There was no reaction from Davenport, Iowa, to our email about "Hey, Wolfie, do you want to write the post today?" Not even an "eat me" from the old human-wolf hybrid. So what the Hey! We'll just improvise, you know, off the top of the head stuff, like:
Skeet: "Did you know there was a Phoenix in Chinese legend (instincts made legend)? Yep, it was called Fung-hwang or, if you wish, Fum."
Fum was one of four creature dudes--like our own Four Horsemen--who decide what's gonna happen to China--destinies, you know? Are legends simply expressions of imagined destinies?
Isn't it all about our destinies?
Fum was born of fire--in fact, Fum came to life in the Sun's Halo. Damn, that's cool, man. We like Fum. The Mandarins embroidered Fum on their dresses.
Lord Byron, that bon vivant, called King George IV of Merry Ole "Fum the Fourth"--Don Juan, xi, 78.
Pete: "Hey, Cap'n, don't I know you...oops, I thought I was still in New Orleans tapping the bricks on Bourbon Street for some spondulex...but, anyway, y'all know where the term 'cut and run' comes from? The hemp, baby, the hemp."
"Cut and run" comes from that time when ships's anchor cables were made of hemp. When the navally rascals had to get the hell out of the vicinity in a cat-quick hurry, they simply "cut" the hemp cable and "ran" full sail with the wind the hell out of there. Then they all rolled what was left of the cable into a giant mezzroll (a stick of pot to you prudes) and smoked on it all the way back to home port.
Cutting and running was a hasty retreat maneuver and not necessarily a bad thing in those days like it was in Lyndon "Big Balls" Johnson's day (he kept tooting that we weren't "gonna cut 'n run in Vee-ette Nam") and, of course, not having one original bone in his dumbass spoiled rich boy body, our babbling phony "president" "ain't gonna cut 'n run eeether" in this day and age. Hot damn, ain't'cha proud?
himself on his white horse coming out of the clouds. Did you ever wonder why clouds, which are nothing but steaming water billowing up off the oceans and floating across our skies, are considered openings into the Heavens to these old ancienthimself on his white horse coming out of the clouds. Did you ever wonder why clouds, which are nothing but steaming water billowing up off the oceans and floating across our skies, are considered openings into the Heavens to these old ancient boogie-woogie-playing-God we love WAR. More WAR, please, and by God we're gonna git more WAR whether we like it or not.
Bush and Putin are now trying to F each other in their filthy assh___s. Remember, Bush gets his direction (his destiny) from the Jewish-Christian God Jehovah (or a reasonable facsimile thereof)--directly from Hebbin', wherever the Hell Hebbin' is, and the Jewish-Christian God Jehovah through one of his insane followers, a crazed Jew name John who was said to be Jesus H. Christ's soul brother and lover of the Holy Mom Maria and that God's intention for us is that the Bear of the North, and of course that's the Russkies, is gonna join forces with the Anti-Christ (some fanatic lunatic Christian Holy Book interpreters, like the late lamented scary ham-drippings fat and pig-jowled unholy glutton Jerry Falwell, say the Anti-Christ is coming out of the--hold on to your seats now, folks, European Union. We've also heard he's (yes, even the Anti-Christ is a god-damn man) gonna come out of Egypt--such nonsense!) and attack the sacred Zionist Nutjob Nation of Israel on the Plain of Armageddon, nicely situated just outside Jerusalem close enough I assume there will be a grandstand built there and television facilities will be available as surely THIS WAR will be televised--but anyway, that's when them big old legendary Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are gonna ride down on our left-behind asses and then here'll come old Jesus H. Christo himself on his white horse coming out of the clouds. Did you ever wonder why clouds, which are nothing but steaming water billowing up off the oceans and floating across our skies, are considered openings into the Heavens to these old ancient boogie-woogie players as they made legends out of the darkest nights--they had no light at night in Jerusalem, did they? And when there were no clouds in those old ancient night skies just think of how awesome that must have looked with those billions of stars winking back at the superstitious and dumb asses but then on the cloudy nights, it was utterly empty of view--black as the Ace of Spades, right? And on such nights sometimes those dark, dank, dundrearied clouds parted and the silvery moon might be suddenly bewitchingly exposed and just think of how the superstitious clods of those ancient days must have shivered in their Jesus sandals and been banging their heads against the Wailin' Wall (good name for a jazz club) begging Jehovah and Allah and all the Heavenly Hall of Fame (the Pantheon) to please send them the salvation of the Sun of daylight (Son of God), the Fum from out of the fires of the Sun's Halo--"OH, Master, Master, please bring us light...we so scared!"
