Death Defying Writing
Thankyou to the Venerable Schwegs, the “Anonymous” Buss, Mad-Scientist Rosiek, and the Sprightly Mr. Press for their comments on the last blog. Schwegs, hybrid monster trucks sounds like a dynamite idea. We could have these gas-saving bohemoths go out and put on an amazingly destructive show for the mindless people who like that sort of thing, and then, for a grand finale, we could come out and dump out thousands of gallons of gas for no reason. When shocked journalists ask us “Why!? After you did such an economical and forward-thinking thing, why would you waste gas in such a pointless manner?” we could simply yawn and say “Well, you know, fuck it, man.” Our astonishing arrogance and uncaring antics would make us rich and famous beyond our wildest dreams.
Rosiek, I like where your head’s at, kid. I accept your offer of employment, and for my first task I’d like to head up a bit of marketing – namely the commercial narrative, courtesy of my dangerously polluted imagination. Here’s a rough sketch of my vision, let me know what you think of it:
Since 2006, that rotten year of yore, Pirate Ale has simply stabbed the competition relentlessly, and when that didn’t work, held their cities hostage and fired cannon balls into their homes. See, we’re old fashioned that way. We don’t believe in having the best taste, or competing in an open capitalistic marketplace. Leave that to the suits. No, we think a good beer should only be good because we say so, and we’re the ones holding razor sharp blades to your belly. So enjoy a cold one, because we’ll kill you if you don’t. And when you’re done, share the spirit with your friends by smashing the bottle over their head. If people aren’t weeping over dead kin, and stuff’s not on fire, then it’s not Pirate Ale.
The visuals for the spot could be a pirate ship sailing gracefully over burning waters (yes, the water itself would be on fire), and there’d be thousands of dead bodies and all manner of shattered debris floating around. Floating around and burning. And then the camera would slowly zoom up towards the crow’s nest, where a pirate would be being fed grapes by pretty women and drinking a Pirate Ale. When he notices the camera he’ll reach for his knife and wave it threateningly.
Soon we will have new records in our hands by the Chili Peppers and the Raconteurs (Jack White’s new band). I am tickled with glee about both. Go to theraconteurs.com to hear the first two singles from the album. Very different from The White Stripes, but still very, very good. The new CP single sounds good too – and, not surprisingly at all, it’s about California.
Keith Richards was checked into a hospital after falling out of a tree. Sigh. Rock stars do not age gracefully. The glamour of their youth quickly turns into sad parody.
Well, the sad Flyers are officially out of our lives, for this year at least. It’s pathetic when you own a team so completely that the only thing you can take out of the series is disappointment because it took us six games to end it. It’s pleasant to me that a hulking bulldozer like Hatcher is going to eventually end his career in disgrace, along with a lot of other long-time NHLers – guys who dominated the league with their terrifically boring style of bump-and-grind, clutch-and-grab pompousness. The game is much closer to where it should be now, and once-revered players like Mr. Hatcher are becoming rather troublesome burdens for their GM’s and coaches, who no longer look at them with respect and reverence, but give them more of a sideways glance of vague resentment and wily future plottings (I’ll be rid of you yet!!), shuffling off rubbing their palms together and cackling wickedly in that irritating manner business types are prone to do.
Nevertheless, bring on Ottawa – a real opponent. A lot of people keep lamenting that we had to either play them or New Jersey, but the truth is that if you want to be the best, you have to beat the best. If we walked through the Eastern conference over teams like, say, Phili, Tampa Bay, and the Rangers, and then faced, say, San Jose or Edmonton in the Cup, we could hold our heads up and say we conquered some damn good teams. But we’d be walking away silently asking ourselves if we’d lucked out, and if there weren’t really better teams than us and we just managed to avoid them. So again … bring on Ottawa. They’re the class of the NHL, and it’s going to be a long series (it better be … it says here that the only way this will be a short series is if Ottawa steam rolls us) filled with ups and downs, and lots of stress, so strap yourself in and enjoy the rest of your day here at Six Flags … Darien Lake.
