The Snoozeletter @ s.9TimeZones.com

 
Szilveszter.

Anikó says the Hungarian New Year's Eve celebration ("Szilveszter" in Magyar, from the Roman god of forests, bringing to mind the pagan Yule and the solstice) is spent feasting with friends and having a good time. The traditional dishes of this night are cold pork in aspic, wienerwurst with horseradish or mustard, and poppy-seed and nut rolls, leading up to a midnight roast pig. The pig is usually a young one, and everyone pulls its tail for luck.

At midnight, people throw confetti (the Italian custom is to discard bad luck in the form of shredded papers from the old year), open champagne, stand up and sing the Hungarian national anthem. This is always a solemn moment, giving time to reflect on more spiritual things before the party resumes. It is not uncommon for people to be moved to tears by the anthem.

On New Year's Day, people greet each other with "Buek" (short for "Boldog Új Évet Kívánok" or "Happy New Year"). The man should be the first to say this, to be lucky in the new year. Women must not sew. Many people eat lentils, to be beautiful and prosperous. Most folks avoid eating poultry, because it will bury their fortune. Instead, they eat pig or pork, because it roots out their fortune.
 
TCB.

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: The CollectionTakin' Care of Business
written by Randy Bachman
performed by Bachman-Turner Overdrive

You get up every morning
From the alarm clock's warning
Take the eight fifteen into the city
There's a whistle up above
And people push and people shove
And the girls who try to look pretty

And if your train's on time
You can get to work by nine
And start your slavin' job to get your pay
If you ever get annoyed
Look at me, I'm self-employed
I love to work at nothing all day

And I'll be...
REFRAIN: Takin' care of business every day
Takin' care of business every way
I've been takin' care of business, it's all mine
Takin' care of business and working overtime
Work out!

If it were easy as fishin'
You could be a musician
If you could make sounds loud or mellow
Get a second-hand guitar
Chances are you'll go far
If you get in with the right bunch of fellows

People see you having fun
Just a-lying in the sun
Tell them that you like it this way
It's the work that we avoid
And we're all self-employed
We love to work at nothing all day

And we be...
REFRAIN

Take good care of my business
When I'm away, every day whoo!
 
Asylum For The Verbally Insane.

Crazy English: The Ultimate Joy Ride Through Our LanguageWe'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.
If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and three would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!

So if Father is Pop, how come Mother isn't Mop?

And that is just the beginning--even though this is the end.

Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England. We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? We ship by truck but send cargo by ship. We have noses that run and feet that smell. And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.

And how come when I wind up my watch, I'm starting it, and when I wind up this essay, I'm ending it?

By Anonymous (?) or Richard Lederer (?)
 
New country carved out of NE, SD, ND, MT, WY.

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American WestSitting Bull's people break away from US (The Australian): From correspondents in Washington | December 20, 2007

THE Lakota Indians, who gave the world legendary warriors Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, have withdrawn from treaties with the US.

"We are no longer citizens of the United States of America and all those who live in the five-state area that encompasses our country are free to join us," long-time Indian rights activist Russell Means said.

A delegation of Lakota leaders delivered a message to the State Department and said they were unilaterally withdrawing from treaties they signed with the Federal Government, some of them more than 150 years old.

The group also visited the Bolivian, Chilean, South African and Venezuelan embassies, and said they would continue on their diplomatic mission and take it overseas.

Lakota country includes parts of the states of Nebraska, South Dakota, North Dakota, Montana and Wyoming. [...]


LakotaFreedom.com ~ 1868 boundaries ~ Wounded Knee, SD Massacre
 
Deborah A. Baker (9 Oct 1951 - 23 Dec 2002).

[details]

We miss you, Debbie.

Westfield (MA) High School graduation photo - June, 1969
 
Giant Red Nipple, last licks.

