-05-12T02:09:00.000-05:00

Comrades, the following is an additional piece of previously unheard of history.This anecdote has never been published in any form , anywhere.

The only way I became aware of it was because Momo the world renowned black Afghan hound, realized the chariot horses, Dobbin, actually, should send an email to the elephants at the Pinnawela elephant orphanage in Sri Lanka. The horses and Momo were getting some authentic background for the new "Mr.Ed in India" TV series.

In Pinawella, these elephants met with the chariot horses. The flight crew, (who were all Rastas) accompanied the horses and Momo on their quest for an account of history only the elephants would know. The Rastas were delighted to have a chance to converse with elephants as there were not many in Jamaica, and they could bone up on their elephant dialect. (Rastas have always been able to converse with animals, as they both are joined by the essential knowledge.) The Duppy stories recorded in the 1920s show examples of this "human to animal dialect", "animal to human dialect" and some stories showing the interactions. The Rastas also had their own steel band. Every time there were no people in sight, the horses made them roll a few spliffs, as these had been prescribed by their doctor. They wanted to keep their medication private so nobody could mis-represent it in the fan magazines.

Now these elephants, even though they were in Sri Lanka, were expatriate Indian, or had Indian relatives, and so were well versed in the oral tradition which elephants have as a history dating back till the first century.

Naturally , they spoke English and so could communicate with the horses. Momo the world renowned Afghan hound was also there in case there was a translation problem.
He, Momo had been staying up late at night at the foundry, reading about the Indo-European languages, in case there was a problem which could be sorted out by knowing the root or etymology of the word. Anyway, reading helped Momo to keep his mind clear, since hanging around with the horses had the opposite effect. They kept smoking that smelly straw with that weird pipe they had, singing "On the Open Road", and whinnying hysterically, rolling around on their straw, nickering, coughing, all that stuff.

But I have to go back to the beginning, as this is sort of the middle.

In San Francisco, near the foundry, near the floating dry docks on third street. Riding at anchor, in San Francisco Bay, was the Boondoggle aircraft, the "Spirit of Eventual Arrival".

Now they loaded all their essential supplies onto the aircraft. The crew arrived and looked a little unusual for a flight crew. Two pilots, a flight engineer, navigator, radio operator, a chef, steward, stewardess, and stable-boy. Many bales of smelly hay were craned aboard. Also, steel band instruments, victuals for an extended stay, (just in case). Many maps, satellite phones, contraptions for Internet, A huge computer monitor, (for the horses). An acting coach for the horses, an acting coach for Mr.Boondoggle, two makeup artists, a hairdresser. Even a person for polishing up the horses hooves, so they looked spiffy.

Their destination was Mumbai, the Hollywood of India, but there were a couple of stops where they would rest up a bit. The flight crew always looked like they needed resting up. They wore sunglasses all the time, and smelled like the hay the horses liked. In addition, when they removed their pilot caps, their hair flew out and was very abundant and nappy. In fact, it looked like it had not been combed in five years or so. They could communicate with "Bongo-Drum" language, which proved handy when the intercom and flight engineer were out of commission at the same time.

Therefore the aircraft jaunted down to Isla Cerralvo in the Baja of Mexico and landed on the water for fuel. This aircraft has huge wheel spats and these were waterproofed so that the machine is amphibious with no re-configuration required. (considering the crew, that's a plus). This Baja water is slightly calmer and many resorts allow for re-fueling and re-victualing the craft. The flight engineer was seen purchasing drums of alcohol for injecting into the motors during takeoff. (to cool the cylinder heads) I had always imagined it would be "wood alcohol" not "grain alcohol".

Any time customs or other bureaucrats from countries they visited came aboard, the horses would go poo and break wind in the direction of the officials, who became disinclined to search the aircraft further.

We stayed on board during the night, but the horses were lowered into the water for a swim. There is a crane on board the aircraft to facilitate this swimming, and other loading chores. It took as long to get their swim trunks onto them as lowering them into the water. They are stars, certainly. (One of them had brought "Speedos", but thought about it and decided to store potatoes in them instead.)

Another stop in Veracruz, Mexico, and on to Jamaica. Rather a long stay there, un-planned too. But we re- acquired the physician, Baron Samedi,MD. He had gone ahead of our flight on a commercial jet. He had to pick up a few supplies. We loaded an MRI machine into the aircraft. Good thing we had the crane. The Baron said we need it , just in case. He also had a trunk of Voodoo medicine, and his Voodoo-ology books, (a library of a few hundred volumes), and a stenographer in case he wanted to jot down the native black and white magic as practiced in the different countries.

At this time , the flight engineer noticed there might be an anomaly with some of the instruments, mainly the compass. Then on to Guyana, out over the ocean to Cape Verde islands in the Atlantic, Gibraltar, stay overnight, at the mouth of the Mediterranean, Palermo Italy, (stop to see friends , and have wonderful food) (and see Italian babes) Alexandria Egypt, then straight south, doing anything needed to avoid Israeli airspace, to Dubai, then rather a long flight to Sri Lanka, to visit the Pinnawela elephant orphanage. There, the horses planned to converse with the elephants to gain some authentic background history for their "Mr.Ed in India" TV show.

