Laogzed's Podcast

I, Laogzed, god of the troglodytes, have a new podcast. The subject is on wizards. Here is the transcript, as promised on my podcast. The transcript differs a little because I changed some things while Dan and I were in the studio recording:

I hope you enjoy this music. I am trying to increase the production values of my podcast. Dan said that I could put any music on my podcast, and I chose this. Someday I may go into my love for human music. Anyhow, to business.

Today there is nothing so much I need to talk about except about Troglodytes. Humans know so very little about troglodytes. You’ve probably never even seen one. You may even wonder if we even exist. Let’s put that matter to rest—if we didn’t exist, why would you have the word for troglodyte? Ha ha. I have made a joke. Obviously you have words for things that don’t exist, or at most, ambiguities, half-baked notions, and abstractions. Even a bogeyman that lurks here and there. Ha ha. In a previous podcast I discussed the ambiguities of your language by dissecting the uselessness for your term for cannibalism. But cannibalism exists in some form or another. It’s just not a useful term.

Let’s talk about the word “wizard.” Just as “lizards,” wizards are things that do exist. And I’ve noticed that there is a lot of interest in them the human world, just as in the Troglodyte one. This is good that there is awareness on this topic. But many a human I think has a flippant perspective on the matter. Let me present to you a human who has the right perspective on this matter. This is from a television broadcaster, perhaps you know him, his name Bill O’Reilly. Recently he had this to say:

[Insert O'Reilly Clip]

Mr. O’Reilly is right to be suspicious. All wizards should be under suspicion. Who, you are saying to yourself. Who is this Troglodyte? Maybe you don’t like troglodytes. Maybe you think to yourself Are not the troglodytes creatures that should humans should be suspicious of? Well, I am here to tell you that it is not the troglodytes whom humans should be suspicious of. It is wizards. Let me repeat and qualify. You should be suspicious of all wizards. Troglodytes have their own interests, and sometimes interfere in human affairs in ways that are not constructive. This is the dynamics of life, of nature, what have you. As god of the troglodytes, I try my utmost to minimize the impact of natural troglodyte activities. But, and I am talking about contemporary times, the modern age, there is nothing that wizards do that is natural. They are unnatural in the worst, essential sense of the notion of being unnatural.

We are past those days of burning witches at the stake. It is a pity. I feel that we may have entered a period where we need inquisitors to root out the wizards.

Wizards are wild. They may look quite normal. They might look like just an everyday human. Your neighbor. Your co-worker. Your children’s school teacher. But they do not have your best interest at heart. They call what they do art. I appreciate art, but not when it does damage to those things we hold dear. A wizard would tell you they have a long tradition, a noble past. They will give you a name, like “Merlin.” Or the newer, fictitious names, like “Gandalf,” or “Dumbledore,” or, even, “Harry Potter.” To be sure, Merlin was a real wizard, just as there was a real Robin Hood, a real Jesus, a real Odysseus, a real Moses, a real Buddha, and a real Conan of Cimmeria. But, as you know, the stories change with the times. Gandalf and Dumbledore are tropes played on the fame of Merlin, generated to give the impression to normal humans that wizards are friendly old men, who, though secretive, have your best interests in mind. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Because the troglodytes were created by the wizards, it is awkward to comment on the activities of wizards. The troglodytes exist, as a distinct species, because wizards made us in the old times. Most troglodyte experts not believe that the creations of the first troglodytes were wizarding attempts at creating an amphibious, and, therefore, superior humanoid species. It is moot to agonize over the merits and failures of this grand experiment. Troglodytes now exist and have existed for thousands of years. In the old days, some wizards treated us we respect. Others held supreme disdain for us. The end result was that the majority of troglodytes learned to fear wizards, because, with few exceptions wizards considered troglodytes to be “property.” Specifically, all troglodytes were considered to be the property of all wizards, and, as such, were subject to their every whim. I need not go into the atrocities committed on troglodytes in the name of the so-called “wizarding” art. Even an ostensibly friendly wizard might one day decide that his troglodyte quote unquote friend might be the missing element in his latest experiment, and wake up in the morning missing an arm, his vitals, or sensory organs. Wizarding is a dirty, dark business—there’s no getting around it.

But we troglodytes owe our life to them. And this is the painful irony that we must live day in day out. We retreated to the sewers, to the abandoned alleyway, to infinite misty nights, to escape our makers, where we remain to this day. We lost most touch with humanity. And, in the mean time, the wizards all but wiped our species out. As the inquisitors of the old times knew, where there be troglodytes there be wizards. The inquisitors knew nothing of troglodyte hatred for wizards. Only that we were unnatural, like the wizards, and that we were bad for human civilization.

Let it be known, then. Troglodytes only want one thing: We want to live. We live in the dark. We eat rubbish. We eat an occasional human child. I see nothing unnatural with these modest needs of a reclusive species. I hope but do not necessarily think you will agree with me. Hear me out, humans. Troglodytes are strange and foreign to you. But we are proscribed to the margins of your civilization, and we are content to remain there.

