I am happy to offer up my quips and pearls of wisdom, my lapidary analyses and spot-on insights on these front pages of Protein Wisdom, but I wish to bring to your attention once again and after a too-great hiatus the tremendous efforts of our colleagues at the Protein Wisdom Pub. Among those deserving notice are RTO Trainer with positive news from Afghanistan, where hopiness and changeitude, it is said, often go to die (in considerable agony), like some elephant graveyard of dashed neocon expectations. They mourn, they trumpet their blasts of sorrow, verily they weep, starve, wither and expire. Their dessicated carcasses litter the plain, and now the buzzards wheel and alight, bolting down great gobbets of putrefying flesh. Not.
Serr8d also puts in a wonderful performance, recounting in detail inspiring visions of American defeat presaged by great statesmen in lofty oratory–the Cassandras of our present-day dejection. I hope it is not too maudlin for one to recall to memory the words of these courageous speakers of truth to power, for it is in realizing the profound and unremitting darkness of our present tattered condition only that we are able to see ourselves as really we are in all the dismal spectacle’s piteous pathos.
Nor may I withhold to consider the deep psychological insight offered by Lost My Cookies. Why, he is a very Arthur Miller in his presentation of the bathyspheric depths wherein dwells the American male, shackled to his grinding wheel of Sisyphean slavishness to a system that counts him as but a cog, a gear, a lever perhaps or widget, a soulless automaton crushed by the weight of late capitalism. O! how bitter it is, and how difficult I find it not to seek succor by battening onto religion and guns, like some prehensile lamprey, which those who succeed me must needs then pry (the guns and religion rather than the lamprey) from the still febrile grip of my cold, dead hands.
And if this blog were more considerate of their wretchedness . . . well, I leave it to those who know more of workplace dangers and maladies to speak of it . . . but I doubt it’s ortho-whatever. Do you know in what hazardous and viscous and soul-sapping substance they labor up to their sweaty armpits? It is what is sometimes referred to as obscurity. And if the eeeevil Bushies had more compunction, certainly it would not be so.
Can we not compassionate them? Are they not men?
I’ve been on a kimchee kick. It’s kind of expensive, but darn tasty. The one I get comes from Hawaii. Maybe Trader Joe’s has it cheaper. I’ll check next time I go.
No, you will be ripped off by Trader Joe’s. You must go to a local Korean grocery. I beg you.
I mean, before it’s burned down.
So, stock up is what I’m saying.
“You must go to a local Korean grocery”
Do they bury their own?
After the burnings, you mean? I suppose so.
Oh. Koreatown, I could do that. It would be a quest. Those posts in the pub, they were a lot of effort… Serr8d’s is a lot bookmarkworthy to go back to I think.
It’s really astounding to see it just laid bare like that. The Conservative Party in the U.K., they didn’t agitate for their own country’s defeat like this. I wonder what that means.
It means (if I may be so bold) that they are not Labour.
“#Comment by Dan Collins on 7/25 @ 5:28 pm #
After the burnings, you mean? I suppose so.”
no, the kimchi they sell.
Alas! no! It is buried in Korea before exportation. Or, like Dracula, buried in the ship’s hold on its way to this benighted land. Only, as far as I know, it doesn’t kill anyone on its way here.
Forget it, Jack. It’s Koreatown.
Great movie, Lord Somber.
Baracky’s tips for thicker lashes.
That was a leftover from the other day.
Oh, there will be thick lashes for everybody here, happyfeet, if Baracky wins.
“Oh, there will be thick lashes for everybody here, happyfeet, if Baracky wins.”
You’re not helping Mrs. O!’s kids with comments like that.
Mascara for everyone! What’s not to like?
I think you should invite Karen Tumulty to the pub. She seems like a pubby girl, and I bet she’d bring pictures of her recent trip.
That’s what I like. Boozy girls with big breasts.
Also, like Dylan Thomas, I write all my poetry in cataleptic tetrameter.
Plus she’s a professional and could explain the finer points of makeup application with the clarity of a Serious Journalist.
Hey now. Karen Tumulty knows Ana Marie Cox personally.
Hah. What y’all need I think is some choice propaganda. Here is a choice morsel I think.
Adam Schreck. Remember that name, people. This one has a bright AP future.
This morning I drove by Wal-Mart and was forced to buy gas at three cents off. And while I was there I was waterboarded until I bought the 35 ounce store brand coffee for $5.30.
And it would be better for the world, I think, if all of the disabled people working at my local Wal-Mart were off at Six Flags where they belong. Let’s face it, heat stroke on the public dime is better than $7.00 an hour for saying hello and stocking shelves.