Porky's Garden of Eloquence

Elder (self) abuse

2007-11-23T11:41:00.000-05:00

Nature sometimes mingles her effects with sombre appropriateness, as though she desired to make us reflect. The soul of the just contemplates in sleep a mysterious heaven.

It has come to my attention that a recent pall of newspaper reportings seeks to engender the idea of a phenomenon of "elder abuse" existing in our nation. In such light, one question remains for the serious patriot. Just how much of this abuse is self-abuse?

I commend our media, of course, for taking a stalwart (if belated) stand against senior onanism, but I must plead clemency for our mature constituents in this instance. After all, the senior-American is not like you or I! For, lo! The senior-American encounters temptation at every turn!

In the aged, a general increase in flesh relates DIRECTLY to an increased interest in the flesh of others. (And the flesh of onesself!) Dental and maxillofacial implements that can be removed AT WILL present seniors with gaping, toothless seductions toward unnattural lingual acts. The supple, pliable skin of the aged man or woman likewise leads the mind into naught but sinful conjecture as to how this or that fold of flesh might be manipulated.

Heavy lies the crown of the aged-American!

I consider myself lucky (and, on this day of thanksgiving, thankful) to be able to count myself a reanimated-American, with all of the corresponding benefits of a lowered sex drive.

I shall land mine... mine own conservative woman!

2007-11-19T13:12:00.000-05:00

Further liberal depravity!

There are two theories of Revolution: to arouse the people, or to let them come of arousal themselves.

In this case, they must be aroused or they stand the likely chance of never experiencing proper arousal again!

Clicking the linked co-ordinates above will take the reader to a website of an organization as seeking to re-define female beauty as arising from the subtraction of limbs via buried explosive devices!

Yet be not afraid, fellow conservatives, for I have devised a program to counter this threat to proper female beauty. Following in the steps of our brothers upon the Isle of Man, I shall put forth a paradigm of female beauty wherein more than two legs are desired, thus creating a counter-balance!

What does a ponce-say? I care not!!!

2007-10-31T12:01:00.000-04:00

The word "ponce" has a variety of meanings in the English-speaking cultures, and all of them are negative!

In England, the term refers to an effete, decadent man, preoccupied with fashion and lacking in the wholesome vigour that is becoming to a male of the species.

On the so called "Emerald-Isle" (decadent as it already is), the Irish use the term to refer to a procureror of prostitutes.

And on the Isle of Man it is synonymous with vanity, buggery, and a "camp" that has naught to do with the hearty outdoorsmanship of sleeping under the stars!

In all of the above cases, the word "ponce" is monosyllabic and intoned with a vitriol reserved for acrimonious profanity. Yet according to my PBS affiliate here in Chicago, the word is now pronounced as "pon-say." And, moreover, not only is it used upon the public airwaves supported by taxation of the electorate, but it is THE VERY NAME of the host of the daily television newsprogramme "Chicago Tonight."

Each evening at 7pm, Phil Ponce purveys and proffers a decadent, liberal newsprogram, intended to sway leftwards the hearts and minds of the solidly-conservative Chicagoan. His agenda is, obviously, as dark and crafty as his tactics are! Just as he intends to create a normative attitude toward THE SCANDAL THAT IS HIS VERY SURNAME, so too does he intend to engender normative attitudes toward bigamy, sodomy, and hemlines that terminate above-the-knee!

We are on to you, however, Mr. Pon-Say. Your attempts to pervert the citizenry of the City of Big Shoulders will prove as feckless as your attempts to foist your liberal name upon us!

A Ray of Hope in the Republic’s Darkest Hour

2007-10-24T12:05:00.000-04:00

I have many times warned that allowing lesbians to abandon school-marmism so that they may openly pursue softball and dour fashion will erode the sophistication of the electorate. Now the nation is governed by a generation of citizen who has never feared the switch of a brawny Sapphist -- with consequences as predictable as they are tragic.

Indeed, the citizens of Boston ignored my call to depose tyrannical district attorney Daniel Conley. The less said about that day the better. Suffice to say the most salacious members of Conley’s constabulary snatched me off.

I write now weighted with shackle, clad in orange union suit, shod in the thong sandal of the china-man-- but with calm mind. For while I am now domiciled in the State Penitentiary, penitent I am not. I have written the Reverend Al Sharpton of my predicament and reminded him that moral consistency militates that he come to my aide. I have every faith that the Reverend's persistent nattering will secure my freedom and I shall stride from this dungeon with hat cocked in jaunty and defiant confidence.

In the meantime I have opened a new front on the terrorist's war against us here in this prison… and also discovered in myself the capacity for a pure and untainted love.

But I get ahead of myself. I spent not a week in prison before I happened upon a klatch of dread Mohammedans!

"Hold there, skull-capped barmpots" I warned the terrorists. "You'd be of the kind that Zombie-fied my boon and huckleberry friend Johnskyn!" I exclaimed (in retrospect confusing the Mohammedans with Juju-men of the tropics).

My accusations were met with silence.

"Speak" I ordered. "By Jove, confess your flirtation with necromancy!"

Still no response.

"Calliope, muse of epic poetry" I beseeched heaven-wardly, "Strike the vocal chords of these mongoloids, and inspire speech where now there is only…”

"Mothafucka, I'ma FUCK. You. UP!!" interrupted the leader of the heretofore mute Mohammedans.

Never one to allow my enemies a pyrrhic victory, I withdrew.

Later, while pondering my revenge in my shabby accommodations, an enormous amalgam of odors, muscle, hair, secretions and blubber lumbered into my bed chamber, dressed in naught but a bath towel.

"Ahh, I’ll wager that you’re a Golem sent by the Mohammedans," I accused (in retrospect confusing the Mohammedans with Rabbinical Hebrew warlocks).

"Ssup, puss," gurgled the giant upright hedgehog in response.

Ohh, how I blush at this memory. How my eyes must have welled, how my cheeks must have reddened, how my loins must have engorged -- so grateful was I for this good fortune. I instantly recognized "Ssup, puss" as the first line of the epic ribald palindrome "Tub sas or Rosa's but" (which—as any literate will tell you—ponders what is to be preferred between coitus in a washbasin, or anal sex with a Latina).