Wizards are not content. It is not clear what they want. I am not an expert on that. We know some things about wizards. As a rule, they hate modern technology. They hate your TVs. They hate computers. They hate the internet. I’m sure they hate podcasts. The wizards are in hiding. But, with books like the Harry Potter series, they are resurrecting old, dangerous ideas. They are making the idea of the art of magic palatable. It’s quaint. It’s nostalgia. Yes. Here me, oh humans. It’s poison. This is my warning and my plea. I beg of you, Do as Mr. O’Reilly says! Be suspicious of the wizards! Thank you. You may find a transcript of this podcast on the blog Angry and Sloppy.

UPDATE: Please note, I forgot a scrap of text in this podcast. What I failed to make clear is that Troglodytes are a result of wizard experimentation. Most troglodyte experts believe that the wizards of the old times were attempting to create an amphibious, and therefore, superior humanoid when creating the troglodyte species.

Merry victory Sox fans..

Congratulations to Denver and Boston on a great series. I am a sucker for being lured into the drama of the Sox-Rockies games, but last time the Red Sox were played for the championship I was living in a fishing village in southern Japan. At that time there was no one to share my joy with. I was left to hiking up the tallest mountain in the village where I screamed at the top of my lungs. I had only the mountains and the sea to share my joy with. And now I have the readers of Angry and Sloppy. So today I am no longer angry. But tomorrow I promise to get back in touch with my angry roots. Let's celebrate together....

David Icke versus The Church of Scientology

Now that I've got your attention: SEX!

Only Love...

The Sox are up two games to one. For those of you seeking a break from the madness of Kinski's diary and the confessions of a subterranean cannibal Angry and Sloppy brings you a moment tenderness from the heartland of America. Well, Boston really isn't considered the Heartland of America anymore. Actually, it hasn't been called the heart land since Hawaii was officially named a state.
The Sox are up two games to zero. I am still waiting for my tickets....Isn't Aurora close to Denver? Laogzed, is there an underground tunnel, with a train system, used by your people that can get me to the game. Trolls , and any hidden wonders of the forest, hills or waters, please lead me to your magical rides so I can get to Colorado. All magical creatures, except for Unicorns because they don't exist, please guide me to that mile high city in the mountains. Drunks, please give me your cars and personal Jets, its o.k. if you offer it to me now you won't remember in the morning. Pimps, give me a ring or that souped up Lincon with turbo engines and eighteen foot wings- the one I saw in the latest issue of Wheels and Legs.
Good Luck Sox, Good Luck Rockies. May the best team win. Go Sox

Just a short note: Wizards, homosexual or otherwise

I cannot speak for the Trolls. Dan cannot speak for the Troglodytes. I speak for the Troglodytes. By indescribably excruciating rites, I have become god of the Troglodytes.

Anyhow, I have been watching Human Television, and I decided that the human I like most is Bill O'Reilly. He has taken a stand on wizards, and I have to agree whole-heartedly with his point of view:

O’REILLY: Of any of them. Although those wizards, I’m very very suspicious about what they’re doing in their spare time. So, I think, this is my conclusion, is that J.K. Rowling is a provocateur, did it on purpose, and now is going to let all hell break loose.

The notion that there are "good" wizards is a tragic misnomer. Humans would be wise to scrupulously scrutinize the doings of their wizards, and how they have damaged your civilization. That's all the time I have at the moment. Hopefully I will have time to go more into these issues in my upcoming podcast.

Message from M. Moomin

I would like to inform the world of A&S that unlike our trog allies, many trolls value children for their childiness and not for their tastiness. However, I do not wish to agitate the trogs as I believe we have a very successful working relationship.

Us Finn-Swede trolls are of the socialist variety and I for one am confused by the insults obliquely directed at trolls by our fellow underworldlings as well as this obscussion about baseball that is obfuscating the real issues of class struggle regarding humans, trogs and the immobile. Since when is hitting a ball with a stick and running around in tight trousers of any revelance to the plight of the proletariate? Some clarification from any human or trog sources would be appreciated--provided you cite those sources as appropriate.

We Scandi-Soumi Trolls are, however, always in favor of the glorious Richard Burton. Tight trousers in 'Benedict' seem much more relevant to the awakening of class consciousness as symbols of despotic rulers than baseball players in tight trousers in a stadium teeming with the bourgeoisie who bought out the proletariat through their superior Internet and political connections.

Am I alone in these musings? Unite my angry and sloppy friends! For revolution is on our doorstep and even in our breakfast cereals.

--M. Moomin

I wonder if the jars are still barfing?

Oh! Looks like they are!

Laogzed Podcast Launch

I have decided to venture further into the human internet. Troglodytes have an internet, but it is actually a series of tubes inlaid surreptitiously in the depths of your sewer systems. We post mostly goos and other exudations. Anyhow, you can upload my commentaries onto your mp3 receptacle so you can mull over the intricacies of my, well, my mullings. So, here it is: Mull in Audio format. The Laogzed Podcast has launched! Click your tender fingers on your computer apparatus here to hear my voice!

