Snivels and rants! Snivels and rants! Snivels and rants and rants and rants.
8 June 1967
Oy, Gevalt! Such a schmeck they have given us!
Those goyim houseboys, Lyin’ Lyndon Johnson and Dandy Dean Rusk, no great mensches either one, got their tuchases tapped by their Zionist masters on June 8th of 1967, when Israeli “Defense” Forces attacked the USS Liberty as it presumed to sail through international waters, thereby killing thirty-four American Seamen.
They couldn’t just send a nice brisket and matzah instead?
1 June 2021
If you watch the sheeple defending their masters’ orthodoxies for a few decades, you’re apt to notice some patterns emerging. Even when armed with mountains of evidence and unassailable reason, the responses are predictable.
It starts: “You’re crazy! That’s impossible! You’re making that up! You’ll believe anything that Tjump (or I’ll-bomb-ya) says! If I’ll-bomb-ya (or Tjump, or one of his toadies) says it, it can’t possibly be true.”
As the evidence adds up and the façade cracks, it evolves: “Sure, it may be possible, but Dr Nozitol™ says it isn’t. What do you know about it? Are you a doctor (or structural engineer, or economist, or tax collector or other criminal)? Okeh, maybe it’s feasible, but it’s still a stretch, and Dr Nozitol™ still says…”
Once the lie becomes unsustainable, and their masters move on to new crimes, the bleats begin to yield to the yawns: “So what? That’s old news, time to move on. Everybody knows that.”
And finally: “Yeah? So? I knew that all along.”
correspondent BV (not Lee) wonders: what is it that bothers the anti maskers so much about Maskers masking themselves? So much hate toward them from the “We are the REAL HEROES for REFUSING to wear masks” crowd…..
correspondent SW wonders what BV is talking about.
And I wonder… Who are these “anti maskers?”
I may not golf but I’m not anti golfing.
And I generally don’t consider myself to be particularly heroic, either (I joined the Air Force, after all), even if my refusal to endure the vertical waterboarding did cost me my job. Some might consider my present masklessness more foolish than heroic, and as a certified coward (see USAF, above) I’m not about to dispute that, either.
I’m not “bothered” by people wearing masks, though I am often frustrated, as they are denying me potentially useful non-verbal information.
But that’s their prerogative.
Besides, I don’t know their personal histories. They may be as well motivated to mask up as I was in order to meet my preemie baby in the neo-natal ICU, or as I might be in order to protect my frail ol’ Granny.
I certainly don’t object to “them” the way some have objected to me.
11 April 2021
“Universe” is an awkward and unfortunate word in cosmological discourse. The universe is everything.
What we generally think of as “our universe” is a discreet plenum with physical constraints, and the mathematical models that best describe what we know about our plenum suggest that the “greater universe” is filled with many such plena with similar or differing constraints.
24 April 2021
Guest commentarie from correspondent Otmia Unogsy: “You know what’s awkward? Being dubbed an American but loathing everything about its military. I’m civil to militarists, because they’re human and they’re at least 90% or more of Americans, and I’m not the hating kind anyway. I actually like humans and their stellar potential. But evangelical militarism is everywhere in the U.S. It’s a fucking religion. And I’m militarily atheist. It’s AWKWARD to the point I’m not comfortable here. And I have to shut my mouth for fear of who knows what would be done to me if I say how US militarism makes me vomit.”
I don’t fully relate to Otmia’s frustration, but I share it a lot. Still, it sounds like it’s more comfortable being me. Either I’m not as concerned with feeling awkward myself, or I’m less empathetic toward others’ awkwardness, or I get more of a pass from my reformed terrorist status (Strategic Air Command, ca. 1980), allowing me to talk candid shit about the Occupation.
Otmia continues: “I just passed a billboard going into town earlier, that was advocating seductively, targeting youth, to join the marines. Puke. Recruiters in the schools!! They target elementary kids. Principles are former military, they have all the military worshipping regalia in their offices. Half the staff in government schools are former military, and they preach militarism to the kids. It’s sick. Militarism is in half the TV shows. PUKE.”
I still have a hard time disputing it, and I share many of Otmia’s concerns as well, but I think I’m generally less alarmed. A little anyway. Still… the worship of the state, and not just the enforcement branch of that vast criminal enterprise, is just as worrisome, and I would be considerably less alarmed if equal time were given to anarchists and peaceniks as is given to statist orthodoxy. Meanwhile, I thank Otmia for her vigilance and attention to these matters, and hope she finds as comfortable an emotional accommodation to the real world as have I.
