Best of the Blog

Some of you may have noticed that I’ve put up a Best of the Blog list—links to some of the finest, original, unpublished blog pieces that I’m aware of. Not only do I think these pieces deserve wider exposure (not that they will get much from my 5 or 6 readers), but also I think it would be nice to get them published in a traditional hard-copy form.

To quote the honorable Wolfman Partridge: “I think blogging could be like the minor leagues of writing.” Not that we need the validation. Ok, maybe a little bit. Nah, who cares?

I’ve only been blogging myself for a few months, and I certainly can’t get to all the memorable pieces out there (even from the talented folks that I know), so I do ask your help in helping to locate these works. The one who locates the most will be bequeathed $100 million by an eccentric billionaire…(ha, wouldn’t that be nice?)

Anyway, if you feel so inclined, send me the link by email, and I and my secret panel of ex-Survivors will do our best not to snuff out the wrong torches. This can be a work of your own or somebody else’s. And you non-bloggers out there, get thyselves thee own blogs now.

If anyone hasn’t read Loren Webster’s Why I Blog piece, check it out. I think it would make a great preface to the potential book.

Anyway, along these lines an unnamed friend has recommended some interesting writing from Paul Kim of Sitting on Toilet Here are a few snippets taken from different pieces:

"Ay Papi"
One day when I was nineteen I decided it was time to lose my virginity to a dirty Mexican wh_re in Nueveo Laredo who called me papi….
…..
“Army of God”
My mom lines us up, her face all holy and solemn, and proclaims sternly: "Attennnn-SHUN!"
We stand at attention, hands slightly clenched, thumbs at our side, gaze pointing directly forward.
"DO NOT LOOK AT ME, GRACE. WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT STARING AT A SUPERIOR?"
My sister starts crying.
"THE LORD DOES NOT SHINE FAVORABLY ON WUSSIES! FALL OUT!"
……

“Methinks he does protest too much”
I have to say my dad is pretty cool. When I tell my relatives I want to be a write, I usually get two responses. The first response is said with a look of slight contempt: "That`s nice." Which really means: "Dude, you`re not that funny." And the other is said nervously, with a tinge of paranoia: "What are you going to write/joke about?" Meaning: "Does he remember that time I molested the cat?"
…….

On another note, I’d like to welcome those many Google readers of mine who have searched for the words ‘Bachelor finalists.’ I hope you were pleased with The Dating Game and/or Irina. Something tells me they didn’t stick around too long. Furthermore, you new readers from the esteemed governments of the U.K. and the United States (not to mention Disney), mi casa es tu casa (so to speak). It really was just a stupid song about cows—which I didn’t write anyway.

Let me know if you think this is a good idea or just ignore it. It’s a free country. It's a free internet. It's a free virtual world. Right, my new esteemed visitors?

I'll leave you with the words of some mysterious character over at 100 Wordsworth:

'I’m struggling with topics to blog. Unbelievable, eh? I find myself paying too much attention to others’ sensitivities. It’s a bugger if you’re me. No sexism, racism, war, politics, religion, rage, swearing, self-indulgence, homophobia, xenophobia, intolerance, character and other ‘wished’ assassinations, misogyny, innuendo, parody, anti-this-or-that, or good old-fashioned fun. Perhaps I’ve too much a twisted character for blogging, but if I’m to express myself, other people’s virtues must take a beating. I’m rude and crude and tired of delivering myself on a platter. My suffering sells but I won’t suffer for you. And cats just don’t do it for me'

And here's to being ourselves fully in the overflowin' moment of ourselves being.

Surge


what celestial music is this
so heavenly constructed
that the hearer is
obliterated
in the hearing.
the desire of architecture
or something greater
than that which
craves an object
burrowin’ into
the warm earth
where golden apples
grow and gather
surgin’ forth
in perfect polyphony
heads emptied
of all matter
sproutin’ horses
that gallop
up spiral staircases
of light imperceptible
hooves beatin’ out
the rhythm
of hymns winged
to and for and with
the--
Silence—
that is
even louder
than before
when I once was I
totally composed
myself
a piece of music
and a cello
ginnin’ and beginnin’
and rebeginnin’ once again
the clatter of hooves
fallin’ thru
exposed roofs
where we thought
we thought we thought
we were
a perfect polyphony
of fallin’ rocks
gatherin’ and layerin’
and fallin' back on
the jigsaw soloist
bye and bye and by
the—
once clinged to—
I— tickled
the ticklin’ sky
that fell through
in glowin’
hooves of light--
a simple prelude
of stones and silence.

