Life in the Empire
The intellectuals are revolting
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Permalink Reply by Mouse on
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nothing
nothing
. in tears. nothing.
It was business. athere were agreements.
there were dogs to eat. Let's not forget there was a whole aircraft to disemble. only the empty air -
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Permalink Reply by waldopaper on
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"Damn. Tell the truth and lose your job. Seems to be a lot of that going around."
Yeah. The Elephant in the room. Nazi Germany. Everybody has seen the elephant. Capital letters. Slavery. The Team. You gotta be careful how you talk about the elephant, Undercover Boss. Some people can not see the elephant because they are upside-down in elephant shit,
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yep mouse-- that link is as good as any. Climate shite. Hottest year. All that stuff is out there. Party on!
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Permalink Reply by pan on
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Meanwhile, environmentalists "fret" amidst Exxon's prediction of a new American oil dominance.
“Peak oil theorists have been run out of town by American ingenuity.”
After all, what's the point in having a job or house or indeed an environmentally viable planet if you can't have cheap gas for your car?
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Permalink Reply by BO on
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I liked this comment...
"Driver of runaway express train, hurtling towards cliff edge, reassures nervous passengers that there's no danger of running out of fuel before they get there."
I wonder if Exxon plans to buy up all the soon-to-be-out-of-business oil drillers in the Bakken.
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Our Hydrocarbon Overlords have busted open their piggy banks like our Capital Overlords did in 2008. The Zappa wall-at-the-back-of-the-theatre moment happened in 2000-1 when the elections were hijacked and the buildings came crashing down. Georgie the Bushfuck got the same message as everybody else. They are invisible. They own the theatre. They are going to gobble up everything liquid and waddle away to their henyard fiefdoms to shit gold Faberge Egg turd piles. Just one hurry-to-the-henyard butt-nugget could buy a third-world country,
Or developing nation... because we forgot what the other two worlds were. Whatever it is we call those poor bongo longo heathen savages getting the poop end as usual. Until young Billy gets lost on the way home from football practice and gets turned out as a boxcar punk with hickies on this hemmroids all the way to the cerebral cortex. Then lamprey-lipped sycophants blaze kissy-butt trail to mythos marrow cracking bone memories and dreams. All of a sudden, we are the poor longo and the cops are throwing us out in the street. We'll have just enough cash to drive to the grinder and be burped into a lagoon of hog shit.
Not like we didn't see it coming. Lincoln saw it coming too when he looked at the portal. You can't stop what's coming. You don't know what's on the other side. He knew it was a metaphor or a symbol or something. Lincoln wasn't stupid. But it made a stark shape against a stark November sky. We had just enough money to by gas and drive ourselves to the portal. We thought of the gatehouse shape all the way up the ladder. We looked at the giant shit impellers grinding soupy sales below and jumped down the hopper like everybody else without a baby parrot fart effort to dig anything deeper than graves.
All the comic opera players were in costume, musicians, speeches and horse flies with broad gestures to make the audience howl with laughter if the actors were wearing red clown-noses and face-paint. After all the firecrackers went off, most were wearing blackface and fried-egg eyes with sneaky comma yolks in the corner. That's when they invented the songs... and after that... vaudeville. Abe Lincoln turned into Al Jolson and then comes the honk and the pie.
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Then lamprey-lipped sycophants blaze kissy-butt trail to mythos marrow cracking bone memories and dreams.
That is a fucking beautiful sentence Jeb.
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