This actually did involve writing (and graphics editing, and endless amounts of REALLY ANNOYING video editing), but it's more of a political nature than not. Please watch it anyway.
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This piece is probably ill-advised. It did distract me for a bit though, so it served its purpose. I wrote it today. Fresh off the presses. The only thing I'll mention sans-bribes: So far as I know, the Concorde Times doesn't exist.
Dear Mrs. Hubbard (I admit I may be assuming too much even in just this salutation, but kindly forgive me if I have taken too many liberties),
It was with great interest that I followed in the Concorde Times (a newspaper of some import in my region) the recent adventures which you have had with your dog. What with the economy and high fuel prices, I find it no great shock that you had forgotten to purchase the poor pooch a bone.
I can't pretend to know what a fishmonger is (though I shall be sure to ask my friend Polonius when next we meet), but it seems to me that someone is feeding your dog on the sly. Whatever this good Samaritan may be up to is anyone's guess, but perhaps he (or might it be she?) is as impressed with your dog's feats as I am.
A dog that plays a flute and reads the newspaper? Even if it isn't the Concorde, that's an astounding accomplishment for any dog!
Such a remarkable dog must require a great deal of care. To this end, I would like to offer myself as a potential guardian of your dog in the event of your untimely demise if you have no capable benefactors and the Samaritan continues in the greater part of valor. I promise that your dog would receive only the finest care and admiration and would have only occasional showings at some highly esteemed traveling establishment such as Barnum and Bailey or some suitably educational venture for the benefit of the younger generation.
Yours Faithfully,
Edmund Delanie, Esq.
P.S. Peach cobbler is a pie. If it's not too much trouble, may I inquire what kind of cobbler sells shoes?
(Read more!)This story was written November 3, 2004. Holy cow. Only edits are spelling related. I'd keep up with the "I'll tell you one thing about it without bribes," but I don't really remember anything about it. It's vaguely related to a "tangible happiness" concept I was working on at the time, but I don't remember much about this piece at all.
I hope to post new work up soon, but I can't make any guarantees. You'll probably see more work from my archive before anything new is finished.
Richard walked down the living-optional beach. You met all kinds there, from the dead, to the nearly dead, dying, transcendent, translucent, and impervious to death. It's best not to stare, he decided.
As odd as it appeared, he actually preferred the dead who had handkerchiefs holding their mouths shut. The modern ones with their jaws wired shut were a bit unnerving.
Richard threw his towel down, and sat down on it, knees at his chest, and feet in the sand. He spotted a transcendent a few hundred feet away. He never figured transcendent would be fond of beaches, but apparently, some of them liked nothing better than a good romp in the sand, and waves, and a few cold beers. He realized he was staring, and looked away.
The cool breeze felt wonderful. It was a perfect night to go to the beach. Even the seagulls seemed less savage at night. Their caws and calls seemed softer, and more subdued.
"Hello," a voice beside him said.
He turned quickly and saw the transcendent standing beside him.
"Hi," Richard tried to hide his embarrassment.
"It sure is a nice night to go to the beach," the transcendent sat down ignoring the fact that he had no towel to sit on, and no clothes either.
"Yeah." Richard tried staring off in to the distance. The transcendent didn't seem upset with him, but you never could tell with the ambiguously existent. Mostly, they seemed not to be there.
Richard and the transcendent sat silently for several minutes, until Richard couldn't stand the awkwardness any longer.
"So," Richard started, "I never figured transcendent for beach-goers ... Enlightenment — and all that."
"Oh, you never know. The living think life is so complicated, so many things you have to get done, and if you want to be perfect ... well, never mind. When you transcend, you realize that sometimes the most important thing is to spend a few hours on a night beach, drinking cheap domestic beer."
Richard thought about that for a second. "Huh. I guess I never saw it that way."
"You want to go get a beer?" the transcendent asked.
"Sure, I'd love to."
This one's a bit more political than usual. It's one of three parody news articles I've written. The first one was lost to the sands of time (probably for the best), this is the second one, and the third one (hopefully) exists still, but I can't get my hands on it at the moment. I posted the first on a forum, but I don't know if I posted this one.
At any rate, I only fixed spelling and changed ambivalous to ambivalent. Apparently, the dictionary gods still don't recognize ambivalous as a word and I'd rather not argue with them today. The anniversary year is probably wrong as I think this is a 2005, and not a 2006. And it looks like I didn't actually finish writing it. Needs one more sentence. More stories to follow as soon as I figure out what to write about.
Oh, I suppose you want the one and only one thing that I will tell you about this without bribes. Ok. April B. Zantelli was a character that I designed after a family cat.
A recent study determined that an overwhelming 90% (error margin of +/- .5%) of Americans were unaware of the actual definition of the word freedom.
As the 229th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence approaches, a small but vocal group of Americans are asking "what happened to that freedom thing, anyway?"
The study, conducted over the course of eighteen months by a group of college students from across the United States, sampled all known demographics of Americans and came to the conclusion that most Americans were ignorant of the actual meaning of freedom.
The pivotal question in the survey was "what is freedom?" and the participants were given four options. 40% of the participants chose "the right to have the government take money away from others in order to make me richer," just ahead of "the right to smack my neighbor Bob because he sometimes smokes cigarettes within fifty miles of me," selected by 38%. 12% chose "the right to smash the windshield of any SUV I see with a brick bat."
