This blog is black today as the US Supreme Court decided 7-2 against overturning the 1998 copyright extension.
Time to start a campaign for a congressional bill repealing it instead.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
ahem
Fe fo fom! She jist does hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it goes on to appear now, she comes, a peacefugle, a parody's bird, a peri potmother, a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy, with peewee and powwows in beggybaggy on her bickybacky and a flick flask fleckflinging its pixylighting pacts' huemeramybows, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy.
This moment from writing in history is nothing more than the recursive call of the vulgata blogata.
is the space between blogs a conversation, a question, an answer, a placebo?
This is just a rough draft of a blog entry that's in the process of denying its usefulness.
Fishrush offers some rough notes toward a perplexification of a question some of us have been wondering about...
graveyard poem
by jim morrison...
It was the greatest night of my life
Although I still had not found a wife
I had my friends right there beside me
We scaled the wall
We tripped through the graveyard
Ancient shapes were all around us
No music but the wet grass
felt fresh beside the fog
Two made love in a silent spot
one chased a rabbit into the dark
A girl got drunk & balled the dead
And I gave empty sermons to my head
Cemetery cool & quiet
Hate to leave your sacred lay
Dread the milky coming of the day
I´d love to stay
I´d love to stay
I´d love to stay
It was the greatest night of my life
Although I still had not found a wife
I had my friends right there beside me
We scaled the wall
We tripped through the graveyard
Ancient shapes were all around us
No music but the wet grass
felt fresh beside the fog
Two made love in a silent spot
one chased a rabbit into the dark
A girl got drunk & balled the dead
And I gave empty sermons to my head
Cemetery cool & quiet
Hate to leave your sacred lay
Dread the milky coming of the day
I´d love to stay
I´d love to stay
I´d love to stay
Monday, January 13, 2003
An email from Marek - Rewriting John Maynard Keynes in 2003
"The power to become habituated to his surroundings is a marked characteristic
of mankind. Very few of us realise with conviction the intensely unusual,
unstable, complicated, unreliable, temporary nature of the economic
organisation by which American Command and Control Narcissistic Elite
Coroporations have lived for the last century.
We assume some of the most peculiar and temporary of our late advantages in
technology as natural, permanent, and to be depended on - and we lay our plans
accordingly, and on this sandy and false foundation we scheme for social
improvement and dress our political platforms, pursue our animosities and
particular ambitions...(Hello to all you guys in Washington D.C.)
The outward aspect of life does not yet teach us to feel or realise in the
least that an age is over. We are busy picking up the threads of our life where
we dropped them, with this difference only, that many of us seem a good deal
poorer than we were before - with our hopes of winning a lottery in the land of
somewhere, someday.
Where we wasted billions before (Yo, Enron boys.), we have now learnt that we
can spend hundreds of billions (on two fronts) and apparently not suffer for it
(Yo Mister President.) We look, therefore, not only to a return to the
comforts of 1980s, but to an immense broadening and intensification of them.
All classes alike thus build their plans, the rich to spend more and save less,
the poor to spend more and work less (rising tide lifs all the boats, Yeah
baby.)
But perhaps it is only in Amerika (Para Espanol press numero dos) that it is
possible to be so unconscious. In the rest of the world the earth heaves and no
one but is aware of the rumblings. There it is not just a matter of
extravagance or 'labour troubles'; but of life and death (Yo, my people in
Somalia), of starvation and existence (Yo, my people in Sudan), and of the
fearful convulsions of a dying civilisation (Farewell to you Arabian Nights of
Kurdistan)
In this winter of 2003 in which I write, we are at the dead season of our
fortunes. The reaction from the exertions, the fears, and the sufferings of the
past years is at its height. Our power of feeling or caring beyond the
immediate questions of our own material well-being is temporarily eclipsed. We
have been moved already beyond endurance, and need rest. Never in the lifetime
of men now living has the universal element in the soul of man burnt so dimly.
For these reasons the true voice of the new generation has not yet spoken"
Thank you for your attention
Marek J
---
The above was appropriated, reconfigured and adapted from John Maynard Keynes's
introduction to "The Economic Consequences of the Peace" in the year of Our Lord, The Decimal System 1919.
P.S. Thanks Tom for posting. I didn't have means during the day.
of mankind. Very few of us realise with conviction the intensely unusual,
unstable, complicated, unreliable, temporary nature of the economic
organisation by which American Command and Control Narcissistic Elite
Coroporations have lived for the last century.
