MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA’S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 234
APRIL 2018
Copyright 2018 Francis DiMenno
dimenno@gmail.com
http://www.dimenno.wordpress.com
1. NOIR MISFORTUNE COOKIES
SECOND SERIES
351. Work at the Bureau of Alcohol. Tobacco & Firearms–you are a certified expert.
352. You might as well make the morgue your permanent forwarding address.
353. Swindler, you have passed some bad checks to some bad Russians.
354. Those Sicilians you insulted are quite fluent in English.
355. Your lottery winnings will all go to your loan shark.
356. You wanted to be a big shot. Instead, you are a big shit.
357. You will mistake your new cellmate’s lust for kindness.
358. Your fidgety sniffling makes the narks suspicious.
359. Junk sick under hot lights: They got you where they want you.
360. Everybody knows you’re a mad dog who belongs in the death house.
361. That pissed-on shit-blotter? The whole bar knows it was you.
362. It sucks to be you. Soon you will be completely sucked in.
363. You lost your job, wife, house, & car & your dog bit a lawyer.
364. You will be gravely injured while fighting over a discarded cigar butt.
365. You have been exposed to a hidden radioactive device and will never have children.
366. Every clown you see is laughing–at you.
367. Lonely one, your only role models were the Three Stooges.
368. Mobsters shun you–they know you as ‘The Joy Killer’.
369. Overnight your wife went from seductive sex kitten to sad cat lady.
370. You will try to save face. They will blow your head off.
371. Your wife will return from her trip a broken blossom.
372. Vietnam broke your spirit & you were never even there.
373. In a brave new world you are Yesterday’s Man.
374. You’ve had too many good times. Now the heartache begins.
375. Run all you want, craven one. They will inevitably find you.
376. You have tamed the big cats but will die from a dog bite.
377. You will pay twenty dollars for one gram of talcum powder.
378. There is no cure for your disease–terminal stupidity.
379. You will sell your birthright for a can of Hormel Beef Chili.
380. You will be forced to kiss the stumps of your amputee cellmate.
381. Your workplace is like one big family–the Manson Family.
382. “Previous experience: Doping Race Horses” does not look good on a resume.
383. Fixer, there is one thing you can’t fix: Your mother’s broken heart.
384. Fatty, your beer-and-meth slimming regimen is medically unsound.
385. Prankster, one day you will give a loaded cigar to the Boss of Bosses.
386. You will inadvertently insult the national flag of fierce Columbia.
387. Manic one, your caffeinated antics give coffee a bad name.
388. You will pass from dream to dream, and each will be a nightmare.
389. Every little breeze seems to whisper ‘Louise’–and it will never stop.
390. The court testimony of a gray parrot will send you to death row.
391. Sleep? Sleep will never come until you confess, guilty one.
392. No belief in a higher power will save you, inebriated one.
393. A man who cries while making love will never be a boss pimp.
394. You have wasted your whole life selling broken toys to sick monkeys.
395. Get along, little dogie–you know that death will be your new home.
396. Every time it rains while the sun shines a policeman is fucking your wife.
397. If you had half a mind to you would have half a mind.
398. Your wife loves clowns–maybe just a little bit too much.
399. Deceitful pawnbrokers will buy your swag for pennies on the dollar.
400. She treated you like a dog. Because you are a dog. Woof woof.
2. SARACEN WRAP VS. THE ALIENS: A TRANSCRIPT
[First Urgent Announcer voice over:] The Saturnians are coming!
The Saturnians are coming!!
The Saturnians are HERE!!
[Picture of what looks to be a melted plastic army soldier.]
And they are wreaking havoc on this planet!
[Photograph: A stock picture of Hiroshima.]
Do you doubt…their POWER?
[Close up of picture of Hiroshima.]
All this destruction was caused by ONE Saturnian!
[Close up of melted plastic army soldier.]
Think…of what a million could do!
[Kaleidoscope view of four melted plastic army soldiers.]
And…they are on their way!
[Enormous picture of Saturn.]
Scientists are working day and night!
[Stock footage of white-coated scientists in a lab.]
But the Saturnians have no weaknesses! Or so we thought!
But our brilliant scientists [Close-up of white-coated scientists] after long nights of feverish research [close-up of microscope] have discovered the one thing that can stop the Saturnians!
