Comments (4) The truth about social networking sites, currently Twitter and Facebook, but in previous incarnations MySpace and Yahoo!Groups, is a simple one, and one which has applied to society long before the internet: 99% of all conversation is completely pointless.
How do we know that Microsoft is a terrible company with no imagination?
I recently read this story from the CNN:
(CNN) — There was no profanity, no hate. Just the words, “I love my friends Abby and Faith. Lex was here 2/1/10 
” scrawled on the classroom desk with a green marker.
Alexa Gonzalez, an outgoing 12-year-old who likes to dance and draw, expected a lecture or maybe detention for her doodles earlier this month. Instead, the principal of the Junior High School in Forest Hills, New York, called police, and the seventh-grader was taken across the street to the police precinct. Read the entire story here.
So what is this? It is a classic example of why zero tolerance is idiotic, and dangerous. I’ve known this for years, but zero tolerance policies continue to be in place around the country, for one reason: administrators, teachers, coaches, and the courts are all relieved of the duty of actually making decisions. Instead of considering appropriate measures and acting on them, they call, literally or figuratively, 911, and instantly it becomes someone else’s problem. It is not the way a healthy, mature society functions, but the structure of a culture that values obedience above all else.
Ironically, when I read about jackasses like the administrators who took these actions, I fantasize about ultra-draconian retaliation. Viscerally, I want to have everyone fired, and I want them to know I think they are a bunch of f*cking assholes, which they probably are. Deep inside, I hope this girl’s parents sue that school system into the stone age. However, I know in my intellect that such drama wouldn’t help anyone, least of all the children who live under this peculiar form of tyranny.
“I love the world!” -My sister, when I told her about “Epic Beard Man,” an internet meme that recently swept the world. Sure, violence and foul language are among the coolest things about the internet, but there are some things that offset it. Example: a thread on a forum (message board) I was reading today. The original post contained lots of high-res photos, so it took a little while to load. The photos were great, and were worth the wait, unlike much of the waiting embedded in the internet. Today the icon for the thread was red, meaning someone had posted a new reply. I clicked on it, watched the photos load, then scrolled to the bottom to see the new entry. It was this:
Use the archive drag-down to directly access the Poem Every Day project
In 2005, David Martin decided to write a poem every day for 100 days. I told him that I would put an image with his poem each day, whether it was one I shot, or simply one on which I was working. 100 days later, we were done, and I originally posted it to web pages. Recently I wanted to revive this project, so I moved it to this blog. The dates of each post correctly correspond to the dates on which the poems were written. The image attached to each of David’s poems is a chronological coincidence.
To view this project, go to the archive drag-down menu and select February 2005. These entries start with February 7, 2005.
I shouldn’t have to say this more than once. In fact, I shouldn’t have to say it at all. But here it is:
The only diets that work are the ones you can stay on for the rest of your life.
-Polock Town
-Buttown
-Squinton
-Chasm City
-Weenerville
-Mindset City
-Idiot Village
-House Atreides
-Ernest Dickwipe’s Pole Hole
-Encephalitisville
-New New York City
-Aaarg! Center
-Virgin Maryton
-Snowmanzanar
-Hubris House
-Le Mass
-Mannlicher-Carcano
-Sanity
-Fuselage
-Poopton
-PeenPeen
-Metron Metroplex
-Elgin
-Pianististiclasmosisinechapeline
-Area 52
-Tingletongue
-The Big Phony
-Frontal Wettage
-Reach Around
-Oxlong Penal Camp
-Pantytown
-Rubic’s Pubis
-Reproduction Island
“How many times does he poop, once a month?”
“I don’t watch.”
Masonic boom.
“How do you feel on an emotional level?” -TV show
Plathismograph = scrotum of evil. (“Scrotum weevil?” -T)
Real sign at restaurant, Amarillo, Texas: “We Eat the Dead.”
“Buttholes just open sometimes.” -T
“I don’t fear the reaper, I fear the smell of the reaper.” -W
“If you don’t poke it, it won’t break – it’ll just get soft and go down. I need to use a different tool for each one.” -M
Pavda in Spring
by Sluicegate
It’s a dish best served cold.
So don’t put it on the stove.