We assume some of the most peculiar and temporary of our late advantages in
technology as natural, permanent, and to be depended on - and we lay our plans
accordingly, and on this sandy and false foundation we scheme for social
improvement and dress our political platforms, pursue our animosities and
particular ambitions...(Hello to all you guys in Washington D.C.)
The outward aspect of life does not yet teach us to feel or realise in the
least that an age is over. We are busy picking up the threads of our life where
we dropped them, with this difference only, that many of us seem a good deal
poorer than we were before - with our hopes of winning a lottery in the land of
somewhere, someday.
Where we wasted billions before (Yo, Enron boys.), we have now learnt that we
can spend hundreds of billions (on two fronts) and apparently not suffer for it
(Yo Mister President.) We look, therefore, not only to a return to the
comforts of 1980s, but to an immense broadening and intensification of them.
All classes alike thus build their plans, the rich to spend more and save less,
the poor to spend more and work less (rising tide lifs all the boats, Yeah
baby.)
But perhaps it is only in Amerika (Para Espanol press numero dos) that it is
possible to be so unconscious. In the rest of the world the earth heaves and no
one but is aware of the rumblings. There it is not just a matter of
extravagance or 'labour troubles'; but of life and death (Yo, my people in
Somalia), of starvation and existence (Yo, my people in Sudan), and of the
fearful convulsions of a dying civilisation (Farewell to you Arabian Nights of
Kurdistan)
In this winter of 2003 in which I write, we are at the dead season of our
fortunes. The reaction from the exertions, the fears, and the sufferings of the
past years is at its height. Our power of feeling or caring beyond the
immediate questions of our own material well-being is temporarily eclipsed. We
have been moved already beyond endurance, and need rest. Never in the lifetime
of men now living has the universal element in the soul of man burnt so dimly.
For these reasons the true voice of the new generation has not yet spoken"
Thank you for your attention
Marek J
---
The above was appropriated, reconfigured and adapted from John Maynard Keynes's
introduction to "The Economic Consequences of the Peace" in the year of Our Lord, The Decimal System 1919.
P.S. Thanks Tom for posting. I didn't have means during the day.
Looking for James Joyce's Grave
and Andy White sings...
"I found his grave
high on a hill right beside the zoo
with a beautiful view of the city
first I saw the crosslegged
bookholding cigarette smoking statue
specs slicked hair the fiery wiry
keeper and crucifier of his country's conscience
and all of our unconscious
in an autumn crescent of gold green and brown
I brushed fallen leaves off the inscription plaque
which was just beside the zoo
with a beautiful view of the city"
On January 13th, 1941 James Joyce did a Bada Bing.
Saturday, January 11, 2003
Romain Rolland: Colas Breugnon - Dobrý èlovek ešte žije
I can't find any english texts about the novel "Colas Breugnon", the masterpiece of Romain Rolland so I am quoting in Czech and Polish
"Colas Breugnon: umelec - rezbár, meš�an burgundského mesta Clamecy, poctivý, dobrého srdca so zdravou galskou veselos�ou, vierou v život a láskou k nemu. Pomocou týchto vlastností prekonáva všetky �ažkosti a vždy a radostne, smelo pozerá v ústrety k novým dòom, i keï vopred vie, že zase budú �ažké a trpké. Vie sa vždy zmieri� aj s najhorším neš�astím, nestráca nikdy humor, ktorý je zdrojom jeho životnej múdrosti, životného optimizmu."
Some tidbits: "Colas Breugnon" was a challenge for Valdimir Nabokov to translate into Russian and he did a fine job
Amazon.com has a book but you have to special order it and there is no English review. Amazon France has a review in French which I translated using google translatador contraption: "At fifty years, Breugnon Colas, robust country Burgundian of the XVII century, believes to have gained drinks it to blow a little. A pot the wine on its line, a book and a encrier in front of him, it undertakes to tell it. To tell what? All, tales of formerly and life as it is, the lived anecdote and good stories, at the rate/rhythm of the festivals and village work. The priest Short, the as faithful one to the Bottle as with the gate vault. The shepherd, the wolf and the lamb, lucid fable on the small ones of this world, always victims, even of those which claim to protect them... All that gives flesh to a rustic wisdom, rabelaisienne and lucid. "
Lovely book. Great reading. I have a copy in Polish published in 1987 and it's time to read the book again.
