Elizabeth Holmes Cures COVID-19!

Elizabeth Holmes is at it again! With one prick of a finger (or finger of a prick,), she will CURE the coronavirus and win the Ignobel Prize for ignorance.

Elizabeth Holmes Uncensored! Six brilliant takes (plus one)

MadTV - Wizard of Oz (Alternate Ending)

     Now we know what really happened to that oil can.

Robert Frost is a complete NOBODY!

STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING BY DONALD J. TRUMP

BY ROTTINGPOST ON MARCH 25, 2016 • ( 140 COMMENTS )

I have a pretty good idea whose woods these are, believe me.
And let me tell you something, my people say he’s a complete nobody.
This guy lives in the village. So what if he sees me stopping here?
I dare him to sue me! I dare him!

And by the way, this snow is pathetic.
These are by far, the least downy flakes ever!
I hear they had to import them from Canada.
I don’t know. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. We’re looking into it.

My horse – he’s the most incredible horse, seriously,
I have the greatest, the classiest horses –
My horse doesn’t even know what the hell we’re doing here.
The horses love me though. They do.
They’re always shaking their bells at me, it’s very loving.
It’s a beautiful thing.

Let me tell you something, these woods are an embarrassment.
They’re not dark. They’re not deep. They’re nothing. They’re for losers.
And I cannot wait to sue this guy.
I cannot wait to sue this guy.


PLEASE NOTE. This is the way it appeared. You know as well as I do that
the poem is "Stopping BY Woods", not "by THE Woods". I'm sort
of hoping that's part of the satire and not ignorance on the part of Rottingpost.

I cannot wait to sue this guy

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING – By Donald J Trump

BY ROTTINGPOST ON MARCH 25, 2016

I have a pretty good idea whose woods these are, believe me.
And let me tell you something, my people say he’s a complete nobody.
This guy lives in the village. So what if he sees me stopping here?
I dare him to sue me! I dare him!

And by the way, this snow is pathetic.
These are by far, the least downy flakes ever!
I hear they had to import them from Canada.
I don’t know. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. We’re looking into it.

My horse – he’s the most incredible horse, seriously,
I have the greatest, the classiest horses –
My horse doesn’t even know what the hell we’re doing here.
The horses love me though. They do.
They’re always shaking their bells at me, it’s very loving.
It’s a beautiful thing.

Let me tell you something, these woods are an embarrassment.
They’re not dark. They’re not deep. They’re nothing. They’re for losers.
And I cannot wait to sue this guy.
I cannot wait to sue this guy.

Broke Trek - a Star Trek Brokeback Mountain parody

Can't seem to get enough of these good ol' Star Trek Brokeback Mountain parodies! I have a feeling this was pirated from an earlier video called Gay Trek or some-such. I think it's funny, but I don't think it insults my gay friends, or if it does, come on, guys! It's Kirk and Spock. They're funny whether they're gay or not. And we all knew they had a love that dared not speak its name, unless they were speaking in Klingon.

Ooooooh, I love Onions! (or: Go Get a Book Deal)

Child’s Description Of Heaven During Near-Death Experience Specifically Mentions Book Deal




NEWS IN BRIEFJuly 17, 2015

VOL 51 ISSUE 28 Local · Death · Books · Kids


NEW YORK—Speaking for the first time since waking from a medically induced coma following a devastating car accident, 8-year-old Aiden Miller recounted an extremely vivid near-death experience Friday that reportedly contained detailed descriptions of heaven, angels, and a six-figure book deal. “I was walking up in the clouds and met friends, and strangers, and all these famous people who talked with me about all kinds of things and brought up the possibility of selling the rights to my story to a big-name publisher,” said the second-grader, who attested that during the five-minute period in which his heart had stopped on the operating table, he ascended to a shining, golden paradise where he says he met with the archangel Gabriel and a literary agent who has helped a number of authors secure multi-book deals with lucrative worldwide book tours. “Jesus was sitting at the right hand of God and my grandfather was right there, and they looked at me and smiled at each other and said I should ask for an $80,000 advance with 10 percent of back-end profits.” Miller added that he felt a profound sense of peace and well-being when Jesus told him to go forth and seek a blockbuster deal for the movie rights.

(And The Onion is always right, folks. This kid must have the same agent as Harper Lee.)

Plastic Jesus

ARTIST: Trad and Anon
TITLE: Plastic Jesus


Well, I don't care if it rains or freezes,
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.

{Refrain}
Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.