Bury it outside in the snow
Guisseppe wore his green
velvet cape gracefully
It hid his stiletto
of flesh
so that the sisters
wouldn’t get frightened.
A 30-mile radius around Dalhart, Texas smells like cow poop.
“Ah, Texas feedlot, who can frame your fearful symmetry?” -D
“My greatest fear when hiking is falling and biting my tongue off.” -D
Ski trip: the first sight of snow was 23 miles southeast of Dalhart.
“Is that snow?” -T
“No, that’s cocaine. These are cocaine fields.” -R
Peanut butter on cracker
Automatic fudge packer
The Ignorant Must Be Broasted
by Rectal Infectant
There is a competition
of values afoot.
This is a competition which
we must win
at all costs
The fate of the world is at stake.
I throw the first grenade
into the battered bed of
the pickup of the first hick who is
simultaneously smoking, drinking
beer from a can, backhanding his wife
and changing lanes without signaling.
He hears a metallic clatter
but, really, it’s too late.
I also need an RPG.
me just kidding, joe
me ruv hick
Rectal Infectant’s blues.
I tire of this formula.
I am a stupid f*cking
replicant and every real
person should hate me.
I am an engineer of my
own doom.
As I descend into the bowels
of the factory I have to
extend my eye stalks farther
and farther ahead of me.
Eventually
I am moving by feel
I glide down the slime slickened
stairway until I finally reach
the lowest level
I probe the floor with my
tentacles until I locate the lever.
With great effort, I pull it
back.
Gentle at first is the deep
bowel-earth sound of a final
winding down.
Somewhere in this factory
the revolution stops.
-end-
“It is so difficult to have pity and love for the people we see around us each day. They have tobacco smoke in their lungs, alcohol in their blood, raw evil in their guts, and the backs of their hands smacking across their kid’s sugar-sticky, un-seat-belted carcasses. I’m sorry, Jesus. I can’t find it witin me to love Joe and Jane Ignorant Redneck. Will it be enough for me to simply avoid slaughtering them mercilessly?” -D
“One massive, unsymbolic Universe, moving toward nothing. Strangely, such a concept makes me happy.” -D
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen in your mouth before.” -M
Swollen, bitter walnut grandpa farting vs grandma’s nightgown fart.
“GLIM – the perfect combination between GLIB and GRIM – which sums me up perfectly.
–> although, I guess GRIB would be okay too.” -D
“So, I’ll alternately be GLIM and GRIB.” -D
“Are we not all assmasters?”-D
“Ancient, dripping, smelly meat
hanging on a calcified structure,
a living structure, a substructure
which only serves to undermine the
eventual and ultimate flexibility which
every entity loves and deserves?” -D
“86 year old grandpa retires for the
evening. He lays his hairless head down
next to his dead wife’s pillow. He
prays joylessly, aloud, that the LORD
take him if it is HIS WILL. Nine hours
later, he is awake, smearing the most generic
grape jelly that money can buy on the
store brand white bread his
daughter-in-law got at the grocery store.
He chews mechanically and waits
to join his wife.” -D
“Merely existing doesn’t make you worthy.” -Dr. Laura Schlessinger
The movie Starship Troopers is a fun, exciting albeit excessively violent flick. The special effects are satisfying, and the plot, while predictable, mostly makes sense.
The movie stumbles awkwardly and incompletely into a concept that I found particularly compelling, one of meritocracy. The people of this future world must earn their place in society, determining whether they will remain mere “civilians” or become “citizens.” I have a deep admiration and respect for meritocracy, and if I were planning a future for the United States or the world, I would definitely set one in motion.
The trouble often surfaces when such a system is corrupted by blind indoctrination, by those who would manipulate any situation for their personal gain. Much of the time, an unhappy population is the easiest to manipulate, and bringing a major change in social structure is usually only possible through revolution, which is usually made possible by an unhappy population. (The rise of nazism and fascism, or the indoctrination of Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge leap to mind as examples.)
So the notion of “civilian vs citizen” may be an idealistic concept, but I still believe it has some validity.
According to scripture, God gave his only son as a sacrifice to save mankind.
How does this differ from the the sacrifice made by the mother of a soldier who dies fighting for the good of mankind, except that the mother might not be able to make another child, but God, being omnipotent, certainly could if He chose?
