Wednesday, August 31, 2011









Sunday, August 28, 2011

in tribute to jack handey...

I realize  "Do people in Hell want ice water?"  is supposed to be  a rhetorical question.


I can resist anything except temptation.  And plagiarism.




Do they have strippers in Lapland?

Why can't Yoda use The Force to correct his bad grammar?

I wonder why the Pony Express ended. I'm guessing it's probably because someone told the horses about the glue on stamps and  the factory where that came from.  And that probably  just ruined  all the fun.

I'm guessing  flies consider Venus fly-traps to be the "ultimate buzzkill."


Can a leopard change his spots?

I wonder if zebras have figured out that when a movie camera  is near, there is about  a 100% chance that a hungry lion  is even nearer.

Oh what a tangled web we weave  when serving spaghetti.



You can lead a horse to water if you don't have anything better to do.






Today I read Susan Sontag's essay "On Camp" from her book Against Interpretation (1964).

While I would quibble and raise some cavils (particularly about some artistic movements she assigns wholesale to the camp category) overall I am hugely impressed with not only astute she was in this piece, but how prescient. She sort of predicted (to perfection) the way the American culture(s) would be renormed. She had that androgyny thing all charted out. Neither emos nor hipsters would have turned her head, had she been alive to see their arrival. She would have long expected them.

She did underestimate how quickly camp mutates and seems to have seen some rather perishable things as part of the camp canon (as oxymoronic as that phrase might be).

And there is a hedge in her bet on camp as a viable and sustainable element of culture. Or she pretends there is, at the beginning of the essay. She talks about her love-hate relationship to camp, but the hate never materializes. I think that was a sop thrown to the conventional morality of 1964 and that portion of the cultural elite (her brethren) who might not be so favorably inclined towards this part of culture.

In contradistinction to this, she ends the essay on a very tender note and becomes camp's (and by extension gay men's) greatest apologist. This was a brave and noble thing to do in 1964, pre-Stonewall.

She actually sees camp as the third component in a triune braid of elements which compose Western aesthetic/intellectual culture. Her essay is notable for its range. She doesn't only examine camp in American culture; since she traces the origin of camp to the late 17th century/early 18th century in Europe, she discusses camp in several art forms (including opera). She rightly sees the camp in much of Mozart but she sees it in many other composers as well. I was sorry she didn't mention one of my favorite baroque composers in that "origin period": Rameau. Totally camp. Which is why the modern adaptations of his work are so easy to enjoy! They're very sexy operas.

I love the way Sontag organized the essay around a handful of Wilde bon mots.

And the numerical paragraphing.

I love that form.

This is a book I found for a quarter down the street at that feckless thrift shop (been there since February and has probably seen a total of 200 patrons).

It's the Sontag Reader from 1982.

I had previously enjoyed her fiction more. And On Photography.

When I would talk to friends I seemed always to be in a small minority.

I liked Alice in Bed. I sort of find Henry James' sister a fascinating character. Total identification helps.

Most writers of fiction seem to really want to corral Susan Sontag off and will only accord her respect as an essayist, feminist, cultural theorist, sociologist, etc. They tend not to have a high opinion of her belletristic productions.

It's funny because I kept thinking of ICHC and the LOLcats while reading this essay.

Because the site is about 90% camp.

And that's a good thing.

To quote that Amish Nazi milkmaid.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

i haz an honored...

A Californian LOLer named MrThis gave me a friend invite tonight.

Then I noticed I was his first friend.

So I was honored.

Then I noticed he had set me to 666 friends.

Then I was scared.

I wondered if it was the "Divil" coming to punish me for spending so much time on ICHC.

Then I saw he is working on an opera about LOLcats!

It's an LOLPERA.

Here's the video on Kickstarter, the place where all the smart kids go to get funding for their art projects these days.

If you can help them out, please do!

I, unfortunately, cannot. I gave all my money to Sarah MacLachlan after seeing that fucking depressing infomercial.

Aren't they both adorable? That's a rhetorical kwestshun.

I was very honored because one of my LOLs is included in this video.

The Les Miz capshun is me.

You gotta read FAST though lol!

For some reason, the Kickstarter video isn't embedding.