It's on.

Red Sox versus the Rockies. Don't think any A&Sers will be getting tickets. I'm saving money. But maybe I'll watch it on TV. Either way, I have to say it's pretty cool. I'm not totally immune to sportism. Watching the big names play in our town, like Sparks, Lehem, Mackie, "Big Spork," Khando, and the notorious "Lurid Pete,"--well, it'll be a hoot!

PS., I bet you didn't know Burton lived in Aurora!

GO SOX!!!

Game seven tonight!!! GO SOX....Can my Angry and Sloppy brothers and sisters get World Series tickets?

No more war...

What we really need to know about Iran...

Man Eating Plants and the great game in the sky.

Laogzed scares me. Although I believe that actions of our subterranean friend are a direct result of the creature's instinct I think we must come together as a community that perhaps kittens and vegetables might be better for nutrition than humans. Yes you now eat your own kind but before you were talking about babies...Although we (humans) not are as peaceful and perfect as we make ourselves out be, I don't think we should be served up as dinner. It's unfair to take one's life so early in life. I also believe that some of Laogzed's friends have been pretending to be humans---and passing themselves up as writers. Oh my, what a wicked thing to do...

Here in Boston everyone is getting excited for game six of the playoffs. I agree with the great sage Sarcasmus, we can only hope for a good game. In the end I believe that The Red Sox will play the Rockies and the two teams will unite the great people of Colorado with the people from Massachusetts. If the two teams DO play each other (and they will!!) I foresee a great peace movement occurring sparked by the uniting of these two great States. People will unite and creatures such as Laogzed will learn that it is better to love than eat humans...Our govenment will learn that war is not good and that right wing blogging is a farce....Peace to all Go Sox. May Laogzed find peace in a good meal...

On Cannibalism: Cannibalis Humongous

Laogzed here. I am god of the troglodytes. Sarcasmus, AKA Dan, the host of this blog, has assured me that, everyday, thousands of healthy human readers read this internet site. I have been offered this venue to set the record straight in those matters where humans and troglodytes intersect. I have already blogged three times on issues that are important to me, and I am very happy about this dialogue. Namely, no complaints so far. So let us go onward into these undiscovered geographies of human and troglodyte relations, interests and issues!

I am in bit of a dilemma. I am caught up in a troglodyte scandal that wouldn't normally concern the likes of you. But it occurs to me that in this venue I can mull upon matters openly that I could not in the troglodyte community. So hear me out.

I am one of a very few elite of troglodytes that has managed to make intelligible sense of the human world. Basically, because I have been able to learn English, I have scratched and poked my way to the top of the Troglodyte shit-pile.

Excuse me. I am not as self-assured as I usually am. I'm not on the ball. I'm not in the pocket. (I must exercise my idiomatic English.) I have been flustered as of late. As God of the Troglodytes, I am in charge of promoting troglodyte causes, and ensuring the well-being of troglodytes in general. But lately there has been talk in the troglodyte community about me, not because I have started opining in English. No. Instead, it concerns the ethics of my eating habits, and that is because I have imported human ideas into the troglodyte community. There has been much discourse as of late on this topic.

This topic, Oh Dear Me, the topic of concern is, one, namely, the topic of cannibalism.

(I fell in love with English language at a young age. I love these words. These are beautiful sounds that your lovely human mouths form everyday. Listen to them: Cannibal;Cannibalizing and cannibalized. But I should try to get to the point. And gods should not parenthesize. Everything we utter is important.)

Let's find some common ground. According to the English dictionary, Webster, the definition of a cannibal is "One that eats the flesh of its own kind." Keep this definition in mind. It is so easy to take our definitions for granted. I continue.

No need to go too deeply into my personal life, but I offhandedly remarked that the humans have this idea of cannibals, and cannibalizing. Christ, I had no idea what a can of worms I opened by doing this. Christ, Christ, Christ.

Let me set the scene, as they say. I was eating supper of my family. Arg. Ugh. The ocean that is the English language can be tricky to navigate. I need to be aware of my prepositions. (There are no prepositions in the troglodyte language. ) Let me rephrase: I was eating supper with my family. Dinner is a lovely time; we all sit at the dinner pit--it is quite a democracy--the sound of laughter and gnashing, the smells of dead things and rich sauces. And, anyhow, as God of the troglodytes, the troglodytes always send me gifts in tribute to my superiority, and often these gifts come in form of interesting pickled things. And eating one of the many of things amongst the festival of food, I mentioned to my cousin that what I was doing, was, technically, in human terms, "cannibalistic." By eating the treat offered to me out kindness by one of my subjects, I said to my cousin--let's call him cousin "B"--I was engaging in what humans call "cannibalism." Mind you, this was just idle chit-chat. But, as seems inevitable in hindsight, this idea escaped the inner sanctum of my dinner court. Thusly, tragically, the troglodytes have the human idea of being "cannibal," and "cannibalistic."