This 19-year-old girl got a book published and made six figures off it. Turns out portions of her book borrowed heavily from one or two of her favorite authors, and so now we’ve finally made a wicked triumvirate – the guy who got blind-sided by Oprah, Dan Brown, and now this skank. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t condone any writers that come out of this literary ilk (namely, horrible fiction for dopes) – but I said an evil and unavoidable sand storm was going to get kicked up by Oprah’s self-righteous horseshit and I was right. One author after the next will continue to be paraded into the spotlight to be publicly flogged and shat on, and out culture will continue to fall into deeper recesses of illiterate obtuseness. A kid who gets a C- in school is, despite his sub-parity, nevertheless learning something. Better than the kid who sits home smoking crack and looking at porn all day, right? So even if 90% of the 5% of American culture that actually reads books only reads garbage (I’m looking at you, Dan Brown), at least they’re reading. The act itself is worth something. It means something. So when Oprah drags a young author out on her show in front of hundreds of thousands of creepy housewives, and does this knowing full well the momentum that the sluggish girth of her popularity will trigger after it belly-checks the publishing industry, she can talk about literary integrity and author/reader responsibilities all she wants … it might mean something coming from some people … the only effect that she’s going to have is to kick start a crusade against anything that remotely resembles plagiarism or dishonesty. Books on the market will now be subject to humiliating dissection, and any that don’t pass the test with flying colors will be made an example of. This is what we’re now witnessing. And worse … it was already easier to get drafted by a professional sports team than to have your book published – now it will be damn near impossible. Publishing companies, in their haste to avoid law suits and bad press, will be staying quite the fuck away from unknown authors and a veritable world of young/fresh writing ideas and styles will never see the light of reading lamps. What does squeak through will be dry, overly trimmed, and unspectacular drivel. So, the staff of Dominion of Cool has had unkind things to say of Oprah before, and indeed we’ve lashed out in a previous blog over this same issue … but we would like to re-iterate so that it is ultimately very clear and inescapable: WHEN REVELATION SPOKE OF THE BEAST/THE ANTI-CHRIST/666/THE FOUR HORSEMEN, ETC. IT WAS REFERRING QUITE EXPLICITELY TO OPRAH!! FUCK OPRAH!!
I find more and more that nobody else is interested in the things I have to say. For instance, I might be drinking with friends old and new, and as conversations progress I’ll begin to notice that people’s eyes just completely gloss over when I am talking. Responses are limited to “Hmm,” or “Cool,” or “Haha, really?” I am completely unable to understand why this is the case, because for the most part I find the things I am talking about to be fascinating. But this all segues nicely into the following paragraph.
The Following Paragraph:
Everyone finds reasons to drink. Stressed out people drink to chill out. Laid back people drink to get fired up. Timid people drink for confidence. Etc., etc. Then there are those people who drink because they are just terrifically more intelligent than everyone else and, as Hemingway himself observed, it is necessary for some of us to get good and drunk so that we might “spend time with our fools.” This is a burden I share in. You see, the things I want to talk about are too profound for you simpletons, and you, therefore, don’t want to hear about it. So I dumb my mind down about fifty clicks with some hard-hitting whiskey and PRESTO – conversation ensues. I have noticed, however, that my need to do this has subsided significantly since leaving Bonaventure – something about that school … absolutely replete with halfwits.
A recent study put Hippos on the list of endangered animals that may well go extinct in the next 50 years. My sympathy goes out to those who invested their time in that category of the study. I could have saved you the time and just told you that Hippos will be going extinct, and the reason is myself. You see, about a year ago I watched an Animal Planet special on these beasts and decided that they are the dumbest and ugliest and most worthless creatures on the planet. So, as I’m occasionally prone to do, I deployed a legion of my deadliest space robots to, as you vulgar boobs might put it, “do them in.” I’ve killed hundreds of thousands of these moronic monsters in less than a year, and I plan on finishing the job by 2009. Fucking hippos.