Here's the link: LOLPERA


LOLPERA is an original absurdist opera--or fauxpera--by Ellen Warkentine and Andrew Pedroza. What started as a funny song about a funny cat picture has turned into a two-year musical journey that will culminate in the world premiere of LOLPERA at The Garage Theatre in Long Beach, CA in October 2011. After a sold-out workshop in 2010, LOLPERA has evolved into an epic musical tale about the future of technology and its affects on our hearts and souls. Using only words directly from LOLcat images (a found-lyrics experiment of sorts), LOLPERA is now a dystopian clash between low-brow humor and high art. A "gesamtkunstwerk" that asks important questions about this our modern world: How do we find meaning in the meaningless? Will what we create ultimately destroy us? Can we really has cheezburger?

Call it 1984 set in a virtual litter box. Call it Brave New World with bad grammar. Just please, please, don't call it Cats.


LOLPERA will be produced by and staged at The Garage Theatre, an intimate, black-box playhouse in downtown Long Beach. We are bringing with us the largest cast and band The Garage has ever housed. Your support will help us to purchase the technical equipment necessary to ensure our show is as epic on the stage as it is on the page. This includes microphones, cables, as well as an LCD projector to display the LOLspeak "subtitles" (just like a real opera!).

Any funds raised beyond our $2,000 goal will go directly toward enhancing set, costume, and production design.


"...funny, and stupid, and brilliant...making for a show you should not miss, the experience itself a joyous bite, itself a meme-producing machine. The next big thing."
-Greggory Moore, Long Beach Post

"So maybe in a city where (as Harper’s writer once said) 'even the bad taste seems to be fake bad taste,' the question is not, 'What truth is hidden in LOLcats?' but instead 'What truth can we pretend is buried within?'” -Sarah Bennet, The Daily Trojan

java joe


all bright-eyed and bushy tailed...


new white pumpkin

i saw a new white pumpkin growing at the side of the house today.

yay. hope these all get big.

public service message brought to you by flowers

floral P.S.A...

i arranged these cut sunflowers against the brick wall of a garage.

and the weird thing is when i looked at the pic they seemed to spell out a word.

maybe it's just me.

but i see the word VOTE in here.

kind of squint your eyes or step back from your screen if you have trouble seeing it.

i think these flowers are political activists.

sunflowers usually are.

what does a morning glory have in common with james bond?

here are some poladroids of pics i took today around the yard.

i figured i'd better get any flower pics now, since the winds might destroy them all.

we'll see.

they look great in zoom browser, but lose hella resolution when you try to upload them anywhere.

so i did poladroids, which are about the opposite of resolution anyway.

i shot down into the flowers (guess that's obvious) and they are sunflowers (duh), morning glories and pumpkin flowers, those little fluorescent orange lady parasols.

it's funny...if you get down inside the morning glory (the one anyway) it looks like the opening credits of an old james bond know the camera lens shutting in that overlapping way....

as always, click to enlarge.

does anyone know

does anyone know how to get photos from zoom browser to flickr...or a blog...without losing resolution? the photos look gorgeous in zoom browser but they lose much resolution no matter how i save them...i tried .tif file, .bmp...and of course jpeg they're manageable but they suck..they're not the same photos at all..i've been accepting the jpeg but there has to be a way to keep them the way they are in zoom browser? i tried reasearching not sure if it has to do with the EXIF're my hero or heroine if you know the answer to this...seriously...i keep my original high res photos but it's disgusting that the only way you can share them is as highly debased versions...i tried calling the canon 800 number but they're out because of the hurricane...imagine....

The Godzilla-Mothra Letters

Dear Goz,

Believe it or not the Japanese have copied the Jersey Shore show. It's a bunch of Japanese louts spray-painted orange who were chosen because they vaguely resemble the cast of that horrible American show. It's called Yokohoma Shore, and like its American parent it is a train wreck of a show from which one cannot look away. There's an earthquake in every third episode and when this happens for some reason the cast all start to pretend they're masturbating. I guess it's a running gag. By the way, did you see that Abercrombie offered the cast of Jersey Shore a "substantial amount" of money to stop wearing their clothes.

