Monday, March 01, 2010
SCANDALOUS! A The Daily Growler Jots & Tittles Edition
It's Duck Season in Lake Flaccid, New York...Read All About It HERE & NOW With
thedailygrowlerjots&tittlesman: Barabbus Munn-Dayne
Ah, come on, you picture researchers, that's not Lake Flaccid...though it is duck season up here. Fortunately ducks won't come within several miles of Lake Flaccid even in good weather much less with temperatures in the high 20s and recently around 2 feet of snow on the ground. I haven't seen a duck on Lake Flaccid in any of the four seasons including duck season in several years--though, yes, it is duck season up here, maybe a miscalculation on the part of the fiscally desperate Game and Fish folks down in Albany. The fact that there has never been a duck on Lake Flaccid doesn't keep the duck hunters from coming here anyway. Looking out over the lake right now I see about 20 boats with guys with shotguns sitting in them. I can hear them wailing away on their duck calls. A choir of quacks. They are waiting for strays I assume. Unless they are hunting squirrels. Yeah, we've got plenty of pesky squirrels around during this year's duck season. I guess it's OK to shoot squirrels during any season since I don't think there's a squirrel season in NY State, though the State of New York is broke and desperate for new income--so maybe a Squirrel Hunting License is in the works.
I've got something up in my cabin's attic right now but it could be a black bear so hell as long as it doesn't wander down into my quarters--though I do keep an old Weatherby Elephant gun by my bed. Why I consider that protection I don't know. I don't have any ammunition for it. I'm sure it wouldn't scare a black bear so I'm sure it wouldn't scare a squirrel either. Hell, it wouldn't even scare a human. Jesus, now I've just spoiled my thinking about that gun being a protection. How about I buy a surplus machine gun? Set it up next to my bed. Bear falls out of my ceiling, brrratttttttattttatttat, and I've got one blown-away bear. Maybe I'll gain a headless bearskin rug out of it. Forget it if I blew a squirrel away with a machine gun. Squirrel-skin rugs aren't popular at all, are they?
It's not that Lake Flaccid isn't as polluted as the above photo--it's just that ducks don't ever land on our lake's surface. I tease the old lake--and it is an ancient body of fetid water--but actually I love it. The stench is bad sometimes, but, heck, no problem if you stay a little downwind. Like up in the city of Lake Flaccid you can't usually smell the lake--only when the wind blows westerly, which it seldom does.
And speaking of scandals: same as ducks, there aren't any in Lake Flaccid. For instance, there's no leak out yet of my involvement with Cecil the Dog-face Boy III's sister, Barbara--I nicknamed her Poodle--how caninely clever is that? Charlie Hooch driving his cigarette boat ashore over by Jimmy's glass-bottle house isn't scandalous to those of us who know Charlie Hooch as a good Christian man with a good wife, Roomette (honest, she was born on a cross-country train trip), and two good kids, Silly and Spam, the silly daughter, Silly, and the Spam-shaped son, Spam (I call him Maps).
There could be some scandal brewing over towards Lake Placid. Lem Lueller's married son, Jakob Boehm, might have been seen foolin' around, as locals like to call it--an amendment to the "Boys will be boys" truism, "They's jist foolin' a'round"--with Chief Kyle Hamburger's wife, Emma Broadwing Sparrow (she's an Ontario Native American Chief Kyle (not a Native American) met when he was panning for gold up near the Arctic Circle--she was married to a British geologist at the time and Chief Kyle "stole" her (legal stealing up here) from the geologist, got her a divorce (we all assume), and brought her back here to this part of the world, over by the John Brown farm where the Chief runs a strip club called Magic Moments, which is probably where Jakob Boehm ran into Emma Broadwing Sparrow Hamburger--some say she's the star performer in that club, but I would only know about that through rumor and I don't get a chance to hear many rumors around here.
Whoaaa! One of the duck hunters out on the lake mistook something he considered a duck that flew across his field of vision I assume on a level with my screened-in porch since that's where his two shotgun barrels of shot ended up, peppering my porch screen with BB-sized holes. God-dammit. I would go out and cuss them out but they might mistake me for a duck--though I'll admit, in most dead of winters, I look more like a squirrel than a duck.
And Now Some Jots........&......Some Tittles, Too
--Companies I'd Never Heard of Until About a Week Ago:
Golden Corral fast-food joints--never heard of them in this part of the world until a commercial of theirs during the Winter Olympics.
GHI Emblem one of the new supplemental Medicare health-insurance schemes that are appearing all over teevee by the dozens all of a sudden.
Citizens Medical one of the new diabetes supply services suddenly on the market. Diabetes must be of epidemic proportions in this country given the number of diabetes medical supply companies--each with their free testing meters--"I don't have to prick my fingers anymore!" Diabetes can be controlled through alternative diets and supplemental nutritional intakes like oil of oregano or cutting fats out of your diet.
