Poster Child for Eugenics

A Brief Dialogue Between Zing & Colchester

Zing stands on a street corner. Colchester to his left.

Zing: Have you any idea how long we've been standing here?
Colchester: No. No idea at all.
Zing: Seems rather perverse, really.
Colchester: What does?
Zing: Standing here on a street corner.
Colchester: What?
Zing: Standing here on a street corner.
Colchester: Ah, yes.
Zing: So you agree its rather perverse?
Colchester: No.
Zing: No?
Colchester: No. You've chosen to stand here, therefore it cannot be perverse.
Zing: But, I don't remember choosing anything...
Colchester: Clearly you did, otherwise you'd be somewhere else.
Zing: I don't remember making any sort of decision, though.
Colchester: Doesn't matter. You haven't moved. Your decision is manifest.
Zing: Well, if by not moving counts as a decision, then you must have also made a decision.
Colchester: No.
Zing: No?
Colchester: No. I don't make decisions.
Zing: You don't make decisions?
Colchester: Nope.
Zing: Tell me, how do you not make decisions?
Colchester: I don't give myself alternatives.
Zing: How is that possible?
Colchester: Oh, its very simple, really. I stand here and don't consider the existence of alternatives.
Zing: Aha! But that right there is a decision. Either: a) you consider alternatives, or b) you don't.
Colchester: Wrong again. I don't think about outcomes. And if I don't think about outcomes, I simply cannot consider any alternatives. Not to mention, I have no idea what I'm doing here. And if I have no idea what I'm doing here, then by definition, I can be neither pleased nor annoyed by the unfolding of time here on the street corner.
Zing: Preposterous!
Colchester: No. Simple. I just exist. I'm rather like a robot.
Zing: Ha!

Zing considers something for a moment.

Zing: But you're thinking about something right now. You're having a conversation, and that requires a degree of thinking. Response.
Colchester: Having a conversation does not require thinking. Every day people have conversations without thinking.
Zing: You have a point there. But. But. But, clearly you've been speaking intelligently and lucidly over the last few minutes. Surely you can't dispute that. And the fact that I've asked you questions has forced you to think. So, you must have been thinking!
Colchester: Have I?
Zing: Without a doubt.
Colchester: Perhaps I'm only answering randomly.

Zing thinks.

Zing: That's absurd! You seem to have a clear line of thinking. Your thoughts don't seem random.
Colchester: I told you I'm not thinking.
Zing: Then what is it that you're doing?
Colchester: I'm standing here on a street corner talking to you.

Zing considers.

Zing: Have you any idea how long we've been standing here?
Colchester: No. No idea at all.

Earth: A Jesus Story! (Electoral Perspectival)

Greetings, my children. Please do celebrate my Lordliness, for I am the Lord of Lords. I Lord over you, your neighbor, ice cream varieties and the eternal Twinkie, whose shelf-life shall live on through the ages...

Remember, I walked on water and made a fool of Caiaphus--therefore, I am the Lord. The logic is beyond reproach. I raised Lazarus from the dead--all for you! A handful of people saw me ascend into Heaven. So, you better believe in me or else. Or else... or else I'll come back. Yes, yes... I'll come back and teach you all another lesson. If that doesn't work, I'm ringin' up pappy, and he won't be so nice (we all know he's one vicious deity when moved to violence).

Perspectives on Hillary: It seems that no one ever taught her the meaning of word 'no.' No power suits, crying, ego, etc.
Perspectives on McCain: I can hardly remember when he was born (and I exist outside of time these days).
Perspectives on Obama: He's not black enough for me.

I'm feeling rather perturbed right now, and I think I shall have to end this transmission from heaven prematurely.

Cheers,

Jesus, Lamb, I am that I am, Yeshua, Profit, Son of Lamb, Lamb of Lambs, Emmanuel (not the erotic film), Redeemer, etc

Salvador Plascencia - The People of Paper

The People of Paper, the debut novel by Salvador Plascencia, is a unique and exciting pastiche of magical realism, autobiography and experimental writing. Much has been made of Plascencia's association with McSweeney's, which is enough for some readers to dismiss the book out-of-hand. Do not fall victim to this sort of literary prejudice, though; because Plascencia's stylistic and narrative talents approach the sublime. And if The People of Paper is stripped to its very core, what remains is a heart-breaking hymn to the idea of love. In rendering love in a rather absurd and fantastical way, Plascencia creates something close to a Greek myth.

