Exorcises in Black Humour
It’s funny how sometimes we can strain so hard to discern a subtle truth while remaining oblivious to another, more apparent and probably more important truth. Let me tell you about a dream I had.
It was dark. I couldn’t see; or maybe I just couldn’t open my eyes. All I could hear was a warbley, constant chaos and every breath felt like being kicked in the chest from the inside. Surrounded and battered, I couldn’t even move but to thrash about.
Then my foot touched something solid. I pushed into it. Coughing, wheezing, gasping- even puking a little- I stood bent over with my hands on my knees in about a foot and a half of water. In all directions to the horizon, I saw men and women making the seas gurgle, drowning in a foot and a half of water, just as I had.
Then I knew, just before I awoke: This is how we really live.
On my way to one of my two jobs the other day, I happened to see a car with one of those annoying, arrogant “Proud parent of an Honor Student at Dick Rickles Elementary” bumper stickers. Without too much bitching, I got the idea that there should be a secret roll at a sushi bar called the “Honor Roll”. Don’t ask how I came to this determination- eking by on three hours of sleep, every twelve hours or so, my powers of discrimination keep unusual rules.
Anyway, the Honor Roll would have to be something you could only learn about from someone else who’s ordered the Honor Roll before. And when you order it, the waitress scurries away to the kitchen. A few minutes later, the cook comes out and talks to you for twenty-six minutes, speaking only in obscure puns, injokes and punchlines. It takes so long, and you want to stop him- but something holds you back. Perhaps your own honor holds you back. Or perhaps he was just On A Roll.
Yes, we sell Straw Hats
So today, my lovely wife and I were shopping, as we sometimes do, at Target. She was looking for a new dress to wear this summer. I want so badly to tell you what happened right now, but alas- I must build the drama.
Yoga For Yokels
I’ve moved all my Yoga Stuff to yoga4yokels.tumblr.com
All future posts on the topic of Yoga or Hindu Philosophy will go there, unless they’re scathing enough to go here. LAWL.
☼ Gesturing Infinity ☼
P.Fillet, on the political race for 2012
No, not really. Politics are dumb. I’ve actually tricked you into reading more of my Hip Style Hoppings. You could call them works in progress, but I don’t rewrite. So there.
Om Mani Padma Hum.
Zoom, zoom, zoom-
Oh, money makes me cum.”
I’m a syllable-
Indivisible and invisible.
Chiseled the Schism and kissed the Cristo,
A visceral exploitation of the invincible.
Incense the bull and then combat it like I’m Cicero.
With emotional content Caesar’s proppin’ up his powers
In a sentimental mood that keeps ya’ creepin’ through the flowers.
The towers of babble will rabble because they’re ours,
And stars- did I mention that we’re fuckin’ made of stars?
I’m a syllable-
Filling with silly and killing cereal.
Here we go: my name is Philly, I’m feeling cheery, yo’.
Swimmin’ in zen again, gettin’ giddy with Gideons.
Hit a spliff like a stiffy while differating my dividends.
I make sense, ‘cause I be snatchin’ up them dollars.
I faked Eminem and stuck his shtick into my collar.
I’m not a baller, but a clown- it’s astounding when I holler.
I’ll be found in a town where everybody thinks I’m taller
Than a Shetland pony, when I’m stoned and taking fiber
In the Kypher Belt, and getting Higher than Messiah
'Cause it's Do or Die- and I've got spit that's gettin' drier
Than theEin, Swei, Drei! So I’m kicking out the Kaiser.
I know she needs Agapé,
But sloppy, I peer amid-
One eye, the other hid.
I died as I slid on Eros,
And there goes my kine’ bo’shi.
I know she sighs in spirals
As I roll my eyes
Inside I’m the size
Of five tons of bo’shi.
I know she breathes the love of leaves
At a shapely aperture
Occurring three degrees
Above her eyes an’ risin’-
My Kine’ Bo’Shi.
Call me a Hindon’t, part 1
Because, well, calling me a Hindu would probably be offensive, because I’m not, really. But Indian philosophy, what I know of it, is rather interesting. Of course, by Indian philosophy, I mean things like the Bagavad Gita, the Vedas, and the various myriad of Sutras on Yoga, Kundalini, Tantra, Weird Esoteric Shit Most Hippies Only Talk About To Sound Deep And Pick Up Chicks With… that sort of thing. But one problem with a lot of it is that in our modern culture, especially here in Amurrica, these ideas are too aloof and weird to digest. So I want to make it easy to pass, like those Lunchables™ that we all gobbled up as kids. One of the ways I’m going to do that is by taking modern, accessible ideas and relating them to these almost ancient ideas to, hopefully, provide a clearer context for most people that either aren’t familiar with them, or have a hard time understanding these ideas. I’ll start simply.
"Yeah, Simply. Like You."
Apples To Eris
Perhaps you like to get drunk with your friends on the weekends, maybe smoke a little herb or snort crack, getting loud and raucous, forcing the neighbors to call the police. Hey- I don’t know you, so maybe. Or maybe you like to sit around and play silly games for awkward adults, like Trivial Pursuit, or Crack the Case. Well, my friends and I found a way to combine both, for the low-low price of (almost) FREE! Since some of us are Discordian, and it’s based off Apples to Apples, we called it Apples to Eris.
- 1000 Blank White Cards (Index, or whatever)
- Pens (Of any color, but all the same color)
- At least three people- more is better, though I’d cap it at ten people
- Whatever “recreational” supplies you require, to taste
Rubber Apple Stamp
The Game (You Lost It):
The game consists of an Apple Thrower and at least two Receivers. The Thrower plays a card from the Apple pile (explained in a moment), while the Receivers play answer cards.
