Coming this summer to The History Channel… ANCIENT ALIEN ROADSHOW Giorgio: This is a primitive plasma rifle manufactured by flesh and blood extra-terrestrials. Rick: I got a buddy in town he knows everything about alien weaponry, do you mind if I give him a call? He can tell us what it’s worth…
I was hanging out on Facebook a little while ago, talking on a thread. Some of you know I like the band Phish, and the thread was about their albums and songs and their live shows, and how would you introduce someone to the band and their music?
The thread veered as threads do, a festive, fun, informal little discussion about some of the band’s albums and our initial reaction to them.
At one point I was talking about a common opinion among Phish-heads, and one I must admit personally held some credence when I was younger. The notion that longer songs are better. I was in a playful mood, so in the comment I stated it as, “Longer = Gooder.”
I know ‘gooder‘ is not a word. I can see the little red line pop under it informing me of a language breech.
So, the next comment was from someone who had not participated in the thread up until this point, either they were only lurking or they just found the conversation. Either way, their first offering to the topic was to call me out on my word usage.
I asked if he was seriously going to attempt to reprimand me in an informal conversation about the band Phish on Facebook, especially since mine was not the only non-word in the dialogue. Some folks had used words such as ‘Squicky‘ and other fun recent additions to the lexicon.
This person held their ground.
I told them they were similar to the person who would look over my shoulder at a live concert, correcting my punctuation and grammar as I attempted to keep a set-list of the songs and continue to dance my ass off at the same time.
I asked if they had written angry letters to Phish about the misspelling of their name, and some of the words they use in their songs, such as ‘thunk.’
I pointed out that the band itself has some song titles which are not real words, ‘Gotta Jiboo‘ and ‘Faht‘ for example. But, I continued, I was pretty certain this person had corrected the song titles on the back of their CD case, properly renaming the songs with their red permanent marker.
I told this person I know it’s not a word, but I was certain in the context people would be able to grok the intent. It’s not like I made up a word like ‘frundlesporkled‘ or something vague and indecipherable. Gooder is not a word, but you can pretty easily deduce it’s meaning.
This person must be a real blast at parties.
The thing that irked me, though, was this was the first thing they added to the conversation. They had sat on the sides reading along without adding a comment, an opinion or even a ‘me too’ to the discussion. They didn’t speak up until they saw me use a non-word.
Why are people like this? I don’t get it. Sometimes I think its envy or something similar, these folks can’t produce an original thought within their tiny skulls to save their life. So they take out their frustration on anyone who dares to say anything out of the ordinary. I don’t know.
Shakespeare made up words. I told the person I admired their rigid adherence to the guidelines of the language, but this is not school, and ‘you are not my editor.’
I don’t know if it made this person feel better or superior to point out my foible. I’m not sure, I just don’t get people sometimes. These are the sort of people who write YouTube comments and hang out on reddit.
Speaking of reddit, I had a similar run in there. It was pretty much the last straw. I rarely check into reddit anymore just because there are too many small-minded nasty people who only value an opinion if it is vitriolic.
I was talking in a thread about the TV show Community, and the return of the shows creator and executive producer Dan Harmon.
I commented that I was glad he was returning, and seeing the way the show faltered when NBC and Sony replaced him was a vindication of sorts for Mr. Harmon’s unconventional approach to making good television.
This one redditor tore into me; a lengthy, nasty soliloquy rife with expletives and sentences in all caps. Besides ridiculing me for daring to defend him, this redditor went on to call Mr. Harmon ‘King Baby,’ and other colorful descriptions.
I tried to clarify my position, but it fell on deaf ears. Sometimes you have to know when to cut your losses and move on. Pick your battles, if you will.
The next day I check into reddit and see a long thread of conversation has branched off from the conversation I was in. And who decided to pop in and comment but Dan Harmon himself, who had some scathing words for this nasty redditor.
And here the real hilarious thing was how this redditor’s attitude changed. ‘King Baby‘ was now being addressed as ‘Mr. Harmon, sir.‘ And near the end of the conversation this redditor offered to buy Dan Harmon a drink if the occasion ever presented itself.