[Picture of melted army soldier toppling over.]
That miracle of modern technology!
[Picture of a box of Saracen Wrap™.]
Saracen Wrap™!
Cheap imitations fail to do the job!
[Pictures of boxes labeled ‘Brand X’, ‘Brand Y’, and ‘Brand Z’.]
With Saracen Wrap™!—ask for it by name!—even a boy of fourteen can take down an armed and deadly Saturnian soldier!
[ A greenish glow forms around the box of Saracen Wrap™.]
So you must buy TEN boxes! Today! For we must ensure that every man, woman and child in the land has ready access to life-saving Saracen Wrap™!
[Querulous Elderly Woman:] ”But what will we do with all the leftover Saracen Wrap™ once we’ve defeated the Saturnians?”
[Announcer:] Never fear, Granny! Saracen Wrap™ is both eco-friendly—AND non-biodegradable! In fact, it is virtually indestructible! It will last on your shelf and retain its usefulness for twenty years or more! Plus, it has 1,001 uses around the home. [Sotto voce:] Due to unprecedented demand, scientists in our hygienic laboratories have been turning out Saracen Wrap™ night and day!
[Picture of steel mill with black smoke pouring out of multiple smokestacks.]
And yet, because the makers of Saracen Wrap™ are conscious of the great benefit their product provides for the preservation, not only of leftovers, but for mankind itself, it’s being made available FOR THE SAME LOW PRICE AS BEFORE! But hurry—grocers, druggists, and street peddlars may raise their prices AT ANY TIME!!!
[Second Urgent Announcer voice over] NEWS FLASH! SINCE the advent of the evil Saturnians, sales of Saracen Wrap™ have skyrocketed! The company stock has risen an unprecedented five-thousand per cent!
[Stock footage of an old-fashioned stock market ticker spilling ticker tape in an endless spool onto the floor of a brokerage.]
Wall Street is experiencing a panic like no other in its history!
[Stock footage of businessmen in suits leaping from the ledges of tall buildings.]
[Teletype noise.]
[First urgent Announcer Voice:] NEWS FLASH! Here’s how to stop a marauding Saturnian—straight from the mouth of our latest little boy hero, young Billy Wilson, age 12!
Billy Wilson [a freckle-faced red-haired lad wearing a baseball cap, and a baseball mitt on his right hand, who speaks in a piping treble voice]: Hi, my name is Billy Wilson and I am twelve years old. I don’t pay much attention in science class–I’d rather be playing baseball, I guess. [He scuffs his feet and looks at the ground. then looks up.] But when that bad Saturnian landed in our back yard–well, I’m just a kid, but I knew just what to do, from watching the announcements on the TV. “Mammy!” I said. “There’s a Saturnian in our back yard! I need a roll of Saracen Wrap™!”
Billy’s Mom [Mrs. Wilson is a plump, matronly lady in her early 40s who is wearing a flowered cress and a white feeling apron. He light brown hair is pulled back in a bun. She is holding a steaming apple pie]: At first I thought Billy was just fooling around. You know these youngsters, and their wild imaginations! Besides, once it cooled, I needed mySaracen Wrap™ to put up this apple pie. Did you know that Saracen Wrap™ has 1,001 uses around the house? Anyway, young Billy was so insistent that I let him have his way, and I gave him the Saracen Wrap™ so he could play at whatever childish game he had in mind. And oh me oh my–am I ever glad I did! My husband Mr. Wilson–Jim–he wasn’t home from work yet–he’s the foreman of a factory–so Billy–he’s the man of the house when Jim’s away–why, he took that whole roll of Saracen Wrap™ and wound it around the face of the Saturnian, and the awful thing just choked to death. Just turned coal-black and curdled up, like.