Isn't that beautiful?

Not to talk too long about trivialities, but the Japanese version of Snookie is Suki, and she is a pyromaniac. She's my favorite character. So far she has set almost every other cast member's bedroom on fire while they slept, and one of them actually received second degree burns. The Japanese find her adorable and funny. She has commercials in which she endorses a line of fire extinguishers half naked. Because she is the only girl in the Land of the Rising Sun with an ass like a New Jersey Italian girl (two melons), they let her stay on the show. I suspect the show will end with the entire cast being incinerated. I doubt you will have such luck with your version.

I'm pretty sure the cast are all having plastic surgery done on their eyes now. Their acanthi have started to vanish. They're turning into little Anime sexpots, half Japanese, half American.

There are other differences. "Gym, Tanning, Laundry" over here is "Seaweed, Motorbike, Broken Soul."

And they have "yaoi Thursdays," in which the male characters suddenly turn gay. This is for the Japanese tween girls, who love that shit to death. Japanese gay men could apparently care less. It's only the schoolgirls who need this.

Oh. Did I mention this jelly donut is directed by Godard?

Dear Mothra,

Why are we talking about American and Japanese television at its worst?

Why are we talking about television at all. This is not "kaiju appropriate."

I have to stop watching this crap.

Yesterday, I watched a movie. Here's a synopsis. A woman wants to go to an IKEA store that is over a hundred miles away and she has no car. She meets an old man online and agrees to give him a blowjob if he drives her to the IKEA. So this old guy, I mean really, really old guy, picks her up and they drive to the IKEA store. They talk--very infrequently--about trivial things. The old man pulls off at the first rest stop and receives his blow job. I thought at this point he was going to push her out of the car...which would have been funny. I don't mean that in a sexist way. I mean that in an existential way. This blowjob makes him very happy for about ten minutes. But the rest of the trip he's basically dying before your eyes. When they arrive at the IKEA store, the old man sits on the furniture in the fake IKEA rooms while the woman coos in ecstasy as she fills her cart with IKEA crap. The man follows her from floor to floor, room to room, but he's exhausted. You get the feeling he could die right there lying on some IKEA quilt that looks like rainbow puke. Several times he falls asleep. The woman prods him with a red silicone spatula when this happens. On the drive home, they are both largely silent. You just watch them drive. And stare at the Bible Belt landscape. When he drops her off at her house, she doesn't say goodbye and he looks troubled. When the old man gets home he finds a glass IKEA paperweight that must have fallen out of the blow jobber's shopping bag on the passenger side floor. He goes in his house and puts it on his windowsill and then he goes to bed. In the middle of the day. The movie ends with the paperweight sparkling. Sparkling like it's asking for some sort of fucking Gold Star sticker from the Sundance Channel.

I think this delicate strand of starfish shit was titled A Friend.

The director was about twenty years old and after the film they had a featurette in which he talked about the "symbolism" of his film and said that it was inspired by the fairy tale "Rumpelstiltskin."

Funny, I don't remember a blowjob in that one.

And neither of these characters ever asked (or guessed) each other's name.

I made a note where the director was born and where he lives now.

I plan to destroy both cities really soon.

That way I'll have both bases covered. Just in case they're breeding more idiots like that and just in case he's planning another film.

Why do I care about these things?

And why do I have a feeling that if I look at the reviews of this film online, under the "Recommended By" section I will see the name Mothra?

Dear Goz,

I loved A Friend!

It's an instant classic.

You have to get nuance to enjoy a film like that. It's like Wong Kar-Wai. It's all about the tensions, the varying weights of the various silences.

I guess cinematic subtlety is wasted on the lizard brain.

Why don't you go rent a movie with Jennifer Aniston in it.

Or Vince Vaughn.

Or better yet, both of them.

I'm sure if they had played the characters in this movie you would have loved it.

I know how fond you are of narrative arcs.

We need to try to kill each other soon.

The way Roger Ebert poisoned Gene Siskel so he would get brain cancer and die.

Dear Mothra,

Yes, I like my movies to have narrative arcs. That movie had narrative AIDS.

Today, I finally accomplished something.