The geological excuse for my anatomical obsession (1, 2, 3, 4) still dominates the skyline in this neck o' the woods... the nipple-like profile of our local landmark, Red Mountain:

click Red Mountain photo for wallpaper image

(click photo above for solarized wallpaper image) seems to be mirrored in scads of sidewalk signs, like the one advertising this retirement enclave:

Sunrise Village

, and this office building:

Mehan Construction

, and this apartment complex:

Falcon Glen Apartments

...or maybe it's just my fevered imagination, working overtime?
 
Too stupid to own a computer. 

banging head on computer keyboard"Hello. WordPerfect Tech Support; may I help you?"

"Yes, well, I'm having trouble with WordPerfect."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Well, I was just typing along, and all of a sudden the words went away."

"Went away?"

"They disappeared."

"Hmm. So what does your screen look like now?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"It's blank; it won't accept anything when I type."

"Are you still in WordPerfect, or did you get out?"

"How do I tell?"

"Can you see the C:\ prompt on the screen?"

"What's a sea-prompt?"

"Never mind. Can you move the cursor around on the screen?"

"There isn't any cursor; I told you, it won't accept anything I type."

"Does your monitor have a power indicator?"

"What's a monitor?"

"It's the thing with the screen on it that looks like a TV. Does it have a little light that tells you when it's on?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then look on the back of the monitor and find where the power cord goes into it. Can you see that?"

... "Yes, I think so."

"Great! Follow the cord to the plug, and tell me if it's plugged into the wall."

... "Yes, it is."

"When you were behind the monitor, did you notice that there were two cables plugged into the back of it, not just one?"

"No."

"Well, there are. I need you to look back there again and find the other cable."

... "Okay, here it is."

"Follow it for me, and tell me if it's plugged securely into the back of your computer."

... "I can't reach."

"Uh-huh. Well, can you see if it is?"

"No."

"Even if you maybe put your knee on something and lean way over?"

"Oh, it's not because I don't have the right angle. It's because it's dark."

"Dark?"

"Yes. The office light is off, and the only light I have is coming in from the window."

"Well, turn on the office light then."

"I can't."

"No? Why not?"

"Because there's a power outage."

"A power... a power outage? Aha! Okay, we've got it licked now. Do you still have the boxes and manuals and packing stuff your computer came in?"

"Well, yes, I keep them in the closet."

"Good! Go get them, and unplug your system and pack it up just like it was when you got it. Then take it back to the store you bought it from."

"Really? Is it that bad?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is."

"Well, all right then, I suppose. What do I tell them?"

"Tell them you're too stupid to own a computer."


[origin]
 
Early cybersex.

Playboy July 1996 Jenny McCarthyI suspect online sex chats reached their zenith (climax?) more than a decade ago:

Realistic Cybersex
by Greg Grabianski (Playboy, July 1996)

Online computer users often engage in what is affectionately known as "cyber sex." Often the fantasies typed into keyboards and shared through Internet phone lines get pretty raunchy. However, as you'll see below, one of the two cyber-surfers in the following transcript of an online chat doesn't seem to quite get the point of cyber sex. Then again, maybe he does...

Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?

Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work out every day, I'm toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?

Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 250 pounds. I wear glasses and I have on a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Wal-Mart. I'm also wearing a T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner... it smells funny.

Sweetheart: I want you. Would you like to screw me?

Wellhung: OK.

Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom. There's soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table. I'm looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.

Wellhung: I'm gulping, I'm beginning to sweat.

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.

Wellhung: Now I'm unbuttoning your blouse. My hands are trembling.

Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.

Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.

Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure. The cool silk slides off my warm skin. I'm rubbing you bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.

Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally rips a hole in your blouse. I'm sorry.

Sweetheart: That's OK, it wasn't really too expensive.

Wellhung: I'll pay for it.

Sweetheart: Don't worry about it. I'm wearing a lacy black bra. My soft breasts are rising and falling, as I breathe harder and harder.

Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp on your bra. I think it's stuck. Do you have any scissors?

Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly. I'm reaching back undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.

Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.

Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue all over me.

Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. They're neat!

Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your ear.

Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.

Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.

Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a plop.

Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your hard tool.

Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.

Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you... umm... wait a minute.

Sweetheart: What's the matter?

Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.

Sweetheart: Are you OK?

Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.

Sweetheart: Can I help?

Wellhung: I'm running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I'm fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?

Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.

Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There, that's better.

Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.

Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.

Sweetheart: I'm on the bed arching for you.

Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Now I'm putting it back in the cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it's dark, I'm lost. Where's the bedroom?

Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.

Wellhung: I found it.

Sweetheart: I'm tuggin' off your pants. I'm moaning. I want you so badly.

Wellhung: Me too.

Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately - our naked bodies pressing each other.

Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.

Sweetheart: Why don't you take off your glasses?

Wellhung: OK, but I can't see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.

Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!

Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.

Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.

Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.

Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.

Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush handle, but I can't find it. Uh-oh!

Sweetheart: What's the matter now?

Wellhung: I've realized that I've peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.

Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.

Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put my... you know... thing... in your... you know... woman's thing.

Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!

Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I'm having a little trouble here.

Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can't stand it another second! Slide it in! Screw me now!

Wellhung: I'm flaccid.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.

Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.

Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my wiener all floppy. I'm going to get my glasses and see what's wrong.

Sweetheart: No, never mind. I'm getting dressed. I'm putting on my underwear. Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse.

Wellhung: No wait! Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night table. I'm feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.

Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. Now I'm putting on my shoes.

Wellhung: I've found my glasses. I'm putting them on. My God! One of your candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I'm pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.

Sweetheart: Go to hell. I'm logging off, you loser!

Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!

Sweetheart: (logged off)
 
Arizona Republic censors Supreme Court.

The Arizona Republic, one of our local newspapers, offers an area where anyone can start blogging. So I created Upper Write Corner on the morning of November 21, 2007, and pasted three Snoozeletter postings into it. Less than five hours later, a TAR editor asked if she could showcase UWC on their main blogizona page, along with TAR's dead-tree columnists and a bunch of other handpicked civilian geeks like moi. So I told her to knock herself out.

Then I double-checked, to make sure the blog was displaying correctly. That's when I found out their automatic censor had (inappropriate termed) one of my postings up the (inappropriate term-hole). [For comparison, here's the original Snoozeletter posting.] Lenny Bruce's colorful language--specifically, b.u.l.l.s.h.i.t and f.a.g--had been sliced and diced by their bluenose computer. My wife and I both had a good chuckle over that one.

Now I fully understand that an enormous media conglomerate can't allow some potty-mouthed jerk like yours truly to perform the cyber equivalent of spray-painting scatological graffiti all over its antiseptically clean website. TAR's corporate butt would surely be dragged into court by religious wackos and Republicans. And that's not even taking into account the outraged parents. After all, little Johnny and Susie *never* hear those words in the schoolyard, much less at home.

So my ramblings don't really matter... but I was a little sad, because Lenny Bruce's censored Thank You Mask Man monologue cleverly made an interesting point about the inherently corrupting effect of the "anonymous giver" concept: if you insist on expressing your gratitude to the Mask Man with a blank check, you might not like what he chooses for a parting gift. In The Essential Lenny Bruce, Lenny is quoted as saying: I always wonder about the anonymous giver. Cause the anonymous giver truly is the egomaniac: "I'm so GOOD--I'm not going to tell ANYbody." That's sick, man. I'm going to leave you with this, that the only anonymous giver is the guy that knocks up your daughter.

NOTA BENE: the censoring program doesn't seem to touch the original posting--on my edit screen, Lenny's words still appear unaltered--but whenever the UWC blog page is displayed, everything goes kerflooie.

CAVEAT LECTOR: I was also censored on Steven Spielberg's On The Lot site a few months back, when my iPorn iPhone project was turned into iBLEEP... just so you know what kind of loose cannon you're dealing with.