I told this redditor after all this was over, I hoped he enjoyed his beer with ‘King Baby.’ He tried to defend his change of tone as it being in a completely different conversation.
“An entirely different conversation that grew out of our discussion,” I said, “The word we use around here for such a change of heart is ‘Two-Faced’. Do not even bother replying, I’m done with you, I will not read or respond.”
And I didn’t. I let that thread die, and I rarely even look at reddit anymore because it is filled to capacity with this petty, nasty, duplicitous, miserable sort of person.
So, why are people like this? Are some people unable to find any sort of contentment unless they are putting someone else down?
I don’t know, but there seems to be way too many of this sort walking around on the planet.
I got a genuine laugh, an out loud laugh, from this redditor and the way his tone changed. The vitriol he aimed at me for defending the guy turn obsequious when the man himself showed up in the thread.
It reminds me of the saying, ‘Those who say it can’t be done should not interrupt the ones who are doing it.’ It’s not a direct analogy, but is the same sort of tiny-minded person.
I know my punctuation is suspect at best, and my penmanship has turned to chicken scratch, but this is the best I can write down the songs and still enjoy the concert. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to read it. You are free to write the set-list any damn way you wish. You are entitled to your opinion, but you aren’t required to share, and I really don’t care to hear it.
Good day to you, sir. Kindly shut your clamoring trap, and let me get back to dancing.
This has just come to my attention, and the situation is dire. Forgive me if I fore-go pleasantries and formality, but this matter is too pressing to concern ourselves with decorum.
There are two videos on your right, on the surface they appear to be harmless television ads for a TV provider. I am not in the habit of showing commercials here especially if they aren’t advertising me or paying me for the space.
But there is much more going on here than is immediately apparent. It may be wrapped as a sales pitch, but the project was no doubt commissioned by the Squirrels. A thinly veiled facade for the actual transmission, a rodent-centric call to arms, as well as training guide for young marmots, vitriolic anti-human propaganda.
The first video, for the sake of folks who can’t work the videos and those allergic to advertising, is called Squirrels Revolt, and shows a group of the rodents, forced to work in sweat-shop conditions by their human captors, a common theme in anti-human squirrel art. One brave squirrel worker stands up and calls on his squirrel brothers to revolt.
The second video is similar, featuring a squad of guerrilla squirrels attacking a human civilian in the park. I will spare the gory details, as much as they might turn your stomach and turn your hair gray, I cannot bare to imagine them enough to commit the vile actions to paper.
The words are hard to read, and the video is tough to watch, but be assured the most violent and disturbing aspects of these incidents have been cut out by the Marmot Overlords. They are always careful of the image they project; they keep a tight leash on the information they release.
Those of you following my work for any length of time know how outspoken I am about the Invasion of Squirrels, and the evil plots they develop, and some they have hatched over the years.
In 2007 I wrote the song ‘Squirrels’ as an attempt to warn the world about the coming war. We were able, finally, to record the track for inclusion on the Labrador Dali ‘Possum House’ CD. I thought I could spread my message far and wide, warning people of the impending violence, the Rodent’s Revolt.
I was shocked, livid and terrified when I first received the acetates. My twenty minute masterpiece, the anthem of humanity, the cautionary tale of danger approaching; it was hacked down to three minutes. Nine verses, the ones explicitly warning about the evil of Marmots and the destruction they planned, had all been cut. The remaining lyrics told a disjointed tale of quantum wave-particle duality and the sun blowing up.
I stormed over to Hermetic Medical Records’ underground bunker, lurking through the sterile hallways looking for our A&R guy. The faint greenish-yellow light barely limping out of the bulbs and out of the fixtures, it had little strength to shine at the cold hallways around me. The strange echo of my footsteps bounced back louder than the original sound. It was all intentional, all installed to make any big-headed musicians uneasy and possibly nauseous.
I couldn’t find our representative but I managed to find the label’s CEO. I happened by his open door, and saw him inside sitting at his desk.
I walked in without knocking, sat down without asking; I threw my test-press disc on his desk.