I just think the whole “Father in Heaven who had a son and sacrificed him” scenario is contrived, condescending and insulting to rational beings.
And if that isn’t enough, consider this:
Proverbs 3:5-8…
5 Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
6 in all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make your paths straight. [a]
7 Do not be wise in your own eyes;
fear the LORD and shun evil.
8 This will bring health to your body
and nourishment to your bones.
Don’t think for yourselves or use reason. If God was a real, menstruate, discoverable thing, why would He need to hide behind this kind of rhetoric?
140 pounds of pure man
pitch
by Crustulon
well, here it goes
another pile
chocolately pulsating
aggluttin
dry slide
sugar fade
by gang reen
have I said it BEFORE?
is that why nobody is listening?
is the TV distracting you?
did I slip over your
boundary?
Is that why you look
away when I mention KAFKA?
you cringe because of
the insect
but you don’t see
the anthropodic
sweep of history
a recording of attitudes
a changing of alliances
FRANZ shook his head so many
times that his skinny neck
creaked.
X-like, he suffered for
his times
If he were alive today
we would shrink
his head and mount it
on the hood of our Infinity
he would need no TB
with which to commit
suicide
a bit stringy
but marinated
a fine Czech dish.
If I gave you all the soil and sunshine and fertilizer and water you wanted, no matter how long you tried, you could never make a peach.
It takes my peach trees just three months.
On the other hand, only man has made a symphony, or a photograph, or a machine.
U. S. Strategic Blank Page Reserve
Ersatz Herzogy = Fake Dookie
“Stop peeing on me. I am full now.” -D
“‘Outstanding!’ he says, as he straightens his genitals and cuts a celebratory fart.” -B
“I kinda think in a puddle.” -R
“an errand boy sent by Satan’s 3rd floor custodian to collect a triangular granite tablet with strange cuneiform scribblings drooled from the eager lips of an 80-year-old virginal abbott lokated somewhere in the marijuana jungles of Alsace-LORRAINE. He never smiles.” -D
Drool tournament. He honks!
“…with his pants around his ankles. Nothing more terrifying.” -?
“I have a hairy garage.” -M
“It’s black, sweet and cold, just like my men.” -T
Then suddenly, Mandrake’s pouch burst, leaking vital fluid.
Sometimes I worry when I’m in public that everyone will know where I am looking, and conclude that I’m some kind of pervert. But lately it’s been dawning on me: I don’t watch where other people look, so why would they be watching where I look?
Besides, they’re my eyes, and I can point them anywhere I want. (Those close to me probably already know where I am looking.)
“I wonder how much semen you could wipe on a cat before it would be saturated.” -D
“Even if you have an eraser, you can’t un-write something.” -D
“‘Hip tattoos,’ the sign said. And I wondered, what if I want an arm tattoo?” -T
Free-range witches.
“I’ll name my first son Onus, and his sister Anus.” -T
List of possible baby names:
-Onus
-Diazapam
-Eliminator
-Bones
-Eucalyptee
-Phenning
-Sprite
-Elvis
-Vulpecula
-USS Enterprise
-Oops
-Madre de Dios
-Outta My Yahweh
-Legume
-Hummus
-Humus
-Velvet
-Ponch
-Olfactory
-Hairgetta
-Erata
-Bulgary
-Theory
-Don Quixote
-Saki
-Triumvirate
-Troika
-Knife
-Snake
-Like
-Bella Oxmix
-Prole
-Tool of the Plutocracy
-Irimi Nagi
-Delicate Sound of Thunder
-Panty
-Enraptured
-Buick
-Uke
-God David
-Spent
-Sublime
-Consequence
-Orthodoxia
-Tranya
-Answer the Phone, Bitch!
“Oooky oooky oooky, I got lumps in my dookie…” -D
Catholics. It’s all that Host she eats. Christ has got to make your breath smell funny.