Well, stay tuned, chums. By next blog I should have a review of the new Chili Peppers album, “Stadium Arcadium.” So that will be fun for you. And the blog after that should have a review of the Raconteurs new album, “Broken Boy Soldiers.” You’ll enjoy that.
Leave comments.
A Presto
Rosiek, I like where your head’s at, kid. I accept your offer of employment, and for my first task I’d like to head up a bit of marketing – namely the commercial narrative, courtesy of my dangerously polluted imagination. Here’s a rough sketch of my vision, let me know what you think of it:
Since 2006, that rotten year of yore, Pirate Ale has simply stabbed the competition relentlessly, and when that didn’t work, held their cities hostage and fired cannon balls into their homes. See, we’re old fashioned that way. We don’t believe in having the best taste, or competing in an open capitalistic marketplace. Leave that to the suits. No, we think a good beer should only be good because we say so, and we’re the ones holding razor sharp blades to your belly. So enjoy a cold one, because we’ll kill you if you don’t. And when you’re done, share the spirit with your friends by smashing the bottle over their head. If people aren’t weeping over dead kin, and stuff’s not on fire, then it’s not Pirate Ale.
The visuals for the spot could be a pirate ship sailing gracefully over burning waters (yes, the water itself would be on fire), and there’d be thousands of dead bodies and all manner of shattered debris floating around. Floating around and burning. And then the camera would slowly zoom up towards the crow’s nest, where a pirate would be being fed grapes by pretty women and drinking a Pirate Ale. When he notices the camera he’ll reach for his knife and wave it threateningly.
Soon we will have new records in our hands by the Chili Peppers and the Raconteurs (Jack White’s new band). I am tickled with glee about both. Go to theraconteurs.com to hear the first two singles from the album. Very different from The White Stripes, but still very, very good. The new CP single sounds good too – and, not surprisingly at all, it’s about California.
Keith Richards was checked into a hospital after falling out of a tree. Sigh. Rock stars do not age gracefully. The glamour of their youth quickly turns into sad parody.
Well, the sad Flyers are officially out of our lives, for this year at least. It’s pathetic when you own a team so completely that the only thing you can take out of the series is disappointment because it took us six games to end it. It’s pleasant to me that a hulking bulldozer like Hatcher is going to eventually end his career in disgrace, along with a lot of other long-time NHLers – guys who dominated the league with their terrifically boring style of bump-and-grind, clutch-and-grab pompousness. The game is much closer to where it should be now, and once-revered players like Mr. Hatcher are becoming rather troublesome burdens for their GM’s and coaches, who no longer look at them with respect and reverence, but give them more of a sideways glance of vague resentment and wily future plottings (I’ll be rid of you yet!!), shuffling off rubbing their palms together and cackling wickedly in that irritating manner business types are prone to do.
Nevertheless, bring on Ottawa – a real opponent. A lot of people keep lamenting that we had to either play them or New Jersey, but the truth is that if you want to be the best, you have to beat the best. If we walked through the Eastern conference over teams like, say, Phili, Tampa Bay, and the Rangers, and then faced, say, San Jose or Edmonton in the Cup, we could hold our heads up and say we conquered some damn good teams. But we’d be walking away silently asking ourselves if we’d lucked out, and if there weren’t really better teams than us and we just managed to avoid them. So again … bring on Ottawa. They’re the class of the NHL, and it’s going to be a long series (it better be … it says here that the only way this will be a short series is if Ottawa steam rolls us) filled with ups and downs, and lots of stress, so strap yourself in and enjoy the rest of your day here at Six Flags … Darien Lake.
