Saturday, December 31, 2011

Joy to the World, the Lord has Gum! *****************Let Each Receive a Piece!

Libertarian Story Problems

 A certain man was was throwing stones from his ground onto public grounds, when a pious man said to him, "Fool why do you remove stones from ground which is not yours and throw it onto ground which is yours?"  The man laughed at him. After a time, the man had to sell his field, and when he was walking on the public ground he stumbled over those stones. He then said, "How well that pious man put it. "Why do you throw stones from ground which is not yours to ground which is yours?"
-Babylonian Talmud , Bava Kamma 50b

Some people were sitting in a ship, when one of them took a drill and began to bore a hole under his seat.
The other passengers protested to him, "What are you doing?"
He said "what has this to do with you? Am I not boring a hole under my own seat?"
-Leviticus Rabbah 4:6

Mumblety-Peg.......Tournament-Grade....... Commemorative-Cutlery

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

William Makepeace Thackery Thing

“.....You, peraps, may igspect that I should narrait at lenth the suckmstanzas of my hawjince with the British Crown. But I am not one who would gratafy IMPUTTNINT CURAIOSATY. Rispect for our reckonized instatewtions is my fust quallaty. I, for one, will dye rallying round my Thrown.
“Suffise it to say, when I stood in the Horgust Presnts,— when I sor on the right & of my Himperial Sovring that Most Gracious Prins, to admire womb has been the chief Objick of my life, my busum was seased with an imotium which my Penn rifewses to dixcribe — my trembling knees halmost rifused their hoffis — I reckleck nothing mor until I was found phainting in the harms of the Lord Chamberling. Sir Robert Peal apnd to be standing by (I knew our wuthy Primmier by Punch’s picturs of him, igspecially his ligs), and he was conwussing with a man of womb I shall say nothink, but that he is a hero of 100 fites, AND HEVERY FITE HE FIT HE ONE. Nead I say that I elude to Harthur of Wellingting? I introjuiced myself to these Jents, and intend to improve the equaintance, and peraps ast Guvmint for a Barnetcy.
“But there was ANOTHER pusn womb on this droring-room I fust had the inagspressable dalite to beold. This was that Star of fashing, that Sinecure of neighboring i’s, as Milting observes, the ecomplisht Lady Hangelina Thistlewood, daughter of my exlent frend, John George Godfrey de Bullion Thistlewood, Earl of Bareacres, Baron Southdown, in the Peeridge of the United Kingdom, Baron Haggismore, in Scotland, K.T., Lord Leftnant of the County of Diddlesex, &c. &c. This young lady was with her Noble Ma, when I was kinducted tords her. And surely never lighted on this hearth a more delightfle vishn. In that gallixy of Bewty the Lady Hangelina was the fairest Star — in that reath of Loveliness the sweetest Rosebud! Pore Mary Hann, my Art’s young affeckshns had been senterd on thee; but like water through a sivv, her immidge disappeared in a momink, and left me intransd in the presnts of Hangelina.
“Lady Bareacres made me a myjestick bow — a grand and hawfle pusnage her Ladyship is, with a Roming Nose, and an enawmus ploom of Hostridge phethers; the fare Hangelina smiled with a sweetness perfickly bewhildring, and said, ‘O, Mr. De la Pluche, I’m so delighted to make your acquaintance. I have often heard of you.’
“‘Who,’ says I, ‘has mentioned my insiggnificknt igsistance to the fair Lady Hangelina? kel bonure igstrame poor mwaw!’ (For you see I’ve not studdied ‘Pelham’ for nothink, and have lunt a few French phraces, without which no Gent of fashn speaks now.)
