The Second Sweetest Blog on the Interwebs

During the most unproductive week of the year, I have decided to create my own blog. Find out what's on my mind by going here.

Be Good ...

...or risk Eternal Pamnation!

Oh, this is exciting.

Eternal Pamnation's Inaugural Post

Well, well, looky here. Just when I was toying with the idea of starting my own blog, along comes an invitation to contribute to another. Will I have the time to write for both? You're damn right I'll have the time! I am between jobs, after all. Dedication, on the other hand, is another matter ...

I can't say that I have a whole lot to write about at the moment. I suppose I could have waited until I did. But I'm a little too giddy about the honor and the privilege that was bestowed upon me by the venerable Professor Marvel to let this wait.

So I'll start with this: Last night before going to sleep I read Jeffrey Toobin's New Yorker article about Roman Polanski's legal battle. Now I've always been a fan of his movies. Rosemary's Baby is probably in my personal top ten. Nah, it definitely is.

So, like anyone else who follows popular culture, I knew that 30-something years ago he statutory raped a 13-year old girl and fled the country. But I never really dug deeper into the details of the story, despite a very high profile HBO documentary about Polanski that came out last year. I guess being an admirer of his work, I subconsciously avoided exposure to any information that would make me change my mind about him.

Well, out of a mix of boredom and curiousity, I read that damn Toobin article, which, presumably went over the same facts that the HBO doc did. Shortly after I finished it, I fell asleep. And then, I wouldn't call it a nightmare exactly, but I had a very uncomfortable dream about being forced to see, as though in a movie, what had happened on that infamous night when Polanski plied the young Samantha Gailey with alcohol and Quaaludes, then did his business.

Long story short, I think maybe he ought to do some time. But I'm always gonna enjoy Chinatown anyway.

So that's it. And I guess it was more than I thought it was gonna be. Now if you don't mind, I've got some Taiwanese Mountain dogs to attend to.

Thanksgiving strikes

Note: this is just a repost of something I put up recently at TaBB or Misanthropy Today. It sucks, but it's a post with Thanksgiving spirit. --crackpipe (xbasket)

In 2007 I was being driven to the airport in Zürich. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and I thought, what can possibly go wrong on this beautiful day? The pharmaceutical deal had gone through perfectly in Kraków ("crack?how!", we call it), there was an early winter föhn dancing through the open limousine roof, and an electrical engineer with fabulous cleavage was telling me an interesting story of her brothers selling her into imprisonment in a Thailand whorehouse, and how it had ultimately led to a Fulbright scholarship and to collecting butterflies as a hobby. As she spoke, I recalled that my wife Sophie and our kids were happily expecting me in our San Juan Islands house, and that my mistress in Hong Kong was coming to Europe to spend a weekend in London. Due to the Kraków deal, funds were finally in place to go forward with the World Peace festival, so much so that all I would have to do is gather a few spread sheets and then pass the details off to an assistant to do the telephone calls. The road was filled with traffic and I was able to people-watch through the window as I listened to Koy's nightmarish childhood story. She had been beaten and whipped, of course. But outside on the sidewalks, happy faces enjoyed the winter sunshine and warm-front winds. My thoughts wandered. And just then, I recalled that chef Ricardo had neglected to put the small marshmallows on the sweet potatoes at last night's dinner! It was an outrage. Had he forgotten our deal to pay for his wife's cancer medication? Did he imagine that he could decide the manner in which sweet potatoes should be prepared? Whatever the reasons, hanging would be too good for such a scoundrel. Ricardo must be beaten and whipped thoroughly, I thought. In front of our staff. And then sent packing with half his pay and a dying wife, in the snow. "Serves him right", I thought, "I'll have it done on Christmas Eve". I had a swallow of mineral water, laughed to myself in satisfaction, and returned to gazing at Koy's generous chest. With irresponsible scoundrels such as Ricardo running free in this world, there can be no peace. We must learn to fight back against them. When evil rears its ugly head, and if it's within our zone of influence, we must fight back against evil, each and every time, and even if it costs us 5 or 10 minutes. Shall we all be prisoners like Koy was?

SWEETEST BLOG ON THE INTERNET

No kidding.

