design for a multi-modal communications mast/car park for the benefit of the Allied Pungeoning Front. The superstructure will feature a civilian configuration of an unguyed aerial transmission tower conjoined with a multi-storey car park.• Proposed location: Barney Scholls Road, Heritageville
• Projected height: 667m
• Projected voltage potential: 120kV
• Proposed parking allotment: 720 vehicles
• Estimated completion: February 2011
Plant foot solidly on brake pedal without slamming it. Press it down firmly until it touches the floor. As you do that, pull over to the centre turning lane. There’s less of a chance of collision there than crossing over the two lanes to reach the hard shoulder.
The van comes to a full stop in the centre lane. Stoddard puffs out his cheeks and exhales sharply.
Time elapsed: eight seconds.
‘After today’s events, does one really need an ego trip?’ Stoddard grills himself.
‘Maybe. But all that has transpired is happenstance. How one deals with it is freewill.’
Complaints? Curses? Bewailment? An ego-soothing appearance on Oprah?
It is to laugh.
(In the spirit of Engrish, apologies for the translation.)
Le salon dans le manoir, d’ordinaire brillant et confortable, les positions a assourdi maintenant et un peu fade. Cinq ou six flânent environ dans les procès et les robes, prévoyant silencieusement le voyage de 3 heures. Les sonneries de téléphone, ponctuant encore les ombres. Venir par le récepteur, l’un peut entendre d’à travers la pièce le Turc qui plaide -- les sanglots hystériques, presque comme un animal. Etre seulement une connaissance récente, elle est doucement dite qu’elle devrait les restes derrière. Le pleurer continue à verser en avant, comme le téléphone est doucement abaissé dans son berceau. Le voyage lui-même est subjugué.« La révélation d’une mort de l'ami toujours décontenance, inutile de dire. Peut-être ils sont morts de circonstances tragiques ; peut-être c’était le simplement vieil âge. Nous avons de la peine brièvement et nous nous déplaçons sur avec les mâchoires moitié-empoignés, rappelant les vies ils ont mené au lieu de la façon qu’ils sont partis ».
Icon upon cardboard
perched on a utility room shelf,
for years you sit there
making an impression
quasi-Dobbsian
a bulldada visage to be
affixed to future communiqués...
...Exemplum gratia:
Johnny Gutts is a man bound by his moral code. He was always a curious sort, never conscious of the spine that was already there. Questioning doctrines, ideologies, meta-memes — what have you. The quintessential Protestant Agnostic, wary of what lies beyond human ken.
“The older one gets, the more one learns... The more one learns, the more one realizes how much they have yet to learn... and the virtue of humility is thus nurtured.” [Aversion to Epistemic Arrogance]A weight hangs — a deistic eye in the sky that looks back, whether proverbially, theologically or even evolutionarily — over one to do The Right Thing. Genetic mandates to preserve the soul, perhaps?
——————
Mr. Gutts had always appreciated the hedonistic aspect of every young lad’s lifestyle, especially while enjoying the salacious favours of one Miss Nichts. But in one instance the young lady reminisced freely about some debauched past deed, one that even the most irreverent and libertine would find cause to blush.
“Well, it doesn’t matter ‘cos I’m an atheist,” was her dismissive quip, cast with a hollow shrug.
The tone of voice, one with peccant glee, came across as throwing one’s palms up, waving away everyone and everything but the self. It gave Johnny pause, as her Faith in No Faith seemed to give her carte blanche for writing off both consequence and conscience.
Johnny Gutts thought long and deep.
“What a shallow life one must have if their raison d’être is predicated on what amounts to be an adolescent excuse...”
The Bacchantes found the pool of Narcissus and inward they gazed... On the opposite bank sit Dionysus, Azathoth, Set and YHWH, quietly humming the melody of “El Mistater.”Perhaps the gods have the last laugh.
*Do not be mistaken in thinking that this is solely a men’s issue. It is equally pathetic when middle-aged women engage in such questionable self-affirming activities as trolling for boytoy, vain implants, and the wearing of mix-n-match animal prints with one-size-fits-all white stretch pants.
‘The Professor’ Jones: “Hey ‘Somber, this friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend just tipped me off to this alumnus guy who pays five bucks an hour to do odd jobs. Seeing as we’re broke-ass university students, we should jump at the chance.”
LordSomber: “Okay.”
Let us posit that a young man’s character can be developed through the crucible of Herculean tasks, most notably the chore of the Augean stables, and tempered with a sense of levity. The more difficult and absurd the task, the more a man must be able to laugh at himself.
