Archive for the 'knights' Category

Czeslaw Milosz, Nobel Laureate in Lit, 1980

this savage polish poet was actually introduced to me as an audio file of the following poem a couple years ago.  the additional sensory excitement made it all the better, but it’s all in the word.  see, we poles do know a thing or two.

 Song on the end of the world

On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A Fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through fields under their umbrellas
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet,
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end of the world there will be,
No other end of the world there will be.
Warsaw, 1944

Copyright 1996 by Czeslaw Milosz


The Scowl, A Tribute

Friends and Biatch,

My initial disgust and self-esteem hit by our founder’s placement at the bottom of the barrel has been replaced by firm resolve. The beatles topic, thrown around in the past, always related to music and the circle of friends and so my initial disgust was understandable. Relative to our unsavage bloggery I am still disgusted by the claim of lacking originality and depth. Perhaps my satire goes beyond the understanding of our wise founder. This however, is a separate issue that is related to over-self-awareness and the subsequent sometimes total self-involvement that plagues us all.

The scowl, this one of actor Johnny Lee Miller

**Stoney Note**- Here is a better picture of said scowl.

As the Godfather of my weed soldier with eons more to learn, I birthed the self-proclaimed Stoney. Stoney, you can thank me for this enlightened self-deprecating, self destruction that you now embrace. Without my gentle guidance i wonder where our Prince might have gone.



Peer pressure is a motherfucker.

As Stoney may or may not know, all of us have a great reverence for him in different ways. In retrospect I have come to realize its manifestation in this endeavor. My banter has escaped him, I know, in my writings because of the sensitive relationship that he and I have come to have with our tested brotherhood. The full details of it are only known to one other. This post was started in defensive passive aggressiveness, but after reflection, has become a tribute and hopeful vehicle for introspection.

My first experience of Stoney was one of jealous and moral ridicule. The quote, “I bet you I can have three girls in here in 30 seconds” and subsequent success, I thought, pitted us on opposite sides of the eternal struggle. With the future understanding of my brother’s psychological cogs I have better comprehended our initial personal encounter. Because of my own insecurities and romantic moral inflexibility, I rejected my brother’s bid to partake in the then sacred ceremony of ganja smoking.

Of course, our friendship blossomed through the beautiful bud and then spawned another to create the original Minstrels. This band of self-aware and insecure merry-men grew and shrunk as others had the patience to get beyond our aloofness and penetrate the unintended exclusive group. The Eastern-American modern jazz band is now defunct, though it survived the petty quibbles of all of its members, only to be destroyed by the individual paths its members took. It was tried and tested in so many ways, including two yokos, one early on and properly addressed, one later, that allowed the small fissure to fester and explode into near total destruction, and another of my own insane creation of true love, displacing feelings of another on a innocent stranger caught in the midst of the tornado.

This forum, organized by our truest sensitive savage, perhaps in hopes of reunion has allowed for us all to once again come together despite the miles that separate us all.

Twitch, though I have never met you, I have heard a few stories and feel some sense of brotherhood in our common experience of the Prince’s rakishness, but look forward to learning about and experiencing someone who is so close to someone who is so close to me.

In closing, I would like to say in the tradition of full disclosure that you former minstrels have been victims to in the past, I love you all dearly.

Hail Mary, Fools of Grace

In reviewing the newest province of our King’s domain i included some dank accessions, violating the king’s decree of single words.  However, i was immediatley struck by the limitation of perspective, though very pleased with the King’s curse and all of our curses of self-awareness, i felt some additions were neccesary.  In the savage dissapearance of two members of court, I will address the unsavagery of our disputed New Jersey savage. 

This fabled tale begins in the golden age of the savage kingdom of Sunken Delight, a magical land of unbridled sensuality, limitless freedom, and philosophical exploration.  There were three balladeers that roamed the land, always picking and smoking the weeds that were deemed evil by the blind followers of the terrible regime that ruled the country. 


if your heart is true,  pass through this threshold of the garden oasis within the evil kingdom of King William the DeceiverThese three minstrals traveled throughout the land, discovering uncharted territories and challenging the the boundaries of the kingdom.  As the present ruler was not fond of the dynamic, these three noble savages were forced into the night, only mythically seen during the day, rumored to have attended some sessions of court, but supposedly protested the king and queen, within the royal compound, in their garden, with liberated merriment.


One of the dangerous mires of the kingdom, a site of tragedyIt was in this air of stagnant oppression that these brave young men resolved to battle the forces of evil until they mortally perished in the eternal quest.  