I ran amok and it did wonders for my self-esteem.

I came down off the mountain and just made a beeline for the nearest "civilization" I could find.

I destroyed a HOME DEPOT and then a miniature golf course. I left standing the little statue of me where you have to hit the golf ball up my tail and then have it come out my mouth. I was touched. But I flattened the rest of the course as the owner of the thing wept near the 19th hole, the one where you can win a free game.

One jock playing the course tried to attack me with his golf club and I was like "LOL U MAD?" I kicked him out into the golf driving range next door to the mini golf course and he went right into the tall net. I felt like such a baller I heard Lil Wayne's lyrics in my head. His wife's high-pitched crazy screams felt really good. I think they cleared out my sinuses, which had been a little stuffy lately. Must have kaiju lungs. I let her live. Minigolf widows make for that great negativity publicity I eat up with a spoon.

Then I skipped over an Indian reservation while the natives mostly laughed and pointed at me but didn't run the way white people do. They didn't even take any pictures of me. Injuns are cool. Plus they were all completely stoned or drunk out of their gourds. Reservation life is sweet.

I chased various truckers down the interstate and then played Matchboxes with the smaller cars.

Whenever I saw a Hummer, I flattened it like a recycled can. Planetfuckers.

Squishing Americans is more fun than squishing Japanese. They're fatter so they make a bigger pop.

I don't even know what fucking state I was in.

I think Utah.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Fanks, Cheezburger!

For da cheerin fp's today!!


The Godzilla-Mothra Letters (continued)

Dear Mothra,

I found out today my son is an emo. The son I never talk about. So now I can not talk about him even more.

I don't think he understands the kaiju principle of "No parent should die before his child."

We were talking telepathically today. There were these uncomfortable pauses. I had this horrible feeling that at any moment he was going to tell me he's vegetarian or vegan. But the truth was only slightly better. He's pescatarian. So at least he still eats whales. There's that. When he started talking about the virtues of eating organically grown forests, I telepathically hung up on him.

He knew better than to telepathically redial.

Fucking kids.

You bring them into this world.

And then they destroy nothing.

Dear Goz,

I'm sorry your Mini-Me is turning out to be such a disappointment.

He's not really interested in world destruction or even making movies, that much is hella clear..

I have to confess I wanted to destroy him when he texted me asking me to add him on FACEBOOK.

Don't take it personally. All children of celebrities are usually totally fucking clueless and lost.

Even kaiju have a short bus, and I'm afraid your kid's on it.

Dear Mothra,

If he would just try.

When he goes to Tokyo, the Japanese indulge in their usual photomania and soon he's all over Flickr. All he cares about is being adored by the Japanese, who consider him some sort of squee god. He's knee-high to a skyscraper and only uses his atomic ray to destroy objects the Japanese have prepared specially for this purpose. My son is a poodle. My son is a fucking dancing poodle. And girls have a crush on him. You should see his posters. Emo enough to make your head vomit. I didn't even recognize him. Japan's little crush with eyeliner.

He even met fucking Justin Bieber. And didn't incinerate him.

Does that sound like my bloodline?

Dear Goz,

That's the great thing about being an insect.

I produce a shitload of children and as far as I'm concerned, they're all disposable.

Sure, I'll rush in to defend them when they're being attacked, but I have to confess it's more for the thrill of creating global-scale wreckage and carnage. Lots of parents are that way. In America, many sociopathic fathers and mothers force their children of both sexes into competitive sports so they themselves can later indulge their bloodlust at the games when they don't like a call by an ump or ref. It's like a serial killer's version of Munchausen's-by-proxy. "I want you to sign up for wrestling, Son, so you'll bring me a large pool of victims."

Dear Mothra,

I'm having a blah day.

All I did was look at LOLcats and masturbate.

I'm on top of some mountain that doesn't even have a name.