“Yummy and seeping, she swirled a gracious eye around to the groom. She weaved a bit, then grabbed his powder-blue tuxedo lapels with both of her raptoresque hands and slammed him down onto the alter. ‘You f*cked my pig, you sister!’ she screamed. The congregation fell, stunned like a river of grain that falls from the silo chute. Strangely, every bit of erectile tissue in the chapel was achingly turgid and purple. Women began to ‘glow’ and men drooled in anticipation of a release, a rebirth, a resurrection, and FINALLY – a cessation of hostilities that meant that meant there would never exist a powder-blue tuxedo with a polyester cummerbund. The band was playing. Jesus was ready for his comeback. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen!” -D
A weakly electric fish osmotically draws the brandy into the ladyfingers.
Balony. Is there nothing it can’t do? It can’t pass for Spam.
What’s the deal with French lesbians?
Big veiny flute. Meat flute. Beet flute.
“Yes, I bathe with my parrot.” -X
Axel
Bretch
Calandron
Dhadhur
Elefing
Fritatue
Gladchen
Heightrecht
Iglander
Jolgrace
Klansmyer
Lorimek
Mysein
Nimrod
Opreshy
Praghlerette
Questlar
Raisog
Stevadore
Thealogue
Uvulekra
Victcen
Woolmartin
Xantpin
Yeelog
Zrofbutt
You can train your rabbit to come just by shaking the treat box.
PooLife. Boning my chicken. Boring my chicken. Boning my pumpkin. Bullfight of the argonauts.
This page left intentionally damp.
Big tater night!
“Go make the thing barf!” -T, re: VCR
27% of Americans still believe the sun revolves around the earth.
53% of Americans don’t know it takes a year for the earth to revolve around the sun.
“The hurricane is nature’s weapon of mass destruction.” -TV Show
“The tornado is truly the Los Angeles class hunter-killer submarine of the air.” -D
“Tornadoes are the psychopaths of nature.” -Other TV show
Unapprised of the situation, Frozen Hippie Man simply walked up to Janine and blew fetid pot smoke in her face.
Look at the future! (Actual future may vary slightly in size and color.)
“I’m not in the mood for a cutie. I want another phallus.” -?
“LICK! —> Wriggle the thinly skinned uni-muscle into the tightly rimmed hole. Now prey! You will find that your own cries of delight are muffled by the ever-tightening annulus of pro-tidal delight.” -D
Quite honestly, if someone for whom you are buying a gift doesn’t know what they want, you don’t need to buy them a gift. The term “gift ideas” really should be “ideas about how to spend money to fuel commerce.” And if holiday gift-giving were up to me, we would give ourselves the gift of prayer and fasting. The gift of quiet. The gift of clarity.
A everyone who reads my lexicon of bloggery knows, Abby and I spend a lot of our recreational time hiking and exploring in the desert southwest, which is home to some very interesting archaeology. The most compelling and intriguing is that of the Chaco Culture National Historical Park in Chaco Canyon, in the lonely high desert of northwest New Mexico.
Every time I go to Chaco, rangers and explorers talk about what the Ancestral Puebloans did here, and why they left. It remains an enduring mystery, possibly because they aren’t looking at it from a practical enough standpoint. At Chaco, there are few burial grounds, and few weapons of any kind found. This indicates that few people actually made Chaco their home. Analysis of excavations, aerial photographs, and other evidence shows a large number of kivas, giant stone pits that are all similar (in the case of the Puebloans, round; the Mogollon to the south built square kivas), as well as a great number of unventilated small rooms with no windows.
Rangers, scientists and printed literature continually refer to these structures as centers of religious ceremonies. But think about human nature. All you need to do to figure out the purpose of these places is look at other cultures throughout history and in modern times, and ask yourself, “What is the largest, most important building in our town?” Is it the church, city hall, or the library? Not by a long shot. It is the mall, Target, Macy’s, Safeway, Kohl’s.
Chaco wasn’t a great church of the ancient people of the southwest. It was their Wal Mart. Why did they leave? They went out of business.
“I don’t know where it is, but there’s a lot of juice in there.” -D, about T
I don’t mean to be nosey, but I was going through your things and…
“Suck until there’s nothing left but a clear, dried-out husk.” -D
“Does my head stink?” -T “Yes, but not a human stink.” -R
It could be worse. You could have to use your tongue as toilet paper.
-Lope the Mule
-Smooch the Donkey
-”Don’t eat dog.”
