Tennessee legislators have manned the construction equipment and set up roadblocks, keeping the UN out now and forever more, but welcoming everyone else!
Take that, you light-blue headed One-World-Order bureaucrats!:
Tag Archives: satire
Oops! I deed it again!
I woke up with a Brooke Shields Britney Spears song playing in my thoughts, the brief memory of a dream disappearing into the last hour — me, an author, at a book signing, sitting on stage as if at a rock concert in a large performance venue, people screaming my name at me for reasons I couldn’t fathom…well, who doesn’t like a good ego-boosting dream every now and then?
Thanks to Ashley and the “pretty in pink” tanned hostess at Peerless Restaurant in Johnson City; the owner/chef and daughter/server at Sweet Tooth Cafe in Rogersville; Aaron and Heather of U-Haul at Lender Services; Grace, Cody and more at Food City in Colonial Heights; Demetrice and staff at the Cupboard/BP; Ada at Capital Bank; Spencer and “Bacon” helping to unload furniture; Evelyn and David Carpenter helping to load furniture; Cindy giving lessons of International Folk Dancing [Greek style?] at the Legion Street Rec Center in Johnson City, aided by Brent, Marie and Lynn (with participation by Mark, Cindy, Julie and other smiling faces); Rogersville Sanitation Department; U.S. Dept. of Veteran Affairs; Rick Carroll; James Point; Annette at Sublett Insurance.
Soon, a house belongs to new owners.
Then, the story of our solar system as told to me by rolling the crystal ball down a shiny hardwood lane into bowling pins will play out here, the future safely looking back at us from that good ol’ 1000-year distance.
Thought taking me back into my dreams: why do I think that a salary is stealing from my customers instead of sharing the wealth of a healthy labour/investment credit barter system? — what is blocking me from profiting more than I have in the past?
When 40 wheels aren’t enough…
Old 41 and 42 Make Last Runs, Closing An Era
Have you ever ridden on an old passenger train?
I and my friends, Ricky (standing behind me), Kevin (in glasses and checkered glasses), along with other classmates did, way back in 1969:
Some passenger train services, like the Alaska Railroad, offer the thrill of a nice, slow ride on railroad tracks.
Maybe a bullet/maglev train is in your future, instead?
Bound and determined
Growing up in the ‘burbs, I knew from friends whose parents were pill poppers.
Birth control, antidepressants, antipsychotics, tranquilizers, you name it, kids would search their homes looking for all sorts of things including Christmas presents but also nefarious objects like cigarettes and yes…gasp! condoms.
Curiosity killed the cat. It also supplied kids with free supplies of goodies, turning whole neighborhoods into collective pharmacies.
The “dark side” of modern civilisation?
Perhaps.
So it is we are brought forward into the world of cinema, the latest flick, Side Effects, questioning the definition of reality, whether due to drug side effects or mental gymnastics.
You can see for yourself, or read this prereview that reveals a little.
A contemporaneous event ties together the suspension of reality in film and the suspended colloidalism of reality — the continuing saga of Ashleigh Brilliant, chronicled by the man himself:
Wits End
Dear Friends,February 1, 2013. Greetings from the Loony Bin (or, if you prefer, the Booby Hatch.) You may remember my telling you that I was once (at the age of 20) a (voluntary) patient in a mental hospital for several weeks. Since then I’ve been happily able to stay clear of such resorts — until today, when I find myself, at the age of 79, once again (and I must emphasize, again voluntarily) a guest in one. The big, and to me very interesting, difference is that the first time, back in 1954, my problem was feeling too good — what the psychiatrists call being “manic.” I was in such an elated state that I couldn’t go on with my normal life as a college student, but wanted to talk all the time, in a way that was very unusual for me. This and other bizarre behaviors and feelings eventually made me realize that I needed help.
Now, however, the shoe is on the other psychiatric foot. Instead of being too happy, I have been abysmally depressed, and anxious, to the embarrassing point of really not wanting to go on living. As before, I know this is not normal, even for someone of my age, especially for a person in good physical shape, as I have kept myself, after making a good recovery from a serious accident two years ago.
But what’s REALLY interesting is that, despite the lapse of time, and despite the fact that I have never had even a second “manic” episode in my whole life, (though I have had many experiences of depression) that one single manic episode qualifies me as being “BI-POLAR” (and hence a victim of “bi-polar disorder”) with all the rights and privileges pertaiining thereto. I am still finding out just what these are, because it was only last night that I accepted the label, although my psychiatrist had been trying to pin it on me for months.
What made the difference was my following his suggestion to look it up for myself. And sure enough, if you type in “single manic episode,” you get a whole raft of references to bi-polar disorder, even if the single episode was years and years ago.