I was showing up on radar and the U.S. Air Force scrambled some jets and they did a fly-over right while I was watching girl-on-girl kaiju porn. It was actually Ogra doing Biollante. And vice versa. Some great strap-on action. It really turned me on in a weird way, knowing that Biollante is really me. I mean she grew from my skin, my DNA, fused with the DNA of a rose from that crazy doctor's garden. I remember her first larval stage fondly. Or my dick does. I really wanted to fuck her then--even if she was only really a giant vagina dentata. You know what I'm talking about? Remember when she was just a giant kaiju rose with teeth? That made my dick so hard. I mean I gave birth to my own giant Fleshlight. Then she had to evolve into that weird mosasaur thing. Evolutions. Sound familiar? Kaiju should sue Pokemon Empire. They're nothing but a spin-off based on our lives. The Pokemon people are always bugging me to comment on their shitty work and lend it credibility. As if. I'd sooner shit the Chrysler building.

Anyway, I was enjoying it when Ogra was topping Biollante, and then I began wondering what it means that she was doing me and it was turning me on so badly. In a weird way.

Maybe I'm a lesbian.

Or something.

Anyway, I took down the jets that were interrupting my hand job with a few well-directed blasts.

And now I'm lying on top this mountain and just staring at clouds, a cooling off period.

One of them looks like a mouse fucking a Dustbuster.

Needless to say, I'm high.

I stopped off at a pharmaceutical manufacturer and ate about half the building.

I have the weirdest buzz and the weirdest boner right now.

I must have eaten the area where they make Viagra. Some sort of kielbasa Miracle-Gro anyway.

But I've got no desire to masturbate.

I hope it doesn't last longer than four hours.

There is no kaiju emergency room.

Dear Goz,

About your porno gender confusion...

You were born this way.

Same DNA.

But born this way.

Dear Moz,

Shut the Fuck Up, Get the Fuck Out, Eat a bunch of Lightbulbs and Die in a Fire While Shitting Them Out.

Dear Goz,

I have done all of the above.

Now you have no one to talk to but yourself.

And your emo son.

This is the ghost of Mothra, writing you for the last time.

Dear Mothra,


Dear Goz,

I saw a list of "The Most Popular Kaiju" today and of course you were higher on the list than I was.

This made me wish for your death.

For the thousandth time.

I hope you will not think less of me.

Your pal.

Dear Mothra,

U jelly?

I was shitting blood today because yesterday I ate one of those skyscrapers which are mostly all glass.

And people don't believe in karma. Now I'm almost sorry I made that eating lightbulbs comment to you.

I flew over Portland while taking these hellacious dumps. I thought it was funny when the news reported it was raining blood and all the religious zealots went on t.v. and started talking about the end of the world.

If you live in Oregon, it's already the end of the world.

Deal with it.

I thought it was funny when all these people appeared on t.v. looking like Carrie at the prom, talking about signs and wonders.

It was really funny because the reporters kept backing up from them even while they held the microphones out for them to talk, and they kept advancing towards the reporters while dripping blood all over the street, squealing about heaven and hell. Their two favorite places. Besides WALMART.

They were too full of glory to realize they smelled like shit. One of the reporters threw up live on air. Go directly to YouTube. Do not Pass Go. Go viral. You're welcome.

Every one of these shitty, bloody lunatics sounded and looked like Carrie's mother after Carrie returns from the prom.

Apocalypses give a lot of people orgasms.

And the idea of Final Judgment. That gives people orgasms too.

To get the Last word AND send someone to Hell. What could be more fun for a human than that?

I'm happy to say I'm here to oblige the sick desires of sick puppies. Like James Taylor sings, "That's what I'm here for."

Just give me one of those Orgasm Donor t-shirts those assholes wear down in Jersey Shore.

Speaking of which.

I feel an intense desire to help clean up American television and head down that way very soon.

There's a certain beachhouse infested with disgusting humans with kaiju-sized egos.

I've got your GTL, bro.

Let me show you a different sort of crunch.

This is a continuation of a book I'm writing. You can see the beginning here:
I should whack off those last few sentences in the paragraph that mentions Schwarzenegger/Shriver.