Supposed sighting of one of these mythical balladeers As in all of their introductions of initial conflict, some of these virtuous crusaders were perhaps skeptical in their meeting of the King’s Irish post-runner, decked in a uniform of tyranny in the latest fashion of revealing short shorts.  Shamus the Unruly, as he later became named in his total rejection of the royal family and total drunken debauchery, would soon correct his blasphemer in his hasty judgment, running his messages of savagery for many moons with broken foot and indominatable spirit. 


The modern style of the messenger’s garbTwo of the revolutionary balladeers challenged the king’s mail runners in their chosen form of battle.  The battle field would be level, three hundred of the king’s feet long by 52 wide.  In this virtual contest of simulated battle, all warriors were on even battle filed, but the boisterous bawdiness that Shamus would later be titled for and his partner Jesse of Katsopolis


unwisely incited the two balladeers’ repressed bloodthirst with brazen shit-talking.  The battle began in the province of Yates under the cover of darkness.  The battle was tilted toward the favor of the unjust throughout, but the wizard’s potion would soon turn the tide.  Facing their death in the final moments of battle, the Fools of Grace pleaded for divine intervention by their often dissapointed Virgin mother Mary.  In seven seconds, the battle was one by their faith in their favorite weapon-the bomb.  


Da Da Duh Da Duh Da Duh

The victors’ spoils did not escape them, but they respected their defeated opponents in their time of infinite dissapointment, confusion, and emasculation. 

Let this be a cautionary tale to any who offend the patience of the two warriors and any who dare speak with thorn-ed tongue of their still-standing epic victory. 

Presidential Hopeful Bows Out in Disgrace


 “I’m not a rake”;

George Shrub leaving Campaign Headquarters in the middle of the night

 He has retracted his bid for the Presidency in the middle of the night, June 1st 2007, under a cloud of public disgrace and failure.  It seems the Commander in Chiefing was not prepared for the epic battle between right and wrong.  In violating his code of ethics and going back on his campaign promise of outlawing pre-marital sex with life imprisonment, he could no longer vie for the coveted position.  His political rivals quickly attacked his questionable morality, unsteadfast inner fortitude, and in old political jargon, his political wishy-washyness.  Furthermore, the promise of plasma screen TV’s for every American was quickly dismissed when sensitive financial documents revealed his net worth at $187.  Ironically, he spent all of his campaign contributions on phillip morris products, the major soft money contributor to the political slush fund known as the The Committee to Elect a President Who Smokes.  It is even rumored that he participated in free expression this past weekend while retreating in the sin filled capitol of Thailand.  He claims he will return to his father’s oil farm and redeem his sins through stern lecturing, old-fashioned farm work, and a non-indulgent residence.  It is also rumored he invited a one Stoney McStoneystein to join him because of the following’s fondness for stern lecturing. 

In the political vaccum created by dropping out of the clear favorite, as shown by the latest poll of the American public, approving nearly categorically of his arch-conservativism, war mongering and supposed morality, I, Lester von Cherrytree, am annoucing my candidacy.  I hope the public will support my l****al persuasion in their new found distrust of the right.  Published below is my first campaign speech.

It is no longer a time for our fathers to McGovern,

We have the responsibility to alter or abolish the old regime as we see fit for the future.

It is a new time, with new dynamics, that requires the trained but untested wills of children entering the grand forum.

No longer can we caged by familial reliance, unfounded defiance, or blind contrivance.

Only through blistered hands, broken backs, bee sings, and scraped knees will this lingering foreboding be addressed.

As children of the Republic we cherished our leaders and teachers.

We exceeded their expectations with our own resilience in dealing with the slaughtering of innocence.

And as we matured in this world, we were equipped with the instruments needed to understand it’s dynamic.

We must love it and care for it before it’s beacon is extinguished. 

*edited by the CIA  


Speech Writers

Rubber Matches, Growing Up, Other Reflections and another Roll Call

the first category tag i clicked was worthless friday, cuz that’s what i’m in.  it’s fantastic.  finally some time to interact with the tech-junkies, alcoholics and weed-fiends who read this link-laden, anti-american, diaperlicious bloghole. 

has anybody noticed that politics are continuing to play a large role in our blog?!  i can’t believe that shit.  if you knew, (and most of you do), the authors, you’d be as surprised as me.  four years in the burg, and we never talked about it.  now it’s all over everything.  i think that comes along with growing older.  things we never cared about before are starting to look more and more important.  we’re all realizing our global citizenship, and i think it’s pretty encouraging.  now all we have to do is change the minds of all the fuckos in general society *(see stoney’s note about the a&f models on the airplane… these are the dipshits to whom i’m referring.) 