Even here --deprived of my liberty, dressed in the manner of clown, driven into consort with a most base clergyman, besieged by terrorists, Rastafarians, necromancers, and Semitic sorcerers -- I found a kindred spirit.

Overcome with joy, I thrust myself readily into the hot musk of my shaggy angel's humid mystery.

I have come to know him by his Christian name -- Clifford.

Liberal Cockadoo Garrison Keillor Reaps That Which He Has Sown

2007-10-23T22:24:00.000-04:00

Dear reader, a query: when historians look back at our beloved America, will they recall our great technological triumphs, our unprecedented wealth, and, above all, our grand experiment in Republican self-government? Or will our memory be tainted by the bad apples, the flamboyant outliers, the progressive taxers? I ask because the inquiry raises still more questions, themselves unanswerable – and I must confess that they gnaw at me.

Now consider my question anew in light of this article: brazen sexual pervert “Hollywood” Garrison Keillor has returned to the news, and this time not for another paternity suit. No, it is in fact a restraining order issued by a St. Paul judge against one Andrea Campbell, who is charged with “stalking” the swaggering radio host. On what basis, you inquire? She is said to have sent “explicit e-mails and disturbing gifts, including a petrified alligator foot and dead beetles.” As well, the lady stands accused of sending “disturbing, unintelligible and rambling" letters in which she "graphically described making love to [him.]" Finally, Keillor claims that this Campbell attempted to break into his home.

To which I cry: Well of course! How far can the American people be tempted, tweaked and titillated before the man provokes this inevitable eruption? After all, have we not seen Keillor swaying rakishly before a stupefied crowd of 500,000 geriatric hippy-dippies and SDS radicals, numbing their minds with his baritone appeals to “peace,” “small town decency,” and “mutual masturbation”?

Is it not common knowledge that his audience of amateur pornographers, Black Panthers, and North American Unionists rapturously breathe in his cheddary exhalations as though it were the smoke of the cannibis tree?

I ask you: have we not all witnessed him pacing the circular stage like a Norwegian lion, stalking his audience in his skin-tight, day-glo, striped bell-bottomed pants, his no-doubt-musky chest hair enticingly exposed? Have we not heard him crooning sweet lies about climate change and human-ape descent as the crowd, besotted, revels in the sheer carnality of what they breathlessly term The Simultaneous Keillorgasm?

Who among us has not heard whispers about the 72-hour tantric sexual revelries taking place behind the high walls of Woebegon Manor? Have we not each shuddered at hearing the heaving, gulping sobs of unknown creatures and the hysterical laughter of children echoing over the wet flagstones?

And who of us, while seated in our red velvet armchairs at the mid-night hour, has not despised Keillor? Even now the memories of him strutting impudently to and fro rush into my mind unbidden, and my blood stirs.

Beyond these questions lie deeper enigmas: given all that we know about this shameless man, are we to believe that he of all people was distressed by a dowager peering into his privy? And by being mailed fossilized reptile parts? I trust I do not need to repeat the story about Garrison in the hotel room with Marianne Faithful and a petrified alligator foot. You have read the same supermarket journals as I, perhaps even multiple times as an example to one’s own rebellious loins.

Take heart! If anyone is to blame for letting these dangerous erotic energies out of the djinni bottle, it is the Minnesotan nudist himself. A more likely story is that he staged the entire matter in order to generate controversy – the coin of the realm in these confused times. I do not yet have all the answers to these manifold mysteries, but I am confident on this point: history’s millstone will grind down your lies and your will to resist, sir, until one day you consent to wear modest garb. And I swear this, Keillor: I will be there that day to watch you clothe yourself, stitch by bloody stitch if need be.

For if America is to remain great, our anatomies must remain covered – especially those of Garrison Keillor! On that count I am in agreement with the reverend Mullahs and Ayatollahs.

I will leave you with a final quote from the Campbell woman: "It's transcendental love, that's all…between a writer and a reader."

Indeed.

Current "conservative" options for First-Lady are completely unacceptable

2007-10-18T14:33:00.000-04:00

The image you see represented in this posting is that of former First-Lady Abigail Powers Fillmore, the touchstone of female beauty in these United States since 1853. Current candidates for our nation's highest office should mark her well (though, it must be said, the Daguerrotype is a poor conductor for her noble and powerful visage).

When you have completed the near-sacred act of basking in her reflected patroitic glow, I ask you to turn your attentions (even as it may turn your stomach) to the current nominees for this position, especially on the so-called Republican side of the aisle. One candidate for president (I shall not name him directly) wishes, by his surname to be identified as a Son-Of-Thom. Yet he is also a Husband-Of-Harlot by and through his actions! The wife of Mr. Thompson (Do I name him directly? Very well, I name him directly.) is better suited for the exotic-dancing pole than the inside of the White House, with her "tanned" skin and medically-augmented bosoms!

Consider also the case of Cindy Hensley McCain! This beer-baron's daughter applies "make-up" to her face and prances to-and-fro wearing leg-stockings like a common saloon floozy. These decorative touches may have their place in the barroom and ale-house, but in the Executive Branch of our Government? Johnskyn Kantilever thinks not!

Likewise, Judith Giuliani (already named in such as way as to arouse suspicion of Semitism) comports herself with the painted face and immodest garb of a burlesque! The very idea!

Now look again to Mrs. Fillmore. She is purity. She is resolve. She, she is America.

Women desiring to become First-Lady of these United States would do well to avoid the cosmetics and perfumes of the decadent French, and instead follow the regimen of Mrs. Fillmore herself.

No, the daily ingestion of a full pint of cod's-liver-oil is not easy. Likewise, bi-weekly internal purification via the enema's nozzle has, granted, unpleasant aspects. Yet no unerring look into Abigail's face can leave any doubt that the ends of our great nation justify the means!

He Who Would Not Risk All for Freedom Shall See a Time When He Has Nothing To Risk

2007-10-12T13:40:00.000-04:00

The depravity of Daniel Conley is breathtaking. The illiterate Suffolk County District Attorney is unable to comprehend my modest and temperate request that Grover Swain’s Illustrated Treasury of Ribald Palindromes be made available to the public (see below). Moreover, Conley- that hoary jumble of desires with no backbone, no bottom- has thrown his debased stock in with the Porcine Ms. Smith.