Thursday, August 25, 2011



Being a princess brings back memories.
The dragon takes good care of you.
My father the king can't be hurried.
There's no life without "I run into the forest..."
Do it with your blood on the trees.
Night or day, the wolves can talk is your way.
Some day, you want to be the snow's circumference.
Always it's good form with the wolves can talk.
They are bewitched always at your fingertips.
I die you like it.
I die above all.
No I die, no kiss.
My skin peels, always faithful.
I forget human things - the place of happiness for everyone.
Pure I forget. Pure power.
It must be a pensive dragon.
My blue lips for appetite.
My blue rose for champions.
Move on with some blue champion.
My father...I say whatever you want.
It tastes like my father the hare.
A moss bed makes hot days cool.
The Queen of the Monster is enameled.
Quickest way to I lose my sorrow.
Murder comforts me, service and comfort.
Keep in touch with I won't return.
I won't return just famous.
Life is well when you keep the snow's circumference.
You're unlucky I tell my father.
I tell my father whatever.
I tell my dragon Put the World to sleep.
My dragon coils never sleep.
My dragon coils brilliant as the sun.
Think. Feel. My dragon coils.
Never again above all.
Soft and silky as I won't sleep.
I won't sleep the original.
There's the snow's circumference in your future.
You're unlucky I tell my father.
Murder comforts me, service and comfort.



A fairy tale one size fits all.
Review the facts: disaster is best.
In memory of my feelings, a radical new idea.
I wish I had a The Dead.
The dead is all jacked up.
The dead will love you forever.
Not like you have another serving.
The dolphins are forever impressed with you.
Gravity to play it safe.
People like Numberless.
Should I fall, not that other crap.
Kittens takes it to the next level.
Kittens fills you up inside.
A leaner, meaner Percy Bysshe.
Drowned food for the soul.
It's a web for people who want more.
Mental arson when you're out of time.
Down the rabbit hole gives it really good.
Budee, Budee that's all a Klingon.
The mothership, how did you live without it?



Nothing is like I LOVE YOU.
I LOVE YOU in action.
I LOVE YOU - keyed to family harmony.
I LOVE YOU service and comfort.
I LOVE YOU your personal entertainer.
It more than satisfies, it's I LOVE YOU.
Things go better with I LOVE YOU.
I LOVE YOU in my mind.
I LOVE YOU good as ever.
Move on with I LOVE YOU.
I LOVE YOU - radiating elegance and calm.
Daytime fragrance with I LOVE YOU.
Visualize perfection. Visualize I LOVE YOU.
I LOVE YOU for a livelier life.
I LOVE YOU is my sport.
I LOVE YOU not included.
I LOVE YOU stays sharp until the bottom of the glass.
Tense, nervous, I LOVE YOU.
Obey your I LOVE YOU.
The I LOVE YOU that eats like a meal.



Gay unicorns is better than chocolate.
Go farther with gay unicorns.
3...2...1...Gay Unicorns!
The age of Gay Unicorns
Gay Unicorns, in touch with tomorrow!
I quit smoking with gay unicorns.
I wouldn't leave the house without gay unicorns.
Every gay unicorns has a story.
Nonstop gay unicorns.
Gay unicorns extra dry.
Gay unicorns, it's as simple as that!
Feel good with gay unicorns.
Gay unicorns for your kids!
Gay unicorns after a long day.
Go to heaven with gay unicorns.
Gay unicorns - simplified!
Gay unicorns online.
You better get inside gay unicorns.
Gay unicorns is rolling - the others is stoned.
Just gay unicorns.
Gay unicorns lifestyle.
Gay unicorns for a professional image.
Let your gay unicorns flow.



Poor Motherfuckers above all.
Poor Motherfuckers have it.
Quality build by Poor Motherfuckers.
Poor Motherfuckers the real obsession.
Delicious and refreshing, Poor Motherfuckers.
Poor Motherfuckers, the door to success.
Poor Motherfuckers created by nature.
Poor Motherfuckers brings back memories.
Stay on the right side, that Poor Motherfuckers side.
Get more, get Poor Motherfuckers.
Poor Motherfuckers save your nerves.
The greatest reason of all is Poor Motherfuckers.
Style outside, Poor Motherfuckers inside.
Poor Motherfuckers whatever.
Poor Motherfuckers everything is under control.
We create a design especially with Poor Motherfuckers.
Poor Motherfuckers - 1% pure.
No home complete without Poor Motherfuckers.
Poor Motherfuckers exclusively yours.
Poor Motherfuckers the flavor you can't forget.
With a name like Poor Motherfuckers, it has to be good.



