Like any number of other decidedly ordinary men, Larry spent his weekdays toiling in a six-foot by six-foot cubed space, his blandly carpeted corporate cut-out defined by three identically-sized particle-board walls, each littered with sticky notes whose scribbled messages he never revisited—the whole of his working world punctuated by the perpetual hum of a bank of fluorescent rack lights. On most days, Larry would make phone calls, or take phone
April 2005
“Listen children to a story that was written long ago…”
Those of you who like to taste your news—to get a feel for it, to luxuriate in its odors—will genuinely appreciate this intimate account of time spent in Ward Churchill’s bailiwick by the Weekly Standard‘s Matt Labash. From “The Ward Churchill Notoriety Tour”: […] I step out into Sproul Plaza, where Mario Savio launched the Free Speech Movement in 1964. I head toward the GAP, which now sits adjacent to
BREAKING: “Lynndie England to Plead Guilty in Iraq Abuse Case”
Reuters: The female U.S. reservist soldier who posed before naked Iraqi prisoners as they were being abused at Abu Ghraib will plead guilty to seven of nine charges against her, her lawyer said on Friday. Lynndie England, 22, became the face of the Iraq prisoner abuse scandal after photos of her posing before humiliated Iraqi prisoners were published last year. One showed her holding an Iraqi detainee on a leash.
Allegory
This same thing once happened to me—only in my case, the phone was half a meatball sandwich, and the strange behavior that seemed to mimic predictable electronic functionality was forty-eight hours of light vomiting and the inability, to this day, to keep down anything that’s been simmering in an oregano-heavy tomato paste.
This being Friday and all, we’re awaiting a certain something from a certain aloof, 9-banded Dasypus
Sorry, but said 9-banded Dasypus took it upon himself to chew through my Caligula DVD, so I beat him with a loaf of French bread and sent him to bed without any supper. Fucking unrated version, too. Stupid, stupid beast.
The “I wanted to write a poem for Frank Black from the show ‘Millennium‘“ poem
for Lara Means I wanted to write a poem for Frank Black, but I had a really hard time finding a rhyme for ‘apocalypse.’ So, y’know—fuck it.
“The yin and yang of intimate interpersonal relationships post, 8” (from the pw conceptual series)
yin: “Would you do me a favor, honey, and fetch me about a half teaspoon of those dried marjoram leaves from the pantry? I’m experimenting on a traditional Cioppino, and I don’t want to overstate the sauteed garlic.” yang: “I understood ‘teaspoon.’ Beyond that? All gibberish.”
Odd, Ends
1. Confederate Yankee asks if West Point “is poised to make a rule change in favor of the athletics department that cheapens–no, guts– the longstanding code of ‘Duty. Honor. Country’ that is West Point’s soul.” 2. Mac at pull on superman’s cape welcomes new site contributor, James Pell—“one of the heroes of India Company and someone who has stories to tell of his service in Iraq (as well as Bosnia
Good question.
Can I dress her in a Catholic school girl uniform—with the knee-socks and the shiny patent leather shoes?