UPDATE: UWC was never moved over to the main blogizona page, and the editor has disappeared, so maybe my blog got her fired. If so - I'm really sorry, Jacqueline. After pasting the piece below into UWC, it might get your successor fired, too. If that happens, we'll all meet down at the Red, White & Brew, and I'll buy the first pitcher. This posting includes excerpts from the landmark court decision that made comedian George Carlin so famous, by affirming the right of FCC-regulated stations to publicly broadcast his Filthy Words routine.

WARNING: the following text is a direct quote from the Supreme Court decision of Federal Communications Commission v. Pacifica Foundation, 438 U.S. 726, 98 S.Ct. 3026 (1978).

Mr. Justice Stevens (delivering the majority opinion):

This case requires that we decide whether the Federal Communications Commission has any power to regulate a radio broadcast that is indecent but not obscene.

A satiric humorist named George Carlin recorded a 12-minute monologue entitled "Filthy Words" before a live audience in a California theater. He began by referring to his thoughts about "the words you couldn't say on the public, ah, airwaves, um, the ones you definitely wouldn't say, ever." He proceeded to list those words and repeat them over and over again in a variety of colloquialisms. The transcript of the recording, which is appended to this opinion, indicates frequent laughter from the audience. [...] The words of the Carlin monologue are unquestionably "speech" within the meaning of the First Amendment. [...]

APPENDIX TO OPINION OF THE COURT

The following is a verbatim transcript of "Filthy Words" prepared by the Federal Communications Commission.

Aruba-du, ruba-tu, ruba-tu. I was thinking about the curse words and the swear words, the cuss words and the words that you can't say, that you're not supposed to say all the time, [']cause words or people into words want to hear your words. Some guys like to record your words and sell them back to you if they can, (laughter) listen in on the telephone, write down what words you say. A guy who used to be in Washington, knew that his phone was tapped, used to answer, Fuck Hoover, yes, go ahead. (laughter) Okay, I was thinking one night about the words you couldn't say on the public, ah, airwaves, um, the ones you definitely wouldn't say, ever, [']cause I heard a lady say bitch one night on television, and it was cool like she was talking about, you know, ah, well, the bitch is the first one to notice that in the litter Johnie right (murmur) Right. And, uh, bastard you can say, and hell and damn so I have to figure out which ones you couldn't and ever and it came down to seven but the list is open to amendment, and in fact, has been changed, uh, by now, ha, a lot of people pointed things out to me, and I noticed some myself. The original seven words were, shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits. Those are the ones that will curve your spine, grow hair on your hands and (laughter) maybe, even bring us, God help us, peace without honor (laughter) um, and a bourbon. (laughter) And now the first thing that we noticed was that word fuck was really repeated in there because the word motherfucker is a compound word and it's another form of the word fuck. (laughter) You want to be a purist it doesn't really--it can't be on the list of basic words. Also, cocksucker is a compound word and neither half of that is really dirty. The word--the half sucker that's merely suggestive (laughter) and the word cock is a half-way dirty word, 50% dirty--dirty half the time, depending on what you mean by it. (laughter) Uh, remember when you first heard it, like in 6th grade, you used to giggle. And the cock crowed three times, heh (laughter) the cock--three times. It's in the Bible, cock in the Bible. (laughter) And the first time you heard about a cock-fight, remember--What? Huh? Naw. It ain't that, are you stupid? Man. (laughter, clapping) It's chickens, you know. (laughter) Then you have the four letter words from the old Angle-Saxon fame. Uh, shit and fuck. The word shit, uh, is an interesting kind of word in that the middle class has never really accepted it and approved it. They use it like crazy but it's not really okay. It's still a rude, dirty, old kind of gushy word. (laughter) They don't like that, but they say it, like, they say it like, a lady now in a middle-class home, you'll hear most of the time she says it as an expletive, you know, it's out of her mouth before she knows. She says, Oh shit oh shit, (laughter) oh shit. If she drops something, Oh, the shit hurt the broccoli. Shit. Thank you. (footsteps fading away) (papers ruffling)

