This is a note to the chancellor seldom-see-my-toes-McGee: (it's pronounced MC-ji, what a fluff of fluff!)
Dear Mr. McGee,
It has come to the attention of this committee that you've been quite after the inner memos of the inner circle of hell. Let my less-then-pleasant secretary take diction for this letter that you're reading, hey you weren't supposed to write that!
As to further induce fear, I will ask you to understand that your life is not in danger in the traditional sense. It's in danger in the non-traditional sense. What that means, I'm not quite at liberty to discuss--the Union, you know. All I can say is that it's unpleasant and even your wife wouldn't like it.
Either way, I'd like you to stop making inquisitions. They will lead to, ahem, Bridgette! don't write that!
What was I saying? Yes, NO INQUISITIONS! We have quite our own circle of dealings and we always to prefer to use, firstly, our loyal associates, and secondly, Union workers with a blue-collar family. If this is not to your liking, or if your company is losing its precious "Titanium Ring" of business then this is not my problem.
My problem is putting THEM where THEM don't want to go. It takes more than just a filthy broker to, I said don't write that Bridgette!, upset my balance! (Bridgette tells me that you're a Chancellor, not a broker. To me you broker deals between idiots.)
Your competence is appreciated.
sincerely
Ellipses Majori
Supreme Overlord of Human Resources
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Touch, Tickle, Hear
to which the cranberry-snacking parrot replied, "and what've you got to say for yourself?" And that is why Farmer John now faces state and federal charges regarding his "pesticide" distribution process.
--from the Distributed Works of the Disenfranchised Two-Legged-Two-Winged
There be two carriers of pride. The ones that hoist it up on their shoulders and whine and the ones that hoist it up on their shoulders, full stop.
To the untrained eye all things about both types of carriers are the same. Actually, to the eye there's barely a way to disambiguate the two. It takes the collaboration with the body's other sensory organs to really get the difference. Namely the ears.
Touch and tickle and you'll hear the swelling of pride within the first kind. Touch and tickle and you'll get a fist to your nose, with nary a sound, from the second kind. That is the difference.
--from the Distributed Works of the Disenfranchised Two-Legged-Two-Winged
There be two carriers of pride. The ones that hoist it up on their shoulders and whine and the ones that hoist it up on their shoulders, full stop.
To the untrained eye all things about both types of carriers are the same. Actually, to the eye there's barely a way to disambiguate the two. It takes the collaboration with the body's other sensory organs to really get the difference. Namely the ears.
Touch and tickle and you'll hear the swelling of pride within the first kind. Touch and tickle and you'll get a fist to your nose, with nary a sound, from the second kind. That is the difference.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Hollow
Hollow be the fellow with two eyebrows but nary a furrow. He squints and he shades his eyes. He grimaces at the prospect of forgotten tomorrow and unimaginable yesterday. The stories stray too far from truth, but only written record can give his lie and scholars haven't come this way in at least THIS MANY moons. Again, for who can stand and doubt when the records have all been swept away, and thank you for noticing.
He calls his friend, the hawk that sits the tree and catches the wind with her beak, the occasional gnat also makes for meager sustenance. The adventure was to begin yesterday but who could say for sure? The road is winding towards the sun, but the sun shifts and the road shifts with it. And it was the same road the last time they had a meal. So who could say if it was his story or he the story of someone else
Up until this moment his furrow had feared reprisal, but at long last it tugged his left eye. Now there was something to not know, not just to forget and not imagine. The road split in twain and tomorrow was already on its way to being forgotten. Was it left or right that they went?
The wind, the sun, the scholars will find them, but good journeys together for the two friends. It's true, it happened yet! And show me your badge, you're not a scholar!
He calls his friend, the hawk that sits the tree and catches the wind with her beak, the occasional gnat also makes for meager sustenance. The adventure was to begin yesterday but who could say for sure? The road is winding towards the sun, but the sun shifts and the road shifts with it. And it was the same road the last time they had a meal. So who could say if it was his story or he the story of someone else
Up until this moment his furrow had feared reprisal, but at long last it tugged his left eye. Now there was something to not know, not just to forget and not imagine. The road split in twain and tomorrow was already on its way to being forgotten. Was it left or right that they went?
The wind, the sun, the scholars will find them, but good journeys together for the two friends. It's true, it happened yet! And show me your badge, you're not a scholar!
The World of Spin
Lucky There Were Bells
State your name and business. Name your business and state. Busy your state with your name.
A cacophony of bells rings louder and louder until the sound waves reverberate through the ground to the other side. A paper airplane is loaded with some ink and flown in the direction of the sound, against the rotation, of course. Shrilly, the whistle is blown, all bell cacophony to stop immediately. Busy yourselves, right your mounts, sound your steeds! At dawn we march.
At dawn they marched towards the direction of the airplane's apparent launching point, against the rotation, of course. Tails tucked under, so as to keep the wag down and the delicate cups up [on the shelves], the meeting takes place and takes time and is relatively docile. Watch those tails, Sergeant!
Agreed, twelve tolls to signal an hour, but no more than twelve. To keep it quieter, the tolls will be regarding the hour, no need to celebrate every one. We'll do twelve twice. Building up to it each time. Planes will now come laden with spices, people, and dreams.
And that's how: global communication, time keeping, trade, air travel and talking came to be. Also tails were abolished for there were too many delicate china shelves out there.
Lucky there were bells.
State your name and business. Name your business and state. Busy your state with your name.
A cacophony of bells rings louder and louder until the sound waves reverberate through the ground to the other side. A paper airplane is loaded with some ink and flown in the direction of the sound, against the rotation, of course. Shrilly, the whistle is blown, all bell cacophony to stop immediately. Busy yourselves, right your mounts, sound your steeds! At dawn we march.
At dawn they marched towards the direction of the airplane's apparent launching point, against the rotation, of course. Tails tucked under, so as to keep the wag down and the delicate cups up [on the shelves], the meeting takes place and takes time and is relatively docile. Watch those tails, Sergeant!
Agreed, twelve tolls to signal an hour, but no more than twelve. To keep it quieter, the tolls will be regarding the hour, no need to celebrate every one. We'll do twelve twice. Building up to it each time. Planes will now come laden with spices, people, and dreams.
And that's how: global communication, time keeping, trade, air travel and talking came to be. Also tails were abolished for there were too many delicate china shelves out there.
Lucky there were bells.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Twinkle One Eye
Beautifully angled Axis of Rotation seeks able bodied symmetrical object to share solar journey, affect and have spin about. Likes: not budging, ever, maintaining orientation, will revolve around sun under right conditions. Will accept some polarity, surface imperfections (as long as there's a good core). Dislikes: no atmosphere, too many moons, rings, gaseous consistency (we're THROUGH, Jupiter!!!).
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