Indeed, Mr. Conley has failed to prevent the yoke of an illegitimate restraining order from being placed upon me.

The defeat is solely Mr. Conley’s, for he has treaded on that witch should not be tread upon. Be it a tax on my tea and stamps, or the incoherent attempts at law of a papist potato ape- the rights of a citizen and property owner are not negotiable.

Thus, I, Grover Swain, seed of the Revolution and modern day Minuteman shall MARCH. I now lay down the pen, the plow and the hotpocket, and take up my decorative flintlock musket.

All who would not be slaves have a duty to take up this struggle for Freedom. Therefore, I will meet all those worthy of his or her citizenship at the gate of the District Attorney’s lair at three-bees-past-midmorning ON THIS VERY DAY!

Our breasts will swell with manly pride as the deposed tyrant and drunkard draws his last, fetid breath. He will long for the day when his mutated country-men were only denied a work application!

My disregarded letter is the catalyst of the Renewed American Revolution, and will no doubt heretofore be deemed the equal of the Declaration of Independence, both for its import to the Republic and artfulness of its wording. For the benefit of scholars- alive and yet to be born- I reproduce it in its entirety.

***********************************************

Dear Ms. Smith:

I shan’t enumerate the offenses I take from your recent correspondence, in which you suppose to reject my offer to furnish your collection with two dozen volumes of “Grover Swain’s Illustrated Treasury of Ribald Palindromes.” Long experience has taught me that one only compounds ones error when one expects more than a great oinking and snorting after addressing a sow. Again I have cast my pearls before swine, and the she-pig grunts accordingly.

However, I must inform you that you lack discretion to deny my generosity! Suppose the national archivist decided on a lark to throw the United States Constitution into the ash bin, thus making room for the pornographer Danielle Steele. He would be thrown into the stocks forthwith! On the same theory of justice I shall ask that you reconsider, lest you find yourself locked in amongst the sodomites by the county turn-key.

You will note that I have sent a carbon copy to Daniel Conley, District Attorney of Suffolk County. You have but two hopes to retain your freedom. First you may hope that Mr. Conley- flush with drink- smudges the carbon with his stout Celtic digits beyond legibility. In fairness the odds of this are not remote. However, the more prudent course to securing your freedom is to accept my offer and install the Treasury into your collection with all the dispatch your trotters can muster!

You want not for brass, trollop. Let us hope you retain some sense of self preservation.

Cheers,

Grover Swain

CC Daniel Conley, Suffolk County District Attorney

I can provide an end to fantastical speculatives

2007-10-09T12:29:00.000-04:00

The country of the Hoosier is rich in
tales. Nearly all the Middle-Western fables have their origin in this place. Indianapolis, the capital, is the land of chimeras. It is perhaps for this reason that kings of automobile racing are crowned there.

So...

It is without undue surprise, that I note that the attached pixelated-image, which has caused some users of the internet to speculate wildly, has close ties, then, to the wretched land of Indiana! These speculators have suggested that the image shows a group of Hoosier soldiers from the Fighting 79th, who (in the course of waging their War of Northern Agression) chanced to encounter and kill a Ptero-Dactyl. The same report suggests that they were photographed with it, but that then the creature was mysteriously "lost."

I, Johnskyn Kantilever, can provide the following verifications: Not only are these reports 100% true, but they completely and totally fail to include the tale's most marvellous aspect!!!

For you see, one of my ancestors, Deverdander Kantilever, is pictured in the photograph (far left)! He was bravely serving as a Confederate double-agent, and had (as can be seen above) stuffed his shirt with dynamite explosives almost to the point of bursting. Moments after the above image was captured, Deverdander bravely exploded himself and all of the Union soldiers surrounding him. (Which accounts, no doubt, for the consequent vaporization of the dinosaur-in-question.)

Now that photographic evidence of my ancestor's heroic act has been recovered, I can only assume that a memorial and tribute to him are in order. Possibly, his likeness could be carved into Stone Mountain next to those of Davis, Lee, and Jackson. And just perhaps, if the artist is not without a touch of whimsy, a heroic Confederate Ptero-Dactyl could be added as well, circling bravely above to distract Union soldiers!

Liberal scientists threaten the reproductive potential of our species

2007-09-27T12:00:00.000-04:00

Yester-evening, my undead bones sat comfortably on my couch as I enjoyed a televised broadcast of Midwestern agricultural updates (as is right and proper) alongside my son Bucephalus.

At one point I got up to empty my zombified bladder, and returned to my seat only to find that Bucephalus had changed the broadcasting channel to a scientifically-themed program on Public Television.

I found it suprising that Bucephalus, not known to be scientifically inclined, would choose to view this sort of programming. But, lo! When the theme of the broadcast became clear, my son's proclivity ceased to maintain any aspect of mystery. The documentary purported to be a scientific report "On Human Sexuality."

"Delightful," I declaimed audibly. "Bucephalus, you shall learn of the natural impulses that contributed to your own coming-into-being-ness. Draw near, my child."

Sensibly, the programme began with a survey of attributes that women find desirable in men. I noted, with a little dismay, that liberal euphemisms for "literate, land-owner" had been employed when the qualities desired in men were discussed, but then this was to be expected with PBS.

But when the show turned its attentions to the qualities that men find attractive in women, the disgusting, Godless, vile agenda of this Democrat-funded network became horribly clear!!! While the camera surveyed a series of-- it must be granted-- pleasant and shapely women, a narrator's voice intoned that: "The one constant, across all races and cultures, is that the attractiveness of a woman can be found in her waste-to-hip ratio."

Excreable obsenity!!! I was astounded! A new low, even for PBS!

I disconnected the television cord and began to pray.

Certainly, as a man of the world, I had on prior occasions heard tales of the odd psychopath or criminal deviant entertaining an interest in corprophilia. But to put forth the idea that it is "normal" and "healthy" to assess the sexual worthiness of a female based upon the size of her spore (and its relationship to the hips from which it emerged) is the most disgusting liberal perversion of science yet perpetrated!