on another very different topic, there’s this issue going on in the baseball world.  my boy john smoltz won his 200th career decision last night.  i don’t need to remind any of you who the braves defeated.  i don’t need to tell you that they beat the metropolitans.  further, i don’t need to explain to any of you that this win brough the braves record against the mets to 6 wins and 3 losses on the season.  no, i don’t need to mention any of these things.  why am i talking about it then?  to hurt your sensitive yankee feelings?  no.  to rub salt into your still-smarting wounds from last october?  of course not.  well, i’ll tell you why.  the braves are currently recruiting new fans, and if you all have been converted over the past few days, just let me know, and i’ll be happy to provide a letter of recommendation.  no guarantees, but it’s at least a 50-50 they’ll accept you.  last night’s prodigious victory over the hated mets was a rubber match.  “what is a rubber match?” all of you except the sport-savvy roughty might be asking yourselves.  again, i’ll explain it for you.  in a 3-game series, if each team wins one of the first two games, game three is the rubber match.  in a 7-game series that’s tied at three games each, game seven is the rubber match.  check out this helpful wiki article on the topic.

what’s the point of this discussion? it’s not just to make fun of the sucky mets.  in fact, i want to bring it back to politics.  since i’ve been old enough to think about politics, there have been two presidents.  (during bush the elder’s administration, i didn’t understand anything at all about it.)  these presidents have been billy clinton and george dubya bush — a democrat and a republican.  in 2008, we’ll have the rubber match between these two political powerhouses.  as in sports, this rubber match will play a big role on the way our generation will be viewed.  will our generation be defined by the shitty republicans or the shitty democrats?  lord only knows.  i got a guess, but it’s just that — a guess.  so i won’t even mention it here.  in a baseball rubber match, all we can do is drink beer and root for our own version of the good guys.  last night, my team won, and i was happy.  roughty’s team lost, and i’m sure he drowned on his tears.  in politics, however, we can play the game and get involved.  we can be the shortstop who turns the double play, or we can be the asshole who lets the ball roll right between his legs.  (by the by, what team was he on again?  hahaha.)  either way, in politics, we don’t have to sit on the sidelines.  we can cast our votes and join in the action, right?  here’s the other big difference.  if i make a throwing error, and the winning run scores for the other team, the game is over and i immediately know who won.  if i hit the walk-off homer, it’s conclusive.  i’m the big winner.  with politics, it’s not so cut and dry.  i might cast my vote and be all happy for a couple years after my selected puppet wins.  then, out of nowhere, he blows some country off the map, and my walk-off homer turns into a “you-blew-it” game ending error. that’s why, when this year’s political rubber match comes along, i’ll be drinking beer and watching from the sidelines.  the punchline of this discourse — do yourself a favor and don’t vote.  vote for your favorite amer. idol.  vote for which of the stars dances best.  vote for the best apple pie you ate at the county fair.  don’t vote for the president.  you’ll invariably be sorry!

thus ends the politics of this post.

i’m still going to school.  it still sucks.  i also work at a school.  that, too, is no good.  i am trying to learn about the material required for my degree, but all i keep learning about is that everybody only cares about money.  the only question my peers and superiors ask themselves is, “how can i make the most money off this situation?”  it’s sad to think that this is the world we’re trying to earn membership into.  maybe the solution is to drop out and move to an island and try to grow coconuts for food and decorative brassieres.  my ridiculous boss’s boss’s boss’s boss volunteered me today to take part in some terrible task around the office.  my autonomy is non-existant.  i don’t decide what i do at all.  they tell me what to do, and i do it.  it’s bad for one’s psychology.  you’ve all been there.  i guess the right thing to do is just grin and bear it until retirement… in like 60 years.  one more thing about work, i had to make a presentation yesterday to a room full of suits.  i wore a rainbow colored (ambiguously androgenous) plaid shirt untucked and my oldest, rattiest pants.  i gave a great presentation.  (probably because dank wasn’t there flicking his damned zippo to distract me.)  after this, i got an email from my boss’s boss who told me that i should have dressed nicer.  this is a big old problem in our society.  why in the world do people still judge you based on the clothes you wear?  i’ll tell you.  it’s because they’re terrible idiots who don’t know any better.  and these are the people who i’m scrambling to compete with as a peer…  sad.

well, mr dank nuggets is in, so let the fun begin.  in honor of him, i’m taking this opportunity to post yet another savage roll call.  feast your eyes on the following collection:

most savage cartoon character:  Monterey Jack — he’ll whip your ass and then console you in a lovely aussie accent.