Be assured, gentle, tender reader, forever more I shall be more careful about what I learn from human culture! But now they have this alien, human idea. It's outrageous, but there is no denying it. I am a troglodyte, and therefore if I eat a troglodyte, I am a cannibal.

This has caused me some problems. As you say in Human English, a real dilly of a pickle. (That is a very strange idiomatic expression, I think. I don't think I will use it again.) But while we are on the prickly subjects of definitions and pickles, let us look at another definition:

Pickle: Noun: an article of food that has been preserved in brine or in vinegar; specifically : a cucumber that has been so preserved

Let us be exact here: in Human English, a pickle is food that has been preserved in brine or in vinegar, but, SPECIFICALLY, a cucumber. And, coordinately, a cannibal is one that eats the flesh of one's own kind. But what is a cannibal--or cannibalism--in the specific? I think it is very likely if not totally probable that all of this controversy in the troglodyte community about my so-called "cannibalistic practices" can be tempered by creating more accurate definitions. To be certain, this is a squeamish issue for a troglodyte, and so it must be positively disgusting for a human. But, bear with me, I must continue this line of thought to its logical conclusion.

To mollify my sweet troglodytes, who wish to offer gifts to me in honor of my superiority, but in a way that upholds their dignity, I propose both a specific definition for cannibalism, as well as a general definition. Other wise, the troubles will get worse, and I may not be able to contain them by my usual methods.

Here are my suggestions for the Human English Dictionaries: Cannibalism, in the general, yes, is and should be defined as the act of eating one's own kind. But cannibalism in the specific must surely only refer to eating one's own kind as a main meal! So, if you are a human, if you eat the flesh of another human, you are a cannibal in the general. But specific cannibalism is the wanton consumption of another human's flesh for the purposes of sating one's appetite. Quite a difference, wouldn't you say!

And, so the ethics emerge in relief: all cannibalism is wrong. But specific cannibalism is more wrong than general cannibalism, just as a specific pickle is a cucumber pickle, while a general pickle can be anything pickled.

And so, I beseech those in the human community to spread this idea. Dan has told me of the thousands of the moist human eyeballs that graze these words everyday. Let it be known that the god of troglodytes has proclaimed that all cannibalism is wrong.

But I am allowed a cannibalistic snack, because my snack is cannibalistic in the general, not in the specific. And, to be more specific, pickled flesh does not count as a meal in the specific. And this is the aforementioned dilly of the pickle. (I'm not sure I have mastered this idiomatic expression, excuse my abuse of your beautiful language!) Because I, in general, as God of the Troglodytes, eat pickled flesh quite often. In fact, troglodyte flesh is only, strictly, edible in pickled form. And this is where this definition, or, rather, this redefinition, displays its utility. Unpickled troglodyte flesh is akin to the human taste for catfish. Raw catfish are delectable to the average troglodyte (as are raw cats.) But to a human, catfish must be amplified, garnished, or in some way changed in order for them to become edible. I know this because I have watched quite a number of cooking shows on human cable TV. Anywise, only really hungry troglodytes (and there are many) are able to ingest an untreated piece of troglodyte meat.

For most of troglodyte history, cannibalism, in its general sense, has been widely practiced, refined, accepted, appreciated. Really, the pickling of troglodyte flesh has a proud tradition. It is an art. In the troglodyte language, the word for pickling and the word for "green" are the same. In greening the troglodyte flesh, the artisan ripens the great flavors that are buried in the extremely bitter and tough connecting tissues harvested from any troglodyte, be it young or old. (This cherished, age-old tradition would be a good subject for a post in the future.) My previous post was about the magnificent flavors of children, and how this impacts the well-being of my beloved troglodytes. I believe I mentioned that the flavors of sick children paled in comparison to the succulent lushness of healthy children. And I also mentioned that the great troglodyte chefs can surmount these obstacles by principled use of traditional troglodyte food preparation techniques. These time-honored, meticulous procedures are the result of centuries upon centuries of refinements in the practice of "greening" troglodyte meats. Greening is integral to troglodyte tradition and culture. The processes arose out of necessity to make good meals with limited resources. No doubt, there are other culinary traditions, if not eminent cuisines, that were inspired to maximize nutrition, enjoyment and flavor in desperate times.

So, this is what all the ruckus is about. Should we abandon our savory, hallowed heritage because of this unintentionally imported human concept of general cannibalism? It should be obvious that my point of view is that troglodytic traditions should be upheld; we are a distinct species from humans. I believe that the troglodytes have a lot to learn from homo sapiens, but when it comes to a good meal, sometimes we must fall back on our legacies, or traditions. I say, let us embrace the new, but let us not let go of the past. If we latch-on to human trends, just as if humans latch-on to troglodytic trends, we may lose contact of the the accumulated collective insights that our ancestors went to so much trouble to compile. And if there's one thing worse than consuming your brethren, it is consuming your past; the loss of memory is the loss of the Earth. Subterranean or otherwise. Thank you.

So, how about that local sports team?