Cows with Guns

(song by Dana Lyons)

In a local barn full of drunken skunks, The Singer takes out his guitar and plays his song:

Fat and docile, big and dumb,
They look so stupid, they aren't much fun,
Cows aren't fun.

They eat to grow, grow to die,
Die to be eat, the hamburger fry,
Cows well done.

Nobody thunk it, nobody knew,
No one imagined the great cow guru,
Cow Se Tongue.

He spoke about justice, but nobody stirred,
He felt like an outcast, alone in the herd,
Cows doldrums.

He mooed: "We must fight, escape or we'll die,"
Cows gathered around, 'cause the steaks were so high,
Bad cow pun.

But then he was captured, stuffed into a crate,
Loaded onto a truck, where he rode to his fate.
Cows are bummed.

He was a scrawny calf, who looked rather woozy,
No one suspected he was packing an Uzi
Cows with guns.

They came with a needle to stick in his thigh,
He kicked for the groin, he pissed in their eye,
Cow well hung.

Knocked over a tractor and ran for the door,
Six gallons of gas flowed out on the floor,
Run cows, run!

He picked up a bullhorn and jumped up on the hay,
"We are free roving bovines, we run free today!
We will fight for bovine freedom,
And hold our large heads high,
And we will run free with the buffalo or die!"
Cows with guns.

They crashed the gate in a great stampede,
Tipped over a milk truck, torched all the feed,
Cows have fun.

Sixty police cars were piled in a heap,
Covered in cow pies, covered up deep,
Much cow dung.

Black smoke rising, darkening the day,
Twelve burning McDonald's,
have it your way.

The President said: "Enough is enough,
These uppity cattle, it's time to get tough."
Cow dung flung.

The newspapers gloated, folks sighed with relief,
Tomorrow at noon, they would all be ground beef.
Cows on buns.

The cows were surrounded, they waited and prayed,
They mooed their last moos, they chewed their last hay,
Cows outgunned.

The order was given to turn cows to whoppers,
Enforced by the might of ten thousand coppers,
But on the horizon surrounding the shoppers,
Came the deafening roar of chickens in choppers.

We will fight for bovine freedom,
And hold our large heads high,
And we will run free with the buffalo or die!
Cows with guns.

At the end of the song, the Singer's guitar is confiscated, and he is hustled off by a couple of big men in suits.

Big Man #1: Do you think that song is funny?

Singer: Ummm...yeah. Didn't you hear that drunk guy chuckle?

Big Man #2: Is this some kind of comment on the current administration?

Singer: Ummm...no, it's a stupid song about cows.

Big Man#1: Are you callin' the president a cow?

Singer: Oh no sir...I think the President is a cowboy.

Big Man#2: A cowboy?

Singer: Yes, sir.

Big Man#1: Then who are the cows?

Singer: The people, sir.

Big Man #2: The people?

Big Man#1: Which people?

Singer: The ones with two legs.

The two Big Men stare at each other, confusedly.

Singer: It is the job of the President to herd up the cows, lead them to do his bidding in the name of World Peace, and turn those who won’t into ground beef, to be eaten by the followers. Pax McDonaldas.

Big Man #1: What?

Big Man# 2: Pax what?

Big#1: Small Pox?

Singer: No, it's a pretty big rapidly spreading pox.

Big #2: Have you now or ever been

Big #1: laden...

Big #2: (glares at 1) associated with lethal injections, chemical weapons, al-qaeda or defiant dictators or Dr. Kevorkian?

Singer: Ummm...No, sir. Mine's a living death. I get by.

Big #2: Just what pax are you referring to?