Jim Wilson [A prosperous-looking man of about 50 with black hair which is gray around the temples, and a preoccupied and serious air. He wears a blue suit; espensive, highly polished brown wing-tip shoes, a navy blue Fedora hat, a starched white shirt, and a navy-blue necktie}: Well, I guess I don’t say it often enough, but–why, I’m just as proud of that youngster of mine as I can be! I’ve always drummed it into his head that it was his duty to protect his mother and his baby sister–and I guess the lesson took! At the factory, I’m the foreman–worked my way up from the factory floor to get to where I am today–and I don’t know much about physics or astronomy or any of those new-fangled theories that the double-domes are always peddling–but one thing I DO know about is mechanical engineering, from when I slogged through four tormented years in the stinking mud of the Solomons during my hitch in the United States Navy. God Bless General MacArthur! And I’ll tell you my theory about what happened. See, that Saracen Wrap™ forms a vacuum-tight seal that keeps food fresh, and also seals off the breathing apparatus of your average Saturnian, and it’s a seal so strong that it can’t be broken by conventional means. Now, the Saturnians can breathe our air. That’s what makes them so dangerous. But if there is too little moisture, then they just dry right up. They just shrivel, y’know? Like cracklin’s in a cast-iron skillet. Like a dead housefly on a sunny windowsill. Like pouring salt on a snail. Like a leaf in the breath of an oven. Like belated daisies, before a north wind. . Like a Normandy pippin. Like a rose without light. Like a plucked flower ready to be flung on some rotting heap of rubbish. Ya get the picture? Billy knew, from watching the programs on the television box, that this is exactly what would happen. Now, I’ll admit, Billy’s a bit big for his age. But I never saw a twelve-year-old with greater courage–taking on a Saturnian like that. Well, Sir–I’m just as pleased as punch about my Billy—and the Missus, too! Why, if it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t of had plenty of Saracen Wrap™ to hand, just when we needed it the most!
Billy’s Mom: Oh Honey, you’re just saying that. [They kiss. Billy beams.]
[Teletype noise.]
[Second Urgent Announcer Voice]: NEWS FLASH! Saracen Wrap™ is now being shipped in unprecedented amounts to our brave allies in Europe and England! [Stock footage of cargo ships steaming across the Atlantic.] Saracen Wrap™ is being shipped as well to faraway Australia, and to Canada, our friendly neighbor to the north! [Stock footage of truck convoys speeding along a highway.] Our peace-loving marines have reluctantly been sent to lands where cheap imitations of Saracen Wrap™ have been allowed to flourish. [Picture of a world map, highlighting in red Mexico, South America, Russia, the Middle East, and Asia.]
[Music up.]
We fondly hope that once cheap imitations of Saracen Wrap™ have been eradicated from the face of the earth, the world can live—AS ONE!
[Music up, and crescendo.]
[Black Screen.]
[Third Urgent Announcer voice over]: This message has been brought to you by the makers of Saracen Wrap™ . Try our latest scientific product—Post-Atomic Toasties! They crackle in your bowl—they crackle in your tummy—they crackle when you and the family sit down in front of the Geiger Counter! In every box—a free Ring of Saturn!
3. HORROR MOVIES FOR DOGS
Lightning Never Bites Twice In the Same Place
The Thing in the Garbage Disposal
The Day the Treats Stood Still.
The Man With the Rolled-Up Newspaper
Attack of the Six-foot Pom
Thunder and Lightning
I Am A Fugitive from a Municipal Dog Pound
Old Yeller Returns
Dawg Day Afternoon
The Dogs Must Be Crazy
Heel!
The Vacuum Cleaner Monster. –rms
The Invasion Of The Tennis Ball Snatchers –mr. shh
Final Defecation –mr. shh
The Lords Of Peopletown –mr. shh
Training Day –mr. shh
Night of the Living Vet –in the woods
The Blair Bitch Project –in the woods
The Ringworm –in the woods
The Last Car Ride –inthewoods
Big Trouble in Little China –inthewoods
“N” is for Neuter –rick o’shea
Kennel of 1000 Corpses –rick o’shea
I Piss On Your Hydrant –rick o’shea
The Bitches of Eastwick –wtfjones
The Howling –wtfjones
The Boneyard –wtfjones
Rin Tin Tinman –wtfjones
Damian: The Owner –wtfjones
The Hump Leg of Notre Dame –wtfjones
The Beast Beneath the Stairs –wtfjones
I know What Skunk You Killed Last Summer –wtfjones
The Big Sleep –woodymg
Kennel Coffin –danpm
Dude Where’s My Balls? –danpm
I Pull On Your Tail –danpm
Paws –danpm
Chuck Wagon’s Revenge –danpm
The Postman always Kicks Twice –jujuagogo
The Last Vet on the Left –jujuagogo
People Cemetary –jujuagogo
4. SUPER HELL STATION FRIDAY NIGHT LINEUP
7:00. ANDY OF MAYBERRY: THE TWILIGHT ZONE. [Comedy-Sci/fi.] Otis the Drunk is the last man on earth; Andy goes back in time to assassinate Abe Lincoln; Goover holds the power of life and death.
