Sharpening the Tools
Hello, all you frisky monkeys! (and hats off to the best Britsh talk-show host in the States!)
This is my first post to a new weblog, the Cleaver Cleaver. For those who know me, I've posted under many names across the Webosphere: Davout, TemplarScribe, OneWickedHangover -- sorry, not that last one. Not until my kids turn eighteen, anyway.
I've decided to begin blogging relatively late in the game, as it were. My decision has been shaped by the evolving world around us: the dire level of current politics in these, the wayward Colonies, and how truly wayward we've become. The world needs as many rational, sane people to stand up and speak out, to tell the rest of the world the truth as it needs to be told.
...But, since those rational-slash-sane people seem to be keeping a low profile these days, fearful of a Dick Cheney double-ought facial, I guess I have to do their job for them.
I'll rant, of course, for this 21st Century soapbox makes ranting -- a benzadrine-inspired, caffeine-sustained, one-way spewing of frustrated furiosity, aimed outward at enemies and foes both real and imaginary -- an easier task than ever before. When you stood on your overturned Ivory Soap slatter at Bughouse Square during the unplugged pre-Internet age, you'd be lucky to get a couple dozen people to listen to your ravings. Now, you can get a couple thousand to hear you purely by accident!
Some things I plan on covering, when time isn't too tight:
CC
This is my first post to a new weblog, the Cleaver Cleaver. For those who know me, I've posted under many names across the Webosphere: Davout, TemplarScribe, OneWickedHangover -- sorry, not that last one. Not until my kids turn eighteen, anyway.
I've decided to begin blogging relatively late in the game, as it were. My decision has been shaped by the evolving world around us: the dire level of current politics in these, the wayward Colonies, and how truly wayward we've become. The world needs as many rational, sane people to stand up and speak out, to tell the rest of the world the truth as it needs to be told.
...But, since those rational-slash-sane people seem to be keeping a low profile these days, fearful of a Dick Cheney double-ought facial, I guess I have to do their job for them.
I'll rant, of course, for this 21st Century soapbox makes ranting -- a benzadrine-inspired, caffeine-sustained, one-way spewing of frustrated furiosity, aimed outward at enemies and foes both real and imaginary -- an easier task than ever before. When you stood on your overturned Ivory Soap slatter at Bughouse Square during the unplugged pre-Internet age, you'd be lucky to get a couple dozen people to listen to your ravings. Now, you can get a couple thousand to hear you purely by accident!
Some things I plan on covering, when time isn't too tight:
- When will we be able to get that petty, war-mongering dictator that threatens our country off of his petty thrown? No, not Kim Jong-Il -- I mean the guy in charge, occupying the White House. Yeah, I mean Cheney. And his hand-puppet, George "Glad I Served in the Nash-nul Guard When It Didn't Mean Three Years Overseas With Some Turban Wearer Tryin' To Blow My Ass Off Every Damn Day and Twice on Rama-Dawn" Bush.
- Speaking of Dicks: How is it possible that Dick Dale is still making cool music, and how can I buy some of what he's using? And left-handed to boot! (check out Nitro, from "Better Shred Than Dead: Dick Dale Anthology." Link to follow).
- Why is it that they have clearly posted signs at Megalo-Mart saying "20 Items or Less" and a 300-pound sumor wrestler in a stained sun dress can pull up with -- I kid you not -- a HUNDRED and twenty items, and the employess are NOT allowed to tell the offender, "S'cuse me, Hun, but you're gonna have to make seven or eight trips there. Hun." Doubt me? Try it next time you're shopping at MaegaloMart: pull up with about five cart loads all crammed in like sardines into one cart, then ask the friendly cashier WHY they can't enforce their own policy. Is it just to Pezz off the other buyers in line who are fretting that their three containers of yogurt might push them from nineteen items to -- gasp!! -- twenty-one? Will they be thrown into "Can't Count or Can't Spell" detention?
- Will I ever get an agent to take my novel seriously? Will it ever make enough dough-re-me to have my wife stay home and do the real work: keeping my daughter from pulling the laptop off the desk while I'm giving her the 3 AM bottle?
- Who came up with that choice commercial on Public Television, the one they always play at the aforementioned 3 AM, the one with the fire in the library that gets put out by reverse-engineering? And why isn't THAT guy or gal running this country? (Either the ad's creator or the library's fictional savior -- I'll take either one. I'm not choosy.)
- And why did I choose the sobriquet of The Clever Cleaver anyway? A latent crush on June, perhaps, or a decades-long grudge against Wally?
CC
posted by TemplarScribe at 2:41 AM
0 comments