Read it! (from audience)

Shit! (laughter) I won the Grammy, man, for George Carlin: Class Clown, first released in 1972the comedy album. Isn't that groovy? (clapping, whistling) (murmur) That's true. Thank you. Thank you man. Yeah. (murmur) (continuous clapping) Thank you man. Thank you. Thank you very much, man. Thank, no, (end of continuous clapping) for that and for the Grammy, man, [']cause (laughter) that's based on people liking it man, yeh, that's ah, that's okay man. (laughter) Let's let that go, man. I got my Grammy. I can let my hair hang down now, shit. (laughter) Ha! So! Now the word shit is okay for the man. At work you can say it like crazy. Mostly figuratively, Get that shit out of here, will ya? I don't want to see that shit anymore. I can't cut that shit, buddy. I've had that shit up to here. I think you're full of shit myself. (laughter) He don't know shit from Shinola. (laughter) You know that? (laughter) Always wondered how the Shinola people felt about that. (laughter) Hi, I'm the new man from Shinola, (laughter) Hi, how are ya? Nice to see ya. (laughter) How are ya? (laughter) Boy, I don't know whether to shit or wind my watch. (laughter) Guess, I'll shit on my watch. (laughter) Oh, the shit is going to hit de fan. (laughter). Built like a brick shit-house. (laughter) Up, he's up shit's creek. (laughter) He's had it. (laughter) He hit me, I'm sorry. (laughter) Hot shit, holy shit, tough shit, eat shit. (laughter) Shit-eating grin. Uh, whoever thought of that was ill. (murmur, laughter) He had a shit-eating grin! He had a what? (laughter) Shit on a stick. (laughter) Shit in a handbag. I always like that. He ain't worth shit in a handbag. (laughter) Shitty. He acted real shitty. (laughter) You know what I mean? (laughter) I got the money back, but a real shitty attitude. Heh, he had a shit-fit. (laughter) Wow! Shit-fit. Whew! Glad I wasn't there. (murmur, laughter) All the animals--bullshit, horse shit, cow shit, rat shit, bat shit. (laughter) First time I heard bat shit, I really came apart. A guy in Oklahoma, Boggs, said it, man. Aw! Bat shit. (laughter) Vera reminded me of that last night, ah. (murmur) Snake shit, slicker than owl shit. (laughter) Get your shit together. Shit or get off the pot. (laughter) I got a shit-load full of them. (laughter) I got a shit-pot full, all right. Shit-head, shit-heel, shit in your heart, shit for brains, (laughter) shit-face, heh. (laughter) I always try to think how that could have originated; the first guy that said that. Somebody got drunk and fell in some shit, you know. (laughter) Hey, I'm shit-face. (laughter) Shit-face, today. (laughter) Anyway, enough of that shit. (laughter) The big one, the word fuck that's the one that hangs them up the most. [']Cause in a lot of cases that's the very act that hangs them up the most. So, it's natural that the word would, uh, have the same effect. It's a great word, fuck, nice word, easy word, cute word, kind of. Easy word to say. One syllable, short u. (laughter) Fuck. (murmur) You know, it's easy. Starts with a nice soft sound fuh ends with a kuh. Right? (laughter) A little something for everyone. Fuck. (laughter) Good word. Kind of a proud word, too. Who are you? I am FUCK, (laughter) FUCK OF THE MOUNTAIN. (laughter) Tune in again next week to FUCK OF THE