I don't care if it rains or freezes
As long as I've got my Plastic Jesus
Glued to the dashboard of my car,
You can buy Him phosphorescent
Glows in the dark, He's Pink and Pleasant,
Take Him with you when you're travelling far

{Refrain}

I don't care if it's dark or scary
Long as I have magnetic Mary
Ridin' on the dashboard of my car
I feel I'm protected amply
I've got the whole damn Holy Family
Riding on the dashboard of my car

{Refrain}

You can buy a Sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestones sitting on a
Pedestal of abalone shell
Goin' ninety, I'm not wary
'Cause I've got my Virgin Mary
Guaranteeing I won't go to Hell

{Refrain}

I don't care if it bumps or jostles
Long as I got the Twelve Apostles
Bolted to the dashboard of my car
Don't I have a pious mess
Such a crowd of holiness
Strung across the dashboard of my car

{Refrain}

No, I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
But I think he'll have to go
His magnet ruins my radio
And if we have a wreck he'll leave a scar

{Refrain}

Riding through the thoroughfare
With his nose up in the air
A wreck may be ahead, but he don't mind
Trouble coming, he don't see
He just keeps his eyes on me
And any other thing that lies behind

Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Though the sun shines on his back
Makes him peel, chip, and crack
A little patching keeps him up to par

When pedestrians try to cross
I let them know who's boss
I never blow my horn or give them warning
I ride all over town
Trying to run them down
And it's seldom that they live to see the morning

Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
His halo fits just right
And I use it as a sight
And they'll scatter or they'll splatter near and far

When I'm in a traffic jam
He don't care if I say Damn
I can let all sorts of curses roll
Plastic Jesus doesn't hear
For he has a plastic ear
The man who invented plastic saved my soul

Plastic Jesus, Plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Once his robe was snowy white
Now it isn't quite so bright
Stained by the smoke of my cigar

God made Christ a Holy Jew
God made Him a Christian too
Paradoxes populate my car
Joseph beams with a feigned elan
From the shaggy dash of my furlined van
Famous cuckold in the master plan

Naughty Mary, smug and smiling
Jesus dainty and beguiling
Knee-deep in the piling of my van
His message clear by night or day
My phosphorescent plastic Gay
Simpering from the dashboard of my van

When I'm goin' fornicatin
I got my ceramic Satan
Sinnin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
The women know I'm on the level
Thanks to the wild-eyed stoneware devil
Ridin' on the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Sneerin' from the dashboard of my Winnebago Motor Home
Leering from the dashboard of my van

If I weave around at night
And the police think I'm tight
They'll never find my bottle, though they ask
Plastic Jesus shelters me
For His head comes off, you see
He's hollow, and I use Him for a flask

Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Ride with me and have a dram
Of the blood of the Lamb
Plastic Jesus is a holy bar

I did not write any part of this song. I remembered Paul Newman singing it in Cool Hand Luke, and wondered if I could find a video anywhere (which I could), then looked up the lyrics. Most versions had one or two verses, but this one went on forever, apparently written by that celebrated lyricist, Arthur Unknown (sometimes known by his pen name, Anon).

It's a strange thing, obviously a sour parody of What a Friend We Have in Jesus. The thing is, it was not so very long ago that I was a churchgoing Christian and even a lay minister, a preacher. Seems like a lifetime ago. So I can't quite join in wholeheartedly. But when I saw what was happening to "my" church, its slickness and desperate attempts at hipness to attract a "younger" crowd (i. e. people under 80 with more disposable income), I felt sickened. All of it was done in the name of finance. In all the time I was with that church, the main thing I heard about was not the gospels, but a desperate lack of money and the need to give, give, give.

This wasn't about hungry people overseas or Christian education, but (mostly) paying a mortgage 

which always seemed to be shockingly in arrears. If we as individuals had conducted our finances that way, the bank would have put us in foreclosure. As it was, the larger church carried us as perpetual deadbeats.

Guilt trips abounded if you didn't or couldn't raise the amount of your offerings annually, because after all, the church's expenses kept going up, and it was up to us to take up the shortfall. Don't you want to support your church? Tell us, then, just what are your priorities? Didn't we hear you went on a vacation last year? (WHAT, you went to Vegas?) Once a year, incredibly, someone came to each person's house to ask them how much they were giving, and gently but firmly pressured them into giving more. I hated this and felt it was a violation of privacy and completely unfair, but I never said anything because you just didn't say anything.  I knew if I did, I would likely be gently pressured back into the beliefs and policies of the fold (with a vague but palpable ostracism as the penalty
if I didn't), or perhaps genteelly labelled "mentally ill" (well, dear, she can't help it, you know). 

