“Number one, all the good deals are gone. What do we tell the Admiral?”
And the retailers were nestled all snug in their beds,
with visions of empty shelves dancing in their heads.
Tag Archives: satire
Photo finish Friday: “Space”
Filed under Photo by author, Photo Finish Friday
Sunday: “A few rough edges”
Things are always grainiest before they turn completely ablative.
Filed under capitalism, Cartoon
The Devil’s Dictionary: “Abscond”
In our continuing quest to revisit a classic, or even a curiosity from the past and see how relevant it is, we continue with The Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce. Originally published in newspaper installments from 1881 until 1906. You might be surprised how current many of the entries are.
A young Ambrose Bierce
OLD DEFINITION
Abscond, v.i. To “move in a mysterious way,” commonly with the property of another.
Spring beckons! All things to the call respond;
The trees are leaving and cashiers abscond.
–Phela Orm
NEW DEFINITION
Abscond, v.i. To “move in a mysterious way,” commonly with the property of another, usually a lobbyist in order to the bidding of “the people” as conveyed by the lobbyist to the politician. The people in this case being the person, persons, or corporation that hired the lobbyist(s).
Elections beckon! All candidates to the lobbyists respond;
The people are leaving and the politicians abscond.
–d.e.b.
Filed under Devil's Dictionary
Stacey-I-am
Tennessee state Senator Stacey Campfield
I am Stacey.
Stacey I am.
That Stacey-I-am!
That Stacey-I-am!
Do you not like
That Stacey-I-am?
Do you not like
My flavor of ham?
I do not like you
Stacey-I-am
I do not like
Your favor of ham.
Would you like it
Here or there?
I would not like it
Here or there.
I would not like it
Anywhere.
I do not like
Your flavor of ham.
I do not like it,
Stacey-I-am.
Would you like it
In a senate or a house?
Would you like it
With a correct spouse?
I would not like it
In a senate or a house
I would not like it
And neither does my spouse.
I do not like it
Here or there.
I do not like it anywhere.
I do not like your flavor of ham.
I do not like you, Stacey-I-am.
Would you like it
In a box?
Would you like it
On Faux News Fox?
Not in a box.
Not on Faux News Fox.
Not in a senate or a house.
Not with my spouse.
I do not like it here or there.
I do not like it anywhere.
I do not like your flavor of ham.
I do not like you, Stacey-I-am.
Would you? Could you?
In a stadium?
I could wear a mask
And create some mayhem.
I would not, could not
In a stadium.
You may like it.
You will see.
You may like it
On TV!
I would not, could not on TV.
Not in a stadium! You let me be.
I do not like it in a box.
I do not like it on Faux News Fox.
I do not like it in a senate or a house.
I do not like it with a correct spouse.
I do not like it here or there.
I do not like it anywhere.
I do not like your flavor of ham.
I do not like you, Stacey-I-am.
A plane! A plane!
Could you, would you
On a plane?
The monkey can fly while I explain.
Not on a plane! Not in a stadium!
Not in a mask! Stacey, stop the mayhem!
I would not, could not, in a box.
I could not, would not, on Faux News Fox.
I will not and neither will my spouse.
I will not like you in a senate or a house.
I will not like you here or there.
I will not like you anywhere.
I do not like you, Stacey-I-am.
Say!
In the dark?
Here in the dark!
Would you, could you, in the dark?
I would not, could not,
in the dark.
Though from the dark
Is where you hark.
Would you, could you,
on voting day?
We can starve children
And “Don’t Say Gay.”
I would not, could not, on voting day.
Not in the dark. Not in any way,
Not in a stadium, Not on TV.
I do not like you, Stacey, you see.
Not in a house. Not in a box.
Not with my spouse or Faux News Fox.
Not in a plane. Not in a mask.
I do not like you, so don’t ask.
I do not like you here or there.
I do not like you anywhere!
I do not like
Your type of ham.