Did I mention Rolland got a Nobel Prize in Literature in 1915
Swety Marcin pije wino
Wode pozostawia mlynom
(french proverb in polish)
"Colas Breugnon: umelec - rezbár, meš�an burgundského mesta Clamecy, poctivý, dobrého srdca so zdravou galskou veselos�ou, vierou v život a láskou k nemu. Pomocou týchto vlastností prekonáva všetky �ažkosti a vždy a radostne, smelo pozerá v ústrety k novým dòom, i keï vopred vie, že zase budú �ažké a trpké. Vie sa vždy zmieri� aj s najhorším neš�astím, nestráca nikdy humor, ktorý je zdrojom jeho životnej múdrosti, životného optimizmu."
Some tidbits: "Colas Breugnon" was a challenge for Valdimir Nabokov to translate into Russian and he did a fine job
Amazon.com has a book but you have to special order it and there is no English review. Amazon France has a review in French which I translated using google translatador contraption: "At fifty years, Breugnon Colas, robust country Burgundian of the XVII century, believes to have gained drinks it to blow a little. A pot the wine on its line, a book and a encrier in front of him, it undertakes to tell it. To tell what? All, tales of formerly and life as it is, the lived anecdote and good stories, at the rate/rhythm of the festivals and village work. The priest Short, the as faithful one to the Bottle as with the gate vault. The shepherd, the wolf and the lamb, lucid fable on the small ones of this world, always victims, even of those which claim to protect them... All that gives flesh to a rustic wisdom, rabelaisienne and lucid. "
Lovely book. Great reading. I have a copy in Polish published in 1987 and it's time to read the book again.
Did I mention Rolland got a Nobel Prize in Literature in 1915
Swety Marcin pije wino
Wode pozostawia mlynom
(french proverb in polish)
The Light outside 4 walls
This from Jeneane - "You watch children in the country, and you know this is how it's supposed to be. Family insanity and dysfunction can't penetrate the thick borders of nature.
Inside the house, there isn't much sunlight, not much growth, stagnant. Destruction courtesy of adults.
But outside is the children's domain."
Inside the house, there isn't much sunlight, not much growth, stagnant. Destruction courtesy of adults.
But outside is the children's domain."
EGR: Burning Down The World
We are not trying to prove the world's existence. We are trying to imagine it. Together.
The together part is where the real problems begin. I can have
visions, as can you. Natural selection, celestial mechanics,
superstrings. Tarot readings, intuition, love. Are these two
categories or one? Faith and proof are at war to know, while sugar
plums dance in our heads. If all you've got is a computer, everything
looks like a cognitive process. If all you've got is paradise,
everyone looks like a lion or a lamb
A tribute to Edward Lear's nonsense
The AlphaMale and The Pussy went to the sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat:
They took some honey, lubricant and money
Wrapped up in a five dollar note.
The AlphaMale looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!
For another bedtime story please leave a message after the beep... BEEP...
In a beautiful pea-green boat:
They took some honey, lubricant and money
Wrapped up in a five dollar note.
The AlphaMale looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!
For another bedtime story please leave a message after the beep... BEEP...
Friday, January 10, 2003
Bada Bing translated into 100 languages in 24 hours.
With the help of hundreds of Bloggers worldwide (Yo, what's up Kisha in Kinshasa and Robo in Kosovo) we have been able to complete the impossible task of translating the famous phrase Bada Bing into 100 languages in 24 hours. Here we go.
English: Bada Bing
Polish: Bada Bing (Ba in Bada pronounced as Ba, as in Bada)
Kroatian: Bada Bing (alternative translation is Bada Bing)
Slolvenian: Baada Bjng
Czech: Bada Bjng (similar to Slovenian but the 'j' is longer)
Vietnamese: Baaaaddddaaaa Biiiinnngg (high pitched voice. Screaming)
Chinese: Bada Bing (tonal Ba and Bi. da and ng flat.)