Any true student of sexual science knows that men assess women by their abilities in the domestic arts (in connection to the need of families to build strong, healthy households), bust size (and its corresponding connection to life-giving milk), and the ability to surpress the gag reflex.

Other notions, especially ones involving excrement, are naught but outright liberal lies!

Egress, Negress!

2007-09-19T14:04:00.000-04:00

Sherri Evonne Shepherd (of-- I shudder to note-- Chicago, Illinois) has been named a new Adjunct Attendant of The View, a televisionized gathering of hysterical women on the American Broadcasting Company.

And Lo! This Godless, liberal buffoon has already brought shame upon the city of big shoulders by publicly suggesting that the Earth is flat. I offer evidence, here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLnCDTWB2S0

This scandal must not stand!

As any true conservative knows, the Earth is in fact gibbous-- that is to say "irregularly rounded." This is because it is resting comfortably on the back of a giant turtle (named Argon) who is slowly making his way through outer-space toward the Orion costellation. (The great space-turtle breeding grounds are, of course, located there, just shy of Betelgeuse).

But Ms. Shepherd's ignorance of this fact is inexcusable!

Any cursory examination of a gynecological manual (I still have my Dr. Boswell's 3rd Edition, pub. 1886) will reveal that the medical community finds in consensus that the removal of the uterus can work wonders in the reduction of such hysterics. Perhaps a trip to the doctor's office is, indeed, in order for her. In the meantime, I aim to destroy my autographed photo of Ms. Shepherd... by dropping it off the edge of Argon's shell!

Nefarious liberal plottings afoot!

2007-09-17T18:41:00.000-04:00

They can be found here:

http://www.mercerforpresident2008.com/home.html

Lee L. Mercer, Jr., from Austin, Texas. A new liberal candidate for president!

He is, as can be said, an ignorant man, but he is not a fool. The light of nature has been ignited in him. Unhappiness, which also possesses a clearness of vision of its own, augments the small amount of daylight which exists in this mind. My fellow conservatives, beneath the facade once sees a cunning, Godless liberal ready to strike at the heart of true conservatism!

Consider... Under the innocent heading "Reasons for Mr. Mercer's Presidential Candidacy" we see a litany containing the following item:

"56. To Prove Jeb Bush is all in my house with disease."

In this boast, Mr. Mercer all but criminally asserts that he his holding hostage the former conservative governor of Florida, wrongfully deposed by so-called "term limits" (the invention of liberals, it will be remembered) in January of this year. Not only is the former governor being held against his will, boasts Mr. Mercer, but he has been allowed to deteriorate to such a state that disease has now set-in.

If he is elected to lead this nation, who knows which other prominent conservatives Mr. Mercer may seek to kid-nap once granted the powers of the Federal government. But FEAR NOT Governor Bush, upon the posting of this web-log, a zombie shall begin his stumble southward from Chicago to free you from the constraints of this deranged Texan jailer!

Amongst the Iowa-Men!

2007-09-13T12:18:00.000-04:00

This age proclaims the sovereignty of the citizen, and the inviolability of life; it crowns the people, the fraternity of nations soars through space, and holds communion in the eternal azure; men mingle in the skies!

Yet on the too, too solid earth, correction is clearly still required!

Since returning from the slumber of the grave (an unfortunate event, brought about by an over-charging slattern and her "handler"-- see previous post), I discover that my own Senator, the great conservative leader Barack Obama, has immersed himself amongst the Iowa-Men in connection to an attempt on the presidency. Hear me, dear Senator, for mine is a tale of caution! The Iowan is incorrigible, and his vices divers and his ways nefarious! Your campaign-time is better spent amongst cooler-headed Americans. Swaying the mind of an Iowan is tantamount to convincing a sow to bleat! Consider the following anecdote from my life (as opposed to the "life" I now enjoy as a reanimated-American):

In 2003, I journeyed four hours westward from the great conservative bastion of Chicago to interrupt an interloper from the so-called "Emerald Isle" who was visiting Iowa with the intention of displaying his own liberal, sodometric perversion of the American-English language. Upon my arrival at the "University of Iowa Writer's Workshop reception for Seamus Heaney," I skillfully positioned myself outside the door of the Liberal-Arts Building (Why no "conservative-arts" building, you liberal, Iowan dogs?), and bravely foisted the "IRISHMAN- GO HOME!" sign that I had lovingly crafted over the weekend in Chicago.

My conviction was inveterate, but- zounds!- not a single soul entering the lecture hall was turned away by my friendly warning. Thinking that perhaps a holographic missive was lost entirely on the illiterate Iowans, I began to offer verbal alarms, such as:

"Harken, this way lies an Irish-Man! Beware his sloping brow. It belies a criminal intent!"

"The enfranchisement of intellects comes not from Saint Patrick and his followers!"

and

"By cotton saltpetre, by the steam of a horse, by the voltaic battery a workman, by the electric fluid a messenger, VENTURE NOT INSIDE!"

Eventually this did produce some effect, as a young rapscallion approached me and entreated, "Dude, are you, like, a slam-poet, or something?"

It was then that I saw that Iowa was already lost.

This green-shoed, donegal-bearded, whisky-drinker had pre-emptively circumvented my attempts at warning others of his presence, having already instructed the Iowans that my clear, carefully-worded warnings were, THEMSELVES, an attempt at poetry!

I lowered my placard in defeat.

Caution, dear Senator Obama, caution! The Iowa-Men are already lost!

I am a zom'bee

2007-09-11T15:46:00.001-04:00

Dear friends,

Man has upon him his flesh. He drags it with him, and he yields to it! He must watch it, check it, and repress it. And, the situation thus requiring, reanimate it!

Forgive Johnskyn his lengthy absence, in which he slumbered in the sweet embrace of charnel earth! For, lo! I have returned.

The particulars of my passing are not of the foremost relevance. (An allegedly unpaid courtesan and her "driver" were, regrettably, involved.) However, I had long ago enacted measures such that, upon the occasion of my demise, my son Bucephalus would undertake to re-animate my corpse with life, through the best means available to him.

But- catastrophe abounding!!!- I see that it has taken my dull-witted seed nearly a year to complete the task. And, compounding the confounding nature of it, it seems that the "secret" to my reanimation was, all this time, present in a mass-market publication. I shall provide linked-coordinates to the particulars presently:

http://www.amazon.com/zen-zombie-better-living-through/dp/1602391874

To be an upright man is the rule. Err, fall, sin if you will, but stand upright!