He knew my issue, he wasted no time. He apologized, said regretted trimming the song, but he had no choice; it was just too damn long.
I didn’t stick around argue or let him say anymore. I wanted out of the building, my whole being shivered, an icy fear. I wanted to run far and fast, away from the situation.
He was lying. The song’s length wasn’t the issue, I knew this in my heart. The real problem was the message, the warning I tried to give humanity about the coming danger.
The CEO made excuses; but I knew calling him on it, or getting him to admit it, would be useless. It was too late, he was already on the take. The Marmots had gotten to him, either coercing him with wealth or threatening him with violence. Either way, it didn’t matter, he was now in their employ. There was nothing I could do but save myself; get out of this building as quick as I could before they got me too.
I was certain the CEO wasn’t the only one, the whole company was likely infected, possibly the whole industry, maybe even all media.
The squirrels won this battle; I could see it plain as day. I saw it sitting on CEO’s desk, something new. It had never been there before; not in all the years I had been with Hermetic Medical Records, all the time I had spent in this building, this office. I knew exactly what it meant; they were in control, this was how they marked their territory.
Somehow it seemed menacing, it sparked fear in mt soul, I thought it was mocking me somehow. It was a dish, only a dish that had never been there before, atop the sparse desktop before; a half-filled, glass bowl of mixed nuts.
©Robert Emmett McWhorter
Smash my coma
with a hammer.
Splinter on my spine.
Kick out the TV.
the real me.
Time takes its own sweet time.
You know how it can,
if you’ve seen it.
Stuck on your own
sweet time goes on without you.
© Robert Emmett McWhorter
Momentum has been building for a few years around the notion that the world will end on December 21, 2012. This is a conversation that draws much intrigue and controversy as the impending date draws ever closer.
The belief was first attributed to the thousands-year-old Mayan Long Calendar, which experts say predicts the precise date of the end-times. This fore-telling is also said to be supported in a multitude of varied cultures and religions around the world– from the writings of Nostradamus to the book of Revelations in the New Testament; as well as to some more frivolously stated opinions, such as “John Cusack said so”.
Over this past weekend an unprecedented summit was held in a remote village in Honduras. It was a meeting hosted by an indigenous tribe long-held to have its ancestral roots in the Mayan culture, and claiming spiritual authority of Mayan beliefs and rites. Also in attendance were religious leaders and spokes-people from a cross-section of the worlds many
faiths, as well as some state leaders, and also representatives from the NFL, Fox broadcasting and lobbyists representing the companies who spend billions of dollars every year on television advertising.
At the end of the three day affair, it was announced that all parties involved had come to a very wide-reaching decision– The Apocalypse would be rescheduled to coincide with the half-time show of the Feb 3rd 2013 Super Bowl, to be held in New Orleans; a city well suited as the setting for the end of the world, most sources agree.
Scriptural adjustments will be made over the next few weeks to reflect this change, and Expert Chronologists are determining as we speak what will be the best way to add approximately forty-five days to the ancient Mayan calendar.
The Super Bowl is generally the most widely watched television event in any given year, and all the institutions represented at the Honduran Counsel felt compelled to capitalize on this fact, and most felt that combining these events would do well for everyone.
The Half Time show of the Super Bowl has, for years, been a showcase for long-since-relevant rock and roll dynasties and modern-day pop personalities hired mostly for their ‘train-wreck capacity quotient’– the likeliness that they will do or say something embarrassing in their set, giving us all something to laugh about for months to come.
The 2013 Super Bowl Half Time show now promises to be much, much different than any show in the past. Although, if any specifics have yet be planned, they are being kept under very tight wraps. Some may expect to see the Universe simply blinking out of existence; others expect plagues of locusts and frogs; some say there will be fire and brimstone and judgement for all of mankind; still others talk of four horsemen their returning messiah.
There is no word at this time whether returning prophets will be expected to make a speech, or simply lip-sync something. But, whatever you believe in your soul or expect from professional sports, The 2013 Super Bowl New Orleans End-Times Half-Time Spectacular will be a sight that no one should, and might not be able to, miss.
©2011 Robert Emmett McWhorter