I guess it should be noted that if the Cleveland "Indians" are beaten by the Boston "Red Sox" then it appears that we will have...what do they call it? There's a name for that thing when the Mets play the Yankees. Some stupid name they have for it, but everyone was getting excited about it when I was living in New York. Anyhow, I don't really care about sports, but I'm always for the local sports team winning. Unless it's the Yankees. I don't like the Yankees. Unless they'd get Bugs Bunny back on their team. I'm happy as long as the Yankees don't win, because I've had bad experiences with Yankees fans.

Anyhow, at the risk of deflating everything that can be deflated, I'm happy if either the Red Sox or the Rockies win. And I'm even happier if the Indians win, because Pere Ubu is from Cleveland.

Neddlenosehanty and The Randi Rhodes Conspiracy

Nobody nose what happened to Randi Rhodes. Was she attacked by a right wing krazy? I'm confused. But neddlenosehanty, as usual, hits the nail on the head:

"What the %$#$ is WRONG with you people?? Are you that SICK in the head that just because you don’t agree with someone’s political views you believe that they deserve to be mugged? Are you on the right that DEMENTED??," a blogger called neddlenosehanty posted on watchingthewatchers.org."

As this article at the New York Daily News informs me, the liberal blogospheric blogogong has been rung off its stand in a frenzy of blogonorrhea over the disapearance of Randi Rhodes. People come to Angry and Sloppy for two reasons (it seems, according to my site meter): one, because they are friends, family members, and (welcome) stalkers of mine who are wondering what I'm up to; or, two, they are Italians looking for the lyrics to She's Always a Woman. (And now I'm reinforcing that coveted traffic with that reference!) Either way, I assume if you're reading this, you aren't as enmeshed, obsessed and in-the-know in/with/about the liblogospheroid scene as myself. So, clearly, as I am a portal-site to that world for a few of the few, let me explain to you some of the basics. Everyone who knows anything about liberals-on-the-net knows that Atrios, Kos, Glenn Greenwald and Smokey Joe are the BIGGUNs. But liberaldittotonianiacazoids, such as myself, go to one source before the LIBLOGEReAL FAB FOUR, the uberfeed on the liberal-megafone known as neddlenosehanty. Therefore NY Daily writers David Hinckley and Tina Moore establish their authority on the buzzings, whirrings, tickings and murmurings of the Progressiblogopolis by rightly citing the burgomeister neddlenosehanty on the cyber-consensus:

"What the %$#$ is WRONG with you people?? Are you that SICK in the head that just because you don’t agree with someone’s political views you believe that they deserve to be mugged? Are you on the right that DEMENTED??," a blogger called neddlenosehanty posted on watchingthewatchers.org."

I stopped watching the nightly news because of neddlenosehanty. He doesn't have the nose of Atrios, the style of Billmon, the sheer doggedness of Digby, but he (or she) has that name. For me, the name of the blogger is the most important thing. And, although this is embarrassing for me to admit I fear its true for most of us leftleaning blogodicts, usually when I'm reading neddlenosehanty's blog (called neddlenosehanty's blog) I skim over the post and settle my eyeballs on that name: neddlenosehanty. That's the wonder of this medium. Never in a million years would that name mean anything to me if I encountered it in print. But in blog form, this misty, ethereal city of lost time, the name neddlenosehanty has become my center. My anchor. My replacement God. Yay!

Hmmmmm. Hair dye?

Hair dye?


h/t Irwin.

Jar Barf

Jar Barf.

The deadly truth of Awareness Weeks

October 22nd marks the beginning of Islamofascism Awareness Week. Here's John McCain on the issue.

According to Front Page Magazine, in a nutshell, here's what Islamo-fascist Awareness week is all about:

The purpose of Islamo-Fascism Awareness Week is as simple as it is critical: to confront the two Big Lies of the political left: that George Bush created the "war on terror" and that global warming is a greater danger to Americans than global jihad and Islamic supremacism.

We here at Angry and Sloppy find it quite interesting that this awareness week coincides on the week AFTER Clock-brain awareness week--just two weeks before Halloween! Also note that like Clockbrain, Islamo-fascism is ambiguous in its hyphenation/compound word/or two separate words state of existence. If that's the nature of language, or the nature of new deadly threats--i'm not sure. Simple and critical, sure. But what's more simple and critical: the threat of a religiousio-totalitarianistic ideal (namely Islamo-Fascism), or a tenacious and wide-spread affliction (namely, Clock-brain)--and, more simply and critically, which is more imminently threatening, Global Warming or Jihadism, or Global Warming or Mass-Global Clock-braining? It's a conundrum of a pickle--and it deserves awareness weeks, no doubt. Both come at the same time Global Warming is cancering the newpapers after New Order Priest Gore won the Noble Peace Prize. Awareness is at an all time premium! And Salman Rushdie's ex-wife ain't helping us!

(Super sexy Rushdie-ex image taken from here.)


But, and this is my point, Clockbrain advocacy is at an all time low. There is no funding for it. So, if you are reading this, remind your friends: Yes, the terrorists want to kill us, but their killing us will do no good if we've got clocks in our brains.

