Archive for the ‘Satire’ Category

For every woman that is sick of references of grown women jumping on a chair and screaming like a little school girl at the sight of a little mice, this short video is for you! (more…)

Greetings fellow citizens.

My name is Surface Earth.

I welcome you this evening to improve my life and my future income.

See, if you vote for me,

My ego will inflate,

My social circle will inflate,

And down the road,

I can make lots and lots of money from that,

And,

Have friends in power to give me tax cuts,

So even though shopping for food, gas, homes may be difficult for you,

I will be in good stead.

And oh yeah?

“God bless America!”

Here we go.

Here we go.

Here we go again.

Trolling Virtual Earth.

This time, we have to admit, we had to depart the Matrix and enter the physical world. Actually had to park a car, walk, heavy footed on concrete ground and enter—-gasp—an independent bookstore. Yes that’s right. An independent beautiful world affirming bookstore. Shucks, to think we aren’t even gonna tell you where this gem is….ok….we might…but not today.

“Confessions of a Rogue Novelist“….

back cover sent to you via virtual earth compliments of surface earth, the liason of virtuality meeting physicality……..

“A Word

Confessions of a Rogue Novelist takes a hard look at the world of Commercial Book Publishing-a world of shock, shlock, and celebrity.

The catchword of this depraved New World is: ‘quality is taboo’. Claiming that good books don’t sell, [let's not forget, Harry Potter's unfortunate trips through slush piles], too many agents, editors, and publishers have driven quality away from the marketplace.

Dedicated to the Unpublished Novelist and The Unhappily Published Writer, Confessions of a Rogue Novelist suggest an alterantive route to breaking into print. This route is not without peril and is definitely not for the timid. But if the ourtcast is to win his own world–if quality is to find its long-deprived audience–it is a path worth taking.

A.J. Liebling once remarked, “There is Freedom of the Press if you’re rich enough to own one.” And so you won’t find anything like Confessions of a Rogue Novelist in what passes for New Grub Street today.

But Confessions, having been published away from the marketplace,away form the rubbish heap of the big commercial houses, raises some disturbing, even revolutionary questuions about the current book scene. And it does this with style and penetrating insight.”

The author of “Confessions of a Rogue Novelist” is identified as I. Yevish.

Once upon a time

A long, long time ago

(I think)

there was a peach tree

and a village

which grew

around it.

Many

Many

Many Grandmothers

and

Grandfathers

grew up around the peach tree.

The peach tree watched

the children’s birthdays.

Watched them grow.

Marry.

Have babies.

Who

would

have

babies.

Birthdays

around

the peach tree.

The peach tree

watched

friends grow

who did not know they

were friends.

The candles lit

in the homes.

It sighed.

The candles flickered

through the night.

One night,

a cold wind blew.

And blew,

and blew.

The peach tree

shook

in its roots.

It shivered.

He remembered,

seeding.

Little seed.

Placed in the ground.

Furrow.

drawn into

and apart

from

the earth.

dry

arid

dirt.

red

against the sky.

brown limbed fingers

dropping

uprepared

alone

yet

joined

fingers

dropping

me

into the ground.

The darkness

sitting

time

lost

no meaning

finding how to breath

within the dirt,

time passed.

I would call out,

a voice,

remembering,

my mother.

growing inside of her.

celebration.

of.

light.

the Sun.

Worship.

harshness,

the hands,

plucking to be fed,

the teeth.

Searing into

my skin.

“Momma?”

“Momma?”

not even the gift of silence.

pure.

remorseless.

drenched into me,

not yet born.

greed.

Yachts,

slapping at me.

I must stop this now.

this torture.

I was taught,

to reach,

toward light.

I call out.

Again.

Cry.

Sing.

Murmer,

last breath,

against,

the red sky.

I grew,

without breath,

taller.

I hold on,

for Mother.

I stood beneath

the ground

waiting.

I can see.

Light.

Mother?

I look around

trees

cut upon

thatched

adorning “homes”.

flattened

against the sky.

Mother?

Dear Lord.

It’s me.

I’m back.

Right, I know, kidding you, yes?

As if you do not know me before my moments of realization.

I laugh out loud God.

I have doubted you, I have doubted you and doubted you.

I doubt you today.

Yet, I always come back to where I think you are, my second voice, my second skin, myself outside of knowing.

I look around Lord, I don’t know what I am seeing.

I don’t know what I am doing.

I watch the news and I cry and I don’t know how to stop.

There are many that would say, buck up kiddo. Get on with it. Maybe I have walked in shoes I don’t wish upon others. Maybe I don’t know how I wound up in such shoes only ever wanting to make others happy, to be a law abiding American.

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Here I am.

There you are.

It’s temporal.

It’s me the girl child climbing the highest tree, not sure how to get down, but unwilling to let the neighborhood boys beat me at it. Above the kitchen window of my home, establishing, hey ma, here I am.

Dear God,

I ask for you everyday, every morning upon waking. I see the news headlines of you in the sky, is there a media conglomerate? I see the Virgin Mary, not so Virgin, spread against the sky. I see the celebration of life, tribulation, I see the jokes in the sky. The Celestial Jibjab on-sky.

I see you.

I feel you.

I know.

So what?

Now what?

TODAY IS COMIC RELIEF DAY

AGAIN, TO ANYONE WHO MAY BE OFFENDED BY PROFANITY

DO NOT CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW

TO ANYONE THAT CAN’T LAUGH AT THEMSELVES, THE WORLD AND YOUR OWN EGO

DO NOT CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW

ANYONE READY FOR A MOMENT OF LAUGHTER CLICK—I WILL SAY, THERE ARE MOMENTS IN THE SPIEL THAT MAKE ME NOT WANT TO POST THE LINK…….BUT HERE’S TO A FREE FORUM………………
CLICK BELOW

George Carlin on God

THIS IS NOT FOR THE LIGHT HEARTED.

IF YOU OBJECT TO PROFANITY OR LAUGHING AT YOURSELF

DO NOT

DO NOT

CLICK THE LINK BELOW WHICH LEADS YOU TO GEORGE CARLIN AND HIS THEORY ON WHY WE ARE HERE

George Carlin on existence

This is a must see:

JibJab: What They Call the News