Otmia concludes: “OK, I’m [removing] this post. Too many people [at this venue] take offense. Apologies.”
I hope no part of that apology is for me because I not only was never offended in the first place, but I also don’t blame her for ducking the additional heat. The venue in which the comments first appeared is indeed aswarm with blood-soaked leftists who’ll seize immediate offense at any sort of anti-state or a-martial heresy.
Vaya con Carne & Sic Semper Shalom!
15 May 2021
Hereafter, given a choice, I will no longer work for more than the statutory minimum wage, and will take partial payment in CASH, meaning United States Legal Tender® Gold or Silver Coins at face value. Naturally, the proportion of specie to F’eral Reserve® Digits will be negotiable, but the total must never be more than Strictly Minimum™!
Go Strictly Minimum™. Minimum tax liability helps to starve the beast and gun ownership helps to hold it at bay. Transact in silver coins at face value, at currently a 97%(?) discount against F’eral Reserve® Digits (aka ClowNotes™, Sucker Bux™, or United States Legal Tender®). Work for minimum wage and take partial (negotiable) advance payment in U$LT® silver coin at face value. DO NOT redeem specie for F’eral paper with your employer or you are professing a tax liability.
correspondent KE expresses some (familiar and fully justified) doubts about my sincerity and/or my sanity. She’s not always sure, and I don’t blame her because I am a lifelong sarcastic prick.
I am utterly sincere. If tax forms are ever involved again, I will not realize more than the statutory minimum. Fuck the state and fuck its war machine. Far too much of my money has already been used to murder children. The Demoblican Occupation (and their Stockholm Syndrome Cheerleaders) won’t stop until they are completely powerless or until WE are all dead.
The Currency Buds – 211202
(meter stolen from Jimmy Driftwood)
Long about 1865, the French and the Swiss thought trade was jive!
“We ought to adopt a common currency!”
And so, they organized the Latin League.
The Franc was defined in Silver and Gold,
And the Lire and Peseta jumped in the fold!
They had the goods, and they had the cash,
And the market fired up like a birthday bash!
The currency buds thought trade was keen,
That tariffs were lame and taxes were mean.
If you had silver or you had the gelt,
Then exchange rate trauma was a pain not felt!
In ’73 the USA, thought they’d jump in and join the fray!
“If we make our Dime just a little bit light,
It’ll match up with Half a Franc just right!”
So the Western world had the finest of times,
Hustlin’ their goods ‘cross the border lines!
Reliable money worked as slick as you please,
Then it all blew away in the War Storm’s breeze.
The currency buds thought trade was keen,
That tariffs were lame and taxes were mean.
If you had silver or you had the gelt,
Then exchange rate trauma was a pain not felt!
Fiat scrip’s now here to stay, so hide your silver and gold away.
The currency buds thought trade was keen,
That tariffs were lame and taxes were mean.
If you had silver or you had the gelt,
Then exchange rate trauma was a pain not felt!
(That’s good money…)
Sucker Bucks — 140430 (original meter?)
I pulled into the QuikkStopp™, to check my manifest.
The price I saw for gasoline, well it put me to the test.
The sign said, “Bring your silver. We’ll gladly make a deal.”
For just two silver dollars, a full tank and a good hot meal!
A paper “dollar” don’t go too far
When you try to put gasoline in your car.
Groceries, rent, and an MP3, underwear, and an orange tree,
A six-pack, chips, or a pack of smokes,
These sucker bucks are a sad sad joke!
So they call it Quantitative Easin’, but it’s their skids they’re greasin’.
The banksters keep on squeezin’ while the workers take their beatin’!
We’re just tryin’ to make a livin’ but we’re givin’ up on givin’
Our hopes or votes to more rich parasites.
It’s long past time that we adjust our sights!
If you make from silver or you make it from gold,
If you give it some value a man can hold.
If you give it some weight he can feel in his hand,
Then good’s good enough for a workin’ man.
11 May 2021 — with affection and gratitude to REH
Know O Scholar, that after the Works of Gutenberg,
and before the Rise of the Sons of Kindle,
that there was A Page Undreamed Of, printed and illuminated,
when leather bound and cheap paperbacks
vied for the attentions of avid readers.
Hither came Conan, an Autodidact,
with Gigantic References and Gigantic Card Catalogs,
to shush the Rubes who Chatter without respite and to
Softly Tread Between the Stacks in his Wing-tipped Feet.