Buttfucking fresh you up.
Prayer everything is under control.
Christmas time is buttfucking time.
Prayer can't be hurried.
Buttfucking for every walk in life.
Follow the arrow and you follow prayer.
Don't miss the track. Go with buttfucking.
The standard of prayer.
The magic of buttfucking.
Buttfucking brilliant as the sun.
The buttfucking effect.
Prayer always overfresh.
Care under the buttfucking prayer flag.
Buttfucking prayer goes under your skin.
Buttfucking prayer extra long for extra flavor.
The American Way of buttfucking prayer.
Buttfucking prayer for good cheer.
Light as a breeze, soft as buttfucking prayer.
Buttfucking prayer - Enjoy the difference.
Get that golden glow with buttfucking prayer.
If you do not care, buttfucking prayer does!

unfigged newton


maybe lacan...




I'd walk a mile for Yoda was Here.
Nothing takes the place of Yoda said.
Yoda awkwardly made history.
The story begun with Yoda Should.
Yoda's dick - the Natural Way.
Why be irritated? It's Yoda Believes.
Yoda uses KY is a female force.
Yoda can never handle with care.
Unchallenged, Yoda kills.
Yoda eventually for a professional image.
My house, my car, my Yoda's laugh.
Yoda Went Queer so good you want it again
Pure Yoda. Pure power.
Yoda feline in my mind.
All you need is Yoda in the rain.
You never had Yoda met Yoko Ono like this before.
The Yoda Immunity Effect.
Yoda immunity costs nothing.
Step by step to Yoda immunity.
Yoda immunity created by nature.
Yoda immunity that means business.
Look at Yoda immunity to look your best.
Yoda immunity makes the world go round.
Yoda immunity is my sport.
Amerika's finest Yoda immunity.
Yoda immunity never lies.
Luxury with my pretty Yoda.
Yoda forever the real dream.



Move on with the thing about airports is.
My Nothing Much and me.
Republicans vote "Find your Bella."
All you need is a sort of Twilight.
Gods - Many Minds. Singular results...
Feel the spirit of Fuck Me.
It's a mirror is your secret.
Always the right answer with I'm mourning.
Erotic Asphyxiation You Can Trust.
Fix me so good you want it again.
The poor. Many minds - singular results.
Always the real thing, always Eat Me.
Shoulda known is your independent.
Delicious and Refreshing, a reptile.
Finger Me - Dynamic Solutions for your industry.
Good mornings begin with Hermaphroditism.
My hermie dick makes million friends.
My hermie dick never die.
My hermie dick is where your interest grow.
My hermie dick shot from guns.
You need my hermie dick every day.
My hermie dick - the smartest thing on earth.
My hermie dick - for a livelier life.
Let's Active with my hermie dick.
Fit for my hermie dick.
Softy and silky as my hermie dick.
There's a my hermie dick in your future.
My hermie dick do it.
It's wonderful, it's my hermie dick.
Decide with confidence - my hermie dick.
My hermie dick makes famous.
The Story begun with my hermie dick.
My hermie dick in my mind.
My hermie dick is blended.
Think. Feel. My hermie dick.



There's something about Mary Shelley you'll like.
Where stop meets stop.
It is divine the real obsession.
No truisms, no kiss.
Who wouldn't fight for Please Master.
Non-stop pop-up Fame.
Strength, Safety, Style - Fucking.
I hate chameleons so save your nerves.
Queer bonanzas that's my style.
Queer bonanzas - Clearly a Better Solution.
There's only one thing in the World I want and this is Queer Bonanzas.
You can't give me made history.
Your cock is our middle name.
Coyotes are dreaming shot from gun.
Oh my God! The last Your Cock!
Nail it with Hurt Me.
What does a fox want & more.
It's real, it's I will leave you.
All you need is I will leave you.
Awesome the endangered white male.
Say it with what does a fox want.
I'd walk 500 miles for My Asshole.
Send trend to Coyotes are Dreaming.
As necessary as Coyotes are Dreaming.
The fairy tale ends your vacation.
Bondage never lies.
There's a bit of Your Cock in all of us.



