Chastity Powers Reporting
In the time we have before the Republican Convention we must develop tactics that will leave them in the dust of their own mediocre confusion. We must resuscitate the great laughing spirit of Yippie, Stew.
C'mon Gang, let's play fair. You guys are Terrorists and you have get scared! I am not joking!
Posted at 10:26 PM | Permalink
Posted by Dick Minim
People, please. Let us lower our voices and reason together. I am sure everyone means well. Mr. O'Reilly, would you like a sarsaparilla? Tutor, set a good example, if you will. And, as for you Mr. Blowtorch, you are welcome to worship God as you see fit; in WB we encourage prayer. Yes, nail the Ten Commandments right there, if you want, over the framed copy of "The Blackness of the Grackle" by Mr. Frederick Turner. Candidia, if you would be so kind as to take your boots off the credenza. Now, let us talk like civilized men and women. I have been reading Duns Scotus recently. Quite an inspiration, don't you think? I am sure we can all agree on that.
Posted by The Happy Tutor
Frederick Turner is a famous man, apparently. Oxford educated, much honored, verbose. He is a worthy adversary. I would be much in his debt for any invective, he might hurl my way. Any Dojo! Any time, Fred. Dallas isn't big enough for two Dungeon Masters to the Stars! If you are to wear Candidia's collar, you must get by me first! To earn Candidia's respect, to feast with the Knaves at her table, or even under the table, gnawing on the bones she tosses your way, you must do more than box strenuously with your own shadow. You must land a blow on those who hit back. Strutting and shouting, alone in the ring, you throw wild punches, and hit only yourself.
Fred, I find your honors perplexing. You write, as others have noted, "like crap"! A stanza of your verses is almost unbearable; two drive a strong man to his knees. Three are beyond human endurance. No reader ever finished one of your poems. You yourself could never read them, unless your sensibility is now totally shot. Were you to read one aloud, like the one on the grackle,(fit image for your verse) you would empty all rooms within earshot. You have long since sold whatever talent you had, and the muse has turned away in disgust. Your jokes are not funny. Your invective is puerile. Your father, Victor Turner, was a fine man. A legitimate intellectual. A man of stature. Your work on philanthropy (pdf) is broken-backed. A beast of burden for your funders, a donkey staggering along under its load of ideology. You are a lap dog, licking the hand of Mistress Candidia, though she finds your fawning embarassing, even by her own standards, those of a conservative think tank. Forget Michael Moore, pick on someone your own speed. Black belt or not, you have led a soft life. You will cry like a baby across my knees. Even now, I will do what I can to improve your taste and your morals, for I bear you no ill-will, having only your salvation at heart. There is hope in confession, penance, restitution and reform, Turner, even now, even for you. Drop your pants! And take your beating like a man.
This sample invective, patterned on Turner's own, though far better written, is spoken with great respect for Turner the man, for he is a fine man, though a journeyman at the satiric trade, whose work is sadly botched. I seek not to injure Turner but to reform him, or at least to help him make the most of his meager talent as he enters the public arena, and to keep him from seriously injuring himself in the process. I suggest, as a Next Step, an edifying Battle of Champions, like that between Sampson and Harapha in Paradise Regained, or the boasting contests that precede the staged Bouts at the World Wrestling Federation. Be good for both our careers, Fred. We could go on TV, with Bill O'Reilly. You would like that, wouldn't you? It would be a feather in your Dunce Cap, perhaps the highest honor you will ever attain. And, I will split my purse with you 50/50. Nay, take it all, every coin from the floor. Here's a penny, Sirrah; come and get it. I am sorry to have pulled my punches in this post, I don't mean to imply that you can't take the shots, but I don't want to hurt you, until you come forward willingly, vaunting in words, though trembling and knock-kneed beneath your robe. Then you can't blame me for going full speed, as the crowd rises, cheering hoarsely, knowing that only one Empty Boaster will walk out, the other a joke, and a byword, for all eternity. Until then....may you sleep well, as your verses have given sound sleep to so many.
Posted by Smoky Joe, JD
The tens of millions of war-protesters who blossomed on the world's Main Streets like belated spring flowers, days before the war on Iraq, did not look alike, speak the same language, belong to the same culture or religion, read the same papers, watch the same TV news or hold the same political thought. But, they were all motivated by a far grander and more noble cause than mere opposition to yet another war on a battered nation of the South: they shared the ideal of resisting empire.
There is opportunity in the midst of the bleakest of disasters, as capitalist entrepreneurs have always held, albeit a different type of opportunity than the profit-obsessed one they've often eyed. With the United States' shocking and awful projection of the closest human approximation to absolute power to date, there is an equal but opposite global force of deep resentment, revulsion, dissidence and resistance that is fast developing. And for the first time in decades, there is no simple dichotomy to conveniently divide the world into. If the fall of the Berlin Wall signaled the decisive beginning of the end of the East-West opposition, the illegal, immoral and criminal war on Iraq, waged by the new Rome of our time, might well announce the baptism of a new world community opposed to empire, any empire, and based on the precepts of evolving international law, human rights and the common principles of universal morality that are emerging.
Omar Barghouti Electronic Iraq 29.Jul.04
We have less to fear from foreign terrorists than from those who sap our morale at home. People! Let us rise up and against the Traitors in our Midst. The War on Terror is fought on American Soil. Patriots! Smoke the Happy Tutor from his Dumpster! Hunt him to the ends of the earth. Bring his head to Washington that the Armies of Compassion may impale it on the tip of the Washington Monument as a lesson to all who question the Virtue of American Might.
(DRAFT for review by Candidia Cruikshanks. Candy? You want your name on this or mine? Pony Boy's? What do you think? Let me know. With your permission, I want to get this out through Savage, O'Reilly, Coulter, and Limbaugh as soon as possible. As long as Tutor lives, American Greatness, and even Wealth Bondage itself, will remain an object of ridicule among the best and the brightest, here and abroad. Capitation Strike now! Let's put that dipsy-doodle poet on it, what's his name, the pseudo-intellectual guy with an attitude, with the shaggy hair? Who writes all that philanthropy bullshit (pdf)? He may be the only Compassionate Conservative with the cojones to take the Tutor out. Even then I don't give him a chance in hell, but he's the best we've got. Flat footed as he is.)
Chastity Powers Reporting
If Abbie Hoffman were alive today, he wouldn't be complaining about the slant of Fox News, he'd be appearing in disguise as head of a fictitious right-wing organization, says High Times. C'mon gang, let's keep the Convention blogging positive. Look! Kids, over there. Balloons! Now, let's interview Mr. Blogger. Say what is in your knapsack? Two surge protectors? Cool! Now this from Alpo Brand Dog Treats.
Posted by The Happy Tutor
Well, we know what happens when a mirror confronts a mirror. If you're making the spectacle, you're not breaking it. Tom's stuff is so good I clicked on his sitemeter and saw that I was his only visitor this hour. Something is dreadfuly wrong with the idea that the net is a collaborative filter through which excellence is recognized. In a just world some philanthropist would give convention bloggers a scholarship to study the rudiments of their craft under Tom for 15 or so years, before being released on their own recognizance.