Bless Us All With His Oratory Prowess

Ben Jonson had it right.

Eddie Cochran Eric Clapton Elvis Costello and EC Comics

Wisenaut. We accept a certain decorum from a forum of our peers, yet scoff and doff a cap of spittle to the elder years. Waning, waxing, you name it, I am here to disseminate as necessary in no-frills fashion as dictated by the spheres of the heavens.

I suspect the last time 26.4 million people watched an ad was “Where’s the Beef?” Inside their own little worlds, this means something, but Jon Hamm on “30 Rock”? That’s a glockenspiel that rings to its own archer, my friends. And by this I mean to say the current shift in media junkie gestalt results in the over-reportage and under-achievage so readily and so handily, dainty ’n’ new like doppel Dali’s daisy.

Hoof it!

Polyglot Nü Heaven Annual

They say in those reviews I read “Day in day out Forkmode is spreads his brand of intelikshuel jelly but is he saying something?” I am, and saying it obtuse in the style of a V-neck if you can just look through your own preconditioned determinants vis a vis reading between the lines or breathing between the ether. I have evidence and I have heard the sound of success’s soul screaming skyward and I talk to the best of them, and a cohesive whole is in sight for everyone.

Let me tell you this, you cannot MARGINALIZE THE FACT THAT I AM THE MAN. I scoff at the Jonas Brothers new movie unless there is a role for Elvis Costello. I quickly file news of Joaquin Phoenix’s inpending retirement in the Usher bin with a flick of the wrist. I chastise Jennifer Aniston for again wrapping herself shamelessly in Mayer’s web. There’s twice as many chips in this half-baked cookie and those Cardiff dames is skimmin’ by the bushel. Ha’penny, ha’penny, whole. You know something about directionals that I don’t, lest we engage the Perspius Perspective.

Tittle, Y.A.

Pillowshanks grabbed studiously, then retracted a statement as shrill as the driven show. I am loyal to a certain transparency--Kodak AND Kodiak--and the reality here is a sharp distant to Chuck Woolery’s tomfoolery. This business digests and spits like some tinseltown duodenum, and packing double-barrel insult to injury (i.e. “in jury,” judgment) is the mindful NBC “Chuck” passing Nicole Richie as thesp instead of just a pest. Hello? Is it me you’re looking for? Trachea malodorous malcontent auspicious jejunum lenient farthing happenstance nook.

Don’t worry little mindscape; Dubya’s only looking for the remnants of the Kyoko Protocol in the snow. Again, the raw truth rears itself with One Day as a Lion, lambs be damned. ESA might revive E3 but could just as easily kill it. The Tropicana can’t have its casino back but here, please accept this complimentary orange juice. Jen Aniston stunt-casting insures “30 Rock” is dragged down by the stone, Floyd-style. Palatino and Brecht do not mix, even if Sigourney Weaver is involved.

Hava Tampa Hava Nagila Gila V. Gojira

It is harder to blog on a day like today, with the air whistling out of the sails of what was left of the devil’s music. On the outside, things look rosy, but on the inside, guttywog torn asundah. The music is din, the cogs creaky, and the corporatization complete. The evil rock absorbed, assimilated and absolved, now served like soft yogurt in outlets mainstream mainlining on our sacred manna. So this is love?

Flock of Chekhov's Seagulls

Poor, poor mendicant! Topical cigar panel wicker Roman Tuesday ballustrade substrate reasoned polyglot whistle-stop back-digger fallen pollen Hoosier-hucking almost-didn’t marked different retro-distant oligarchal frosted maple simulate prevaricate expectorate administrate. Those words in a tossed salad gonna pay you back a five-fold.

Droppin' Rhymes Like Svengali Drop Bisquit

Baffled truly, like a Renaissance rat in a race to the Finnish, and by this I mean to say it hasn’t been easy to reveal in pieces parts the joie de Aqua Viva that concentrates like nanosubstrate in certain brain sectors, Jonesy. Jonesy’s drowning was a mishap folks, but there is direct lineage truthful details strung delicately like gossamer from the UK to the US, or the distance between Hartford, Sussex and Seattle, Washington, divided by the 9,042 days between July 3, 1969 and April 5, 1994. BJ’s 9,987 beat KC’s 9,906 by 81. That is to say that Will Ferrell’s W. brought welcome respite, Denny’s return to “Grey’s” has no bearing on the subject, and Jennifer Hudson is too much to bear today.

