Byfar My Favorite Size

Sure, A4 intrigues the hell out of me, but if pressed, I would have to say my favorite paper size byfar is 11 x17 (tabloid). It's just so cool and feels great in your hands, no matter what you're reading.

There. I said it. Good night.

Beat the Buddha

I can no longer stand by and hear it without swearing at my car radio. "The government today cracked down on the monks peacefully demonstrating in the streets by rounding them up, beating them with their rifle butts, and hauling them off for interrogation and torture."

Burma. Buddha. Bastards. I hate soldiers, I'm sorry. But I do.

The so-called soldiers who beat unarmed religious men of peace are just plain thugs. The government in Burma isn't doing anything wrong. In fact it isn't doing anything at all. What you see here are blind, stupid thugs.

Individual men devoid of humanity and inflated by the hot air balloon of the state's authority. Not a single thought for themselves, nor of their actions' consequence. The junta government does not exist! The map is not the territory, remember? Right there on the street though, the soldier is the one bashing his rifle butt into the head of a bald, defenseless holy man who he knows will not fight back and represents no threat to his person whatsoever. Just one man brutally beating another while the sun shines and birds sing overhead.

The government doesn't pick up so much as a stick.

How can it? It's a concept. Let me say it again. Look at the people in these pictures. They could all have the same Mom and Dad. They could all switch outfits and look the same. And yet, put an (intimidating) outfit on some of them and they become monsters. Our brains are very tiny things. The government is only as strong as the soldier carrying out its authority. Atrocities are never performed by states or leaders. They are performed by some everyday guy with black hair and crazed with hate at the trigger end of a state-sponsored murder weapon.

Maybe even your brother. Maybe even in Iraq.

Champion Breakfast: OJ, Bread and Circuses

SO TRANSPARENT now! Amerika! Too late to sleep. Election year-- a woman and a black man. How to stop the chances of political upheaval and military abandonment if you're the big machine already-in-progress?

Divide and conquer, just like in Iraq! Give the common folk their bread and circuses to distract them from the real matters at hand (in glove yuk yuk). Suddenly after like millions of sports memorabilia events for years where I'm sure his stuff got circulated, OJ decides "hmmmm, now's good" and storms a room in Vegas with the velvet glove this time audio smooth.

Then, some easily manipulated taunting and button-pushing at a tree NOT destroyed by Hurricane Katrina and some dude gets pummeled for the prosecution. Now the six in Jena. How doth we protest? No it's not political at all.

All arranged I say. Press! As in you're a sandwich heavy on the grill.

It will go like this now: How can we expect a black president when they all can't even get their act together, fighting like crazy in the streets all about who got away with murder (see OJ, above) when? Oldest trick in the book! And this last curve.

Months and months no little Laden who knew no place did he shoo and BOOM he's all over the television in still frame. Hey, is that a postage stamp talking? Cuz stop sign Mc-voterville ain't gonna be able to tell the difference 'tween Osama and Obama, and that's why his name will go down the tubes - people will remember that Osama dude instead. Not as easy as (burning) Bush.

So you see we can't have Obama. Can't have a dude there who represents off the handle hotheads and resurrects the wounds of the deep, still drowning South. So OJ, morning marks please. First scene of the day. Circus South with a noose!


Another example of the Bisquich has surfaced. Sold right there on iOffer: "Bisquich Fresh Summertime Recipes, 1977." Click the photo to see the sale page. Tomorrow the world!

Osama Bin Latte

I simply HAVE to make this post right now. Hurry! Hurry! Step right up! Get your Bisquich buy! Heh -- Even though I made it a while back it's ripe for ol' black beardie now coming on TV to talk to us. Wait a minute! I know something isn't right here... last time he was old!

That's right. Can't put one over on me, you terrorists. I'm an American.

Drink up Amerika. It's frothy at the top.

Click on the pictures to shop! A neat Euro-car oval sticker! A bitchin' beach bag! Even to a Tee.

Everything is Superimposed

It's way too late. Even on the iPhone giddy idiots push "buttons" like crazy on an elecro-sensitive grid and think they have access to to it all. Don't get me wrong it's pretty. But, wake up kids, cuz guess what? There are no buttons there! You're pushing nothing -- don't be fooled! Press... PRESS!! Oh, I want to press it!

buttons must be pressed

I say, make Them touch your click, not make you dream control is yours! You want control? Touch me or Nothing! Yeah. There's where it all starts, I'm afraid.

I just saw a commercial for Target on TV - you know where everything you're not gonna buy is white and backgroundy and the colorful kids run all over the place? Superimposed. All the white is unimportant, but these kids have got to stand on something after all. Beautiful, commercial agents of the Market Gods like angels stepping all over the poor fluffy white clouds of Heaven.

And we buy it. We're all kinda like that now. Nobody knows who runs what any more. We're all pushing buttons that aren't really there. Colorful ones too. Screens and monitors reach out for our Adamic touch every stupid, repetitive day of our lives. We swim right for the hook each and every time. Grouped together, on a blue background. You name it. Ocean, sky, what was once blue before the greeenscreen, it goes on.

Everything is just put on there. To play around. And we do, but we're not really there are we, if there's more outside that stage of puppet theater? I thought about more like this, too. If all these pressing screens replaced clickety typewriter keys what's the big diff? Well for one thing - FORM. You used to have to directly touch controls for technology to work. Now they're all gone. There's no more thing. No more sticks, levers. No more wheels. We're making it ALL UP.

Postage stamps of glass wait for our finger poke and stroke now. Little hungry lillypads for the Circuit Board of approval, all lit up and ready. When they're dark they're truly ugly and look the same, and now you know why.

If we think we're controlling stuff and that stuff isn't even there we think we're manipulating, then our attempt at control is illusionary and futile. We are all definitively dreaming, because the last time I checked, when you frantically pressed buttons or tried dialing phones in a real-ass hurry in a dream or nightmare, it was all imaginary too.

and thus the thunderstorms

Pressing did nothing, and now it does nothing in the "real world" too. The line is gone and we are drowning in MEDIA, the ocean foretold so many many times. She is a tricky One, Flood. Wash away the sins now, or get ready to count the giraffes on board.