Showing posts with label For Absolutely No Goddamn Reason. Show all posts
Showing posts with label For Absolutely No Goddamn Reason. Show all posts

Thursday, June 18, 2020

Laugh It Up

Because Freedom

(From a long-ago March in a time before Trump and Disease, and a diseased Trump. Actually, this has nothing to do with Freedom. It is in fact my favorite joke, containing a willfully stupid grocer, a passive-aggressive waterfowl, and the tantalizing promise of nourishment.

(It's also a good general example of how The Universe treats us. It has a has a habit of returning, with the same questions, until we solve them -- and then hits us with a change-up at the end: Wow! Didn't see that coming!).

A LITTLE DUCK walks into a grocery store. He waddles up to the grocier and says, "Hey -- got any duck food?"

The grocier thinks. "Um, no," he says finally.

The Little Duck looks up at him. " 'kay," he says, and goes away.

The next day, the Little Duck was back. He waddles in, looks up at the grocier and says, "Hey -- got any duck food?"   The grocier looks down at him; is this duck nuts? He was just in here!

"No!" the grocier says.  " 'kay," says the Little Duck, and he goes away.

The next day, the Little Duck was back. He waddles in, looks up at the grocier and says, "Hey -- got any duck food?"   The grocier spins around, looks down at him and says, "NO! I told ya -- I gots NO DUCK FOOD ! You come back in here askin' about duck food again and I'm gonna nail your little webbed feet to the floor!"

" 'kay," says the Little Duck, and he goes away.

The next day -- the Little Duck was back. He waddles in, looks up at the grocier and says, "Hey -- got any nails?"   The grocier thinks. "Um, no," he says.

The Little Duck shakes a little. "Ooo!  Okay ! Got any duck food?"

Monday, June 24, 2019

Your Cephalapod Monday

Jobs For Suckers

At Least Cephalapods Don't Find Excuses To Release Toxic Levels Of Societal Stress
By Assaulting Each Other At A Child's Baseball Game

Today is Cephalapod Monday. Take a Cephalapod to lunch -- and, no, having Cephalapod for lunch does not count, barbarian. The average Cuttlefish is at least as smart as your Dog -- just because it can't do the NYTimes Mini-Crossword or know who Tucker Carlson is doesn't mean it couldn't beat you at 'Jeopardy'. We recommend not trying to eat things which have the potential to be smarter than Tucker Carlson -- which is a long list of Things, beginning with kitchen appliances.

There are many jobs in Amrica -- at least, until the Crash comes. You may wish to have one of them (Note: Cephalapods And Dogs Need Not Apply!)

Acting Defensive Secretary: You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and His wise stewardship of Amrica. If you know what the front and back of a boat is called it is a plus. Also missiles! Some experience suggested, but if you're a friend of the Mercers, Ralph Reed or 'lil Stevie Bannon; well, allowances can be made. There will be some travel in this position. You will wear Blue. They will play Die Präsentiermarsch whenever you get up to go to the restroom. And, do not worry about That I-ran -- you're just an Acting Secretary! You're only acting, and don't have to be a real secretary, and take dictation or make coffee, very often. Learn to change color to blend in with your surroundings. Don't ask questions about those UFOs and you should not fuck up and be okay.

Acting Department Of Homeyland Insecurity Secretary: You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and His Big Hands, grabbing Amrica by the genitalia, like he had tentacles. You must have a home on the land, somewhere, and be ready to sweep all those who are bad in The Leader's eyes from within our Borders, except for the ones He wishes to clean His toilets and trim things on His golf courses. You must be hard, and do the hard things so that The Leader will not fire you. Mostly, you will be in the Bunker. Wear black, and they will play The Bonny Blue Flag for you whenever you scratch yourself. And, do not worry -- you're an only an Acting Secretary! Which limits your potential culpability at the International Court at the Hague for crimes against humanity, maybe. Just acting! Still, you are prohibited from fucking up in all time zones. A real secretary would quit, or ask for a raise, or work from home.

