The Tepid Aspects of His Technical Hunching,pt.1

The Tepid Aspects of His Technical Hunching

            We begin with male nipples and their uselessness; they are an obvious proof, not only of evolution, but of the non-existence of any cosmic intelligence working behind the scenes to guide the universe and the design of its multiform structures.  Understand, I hate religion in general and Christianity in specific.  I hate Jesus and everything he stood for.  He wasn’t just a misunderstood teacher of peace and love; he was a madman who said, “I am god—obey and venerate me.”  The fact that so many have killed in his name only gives me more reason to abhor him and disassociate myself from his cult.  I would have my nipples removed, but for the weird fantasy that some Christian familiar with science and yet fearful of its ramifications might misinterpret my actions.

            …

Parrots, pt.4, (conclusion)

Here’s another question: how many times has Metal been declared dead?  I remember in the late 1980’s when critics were talking about the “resurgence of Metal” as if it had ever went away!  Then Nirvana came along and all the Metal bands were swept aside by some bean counter in an office somewhere.  All these “Rock journalists” breathed a collective sigh of relief and said, “Well, now that that’s over…”  But it didn’t go away, did it?  No, Metal keeps growing, expanding its empire and the diversity of its expression.  Lemmy says he doesn’t like the multiplicity of genres, decrying this-metal and that-metal, but, as blasphemous as this is to say, I don’t give a shit what Lemmy has to say about Metal.  Or Henry Rollins or Chuck Klosterman or Sam Dunn or any of the other usual commentators.

            …

Parrots, pt.3

How many times have you heard some pundit say that the guitar solo in a song should only be long enough to open another beer?  I say guitar solos should not only be as long as necessary, but they should be paid attention to.  Wouldn’t it be great if audiences heeded Hendrix’s words and sat down with their eyes closed and actually listened to the music?  Unfortunately, Metal concerts seem to be exercises in screaming and violence.   One more reason I don’t go see many bands.

            …

Parrots, pt. 2

Metal has always been misunderstood, sometimes by its own proponents.  Chuck Klosterman, who has dubiously been anointed as some kind of expert on Metal, doesn’t see the value of guitar solos.  Yet appreciation of instrumental virtuosity has always been one of the primary elements of the metal scene.  People who think that the defining characteristic of Metal is the celebration of gore and perversion are dead wrong.  Metal has a great deal in common with Jazz.  Maybe that’s why Springsteen-loving critics of the Rock-will-save-the-world school can’t stand it.  As John Lennon once said of Jazz: “I’ve been trying to avoid it all my life.”

            …

Hello Parrots of the New Age Sophistry, pt. 1

Hello Parrots of the New Age Sophistry

            Many of today’s top sludge metal bands have cited Black Flag’s 1983 album My War as a primary influence on their work.  Isn’t it strange, then, how many mainstream music critics have described that album as totally without merit?  Don’t worry: as Sludge and its sisters Stoner and Doom metal continue to rise in popularity and proliferation, the day is fast approaching when new critics will appear who praise this music and its antecedents.  Just look at what happened to Black Sabbath.  I remember when Tony Iommi was dismissed as “inept.”  I remember when Ozzy went to Russia with Bon Jovi and some other lightweights and the Rolling Stone people were stunned to discover that all the Russian kids cared about was Ozzy and his connection to Black Sabbath.  Punk is much more closely related to Metal than “Garage rock.”  One day Black Flag will be categorized with the metalheads far more than with the punks.

Bricko, pt. 4 (conclusion)

            That evening at the camp, Dirk, who was Bricko’s brother-in-law, took his tin plate of beans to where Elaine was eating and sat down beside her on a disused dynamite crate.

            “Don’t take it so hard,” he advised, shoveling beans directly into his mouth from the lip of the plate.  “Once we get back home all the world will be talking about lizard-camels and giraffe-men.  Old Burnstein thinks he found a picture of Lyndon Johnson.”

            Elaine, sitting on her own dynamite crate, waited until she had taken a swig from her bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon (provided by the Pabst Brewing Company in the interests of furthering Man’s intellectual development) before replying.

            “I’m not really upset about that,” she insisted.  “It’s just that I, foolishly perhaps, thought that I’d have more of an opportunity to utilize my creative side on this expedition.”