We staff Growlers ain't as smart as we make ourselves look. All the above serious shit came from a grand and glorious little book called The Wordsworth Dictionary of Phrase & Fable, a book of much interesting value, the original work of one Dr. Ebenezer Cobham Brewer. We highly recommend also Lempriere's Classical Dictionary. OK, yes, these are velly velly British works, so, yes, it's all stolen culture--the only culture the Brits have--damn if we aren't sounding more and more like thegrowlingwolf. Who knows, maybe we are.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Philip "Momism" Wylie on CongressThe Daily Growler's Memorial Day Message:
From Philip Wylie's Generation of Vipers, the 1955 edition from Pocket Books,
from Generation of Vipers
The colleges send to Washington little that has meaning to help govern the land.
The people send even less.
It is a waste of words here to berate Congress. The people are doing the job. In doing it, the people are indicting themselves, of course, for the men in our Senate and the men in our House of Representatives are, indeed, the representatives of the people. Each ribald hoot at the selfishness, the arrogance, the stupidity of our elected statesmen does not ricochet into nowhere, but bounces straight back, burning and sharp with inescapable consequence, into the bodies of the hooters: the citizens themselves, the voting public. The withered emasculation of our democratic statesmanship is the withered emasculation of America. The witch-hunting savagery of pompous male sluts in our national halls is that quality of all the people. The petty greed and relentless solicitation of these quasi males is our own. The sacrifice of power, of dignity, or responsibility, of national security and interest to a little patronage or the achievement of a trivial local profit is the measure of our universal loss of aim, purpose, moral worth, view, vision, integrity, and common cause.
The appalling stupidity of these men, highlighted by the ferocious peril of these hours, is the exact measure of the stupidity of the people in our states, cities, towns, and villages. When we condemn them, which we rightly do with nearly every dispatch concerning their multifarious and nonsensical agenda, we condemn ourselves. When we say these men have abandoned their strength to the administration, because of pressure, we state how great has been our own eagerness to lay down the chore of civic duty and let an administration--or nobody--pick up and exploit our united strength. When we perceive that they are talking without knowing what they are talking about and doing without being able to guess the results of their acts, ignorantly busy giving unearned pensions and collecting unjust taxes, digging canals and having to fill them in, we are saying how little we, also, know or care about these matters. When we describe their pompous vanity and take exquisite pleasure in putting calipers on the immense littleness of their avarice, we are making records of our own littleness and avariciousness. When we see them knuckle to lobbies, abandon sense to the demand of minority blocs, weasel, quibble, and fail, we are watching the progress of a disease in ourselves, a democratic sickness, metastatic, and so far advanced that democracy may yet die of it--not because democracy was a mistaken plan for living together, but because the people have eschewed it out of their own greed and attached themselves to a bloc, to labor, to farms, to capital, to legionnaires, to pensioneers, to states, to congressional districts, to any of a thousand gangs within our democracy--but only rarely to democracy.
By putting this small mob fealty ahead of allegiance to all of ourselves, we have steadily moved closer toward the place when mobs will fight openly to rule us, and one of them, or a group of them, may win the foray. Then they will take to fighting among each other until it becomes necessary to appoint a dictator. If that is done, the wheel will have come a full turn and democratic man will again have lost his liberty, having spat upon it, abused it, laughed at it, neglected it, and so given it up because each individual man of him was not yet good enough for liberty.
* * *
for The Daily Growler
PS: Hey, Daily Howler, they're really beginning to spin old Hillary RodHAM Clinton into something witchy like!
Folks, read The Daily Howler's post yesterday again--he hits all over this sleazebag Repugnican strategy of destroying the character of people like Hillary, Obama, John Edwards, and Al Gore. Oh no, Rudi Giuliani for instance has destroyed his own character just by being himself; yet, the Repugs cover that up with a little, you know, "Heh-heh, boys will be boys now." And what about a dude like Mitt Romney? Have any of y'all ever tried to read the Holy Book of the Mormons (the visions of a egomaniacal alcoholic letch)? If you can read that crazy book and come out believing the crap piled high in that cesspool of words--ahhhhh, shit, forget it. I forget how many billions of people believe all the same legends--shit, it's all one world; shit we're all programmed to DIE and WE DON'T WANNA DIE, LARD--and while you're at it, would you pass us that platter of biscuits and that turrine of hog-fat gravy down here, please.
Chelsea Clinton & Cheeta (Jiggs the Chimp) for President and Vice-President.
And, by the bye, Lester Young is the true President.