The friends are over. They’ve got dope lined up and the booze is pouring. The hot tub beckons with succulent babes ready for hot aktion.You see, pungeonings can happen at any moment. Out of the blue. When you least expect it.
But what is that rumbling in the background...?
“Hark! Jobbernowls and ye gormless, lend me thine ears! Hear out the spumid stultiloquence of the local Scribe of That Which Is Hip. Hent thee upon his bombastry, where he swasiviously divulges all that is Cool. Mandatory irony: Check. Childhood TV references: Check. Faux-Prole fashions: Check. The credenda you need for the gulpins to heed! The nupson and ragabash have not the sense to swallow your suppalpations, for they already walk your talk with thelematic precision. And your pogonophilic womenfolk already swoon o’er your sleathy earthiness, for your watered-down, bletcherous bohemianism they find ludibund if not novel, and quite for the sake of itself...”Okay, okay, Johnny, we hear you. Here, have a relaxant.
A summer night, a huge old brick mill lit from within.The image fades.
The procession enters through imposing double doors. The orchestra members stride two-by-two, male and female, arm-in-arm through the cavernous interior. As they approach the stage they pass a vivisection table in the center of the great room. Its stainless steel gleams in the candlelight. It is nicknamed “The Monkey Table.” There is also a shopping buggy, some chickens and an assortment of candelabras.
The musicians ascend the stairs to a stage shrouded by a massive black curtain. Behind it lay their instruments, and behind it they will remain and play for the duration of the show. The real show is out there on the floor.
“120 trillion kilometres from home.
The concept of the SetUp™ arises out of a global perspective, interfacing people and situational activities within a positive context. It can show you what you can become, while showing you what needs to be accomplished. The SetUp™ can show you how to fit into the whole; it can help you integrate all aspects of consumption intake, and it can help you facilitate a trans-consentive awareness based upon emotive applications of image toning, synergetic flow-control purgatives, and dynamic enhancement.So you’ve been wondering...
What exactly is the SetUp™?
A: I’m glad you asked. The SetUp™ is America’s premier lifestyle product, designed to identify and disseminate excitement patterns throughout its 1500+ offices nationwide, interfacing people and situational activities within a positive context. And you can see how that’s going to help you, right?
Q: Yes, I can. But what makes the SetUp™ different from the rest?
A: In a word, sacrifice. The SetUp’s comprehensive Relinquishment Program maximizes consumption intake through a rotating benefits exchange system: your wages, your car, your house -- even your children. How’s that for a broad church?
Q: It’s very broad. But what if I’m of the opinion, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?’ Know what I mean?
A: We know exactly what you mean. Think of it this way -- you wouldn’t want another man, possibly a foreigner, sleeping with your wife, right?
Q: Certainly not.
A: Okay then, let’s get you set up.
Q: That seems like the most reasonable thing to do. I hope it isn’t difficult to switch over from my existing product.
A: That’s the great thing -- it’s no hassle to get you switched over. It’s already set up!
Q: That gives me peace of mind. But what if I don’t like it once I join?
A: I assure you -- that simply cannot happen.
Q: But what if I don’t like it?
A: We’ll slowly poison you with sweet fragrances. In the meantime, let’s get you set up!
“If it walks like a duck...”
At one time or another in conversation we all rely on proffering little truisms that supposedly illustrate a situation at hand. Such verbiage as “Don’t bite the hand that feeds,” and “Don’t count your chickens...” can often elucidate an unspoken Big Picture.
But all too often we hear the urgent appeals to empty platitudes, most of which are strident injunctions meant to serve the speaker’s ulterior motives.
Basically: The Pig Parent’s impious harangue tailored to convince the listener to adhere to the agenda of his banal Life Script.
As most people with a clue already know, the scarcity of righteousness is artificial, and resorting to pleas with hack, fortune-cookie clichés only spells out too clearly the feeble fundament you lean upon.
No Brain, No Gain!
At first a stately refuge with hedonistic accommodations:
Éncore! Éncore! roared the crowd as the curtains closed.
• Canuck Hook: False appendage prop used by customs agents to scare musicians into relinquishing possible contraband. Fortunately, the sole, remaining roach had already fallen out of Dr. Carter’s wallet, where he swiftly scooped it up and gulped it.
Upon arriving at a Charleston riverfront club to load in, the band spies an ambulance parked on the bridge, lights flashing.