Only 10% of participants responded "the right to do what I choose, as long as it doesn't violate anyone else's rights," the correct answer.
Constitutional law expert Statis Tmaksimumm suggested that this trend may explain a recent Supreme Court ruling allowing local governments to use "eminent domain" to confiscate land from private citizens to give to citizens who would pay the government more taxes. "People want a freedom more compatible with their lifestyles today. The right to be secure in your person and free of unreasonable searches is just so passe in this post-9-11 society. It's only appropriate that the Supreme Court would take that into account."
When asked if he would participate in the survey, Tmaksimumm declined to answer any of the questions because he is rich, smokes, and owns an SUV, but doesn't see why freedom ought to mean he should be able to do what he likes.
Even journalism, once the vanguard of freedom of the press, has recently become ambivalent on the subject. In decades past, reporters didn't consider themselves serious journalists until they were held in contempt of court for refusing to divulge the identities of their sources.
"It used to be all 'you don't want me to use your name, right?' because they wanted to refuse judges' demands and be held in contempt," said a source who asked -- for purposes of nostalgia -- not to be named. "Now, most reporters won't even talk to someone unless they agree to be named. I can tell you, I've seen a lot of reporters getting bladder infections because no one would tell them where the john was with a stipulation like that."
Even prestigious magazines like Time are bowing at the first sign of peer pressure from courts like that of Thomas Hogan.
Hogan's school-yard-bully manner became evident in a recent altercation with Time Magazine and the New York Times when he used the phrase "anarchists" in reference to journalists standing up for the time-honored press right to confidential sources. Hogan did not say if there was a specific type of anarchist that he disliked, or if he just thought the word sounded naughty in general.
Regardless, the editor of Time Magazine quickly succumbed to Hogan's taunting. While a few papers, like the New York Times, decried this course of events, most did not even comment on the incident, and even those who did fell short of doing anything to combat the disturbing trend.
"The newspapers are supposed to be telling America what the politicians are up to. They're supposed to remind Americans what the Constitution says. Instead, they're cowering like dogs," said another source who spoke on the nostalgic condition of anonymity.
So, what kind of effect is American ignorance having on American freedom?
Sure, it's not a story or a poem, but it is creative, and I did make it. Witness my April Fool's prank.
P.S. This is another article where the "Read More!" text is a lie. Unless someone posted comments. In which case it is utterly and completely true. Cheers.
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Here's a poem I wrote October 30, 2007. Enjoy. Or don't. Note: Despite the fact that this post claims there is more to read, there isn't. Unless you want to see the comments which thus far no one has written. If you'd like to make comments so you have something to look at when you click "Read More," that's fine.
Dying (to the flesh) -slowly- on a Wednesday;I(Read more!)
Am what you make me
a million (shiny)tiny dreams in the
the purview of the divine comedy(
make me whole again)IMMENSE AND GROWING smaller with
every passing breath you (i am immune to love )amaze me
(don't waste yours on me)
dream of men dream of sky in the wandring by and bye
Godshe's
lookingthis
way
I originally wrote this September 26, 2007. Keeping with tradition, I will tell you one thing about this without bribes. Jahoclave, mentioned in this post, is the guy who does the excessively hilarious One Hour Parking Show which I link to in the "More Awesome Than Me" box to the Bshullitarian Bullwa on the Exclamation Point Enough is enough. The saints of Bshullitarianism are not known for putting up with things. Not known at all for any such thing. Despite this well known fact, we have been putting up with the excesses of excessive punctuation. The guilty punctuation, for those who skipped the title, is the exclamation point. There are few things in modern society which are exciting or dangerous enough to warrant the use of such punctuation, and yet we find that this has not hampered the expansion of this punctuation's territory. This once terrifying, and emotion-inducing mark has lately been used for the most insipid and banal of reasons. The inappropriate use of the exclamation is akin to running into a house and shouting in terrifying tones "hurry, it's an emergency," waiting for the residents to converge, and when they have arrived to assist with whatever dreadful thing you must tell them, you inform them that an ice cream truck will be coming soon. There are no exciting incidents of laughing out loud. There are no dangerous "fire" sales. No one will die over the contents of your next e-mail, instant message, or SMS. Installing your router without using the configuration CD will not prevent moral rectitude, enlightenment, or a fulfilling sex-life. Using the exclamation point unnecessarily brings false hope to the modern soul. Whoever desires to find something of value, interest, or danger to soothe the oppressive normality which surrounds and penetrates us incessantly is taken in by the exclamation. This false hope - as all hope false or true must do - shall die. Today, the false hope brought by the exclamation point dies. Authorized by His Holiness, Jahoclave, the exclamation point is forbidden until further notice. No Saint shall use it, and the unSaints who use it shall be forbidden chocolate, sex, kittens, and puppies until they repent of their sins. The darkest and most vile depths of Washington, DC are reserved for those who continue to use it. Comma, beware. We know what you have been up to, and we will not tolerate further excesses. Your loose living and frequently unnecessary presence put you in grave danger of being the target of our next bullwa.left right hand side of your screen.
Issued by Saint Eve
Preemptively Approved by His Holiness Jahoclave