I do not like you
Stacey-I-am.
So when it comes
Election day
I’ll pull the lever
And send you away.
Stacey Campfield on TV.
–with apologies to Dr. Seuss. Parody by David E. Booker
Filed under poetry by author, political humor
The blathering idiot and the Pro-Accordion Party returns
The blathering idiot opened his front door. On the other side was Lydia and … and the consultant. The consultant was in front.
“May we come in?” the consultant asked, but was inside before he finished the question.
Lydia followed him in.
“Is your child home today?” the consultant asked.
“Child?”
“Your daughter?”
“I don’t have a daughter.”
“Xenia,” Lydia said.
“She is not my daughter,” the blathering idiot said. “It would be nice if she were, but she is my ex-girlfriend’s daughter.”
Pro-Accordion Party strikes again.
“Oh … that’s most unfortunate,” the consultant said.
“I agree,” the blathering idiot said. He missed Xenia very much. Maybe even more than his ex-girlfriend.
“Can you get another?”
“Another?”
“Daughter.”
“I guess. But I might have to get another girlfriend first. That might take some time.” The blathering idiot had not had a date in … he couldn’t remember. It had been even longer since he had had any intimacy.
“We don’t have time.” The consultant’s high forehead was covered in sweat.
The blathering idiot wondered if it had started raining. He glanced up at his ceiling: no leak.
“Let me try,” Lydia said, stepping forward.
They were all still standing inside the blathering idiot’s front door.
Lydia was as blond and as pretty as the blathering idiot remembered.
“It’s like this,” Lydia said. “The Pro-Accordion Party is gearing up for another run at the highest office in the land. We realized from the last time that one of our biggest mistakes was not starting early enough. My friend here did some polling and he found that a candidate with a daughter polled better than one without a daughter. So we were hoping you would still be interested in running and that your ex-girlfriend’s daughter would be interested in accompanying you.”
“You have a daughter,” the blathering idiot said.
“Yes she does,” the consultant said. “And she could loan her to you for the campaign.”
“My daughter is not fodder for this campaign!” Lydia said.
“We all must make sacrifices,” the consultant said.
“I sacrifice enough for Pro-Accordion Party.”
“My wife told me it was either my career or my marriage … and here I am.” He threw his arms open wide.
“Not my daughter,” Lydia said again. A tear trickled down her cheek.
The consultant put his arm around her. “We’ll talk.” He looked over at the blathering idiot. “If, you’ll excuse us for now.”
The blathering idiot opened the front door and they left.
As they walked down the steps from his porch, the blathering idiot signed and hoped it meant he would see Lydia again. Maybe even for a date.
Filed under blathering idiot, Story by author
Photo finish Friday: “The Big Bang”
Introducing … the Pistol Pump.
The Pistol Pump. For the gal on the go. For the gam on the lamb.
Ladies, make ’em turn their heads.
Ladies, make him ask himself: “Is she really packing heat, or is she just aiming to see me?”
Kneel in church and the guy behind you will be all fired up.
Ladies, watch the sparks fly when you take to the dance floor in these pumps.
Safety straps extra.
Repeating models not available available in all states. Check your local laws.
A new product brought to you by: Heel fire and dance nation.
Filed under Photo Finish Friday
The blathering idiot and the envelope
The blathering idiot did not know what to do with his letter form the university. It was addressed to him, but it clearly stated on the envelope that inside were “Exciting Summer Programs for Children and Adults in Your Neighborhood.”
Really?
What about him, the blathering idiot? Was he not entitled to Exciting Summer Programs”?
But if he opened it, how disappointed would he be to find no Exciting Summer Programs for him? He could just not open it and his summer would be fine.
Then Xenia found it.
Xenia was the eleven-year-old daughter of the blathering idiot’s on-again, off-again girlfriend Zoey. Sometimes she came over to stay with the blathering idiot for a while.