Many odd and magical things occur during the course of the story, but Plascencia wisely refrains from explaining such oddities. An array of strange people and creatures populate the novel. There are people made of paper, mechanical tortoises, bed-wetters, lime addicts and an oppressive force symbolized by the planet Saturn, amongst other things. The story is ostensibly about Federico de la Fe, a hopeless romantic who wets the bed, forcing his wife Merced to abandon him and their daughter Little Merced. This abandonment convinces Federico that he and his daughter must move to El Monte, a city just outside Los Angeles. Once in El Monte, Federico recruits a colorful cast of neighborhood characters to make war against the omniscient Saturn. This story runs parallel to later autobiographical sections documenting Plascencia's own epic struggle with love. To reveal any more would surely ruin the story.

Visually, Plascencia plays with formatting, as chapters alternate between standard prose and columned first-person narratives (think newspaper columns). He also employs primitive illustrations similar to those found in Kurt Vonnegut's classic Breakfast of Champions. None of these experiments seem forced, though. In fact, after reading the novel, it is hard to imagine the story being told in any other way.

So, If you're a fan of authors like Marquez, Calvino, Queneau or Borges, definitely read The People of Paper--it is a truly magical and memorable trip through Plascencia's formidable imagination.

Earth! A Jesus Story: Jesus & The 3-Fingered Beast

When you hear the church bells on a Sunday afternoon, my advice is to run for cover: you wouldn't want Jerry Falwell's bulbous ass enveloping your head and invading (i.e., raping) your porous gray matter with pscyhopantic ramblings. To be mind-raped by Christians is one of the more outrageous (and barbaric) crimes known to the Latter-Day Monkeys of Planet Earth. And where Jerry Falwell can be seen, you can be sure that his lapdog (John McCain) is engaging in hands-free fellatio (for Falwell's pleasure). How's that for family friendly? That's X-rated, folks--so you can be sure that half the Republican caucuses will be watching and likely joining in on the ensuing ritualistic orgy.

The point is: both God and I are baffled by the quasi-clinical mind-rape and all its practicioners.

When someone such as Jerry Falwell champions his Christian credentials, assume the opposite: that he is, in fact, a Cunt. (And I stress the capital 'C' here). And what is a cunt but a mindless membraneous orifice for all manner of engorged penises. And what does the cunt give birth to? More cunts and penises. Yes, I, Jesus, have just used the words 'cunt' and 'penis'.

If you have a problem with that, talk to my father: for it is well-known that existence spewed forth from his mind (in an ejaculatory big-bang), thus paving the way for 'cunt' and 'penis'. So, really, when you think of it, God is the source of all cunts and penises.

That said, he's not responsible for what cunts and penises do in their spare time.

Days, Nights and Other Sorts of Arbitrary Measurements: A Prayer for Marshmallows in the Dark

A day is 24 hours, or so I've been led to believe by scientists. One rotation on the Earth's axis is what we learn in elementary school. Naturally, I was always dissatisfied with this arbitrary measurement. I think it would be nice if the Earth could grant us a few more hours, or perhaps do away with the daily rotation altogether. That would make things interesting. Time would become stuck. How fun would that be? Would the gears suddenly stop? Surely, everything would be thrown into complete confusion. Computers would crash, as would the stock market. Alarm clocks would never go off, and so we'd enjoy much more sleep. Weekdays and weekends would blend together and work would become antiquated, because how could one possibly ever get to work on time if there is no time? And if the Earth stopped revolving on its axis, we wouldn't even be able to read a sundial. There would be no way of telling time. All the better for us. We're a bit too occupied with time's embrace anyways.

Certain parts of the globe would have to be plunged into total darkness. All the better for star-watching, campfires and marshmallows.

With mass confusion would certainly come an increase in crime. This is unavoidable. My advice would be to move to the country: the criminals would soon exterminate themselves if this were to ever happen anyway.

Bring a shotgun, though, and some bear traps just in case the violence spills into the countryside.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost...

Acckhaahyhdam-men!



Yours Truly,

D. J. Pangburn

If your mother was a werewolf, what would you do?

What if your mother became a viscious werewolf when the full moon's light spreads across the sky? Imagine: the excess hair growth, deadly claws replacing her painted fingernails, yellow eyes, a foaming mouth and one bad attitude.

What would you do? What could you do?

Clearly you would have a moral struggle in killing her. Most of the time, she's a pretty darned good mom. It's only every full moon that she's a rampaging werewolf who will kill anything in her path. Even you.

Perhaps you'd look for an antidote. Maybe you'd start making some silver bullets. Maybe you'd tell your dad and he'd say, 'I always knew something was up with that bitch...' Perhaps you'd lock her in a cage right before every full moon and then feed her several pounds of steak.

But, your mother is a werewolf! She wants human flesh. So the next question you have to ask yourself is this: while she's locked up, would you kill a human in order to sate her appetite. You don't want to see her unhappy. You want to please your mother, even in her altered state.

Or would you let her take a nibble out of your hand, so that you too could become a werewolf and join her in doing werewolf things?

These are all questions one needs to ask in the event one's mom turns into a werewolf.