Obligatory Cute Small Animal Photo
In Middle Of Blog Rant

Acting United Nations Ambassador: You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and His Amrica, the bestest country -- not like those scheisshole countries like France and Sweden. As with Nick Haley before, you may defecate on the floor in front of foreign dignitaries, like a goat.  And you must go to that UN building and repudiate every alliance and destroy as much Good Will as we may have had with all other countries, and isolate Amrica from the community of nations for no explainable reason, except that The Leader wishes it. You will be graded on this! You will wear Plaid and they will play Pop! Goes The Weasel for you whenever you fart into the seat cushion. And, do not worry -- you're only an Acting Secretary,  A real secretary would wear a Vicky's Secret brassiere, and eat Calimari, see. So, don't fuck up!

Acting Chef of Staff: You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and the shrewd way He takes things, here in Amrica, and hides them at More-Lego. Once the job of Wash-n-Rince "Nancy" Preibus and General Kelly, holding this position with both hands will make you responsible for everything, including purchasing many Treats for Leader, and being Ivankagalonka's PB (Personal Bitch). It is a thankless job, and as long as you have it you will never thank anyone, for anything. You will wear Gray, be required to Hold Your Squid, and the Murine Band will play the 'Love Theme' from All The President's Men for you, on the hour. Do not fuck up.

Additional Obligatory Small Animal Photo
(Image: Screenshot, Foxtel Network [Australia], 1997)

Acting Federal Emerging Meringue Agency (FEMA) Director: You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and His huge intellect and His immense hands and his knowing that in Amrica, climate science is just Hooey. This is a really big job, getting ready to make Amrica the Greatest Disaster Movie of all time -- and you get to be the Director! How cool is that? Not very, given the global heating. There will be plenty of travel for you, and the food in those all-expenses-paid trips to meet Coal and Plutonium and Fozzilfool executives is supposed to be "really something". You will get to say, "We will look to the science" and "There is some question how much humans have affected our flexible climate." You will wear Poly-esther and be photographed eating some form of Crisps made from reef-dwelling aminal species. The 'Gutzholtz Rangers Band' of Preeborgen, Minnesota, will play a medely of tunes from Richard Rodgers' Victory At Sea on Alpenhorns, made from the tusks of African Elephants, every time you check into an exclusive hotel, courtesy of Mr. & Mrs. John Q. Taxpayer. And, don't fuck up!

Acting Icky Combustible Enfoodment (ICE) Director:  You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and His deep knowing of Amrica and its desire to be the whitest of all cold, icy whiteness. No milk or snow or never-worn, briefs-style underwear is as white and cold as the Amrica that you must create for The Leader. He campaigned for and made promises to The Gasket Of Unmentionables that all the bad people from 'somewhere else' would be made to go away. By Soon! So get right on that. You will wear sky-blue and will be Shot From Guns, as the 72-voice Aquarium Church Choir (now with 50% more Cephalapod!) sings Marching, Marching To Shibboleth. Good luck! Didya fuck up yet? No? Keep trying.

Acting Federal Aging Airplanes (FAA) Administrator: You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and His terrifying desire to fly, crapping on all Amrica, like a diseased seagull. You will be responsible for so little to so few that this job is a cakewalk. You will be required to eat cake, also, and that's as tough as it gets. You may have to appear on TV after large-scale air disasters, oh, maybe eight or ten times a year, but those poor people had to know the risks when they put themselves on the planes. Right? Oh, ah-yuh. And remember the useful phrase, "pilot error"; it's not like you built the damn planes yourself or anything.  It's not like you're a bloody octopus, multitasking genius that you may be! No blame! No collusion! You will wear Red, and every time the FaLaLa Orchestra plays the "Up In The Air, Junior Birdman!" song, you will do a Tequila shooter. The only way you can fuck up is to miss out on that cake!