Elephants have a deep and detailed oral history. They are known to have good memories, and pass this history from one generation to the next.

From the time of the First War of Independence in India, also known as the "Indian Rebellion of 1857", by non-Indians, there have been seven generations of male elephants who could breed, and ten generations of females. Since the females were probably not crazy like their male partners, they were asked for the details of life as it was, one hundred fifty years ago.

I Yuri Nahl, historian, cultural anthropologist, fashion consultant, have already published extensive narrative of life during the time of the Raj. These following details were lost in the sands of time and only re-discovered by Momo, the Afghan hound, as he chatted with some of his dog relations in Afghanistan who had been jabbering with the Indian elephants, making jokes about the British.

This particular story was overheard and passed on by an elephant who was waiting for his driver (mahout) to become un-frozen. He had become paralyzed with laughter and could not have moved even if his testicles were lying on a railroad track, and a train was coming. Some house boys were regaling him with the tales of life in the mansion.

Now you may recall reading about the dowager who shattered the toilet bowl with a well placed lump of faeces, when her bowels finally moved. She saved herself from falling onto the floor by grasping the chain to the cistern, although she managed to pull the cistern off the wall in the process, knocking her maid silly and putting a big undeserved bump on her head, as the cistern swung from the wall, being pulled by the matron's hefty avoirdupois, and simultaneously held back by the lead pipe connecting the cistern to the toilet bowl proper. Several bottles of gin fell out of the cistern, but the maid was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

Blasting toilet bowls to pieces became common as the use of opiates caused constipation resulting in impacted stools hard as granite. A new branch of "geomancy" developed, using the shattered fragments of porcelain as the medium to be interpreted.

I should mention that there were mysterious occurrences where toilet bowls were shattered into thousands of pieces, the pubic hair of matrons singed off and no fat bottom was embedded into a toilet seat. This happened when the lady was puffing a bowl of opium, or smoking a cheroot, and broke wind while tapping the ash from her opium pipe or cheroot into the toilet. It was the resulting explosion of the gas which singed off the hair on the matron's private parts. The blast also lifted the matron up into the air a few inches, while simultaneously puffing her formidable ass cheeks apart and therefore avoided getting them jammed into the toilet seat itself. Naturally, nobody discussed such private things, and this would have been lost, if it were not for the heathen household servants discussing it within earshot of the elephants.

The elephant handler told the house boy's tale in which the following facts were the body of the story.

Opiate use was common in India. It was a sort of herbal ''stiff upper lip''. Now this opium use also had the effect of the constipated matriarchs spending extra time sitting on the toilet, and during that time, their fat, sweaty bottoms had a tendency to squirm down into a wedged configuration, relative to the toilet seat, itself.

It came to pass that gigantic assed old ladies were ripping whole toilets off the floor so often that the "bustle" was invented to camouflage this fixture attached to the woman, till a plumber and doctor were summoned. These professions not being represented in abundance in the scorching climate.

It was not considered polite to walk around with a whole toiled bowl jammed onto a lady's ass, especially at diplomatic functions where ambassadors were expected to attend. It made dancing a wee bit chancy also. A toilet bowl could get knocked loose and was rather hard to explain, as it skidded across the dance floor. If there were water in the toilet bowl, it would sometimes make a sloshing noise, and wake up old salty dog type codgers, having induced a nightmare of being back at sea, rounding the Horn.

Even the Sherlock Holmes stories were affected by the torn off toilet bowls phenomena. Since the women still had to perform their bodily functions, they sometimes sat down and inadvertently defecated on the carpet. (through the toilet bowl wedged onto their asses) Large dogs were purchased because they could be blamed for the heaps of excrement. Some people think the evil Alistair Crowley somehow got wind of these "excrement piles" and thought he'd use it as a novel way to get attention. This of course leading to his penchant for "passing stool" on the living room carpet when attending a party at the bishop's mansion. For example.

Conan Doyle wrote a story in which Holmes had to reason the source of manure piles appearing in the house of a duffer who had died after returning from India. This title "The Mystery of the Appearing Stools" was only published in a limited edition, as it was thought the reading public would be unable to bear with the book, and conclude the author had slid into insanity, crazed by cocaine. It was assumed the British public could never accept the possibility that a British lady would do such a thing. It was not even proved that British ladies even passed stool at all.

Now after this incident, the matriarch decided to try turning sideways on the toilet seat because she wanted to preclude getting her blubbery behind jammed into the toilet seat. The danger being of course, that if she were obliged to ascend from the toilet (in a hurry) the seat itself could be torn loose from its moorings and become a type of "Dada" ass jewelry, which in reality would only look good on an 18 year old girl. Or, even worse, the whole seat and toilet bowl assembly could rip loose from the floor, and she'd be forced to walk around with a whole plumbing fixture attached to her ass like a girl scout ready for every contingency, including taking a dump on the run.

It goes without saying, the affliction made horse riding impossible. Because of the climate, when the horses learned of this, subtle expressions of joy could be discerned on their faces. For now, their only duties would be having their semen harvested for face lotion, and not hauling around large weights in the blazing heat.