Starting a Deck:
The deck is dynamic and grows/changes with each time you play the game. For the first game, Take about 20 - 30 of your cards, and stamp the backs with your rubber stamp. These will be your apple cards, set them aside. Deal each player 10 blank cards. If your cards are lined, obviously use the blank side as the back.
Determine who will be the first Apple Thrower and you can start. The first Apple Thrower gives a question. It’s not necessarily a Question, just a prompt, such as:
The Reason I love America
______ Is why I will never find Happiness
The Thrower will write this on the front of the card and play it. It’s important to write in capital block letters, for the sake of uniformity.
Each Receiver then comes up with the best response they can and plays their card Face Down. Make sure to also write responses in block letters- for uniformity, and also so it’s more difficult to tell who wrote what card. Last person to play a card mixes the cards. Use the above examples for reference while reading these answer examples:
"The Male Orgasm"
"African Sleeping Disease"
"Your Smug Sense of Satisfaction"
We like, sometimes, to add flavor text to the bottom of our cards, for example:
Best of the best; or, Worst of the worst.
"Have you met my friend, Jesus?"
The italic line is the flavor. It’s definitely not a have-to, but sometimes it helps give the players an idea of what the prompt means. Sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes, you have tons of waiting while other people write their cards, and you just have to do something. If you can’t think of something for the flavor text, though, don’t do it.Simple.
Phase the 3rd:
The Thrower picks the cards up, mixing them once more before looking at them, and reads them aloud. For maximum effect, it’s usually best to read the prompt completely before each answer:
Best of the best; or, Worst of the worst: The Male Orgasm
The Reason I love America: Chum
African Sleeping Disease is why I will never find Happiness
Sadly Ironic: Your Smug Sense of Satisfaction
Thrower selects a winning card (funniest, typically) and gives the Apple card to the winner. The apple cards serve as points, if you care to keep track.
Each round has a new Thrower, and there are many ways you can determine this: Winner-Up is what we use most often- winner plays the next Apple card. You could just go clockwise or counter-clockwise. Or you could be especially ruthless and have the thrower pick a best AND worst card, making the loser play the Apple for the next round. It’s up to you.
At the end of each round, Players draw cards back to a hand of 10.
Ending the Game:
The game ends as soon as people stop caring about the game, or get frustrated, or develop a nudging feeling that something more important has to be done, like picking children up from school, or bathing.
Epic Lails of Philly Fillet
I have a persona I sometimes indulge, a pet ego if you will. Not the regular ego I have, the one we all develop though being raised and cultured. This one is even more artificial than even that. I named him Philly Fillet- for the reason that Philia is Fraternal Love in greek, and a Fillet is a (violent, almost sexual) cut of meat. Well, that and the hilariously awesome pun that arises when I tell you he has a variety program, “The Fillet Show”. If that isn’t funny, it’s because you’re hearing it in your retarded American Accent, not the true “Fill-Eh” as the croaking French would say it.
Alas, this semi-sweetened Austrian writes and performs “hip-style hoppings” as will be related here, in text form. I’ll skip to the lyrical High Lights and spare you a spell…
I’ve got ze final solution
To pollution of ze mind-
Expose an’ close illusions
Zat are bruising up your line
I like ze season of spring.
Ze power flowers are gorging in orgies
An’ starting to sing of zings
Ve never lack.
I smack ze anti-somatic
Mit a pneumatic Chinese fire drill
'Cause I'm a psycho-semantic
I need a medic vit colonics
'Cause I'm feeling catatonic
From a bout of Bubonic plague,
But I’ve got it made.
You need a mnemonic device?
Hooked on Phonics is nice.
You strike as homophonophobic-
Zat means you’re afraid of ze “sounds like…”
Burning ze German “Fox and the Hound”
Abounding ‘round ze fact zat zey’re astounding!
So I’ll fight you mit verds,
I’ve got blubs to burp
An’ birds zat chirp
Und girders to perturbYour Jergen’s hand softeners
It’s called a “Folks Vaggon”
'Cause folks get to grabbin' a seat
Vile others laggin’ and staggerin’
Stompin’, dragin’ zeir feet.
And y’alls vas hassled vit laughin’
Vile Taft vas vaxin’ his meat.
My brothers bled in your sted
Vile others fled in ze street.
Ze heat is sveltering hot,
I’ve got a lot on my mind.
It alvays is vat it’s not
Until you’ve got to revind
Und turn ze tape around
Ze Foundery is melting ze pot,
Smelting kine’ und kindly
Giving everysing zat zey’ve got
To reach a higher state,
Elating indigents as ze go-
Taking hits as ze give zem
Und stealing rims off your
Low. Ride. Ers.
Higher. Is writer.
My lighter is brighter.
I fight might vit fire.
I’m tight like a miter,
But your style is biter-
Writing rhymes, like, a hundred times
Until time chimes and you expire…
So yeah… Thems is Hip Style Hoppings. I hope you didn’t have to gouge your fucking eyes out after reading that.
☼ Gesturing Infinity ☼
I was turned off at first, but it has such a lovely finish.
I died on the first day of spring, and soared on the voice of a punctual songbird — up, beyond the tips of newly awakened blossoms, and the tops of reincarnated leaves. I was blinded, momentarily, by the sunlight. The warmth infiltrated my being, with the humid fingers of illuminating revelation……
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