Reflections on the Roster of Roberts
Everything I’ve read, or seen or heard or felt, has influenced me as a writer, as an actor, and as a human being. That’s probably more or less how it works with most of us. We’re complex, and our mentors are manifold. It hadn’t occurred to me until recently that probably the strongest influences on me as a novelist all happened to be named Robert. Other writers influence me, of course, Lethargy Lad has a great deal of Stan Lee in him, and when I’m waxing political I see myself as Mencken or Griggs, but when it comes to narrative fiction, I find the Roberts to be my steadiest guides. (I flatter myself, of course.) For tone, or voice, I try to channel Heinlein – suspicious, curmudgeonly, and relentlessly optimistic. As well as goopily sentimental at times. For narrative grace, I aim for Howard. Though his vast catalogue of stories leans heavily on mundane or preposterous tropes, I find him to be among the most vividly lyrical of writers overall, holding his own against such luminaries as Shakespeare, Fielding, Poe, or Lewis. Finally, for actual story structure, I think Altman is my man. I try to tell a story mostly from the ground up, using a multitude of perspectives from disparate and distinctive characters, whose arcs ravel together into a broader story that none of them fully knows, and many will never suspect.
“Yeah? Well I’ll see your ‘Pallets-of-Cash’
and raise you ‘January 6th’!”
10 May 2021
It’s easy to tell the difference between liberals and leftists, and between libertarians and conservatives. Just listen to their rhetoric. Leftists are collectivists and conservatives are followers, whereas liberals often believe in free money, but are otherwise mostly okeh. Most conservatives are also collectivists, though they like to think they’re not, and more liberals (and even many “libertarians”) are as well. In fact, conservatives have been conserving leftist gains ever since they lined up behind Woodrow Wilson’s Democrat War to End all Freedom (and you may take your pick whether I mean the actual literal War, or the Income Tax, or the F’eral Reserve™).
“Nine Eleven” seems to have lost a little of its heft,
but “Pallets of Cash” and “January 6th” remain handy rhetorical hammers. Leftists and conservatives are both generally lacking in imagination (Ofuomh, mmup dfvuj “Cantancerie 101” leg rjiveem og’aen, djolargu djogossit quk fx’dupd, “mwmu” iuf DEJ tit wiq, kej) so they quickly run out of actual reasoning. There are other, more substantial differences between the ideologically grounded and the more common variety of faddist activist, but one of the first and most obvious one is their ready use of popular shiboleths like “patriarchy” or “Kumbaya.”
7 May 1993
possibly overheard at The Chinese Person’s, after the show:
“Engineering? Really?”
Yeah, and Physics. College was a blast!
“And you’re working at a hotel.”
Ah-huh.
“Why?”
Safeway demands money for groceries.
“Well, yeah! Of course, but… I mean, with your degrees…”
I tried that. They wouldn’t have me.
“Who did you try?”
NASA, Northrup, Boeing, Grumman…
“Anyone else?”
Oh yeah, lots, but I don’t carry the list with me. Aircraft and rocketry firms all over North America, and lots of local manufactories, too. A few tried me out, but I guess the word got around.
“What word?”
I have no clue, otherwise I’d have tried the counter-spell. But after the temp jobs dried up, every other application came back saying I don’t meet their present needs, but they’ll keep me in mind.
“You ever follow up?”
What do you mean?
“Apply again. See if they change their mind.”
Of course not. They saw my resume. It hasn’t changed significantly. They said they didn’t need me. They said they’ll contact me when that changes. If they meant it, that means they don’t need me, or they’ll contact me later. Why should I pester them after that? That would be rude. And if they didn’t mean it, then that means they’re lying scumbags, and therefore unworthy of me.
*** awkward pause ***
“Maybe they just don’t like assholes.”
That’s probably it. Who wants an intelligent asshole on the job when you can get a team player who knows his Beavers from his Ducks?
update 210507: The Chinaman’s was a small family restaurant featuring predictable cuisine located a little down the coast from the little theatre along Deacon County’s Miracle Miles whose actual name I forget. It was a popular gathering spot for the post rehearsal set and when we were upbraided for the “racist” tone of “The Chinaman’s” many of us conceded to paleolithic (1993) political correctness. I tried to make it a point to refer to it thereafter by its actual commercial name, but decades past, I still can’t dredge that up, and I apparently didn’t write it down.