Swahili: Bada Bing (the 'i' is tonal)
Hausa: Bada Bing
Yoruba: Bad Bing
German: Das Ist ein Bada Bing wahr schnitzel (it helps to say it while drinking beer)
Latin: Badass Bingus (we had to make this one up a little since Latins is a dead language and no Vatican Cardinals are blogging yet)
French: Le Terril de Bada
Swedish: Bad a Bin g (thanks to Josef from Stockholm)
Spanish: Una Bada Binga
Portugese: Bing De Bada (not sure if it's correct)
Hungarian: Badaz Za Bingaz
Romanian: Ba dada Bing (thanks to Tristan Tzara for help with translation)
Danish: Bada Bing
Russian: Bada Bjnn (g at the end of Bjnn is silent. 'a' in Bada is soft and wet like pussy)
Italian: Bingi Di Bada
Korean: Bada nuka Bing Bomb
RB made me do it.
OK, so it's only about 20ish. Translate the rest yourself.
Bada Bing to you all.
English: Bada Bing
Polish: Bada Bing (Ba in Bada pronounced as Ba, as in Bada)
Kroatian: Bada Bing (alternative translation is Bada Bing)
Slolvenian: Baada Bjng
Czech: Bada Bjng (similar to Slovenian but the 'j' is longer)
Vietnamese: Baaaaddddaaaa Biiiinnngg (high pitched voice. Screaming)
Chinese: Bada Bing (tonal Ba and Bi. da and ng flat.)
Swahili: Bada Bing (the 'i' is tonal)
Hausa: Bada Bing
Yoruba: Bad Bing
German: Das Ist ein Bada Bing wahr schnitzel (it helps to say it while drinking beer)
Latin: Badass Bingus (we had to make this one up a little since Latins is a dead language and no Vatican Cardinals are blogging yet)
French: Le Terril de Bada
Swedish: Bad a Bin g (thanks to Josef from Stockholm)
Spanish: Una Bada Binga
Portugese: Bing De Bada (not sure if it's correct)
Hungarian: Badaz Za Bingaz
Romanian: Ba dada Bing (thanks to Tristan Tzara for help with translation)
Danish: Bada Bing
Russian: Bada Bjnn (g at the end of Bjnn is silent. 'a' in Bada is soft and wet like pussy)
Italian: Bingi Di Bada
Korean: Bada nuka Bing Bomb
RB made me do it.
OK, so it's only about 20ish. Translate the rest yourself.
Bada Bing to you all.
Get your war On
When Kissinger signs a U.S Governamet paycheck, does he use a ballpoint pen, or the bloody, severed limb of an East Timorese child
Delayed Xmas Story
And it is again we are learning of a child being born onto us. Sawyer James is his name and Xmas is about him. There was another child born at this time too. His name was Jesus. They say he was a Son of God. Saywer is a son of Tom and Wendy. I grew up learning about Jesus. His mother was a virgin. She was visited by God who spoke Jesus into existence through the lips of an Angel. They say Mary, mother of Jesus, has not been with a man. She hasn't fucked Joseph. She hasn't kissed and tasted the passion from man's lips. It is a strange thing that Jesus was born in a place where animals live. It seems the story was written by a lunatic. Maybe he was.
What a strange story. They also say that few days later Kings from strange lands had visited him. Why Kings? Who cares that Kings visited him? This is all very strange.
There is nothing strange about Sawyer. We knew Tom and Wendy had passionate sex. We knew Sawyer was coming. He didn't have any freaking Kings visit him so far, has he?. (well, if he did I would be very worried). We all rejoice in his coming into this shadow world. We know this is now going to take a lot of work in rasing this child. I can dress up like a King and follow the Star but I wouldn't want 30 years from now have some Judas collect silver for betraying him. Ever since they nailed Jesus to The Cross the humanity has been in decline. So here we are in 2003 where being human is highly overrated.
What a strange story. They also say that few days later Kings from strange lands had visited him. Why Kings? Who cares that Kings visited him? This is all very strange.
There is nothing strange about Sawyer. We knew Tom and Wendy had passionate sex. We knew Sawyer was coming. He didn't have any freaking Kings visit him so far, has he?. (well, if he did I would be very worried). We all rejoice in his coming into this shadow world. We know this is now going to take a lot of work in rasing this child. I can dress up like a King and follow the Star but I wouldn't want 30 years from now have some Judas collect silver for betraying him. Ever since they nailed Jesus to The Cross the humanity has been in decline. So here we are in 2003 where being human is highly overrated.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
Out and Download
Cory Doctorow's first novel, 'Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom' is published today.