The Ladder: this new company says it finds jobs for the higher-end employee, the over 100,000-buck-a-year man (how many women make over 100,000 a year?).
Secure Horizons: this is another bilk the senior citizens supplemental Medicare plan. With Obama's health-insurance-pay-or-die plan, Medicare costs are already going up. So yes senior citizens facing death are scared so sure they are suckers for Medicare Plan schemes--one of the reasons Medicare is costing so much is because of the many doctor-hospital-insurance-company schemes to beat Medicare out of more money than is due them.
Quicken Loans: new quickie loan company--you know, one of those schemers who takes all your debts and loans you the money to pay them all off and just owe Quicken Loans for the rest of your life--while you abuse your credit cards and get back into debt in that arena again. Don't worry, Quicken Loans will double up your debt to them.
--Did you know Toyota (the American Citizen version of the Japanese car company) has 40 lobbyists representing it in the District of Corruption? How many lobbyists do you have working for you?
--"Neoplanning"--a word used by a work-out dude on a exercise machine commercial--he used the word in describing how he as a trainer was advanced over other trainers--because he was into "neoplanning"--neologism at its best.
--The Winter Olympics (also called "The Bankrupting of the City of Vancouver" or "What Pissed Off the Native American Gods and Caused Whistler Peak to Blow Its Headdress in an Aftershock?"--what a joke, eh? NBC-TV amazingly managed to cover only US participants, all of whom to NBC were the greatest "winter" athletes in the history of the Winter Olympics--and then suddenly NBC got carried away by the US winning more medals than anybody else in the world and the hyperbolas were flying off the wall as sports experts all agreed the US team was the greatest assembled Winter Olympic colossal team in the history of winter sports--Yahoo!--even though most of those US medals were for 2nd and 3rd places, Canada actually getting more gold medals in this Winter Olympics than any other country ever has. The Winter Olympics when it was a true Winter Olympics was all held outdoors. Even the "figure" skating was held outdoors on an ice pond. It was called figure skating because the skaters actually had to perform "figures," like a figure 8, in their on-ice performances then followed by the free-style skating part of the program. Besides, at one time, both the Winter and Summer Olympics were for amateur athletes only--now, even the skiers, sliders, snowboarders, acrobats, fliers are all millionaire professionals who compete yearly in a World Cup venue for multimillions of bucks and sponsorships. I found it so comical how the final US-Canada hockey game drew so much nationalistic hoopla. All the participants in that match were millionaire NHL hockey players who have played against each other for several months now this season. And, of course, the Summer Olympics is now a millionaire track stars and gymnast stars convention. They've already, too, spent a season competing with each other, the best beating all these second-raters from all over the world--most of them at their peaks in their twenties, gone by the time they're 30, unless they are the phenom champions and then they can keep competing say up to around 36, which I think was the oldest skier I saw at Vancouver this year. Though these thrill-seeking kids break an awful lot of bones during their World Cup seasons--the Georgian bobsledder being killed by what was being billed by the commercial sponsors of this affair as the fastest-ever bobsled run--a challenge to bobsledders to try and survive at 90 mph--a thrill a minute--that it killed a bobsledder--so much the better...oh no, they moved the starting line up to where the girly men start from (the women bobsledders)--plus, oh yeah, they covered up the steel beams sticking out over that most dangerous curve--the one on which the Georgian guy flew off the track to his death. Think of the thousands of sudden bobsledding fans who watched those bobsled runs hoping for another tragedy! There has to be a thrill to it for it to sell. No thrill no sell. So you have a bunch of teenage/twentyish mountain-area-cold-country kids, a lot of them kids whose parents run ski resorts, and a lot of them who know each other very well, who marry each other, who socialize with each other--who practice in each other's countries--anyway--competing for sponsors. Yes, that, folks, is really all they're doing at the Vancouver Olympics--the Olympics now becoming a venue for millionaire sports professionals to show off their attention-getting wares--all of them heavily sponsored by the ski industry and associated industries--ski apparel; ski resorts; airlines, etc.--all millionaires, even the most ridiculous of them.
--Speaking of millionaire professional sports stars, the World Champ New York Yankees just signed has-been South Korean (the first one in the MLs) pitcher Chan Ho Park
(박찬호) to a one-year contract at 1.2 million bucks. By the bye, we haven't heard anything from Marvelous Marv Backbiter lately, speaking of overpaid millionaire sports reporters and announcers--what the heck is going on with him?
