Category Archives: Transmutations

The narrows

I’m giving it to you straight. No beating about the bird in the bush, no loose lips sinking ships. For the straight you need the narrow, as for time you need the arrow. There you have the straight and narrow.

Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it. Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.

We caught the couple in the dope den, we had a tip off from the hat check girl. She said he promised her a pack a day, he said all his relatives lived in the trees. That was plenty to send them both up the river for a good long time.

Forbidden Territory

The heathens had many everyday expressions that may provide a glimpse into their simple minds. A scout has sent back a story from Outer Godwannaland. In those regions when a woman was looking for a man, she would take a taste of his juice, and when a man was looking for a woman, he would lick the entire length of her legs in extreme unction. So the saying went, in his translation, “As well to put a horseshoe on a cricket, as to boil a monk in oil.”

They the heathens had another tale about the short-order cook on the ship that was one short of a full deck. He the cook got short-sheeted at Camp Guantanamero. He got short-shifted at the union hall. Short-circuited at the Circus Maximus. So they say, “When last seen, he was in shorts and a cunt cap” [according to Van der Essen a reference to Browning’s old nun’s twat].

Jim Crack Corn; or, The Blue Tail Fly

When I was young a us’d to wait
On Massa and hand him de plate;
Pass down the bottle when he git dry,
And bresh away de blue tail fly.

Den arter dinner massa sleep,
He bid dis niggar vigil keep;
An’ when he gwine to shut his eye,
He tell me watch de blue tail fly.

An’ when he ride in de arternoon,
I foiler wid a hickory broom;
De poney being berry shy,
When bitten by de blue tail fly.

One day he rode aroun’ de farm,
De flies so numerous dey did swarm;
One chance to bite ‘im on the thigh,
De debble take dat blu tail fly.

De poney run, he jump an’ pitch,
An’ tumble massa in de ditch;
He died, an’ de jury wonder’d why
De verdic was de blue tail fly.

Dey laid ‘im under a ‘simmon tree,
His epitaph am dar to see:
‘Beneath did stone I’m forced to lie,
All by means ob de blue tail fly.’

Ole massa gone, now let ‘im rest,
Dey say all tings am for the best;
I nebber forget till de day I die,
Ole massa an’ dat blue tail fly.

Jim crack corn I don’t care,
Jim crack corn I don’t care,
Jim crack corn I don’t care,
Old Massa gone away.

Responding to critics

Responding to critics in the US Congress and elsewhere who say Facebook isn’t doing enough to enhance the flow of disinformation, the social network in recent months has purged almost one hundred accounts it found were not designed to sway elections, sow social division, or prop up ruthless governments. The focus has left an opening for scammers who use Facebook to send unsuspecting users to fraudulent dating sites, which frequently results in matrimony.

Purloined fragments

Come, and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty.

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Bored by fire

The Tlingit of northwest America tell a story of the magical conception of a girl by the sawdust of the fire borer. The boring for the new state fire among the Loango of west Afticaa coincides with the public coitus of a young couple.

This conceptual framework seems to be a late consequence of earlier ideas of fire in the body of humans, especially of women, as a centre of sexual life. The Marind of New Guinea, who, in their myth of the origin of fire view it as being derived from the sexual act, undertake the new boring of fire in connection with a cultic act in which the raping of a girl is the central rite.

When iron-smelting techniques by means of fire became common among New Stone Age peoples, the making of iron in shaft furnaces and bellows has been interpreted as coitus with a subsequent birth.

Times Picayune

I heard on the news something about transcendental darwinism, or was it about christian capitalism, or post-modern antiquity?

And who said it? Clark Subaru — Hieronymus Honda — Karl the notorious communist synthesizer?

No, it was the man who had his face shot off by vice-president Dick Cheney on a duck hunt. He forgot to duck, according to the inquest, and he got off with a light sentence. His wife couldn’t go in or out the door without being adorable. And him, some say he was double hung.

The whole idea of smoking

A pure white filter is only the beginning of a Winston

It’s what’s up front that counts.

The big difference is filter-blend — clear, rich tobaccos specially processed for filter smoking!

There’s nothing whishy-washy about Winston. For up front of its modern, pure white filter is filter-blend. That’s what gives Winston its famous flavor. And after all, that’s the whole idea of smoking,

Winston tastes good, like a cigarette should.

Who still lives under the bridge?

Welcome to the rod and gun club. Let me take your coat before you make a run for the mountains. A burn in the bush is worth two in hand. Don’t make any deals until you’ve spoken to your grocer.

They conducted a survey to find out who lives under the bridge.
And they were:

Someone who is too clever by half
An itinerant tinkerer in a greasy sleeping bag
A bespoke tailor and herds never heard of again
Spies for the government on tax-free commissions
Disgraced politicians.
Defrocked priests
Written-off editors
Lame dancers.
Itchy swimmers
Slum lords
Capons, croutons, cast-iron stomachs
Rusty windpipes
Mutes blown by a stuffed potato.