T-Red Pixelated

I’m tired, yes, but no prompting can make me take those pills if I don’t want to. The creation lies in the propulsion, and the propulsion is secreted in a nether-region of the brain that must not be adjusted via synthetics, there were some kind of pants related to synthetics, or a synthetic pant leg, perhaps made special for the odd-limbed wearer, for the purpose of being dapper, and fearn’t the pixilated pixie. You said or suggested strongly (yes I am talking to you MoiHelmut) I clearly didn’t read my own posts but I do, every word as it is written and there’s no place for derision in the revisions, but there are certainly clues throughout, and that’s what I brought it here for, as if to say this may be fragments but let’s look at the whole chunk. Lemming fields, lemming fields, lemming fields, lemming fields.

Straight Up

People written in and asked me for true that I have written such books and articles for such entities as to have things that are good and truly out in the world and I say to you yes that’s the truth. I have seen my share of wonders and threads talked to the stars and have picture and recordings and will start putting in here when the feeble deeds have it. But I'll tell you this I’ve met people I never thought I would meet, on the phone and in the streets, in tabs and sometimes sheets, as sure as you can’t run quickly from a fellow named Adolpho. And once in Cincinnati. I even wrote the entry for Paula Abdul once, for a cool Grant.

Funk Revelation #49

The powers-that-buzz-in tell me (shell me) that the James Gang rode again in a concert tour in 2006. Oh really? What about the Eagles then, because I know they played out but didn’t see it. But the James Gang, that’s a pie-faced lie designed to get me to come out of here and it ain’t working. And then I suppose Can is reunited too? Or Bubble Puppy or whatever that band is. And by this I mean to say we have moved forward, into a morass of thick-tar fo’shnizzle that sings a solemn tune of no-pence comeuppance turning beauty into the azure drip of some ersatz neoprine scene. Buck unkempt ideology and grip fantastic those shards of reason built to shred the waving nylon walls of deceit. And Shrineology—the “ology” of shrines.

Froot-tootin’ froot-tootin’! Magnum buck and mavericks, truly parted split like low seam and partly recoiled for three full measures.

Welcome To My Life, Tattoo

Tattoo was blasted to bits as the incoming subterfuge proved too much for his tiny frame. Along the way some commander had always told him to mind his shoes, and these jutted forthright like the feted birthright of a man too soon shambled. Equivocally or at least on time, each 33 1/3 revolution yields one more circular slice of the dominus pie. There are many spins which attribute to this, not the least of which are some of the so-called prog rock genre in that telling the story as the weaving of many baskets results in a finer interpretation of such discerning material by Kansas, Rush, Yes and all of its splinter parts and subjugations, and Howe. All I’m really saying here is that the Who knew; Horton Heat heard it; and Mark Heard sold it on a different level. How is this not obvious?

New Magazine

I am starting a new magazine called Conspiracy Theory and Cultural Review. It will cover theorists and icons and cultural bastions who espouse conspiracy over hegemony, or parsimony or whatever it is. With crossovers whenever possible, like Hedley Lamar on UFOs or Telly Savalas with the TRUTH about geodesic domes. Each guest contributor could come over prepared with her or his own fraudulent papers and “become” this entity as they wrote their contributions at my desk. I encourage my readers ElmoRedfire, TajMaballs and hoophead to take up the cause and clackety-clack it with the rich sell you’re all capable of. Lift off by 03/09, Holmes (sans Yoyo)!

Of Stossel, Streusel and First-Rights Refusal

I retain first rights and third rights on thoes writings as I write them and will negotiate for second rights in certain formats but cannot discuss electronic rights. Well, you know Entertainment Weakly self-referenced themselves as having drawn a comparison between Tina Fey and Sarah Palin when everyone with two eyes was already doing it. Smashing Pumpkins will play Guitar Hero World Tour on October 25 and turn into soup tureens on November 1. Stossel show was politically incorrect but networkially expedient. Streusel goes well with the Toledo Blade’s recipe for pumpkin oat cake. Finally, in the news Coke has first-rights refusal for Olympic torch and I have first-rights refusal of Coke over Dr Poplar.