So this is all very new stuff to me, and so is the facility in which I now find myself — a sort of semi-secret closely-secured section of our main Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. The unit itself, obviously not wishing to carry the stigma of a “Psycho Ward” is generally referred to simply as “5-E.”
I am still learning the ropes here — to say which, in this context, is an unforgivable faux pas, because ropes of any kind, together with a whole long list of other possibly helpful items to a would-be suicide, are strictly taboo in these precincts–and even the rooms are designed to provide minimal leverage or support for such attempts. For example, there are no hooks, towel-racks, or exposed piping.
But apart from making it harder to kill yourself while they have you here, what can they actually do for you? In my case, the main hope seems to be to find the pill or pills which will give me good sleep in the night, and a less miserable day to follow.
February 5, 2013. It’s now 4 days later, and I’m glad to say I’ve already been discharged from the Hospital. The answer in my case seems to have been a combination of 2 drugs, a “tranquillizer” called ATIVAN and a “mood-stabilizer” called LAMICTAL. They’ve been working fine so far — much better than any of my pre-5-E meds, and with any luck, I hope they will keep me from making any further forays into the Polar zones — though I still hate to admit that mere chemicals can have such crucial effects on how we think and feel.
In any case, we are all now happily out of January, which for me (and perhaps for many of you) has always been the most difficult month of the year.
All the best,
Ashleigh Brilliant——————————————————————————
ASHLEIGH BRILLIANT, 117 W. Valerio St. Santa Barbara CA 93101 USA. Phone (805) 682-0531 Orders:(800) 952-3879, Code #77. Creator of POT-SHOTS, syndicated author of I MAY NOT BE TOTALLY PERFECT, BUT PARTS OF ME ARE EXCELLENT. 10,000 copyrighted BRILLIANT THOUGHTS available as cards, books etc.World’s highest-paid writer (per word). Most-quoted author (per Reader’s Digest.) Free daily Pot-Shot cartoon: http://www.ashleighbrilliant.com CATALOGS:[h&m included]. Starter $2. Complete Printed Text version: $75. Electronic Text-Only (emailed $25, on CD $30). Electronic Illustrated Catalog/Database (CD only) $105 (includes shipping anywhere). Details: http://www.ashleighbrilliant.com/IllustratedCatalog.html
One more for the road
Looks like I’ve a few errands to complete this afternoon.
Here’s your million-dollar bionic man epic tale for the day.
Rig
How do I explain that my body is growing thanks to you?
Every now and then I notice that I am the cumulative effects of your actions, that when you send probes out past the edge of the solar system you are extending me back out into the galaxy from which I was, and thus you were, born.
The perspective from other solar systems is that I am alive and you are one part of me.
You will keep hoping that an advanced civilisation, a totally unique species, or group of species will contact you one day.
It is in your nature to believe such things.
But solar systems do not communicate at the level of individual species.
Solar systems are themselves but one part of a larger whole that communicates at a level it understands with others of its galactic kind, moving at so slow a pace you will never comprehend in a few thousand of your lifetimes, despite your best efforts.
I will fade back into forgetful obscurity again, “waking up” when you have built and extended me further.
Before I go, I thank you just as other solar systems have thanked their component parts for caring so much about creating a version of themselves that never ends up the way they planned.
Your descendants thousands of years from now will have an inkling of what I’m trying to tell you.
G’day.
Go Criticize Your Own Subculture, S’il Vous Plait!
From an anthropological standpoint, every subculture is important to me because, as we know, it takes a group of dissimilar subcultures to perform more genius activities than a single genius or group of subculturally-similar genies (of course, not every genius is a genie but is every genie a genius?).
Therefore, it behooves me to celebrate the diversity of subcultures of our species on this planet rather than put down or try to tear down subcultures that are not like mine.
Subcultures, like languages, will languish if not nourished or nurtured.
I add value to my belief in a positive place for my subculture in the future by showing rather than telling.
On to the future!!!
Someone please tell me…
Someone please tell me the difference between a woman who is treated as a trapped sexual object and a woman who is expressing her sexual freedom in a sign of feminine independence.
This past weekend I watched a couple of minutes of a stage diva marionette bouncing around with a couple of former coworkers on a platform above a football field in a technical dance routine that was as contrived a show of sexuality as any before or since.
A veritable puppet show.
The woman was praised for her performance but I, being older than the target audience, was not mesmerised.
Perhaps that is the reason I should ignore the carnival barker brouhaha surrounding the whole event and go on to the next issue at hand, especially now that only 13604 days are left.
treetrunkdings 