As a symptom of a structure that had been rotten for years , leadership finally caved in, and no one had the first idea why it happened, or how. It's like my "do husbands fall from the sky?" post. Jobs don't fall from the sky. Husbands don't, friends don't. WE PICK THEM. We vote our leaders in, then bitch about them endlessly, even demonize them. We were snowjobbed by a shallow huckster, fell for him hook, line and sinker, then turned him into some sort of Satanic figure who had destroyed our innocent little lamb of a church.

Bullshit!

So I walked away, even tried a few other churches and was suffocated and frankly bored. The wheezy hymns, the lack of life, the lacklustre attempts to inject some enthusiasm and relevance into the services, all of it fell flat for me. More than once, when I tried to sit down, someone put their hand out to cover the spot on the pew and said, "My family sits here." No hello, not even a "sorry", just a "go away".

It left a hole, because for some fifteen years I was deeply involved, but the last several years were just hell for me, because there was absolutely NO ONE I could talk to about it all. It would be seen as "disloyal".

But I could no longer adhere to a church with such shallow values, a church which would not or could not or just didn't want to take responsibility for all its bad decisions.

Plastic Jesus, indeed.

(CODA. As usual , while I work on these things, or after I post them, more comes to me. In this case, it startles me that I wrote the words I just wrote. I had no idea I was going to. Not that I've never written about church disillusionment before. I have, and I will again. But in this case, I merely came across a YouTube clip from Cool Hand Luke, then thought of the song, then Googled the lyrics. Funny stuff, and strange, too. And that, I thought to myself, would be that. But in the world of exploration through writing, "that" is NEVER "that" - and I thank whatever God I still have for the process.)

Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA

Forbidden Zone in Color: 'Alphabet Song'

"Swinging the Alphabet" is a novelty song sung by The Three Stooges in their 1938 film, Violent Is the Word for Curly. It is the only full-length song performed by the Stooges in their short films, and the only time they mimed to their own pre-recorded soundtrack.

In 2005, film historian Richard Finegan identified the composer of the song as Septimus Winner (1827-1902), who had originally published it in 1875 as "The Spelling Bee".

Contents

  [hide] 

• 1 Lyrics
• 2 Original Lyrics
• 3 Notes
• 4 See also
• 5 References
• 6 External links

Lyrics[edit]

Colorized screen shot of the Three Stoogesmiming their own pre-recorded soundtrack ofSwinging the Alphabet.

B-A-bay, B-E-bee, B-I-bicky-bi, B-O bo, bicky-bi bo, B-U bu, bicky bi bo bu.

C-A-cay, C-E-cee, C-I-cicky-ci, C-O co, cicky-ci co, C-U cu, cicky ci co cu.

D-A-day, D-E-dee, D-I-dicky-di, D-O do, dicky-di do, D-U du, dicky di do du.

F-A-fay, F-E-fee, F-I-ficky-fi, F-O fo, Ficky-fi fo, F-U fu, ficky fi fo fu.

G-A-gay, G-E-gee, G-I-gicky-gi, G-O go, Gicky-gi go, G-U gu, gicky gi go gu.

(Dah-Dah-dah-dah )

H-A-hay, H-E-hee, H-I-hicky-hi, H-O ho, hicky-hi ho, H-U hu, hicky hi ho hu.

J-A-jay, J-E-jee, J-I-jicky-ji, J-O jo, Jicky-ji jo, J-U ju, jicky ji jo ju

K-A-kay, K-E-kee, K-I-kicky-ki, K-O ko, Kicky-ki ko, K-U ku, kicky ki ko ku.

L-A-lay, L-E-lee, L-I-licky-li, L-O lo, Licky-li lo, L-U lu, licky li lo lu. (Curly's a dope)

M-A-may, M-E-mee, M-I-micky-mi, M-O mo, Micky-mi mo, M-U mu, micky mi mo mu.