“‘O,’ replies my lady, ‘it was Papa first; and then a very, VERY old friend of yours.’
“‘Whose name is,’ says I, pusht on by my stoopid curawsaty —
“‘Hoggins — Mary Ann Hoggins’— ansurred my lady (laffing phit to splitt her little sides). ‘She is my maid, Mr. De la Pluche, and I’m afraid you are a very sad, sad person.’
“‘A mere baggytell,’ says I. ‘In fommer days I WAS equainted with that young woman; but haltered suckmstancies have sepparated us for hever, and mong cure is irratreevably perdew elsewhere.’
“‘Do tell me all about it. Who is it? When was it? We are all dying to know.”
“‘Since about two minnits, and the Ladys name begins with a HA,’ says I, looking her tendarly in the face, and conjring up hall the fassanations of my smile.
“‘Mr. De la Pluche,’ here said a gentleman in whiskers and mistashes standing by, ‘hadn’t you better take your spurs out of the Countess of Bareacres’ train?’—‘Never mind Mamma’s train’ (said Lady Hangelina): ‘this is the great Mr. De la Pluche, who is to make all our fortunes — yours too. Mr. de la Pluche, let me present you to Captain George Silvertop,’— The Capting bent just one jint of his back very slitely; I retund his stare with equill hottiness. ‘Go and see for Lady Bareacres’ carridge, George,’ says his Lordship; and vispers to me, ‘a cousin of ours — a poor relation.’ So I took no notis of the feller when he came back, nor in my subsquint visits to Hill Street, where it seems a knife and fork was laid reglar for this shabby Capting.”
“Thusday Night.— O Hangelina, Hangelina, my pashn for you hogments daily! I’ve bean with her two the Hopra. I sent her a bewtifle Camellia Jyponiky from Covn Garding, with a request she would wear it in her raving Air. I woar another in my butnole. Evns, what was my sattusfackshn as I leant hover her chair, and igsammined the house with my glas!
“She was as sulky and silent as pawsble, however — would scarcely speek; although I kijoled her with a thowsnd little plesntries. I spose it was because that wulgar raskle Silvertop WOOD stay in the box. As if he didn’t know (Lady B.‘s as deaf as a poast and counts for nothink) that people SOMETIMES like a tatytaty.”
“Friday.— I was sleeples all night. I gave went to my feelings in the folloring lines — there’s a hair out of Balfe’s Hopera that she’s fond of. I edapted them to that mellady.
“She was in the droring-room alone with Lady B. She was wobbling at the pyanna as I hentered. I flung the convasation upon mewsick; said I sung myself (I’ve ad lesns lately of Signor Twankydillo); and, on her rekwesting me to faver her with somethink, I bust out with my pom:
“‘When moonlike ore the hazure seas
In soft effulgence swells,
When silver jews and balmy breaze
Bend down the Lily’s bells;
When calm and deap, the rosy sleap
Has lapt your soal in dreems,
R Hangeline! R lady mine!
Dost thou remember Jeames?
“‘I mark thee in the Marble All,
Where Englands loveliest shine —
I say the fairest of them hall
Is Lady Hangeline.
My soul, in desolate eclipse,
With recollection teems —
And then I hask, with weeping lips
Dost thou remember Jeames?
“‘Away! I may not tell thee hall
This soughring heart endures —
There is a lonely sperrit-call
That Sorrow never cures;
There is a little, little Star,
That still above me beams;
It is the Star of Hope — but ar!
Dost thou remember Jeames?’
“When I came to the last words, ‘Dost thou remember Je-e-e-ams?’ I threw such an igspresshn of unuttrable tenderniss into the shake at the hend, that Hangelina could bare it no more. A bust of uncumtrollable emotium seized her. She put her ankercher to her face and left the room. I heard her laffing and sobbing histerickly in the bedwor.
“O Hangelina — My adord one, My Arts joy!” . . ."