From this day forth, I, zombie Johnskyn Kantilever, shall remain upright and "live" each day to the fullest!

Whether, woman?

2006-12-13T10:23:00.000-05:00

By the breath of Tindalos!!! I have just learned that my morning televisionized news programme, Fox News In the Morning, has (some months ago, it seems) fired the exceptional human specimen that is meteorologist Michelle Leigh, and replaced her with an inferior impostor!

A website, www.savemichelleleigh.com has placed the blame for this upon the local Fox executives, but any fool can see that the real machinations leading to her removal can only rest upon the shoulders of one person- airborne traffic reporter Sandra Solarte.

As an avid and regular viewer of this programme, it was not difficult to detect the distaste that Solarte had for Leigh. It is the same jealous distaste that women throughout history have had for others of their sex who were more attractive than them. But how jarring the difference between these two, when the televised screen cut from weather to traffic each morning at 8:15!!!

Leigh: Jovial and pleasant to the eye. Forecasting Chicago's gentle weather with a genial acumen, like Nostradamus' comely granddaughter out of the days of yore.

And then...

Solarte: Hovering and porcine in her autogyro. (Indeed gentlemen, pigs DO fly!) Her iritating voice broadcasting tidings of traffic congestion and death by autocarriage. Her nervous, criminal eyes struggling to peer down over her distended cheeks, scowering the landscape for the next example of human suffering.

And all the while, Solarte envying the capable and attractive Leigh (safe and warm back inside the studio, not careening over chicago in an air-travel crane usually employed to move large sea animals to aquaria)!

The first symptom of love in a young man is timidity; in a girl boldness. The first symptom of hate in a man is boldness; in a girl it is quiet cunning. And it is through such cunning that Solarte has stolen away Leigh from the viewers of Chicagoland.

Harken Ms. Solarte, we are on to your tricks!

A crippling loss to our great conservative cause

2006-11-13T10:45:00.000-05:00

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6469307&sc=emaf

Michigan's voters have cast their ballots and voted "Yes" on Proposition 2, which has dis-allowed discrimination based upon race, gender, and ethnic status at their colleges and universities. Dark times settle upon our continent!

I can recall my own college days, when an utter lack of affirmitively-based action policies ensured that, as a student at Ole Miss, I was utterly bereft of exposure to people from other races, genders, and ethnick-ly oriented determinations. Looking back, I realize how empoverished that experience was!

How I lustily envy the college student of today who benefits from a diverse campus environment created by the affirmitive action policy. Without a second thought as to his luck, he enjoys the company of:

The Africkan man, present at every turn, ready to assist in a variety of Geevesian capacities, and always with the greatest alacrity
The Indian man, with his helpful knowledge of tobaccos and spiritualism
The Mexican man, sporting the friendly sombrero under which a pleasant shade is always present
The Middle-Easterner, never without his delightful harem of women (which he can frequently be persuaded to share!!!)
And the sturdy Bengali Saheeb, with a knowledge of local geography always at the ready

Woe betide the modern university that denys its students exposure to these fine specimens of humanity!

To quote the supporters of Affirmitive Action: We cannot go back! We must not!

I welcome all time-saving conveniences of modernity

2006-10-24T15:16:00.000-04:00

As you must well know, I have always supported the adoption of technological convenience whenever possible. Were it not for the advances of science and the consequent adoption of these advances by Western man, we would be nothing more than an ignorant mass of naked troglodytes—trembling as we huddled together, shivering in the coppice of ignorance!

I know it is not only in my best-interest, but in the best interest of my species to become an “early-adopter” whenever possible.

After all, what great steps forward were the
microwaved-meal, the airwave-conditioned autocar, and the self-cleaning sexual device!

But perhaps no technological innovation catalyzes the true patriotic American quite like the movie-camera that can see into the future.

“What, good Johnskyn?” you may say. “Such an innovation has not yet been announced!!”

Perhaps not, I will respond, but it has announced itself!

Several days ago I learned that a documentary film from the future would be playing in my Cineplex, and that it was a record of the upcoming assassination of our President Bush in late 2007.

Why, thought I, what a practical solution this presents!!! I can begin my mourning rituals (with the corresponding rending of garments and pulling of hair) a full year in advance! Being of stout emotional constitution to begin with, and with so much advance warning, I may well be emotionally recovered from news of the President’s death before the event itself actually occurs.

Thus, in late October 2007 (when the future-men tell us the event will take place) I shall emerge from the copse, clear-headed and sober, ready to act and defend my country, for I shall have mourned in-advance!!!

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0853096/

I Will Attend a Meeting of Amateur Herpetologists

2006-10-04T11:21:00.000-04:00

Herpetology! From the ancient Greek "Herpeton," meaning "to crawl along the ground." That science of sciences! How long it had been absent from my life...

For you see, Saturday last, while riding Chicago's elevated-locomotive-subterranean-way-rail, I became momentarily disorientated and had the misfortune to accidentally disembark at the Damen Avenue stop on the Blue Line. I realized my horrible mistake instantly!

This was a neighborhood contaminated by young women wearing next-to-nothing, theatrical venues offering rock and/or roll music, and young men sporting hair styles better suited to the Mohawk Tribe of New York State than the City of Big Shoulders! Straightaway, I saw that I must return to the rail-line and leave this place as soon as possible.

Then, delightful awakening of the soul!

As I stood nervously on the platform, on the wall adjacent to the train I espied a posted advertisement for what was evidently a gathering of amateur herpetologists! It read:

10/19/06
At Memories, 4358 N. Cicero
A show featuring
-Emerald Lizards-
-Reptoids-
-Blissters-

Memories, indeed! As I read the posting, several fond memories rushed into my head of my days as a boy spent collecting lizards and snakes in glass jars for use in my own amateur ophidian experiments. Are they not the finest works of the great master? The sweetness of the faces, the gayety of the attitudes, and that inexplicable charm which is mingled with all the defects, render the little figures very diverting and delicate (perchance, even too much so). I felt charged by this posting, and resolved to ressurect my interest in herpetology forthwith.