In the 1959 re-recording of the The Alphabet Song/Swinging The Alphabet With Moe, Larry and Curly Joe the letters "G", "J", "M" and the lyrics "Curly's a dope" were omitted and seven new lyrics featuring the letters "N" (N-A-nay, N-E-nee, N-I-nicky-ni, N-O-no, Nicky-ni no, N-U-nu, Nicky ni no nu), "P" (P-A-pay, P-E-pee, P-I-picky-pi, P-O-po, Picky-pi po, P-U-pu, picky pi po pu) "R" (R-A-ray, R-E-ree, R-I-ricky-ri, R-O-ro, Ricky-ri-ro, R-U-ru, ricky ri ro ru), "S" (S-A-say, S-E-see, S-I-sicky-si, S-O-so, Sicky-si-so, S-U-su, sicky si so su), "T" (T-A-tay T-E-tee, T-I-ticky-ti, T-O-to, Ticky-ti-to, T-U-tu, ticky ti to tu), "V" (V-A-vay, V-E-vee, V-I-vicky-vi, V-O-vo, Vicky-vi-vo, V-U-vu, vicky vi vo vu), and "Z" (Z-A-zay, Z-E-zee, Z-I-zicky-zi, Z-O-zo, Zicky-zi-zo, Z-U-zu, zicky zi zo zu) were added to the song.

Original Lyrics[edit]

The original lyrics of Septimus Winner's "Spelling Bee" (aka "Ba Be Bi Bo Bu") were slightly different:

B-A bA; B-E bE; B-I, bA-bE-bI; B-O bO, bA-bE-bI-bO; B-U bu, bA-bE-bI-bO-bu.^[1]

Order The Glass Character from:

Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001K7NGDA

Barnes & Noble

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-glass-character-margaret-gunning/1117863913?ean=9781927068885

Thistledown Press

http://www.thistledownpress.com/html/search/genre/Fiction/the_glass_character_p580.cfm

Chapters/Indigo
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/the-glass-character/9781927068885-item.html?ikwid=the%

Key of Awesome: Pet Shop

The more you watch this, the funnier it gets. Really good parody of a song I don't like!

Rob Ford's "Downfall"

Charge of the Light Brigade: Take 2

De Jarge of de Light Brigade

by William F. Kirk ("The Norsk Nightingale")

(NOTE: William F. Kirk , The Norsk Nightingale, was a 19th-century dialect poet world-famous for his "lumberyack" poetry, best represented by Sonnet on Stewed Prunes ("By yiminy! Dey ban gude"). One of his oevres was satirizing famous poetry, including the "half a league, half a league" refrain of Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade. At least I think it was Tennyson. . . I always used to call him Alfred Lord Tennis Ball. Anyway, try reading this aloud in the home furnishings section of Ikea, and see what happens!)

Yoyfully, yoyfully, Yoyfully onvard,

In dis har walley of death Rode the sax hundred!

It ban a cinch, ay tenk, 

 Some geezer blundered.

 "Hustle, yu Light Brigade! Yump!" Maester Olson said;

 Den in the walley of death

 Go the sax hundred. 

Cannon on right of dem, 

Cannon on left of dem, 

Cannon on top of dem, 

 Wolleyed and t'undered; 

Smashed vith dis shot and shal, 

Dey ant do wery val; 

Most of dem ketching hal,— 

 Nearly sax hundred! 

Yes, all dem sabres bare 

Flash purty gude in air; 

Each faller feel his hair Standing. No vonder! 

Yudas! It ant ban yob 

For any coward slob, 

Fighting dis Russian mob. 

Ay tenk ay vudn't stand Yeneral's blunder.

 

Cannon on right of dem, 

Cannon on top of dem, 

Cannon behind dem, tu, 

 Wolleyed and t'undered. 

Finally say Captain Brenk, 

"Ve got enuff, ay tenk,

 Let's go and getting drenk."

 'Bout tventy-sax com back 

 Out of sax hundred.

Ven skol deir glory fade?

 It ban gude charge dey made, 

 Every von vondered. 

Every von feeling blue, 

'Cause dey ban brave old crew, 

Yolly gude fallers, tu, 

 Dis har sax hundred!

http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.ca/2013/04/the-glass-character-synopsis.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

OK, boys and girls. . . compare and contrast!

This is your homework assignment for Friday: compare this recording of Eva Taylor singing Chloe (also charmingly nicknamed Song of the Swamp) to the Spike Jones parody. Damn, it's close, except for all the cowbells, interjections ("where are you, you old bat?") and starting pistols going off. Jones had a sort of perfection about him - everything was perfectly timed, perfectly insane, and beautifully played because he had a hell of a band.

I was hard-pressed to find a favorite (very nearly chose Laura for the fact that fully half of it is played straight, and beautifully) and of course the tracks brought back floods of memories which I didn't particularly want to experience, but there you are.