“Exciting Summer Programs for Children and Adults in Your Neighborhood”
“Why haven’t you opened this?”
“I thought maybe you would,” he said.
“I am not child in your neighborhood.”
“Not even when you’re over here, like right now?”
“But it’s addressed to you,” Xenia said.
“But it says its material is not for me.”
“Let’s call the university and see what they say we should do.”
The blathering idiot wondered why he hadn’t thought of that.
The university passed them from person to person, even once transferring them to the Chinese language professor, who was no help at all. Finally they were transferred to a man in the little known department of the studies of lost tangential and self-reverential marketing ideas.
“Actually, it’s a graduate course I taught uhm oh three years ago. I am uhm oh hoping to bring back it.” He had a heavy accent, though the blathering idiot was not sure where. It was as if the man had sucked down a vowel or two from everywhere he went.
“This envelope holds the graduate course you once taught?” the blathering idiot asked.
“It doves?”
“Isn’t that what you said?”
“I said that was course I taught.”
“And that course is an ‘Exciting Summer Program for Children and Adults in my Neighborhood’?”
“Could may be.”
“But not for me?” the blathering idiot asked.
“Who said?”
“The envelope.”
“The envelope talks to you?” the professor asked.
“No. It doesn’t. But it says—”
“Says?”
“Yes.”
“As in talk?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not my course. Good day, blather one.”
The line went dead.
“Well?” Xenia asked?
“Well, it may or may not be a marketing course.”
With that, Xenia took the envelope and ripped it open. She looked inside, then she looked at the blathering idiot.
“What is it?” the blathering idiot asked.
“Reading.”
“Okay, tell me when you’re done.”
“No. It’s about reading. Summer courses for children and adults,” Xenia said.
“Oh,” the blathering said.
“Phonics, too.”
“Oh.”
None of that seemed quite as exciting as he had imagined. He almost wished he hadn’t asked.
Filed under blathering idiot
New words to live by: “Biercism”
A young Ambrose Bierce
–Ambrose Bierce
Biercism, n. dry wit on par with that of Ambrose Bierce.
Old biercism (original): Love, n. A temporary insanity curable by marriage or by removal of the patient from the influences under which he incurred the disorder. This disease, like caries and many other ailments, is prevalent only among civilized races living under artificial conditions; barbarous nations breathing pure air and eating simple food enjoy immunity from its ravages. It is sometimes fatal, but more frequently to the physician than to the patient.
Modern biercism: Love, n. a meeting of the mind and the loins, one hopes somewhere around the heart. A volatile mixture often given to displays of insanity, vitriol, and occasionally violence. The world seems turned upside down by love – and often is. You fall in love and fall out of love, but the violence appears to be less to the shins, knees, hands, arms, or back, and more to the internal organs.
[Editor’s note: one might consider this both a new word to live byand a Devil’s Dictionary entry all mashed up (or rolled up) into one. In our continuing quest to revisit a classic, or even a curiosity from the past and see how relevant it is, we continue with The Devil’s Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce. Originally published in newspaper installments from 1881 until 1906. You might be surprised how current many of the entries are.
Click on Devil’s Dictionary in the tags below to bring up the other entries. Click on new word or new words below to see some other new words, such as congressed or obsurd or fogget or awfulizer. Words that should be in the modern lexicon, but aren’t … yet.]
Filed under Ambrose Bierce, Devil's Dictionary, new word, New words to live by
4 Copy Editors Killed In Ongoing AP Style, Chicago Manual Gang Violence | The Onion – America’s Finest News Source
Sample:
NEW YORK—Law enforcement officials confirmed Friday that four more copy editors were killed this week amid ongoing violence between two rival gangs divided by their loyalties to the The Associated Press Stylebook and The Chicago Manual Of Style.
[Editor’s note: this is humor. It is on the Onion. Click on the link above for the rest of the story.]
Filed under writing humor
Booker's Blog 