A mystery, however, remains.

While I have certainly spent many hours in the company of emerald-coloured lizards, and can intuit that "reptoids" must be the new herpetological vernacular for "reptiles", I am entirely at a loss as to what "Blissters" might be. No doubt it is a new term devised in the (grantedly lengthy) interval between my last immersion in this field of study, and the present time. However, I have several theories:

That the two "sses" are a reference to the sound a snake makes when it hisses , and so this is a "hip" way to reference the study of snakes.
That this is a gradient determination of any animal with a blistered hide.
That the term references, concurrently, the blisters left on one's hands after handling snakes and lizards, and the "bliss" one can feel when satisfactorily immersed in herpetological study.

Either way, I shall essay to determine the truth of the matter, pith helmet and looking glass in hand, at this upcoming convention at the determined time and place! Huzzah!!!

Solid British Conservative Songwriting

2006-09-20T13:00:00.000-04:00

To be ultra is to go beyond.

It is to attack the sceptre in the name of the throne, and the mitre in the name of the perfume; it is to cavil at the pettifog; it is to reproach the idol with idolatry; it is to insult through excess of respect; it is to expose that the Pope is not sufficiently papish, that the King is not sufficiently royal, and that the night has too much light; it is to be discontented with alabaster,with snow, with the swan and the lily in the name of whiteness; it is to be a partisan of things to the point of becoming their enemy; it is to be so strongly for, as to be against!!!

Last week the operation of my televison machine revealed to me a singing duo know as The Who.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ArEKZZho4Ao

Despite their obvious youth and inexperience, these rapscallions wisely chastized the so-called religious leaders among us for not covering their heads enough, not growing adequately-long beards, and not dressing in clothes that are purple to a sufficiently pious degree. Their wonderful song gave vigor to the conservative within me!

No doubt, religious leaders around the country are hastily growing their beards, redoubling head-covering efforts, and so forth, lest The Who be alerted to their lack of compliance!

Update: The Hoosiers mean to undermine our very currency!!!

2006-09-15T16:45:00.000-04:00

And so, it comes to light just what the Hoosiers have been up to in the interregnum!!!

http://articles.news.aol.com/business/_a/feds-lower-boom-on-alternative-money/20060915065609990001?ncid=NWS00010000000001

www.libertydollar.org

The Indiana-men wish to replace our national treasury with money of their own nefarious devising-- a so-called Liberty Dollar! How the White River-Demons must gnash their diseased gums in anticipation of a total reconfiguring of the monetary-scheme.

If these auto-racing Aborigines have their way, sodomy will be taught in the grade-schools, the poems of James "Shitcomb" Riley required for memorization, and the face of James Danforth Quayle will adorn the $20!!! (I have long suspected Quayle a liberal double-agent in our great conservative cause, and this well-neigh confirms it!)

The required course is clear!!!

I have obtained copies of these "Liberal-ty Dollars" which I shall take with me to Kinko's this weekend in hopes of undermining with a flurry of retaliatory counterfeiting. My son Bucephalus has bravely volunteered to then inject these copied notes into the Hoosier economy by undertaking a tour of the erotic dancing establishments along Indianapolis' chief economic corridor, Pendelton Pike Road. (Yes, yes, Bucephalus' involvement will mean that I am employing Okie labor in this enterprise, but friend, these are desperate times.)

"Who's Ear?" Why, that of a liberal!

2006-09-13T13:01:00.000-04:00

Only a few miles separate my meagre residence in Chicago, that great bastion of conservatism [see previous posts], from the hotbed of liberalism and depravity that calls itself the State of Indiana. Usually, I am able to block this troubling fact from my mind. However, this past weekend, the stars aligned such that I was forced to confront it!

My nephew Jefty informed me that, being a high-school student, he desired a "college-tour" of the institutions of higher-learning in the American Midwest. He wished that the first state toured should be the very one that had given us President Benjamin "Atheist" Harrison.

Indiana, I asked? Heresy and insanity!!! (The very name evokes sinful sexual debauchery. "In-Diana" indeed! Woe-betide the poor "Diana" who finds herself violated by the heathen Hoosiers and their phallic state!)

"Be serious, Johnskyn," the rapscallion entreated, "it has lots of good schools. We'll just go down for the day. C'mon, gas is cheap there."

"And so is life itself!" I returned with appropriate, I thought, dramatics. Yet Jefty was not to be deterred, and Sunday morning I found myself ferrying him into those nether-regions of evil, just like Jason sailing to Colchis in the Argo. But with more tolls.

As we drove, I tried talking some sense into Jefty.

"The Hoosier is under-educated, and frankly desires to remain so!" I told him. "For two-hundred years, Daylight Savings Time has been beyond his understanding! Consider how long it will take him to grasp the Calculus or photosynthesis if it was two centuries before he could remember to set a clock!"

Jefty was unmoved, and so we reached out first destination, Wabash College. The grounds of the institution looked attractive enough, and the student tour-guide who conducted us on our stroll seemed knowledgeable (obviously, he was from out of state). Yet we were not more than halfway through our tour when the guide, employing a deceptive euphemism, informed Jefty that Wabash had an "all-male" student body!

"My god!" I said, quite unable to control myself. "And this is by design, you say? An exclusively masculine student body of 18 year-olds at the height of their sexual urges??? Sakes alive! The intentional cultivation of homosexuality may be par for the course in Indiana, but such things are duly frowned upon in Illinois."

Jefty and I escaped with (I hope) his heterosexuality intact.

And yet we pressed deeper into the Godless folds of Hoosier-land, stopping next at Purdue University. "They've got a great engineering school!" Jefty said as we strolled the grounds. "Engineering, bah!" I emoted. "Have those decadent engineers built the bridges, the roads, and the dams that have made progress possible in this country? No, it has been the working man! The Hoosier engineer engineers only his own path to Hades!"

Travelling farther south, we reached the headquarters of the hellions, the capital city of letchery, and home of Butler University. "If I went here, I could live in Indianapolis," said Jefty. Innocent child.