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Yardsale Jackpot

Once I was the early bird.

In the sodden basement of a shabby estate sale in West Nashville
around the turn of the century, I came upon the internal files of
Gulas/Welch Wrestling Enterprises Inc. for sale for pennies on the pound.

Nick Gulas, whose private records these were, ran the biggest wrestling promotion agency in the Mid-South in the nineteen sixties and seventies.

The story of how this strange-beaked skinflint lost control of his regional wrestling circuit is one of grease and betrayal in an age of rampant scoundrelism and lurid rascality.

It was a time when pro wrestlers could best be contacted via mother-in-law.
Agency rolodexes were bristling with Herbs and Jerrys.
And regicide was the legal in the state of Tennessee.

Over the next couple of weeks I'm going to scan some of these clerical treasures and post them here.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Plastic Ono Band With Plastic Bone at Hand


                                                    Toulouse-Lautrec Shitting On a Beach
                                                      Young Men Talk Like Old Women

                               Master Your Politically Deranged Silent Generation Relative



                                                        119 Auspicious Mental Events

                                                         Terrifying Gangs of England

                                                         The Anosognosics Dilemma

                                                          Critiques of Libertarianism

                                                             The Brick Testament

                                                             Better Not Read This                 
                                                              The Failure Addict                                             
                                                                Six-Pack Annie

                                                                Red Cross EP

                                         A Story That Escaped "The Dream Assembly"


Saturday, November 12, 2011

Don't Talk To Me About Johnny Depp

Forced Antecedent-Focused Emotional Regulation: Together We Can Stop This!

----- Forwarded Message -----
From: Scott Portis <>
 Moes 739 <>; Kris Gernentz <>
Sent: Sunday, Nov 8, 2011 12:18 PM
Subject: Fw: Fwd: Customer Feedback - Moe's - 739 @ 2511 West End Avenue, Nashville, TN 37203 CRM:0028989


Don't feel sorry for us - it is part what makes Moe's what it is. Every Moe's in the country does it, and believe it or not, I get far more email from folks when they *don't* hear a hearty "Welcome to Moe's" when they arrive. New stores like Vanderbilt go through a break in period where the crew begins to feel like it is not fun, but then after a short while, they get comfortable with it, especially when they see the smiles it gives to our guests when they come in the door. After opening 6 stores in 7 years in Nashville, I value it and expect my crews to say it, and say it with meaning and enthusiasm. It is very much part of the Moe's experience. 

I hope that, knowing it is part of our culture, and that we mean it when we say it, you will be able to understand why we do it, and not let it irritate you too much. That's not our goal!

Thank you very much for taking the time to give your feedback. I hope you will return, and if they give you a meaningful Welcome, you will say "Ah, I'm at Moe's, time for some good food!"

Scott Portis

Scott Portis, Owner, 615.300.3696
Cannon Restaurant Management, LLC, dba 
Moe's Southwest Grill with 6 Middle TN Locations
*NEW 2525 West End near Vanderbilt*, Belle Meade, 
Brentwood, Franklin, Murfreesboro, Spring Hill, TN

New Worst Move In Journalism: The Phony Gulp

I started to notice this phony-casual maneuver a couple years ago.
Now I see it everywhere:

"Germany wants other countries to be more, well, German."

"All of which makes the very notion of the Great American Novel sound,
well, un-American."

"The Indianapolis Colts have looked lost. The Jacksonville Jaguars have looked like, well, the Jaguars."

"I knew the White House wanted a compromise on the debt ceiling. I just didn't expect them to do quite so much, well, compromising."

"Robbe-Grillet's interest in sexual violence will be alien to someone averse to sadism, and Lin's interest in twee midnight adventures is going to seem ridiculous to someone without any interest in, well, twee midnight adventures."

I wonder if this affectation is related to trends discussed in this article:


Horror Vaccum I

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Lars Iyer Essay

"...For the pragmatic among us, the end of Literature is merely the end of a melodramatic model, a false hope that has gone the way of psychoanalysis, Marxism, punk rock and philosophy. But for the less pragmatic among us, we realise— we experience—what has been lost. Without Literature we lose Tragedy and Revolution both, and these are the two last best modalities of Hope. And when Tragedy disappears, we sink down into a gloom, a life whose vast sadness is that it is less than tragic. We crave tragedy, but where can we get it when tragedy has given way to farce? Shame and scorn are the only response now at literary readings to literary manifestos. All effort are belated now, all attempts are impostures. We know what we want to say and to hear, but our new instruments cannot hold the tune. We cannot do it again nor make it new since both of those actions have telescoped to equivalence—we are like circus clowns who cannot squeeze into their car. The words of Pessoa ring in our ears: ‘Since we are unable to extract beauty from life, we attempt at least to extract it from our incapacity to extract beauty from life.’ This is the task given us, our last, best chance."