It has occurred to me, a little late perhaps, that parties unnamed might infer additional offense, even though nowhere do I make reference to middle management martinets, nor coaching broadly. And yet…
26 April 2021
I probably cannot begin to fathom just how lame my cat thinks I am. Tichelle brought a garter snake into the house today. A beautiful specimen it was, maybe about eighteen inches or so. I noticed her hunkered in an odd place, so I walked in on the tableau. She and the snake were faced off; I presume she had captured it outside and brought it in to show it off. They scattered when I blundered in and it hid out under the refrigerator while Tiche kept watch.
I wasn’t about to drag a snake out from under a refrigerator, so I was partially resigned to having to haul it out later to recover a stinking corpse, but nevertheless went about my business and left the cat and reptile to go about theirs. I am fond of both species, generally, so I wouldn’t wish ill on either.
210426 – Feline Antics
Dear Missus Axis: My first impulse, again, was to call you about it. Tichelle brought a garter snake into the house. It is presently hiding out under the refrigerator. I wanted to call you and share the laughs and trauma, and maybe the day’s events, but again, I am stalled by the thought that I’ll say something stupid or honest again and then we’d have to spend some quality time nursing injuries.
And now, about an hour or so later: I want to call you back and tell you I rescued the snake. It and Tiche were facing off in the kitchen when I walked back in. The cat went one way and the snake the other, but I threw my vest over one and chased the other outside. Went back and managed to coax it (was a garter snake, but sizable enough for a painful bite, and I didn’t want to risk overreacting and injuring it further) onto a sheet of cardboard and got it about halfway to the door when it crawled off, but I still managed to herd it to the front (the cat had gone out back.) I praised and apologized to Tichelle already, but I still feel very good about rescuing a fellow vertebrate from possible severe trauma, and tried to inflict as little as possible myself in the doing thereof. Meanwhile, Tichelle continues to glare at me and insists that I feed her outside.
8 August 2015 – “Do you you feel like I do” that in “this ever changing world in which we live in” that Peter Frampton and Paul McCartney may well be the worst lyricists in the history of getting paid for it? Mick Jones comes close.
“Viva Agora,” says I, and “Hear hear!” and “Tell it, brother!” Maybe I’m a little too sensitive to bad lyrics, as they can interfere with my appreciation of otherwise enjoyable tunes. This is why I am most grateful currently to Choice Inns and their advertisers’ recent co-option of the formerly execrable “Shall I Snivel or Shall I Moan?”. A plaintive lament that not only misses the obvious point, and therefore asks the wrong question, but asks it over and over and over. (C’mon Mick, think this one through. If you left there would be trouble. If you stayed it would be double. ARITHMETIC HAS SOLVED YOUR PROBLEM!) I would (and still do) cringe whenever it comes out of public audio. Now, however, when I hear that “Class reunion’s coming fast” while indulging in mindless video, I actually attend and enjoy. So again I say, “Viva Agora!” (and “Please John, help Paul with his lyrics.”)
2 February 2018 — Long time side hustle — delivering groceries and sundries to shut ins and the infirm. Had a bit of a scare last year. Loyal clients, Lena and Percival (Do NOT call him “Percy”) Whitney, reported that Whit had lip cancer, allegedly from his years of “dippin’ chew.” He’s outta the woods now, minus that tumor, parts of his lip and jaw, and four teeth. But otherwise cancer free. Now my quandary: Whit’s renewed his customary order, two logs a week, long cut, straight (“tobacco flavored!”), but Lena’s giving me grief over “enabling him.”
Look, he’s expecting delivery on his front deck tomorrow morning,
so you tell me:
Al-though… His wife… Wants him to quit,
Should I leave Whit chew? …
update 190716: “That’s why I got chew on my my eend!”
5 February 2018
I’ve been struggling to make this song sound right.
But every thing I scrawl is tiresome, weak, and trite.
Perhaps it’s time to quit, and maybe say “Good night.”
Then I’ll revisit this in the morning light.
How many lines do you think I should end with “you?”
Do you think that ten is a bit too few?
Should I check my thesaurus and find a clue?
Or scrap this mess and start anew?
What’s a lad to do, when nothing rhymes with “you?”
It’s a task I rue, ‘cause nothin’ rhymes with “you.”
3 March 2018 — Los Angeles is clearly both a discotecque and a country club.
Furthermore, four out of five happy shiny people are holding other happy shiny people. One of them is holding a happy shiny person holding hands, and that one is holding nothing but hands.
And now that we’ve got that straight, is it the “hippy hippy shake”
or the “hippy shake shake?”
“Adventures in Bad Lyrics” is sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead). For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or Four United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates, c/o Gene Greigh // 401 Rio Concho Drive, #105; San Angelo, Texas; 76903