Wednesday, December 26, 2007

No More Tears: A Clench for Nought


The act of projecting present-day socio-nihilistic observations onto possible future time arcs is a lazy luxury that foregoes constructive solutions in favour of hand-wringing ‘what-ifs’ ... according worry-warts the hollow burden of chasing down phantasms, that, when squeezed, don’t amount to squirt.

Colonel Taylor, you are not there. You are here. You are not then. You are now. Deal.

POSTSCRIPT: Perhaps our protagonist’s negative societal outlook is the result of a deep-seated (deep-seeded?) clash between his ego and superego Gestalt modules. After all, who would name their spaceship the Icarus? Wouldn’t that be like naming your boat the Titanic?

Friday, December 14, 2007

The Spirit of Uncle Auntie

The Hefty bag makeshift shotgun window flaps madly at 95dB as Uncle Auntie smirks from the ceiling of the rusty VW.

The freaky krewe toodles in Leisurely Industrial style along I-10 towards the Vieux Carré.

Arm in arm on Rue Dauphine, sung to the tune of “Nanny Nanny BooBoo,” the mantra is quantised:

“Nous sommes crannie de mamie”

Monday, December 10, 2007

Clever Phrases, Realpolitik and the Spin of a Coin


In their impotent rage, sophomore activists, hoary gender warriors, armchair academics and other political dilettantes froth at the mouth at images of presidents, media bloviators, “The Man,” and other icons in the mould of Emmanuel Goldstein.

One pretense of speaking out against the undue oppression in the West is the mantra, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Sounds heavy, but unfortunately, this “Protest Logic” makes about as much sense as persuasion by puppetry. In effect, it makes one “friends” with barbarians. Is that the intent? Rebellious nihilism? Or maybe some people just don't think their clichés all the way through.

Perhaps they should heed the notable policies of the Mendez Dynasty. Beset by hostile neighbours, an environmental cataclysm and a population badly in need of gene therapy, the House of Mendez practise a unique form of realpolitik. In the words of Ongaro, High Counselor to Mendez XXVI, “We don’t kill our enemies. We get our enemies to kill each other.”
Indeed, an admirable tactic in the psionic arts (much like pungeoning itself), but the greater import is to see this not as just a tactic, but as a broader strategic Weltanschauung. Machiavellian perhaps, but a strategery that is more likely to ensure self-preservation than would street puppetry and sit-downs with terrorists. In the end, the Mendez Dynasty ultimately seeks Godhead while our protesters merely invoke fatuous moral palaver and stale clichés. What could they possibly learn? One’s mantra clashes with the other’s tantra.
So it’s probably a good thing Johnny Protester ignores history, whether past, present or future.
One final caveat must be made: As Keepers of the Divine Bomb, the House of Mendez is essentially practising a de facto programme of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD).
Are we simply seeing both sides of that old cold coin of nihilism?

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Gaijin Condiment: Camouflage Ranch

Of late, diners have been raving about the delicious deals found at Inaka Express, especially the supposedly delectable condiment known as “Yellow Sauce,” said to enhance the culinary experience to no end.
Food critic Johnny Gutts was finally convinced by associates to brave this eatery and all it had to offer, particularly this renowned “Yellow Sauce.”
Mister Gutts was not impressed.
First of all, the name. Calling it “Yellow Sauce” conjures up images of cafeteria sculleries with 200-litre drums of foodstuffs lorded over by heavy-set, middle-aged women with turf issues wielding stainless steel ladles. You’d think they would’ve come up with a more appealing moniker, like “Essence of Dragon’s Breath,” or “Minamoto Mayo,” or even just “Ninja Sauce” (even the kids would dig that one).
Then, there was the flavour. Weak. Like thinned-out Ranch dressing. That’s been sitting around for two days. With Yellow Dye No.5 added.
Johnny Gutts grimaced as he swirled the sauce around in his mouth. The gears began turning in the back of his brain.
“Come to think of it, why didn’t they just call it ‘Ranch?’ Classic City does lie in the ‘Ranch Belt’ — that region of the country where Ranch dressing is a Mandatory Condiment... [one of the original Ten Condiments manifested on stone tablets brought down from Witch Mountain by Uncle Beignet...] But I digress...”
Gutts does have a point though. He offers sage culinary and marketing advice:
“Mister Inaka-san, do yourself and your patrons a favour. Ditch the yellow dye routine and just call a spade a spade. Put this on your menu...”
THIS IS RANCH DRESSING.
WE OFFER COPIOUS AMOUNTS.
DUMP IT ON EVERYTHING.
DIG IN.

Kudos to Mister Gutts for developing a brand repositioning solution that is deferential to the regional demographic.