Clock-Brain Awareness Week

Starts with these: Please click on these images, print them, enlarge them, hang them up on signposts, stuff them under doors, stick them under windshield wipers, make t-shirts, placards--do whatever you can to get the message out there!















My strategy is that people will see these images everywhere, and they'll ask themselves, "what is clock brain?" And this will lead them to search out information, asking their friends, family and coworkers, "Hey, have you heard of clock-brain?" And this in turn will spur further investigations...until--that's right!--they discover all the obscured, mysterious information about this grave affliction. This is the first step. Knowledge of CLOCKBRAIN will lead us to mass-awareness, public outcry, and maybe recognition from the mainstream. But enough talk. It is time for action! The scourge of clockbrain has only just begun. But I'm an idealist and believe we can excise this baby in the womb. Let's go out there with our own voices and say to the world, full throttle, "NO MORE! NO MORE CLOCKBRAIN FOR ME THANK YOU!!!!"

lolkinski!!!

Zombie Activism

I think this is great. Oh, the possibilities. Somebody should organize a zombie march against alive people pretending to be zombies. Nothing I hate more than pretended zombism. Is there an official zombie day? I guess so. At least in San Francisco. I guess what I'm looking for is pretending to be zombie zombie day. Because I wouldn't want to make the wrong impression. On the other hand, I don't think I'd rather dress up as anything other than a Zombie for Halloween. Is that lazy? Am I a Halloween zombie by wanting to be a zombie for Halloween? It just gets so confusing. Especially with an irregular sleep schedule. At least I know that I'm not a zombie because I have a circadian rhythm. But it gets confusing. The only way you can kill a Romero Zombie is by destroying their brain--zombies are supposed to be mindless killers! This just compounds the irony. I was talking about the Zombie paradigm being subverted by Jessica Valenti--and I think Zombies are such a powerful über-metaphor that it subverts itself inside and out before we make heads or tails of it. 100 doctoral theses. 100 zombie theses you can't stop unless you shoot them in the brain.

A Youttube Tattoo

Would be the worst. But until then, we have REALLY BAD TATTOOS. I really don't understand the tattoo phenomenon. But what's to understand about anything? If you're Yakuza, that's one thing. Or a sailor, or a pirate, or a murderer, or a gangster, or a white supremacist, I guess you're entitled. Anyhow, I seriously recommend this series of really bad tattoos. It's not like you're laughing at somebody falling off their bike or anything. This is awfulness that made the world momentarily more mirthful for myself.

Sick versus Healthy Children: The Flavors of Life

Laogzed here. There's been a lot of talk lately in the subterranean world about children, specifically, human children. Now, I am a god, but I'm god of the troglodytes. And I have the interest of the trogs first and first-most. So, although, many in the community think that expansion of the healthcare program won't make a difference--and we should just keep our heads down while the humans fight it out--I think that we should encourage our human friends to expand their social "safety net"--if just a little bit. So that's why I'm posting. I want the internet to hear a voice of concern from the leader of a subterranean minority.

Sick children do not a complete meal make. Troglodytes need protein, lots of it, in fact. So, please, American Humans, if not for your own children, think of the poor (and, like me, rich) troglos that live in your sewer and drainage systems--most we get are the refuse of your refuse. We meticulously suck out the remnants from your plastic microwave dinner trays. We eagerly squeeze the blood out of emptied styrofoam meat packaging onto our tongues. We lustily lick out the husks of insects killed in your vermin wars. We ravenously battle over weakened old women left on gurneys of the abandoned hallways in your public hospitals. It is social Darwinism at its grimiest and grimmest. You can't imagine how tough it is out there for the troglos. I'm desperately urging the humans to expand coverage to include not just those humans wallowing in abject poverty. But I must be straight with you humans.


It's a simple fact: Sick children are not as tasty as healthy children. I'm not being flippant. Troglodytes studies have indicated that overall quality of life is directly proportional to the quality of food consumed. Healthy children have a robust, hearty flavor that even the greatest of the Troglodyte chefs can't make up for in a sick child. It is true that the best flavored children can be found in the country-side. (The so-called free range children.) But only the richest of the troglodytes (like myself) can afford to go on field-trips to trap, hunt, dress, and consume these children. (And it is a half-myth, anywise. The country children are exposed to acrid pesticides and animal waste that taint their "freshness.")

I must impress upon you: for a troglodyte, Flavor equals Life. Consider the tongue of the troglodyte. It is, on average, 10 to 30 times as large as a human's. We don't smell, we don't taste, we LIVE through our tongues. It is the most important sensory organ for the troglodyte by far. We live in the dark like bats, but we don't have radar. We live in the dark like rats, but we are solitary creatures--we are unable to rely on a buzzing community for constant communication. We must survive through our tongues. If danger is near, our tongue tells us so. If food is near, our tongue tells us so. We have no sinus system. Our nasal passage leads straight into the cavity of our mouth. Just take a moment to imagine that! So, imagine you're eating a nice piece of mango. Okay, now take three mangos. Cut them up in big chunks. Take one handful, stuff it in your mouth, and have your friends stuff a handful each up your nostrils. That's what it's like being a troglodyte encountering a mango. The experience overwhelms all the other senses. You can only taste it. And it is directly connected to the nervous system. That is, our survival system. Thusly, if we encounter good flavors, we are happy. If we get bad flavors, we get sad and grumpy. And the grumpier we get, the more vicious and desperate we get.