Acting Sturgeon General: You must be willing to smile and say good things about The Leader and His wonderful form, his manly arteries in the Big Hands; like a twenty-year-old, he's is so healthful, and that you have never seen a man-child so trim and fit in all ways. Be prepared to say that. You will be provided with guidance so that any decisions about public health will not discomfit large drug companies, or the Persons who hold with their suckers blocks of Pharma stocks in Off-The-Shore accounts. And remember -- you're not really a doctor; you just play one in the governament. A real doctor would wear scrubs all day. You will wear Teal, and the Hester Street Rentgirls Band will play "Like A Sturgeon" for you. Often. If you fuck up, no one really notices.

Extra Random Barking Questions Monday:

1.)  Is it a definition of madness, when parents of children who were murdered by assault weapons in Amrica are threatened by those who believe the children's murder never took place?

2.)  Might it be disingenuous when, having become wealthy from decades of peddling spurious information and divisive monologues in Amrica which made the Triumph Of The Leader possible, that media demagogues conclude The Leader may have many flaws?

3.)  True Amrican Missy Sarah, shamed by the Chicken, has gone away, when many believed she would stay in the Bunker to the end. Will being an obvious and shameless liar stand in the way of becoming governor of a Trumptrue™ state? Aber nicht natürlich.

MEHR, MIT TINTENFISCH:  I was just thinking, in my artless Dog way: Check out this Cephalapod!

UND MIT IMMER MEHR:  Deep-sea Cephalapod for real!

Wednesday, December 5, 2018


Death; Food, Pooch

(Screenshot: New York Times)

Yeah Yeah: I understand, this is a national Day 'O Mourning. While I can't go as far as some in their criticism of Ol' Poppy -- he was a blueblood patrician, an Owner; a Bonesman; an influential advisor with The Carlyle Group; DCI at CIA; and President. He was as wired-in as it was possible to be. His wife's comments about survivors of Hurricane Katrina reflected perfectly how Poppy's class views persons such as you, and me -- servants, encumbrances, chattel, inconveniences.

Somewhere, John Calvin is smiling on the man who was born to rule by a just god: George Herbert Walker Bush -- a human being; a husband and parent; a man, and he's dead -- but, given everything, beyond the recognition that we were of the same species I just can't bring myself to give a shit.

Anyhow: on the bright side of life, I sniffed out this bit from the Paper Of Record. The author is both fond of cooking, and a Corgi named Max (hoo hoo hoo cute Pooch; just look at that face. How could you not love that face?), and decided to turn Max into a Star on social media -- and at the same time prompting a discussion about Food and living and, you know, stuff. But there was a catch.
Yet about four months and 70 Instagram posts later [the author's social media platform display] is far from stardom. Despite how cute Max looked or how plump my steamed pork buns appeared, the account stagnated at roughly 300 followers. Max’s “likes” plateaued at an average of about 60. No sponsorship offers appeared in my inbox.
What the author did next to try and boost Max's (and his) popularity into the stratosphere is an interesting tale on popularity and the place social media -- such as this blog, for example -- has in global culture at this high point in our species' development. It's got everything: intrigue, technology and bots; a social media strategy; a desire for love and adulation and stardom and corporate sponsorship; apparently tasty things to eat, and a cute Pooch. What the hell else do you need?

(Screenshot: New York Times)

Yeah Yeah: all this is a First-world Problem. It does not involve horrific air strikes or the death of major land mammals or anything whatsoever about The Leader. However, it's way better than spending any time watching Poppy Bush's send-off, 'John Calvin Now Praises Famous Men'. 

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

Proudly Barking Randomly At Our Corporate Masters

What You Are Expected To Deliver; In 22 Seconds
"We want this! And that! We demand a share in that, and most of that; some of this, and fucking all of that! Less of that, and more of this; and fucking plenty of this! Another thing: we want it now! We want it yesterday; we want fucking more tomorrow. And the demands will all be changed, then; so fucking stay awake!"
-- Billy Connolly, 1999
True dat.  And while that comment by Connolly may have been directed at another group entirely, the Big Yin also once noted, "Never turn down an opportunity to shout, 'Fuck Them All !!' at the top of your voice."

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Mad As Hell And, Y' Know, Mad As Hell

Unless Of Course There's Free Cable In It For Us 

When I'm alone, and things are getting me down, I can always suffer weight gain, gross disfigurement, have urges to Make Time with girls, engage in cross-dressing, and dance with pom-poms. Just so you know. This is Murrika, after all, where our ability to debase ourselves is the crowning glory of our civilization.