            Dirk nodded.

            “You should have joined Dr. Abchu’s team,” he told Elaine.  “They’re designing the capital city.”

            …

Bricko, pt. 3

“They do look like ‘lizard-camels,’” Bricko laughed, squatting before a stack of Elaine’s rubbings.  “However, I think we’d better call them B1-type images until we determine whether or not any such creatures inhabit the region, or indeed, any part of the continent.”  He patted Elaine on the shoulder as he stood up.

            “But,” Elaine demurred, “Just as a slang term—for fun…”

            “There’s no room for slang in semantics,” Bricko returned.  “Nor is semantics for ‘fun.’”

            “I suppose…” Elaine sighed.

            “Look,” Bricko tried to mollify his assistant.  “Dirk’s found something that looks very much like a giraffe-man.”  He pointed to a boulder roughly a quarter mile away.  “I’m not letting him label it as such on the rubbings.  It’s C2 and 3-types until further notice.”

            …

Bricko, pt. 2

“Elaine,” Rollins Bricko addressed one of his assistants, “Start by making a rubbing of this section here.”  The bearded researcher indicated a cluster of petroglyphs on the immense boulder before them.  Elaine, a talented artist selected from among thousands of applicants by the Smithsonian to accompany Bricko on his exploration of the area around Mounts McCartney, Snoopy, and Roddenberry, watched as dozens of animal-like figures appeared on the paper beneath her even strokes of charcoal.  She saw them as lizard-camels, but knew she should wait for Bricko’s expert interpretation.

            …

Rollins Bricko Examines Some Mysterious Petroglyphs, pt.1

Rollins Bricko Examines Some Mysterious Petroglyphs

            Among the first people to explore the continent of Kigathega following its sudden appearance was the quasi-Polish-American semantics expert Rollins Bricko.  It was he that found the so-called “Macadamian” petroglyphs on the boulders scattered over the grassy slopes leading up to Mount McCartney.

            “The possibility that these images could have been carved by humans is remote, obviously,” Bricko later explained.

            “Why ‘obviously?’” asked the fat man charged with interviewing Bricko.

            “Because,” laughed Bricko contemptuously, “No humans had ever set foot on Kigathega before Captain Roolard and his crew three years ago.”

            Of course, this remark was met with anger and derision by the conspiracy theorists and the enthusiasts of extraterrestrial meddling, but it is not within the purview of this article to deal with the merits of such people’s arguments and beliefs.  Rather, I shall attempt to summarize the story of Rollins Bricko’s discovery and examination of the mysterious carvings and highlight some of the more interesting events and ramifications of that discovery.

            …

Just a Question

Does anybody know why Blogger automatically inserts an empty line between the last and the next-to-last sentences of my text?   Not that I actually expect anyone to answer: in seven years of doing this blog I have not received ONE e-mail from anyone who has read it.
Anyway, I've just gotten tired of editing the paragraphs back together and left them with the spaces, as you can see.
By the way, if you're wondering why, if I want feedback, I haven't enabled comments to be posted on this site, let me explain: comments not only strongly tend towards the highly tangential, but often degenerate into abuse. One can see this on just about any website that offers readers a chance to comment.  If someone really wants to tell me (not the rest of the world) how he feels about my content, then he can send me a personal message via e-mail.  The address is toadsgoboad@gmail.com

Green Frozen Eyes pt. 10 (conclusion)

Cash-Strapped in the Gradient of Bald

            After experimenting with a number of emollients, Fristo, the quantonium mechanism, eventually followed his mother’s advice and bought a bottle of Endemicus.

            “This is getting expensive,” he complained to a friend.

            The latter, a nocturnal black penny from the Ginflood district, asked around the old neighborhood for information on this obscure brand.

Green Frozen Eyes pt. 9

This package not labeled for individual retail sale.

            In commenting on these events I have refrained from passing judgment on the participants.  However, it must be said that Elaine’s attitude often angered people.

June is a Stalwart Vessel, Possessed of Steam

            “Will you never get it right?” Malarko demanded sourly.  I knew he was referring to the nocturnal black pennies which I had promised to explain once the moon had been filled with long, lingering guitar notes.

            “It’s a matter of duration,” I tried to make him understand.