7:30. THE LEGEND OF STABBITY MCSTAB STAB STAB. [Western.] Pilot episode. In all the old West there was only one lonesome cowpoke who never carried a shootin’ iron. Instead, he carried about fifty knives that he had hidden in his saddlebags and secreted about his person. And he stabbed everybody. He was a legend. They called him: The Legend of Stabbity McStab Stab Stab. He was the stabbiest of them all!
8:00. THE FLINTSTONES MEET THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES. [Comedy. Special.]
Fred and Jethro compete in a rib-eating contest; Ellie Mae takes Dino for a walk; Jed makes Betty Rubble squeal like a pig.
9:00. FUTURE DOUCHEBAG. [Sci/fi-Comedy.] Pilot episode. He travels in time…from the far future to the distant past—our present day. Not to try to change history—but to sneer at our savagery. He’s…Future Douchebag!
10:00. LITTLE HO ON THE PRAIRIE. [Drama.] Pilot episode. Times was tough on the old frontier. Strong men ate thistles for breakfast, and for lunch—they bled. Whores was givin’ out free blow jobs just to have a hot lunch. But there was one Whore that outshone them all—The Little Ho on the Prairie!
5. TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE IN A COMA: THE WISDOM OF THE METAL GODS
By Mike Daly. Photography by Mark Weiss
(Paper; Plume Books; 2008.)
Review by Francis DiMenno
Books of quotations are an especial favorite of mine. Like Marlene Dietrich, “I love quotations because it is a joy to find thoughts one might have, beautifully expressed with much authority by someone recognized wiser than oneself.”
Following the excellent opening essay by Mike Daly (have not all of us, as Americans, had a very similar Arena Rock experience?), we are struck as by a thunderbolt by the very first gem, by none other than Ozzy Osbourne:
“I got news for you. I spoke to God this morning and he don’t like you.”
You really have to look all the way back to, like, John Calvin and his doctines of predestination and election for a more telling explication of theology, fate, and poetic justice. (Though it’s not so far removed from the Hee Haw sketch in which four hillbillies moan, in unison, “If it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all”. And also compare Warrant’s “Why did God make you so famous when he only spit on me?”)
On the surface, some of these quotes are exactly the sort of lunkheadedness you might expect from Metal Gods.
But dig deeper, friend, and you will find unexpected depths in the cawn bosom of these pellucid pools.
Wrap your mind around this one, by Accept:
“You shouldn’t kill your brother except if he doesn’t know what’s right.”
I could literally spend weeks trawling through Mark Booth’s The Secret History of the World, Nicholas Hagger’s The Secret History of the West and Manly Hall’s The Secret Teachings of All Ages, and still not come up with a better encapsulation of The Higher Law.
Because this is not the stuff they teach you in any school.
Compare this to Iron Maiden’s somewhat less eloquent variation:
“If you kill me it’s self-defense, if I kill you then I call it vengeance.”
At first, I thought that the hitherto little-exploited rhyme of “self-defense” with “vengeance” was perhaps the most startling feature of what merely appeared to be a rather banal expose of solipsistic hypocrisy. I mean, I saw the same kind of thing in Mad Magazine circa 1965: ” When we use them we call them ‘intelligence agents’. When they use them, we holler that they’re sending ‘spies’.”
But then I thought about it.
Is this sentence intended to describe a sequence of events?
If so, then it’s simply brilliant!
Simply change it from the subjunctive to the present tense and it becomes, “You kill me in self defense so I kill you in revenge.”
And then it becomes a hall of homicidal mirrors that makes Hamlet look puny!
Some of these quotes, I’m sorry to say, show an anti-social side to this usually thoughtful and introspective genre that I, as a respectable adult and all-around bon vivant (and certainly no prude) am, nevertheless, duty-bound to deplore. Such as Van Halen’s incendiary,
“Why behave in public if you’re livin’ on a playground?”