-Redneck Corner
-Golden Wus
-Hippobottomest
-Git ‘n’ Scram
“You know, Tulsan’s sh*t doesn’t stink.” -W
“Mmmm. Fuzzy pink spot smell like tuna.” -Porn, c. 1980
“I just finished reading Naked Lunch and the jissom is still dripping off of the end of my fork.” -D
“It’s harder to control your cherry-to-crust ratio if it’s not a piece.” -R
Afraid? Most people fear being eaten alive more than anything else,
yet are more likely to die of injuries that occur while being abducted by aliens
from planet ten.
“I keep it in a jar under my bed next to my penis.” -H
“When I eat this cookie, I can’t hear a word anyone is saying.” -?
T is the Stealth Bomber of the fart world.
“No, nobody could mistake R for being uptight, not with that big plopping
dump of a personality he has.” -D
Tofutti Cutie, dangerous booty.
Wine on Zima, butthole reema.
Fritter under the towel, no problem with bowel.
Brocoli on ‘tater, lots of poop later.
Wine on gin, sex with your kin.
Zima on rum, ferrett up the bum.
“Space takes up a lot of room. I’ve found that if you let most of the space out of a piano, you can fit it in your trunk.” -R
“The record is 9 turkey feathers in his ureter.” -T
“I touched one. Don’t lick my finger.” -D
Football lit by smudgepots. Long crazy shadows – demonic abscense of eyes caused by over-arching helmet brow.
Field hockey is very cool lit by Tiki torches.
weary of killing
the slickened axe slips from my grasp
clunk-glunk on the ground
OLD HICKRY did her job well
never even sharpened her
weight head propelled
gory momentum
now, I withdraw from the edge
-M7
I just canceled my “MySpace” account.
I’ve never liked MySpace much, but the MySpace pages I really hate are, not surprisingly, the busiest, tackiest, least mature ones. I’d say that two thirds of the Myspace pages out there fall into that category: dozens or hundreds of cell-phone hold-away party pics of you and your all-look-alike teenage BFFs; barely-understandable pixelated video of giggling people laughing at things that aren’t really funny; profile text that reveals an abysmal absence of fundamental grammar skills like punctuation and capitalization; angry rants that go nowhere or go everywhere and only tell of the childishness of the author; bloated third-party add-on html decorations for your homepage that hopelessly obscure the text and take five minutes to load; et cetera.
I’ve had a Myspace page for several years despite all this. It was a decidedly third-tier priority in my web surfing lexicon. MySpace was my only point of contact with certain people, but if they want to find me, they have just as much Google as I do.
Something tightens inside me when people are discussing issues and pull out the phrase, “I was taught that…”
When you say that, you are admitting to being either a robot, a tape recorder, or a zombie. Claiming that something is right because someone else told you it was right is the way Stalin and Hitler and Pol Pot bred their nations of destruction.
Please think about saying this instead: “After reading and researching, I’ve decided that…”
Too much work? Okay, my bad. You just keep on believing what someone told you to believe.
Contents:
-I’m Not Like Mommy/Daddy
-Hide the Salami
-No One Loves Me
-Me Want It!
-I’m Not Asleep!
-Got Your Soul!
-No Dead Eye
-Vital Statistics
-Death Hath No Sway Over Me
-No!!!
-Where’s the Mirror?
-God Said So
-In Conclusion, Lick Me.
As everyone knows, newspapers are in decline. Fewer people than ever are buying the paper. In some markets, certain newspapers have closed their doors, while others have lightened their loads by trimming staff or changing from home delivery to mail. It is widely held that the reason for this is the widespread availability of news on the internet.
Buyer beware: the news you get from the internet is not necessarily the same as the news you get from a “real” news product. By that I mean, for example, who would you trust to cover a city council meeting; a local news reporter, or some dude with a Twitter account and an iPhone? And don’t even get me started about television “news” coverage.
Newspapers are known as the Fourth Estate for a reason: it is their purpose to be the watch dog and the guard dog of truth. Since they are disappearing, you might soon be on your own.
If you are young and have a band, I have news for you: we do not want to hear you giggle or make fart noises, or arrange samples of giggling and fart noises into a song. You are not a rebel or a genius; you are a four-year-old in the body of a 21-year-old.
You should also be aware that if you had a really cool name for your band, but other members of your band had names they thought were cooler, the compromise name you settled on is lame.