Indianapolis! More like "Indi-no-place-for-a-conservative." What a city! All around me, liberal overspending had provided "IndyGo" buses for the populace, built a "children's museum" (were "adult" museums too challenging for them?), and had luxuriously paved the perfectly functional dirt trail called Monon. Wretched liberal excess!!! We did not linger.

Our final destination was Indiana University. I expected Jefty to have come to his senses by this point in the voyage, but it was not the case. "What a cool campus," quoth he, after only the most cursory of inspections, "and John Mellencamp lives right down the road!"

Jefty wondered if I was familiar with that balladeer of bawd.

"Indeed I am," I stated boldly. "His encouragement of the agricultural lifestyle is exceedingly troubling to me. The decadent and Godless travails of an American farmer may seem glamorous at first, Jefty. But, in time, the moral decay and venereal disease would catch up with you!"

As we prepared to leave this state of sin, I had the idea of purchasing some sacramental wine in hopes of anointing Jefty with it, that the impressions of this day might be cleansed from his soul.
I located a purveyor of spirits and asked what the price of wine was in his abominable state.

Final indignity!!!

I was informed that no wine, even the most sacred and religious, is to be sold on the Lord's Day in Indiana. A more ridiculous and evil contravention in intentions would not be beneath these atheistic monsters, they only have yet to invent it.

I am now safely back across the border in Chicago. However, I peer cautiously across the state line like a soldier on watch, shuddering to imagine what liberal, sodometric atheistry they will devise next!

An open letter to Stephen Greenblatt, editor elect of The Norton Anthology of English Literature

2006-09-05T11:12:00.000-04:00

Dear Professor Greenblatt,

The Harvard University website informs me that you are poised to assume the position of General Editor of The Norton Anthology of English Literature, becoming only the second general editor in the Norton's 43-year history. O frabjous day, indeed!

But before you become completely drunk with power as your iron grip on the Western Canon becomes almost total, I have a request. While you yet remain coherent, I ask you to consider a literary work for inclusion in the next edition. For too long, the great American writer Ernest Tidyman has been overlooked by America's scholars, and his texts are sorely under-represented in the classrooms of colleges and universities.

For a time, I assumed that this was due to the commercial popularity his character John Shaft enjoyed. But as any learned scholar knows, popular success does not always disqualify a work of serious literature. The popularity of Longfellow's poems was known to have made him rich in his day, and the Oprah-emulating breeders who made Toni Morrison a bestseller made her no less fit in the eyes of the Swedes.

Please Professor Greenblatt, consider, for inclusion in the Norton, Mr. Tidyman's masterwork, the apex of his art, that tome of tomes, that codex of codici: Shaft Among the Jews. I assure you, it is ripe for literary analysis!!!

For example, I imagine an entire Ph.D. thesis could be done on the relationship between William Shakespeare's Shylock in The Merchant of Venice, and Mr. Tidyman's diamond-coveting Simon Solomon. Likewise, Shaft Among the Jews' Enoch Belzer and Leopold Fischbein are a delightful pair in the spirit of Hamlet's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

And by the wounds of God!!! The greatest opening lines of any work of American Literature are STILL held to be "Call me Ishmael"??? Pish and posh! Consider the masterful opening paragraph employed by Tidyman as he commences his dazzling masterwork:

"Shaft regarded his office with sympathy, sadness, and some anger. The orange daybed shrieked all over the corner where it was supposed to wait quietly until he needed a place to crash. The bright blue carpeting was comitting violence from wall to wall as well as end to end of the color spectrum." - (c) 1972 Ernest Tidyman

Comitting violence indeed! Professor Greenblatt, you will be comitting violence of a literary sort if you fail to introduce this essentially American writer to the world!

I will await your updated edition with some anticipation.

- Johnskyn Kantilever

I applaud the Chicago City Council's recent legislative agenda

2006-08-28T15:44:00.000-04:00

In recent months, the City of Chicago Aldermen have banned foie gras and stopped the expansion of "big box" retailers Wal-Mart and Target. Several months ago they narrowly missed passing a measure to explore slavery reparations, and they are currently considering a ban on certain cooking oils. What can I say to this legislative track record... except that I know myself to exist in what must truly be a conservative's paradise! Hail mighty Chicago, bastion of conservatism!!!

For you see, the ban on foie gras, a substance which I hesitate even to dignify with italics, sets a precedent for future prohibitions on other goods and practices hailing from France. (Having, however, no personal prejudice against the stout American ducks from whom the substance is squeezed, I would fully support its re-introduction under the name "Freedom Liver.")

News that Sam "Liberal-lover" Walton and the very French-sounding Target have been sent packing from my native soil fills me with an even stiffer engorgement of pride. Target's television commercials filled with dancing half-nude teenagers and syncopated music could only have encouraged gatherings of godless sodomites in its suspisciously well-appointed aisles. Wal-Mart's recent decision to cave-in to the abortion lobby and sell the "morning-after-pill" is likewise troublingly liberal. (For the sake of honesty, could the device not at least be called the "morning-after-copious-internal-ejaculation-pill?")

And slavery reparations! (How sweet a plum, even if it only dangled tantalizingly for an instant.) As the direct descendant of slaveholders, I can only assume that I would have been judged entitled to substantial recompense based upon the many valuable slaves that were taken from my family's stock so many years ago by the blue-coated Lincoln-lovers! What a justice their restoration to me (in monetary form, of course) would have been!

Finally, the current measure under consideration is counted xenophobic by some on the left, but I say those who hold with "foreign" and "exotic" cooking oils-- such as the palm oil under consideration for a ban-- had better leave America behind for these exotic locales they so esteem!!! Palm oil and cocoa-nut oil are substances best left to the naturally oily foreign devils who grow them. Give me solid American oils-- such as that distilled from a vegetable, or taken from the brain of a whale-- or give me death!

God bless Chicago, indeed!

An Admonition to Natural Libertines

2006-08-24T16:12:00.000-04:00

What distinguishes man from a beast? Secular liberals will tell you that man is nothing more than a variety of primate possessed of language and culture. Yes, they will tell you that Newt Gingrich, a manful masterwork, our greatest specimen of humanity, is nothing more than a jungle ape with a few centuries of hot meals and mid-night basketball programs under his belt! Of course, this sort of thinking is nought but tosh. Animals are animals, not meant to mix freely with men, and should be joined with us only by the mediating presence of the bridle, the yoke, the leash, or the lash.