Singer: Something ba—umm...peace. Latin for peace. I think.

Big #2: Are you a Commie Latino...

Big #1: Saddamist?

Singer: No sir. That is (mutters)...

Big #1: Hussein?

Singer: No sir...Insane. I am no Saddamist. Rather I'm a masochist. I write songs for a living.

Big #2: Hmmm...Are you a Peacenik then?

Singer: Um..no sir. Those are the chickens. (Imitates Chicken) Baaakkkkk....Bakkkbakkk

Big #1: Chickens? I thought this was a song about cows.

Big #2: Wait. (Checking his notes) Your song says something about the chickens coming to the rescue of the cows.

Singer: Hee…told you it was silly.

Big #2: So do you know any of these chickens?

Singer: No, sir.

Big #2: Have you now or ever been

Big #1: laden...

Big #2: associated with a chicken?

Singer: No, sir.

Big #1: Right. But do you deny that terrorists around the world are burning and destroying American symbols like flags and McDonalds all over the world?

Singer: Stupid cows.

Big #2: Do you know any of these cows?

Singer: No sir.

Big #2: Have you now or ever been

Big #1: laden

Big #2: (gives #1 a clip on the head) associated with a cow?

Singer: No sir. I eat them like everyone else.

Big #1: So then who are these cows in your song that are attacking McDonalds.

Singer: Vegetarians?

Big #2: Vegetarians! Aha.

Singer: Yes sir…all cows are vegetarians. Well, those that aren’t mad are.

Big #1: Which cows are mad?

Singer: Those fed cow meat sir.

Big #2: Aha…so all meat eaters are mad and want to destroy the United States.

Singer: No sir, they could be Hindus.

Big #1: Hindus!

Singer: Yes sir, Indians.

Big #2: Indians???

Singer: But it’s ok. The president is a cowboy.

Big #2: Right.

Big #1: (Checking notes) In the chorus of your song, the cows say they will run free like the Buffalo or die. Is this some kind of liberal rewriting of history in which we are seen as bad for destroying buffalo and Indians even though we needed the food and space for Civilization.

Singer: No sir. I would never accuse anyone of being civilized.

Big#1: Right...What?

Big #2: What's that supposed to mean? (menacing looks; he the guitar as if to smash it on the singer)

Singer: Oh no no...I mean the only way to Civilization and world peace is through total domination

Big #2: (relaxes)

Singer:. We good cows must destroy any and all cows that are in our way, abroad and here. We must kill all the bad cows, process their meat and eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s a long tasty process. In the end there will be food and peace for all that’s left.

Big #1: Hmmm. (Writes that down) But won't that make us mad?

Singer: Delirious.

Big #2: (Angry glare)

Singer: With freedom. power and happiness.

Big #2: (Lightens up)

Big #1: Have you now or ever been

(glares at #1)

Singer: laden

Big #2: associated with Vegetarians?

Big#1: Aha! So you have been laden with Vegeterrorists!

Singer: Ummm..no sir. It was just a reflex, sorry. I love the charbroiled flesh of rebel cows.

Big #1: Hmmm...(writes this information down)

Big 2: Ok, well if you’d like to have your guitar back,
We request that you change the title to Freedom Fighters with Guns
And the Chorus to: We will fight for World Freedom
We will hold our Flag High And we will fly with the Eagle
As we Watch Terrorists Die.

Singer: But sir, wouldn’t that kind of wreck the song.

Big #1: It’s a very stupid song. Change it and it will go to the top of the Country charts.

Singer: Yes, sir.

Big #2: (Hands him his guitar) We’ll be watching.

Welcome to Kansas



I dreamed they were following me--these horrible creatures with no hearts, brains or courage. And everything they said actually meant the opposite. And in the name of Freedom, they were monitoring my every credit card purchase, every Web site I visit, every e-mail I send and receive, every academic grade I get, every bank deposit I make, every trip I take, every book I read, every magazine i subscribe to, every event I attend....Oh it was horrible!

Oh Dorothy, Welcome to Kansas! You're safe now!

Weapons of Mass Destruction




Do you think the Inspectors will be able to find them?