Yes, it changes nothing. That Other Pig is Murrikan Leader. He says he is Not Racist. He says not crazy but stable. He says all is Fake, and my head goes into its Third Reel.  I mean, it's not like he's Alan Watts or something. The earth is facing an unthinkable series of environmental catastrophes, the dying species don't even get they're being taken out of the Big Parade, and Our Wealthy are doing everything to keep their soft lives and privilege as long as possible -- at the expense of everyone else, of course.

And when It Is Too Much and we come to this crazy-place in our Dog brain, we sit down and refuse to move -- until our request, that everyone will now please to dance the Rhumba Charleston until we can get a grip, is granted.  So, everyone get with it. Shake that thing. Thank you.


Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Surly, They Slipp'd The Bonds Of Earth, And Put A Doughnut In The Face O' God

미스 트럼프, "나는 더 먹을거야."

Doughnut TV Announces, "Leader Consumes Giant Pastry!" "Mr Trump Says, 'I Will Eat More!' "
(Original Photo: Kim Hong-Ji/Reuters)

CHEESE STAR NEWS (Seoul Train):  The North Korean Happy People's Fun Republic Of Chuckles announced that now, Kim JongJong, Terror of the East, will consume his own body weight in doughnuts each day for the love of his People.

In celebration, the country has launched a giant Cruller into the sea, "and there is much rejoicing", says the North Korean HappyNews bureau Pink Kimono Lady from the capital, Chuckletown. "The lickspittle running dogs in the decadent West cannot defend against our pastry power!" Spit out the Pink Kimono Lady. "Stand in awe of our Glorious Socialist Heavy Baking Industry! All blessings to our Glorious Rotund One!"
Murrikan Leader And Friend
(Original Photo: Screencap/WGN via Daily Kos)

In Washingtong, Murrikan Leader declared he would eat one-and-a-half times his own body weight in doughnuts -- special doughnuts, prepared just for He, and those who can afford them, "which will be very few, I can tell you," said Leader, to laughter and applause, "'cause if anybody's glorious or rotund, it's gonna be me."

Murrikan Leader also mentioned he is "working very, very hard" to cripple the nation, and provide many wonderful short-term gains to benefit Our Wealthy -- which, in the long term, can only end in the economic destruction of the nation, and the spiritual and literal death of millions. "And there's gonna be rejoicing, I can tell you," said Leader, "and plenty of fun videos for the children."



Thursday, November 2, 2017

Our Nada Which Art In Nada

Bark Bark Bark Bark

Tourist Snaps Photo At More-A-Lego, Florida; February 2017 (Reuters)

I could be wrong; I am, after all, only a Dog -- but my country is in a state of forever war, part of a world run by corporate business and finance, to benefit a relatively small number of persons. This is all happening against a (mostly unacknowledged) backdrop of existential unknowing: Most of us don't claim to understand what, or why, the world is, or why we are. All we do know is, we will die, and then something else will happen. Or, you know -- not.  No one knows. And we're scared.

In the teeth of that fierce unknowing, we're shown messages in film, on small screens, in advertisements, that the highest aspiration of humanity should be to acquire things, and the finest exemplars of humankind are our corporate or finance leaders. The shiny message: Don't Be A Loser. Get More Than Others, and Be Prepared To Fight For Limited Resources. Your children should want to be an entrepreneur; to become a Daimon, a Bezos, a Musk, a Branson. A Trump. And an Owner. When you have so much -- only then can you "Win".

And -- Dude! -- for the lucky ones, it will only get so much better with the next round of technology breaking out. There will be so much opportunity for those with technology skills, and who are young. And being able to afford the cool toys that will be coming. And you'll be able to afford the three-thousand-dollar-a-month studio apartments, the leased driverless cars, the newest i-somethings, and vacations, and you won't need much healthcare. And the stock market will go up forever. Because freedom.