METHUEN, Mass. (AP) — A Massachusetts woman who recently separated from her husband and had her hours cut at work says an image of Jesus Christ she sees on her iron has reassured her that “life is going to be good.”
Mary Jo Coady first noticed the image Sunday when she walked into her daughter’s room.
The brownish residue on the bottom of the iron looks like the face of a man with long hair.
The 44-year-old Coady was raised Catholic. She and her two college-age daughters agree that the image looks like Jesus and is proof that “he’s listening.”
Coady tells The Eagle-Tribune she hopes her story will inspire others during the holidays. She says she plans to keep the iron in a closet and buy a new one.
I believe in time,
matter, and energy,
which make up the whole of the world.
I believe in reason, evidence and the human mind,
the only tools we have;
they are the product of natural forces
in a majestic but impersonal universe,
grander and richer than we can imagine,
a source of endless opportunities for discovery.
I believe in the power of doubt;
I do not seek out reassurances,
but embrace the question,
and strive to challenge my own beliefs.
I accept human mortality.
We have but one life,
brief and full of struggle,
leavened with love and community,
learning and exploration,
beauty and the creation of
new life, new art, and new ideas.
I rejoice in this life that I have,
and in the grandeur of a world that preceded me,
and an earth that will abide without me.
– P.Z. Myers
“For my incontinence, I’ve been using a clothes pin.” -M
“That’s brilliant! Until now I was just using a rubber band!” -R
Wine on Sake
Instant Bukkake
Farmer #1: “Got my dog eatin’ Bil Jac.”
Farmer #2: “That’s nothing. I got my dog eatin’ hay.”
Farmer #1: “My dog won’t eat hay!”
Farmer #2: “Neither would mine for the first couple of months.”
Farmer #3: “That’s nothing. My dog’s dead, and I got him suckin’ my dick!”
When we were kids, we called pooping “grunting.”
Air poop!
Self-diagnosing burrito.
He doesn’t fart much for a guy who’s so full of sh*t.
“It’s hard to love people, man. People suck.” -Hisk Oxsolong (aka “Ah, f*ck, man!”)
“I peel you and you eat me, you lily-white piece of f*cking chicken scratch!” -Jesus H. Christhesgotabigdick
Extruded poop nozzle.
Sign-in sheet for grey gruel stink club and international communist manifesto clambake:
Name: Knee size:
Michael Untisfurry ∞
Sally £
Aparatoose Man π
Ignoramoose Boy knee=mc2
Alcoholics
The Unemployable
Angry Loners
I have to tell you something. This information will change your life forever. Lee Harvey “The Invisible Rabbit” Oswald and that Quaker, Ruth Payne, were watching an Irving Klaw bondage film made with their 8mm Bell & Howell Zoomatic movie camera, when a dump truck went past and honked the horn twice, “Breast! Breast!” It was a signal from the construction company who planned to bury John F. Kennedy’s brain next to Jimmy Hoffa, Jimmy Hoffa’s baby, and a cougar in that lump in the turf at Giant’s Stadium.
Okay, here is a challenge: describe God, and be concrete and specific. (The first one who says, “God is love” is automatically banned for life.) Ready? Go!
“You’re all a bunch of f*cking idiots.” -Jim Morrison
If a blind man is about to die, does he hear his life flash before his ears?
“Hey, Matthew. Wanna go get a beer?”
“Okay, but I have to bone my chicken first.”
-1983
They’d call it a routine retirement of a replicant, but I’d never f*cked a man to death before.
We have a life-sized statue of Norman Mailer made entirely of tallow and grapes.
Rocky Mountain oyster, lock you in cloister.
Cootie crew-cut.
“You know we’ll be the ‘Cletus’ of the f*cking galaxy if we ever make contact. Everybody’ll make fun of us.” -D
-Oliver Closeoff
-Dick Everhard
Always the truck stop in Alabama with you, isn’t it?
“Together we’ll fill the galaxy with gas!” -J
“Watch as Rex Hardpole sprays his dangerously infected semen across the silver screen!”
“We are gathered here to honor meat.”
“He doesn’t want anything. He’s insane.”
“Duck my sick!” -D
“You’re not going to manhandle me, are you?” -M, 1978
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