The Grapes and the Tipsy Town Mouse

As the friend Aesop used to say, the gossip you desire is bound and categoried in tidy bundles like fresh snapping twigs. Now this Trishelle is back with the Hulk Hogan and the David Banner Meredith Baxter Birney Bill Bixby thing, and that costs the taxpayers something. The grapes brought us pictures of the aliens from “Alias: Star Trek” version and Syler looks pretty bada Look, I’m packin’ rats. ss with the pointy ears. SPOILER: SPOCK TURNS OUT TO BE SYLER. And is Anne Hathaway’s mystery man gay? AC/DC discovered that if you keep releasing the same album long enough, it may become a hit again a few decades later. And the tipsy town mouse again proves he’s doing something right as Rice University prepares to serve up a new cancer-fighting beer, now dats da wort. Again, I say, IT IS FUTILE TO ARGUE WITH THE UNINFORMED.

Ollywood Huffle

From a reader named OlmosToasted, and how he ever got here I do not rightly know:

So there’s Hollywood and Bollywood. What if…?

Pratfall movies = Follywood
Hick movies = Gollywood
Santa movies = Jollywood
Doom Goddess movies = Kaliwood
Lolita’s sucker = Lollywood
Laurel & Hardy = Ollywood
Willing Parrot movies = Pollywood
North Carolina movies = Raleighwood
Aand more and more.

Did I win anything?

He did not.

Max Payne Vs. Soul Train

You should see how they are, all riding up high under the sun without a hint of sweat. This kind of box office reflects the climate of times, a fictional character once-removed from a consoul (“Max Payne”) versus a real person caricatured (“W.”) and wo whadyaknow he’s also da POTUS right now and he lost this one. Apolitical, analytical, faux-umbilical. I am bound by transformational law to avoid prosciutto, by this I mean to say I will see “W.” for film noir and “Max Payne” as fois gras.

As for Don Cornelius, well let’s say it right here in 14 point or whatever they set you on. The house vibe gets a little crazy sometimes, and you’ve got to get yer fits while yer fit-gittin’s good, but not for physical. That’s for what it means to have soul, on the train, in the sunshine, when it gets good again, ‘cuz that’s where you want it, and by this I mean to say it when you’re riding that deep-down and dusky train of the soul made manifest with the manifunk.

Too Heavy to Hail Metallica

Listen, like the grandfather who bought the shiny rock for the young girlfriend with a check knowing the bank was empty but the weekend procured, the rock of a different kind, here talking about Metallica, is alive and well and rattling my senses to the core, drowning out voices, and generally too heavy to properly hail in the old Viking arms-over-your-head sense. But oh, the songs. When I saw them years ago the grated remains of Queensrike still permeated the stadium floor, but the symbols of justice loomed large over the flying fingers of James and Kirk. Hey, check that out. James Kirk.

By to Neal Hefti

Of all the accents you ever heard, what’s the first one you think of? Well the one that’s talking to your head, of course. I heard that accent loud and true when I heard that longtime composer of greatness Neal Hefti had passed away. The first record I ever got was a 45 size of the Batman Theme by Neal Hefti from 40 years ago and I still have it and he could have signed that thing too but I waited too long to ask and now it’s too late, and now the echoes in my head are of Neal Hefti and the Batman Theme with a little reverb on it. Neal Hefti.

Perspius Perspective

All the con men wanna tell ya that ya runnin’ with a fella that’d turn a purple yella like a kook. But I am not about that. I am about harvesting a return on the costly, causticly mendicanted thoughts that round out the brain of yourself and others, insomuch as we understand it from a Perspius Perspective.

Mendicant! I understand that the Bee Wize Company and any other company that may have been at fault in this could still be in play. But it is the media that field this play, and I guess you might say I’m trying to steal third in true essay form. Call me Jefe, a dusty honorific from my friend Graham.

Much of what is here rewrought went to the outlets you’d expect, but we lost the address to Argosy so those did not. In any event, I have known enough publicist chatties to know that for maximum expulsure your propellant must be dapper and just. Bear my propellant wisely, or shuffle off to hominem’s highway. Lé Stupé!