横浜のリャマ

Das Jahr im Rückblick: Vorahnung

Ich fand gerade etwas mehr Vorahnung in der Werkstatt. Ich möchte zu teilen. Gehen wir zurück in die Zeit eines Jahres. Dies ist reich: Vorahnung Link Dies ist der Jahrestag, wenn wir versehentlich getötet David Foster Wallace mit unseren Respektlosigkeit, aber wir waren so abgefuckt auf Sentimentalität und Chantix wir dachten, "Gott sei Dank" wenigstens etwas Wichtigeres. Jetzt sind wir abgefuckt auf Coreg. D.B. - Er diagnostiziert Takotsubo. Wenn wir ihm versagt ein Taxi. Und er hatte Recht. ER HATTE RECHT! Das Konzept des Tages ist Vorahnung. Nicht der fiktionalen Art, aber die Art Sie stolpern im wirklichen Leben. Es ist das Gegenteil, zeit-weise, der real-vous. Oh, und der König der Bälle, war er Vorahnung KISS König der Bälle, und dass die tatsächlichen Reisen ins Land der KISS König der Bälle Vorahnung war. Der Professor steht Vorahnung und könnte bald beitragen mehr, um sich wichtig fühlen.

The year in review: Foreshadowing

I just found some more foreshadowing in the workshop. I want to share. Let's travel back in time one year. This is rich:

Foreshadowing Link

This is the anniversary of when we accidentally killed David Foster Wallace with our irreverence but we were so fucked-up on sentimentality and Chantix we thought "Thank God" at least something important matters.

Now we're fucked-up on Coreg. D.B. - He diagnosed takotsubo. When we denied him a cab. And he was right. HE WAS RIGHT!

The concept of the day is foreshadowing. Not the fictional kind, but the kind you stumble upon in real life. It's the opposite, time-wise, of real vous.

Oh, and King of Balls, he was foreshadowing KISS King of Balls, and that was foreshadowing actual trips to the land of KISS King of Balls.

The Professor likes foreshadowing and might post more soon in order to feel important.

Amazing Flying Flower

filmed by Cousin Shaky the Camera Man.

film review: "dsm-iv"

There was a malfunction in the large-screen LCD and we stopped in Las Vegas to replace the thing. I was annoyed with the pilot, Armando. Luxury items are supposed to be checked-out prior to take-off! Eventually, the LCD was replaced and Armando had us back in the air searching for topless citizens lounging by Vegas pools to photograph. Since I was annoyed with the stop in Vegas, and annoyed with an earlier call from my mechanic explaining Sylvie's car would not be ready until Monday, I turned away from poolside loungers and turned toward champagne and film to soothe my jangled nerves. The film? Steven Blütbergen's "DSM-IV".

The film was panned by most critics. No, really. So I'm here to point out there is nothing wrong with a BMW car crash on the Autobahn, gratuitously filmed in high speed for slow motion playback, in which the lead character and her favorite male prostitute are killed driving at 160KPH, high on Ecstasy and mood enhancers. There is nothing wrong with slow-paced scenes depicting technical details of tricyclic pharmaceutical sales in Leipzig, in which forms are signed without translation, and in which long and confusing glances are exchanged without background music between three doctors and a wonderfully busty lead (Elsa Küchen plays "Besos" - marvelously large aureolas too). There is little to criticize with the scene in which an apparently disturbed ex-con biker dude (Dick Cheney plays "Mon") shaves his goatee, flushes his steroids, waggles his shriveled penis, inserts a butt-plug, mounts a Harley Davidson, sets himself on fire, and drives directly through the plate glass window of a woman's clothing store in downtown Modesto, California. Seemingly incongruous events such as these are connected by themes of anger, IBS, and mood enhancers. But there is a problem. And the problem with this film is in its inappropriateness and offensiveness to reasonable people such as myself who are educated and who have more refined tastes than prurient trash such as this film can address. Nobody, and I mean *nobody*, is going to take my money at the box office, when I can have custom shirts made to order, fly around Vegas in a helicopter looking for topless sunbathers, or have my chef create sweet potato masterpieces.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hi Turkeys. Welcome to the Workshop. What are you doing here?

You Scratch my back I'll scratch yours

NEW POLL

Who here can scratch an itch anywhere on their own back without assistance?

This is not a trick question. The Professor is not interested in your ability to use tools. The professor is concerned about whether you can satisfyingly scratch an itch anywhere your own back without the use of anything but your hands, e.g. without a back scratcher or a wall or a stick or the power of your mind.

Please vote, and please even forward a link to those unfamiliar with the workshop so that they may vote as well.

If you have a shoulder injury, but are absolutely sure that you could do this before the injury, please vote yes. Similarly for massive weight gain.

Thank you.

Dignity

Don't forget to vote in the Dignity Poll. ---->
Don't forget to vote in the Dignity Poll. ---->

Don't forget to vote in the Dignity Poll. ---->
Don't forget to vote in the BACK SCRATCHING POLL^^^