As a confused child, I often thought parody was straight - I was, like, four years old, right? - and tried to take Spike Jones and Songs of the Pogo literally. It was my fault that I couldn't understand it, because it was obvious that the adults did or they wouldn't have kept on listening to it. My sister was thirteen years older than me, but I figured I should be able to keep up.


http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.com/2012/01/synopsis-glass-character-novel-by.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.

Taxi Driver directed by Woody Allen

There are a couple of things I always get watching whenever they come on TV, and it's mostly against my will. They exert a vacuum-pull so powerful that I soon disappear into a sort of vortex like in that Time Tunnel show of the 1960s (or that Star Trek where they jumped through that, you know, that thing).

Whenever Taxi Driver comes on, which is about seventeen times a week in my neighborhood, no matter where in the story it is, I do the Time Tunnel bit and jump in. Or get sucked in. I'd say the movie sucked, but that's not exactly what I mean.

I can't help it. Its awfulness is irresistible. The movie has a sort of queasy, uneasy feeling to it, the sense that something absolutely horrific is about to happen, and it does. But not until the last five minutes. Scorsese somehow manages to hold it back until then. Meanwhile we have the shocking spectre of Robert deNiro looking like his baby sister or something, just peach-faced and innocent, yet ticking almost audibly with undetonated rage. 

This is a real morality tale, and in spite of what some critics have said, there's no gratuitous violence in it, just violence-violence. Illustrative violence, maybe. The ending is a full-scale splattering gorefest, but it's meant to make a point about "heroism" (with all sorts of murky undercurrents about the true nature of military glory) and how it can arise from the worst possible motives.

Most chilling moment: when Travis Bickle, his seething, swarming violence just about to erupt, appears at the political rally, so armed he's a walking weapon, and the camera pans from his feet up to his head. Mohawks weren't that common then, and his is sharp enough to cut your wrists on, absolutely bloody terrifying.

Well, having said all that, the OTHER thing that sucks me right down into the quagmire of cinematic glory are Woody Allen movies. I tell myself, no, I am not going to watch this. Not this time; I will resist. Since Soon Yi and that whole deal, since marrying what amounted to his daughter, I have sworn him off. It's true he is becoming increasingly creepy with age and, like Oliver Sacks, still uses an Olivetti manual typewriter (and where does he get the ribbons? They must be handmade by his ribbon associate or something). Nevertheless, when Manhattan comes on with that Gershwin music and he's sleeping with Mariel Hemingway who's all of fourteen years old and in junior high, or when Annie Hall comes on and she's all la-di-da and they chase the lobsters all over the kitchen, I just get. . .sucked in.

I do like the way Woody Allen talks. All his vowel sounds are sort of dragged-out and swoopy. It's unbelievable, except that's really the way he 
twwooa-ahhh-ks. Rick Moranis did a fatal impression of him on SCTV, but unlike most impressions, it was the opposite of exaggerated, almost toned-down so it would be quasi-believable. Nobody knows where this manner of speaking came from. It's sort of Brooklyn-ish or even Bronx-y, kind of nasal and almost sing-songy, and certainly not upper-class.

There IS a certain kind of educated or snobberific New York/Manhattan-ish accent, but it's more like Jacqueline Kennedy's. The swoops are there, but a little more musical and contained. And yet, and yet, Allen has always given the impression of being educated, or at least incredibly well-read. Who knows, maybe he never got past the Classic Comics stage, but he still gets it across. Maybe it's his salesmanship, which from the very start of his career was quirkily brilliant: he turned a skinny, shy, balding, nasal-speaking little Jewish nothing into a sympathetic and appealing romantic lead over and over again. Kind of puts Harold Lloyd to shame.

So here we have two of my best or worst movie obsessions, TOGETHER AT LAST!  This is a remarkably clever feat of dubbing, combining two elements that could not be less compatible: the whiny angst-ridden dialogue of a Woody Allen comedy superimposed on the half-insane machine-gun-fire conversation between a sociopathic stalker and an innocent blonde. And yet, and yet! As Woody talks about existential despair, meaninglessness and buying a gun, maybe he's closer to Travis Bickle than we realize.

It sucks. . . but in a good way.

 

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book

    It took me years to write, will you take a look

Order The Glass Character from:

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Barnes & Noble

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-glass-character-margaret-gunning/1117863913?ean=9781927068885

Thistledown Press

http://www.thistledownpress.com/html/search/genre/Fiction/the_glass_character_p580.cfm

Chapters/Indigo
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