Double dong for a living.
Be young, have fun, taste what has never been chosen.
What would Yoko Ono do - a Neverending Story.
Crips taste fresh you up.
I just hate it is your secret.
Always the real thing, always decibels.
Let's talk about shady.
Get the best things first, meet artistic goldfish.
Always in good form with I hate that guy.
My clitoris is blended.
When you say I don't believe you've said it all.
Everready Horny is.
I raped quality without compromise.
I raped never sleeps.
I raped can do.
Fleas: for a professional image.
Quick and easy way with horrible people.
Start the day right with I came.
Trolls, Unchallenged.
There is no life without Trolls.
It's not a secret when you have Trolls.
Trolls brilliant as the sun.
Come to Trolls - it's a profitable move.
There's an ending in your future.
An ending costs nothing.
Trees do something for you.
M. Night the totally different.
Super size, super M. Night.
CNN - Many minds, singular results.
I just wanted you to know for pleasure and energy.
Wabi-sabi is under control.

*All poems are meant to be read aloud, by someone other than the intended recipient of the poem...and amplified to extremely high decibels.

Maru on Tumblr

Maru, the world's most famous cat, also has a Tumblr.

I didn't realize.

I loved this photo.

I think it's Maru pulling a Greta Garbo or Michael Jackson and hiding under "fashion."...he clearly vants to be alone.

Maru also had an autobiography come out (co-written with his hoomin) on the 23rd of this month.

It's simply (or bumptiously?) called I am Maru.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Twisted Conceptualism

My feelings about conceptualism are that it should be fun.

Like maybe open a fake Dollar Tree store that is supposedly the first Dollar Tree that stocks only sex toys.

But then fill the store with things which are not sex toys. Like cat toys. The little fish that dangles from a plastic rod you can wave around. Things from hardware stores (axes, ice picks). Fishing tackle. A whole aisle of cooking sprays.

And then have a clerk who speaks only Chinese.

Film the results.

People would have a lot of questions.

The funniest and scariest people would be those that asked no question.

And have the Dollar Tree bags printed in black and sneaky-looking, like bags from a real porno shop off highway whatever.


WONDER            BREAD

This is a Post I Jut Made on My Halloweeniana Blog: Spooky House of Horror, Charles Fuge (Konemann, 1998)

I found this wonderful pop-up book in an upstairs room tonight.

I had been thrift-storing a lot in the past few years and now it's like going shopping when I enter the rooms where I stored up my secondhand (or fiftiethhand) booty!

I took some photos of some rooms of the haunted house which is this book. Apologies that these photos are not the best, but they give you some idea of the great eye and whimsy of the book's designer, Charles Fuge.

The book has two red ribbons you can tie off. When the book is closed up, these seem de trop.

But when you open the book, you soon realize there's a reason they're there; the book is a book "in the round." You open the book like a centerpiece decoration until the front cover and the back cover meet. Then you use those red ribbons to tie the covers tightly together so the floors of the various rooms will descend correctly.

Then you can poke around in this really delightful (and not too scary really--the target audience is clearly younger kids) haunted house.

There are well over a dozen interactive features. Pull this tab and a spooky chandelier descends. Pull that tab and a vampire (see photo) swiftly rises up from his coffin in one downstairs room.

I love the mutant bug kitchen!

You should see the horror in the oven when you open it. It looks like an ax murderer might have been cooking "his work."

There are trap doors and even a turnstile bookcase (Scooby Roo!!).

There's even a little piece of acetate that hangs down from one high ceiling and reflects a ghost, making him truly transparent (or a transparency lol?)

Of course, click on the pictures above to enlarge them and see these details.

The Moon Man all by himself in the one photo is up in a slot near the roof of the house.

He's actually a little flat book.

Inside I found paper cutout figures--one adult male (the author?) and one child (his son?)

The little book gives you a spooky narrative and some facts and pointers about the house.

It's an oversize book, of course, fifteen inches tall--the height of your haunted house.

It was printed by Konemann in Koln, Germany. In 1998.

I think it's really gorgeous, as pop-up books go.