This 19-year-old girl got a book published and made six figures off it. Turns out portions of her book borrowed heavily from one or two of her favorite authors, and so now we’ve finally made a wicked triumvirate – the guy who got blind-sided by Oprah, Dan Brown, and now this skank. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t condone any writers that come out of this literary ilk (namely, horrible fiction for dopes) – but I said an evil and unavoidable sand storm was going to get kicked up by Oprah’s self-righteous horseshit and I was right. One author after the next will continue to be paraded into the spotlight to be publicly flogged and shat on, and out culture will continue to fall into deeper recesses of illiterate obtuseness. A kid who gets a C- in school is, despite his sub-parity, nevertheless learning something. Better than the kid who sits home smoking crack and looking at porn all day, right? So even if 90% of the 5% of American culture that actually reads books only reads garbage (I’m looking at you, Dan Brown), at least they’re reading. The act itself is worth something. It means something. So when Oprah drags a young author out on her show in front of hundreds of thousands of creepy housewives, and does this knowing full well the momentum that the sluggish girth of her popularity will trigger after it belly-checks the publishing industry, she can talk about literary integrity and author/reader responsibilities all she wants … it might mean something coming from some people … the only effect that she’s going to have is to kick start a crusade against anything that remotely resembles plagiarism or dishonesty. Books on the market will now be subject to humiliating dissection, and any that don’t pass the test with flying colors will be made an example of. This is what we’re now witnessing. And worse … it was already easier to get drafted by a professional sports team than to have your book published – now it will be damn near impossible. Publishing companies, in their haste to avoid law suits and bad press, will be staying quite the fuck away from unknown authors and a veritable world of young/fresh writing ideas and styles will never see the light of reading lamps. What does squeak through will be dry, overly trimmed, and unspectacular drivel. So, the staff of Dominion of Cool has had unkind things to say of Oprah before, and indeed we’ve lashed out in a previous blog over this same issue … but we would like to re-iterate so that it is ultimately very clear and inescapable: WHEN REVELATION SPOKE OF THE BEAST/THE ANTI-CHRIST/666/THE FOUR HORSEMEN, ETC. IT WAS REFERRING QUITE EXPLICITELY TO OPRAH!! FUCK OPRAH!!
I find more and more that nobody else is interested in the things I have to say. For instance, I might be drinking with friends old and new, and as conversations progress I’ll begin to notice that people’s eyes just completely gloss over when I am talking. Responses are limited to “Hmm,” or “Cool,” or “Haha, really?” I am completely unable to understand why this is the case, because for the most part I find the things I am talking about to be fascinating. But this all segues nicely into the following paragraph.
The Following Paragraph:
Everyone finds reasons to drink. Stressed out people drink to chill out. Laid back people drink to get fired up. Timid people drink for confidence. Etc., etc. Then there are those people who drink because they are just terrifically more intelligent than everyone else and, as Hemingway himself observed, it is necessary for some of us to get good and drunk so that we might “spend time with our fools.” This is a burden I share in. You see, the things I want to talk about are too profound for you simpletons, and you, therefore, don’t want to hear about it. So I dumb my mind down about fifty clicks with some hard-hitting whiskey and PRESTO – conversation ensues. I have noticed, however, that my need to do this has subsided significantly since leaving Bonaventure – something about that school … absolutely replete with halfwits.
A recent study put Hippos on the list of endangered animals that may well go extinct in the next 50 years. My sympathy goes out to those who invested their time in that category of the study. I could have saved you the time and just told you that Hippos will be going extinct, and the reason is myself. You see, about a year ago I watched an Animal Planet special on these beasts and decided that they are the dumbest and ugliest and most worthless creatures on the planet. So, as I’m occasionally prone to do, I deployed a legion of my deadliest space robots to, as you vulgar boobs might put it, “do them in.” I’ve killed hundreds of thousands of these moronic monsters in less than a year, and I plan on finishing the job by 2009. Fucking hippos.
Well, stay tuned, chums. By next blog I should have a review of the new Chili Peppers album, “Stadium Arcadium.” So that will be fun for you. And the blog after that should have a review of the Raconteurs new album, “Broken Boy Soldiers.” You’ll enjoy that.
Leave comments.
A Presto
posted by Il Pazzo @ 1:32 PM
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