Irresponsible credos such as these are precisely the sort of thing that compelled Frank Sinatra to snipe that “”Rock ‘n’ roll smells phony and false. It is sung, played, and written by cretinous goons and by means of its almost imbecilic reiteration, and sly, lewd, in plain fact dirty lyrics…it manages to be the martial music of every sideburned deliquent on the face of the earth.”
Of course, Frank knew an awful lot about cretinous goons, since in his sunset years he seldom travelled anywhere without a few bodyguards who fit that description, but…let’s not go there.
Some of these metal koans would make splendid first lines to prizewinning genre novels.
Slaughter has provided the would-be writer of Westerns with a fine opening passage:
“Ya gotta learn a lesson especially from a man who got a Smith and Wesson.”
Duly noted!
And the scribe who’s hell-bent on writing a hard-boiled crime novel could greatly benefit from Ratt’s eloquent cri de coeur:
“I’m headed for lobotomy, and I’m beggin’ them for more.”
Note the sophisticated shift from the subjunctive (I AM headED), in the main clause, to the present tense (I AM beggIN’), in the dependent.
They simply do not teach this technique in creative writing classes (okay, maybe they do), but the best sentence is one which exploits the possibilities of a combination of tenses.
Which Ratt does beautifully (see also: Nuyts, Jan: “Subjectivity as an evidential dimension in epistemic modal expressions,” Journal of Pragmatics Volume 33, Issue 3, March 2001, Pages 383-400)!
From a philosophic standpoint some of this book is, admittedly, rather rough sledding, but occasionally there is something that just so simple, and beautiful, and true, that it just about breaks your heart. For example, Electric Angels’ uncharacteristically existential complaint:
“Some of my friends are dead, some have just stopped living.”
I’m sure that on January 4, 1960, Camus was working on a novel that opened with exactly those words just before he was killed instantly when the sports car in which he was riding hit a tree.
Which reminds me: Where’s my favorite quote? Namely, the following lyrics to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “That Smell,” an epic poem in and of itself (and based on a true story–which makes it EVEN BETTER!):
“Whiskey bottles, brand new cars, oak tree you’re in my way.”
That, perhaps, is being saved for the prequel, dealing with the 1970s.
In sum, this is not, all appearances to the contrary, a mere novelty book, half funny pictures and half quotations.
In fact, one can greatly benefit from the timeless wisdom contained in this slender compendium.
A famous politician has gone on the record as saying, “It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books of quotations”
So I’m sure Winston Churchill himself would find this slight tome quite edifying.
Of course, he died on 24 January 1965, so maybe not.
6. TELEPHONE CONVERSATION OVERHEARD IN DIZZY’S LOUNGE
‘Your Daddy’?
Who’s ‘Your Daddy’?
Say what?
He’s with thuh government?
Maybe back when time was, Chief, but not now.
Jesus J. Crew Christ; if so, then why then is he still snorting around in a thrift-store Mr. London-brand raincoat from back in the days of Vietnam covered in his own snot ‘n’ vomit, ‘n’ living out of a fleabag piss-reeking bedsitter in a cold-water flat ‘n’ chuggin’ down rancid throat-lancing wine with fellow no-hopers with the liver disease and a hobo’s Jake Leg, ‘n’ always steering shy of harness bulls, rookie fuzz, ‘n’ even astigmatic security guards with one foot in the fucking grave?!
Yeah? Well listen–if he’s Mr. High Muckety-Muck, then why does he always has a bile smell when he laugh?
He is got to be a delusional screwball.
Thinks he’s King Kong but he’s just Joe Shit the Ragman.
Dass rite! A picayune, soi-disant ward heeler with a crypto-heterosexual yen for small time politics and a deep and abiding love for the silhouette of Tricky Dick Nixon’s blubbery proboscis.
OH YEAH? Well, you tell your fat ‘Daddy’ from me personal that in my day I’ve Kung Fooed far bigger loads than HIM!
[Slams down phone.]
7. THEODORE DREISER AND ARCHIE COMICS
Insofar as Dreiser’s monumental tome “An American Tragedy” has percolated down into our current everyday conciousness, it has done so in the form of the eternal triangle so repititiously portrayed in Archie Comics.
Think about it: Isn’t Archie simply tragic Clyde Griffiths, attracted to pore simple farm gal Roberta Alden but secretly hankerin’ after the high-society hijinxs of sex kitten Sondra Finchley?