And you don't want us getting too grumpy.

This is where you come in. Once in a while a troglodyte needs some happiness. In this respect, troglodytes and humans are very similar, because that happiness comes in the embodiment of a vivacious, springy, bright and bubbly little boy or girl. The joy of a child can easily become the joy of a troglodyte. We feel a child's joy through the rich flavors of its happy blood, taut but gentle fibres of its sinew, sweet and chewy bones, pulsing organs like ripe, vibrant passion fruits--the happiness of children is cracked, smashed and absorbed against the majestic tongue of a troglodyte, and gives us a reason for living anew. It is not a drug. It is life. We can live for years--even decades--on the memories of a good meal. In those desperate days in cold alleyways, licking the smudge off of pennies, gnawing on the meagre bones of discarded carcasses, gnashing away uselessly, endlessly on the refuse of your refuse, we remember a meal from the past, and the flavors return to us. Sometimes in a surging, orgiastic flashback of synesthesia. Like humans, we live life--but we live life for flavor!

And it is a sad fact of life that a sick child does not have good flavor. And if we go to the excruciating trouble of going into the human community and procuring a child and we bring it back to our troglodyte hovel only to find our treat spiritless and sad-flavored--well, suffice it to say that it is a supreme let-down. This has tragic consequences for the troglo-human ecosystem. A depressed troglodyte is an unpredictable troglodyte. Maybe you don't like us, you are saying to yourself. Maybe you want the troglodytes to be unhappy. Good, you are saying to yourself, let the disgusting troglodytes be dispirited. I hope they all kill themselves. Well, let me tell you, one who would think such a thing: A depressed troglodyte will usually transmute his depression into malice for humans. This dispirited troggie may go once again into the human community, but not be so careful in these subsequent trips, and he may go again and again until he finds a human child that has flavor. And the adult humans may start noticing. These disgruntled troggs are just as cunning as the happy ones, but are more malicious, and may cause unnecessary complications. For example, they may spread diseases, break things, defecate, scare or eat pets, scratch you or do other things to you while you sleep--these sorts of things I generally frown upon as god of the Troglodytes. We are monsters, but we are not animals.

Anyhow, I have gone on enough about this thing. There are worse things in life. The troglodytes will manage somehow even if the human children aren't prime. This used to be a great place to live. But we can always move--we've moved before. Maybe Canada. (If only it wasn't so cold and had more vermiform larvae.)

The age of the Reptoids is near, Sox update

The Alien Black Market (ABM) has contacted me about new information about subterranean creatures living under the Earth. These creatures are very real and lurking beneath our grounds, as well as working with the government....are these the same creatures that were working with reseachers in the underground labs at Montauk? At the underground airforce base where time travel experiments were being made? Where children were kept in cages so that mind control experiments could be tested on them?

Are you ready for the reptoid invasion?

Manny is not a reptiod..the other is just a good singer...But this Manny is just the hero for the day...

Note: At the end of the Montauk page check out that although the main stream thinks it is fictional underground labs were found as well as sealed doors at the second site.....And what about their "time portal"...In a documentary which I must recover two scientists who worked on the project detail their work with the portal..the Tesla machine that helped create it and the infamous "Philadelphia Experiment" that moved a battle ship in time....Details of the interview , with photos of the ment and women, are on the site towards the bottom....It's scary stuff...

My Nephew and his eccentric twin

Ballin'

Fenway- game one.


It's playoff time. And though you would expect that out of 37,000 giddy people cheering on the Red Sox you would expect that, perhaps, there is a chance that .02 % in attendance may be alien visitors. But I had no time to investigate who was real or not. Game one, Beckett vs. Lackey. What a well pitched game- the excitement, the mile long lines for the bathrooms, the renovated Park dedicate to the rich and suburban, singing of Neil Diamond during the 7th inning---WHY, I had to ask. How can the Red Sox condone Sweet Caroline every every game. The last game I went to (Buchold's no-hitter, no-less) the same song was played. I was told this is a new tradition. Or at least an event attempting to become a tradition. But during this age of blissful censorship and the rape of evolutionary theories I can't help but find the song a bit odd .....
But now I look at the night


And it don't seem so lonely


We fill it up with only two


And when I hurt


Hurtin' runs off my shoulders


How can I hurt when I'm with you



Warm, touchin' warm


Reachin' out


Touchin' me


Touchin' you





Is that poetry? It stings like a plauge when I sing it. The horrible slang, the rhyms for rhymes sake and the Warm touching warm....reads like a frat boy love poem.... Is it better than Bob Dylan. Is this why it chosen.....? WWDW? (what would Dobyans Write?)



