Friday, August 04, 2006

Morning Meditation

"A body doesn't work properly when significant bits are not sharing the same space-time frame as the rest of it, but it does look more colorful. The trade-off is not to its advantage."

--Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

Commentary: What Pratchett says is largely true. I wouldn't care to test the hypothesis, though. On the other hand, one can do quite well in a America with a reasonably intact body & bits of mind occuppying divergent space-time frames. For instance...

This sort of thing tends to happen a lot around here. You'd think it would deter immigration.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

A Brief Guide to the American Political Landscape

The Republican Party: Do what your you father wants you to do or we will bomb you back into the early Pleistocene era. That is of course unless you have substantial oil reserves on your property. In this contigency scnario do wait for Daddy's infantry to arrive at precisely 1800 hours and engage the tyrannical regime that holds you and your oil hostage. That's our job. Incidentally, don't trust your mother. Or else.

The Democratic Party: Don't do anything your mother doesn't want you to do. Oh, and wait until she gets back from the Committee Meeting before you do anything whatsoever. Take your pills.

The Libertarian Party: Do whatever you bloody well please but don't touch my stuff. Free love is good, though, especially if it's with me. So is free dope. Want some? Have I shown you my etchings? How about my other Porche? Who is John Galt? Don't run! If you do I'll...ask you not to run away again? Damn.

The Green Party: I can't believe we did that. Again. Don't do anything Ralph Nader wants you to do. They're pretty reliable. Did we mention not do anything Ralph Nader wants you to do? No, we actually mean it this time. Trust us on this one. You can trust leafy things, though. They're reliably leafy.

The Feminist Party* (rad-fem/fem-marxist/gender fem edition): Do what the Sisterhood strongly implies you ought to do. It's in your best interest. Oh, and do it with a dildo. Don't trust your father. He's a rapist. If you're a man, don't trust yourself. You're a rapist. Do trust the Sisterhood. Or else.

The Feminist Party* (equity fem dance re-mix): Don't do anything whatsoever that the Sisterhood might possibly approve of, even if it is in your best interest. Hang out with libertarian men. Do them. They need the action pretty bad. They might get wierder. Also, they're politically quite maleable if you have sex with them.

The Keg Party: Please don't do on the carpet. Again. Ugh. Oh, well, can't be helped now. Hey, you two! Do it in somebody else's room. Anyone wanna play beer-pong?

Have I missed anything?



*Strictly speaking, neither of these movements is what you'd call a "party" in the proper sense of the term. They serve cheap wine, bad beer & the music is kinda dreary. There's no beat, really, nothing you can dance to. The catfights make for good sport. Buy popcorn & get ringside seats if you want to make the best of it.

The Suffragettes really were onto something good back in the beginning. Then the Lady Kluckers, and possibly the Sith, invested the movement sometime in the late 19th century. That's never good.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Let's cut to the chase, then, gents & ladies. I'm Graham Strouse. I'm the new sheriff in town. And I've got a few rules.

The first rule is, everyone is entitled to my opinion. As for the second rule, see rule number one. Being an open-minded and fair man (except when I'm not) & a frequent believer in the right to free speech extended to all Americans under our glorious, albeit much-abused & neglected Bill of Rights.*

Now maybe you're thinking to yourself, "So you're sheriff, are you? Sheriff of what, may I ask? And where might that what be located if we want to stop by with a little chat, possibly involving pitchforks. Mmmm?"

And the answer to that would be:

Look behind you.

See that huge man in matching black body armor, cape & Kabuki helmet? No, not that one. The other one. The one with the red laser sword, asthmatic wheeze & the half-dozen giant rabid weasals straining, straining at their leashes held casually in one black-gauntled fist?

That's not me. I'm nearly positive.

Somebody forgot to not take their medication today, yes? Try some of mine. No, check that. I'll have what you're having. It sounds interesting. Is it homemade?

Now that that's all settled, let us do it. Strike a pose and let's get to it.

"Cry Havoc! And let slip the Dogs of War!"**


*For the purpose of this forum, I shall even extend these rights to any foreigners with funny sounding names who wish to post here, including illegal aliens and possibly Texans.
**And the Weasels of War. Specially bred War Weasals, each the size of an African lion and twice as mean. My War Weasals? Get it? Got it. Good. Still want to know the location & extent of my presumed jurisdiction? No? Ah, well then...