--Speaking of scandals: looks like now the sports police are going to accuse poor old once-perfect Tiger Woods of obtaining "enhancing" drugs from yet another sports doctor down in Florida--another quack offering these millionaire game-playing boys enhancing substances. (Everybody in the USA is on some kind of enhancing something, whether a drug substance or an implanted electric shock device that keeps hearts ticking in the right time--Unka Dick probably has one of these mechanical messiahs in his old gnarled chest.) They are grilling Mets shortstop once-blossoming-star Jose Reyes about his letting this doctor shoot him up with some substance that will, I suppose, make him heal quicker since Reyes has been operated on recently. Poor old baseball players in today's brutal sports market--they all have these joint and muscle injuries (torn rotator cuffs; bad knees; back troubles; broken limbs)--they are forced to play injured a lot of times--some play through seasons knowing they need surgery--some play with broken bones or ankle sprains--and think of the pain these poor millionaires are forced to play with--though I'm sure the team trainers have the painkillers in the bottom of their bags--is Oxycontin considered an illegal drug in sporting circles? Like if Reyes had of shown up to spring training still in pain, unable to perform like the general manager (same old dude; they kept him, Omar the Great) wants him to, he might have been put on the trading block; so hell, it's only natural he fall for a doctor who says, "Here, Jose, amigo, trust me, I'm a doctor, let me shoot your ass full of this legit all-natural homemade substance here and you'll be Superman by the time spring training rolls around. Hey, look, amigo, an autographed photo of Tiger Woods here on my wall, right there under my diploma from the Grenada School of Leisure Class Medicine. Now you know this man wouldn't take an illegal substance, would he?" Competition is so vicious now in professional sports--Tiger was such a phenom--I mean, just think of the pressure on Tiger to stay King of the Hill, which is what this is all about--those who get to the tops of the highest hills become our champions! Babe Ruth during his heyday of phenomenal baseball playing and hitting was privileged to a high carousal rating without his baseball career being besmirched. The Babe had been a winning pitcher before he became the big-star heavy hitter who hit record-breaking home runs year after year. So no wonder he was so good a hitter--as a winning pitcher he knew what the pitchers were throwing at him just by the way they held the ball and delivered it--he could know pretty much what kind of pitch they were fixing to throw at him using remembrances of what pitches he would have thrown in this situation when he was a pitcher and thought like a pitcher. After the games and during the off season, the Babe was notorious enough to be known and unashamed enough to be photographed around every whorehouse in every baseball city in the US. Babe was also notorious for showing up to games drunk or horribly hungover--usually a sign he was going to have a great day at the plate--though it is ironic to note, though once a winning pitcher and with pitching knowledge in his bean, the Babe still was sometimes easily struck out. Babe was also well known for eating hot dogs by the dozens and drinking soda pops while sitting on the bench. He was caught many times cheating on his wife--though she stayed with him to the very end. He was also known for smoking big cigars, playing pranks on his teammates, being called "Nig," and driving big cars. Ironically, that's why so many baseball fans loved the Babe. He defied conformity. He wasn't a team player, he was a team in himself. Lou Gehrig was a much better baseball player, but he was supposedly perfect--loved his parents, loved his country, didn't drink, didn't smoke, was academically smart (an Ivy Leaguer)--Lou Gehrig has to die of a horrible disease (it was named after him) before people looked at the amazing record this guy achieved in his much more pure-baseball-playing career than the Babe's, though the Babe is more of a baseball-playing phenom than Lou. You can't expect a kid, as in Tiger's case, who grows up since age 2 doing nothing but learning and being trained on how to play and win at golf to not be overwhelmed by the royalty and majesty and power of being the best-ever in the game of golf or in any sport. Of being better than those White phenoms, Arnie Palmer and Jack Nicklaus, who came before him. Tiger's big goal in life was to wipe out Jack Nicklaus's at-one-time-thought-to-be invincible records, which he was well on his way to doing before this SEX SHIT hit his best fan. To be a phenom in the amateur ranks, as was Tiger, and then at 20 breaking onto the pro tour with even more phenom gallant had to be a wildly traumatic experience--release from which for a man is SEX--and a phenomenal entry into the pro golf world it was, too--his first Master's he creamed all the existing records and won it by the widest margin in this American classic's history--surely Tiger got laid that Sunday night after he won that Master's that first time--surely he got a fine young thing that night. And do we really expect this naive billionaire to suddenly be able to resist the Golf Devil's worst form of temptation, a tempting female human animal? Even though you've got your trophy white wife and trophy kids, you are the Master now; you are the King now; you can summons women of all classes and races and motivations to your side; you can command they kneel before you and worship your proud golf-club hard manhood--"What will I get if I suck your cock, oh my Master Tiger?" "Name your price and get to work, sweetheart." "Wow, ohhh, baby, the way you suck dick I should divorce my wife and runaway with you...ohhh, you got anymore suction left in that Hoover of yours?" No thought of the trophy wife while you're getting the royal dick sucked. Definitely no thought of the trophy kids--they're well taken care of--nannies galore--especially that one really hot nanny you've seen around the compound. These big sports stars all live in compounds. Remember OJ's compound. Tiger can go play golf and keep winning millions in South Africa, the Arab Emirates, and all over Asia--don't worry about his ass. Soon the PGA will forgive him--the US tour suffers when Tiger isn't playing. You just can't get it up for Phil Mickelson like you can Tiger. Nor none of these Brits and Aussies who are all over the US tour now--i.e., Ian Poulter and Paul Casey who recently were in the finals of the World Match Play Championship in Tucson, an event that Tiger always starred in and drew huge galleries at--now that Tiger's not in the hunt, these second-raters are battling each other for Fed Express glory--the US tour is now a European tour--with a recent influx of even Japanese and Korean men golfers (the Ladies Pro Golf tour is dominated by Asian women these days) you could say it's a Euro-Asian tour. Tiger is the greatest golfer in the world--how long do you think the US tour can do without him? I'll bet you one thing, the minute Gator Ade dropped Tiger their sales dropped, too. Now'd be a good time for Red Bull to offer Tiger a deal. I mean isn't male potency the whole reason behind Gator Ade and Red Bull?