In a suitably Gonzo marketing move, Cory has posted the entire text of the book online for downloading under a Creative Commons licence today (and the link above is to his blog for the book).
I really liked the book myself (I reviewed it in September).
In a suitably Gonzo marketing move, Cory has posted the entire text of the book online for downloading under a Creative Commons licence today (and the link above is to his blog for the book).
I really liked the book myself (I reviewed it in September).
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
Jack "My Precious" Valenti continued.
Jack 'My Precious' Valenti is a powerful person. I have read his speaches and I have some thoughts on that but right now I am enjoying listing to what one reviewer describes as 'boring depressing Irish music' from the movie 'CAL'. The Irish ballads are traditional and arranged by Mark Knopfler who also plays his steel guitar. But anyway, why would I be mention this to you, dear reader? Who should you care what music inspires me and makes me depressed, and reminds me about all the moments of kissing her hot lips in the October rain and heartbreak when I saw her face for the last time while the train was carrying her off to 'I'll never see you again' land. But the music is on and her hot young lips are frozen in time, My Precious.
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
Sunday, January 05, 2003
blogadji blogeri blogbimba
blogadji blogeri blogbimba bloglandridi laula lonni cadori
blogadjama blogramma berida bimbala bloglandri blogalassassa laulitalomini
blogadji blogeri bin blassa bloglassala laula lonni cadorsu sassala bim
blogadjama tuffm i zimzalla binban blogligia wowolimai blogbin blogberi blogban
o katalominal rhinocerossola hopsamen laulitalomini hoooo
blogadjama rhinozerossola hopsamen
bloguku terullala blogaulala bada bing blooooo...
Blogamen
Dada ist das Leben ohne Pantoffeln und Parallelen
Wir sind nicht naiv
Wir folgen aufeinander
Wir sind exclusiv
Wir sind nicht einfach
und wir können die Intelligenz gut diskutieren
Bada Bing to you all
Wir folgen aufeinander
Wir sind exclusiv
Wir sind nicht einfach
und wir können die Intelligenz gut diskutieren
Bada Bing to you all
Bloggadada Manifesto
My body is a corpse. When I attach a keyboard to it and write I attempt to prove there is life in it after all. Doing it alone I may be failing but I have inexhaustible voices of humanity breathing life into me.
postblogger pre-theoretical protocol
"...the satisfaction of unhealthy curiosity; private bell-ringing for inexplicable needs; bath; pecuniary difficulties; a stomach with repercussions on to life; the authority of the mystical baton formulated as the grand finale of a phantom orchestra with mute bows, lubricated by philtres with a basis of animal ammonia. With the blue monocle of an angel they have dug out its interior for twenty sous worth of unanimous gratitude. If all of them are right, and if all pills are only Pink, let's try for once not to be right....
this cross-blog citation in honor of Fishrush began here (well, actually it began here) and continues here (in comments), but feel free to continue it anywhere you like.
Saturday, January 04, 2003
Japanease Fool
The Fool says:
"Man is born crying. When he has cried enough, he dies"
I haven't died yet.
The Chaos remains
Nigerian Letters Attack continues
I need to drink more water
"Man is born crying. When he has cried enough, he dies"
I haven't died yet.
The Chaos remains
Nigerian Letters Attack continues
I need to drink more water
Friday, January 03, 2003
Post Blogger Post Modernity.
Raskolnikv Raskolnikov Raskolnikov
Raskolnikv Raskolnikov Raskolnikov
BadaBing the Old Lady
BadaBing the Old Lady
Raskolnikv Raskolnikov Raskolnikov
OK. That was a Limeric interlude.
Now back to reading "Something Happened" by Joseph Heller to see what exciting things are going to be happening in the year 2003. I am sure Something Will Happen and I will be Happy.
Back soon after I finish the those 500 pages of pure pleasure of life in a Beautiful Society of American Culture. (and for the record I am afraid of everybody in my office and each one of them is afraid of me but they don't know I am afraid of them but I know that they are afraid of me but they don't know that I know that.)
Fishrush! We miss you!
Raskolnikv Raskolnikov Raskolnikov
BadaBing the Old Lady
BadaBing the Old Lady
Raskolnikv Raskolnikov Raskolnikov
OK. That was a Limeric interlude.
Now back to reading "Something Happened" by Joseph Heller to see what exciting things are going to be happening in the year 2003. I am sure Something Will Happen and I will be Happy.