But these days, more than ever, I worry even more about poor, poor Archie.
Observe:
Is this not truly the sort of shit-eating grin you see in cowed primates?
Look closely at Archie’s face.
Looks more like the sort of sheepish expression one might expect to see from Big Moose.
As a past master of Archieology, I couldn’t help but notice.
Anyway, I say poor Archie, because either way he turns, he’s screwed.
Either he marries brood sow Betty who porks up to 200 avoirdupois the second after the vows are exchanged and he gets shackled in a dead-end job with a beggar’s dozen of screaming snot-nosed brats to support, or:
He marries the marginally less attractive dark lady Veronica, and, if she doesn’t divorce his ass toot sweet he can look forward only to eventually living as a lapdog to a scornful withered aristo-crone who looks down upon every activity he enjoys with the imperious hauteur of one who is to the Lodge manor born.
What he really ought to do is murder Big Moose and run off with Midge.
8. MOVIE REVIEWER CODE: WHAT THEY SAY AND WHAT IT REALLY MEANS
“Wickedly funny” = Stupid.
“A non-stop, action-packed thrill ride” = Infantile.
“Fun for the whole family” = Insipid.
“A new American classic” = Sentimental horseshit.
“A roller-coaster ride” = No real plot, but plenty of gratuitous violence.
“___: The Sequel” = Same old shit in a different wrapper.
“A stylish, provocative thriller” = Harbors illusions of larger significance.
“Heartwarming” = Insufferably sententious and sentimental.
“Will put a smile on your face” = Utter lugubrious pap.
“Inspirational” = Moronic.
“Intriguing” = Baffling.
“Rollicking fun” = Really dumb.
“Significant” = Boring.
“A worthy successor to…” = No original ideas here.
“From the Producers of…” = We couldn’t get the same star or the same director from our first fluke hit to return.
“Tells about a forgotten aspect of history” = This sucks, but it would be injudicious not to praise it.
“Magic” = Improbable farrago of fantasy elements.
“The best family comedy of the year” = The only family comedy released this year with decent production values.
“Fun!” = It is so stupid that you will want to tear your hair out.
“High octane fun” = Idiotic hijinx amid senseless simulated slaughter.
“Non-stop action” = The Star’s tits are bigger than those of the female lead’s.
“X AND Y ARE PERFECT TOGETHER!” = The star looks like he would rather kiss, rather than snack on, the face of the female lead.
9. MOUSE-DUCK TICKET SWEEPS 40 STATES
(AP–Disneyland)
After triumphing as the result of an amazingly well-organized write-in campaign, President-elect Mouse announced today that he was “ready from day one.” He then tittered, and added, “By shucks.”
His ordinarily irascible running mate, Senator Duck, said nothing, but stood by and visibly seethed.
Later, highly-placed advisors explained that Senator Duck was convinced that he was the stronger candidate, but that Mouse’s charisma had swayed the fickle public to place him at the top of the ticket. (Duck, famously gaffe-prone, was not available for comment.)
The losers in the race, Senator Hook and Governor Tinkerbelle, declined comment, other than to say that they would “stand by the results” because “the people had spoken”.
All four candidates are currently resting from their strenuous labors on Donkey Island.
10.INTERNET TOUGH GUYS SPEAK OUT ON POLITICS
Like the pirates and robber barons of old, we collect gold. Society’s puny laws don’t pertain to the likes of us.For verily, shall a King be ruled by the ant heap? Republicans are all right, except for their silly talk about God. If they mean it, they’re fools. If they don’t, they’re hypocrites. In fact, anybody who fails to acknowledge that all men are ruled by naked self-interest are either fools or hypocrites.
LISTEN this IS the troof:
SINNER YOU BETTER GET READY LORD YOU BETTER GET READY HALLELUJAH SINNER YOU BETTER GET READY TIME IS COMING WHEN THE SINNER MUST DIE TIME IS COMING WHEN THE SINNER MUST DIE!!!
What are my credentials you ask? Well, I am a free, white, Zog-hating survivalist. I was briefly imprisoned in Russia and bears on my back a large, beautiful tattoo of the rear view of “the Boofer lady”–a long-haired naked woman, a snake entrined around her long legs, standing on a rock and hailing a sailing ship backed by a sunrise. OR IS IT A SETTING SUN? THAT is the paradox.
you think your scared now! if you think your scared know wait to the idiots that vote obama in start the chaos that their gonna create.