--Hey, I'm sorry, I'm no judge of poets, I just happen to like this guy: Elmer Snowedin
How Do the Serious Think?
by Elmer Snowedin, poet laureate of Hay Spring, Nebraska:
With hands full of notes
With lines of deep resonance
With echoes of pasts and morrows
Mixing with language spoken or sung
The writing writing cancrizans of twice-remitted tales
Aligned mathematically to come out
As symmetrically corralled horse-hoof-rumbling verses
Corralled off wild-windswept-plains of thinking
By plain thinking on a variety of planes
Floating and flying high above OUR everyday thoughts
--The LG Co. (they make appliances, I think) teevee advertisement during PGA golf implies that birds learned to fly from watching airplanes. Isn't this what the Growler pundits mean by "backwards thinking"?
--"Wash like a man, feel like a man"--a Gillette Body Wash commercial I saw on teevee during the Big East basketball games Sunday (Syracuse whipped Villanova bad, man). If you wash like a woman do you feel like a woman even if you're a man? What if a woman washes with this man's wash--does she then begin having Lesbian fantasies?
--A quote from Uncle Carl Jung (a protestant preacher's son):
I imagine a far finer and more comprehensive task for [psychoanalysis] than alliance with an ethical fraternity. I think we must give it time to infiltrate into people from many centers, to revivify among intellectuals a feeling for symbol and myth, ever so gently to transform Christ back into the soothsaying god of the vine, which he was, and in this way absorb those ecstatic instinctual forces of Christianity for the one purpose of making the cult and the sacred myth what they once were - a drunken feast of joy where man regained the ethos and holiness of an animal.
C. G. Jung quoted by Richard Noll. The Jung Cult. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994, p. 188.
"The soothsaying god of the vine"--Jung was right; that's who Christ is. "...and the holiness of an animal." Jung took Freud a step further--he accepted Freud's personal subconscious but he refudiated Freud for not respecting the "spiritual" in man by coming up with his collective subconscious, the lowest level of the psyche. Did you know the word alcohol in Latin has a religious connection in that it can mean a person intaking the Holy spirits (the firmament) to the point of legendary drunkeness--what Benny Hinn and those fakirs call being slain in the spirit. Same way voodoo works. Holy drunkeness. "...a drunken feast of joy where man regained the ethos and holiness of an animal." Woof, woof. "Why must I act like that/Why must I chase the cat?/Nothin' but the dawg in me!" Atomic dog.
Bye-bye for NOW, the only time we know for sure we have.
for The Daily Growler
A New The Daily Growler Hall of Fame Inductee:
Earl Mad Man Muntz
A Muntz Jet Automobile
Here's a great site that will surprise you--a site championing the Muntz Jet automobile--and also the history of Earl the Mad Man Muntz. Inventor also of the Muntz television sets. It's all in his story:
In Honor of Basil Bunting's 110th Anniversary (see www.languagehat.com for a deeper perspective of Mr. Bunting)--and here's a poem by him--appropriately on a The Daily Growler Hall of Famer's greatest work, Old Ez Pound's Cantos:
On the Fly-Leaf of Pound's Cantos
There are the Alps. What is there to say about them?
They don't make sense. Fatal glaciers, crags cranks climb,
jumbled boulder and weed, pasture and boulder, scree,
et l'on entend, maybe, le refrain joyeux et leger.
Who knows what the ice will have scraped on the rock it is smoothing?
There they are, you will have to go a long way round
if you want to avoid them.
It takes some getting used to. There are the Alps,
fools! Sit down and wait for them to crumble!