Sunday, November 6, 2011


The Broken Betrothal by R' Nachman of Breslov

There was once an emperor who had no child to rule after him; and in another land there was a king who also was childless. The emperor went on a journey in search of a sage who might tell him how to come by a child; and the king, too, went on such a journey. King and emperor stopped one night at the same inn, though they did not know each other; the emperor, however, marked the royal manner of the stranger, and asked him,
"Are you not a king?"
The king, too, had recognized the other as a man of high birth, and he said, "I am a king; and are you not an emperor?"
Then each told the other the reason for his travels, and they agreed that when they returned to their kingdoms, and if the queen of one gave birth to a son, and the other's queen gave birth to a daughter, the two children should be betrothed.
And afterward, a daughter was born to the emperor, and a son was born to the king, but the betrothal was forgotten.
As the children grew, each was sent to a foreign land to study, and it so happened that both were sent to the same teacher. The boy and girl met, and loved one another, and agreed to marry. Then the prince took a ring and put it on the finger of the princess, and so they were wed.
But soon their parents called them home, and the princess had to return to her father the emperor, while the prince returned to the court of the king.
[paragraph continues]The emperor's palace was filled with suitors for the hand of the princess, but she remembered that young prince from a distant land, and she would not have any of the others.
In his far country the prince was unhappy, longing day and night for his beloved; the king commanded entertainment for the boy in the palace, or rode with him over their domain, but the young man would not be cheered, and at last he fell ill of melancholy. Then the king asked the prince's servant: "Perhaps you know what troubles him?" The servant remembered the wedding, and told the king that the prince was married and longed for his bride.
"Who is his bride?" the king asked.
"A princess, the daughter of an emperor."
At this, the king recalled the betrothal he had made for his son before his son was born, and he was astonished to learn that it was indeed his betrothed that the prince had found and married. So the king wrote at once to the emperor to remind him of their meeting and of their vow.
But the emperor no longer desired such a union, and yet he could not free himself from his promise; so he sent a letter asking that the prince come to his court to be examined in his knowledge of government.
When the prince arrived in the emperor's palace he was not allowed to see his bride, but was seated alone in a room, and papers were brought to him, with questions of government. He was ill nearly to death with longing for a glimpse of his beloved, and one day as he walked by a chamber he saw her image in a mirror. Then he fainted of weakness and joy, and she saw him and ran to him and wakened him, saying,
"I will have no other husband but you!" And he said, "But what can we do while your father is against our marriage?"
They made a plan to escape together over the sea; then they hired a ship, and crept aboard at night, and sailed away. They were happy there, for they measured their love by the depth of the sea and the height of the firmament, and all the sea and sky was their kingdom of love. But one day the vessel came to a shore, and they said, "Let us go down on land for a while."
There was a forest near the shore, and the bride and groom went into the forest. They ran, and they walked, until they were weary, and the girl said, "Let me lie down by this tree, and sleep a while." She took his ring from her finger, and gave it to the prince saying, "Watch my ring while I sleep."
When he saw that she was about to waken, he placed the ring on the ground near her hand. She awoke, and they returned to the shore. But as they were going aboard their vessel she felt her hand bare and cried, "Where is my ring?" "I put it by you when you wakened," the prince said. "I'll go and find it for you."
She waited, while he returned to the forest. He wandered one way and another, and could not find the ring, and was lost.
The princess waited a long time, and then went into the woods to seek the prince, and she wandered one way and another, and could not find him, and was herself lost.
When the prince saw that he was lost he did not know what to do, but called her name, and she did
not hear him; he wandered still farther until at last he came out of the forest to a city. He had no money, and he needed food, so he became a servant.
Meanwhile the princess found her way out of the forest and came to the shore again; there she sat upon the sand by the sea; she lived on the fruit of the trees; each day she wandered in search of her beloved, and at night she slept in the trees.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Birdsong Sayonara

                 communicative capitalism: circulation and the foreclosure of politics

                                         the ones who walk away from omelas


Sunday, October 30, 2011

Shel Silverstein Poem

Someone ate the baby.
It's rather sad to say.
Someone ate the baby
So she won't be out to play.
We'll never hear her whiney cry
or have to check if she is dry.
We'll never hear her asking "Why?"
Someone ate the baby.

Someone ate the baby.
It's absolutely clear
Someone ate the baby
Cause the baby isn't here.
We''ll give away her toys and clothes.
We'll never have to wipe her nose.
Dad says, "that's the way it goes."
Someone ate the baby.

Someone ate the baby.
What a frightful thing to eat!
Someone ate the baby
Though she wasn't very sweet.
It was a heartless thing to do.
The policemen haven't got a clue.
I simply can't imagine who
Would go and (burp) eat the baby.