Back soon after I finish the those 500 pages of pure pleasure of life in a Beautiful Society of American Culture. (and for the record I am afraid of everybody in my office and each one of them is afraid of me but they don't know I am afraid of them but I know that they are afraid of me but they don't know that I know that.)
Fishrush! We miss you!
Thursday, January 02, 2003
Visionary
Because over the past few years, more money has
been spent on breast implants and Viagra than is
spent on Alzheimer's Disease research, it is
believed that by the year 2030 there will be a
large number of people wandering around with huge
breasts and erections...who can't remember what
to do with them.
been spent on breast implants and Viagra than is
spent on Alzheimer's Disease research, it is
believed that by the year 2030 there will be a
large number of people wandering around with huge
breasts and erections...who can't remember what
to do with them.
Crock o' Locke...
On the day my friend Christopher Locke
Woke to find himself deeply in hock
He reneged on his promise
To fill the space between commas
With answers that really would rock.
To be interviewed on Sandhill Trek
He had foolishly stuck out his neck
But he tucked in his chin
and he said with a grin
I'd rather be earning a check.
Readers are encouraged to pick any three of the following words to frame another one of the incredible limericks authored by the street artist formerly known as Frank: Lock, flock, sock cock, crock, jock, pock, nock, mock, bach, bock, wok, dock, shock, fock, gawk, tick-tock, block, clock, ach!
Woke to find himself deeply in hock
He reneged on his promise
To fill the space between commas
With answers that really would rock.
To be interviewed on Sandhill Trek
He had foolishly stuck out his neck
But he tucked in his chin
and he said with a grin
I'd rather be earning a check.
Readers are encouraged to pick any three of the following words to frame another one of the incredible limericks authored by the street artist formerly known as Frank: Lock, flock, sock cock, crock, jock, pock, nock, mock, bach, bock, wok, dock, shock, fock, gawk, tick-tock, block, clock, ach!
Fooey On Frank
Down a blog titled Gonzo Engaged
My mouse wheel had thorougly paged.
When I found nothing funny
I set off to make money
At which Paynter became quite enraged.
Time to Renew my Poetic License
Long dead is Edmund Bentley.
He never seemed that friendly.
One prize that he will never win
Is seeing his name in print again.
- Clerihew T. Clown
There once was a fellow named Marks,
Blogging wireless out in the parks.
He'd sip from his thermos
And blog something earnest
While regretting that he'd left the little tupperware container of melon chunks in the front seat of his car back in the parking lot near his office, then thinking that the chunks of melon reminded him of little 53 byte ATM cells, whereas the whole melon from which they were cut could be thought of as a 1500 byte IP packet, and finally pondering whether it would be easier to jam a whole melon down a land line, or alternatively to atomize the sucker and broadcast it wireless - ignoring privacy and security issues of course -
Chumming bits for the virtual sharks.
He never seemed that friendly.
One prize that he will never win
Is seeing his name in print again.
- Clerihew T. Clown
There once was a fellow named Marks,
Blogging wireless out in the parks.
He'd sip from his thermos
And blog something earnest
While regretting that he'd left the little tupperware container of melon chunks in the front seat of his car back in the parking lot near his office, then thinking that the chunks of melon reminded him of little 53 byte ATM cells, whereas the whole melon from which they were cut could be thought of as a 1500 byte IP packet, and finally pondering whether it would be easier to jam a whole melon down a land line, or alternatively to atomize the sucker and broadcast it wireless - ignoring privacy and security issues of course -
Chumming bits for the virtual sharks.
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
Clerihews & Limericks
Frank, a limerick is supposed to scan properly, and has 5 lines rhyming AABBA. A clerihew is the four line one with arbitrarily silly line lengths rhyming AABB, with the first line being someones name:
Clerihews:
Christopher Locke
Likes to shock.
If you're easily enraged,
You probably should avoid Reading Gonzo Engaged
Frank Paynter
's hopes are growing fainter
of his Chris Locke interview going ahead.
He'll just have to keep speculating about packet routing and Quality of Service instead.
Clerihews:
Christopher Locke
Likes to shock.
If you're easily enraged,
You probably should avoid Reading Gonzo Engaged
Frank Paynter
's hopes are growing fainter
of his Chris Locke interview going ahead.
He'll just have to keep speculating about packet routing and Quality of Service instead.
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