Anyways, despite my standing room tickets I witnessed a well pitched "gem". Two home runs and a slice of pizza hut. GO SOX!!! And good luck Rockies, too!!

Tonight Matsuzaka pitches...GAMBATTE!!!

Subverting the Patriarchal Zombie Paradigm: Pandagon on Zombie Feminism

Great post on Pandagon by Amanda Marcotte about a new book coming:

Anyway, my point is that my respect for Faludi’s judgment was strengthened by Stiffed, and this review by Rebecca Traister of her new book The Terror Dream makes me really excited to read it. The book is about how the country responded to the horror of 9/11 in no small part by lashing out at women and telling itself untenable fairy stories about masculine bravery and courage. The urge to be skeptical immediately strikes—it’s so silly to involve feminist analysis in stories of war and terror!—but now that conservatives who found solace in their masculine dominance fantasies are watching their ideas of how to handle terrorism crumble before them...

Then she goes on about how rightwing bloggers are attacking Glenn Greenwald by making "subtle" insinuations about his masculinity via his sexual orientation.

There is a great quote of Jessica Valenti's: “If feminism is already dead–why try so hard to kill it?” And that's why I decided to post about this. I have a great interest in zombies after seeing the original Romero Dawn of the Dead. The zombie is such an enduring trope--it means many things to many people. For me, I just revel in its metaphor, in the Gurdjieffian sense of not being able to "wake up". But now I see that "waking up" isn't about waking up in this sense. It's about the ostensibly "walking dead" as the actual living. Zombie taken at superficial level are about mindlessness, especially mindless killing and in Dawn of the Dead, mindless consumerism, conformity, pop culture, surburbia and advanced stage capitalism. But Zombie's are the walking dead; and the walking dead is a tired view of the world. Just look at Thomas "Rasputin Wormtongue" Friedman:

Look at our infrastructure. It’s not just the bridge that fell in my hometown, Minneapolis. Fly from Zurich’s ultramodern airport to La Guardia’s dump. It is like flying from the Jetsons to the Flintstones. I still can’t get uninterrupted cellphone service between my home in Bethesda and my office in D.C. But I recently bought a pocket cellphone at the Beijing airport and immediately called my wife in Bethesda — crystal clear.

This is from an article entitled 9/11 is over. As in, for Zombie Friedman, 9/11 is dead. The sub-geniuses at Sadly, No! brought my attention to this article with a post entitled "We are the dead," Now, this is just some runny rumination dripping out of dead dogs eye (mine, not thine), but it seems to me that the Zombie movie (not the Zombie metaphor) is about the LIFE that the zombie leads. They are the celebrants. They are the ones in the streets, clamoring, going out and fetching what they want. We are hiding in our houses waiting for a zombie attack. We are the dead waiting for life to throttle us and eat our already emptied minds out.

And then back to feminism. Those who wish to marginalize feminism would no doubt, if they haven't already, equate feminism to zombism--as in those "mindless, Gloria Steinemites, manbrain-bashers." The feminist zombies chant, chillingly, "Brains...brains...women have brains...." And Marcotte connects zombism with feminism, I believe mostly ironically, in the aforementioned post: she imagines masculinist "Feminism won't die! Why won't you die!" But I postulate that the irony dissipates if the zombie-paradigm is reinterpreted, put on its head, and seen at its deepest level: We envy the undead, for we are merely the dead.

I've been converted: UPDATED!

To the alien cult of Charles Pride. I've long been a fan of classic country (for at least 2 years) and there are few artists on par with Mr. Pride; therefore I find it just a small step from casual admiration to unqualified devotion. Mr. Pride: I welcome you as my savior. All my prayers go to only you and the comets. The lyrics of your music are neither merely words no things to sing, but tell the story of our universe. Next, I will download your entire discography and buy an iPod to listen to it. I already have an iPod, but it is a secular one. The Sacred and the Profane shall not mix on my wires!






UPDATE!





UPDATE!















UPDATED!!!!





Christ it all makes sense!


LAST UPDATE I PROMISE!!!








It all makes sense now.


UPDATE!!!!

EVERYTHING IS ILLUMINATED!
It all makes sense now.


UPDATE!!!!









I UNDERSTAND I UNDERSTAND I UNDERSTAND!!! LEAD US ON, PROUD CHARLEY!!!!

Art Show in Denver at the Kazzaz Art Gallery

The photographer known as A. Marshall Jackson is debuting this Saturday, 6:00pm, October 6th at the Kazzaz art gallery.

For directions, click here:
350 South Garfield
Denver, CO 80209 US

Or telephone the artist: 303-817-5288

Full disclosure: The photographer is my brother (AKA Zentrout). Well, I don't know if that's a full disclosure. That doesn't tell you everything about everything. But at least it's a partial disclosure. I'll leave the full disclosure for my memoirs.

Dannyboy + ultimate Iron Chef Panel

Via The Muppets:

Bob Dylan Sells-out Again!

At least I hope he runs out labor-unfriendly Cracker Barrel.

The Mystery Clouds...

Are they UFO's??