For those lucky ones, the world will continue a wonderful forever place, filled with parties and treats, and trips to the gym to buff up and hook up. And it will all look and feel just like college. And as long as there's Netflix and voice-activated everything, with Uber everywhere, we Par-tay!

 Obigatory Huge Moose Photo In Middle Of Blog Thing

S'all good, man. Chill out. Have a beer. It's almost time for the Big Game -- because there's always a Big Game. It'll be fun. Forever. The climate is broken but, hey man; we can't fix it -- we have to live for Today, Dude. And those people in those other countries we see on our smartphones? Heart-breaking, man. We're pretty much fucked. Thanks, Useless Boomers -- you screwed us!

So, under the circumstances, who cares if you're being monitized, tracked, lied to and led?  Or if your role is just to buy things and funnel money up to the Owners? Can't do anything about stuff we can't do anything about, man.  Have another beer. It's Game Time!

Dear Leader can fire Mueller when he gets too close -- and Nothing will happen. Too many people seem to be frozen, waiting, hoping for that one thing, the last straw, a final red line which, when crossed, will mean the end of Trump -- as if getting rid of him will magically change everything.

But that won't happen. The alt-Right and the Old-GOP Republicans are locked together in a furious civil war. Neither side can give the other an inch -- each wants to seize control of the GOP just when it has control of all branches of government.

And no matter what new outrages Trump may commit (as I've said, he could have sex with goats on live television and Nothing Will Happen), both sides need him. To abandon or even impeach him would mean publicly discrediting American conservatism and jeopardizing the Right's control of the government. Neither the alt-Right or Old GOP are willing to risk that.

Trump is what he is. Because he only cares about being shown slavish loyalty from moment to moment, the greasy alt-Right opportunists can stroke and cajole him, or kiss Jared and Ivanka's behinds to win his favor.

They need Trump as their entry ticket to Government, to legitimacy, in the same way that The Duce needed King Vittorio Emanuel II, and the Brownshirts needed President Hindenburg.

The Old GOP -- the Paulie Ryans and Yertle The Turtles -- live in fear of Trump's Tweeting, his viciousness and unpredictability, because they want to outmaneuver the Stevie Bannons and the Mercers, and hold on to their old power...  so, Trump can do as he likes. 

When Trump fires the Special Prosecutor -- or issues blanket pardons to his family and friends (an equally likely scenario), beyond a strongly-worded Op-Ed piece in the Paper of Record, a few days of marches and some minimal civil disobedience, Nothing Will Happen.

Think about what Trump has said and done since January 20th. Every day, people have said to each other Can you believe he did this? A President can't do that. He can't do that!  But Oh Yes. He Can.  And, just when you thought his behavior couldn't be any more incredible, he doubles down. Where do you believe that will stop?  Or better yet -- what makes you think he is a rational person, a healthy person, and believes he has any limits to what he can do?

Today, filmed before a meeting with Congressional Republicans began, Trump obviously looked down at notes as a guide when making comments about ending the so-called 'diversity lottery' of visas to the U.S.  Then, a reporter asked whether the self-professed IS terrorist who attacked pedestrians in lower Manhattan should be sent to the U.S. prison at Guantanamo Bay.

Again, I'm only a Dog -- but when not reading from his notes, Trump behaved as others have observed before -- forcefully repeating simple phrases, appearing to have difficulty focusing or concentrating, his voice labored and slurred, as if he were drugged or otherwise impaired -- again, something other observers have noted. And still nothing happens.

Appearing on The Little Rupert Network today, Mike Pence, the possible heir apparent, said gleefully, "I tell you; there's very little resemblance between [the Trump White House] and the previous administration!"

There's A Star Man / Waiting In The Sky:  SETI Recommends Not Landing Here

This is how fascism works. The Leader is the focus of praise and rage, the center of all things; the Anus Mundi.  Whatever he does is right, correct, and explainable; and every new outrage results in -- Nothing.

The collective behavior of Our Leader, which would provoke mass demonstrations and even riots in other parts of the world, results in -- Nothing. Each new proclamation or law or restriction by Trump, and as alt-Right crazies dismantle regulations protecting Americans and our environment, passes without any real response from the majority of Americans. They still can't fully accept, even after nearly ten months, that this is happening.

