Wednesday, December 17, 2008

When Your Country Sounds Like It Is Terry Gilliam's 'Brazil'...

Maybe you have a tiny problem?


Weather rocket kills man and blows up his body at cremation

A Chinese man originally thought to have been struck by lightning was in fact killed by a small weather rocket whose existence was only discovered when his body exploded during his cremation.

The body of Wang Diange, from the Chinese province of Inner Mongolia, was found in the wreckage of a house where he had been overseeing the wake of a previous family funeral, after mourners felt a loud explosion which took off half the roof.

As it was raining and thundery, they decided that the house, and Mr Wang in particular, had been struck by lightning. The police came to the same conclusion.

Further inquiries were made a few days later after Mr Wang's own funeral. As his body was being put into the cremation chamber, it blew up spectacularly, bursting the doors off the oven.

When the fire had been put out, the only clue as to what had happened was a small twisted piece of metal, which seemed to be the glowing remnants of a screw.

At first, local metallurgists were unable to determine what it was, though they noted it bore a military serial number. After a lengthy investigation, however, it was suggested it might be part of a shell casing.

Inquiries revealed that the rainfall on the day of the original disaster was triggered by the local weather bureau, which had been firing shells into the atmosphere to break up hail in order to protect the local tobacco crop.

Inside the shells were silver iodide, a chemical that helps to break up hail into rain.

Their own investigators concluded that one shell must have failed to explode, hit the house, and lodged in Mr Wang's body. There it passed unnoticed because of his extensive injuries, according to local newspaper reports.

As a result, and three years after Mr Wang died, his family have now received 80,000 yuan (£8,000) in compensation from the weather bureau.




From The Telegraph and Reported on by Richard Spencer

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

If The Environment is Being Messed With By Estrogen Like Chemicals...

Isn't it really just trying to balance out man's use of anabolic steroids?

Inspired by: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/3660141/Men-under-threat-from-gender-bending-chemicals.html

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Ode to Bill O'Reilly by John Cleese - Transcribed by Max Simkins

Just finished transcribing it from his interview on "Countdown with Keith Olbermann," and damn is it fine. You really should download this episode, the 10.31.2008 episode, from the podcast while it is available.

*Note: I titled this "Ode to Bill O'Reilly" based on Cleese's previous "Ode to Sean Hannity." Whether either are really an ode... will who cares!? It's new material by John Cleese! Be glad it exists. Also, the breaking up of the lines was passed upon the pauses that Cleese made while reading it. They are accurate enough that you can get the sense of it. Lastly, if you are wondering what Berk means at the end of the poem, then go here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berk . The definition John says that he uses is the rhyming slang one, though the second one would work as well.

"Ode to Bill O'Reilly"
By John Cleese

Bill O'Reilly is no spin zone,
As rated highly by his own beloved mother,
But, no other.

Except that Bill,
For all his faults,
Still has one skill,
A skill of sorts.
He can still amuse a true dumb ox,
The dullest crayon in the box,
The kind of ox that watches Fox.

And Bill will pander to this group with propaganda,
Right wing poop,
And knee jerk views,
And censored news.

Thus, Bill O'Reilly earns his crust,
Behaving vilely as he must.
He will not sherk from Rupert's work;
He really is a perfect Berk.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Harvest Festival

Note: This was supposed to be a pantoum*. It's close to what it should be but I think the beginning and ending might not be strictly adherent to the style.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pantoum

It's that time of year again,
So let me take you to the harvest festival.
The weather is so right,
I can't help seeing you balled up so tight.

Take me to the harvest festival?
In the cold of this weather,
I can't help being balled up so tight.
What do you want to do tonight?

In the cold of this weather,
Ain't nothin' better than bein' together.
What do I want to do tonight?
Anything that feels all right.

Ain't nothin' better than bein' together,
I can't disagree with that.
Anything that feels all right,
It feels better when warm.

I can disagree with that.
Even if it is cold outside,
And it feels better when warm,
We're plenty warm enough together.

Even if it is cold outside,
And even if our heat keeps us goin’,
And we're plenty warm enough together,
What makes you think I want to go with you?

And if our heat keeps us goin,
Then it's that time of year again.
What makes me think you want to go with me?
The weather that is so right.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Typical Morning

Original Form: Typical Morning

I wake up and find my cup.

It's not too hard to find, just hard to get at from amidst all the crap since it is seated in the far corner of the ledge before the window.

I think to go over to my draws to get the bottle of Jack Daniels from amidst the sheets where it is buried, debating whether or not to have the last of the Single Barrel and get that extra 7% or just go with the old No. 7, but I just look down for a moment to see that I, quite wisely, left the old No. 7 by the side of the bed, all one and three quarter liters of its sweet taste. I let it pour for a third of the glass, a glass that must be no more than two or so cups, and then go and get my Nalgene of iced tea to carry another third of the way. The cinnamon I find in the very front of the ledge, right behind my pillow and drop in a new stick.

I trudge downstairs, eyes refusing to stay fully open, and find the ice tray filling the cup nigh to the brim with ice- it must crash upon the rocks to get a rockin'.

Lastly, I find the vanilla extract. I hold it for but a moment above the glass, desiring but a bit, but somehow it always seems to slosh more than I would have designed but it always tastes good, so why argue? Maybe its just the amount I want and I don't know it? I'd probably get too much if I went for it myself.

I come back up and, now then, I must find something to play. Jazz, gotta be jazz and gotta be good and gotta be good and loud. Besides, it ain't like its quite time or some bullshit like that anyway.

Gotta be Bob James. Probably from "All Around the Town." Ah, I know, "We Are All Alone." It doesn't sound like people make Jazz out to be, it’s funky and crazy but it is kinda Fusion anyway so I'll give them that.

But, boy, it’s poppin' and it’s crazy.

It’s crazy. Why the fuck is it six fifteen on a saturday evening and I have only been awake for fifteen minutes?

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Four Men Walk Into A Bar

Four men walk into a bar
And the first orders a snifter of scotch,
In honor of his mother's father,
And the second orders a snifter of vodka,
In honor of his mother's mother,
And the third orders another snifter of vodka,
In honor of his father's mother,
And the fourth orders the last snifter of vodka,
In honor of his father's father.
They empty out together,
Remarking about how the night is cold as their old man
And just wish they could know the warmth of the old home
When everything was so much simpler than it is now.
They walk home in an aimless way,
And when they arrive at the end of the night,
To splash a bit of cool, cool water on their face,
I look in the mirror and realize I am whole again.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

"As We Look Through History", Certainly...

The only thing that is certain is that no one should ever say "as we look through history" because that is about as bad as it comes for a weasel word.