MOUNTAIN. (laughter) It's an interesting word too, [']cause it's got a double kind of a life--personality--dual, you know, whatever the right phrase is. It leads a double life, the word fuck. First of all, it means, sometimes, most of the time, fuck. What does it mean? It means to make love. Right? We're going to make love, yeh, we're going to fuck, yeh, we're going to fuck, yeh, we're going to make love. (laughter) We're really going to fuck, yeh, we're going to make love. Right? And it also means the beginning of life, it's the act that begins life, so there's the word hanging around with words like love, and life, and yet on the other hand, it's also a word that we really use to hurt each other with, man. It's a heavy. It's one that you have toward the end of the argument. (laughter) Right? (laughter) You finally can't make out. Oh, fuck you man. I said, fuck you. (laughter, murmur) Stupid fuck. (laughter) Fuck you and everybody that looks like you. (laughter) Man. It would be nice to change the movies that we already have and substitute the word fuck for the word kill, wherever we could, and some of those movie cliches would change a little bit. Mad fuckers still on the loose. Stop me before I fuck again. Fuck the ump, fuck the ump, fuck the ump, fuck the ump, fuck the ump. Easy on the clutch Bill, you'll fuck that engine again. (laughter) The other shit one was, I don't give a shit. Like it's worth something, you know? (laughter) I don't give a shit. Hey, well, I don't take no shit, (laughter) you know what I mean? You know why I don't take no shit? (laughter) [']Cause I don't give a shit. (laughter) If I give a shit, I would have to pack shit. (laughter) But I don't pack no shit cause I don't give a shit. (laughter) You wouldn't shit me, would you? (laughter) That's a joke when you're a kid with a worm looking out the bird's ass. You wouldn't shit me, would you? (laughter) It's an eight-year-old joke but a good one. (laughter) The additions to the list. I found three more words that had to be put on the list of words you could never say on television, and they were fart, turd and twat, those three. (laughter) Fart, we talked about, it's harmless. It's like tits, it's a cutie word, no problem. Turd, you can't say but who wants to, you know? (laughter) The subject never comes up on the panel so I'm not worried about that one. Now the word twat is an interesting word. Twat! Yeh, right in the twat. (laughter) Twat is an interesting word because it's the only one I know of, the only slang word applying to the, a part of the sexual anatomy that doesn't have another meaning to it. Like, ah, snatch, box and pussy all have other meanings, man. Even in a Walt Disney movie, you can say, We're going to snatch that pussy and put him in a box and bring him on the airplane. (murmur, laughter) Everybody loves it. The twat stands alone, man, as it should. And two-way words. Ah, ass is okay providing you're riding into town on a religious feast day. (laughter) You can't say, up your ass. (laughter) You can say, stuff it! (murmur) There are certain things you can say, it's weird but you can just come so close. Before I cut, I, uh, want to, ah, thank you for listening to my words, man, fellow, uh space travelers. Thank you man for tonight and thank you also. (clapping, whistling)