After shattering a toilet, a number of these ladies were put out of commission, laying on their backs, unable to right themselves, resembling turtles in long dresses until an NCO of engineers thought of using a chain fall with the hook attached to the toilet seat, (after the porcelain part was broken away) and hoisting away. The original intent was to yank the seat from her behind, but it was found that this lifting up would return the woman to her normal attitude toward the horizon, namely vertical. Although with the seat still jammed onto her bottom.

A danger nobody considered is the propensity an anus has to make flatulent discharges an octave higher if there is a toilet seat jammed onto it. (because of the similarity to the tightly pursed lips of a bugle player, as he wants the notes to be higher)

Even the toilet seat lid became part of the Raj legend, as when passing gas, the seat lid would tend to be blown away from the anal organ, (undulating back and forth) and create an effect similar to the "wah-wah" pedal made famous by Jimmy Hendrix a hundred years later. In the time being described however, the sound was identified as a "spirit manifestation" , A "crying in the night" as "sorrow for a sin, un-atoned for". Perhaps the yowling of a hyena yearning for his mate.

Now this "sitting sideways" on the toilet had an influence on something which could have never been anticipated in a thousand years.

This was because of the prevalence of the epidemic of "K.O.D.S." (keeling-over dowager syndrome).

This would happen when a clod of faeces would be fired from a bowel which finally moved. The toilet bowl would shatter, then the matron would keel over backwards. Since by sitting sideways, she had nothing to hang onto. (Her maid was still recovering from concussion.) Then when her back hit the floor, the impact would fire another stool from her anus, and since the toilet seat was jammed onto her, it focused her behind like the taper bore barrel of some artillery piece, and launched the faeces cannon-ball out the window, with enhanced rapidity.

Since the British had a love for parades and formal troop inspections while wearing a wool uniform in the blazing Indian climate, there were often officers with their swords held vertical at attention, the clod of flying dung got split into two parts by the sword of the front officer. Each of the two chunks flying to either side, knocking out the officers behind the first.

This event was duly noted in the diary of the regiment.

This was such an unusual event that it was incorporated in the heraldic coat of arms of this regiment, in that a (highly stylized) fat woman, lying on her back was portrayed firing a clod of (stylized) faeces, which was cut into two parts and shown knocking out two officers, struck down by the excrement shrapnel. All these elements were almost unrecognizable, unless the viewer was familiar with pageantry, and heraldic symbols.

This may seem un-important, but in the 20th century the coat of arms was observed by a weapons developer who liked to view historical aspects of his deadly trade. He was learned in the language of heraldry. Noting the splitting of the single lump of dung into two warheads, he derived the M.I.R.V. concept, or "multiple independently targetable reentry vehicle" for long range ballistic missiles, a new way to kill more of the enemy, and confuse the anti-missile defense of their opponent.

It was inferred the German "Paris Gun" of the WW I era was inspired by a tipping over dowager who had imbibed a few extra fizzy gin and tonics, with Schweppes tonic water, because of the quinine, (to bolster her against the malaria) and shot a stool twice the normal distance. This unusual spectacle was observed by a visiting German officer of artillery, and incorporated into his thesis for a doctorate. (not mentioning the material the projectile was made from). (or the construction of the barrel) . He concluded there was a possibility for a long range weapon, a railway gun, using increased amount of slower burning propellant. This was developed into the "Paris Gun". This same officer's interest in projectiles fired from ladies was probably the inspiration for the WW I era 420 cm mortar "Gamma". Although the literature does not mention excrement. (or ladies).

An idea the British had for eliminating some of the fly population was met with limited success. When troops noticed that a chicken leg thrown into the air would hit the ground as a bone, the fly problem was addressed.

Some local talent was recruited to sculpt a wounded soldier from stools. (packed into a dense pile.) The British kindly gave him a stick of incense to deodorize his studio. The sculpture was then dressed in a bloody uniform. He was loaded onto a cart and pulled out of town by a number of heathens. After reaching a suitable distance, a charge of explosives was detonated using a fuse. The government estimated 5 million flies were dispatched to fly hell. Most of the heathens survived the explosion, but their attire was blown off them so they were arrested for "indecent exposure" and fined an amount equal to what they were to be payed for this pulling the cart out of town.

Now when these "turd-cannon balls" were careening through the air, some observant chaps noticed a "comet tail" following them. Closer observation showed it to be "flies in pursuit of a decent meal." After this, anytime fireworks sky rockets were used by the Raj, a lump of fecal matter was smeared onto it (by a heathen) and it was hoped that this would lead to fly deaths since the comet tail would be in the blast of the rocket propellant and and singe their wings off. The flies would then fall to earth and be eaten by other insects.

These are the main facts which are not included in the curriculum used by students in their quest for knowledge. The horses asked the elephants if they could pass the information on to humans, even though many humans have less respect for animals. So with the permission of the elephants, I hereby publish this information for your enlightenment.

Professor Yuri Nahl.

IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR IF YOU DO NOT LIKE TO READ VULGAR STORIES DO NOT READ THIS BLOG OR LOOK AT IT

2010-04-22T01:29:00.000-05:00