And, these changes will continue to come, each day, incrementally -- until we will find ourselves standing at the edge of another red line which we know we can cross only at our mortal peril. To Do Nothing, then, will not be a choice we can make. Inaction, acceptance; even full-throated support of The Leader will be required. Because Freedom.

And doing Something, then, may not even be an option.

MEHR, MIT MILITÄRISMUS:  Well, it may be too late already.  Have a gander, and please be sure to read the comments. Be advised: if it's a consideration, Moon is an equal-opportunity call 'em like they see 'em space and the political perceptions of some commenters may not be your own. 
[Peter] Schwartz submits that government incompetence might not be enough to trigger America's implosion. After all, we could always just vote out the bozos who let us down. What we need to destroy the country, he argues, is Zimbabwe-sized corruption: a succession of executives who pilfer the national treasury and refuse to hold free elections. In that case, the country could fall apart as our national creeds of freedom, democracy, and openness are gradually abandoned.
-- Josh Levin, "How Is America Going To End?"; Slate, August 2009

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Everyone Sing Along

Eine Kleine Rhumba Tanzen

It's all too much Mehr.  So; Fuck it.  Let's all do the Rhumba -- yeah; you. You all know who you are.

... Navigate this YouTub to start at 37:25 (Est ist wo wohnen die Rhumbazeit, Kinder!) and the Little Rhumba is over all too soon -- though if you wish to watch the whole video, it runs approximately two hours, and will be good for you.

P.S. :  That is not George "Lil' Boots" Bush at right with the violin.  This is a family Blog, for god's sake.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Random Barking

I Dreamed That Dream Again

In a room crowded by Nabobs and Archons, Exalted Persons with collagen and plastic bags of saline in their Parts, who rub orange cream on their skin, who enjoy Oil and a State Of Emergency at home, gather together beneath the Eye to pay homage to those who own us. (News Item)
But before champagne corks pop in Manhattan and Berkeley and other capitals of liberal America, people might want to consider the government’s track record of holding elites accountable over the last decade. It’s not a pretty picture from the standpoint of justice or fairness. ... because America doesn’t prosecute anyone with money or power anymore. ... much has changed since Charles Kushner, Jared’s father, went to jail in 2005 for tax evasion and witness tampering.
--  David Dayen, "Why Trump Didn't Have To Obstruct Justice: The US No Longer Holds The Powerful Accountable"; Fiscal Times, May 23, 2017
(Courtesy Soul Of America.)

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Dow Surges As Kremlin Says Has No Dossier Dropped From Chinese Bomber Over The Spratlys

While Consumer Financial Protection Bureau Scrambles Taiwanese Jets
To Investigate Mariah Carey's VW Executive Oil Pricing 
In Wake Of Sessions Confirmation Hearings

Mongo Is On The Ball.
"Hey; is that food? Give me some -- I've been picking up this thing you keep throwing."

 Just thought we'd cover everything. It's raining out here on the Left Coast.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Photo Of Stunning Flight Attendant

For Absolutely No Goddamn Reason

No idea what airline this person is connected with. Doesn't matter. (Associated Press)
[ The Googlegerät advises it's UAE's Eithad Airways.] 

Back at the Place O' Witless Labor. Thinking about the transience of all things; listening to Avro Pärt's Spiegel Im Spiegel. Pausing to note that Mariah Carey is very close to being officially fat, and that Il Duce ! is not just tubby but putrescently podgy and blubbery in a way only Oligarchs can be.

And with this post, we here at BeforeNine inaugurate yet another unnecessary Blog category: For Absolutely No Goddamn Reason, as indicated above.  

This relates to an image which appeared in the very top strip of the banner on a print version of The Onion, distributed circa 2010 in Kiddietown before it became Kiddietown, which showed a small photo of a Lemur with the caption, "Picture of Lemur shown for absolutely no goddamned reason". 

Just to be clear, the image above is not a photo of a Lemur. Thank you.