[Watch Carlin perform, on YouTube.]

CONCLUSION: "piss" and "fart" actually survived, on the UWC version of this posting. But "cock" and "pussy" didn't stand a chance, and only half of "b.u.l.l.s.h.i.t" remained uncensored, even in spite of the periods. BTW, the Amazon mirror of this material is completely intact.
 
Hoaxing through the ages.

One of my mom's friends just panicked and forwarded the latest virus hoax, so I sent her to Snopes and hinted that it might be time to "wise up." Then I researched some of the earliest hoaxes over at HoaxBusters:

Date: 11-31-88 (24:60) Number: 32769
To: ALL Refer#: NONE
From: ROBERT MORRIS III Read: (N/A)
Subj: VIRUS ALERT Status: PUBLIC MESSAGE

Warning: There's a new virus on the loose that's worse than anything I've seen before! It gets in through the power line, riding on the powerline 60 Hz subcarrier. It works by changing the serial port pinouts, and by reversing the direction one's disks spin. Over 300,000 systems have been hit by it here in Murphy, West Dakota alone! And that's just in the last 12 minutes.

It attacks DOS, Unix, TOPS-20, Apple-II, VMS, MVS, Multics, Mac, RSX-11, ITS, TRS-80, and VHS systems.

To prevent the spread of the worm:

1) Don't use the powerline.
2) Don't use batteries either, since there are rumors that this virus has invaded most major battery plants and is infecting the positive poles of the batteries. (You might try hooking up just the negative pole.)
3) Don't upload or download files.
4) Don't store files on floppy disks or hard disks.
5) Don't read messages. Not even this one!
6) Don't use serial ports, modems, or phone lines.
7) Don't use keyboards, screens, or printers.
8) Don't use switches, CPUs, memories, microprocessors, or mainframes.
9) Don't use electric lights, electric or gas heat or airconditioning, running water, writing, fire, clothing or the wheel.

I'm sure if we are all careful to follow these 9 easy steps, this virus can be eradicated, and the precious electronic fluids of our computers can be kept pure.

---RTM III
 
Freedom's Fury is now here!

Freedom's FuryOne Team. One Country. One Chance For Revenge.

Update on our October 28 posting:

Megan Raney Aarons--half of the sister/brother filmmaking team The Sibs--just told us their critically-acclaimed feature documentary, Freedom's Fury, has been released in North America!

This Collector's Edition DVD, with several exciting special features, is available through independent online distributor Film Baby.

Just in time for the 51st anniversary of the infamous Olympic water polo match between Hungary and the Soviet Union, this powerful documentary about the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 and the "blood in the water" match has now arrived on this side of the Atlantic.

Narrated by Mark Spitz and executive produced by Lucy Liu and Quentin Tarantino, the DVD has special features that include a director's commentary track by The Sibs and a Making of Freedom's Fury documentary with behind-the-scenes footage and an interview with Lucy Liu.

The DVDs are already selling fast, but new stock comes in every day, so don't hesitate to place an order, even if the film's page indicates "Out of Stock."
 
Arizona Gothic.

Yesterday, when our teeshirt order arrived from WGA-affiliated StrikeSwag.com, we shot a photo for the site's Virtual Picket Line (with apologies to Grant Wood's American Gothic). Today, a teensy version of our image is featured on the site's home page!

Arizona Gothic
 
You can't make a movie without a script.

WGA strikeIn the beginning was the Word... --John 1:1

The WGA strike has entered its second month.

We've been inhaling Joe Eszterhas books (with titles like Hollywood Animal and The Devil's Guide to Hollywood: the Screenwriter as God!, they're real morale-boosters); let's hope those WGA negotiators are doing the same.


Related links: The Fall In Budapest + Azért is..!
 
Sitzfleisch and big boobs.

Sitzfleisch:
1. German word meaning literally "sit-flesh."
2. The ability to apply the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.
3. Sitting for hours doing one thing.
4. Like writing.
5. Seat cushion by Exsil, "manufacturer of highly realistic silicone breast forms with life-like nipples, natural droop and mobility at affordable prices."

Also check out Exsil's 6.6-pound, 46E extra large breast forms ("particularly suitable for theatric presentations"). Kristina, a satisfied Canadian user, writes: "There's an old saying, watch what you wish for, you might get it. Well, I wanted big boobs, and Exsil granted my wish. I have already bumped into the door jam, [sic] and when prancing the halls, the forms have the natural bounce of a busty babe's. They are gorgeous big puppies that dwarf my makeshift wannabe boobs." The purchasing page ($639, with 3 nipple options) says: "These are the largest silicone breast forms on the planet! [...] Our R&D laboratory has accepted and met in full the engineering challenges that come with manufacturing very large, yet perky silicone breast forms."
 
"We write. They wrong."

The iconography machine has finally kicked into gear, so we just ordered a couple of teeshirts from StrikeSwag.com to support the WGA's efforts.

We write. They wrong.   Writers Guild On Strike

Also, this sounds like a viral meme: a lot of MySpace.com users are switching out their profile pix for the left JPEG, below, photoshopped from a GIF in the WGA's image library.

MySpace - wgastrke.jpgWGA - wgastrkf.gif