honorable mention:  Nermal — fresh off the boat from abu dhabi

least savage cartoon character:  Rita and Runt — an ill-fated space-filler in an otherwise exceptional show

most savage world leader:  Queen of Jordan — rules with an iron fist and a lovely pair of jumblies

honorable mention:  Stalin — (translation of caption:  respect the moustache.  fear the moustache.  obey the moustache.)

least savage world leader:  Jacques Chirac (someone either just snuck up him, or he was presented with a lovely quiche.)

most savage cereal mascot:  Sonny (cocoa puffs) — this guy has “junkie” written all over his face

honorable mention:  Andy Milonakis (fruity pebbles)

least savage ceareal mascot:  Tony (frosted flakes) — why don’t you find a gayer bandana.  we’re not all convinced you’re a homo yet.

most savage car model of all times:  AMC Eagle (no competition)

honorable mention:  El Camino (the original cross-over vehicle)

least savage car model of all times:  ford tempo (my first car)

most savage blogger:  suityourself (no photo available)

least savage blogger:  you (look in the mirror and recognize your inferiority.)

finally, most savage drugs:  steriods

least savage drugs:  whipits (you’ll freeze your lungs)

Star Wars

If Star Wars were real, are we the Empire or the Rebels?

Think about it. If Star Wars were the real shit, whose team would we be on?

I am an American who fully supports my country. I don’t want us to die. However, I think we are severely fucked up, and the shit we are doing is wrong on a number of different levels, that I’m not going to get into in detail. I’ll leave that up to the smart, serious people.

America = Empire from Star Wars

Death Star– we have the most badass, huge motherfucking ships all over the world. Airplanes, crazy missiles, scout planes, nuclear submarines….Right now, we are cruising our military in the Persian Gulf, playing strategic war games to show Iran that we will fuck them up if they don’t stop trying to make nuclear weapons.

Dominance of the Universe– we want to control the whole world and its resources. If we can’t control a specific territory or resource, we want to make nice, so that they can be incorporated into our existence and we can both benefit off of our mutual powers. If you don’t think so, then what do you think?

Use of torture to persuade rebels to give themselves up– lucky for the Rebels, Princess Leia somehow withstood the floating black needle torture machine. I’m sure not all of them did as well as she did. Guantanomo?

Bounty hunters and mercenaries to track down our worst, underground enemies– Boba Fett is the same as all these private military contractors running around in the mountains of the Middle East, trying to find Osama Bin Laden or other guys like that.

Am I stretching it? Maybe. But is it really that far of a stretch? Hell no, it’s not that far of a stretch, fuckheads.

If Luke Skywalker was real, would he come from a barren farm in the Midwest US, or a barren farm from Pakistan?

Was Uncle Owen in the WTC when they came down? Or was Uncle Owen killed by some badass fuckers looking for Obi Wan (underground leader [osama])? Do you see what that means? Luke Skywalker was ultimately catapulted into his position after stormtroopers killed his Uncle Owen, when they were looking for Obi Wan Kenobi….How many Uncle Owens do you think US soldiers and mercenaries have killed looking for Osama….right now the running count for civilian casualties is somewhere between 60k and 600k in Iraq, depending on who you ask GO HERE FOR A BREAKDOWN OF DIFFERENT COUNTS………I imagine that there are a shitload of Uncle Owens, and a shitload of little Skywalkers perfecting their ninja lightsaber skills to come kick the shit out of us. Substitute light sabers for IEDs or suicide bombs…

Are you on Luke’s team or the emperor’s team?

As an American citizen who sincerely does love his country, the only solution I can see (from the Empire’s team, which I am on), is to work for change within the system, to build the Death Star into a Death Star Party Bus. Or something like that.


The Knight Story Expose

Like any savage must do before becoming a full knighted savage, I failed. Pretty much all of the badass knights fail at something, and I failed at finishing my knight story. BUT, like all savage knights, through failure, I become even more savage, and a greater legend.

I have created a separate page for the story, so as not to hog space, and to hopefully lengthen shelf life.

In creating a story that is unfinished, I have followed in the footsteps of the other great Arthurian authors. Tons of stories were unfinished, or the manuscripts burnt in a fiery siege. My unfinished manuscript was burnt by the effects of a fiery seed, but that does not change the picture that much.

Thus, I open my story for editing and completion by the rest of the Stoney team. If they want to, they can keep it going. I might work on it some too, but I have now basically given up the rights to the ending, which I pretty much had planned out.

If nobody gives a shit, comments, or cares about my badass beginning of a knight story, then I will take it down and mock you, while jousting on my skateboard in Venice.