But some galoots in our Republic have given themselves over to the monkeys, claiming that they possess human faculties and should be counted the equal of a literate landowner! Our youth have lost their natural fear of the ape, complimenting one another with the popular slang term 'macaca.' Some even luxuriate in the ultimate sin, welcoming apes into their yards, their homes, and their boudoirs, dressing them in silks like a potentate of Araby. I will admit that, in idle moments, the thought appeals to a base part of myself. Who among us has not, while lounging in a hot tub or relaxing in a shower, considered the musky and muscular charms of the female chimpanzee? But a sin of the mind is not a sin of the flesh, and it is with this latter category that I concern myself today.

Yea, consider this: a man -- a Californian -- operating, as they do, under the licentious influence of liberalists, who took a chimp-let into his home. This "natural man" fed it, cared for it, and kept it for twenty-five years. Like Adam, he gave it a name: Moe. Upon Moe's birthday, he brought it chocolate cake and other delicacies, whereupon he was beset by the creature's compatriots, who, in the words of the local newspaper, visited the following mischiefs upon him:

"most of his fingers, both testicles, most of the flesh from his buttocks, had some of the heel bone of his left foot gnawed off and all of the tendons, muscles and tissues of his left ankle... were peeled off. His left eye and eye socket were ripped out to the sinuses, his nose was bitten off and he suffered several bites to the skull and back."

More important is this quote from his wife, who witnessed the carnage: "In all that time, he was really not screaming," she said. "He was trying to reason with them [but] couldn't do anything."

Trying to reason with them, indeed. Attempting to pass a UN Security Council resolution, I imagine. His liberal sickness is obvious.

But I suspect a deeper, darker purpose at work.

Notice the removed genitalia, the slimmed buttocks and feet, the facial peeling and stretching, the streamlined nose, and finally, the cake. The elements are familiar and clear. Yes, I will say what everyone is thinking -- and what Occam's Razor demands -- that this was no accident! This was no attack! This was what the jugendkultur terms an "extreme makeover" – but this time carried out by chimpanzee doctors! It was a botched sex-change operation and face-lift paid in chocolate cake, and brokered by Moe! An inevitable witch's brew of liberal animal sympathy, twisted gender-bending, non-human outsourcing, and Hollyweird narcissism! To doubters, I ask you: would HillaryCare have been any different?

Hear me, PETA! Hear me, "Human Rights" Campaign! Hear me, Hillary Rodham Clinton! I will not be silenced! I will not countenance this obscenity, no matter how rich the boodle offered me by would-be primate physicians and their trial lawyers! I now present you the final, definitive argument in my case.

Behold God's Reward to Ape-Friends!

May it ever be so.
-AGH

I do not abide malingerers

2006-08-23T17:05:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I saw fit to convene my evening repast by commanding a pizza-pie be delivered to my residence.

In less than two-bees time, a young man arrived and handed me the desired provision. However, as I set about to carefully counting-out the payment for my meal, my guest suddenly became hostile.

"You're not gonna give me a tip?" he intoned. "I don't believe this!"

Free money? For nothing?

I told the gamin that nothing of the sort would be his.

"The iron hand of implacable toil is your only solution," I bellowed. "Labor is the law! Have the honest weariness of the working-man, or else the sweat of the damned!"

The rascal seemed unconvinced, making a chuffing noise (rather like a horse). Had he not heard me? Perhaps, I reasoned, he felt his current state, hat-in hand, to be glamourous and urban. Of this, I realized, I must disabuse him.

"What radiance surrounds the forge!" I intoned. "To guide the plow and bind the sheaves is true brilliance. Not the life of a begging bohemian."

The interloper's only epiphonema was to suggest that I attempt an impossible act of masturbation. (The textual notation of his full reply is repugnant and beneath me.)

"Now see here," I said firmly. "That theoretical maneuver is best left to Chinese acrobats. Do you espy anything of the Orient in my countenance? I thought not!"

But alas! The rake showed no intention of leaving my doorstep, even as I motioned to hand him payment for the pie. What recourse was left? The best thing, assuredly, was a pacific solution. But what?

"What ho!! Behind you, my good man!" I shreiked with a theatrical gesture past where he stood. "A disorientated millionaire is throwing his ducats to the wind. Lucre for all, it litters the ground! Look to't!"

Though his cro-magnon features seemed to indicate less than complete comprehension of my words, he nonetheless turned to see what I was pointing at. In that instant, I dashed back inside my abode. Brilliantly concealing myself behind my armoire, I stooped so that even through the window I was not visible to him.

I, like any celestial body, possess the right to an occasional eclipse.

"9-11 Jenga"

2006-08-22T12:39:00.000-04:00

It was almost one year ago that I took up pen and paper to craft a missive to Mr. Hasbro, the renowned manufacturer of diversions, to urge him to release a 9-11-themed edition of the parlor trickery known as "Jenga." It is so rare, I opined, that the world of games serendipitously syncs with that of current events. How a commemorative edition of the game would tuly enable us to follow the politician's maxim to "never forget."

For months, I'd watched my nephew Jefty Kantilever flit away countless hours at this pastime in bootless amusement, when all the time it could have been a character-building exercise in patriotism!!!

I assumed that the lack of response from Mr. Hasbro could only indicate that my proposal was being carefully weighed and evaluated by the game designers, but this morning being nearly the anniversary of my communique, I telephoned Mr. Hasbro's incorporation directly to ascertain the nature of the delay. After being passed from supererogatory to supererogatory, I was finally put in touch with the man who had read my letter.

By Colossus!!! The cad had the roguery to call my proposal "offensive" and "inappropriate" and even "horrible." And before offering me time for any form of rejoinder, he terminated his connection to the telephone-line!

What a state has befallen our land when a manufacturer of children's trickery can malign the impulse for a patriotic rememberance of America's war-dead!!!

If any of my readers are in communication with Mr. Hasbro's despicable minions, you can assure them that their loss shall be another's gain. I am crafting a proposal for "9-11 Hungry Hungry Hippos" that shall surely bring great wealth to some other manufacturer, as well as the proper recognition that the solemn occasion deserves!