Guess we Zogged when we should have zagged.
it’s OK to burn THE FLAG–if it’s made of hemp.
We Will Barry You.
Jay Leno is an ugly, corrupt troll with a fat, melty face.
DEMS ARE SMARRRT AND REPS R STOOPIT
Well at least Obama he ain’t a Maoist.
hOO KONTYROLS TH GASSES KONTROLS TH MASSES
Scoundrelism is the last refuge of a “patriot”.
THIS FUNHOUSE MIRROR WE CALL OUR POLITICS HAS GOT TO BE SHATTERED INTO A MILLION LITTLE PIECES BY THE PEOPLE WHO KNOW WHAT’S BEST OR ELSE–CHAOS.
what position do I imagine former Massachusetts Gov. William Weld holding in an Obama/Biden cabinet? Torturing ducks.
OBAMA SAYS TAKE ELECTION DAY OFF???HAW HAW HAW! MOST OF HIS SUPPORTERS ARE COOKS AND DISHWASHERS ANYWAY–WHO’S GONNA MISS THEM?? ?
Why doesn’t Obama have his shoes re-souled?
GET TO KNOW THE BIG O
kommunis nothin wee need a strongg man in the wite house and know i don’t mean a freek in cirkus tites
Obama longs to preside over a paranoid Maoist totalitarian state, replete with bureaucracy and polymorphous perversity.
It says so on http://www.ihatezog, so it must be so.
[Note: Only one of these is real. Can you guess which one?]
Answer: #6
11.THE CULTURE OF MODERNITY
For those of us who wish to comprehend the “culture” of modernity, we need to be aware that its roots go all the way back to the 1830s. However, serious critical studies of one aspect of societal norms, the influence of mass media, didn’t begin in ernest until about the 1930s and 1940s.
In his 1947 monograph “Love and Death: A Study in Censorship”, Gershon Legman had a great deal to say about the nexus of sex and violence in the comic books and other media in the 1940s. As did Marshall McLuhan, in The Mechanical Bride: Folklore of Industrial Man (1951). Concerns echoed right down to today in Durham’s “The Lolita Effect” (2008).
To briefly, and very simplistically sum up their arguments, these two commentators (and others) drew from some of the theories of the 1930s Frankfurt School. Legmnan and McLuhan both speculated that the machine rhythms of an industrial society and its byproducts, including mass production and commodification, were responsible for producing a race of human beings whose responses were less “natural” and more like the machinery that surrounded them.
See:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frankfurt_School
I suspect that those of us who feel tied to time periods that we did not live through, in every generation, are looking for some mythic arcadia that existed sometime before we were born. Certain people also tend to select some historic catastrophe and say “Things were never the same after”…such and such happened–The Kennedy assassination, the King Assassination, the murder of John Lennon, 9/11…. They also seem also to be prone to this habit of imagining some lost arcadia.
The best explanation I’ve heard of the “generation gap”?
“Men resemble their times more than they do their fathers.”–Marc Bloch
How did we get to this point? Why did we get to this point?
I don’t know. Nobody does. But…
“It seems almost as if an early warning system is embedded in the passage of time itself, or in what Carl Jung called the Collective Unconscious. And that system would seem to be sending a stream of warning signals, enciphered as synchronicities.”–Peter Levenda
See:
http://www.sinisterforces.info/forum/viewtopic.php?t=5
Can we ever go back to Arcadia? To an era when vulgarity was kept under wraps?
I’d say no, you can’t go back. As for keeping vulgarity under wraps, that generally does not work, because when you repress the “forbidden” in one area, it tends to pop up in another. Even the supposedly staid and proper Victorians had a lot of hidden sexual kinks and hangups. Furthermore, social trends seem to operate like the rhythms of the human heart. Dystolic and systolic. The younger generation seeks to reveal what the older generation seeks to keep hidden. The young call the old “corrupt and soulless hypocrites”, and the old call the young “ignorant and infantile exhibitionists”.
The larger questions herein raised tend to be the ones also focused upon by the Annales school, with their emphasis upon “total history”.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annales_School
