Sunday, October 31, 2010

Six year old trick or treater:

"I'm a clone"

In another town I might have had to ask "don't you mean clown?"

Halloween Bells By Edgar Allen Poe

Hear the shrieking of the bells
Halloween Bells!
Mean Bells
Make you scream bells
What a world of fright as you're hung by your lapels
Upside-down above a flaming cauldron
Of your enemy's delight
Their vibration steals your breath
Their gleeful mocking tone
Toasts your rendezvous with death
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
Litter gloomy solemn air with the ramparts of doom
Yet all is not lost for there's redemption in this room
As ghouls, angelic ghouls?
Avulse the flesh from the bones of John Tesh
Wondrous Bells!
Halloween Bells!
Don't mope bells
There's still hope that your lightly used soul sells
To the highest ebay bidder with perfect feedback
Wall Street Bells!
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
The nightmare is as bad as it seems
As the ghouls hoard baskets of disembodied dreams
In their closets just like Guidos stock hair gels
So forewarn the bells
Gloomy bells!
If salvation is your goal
Hurry because time is short
Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock
Place a put option on your soul
Only you can't afford the premium
Now the bells bring on delirium
Broadcasting your demise at their symposium
Auctioning your organs to thieving swine
For cheap
For your parts are more worthless than their sum
Your strutting fretting petty drama is drowned out
By the cackling laughing hum
Of the bells, bells, bells -
The gleeful laughing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells
The haunting and the hating of the halloween bells

Friday, October 22, 2010

There have always been the haves and the have-nots.

It’s a tale as old as time.

I’m not going to get all weepy-eyed about it.

If our positions were reversed, they’d do the same thing to me!

Probably even worse!

In fact, they owe me a debt of gratitude!

A debt of gratitude for showing RESTRAINT for a man in my position!

The Definitive Guide to Life’s Simple Pleasures by Harry The Partridge

So what’s your pleasure?

Some chaps need fast cars hand built in Europe by men wearing string bikinis. Many need luxury travel. Power. Perhaps fame. A diamond grill in their mouth? [Some people live just to play the ga-a-ame. Sing it Alicia!] Can’t stop throwing those lavish parties in East Egg now. West Egg, keep it bumpin’ (and isn’t it time to put a few more flat screens in your Escalade?) Some chaps need a legacy, a snotty little puke to carry on the family traditions of assfulness and plunder. Don't forget the grimacing, glowering, sunburned, crusty old sea-faring buttholes who require three yards of yacht for every year they’ve had ED. Some need four yards. Some souls eventually take to doing lines of coke off the Gutenberg Bible at the Library of Congress. Those who have it all generally come to worship scarcity over utility and soon make a sport of amassing lifeless trophies (Maltese Falcon or Geronimo’s Skull anyone? Angelina Jolie?) Some steal cash just for the fuck of it: Bernie Madoff, Lou Pearlman, Marc Dreier I’m looking in your direction.

Anything goes as long as there is a conspicuous dearth of even the rudest sense of noblesse oblige among contemporary America’s shabby and lackadaisical upper crust (both fresh and stale). Evil abounds as idle monied hands play their dangerous games and all looking-glasses are self-generated. All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up! The Koch brothers get a hard-on from giving your kids cancer, hear hear! When the world is yours, it’s easy for your appetites to ruin you (although this isn’t always the case. Kim Jong Un looks to be a paragon of temperance, doesn’t he?)

Insular moguls slide down every slippery slope there is like kids at the water park. It becomes child’s play to play Russian roulette with someone else’s head like Phil Specter and actually expect to get away with it, or try to claim diplomatic immunity with a totally straight face after beating a gay sex slave to death like that Saudi Prince (epic FAIL guys). At the bottom of every slide there is madness and misery. But this is of course nothing new. The great tug of war between virtue and vice is a tale as old as time. From the Greek playwrights down through Shakespeare, the fine tradition of dramatizing man’s moral quest continues in our day in the form of television programing like Jersey Shore. There is no need to worry however as long as there are admirable adult role models like Justin Bieber to guide our youth.

Before you lose heart, I, Harry The Partridge, have some great news to share with you this evening. At the considerable risk of being pegged a long-feathered counter-zeitgeist sort of fellow I’ll say it loud: You don’t need to keep your maid in a cage, buy the governor’s mansion, or get bespoke riding boots from John Lobb to find true happiness in life. Many of the greatest pleasures in life are free or nearly so. So without further ado, I bring you The Definitive Guide to Life’s Simple Pleasures.

The pleasures:

•Take the T into Cambridge and punch some random prick wearing an ascot in the face.

•Swill beer and shout “go Sox”.

Ok. I’m embarrassed. That’s it. That’s all I can think of.

Stay tuned then for Harry The Partridge's Guide to Ultimate Luxury. Oh hell, I’m too lazy, go read RL Champ. I’m going to go do a vodka shot in my eye and donkey punch a hooker, then Tweet about it.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Zombie Update

"I have been reading the morning paper. I do it every morning--knowing well that I shall find in it the usual depravities and basenesses and hypocrisies and cruelties that make up civilization, and cause me to put in the rest of the day pleading for the damnation of the human race. I cannot seem to get my prayers answered, yet I do not despair." - Mark Twain

Knowing that Mark Twain would be watching the train wreck too makes it somewhat easier for me to confess to visiting the sordid world of Matt Drudge from time to time.

Now that my embarrassed and admittedly feeble apologia for reading the Drudge Report is out of the way (I still feel dirty, ok?), I can get to the point.

Drudge ran these pictures today:

So now that the [it's painful to say it, but the, ugh,] mainstream press, has caught on to what we have been reporting since 2007, will the public finally start taking the Zombie threat seriously?

Sasquatch is doubtful. "People expect Matt Drudge to be painfully juvenile so the impact of the message is diminished. In the wham-bang age of web 2.0 and the 24/7 news cycle it's easy for anything and everything to get lost in an ocean of white noise. Say there was an important piece of news, I mean really important, like life on Earth was going to be destroyed, would anyone care or notice? Oh wait, that is today's news.

As much as I want to dwell on the fact the Barak Obama is in fact a zombie, we must put things in perspective now. Humans are destroying life on Earth. As a Sasquatch, this comes as no surprise to me, but it is horrifying nonetheless. My current habitat is a suite at Caesar's, but if humans continue to recklessly destroy species, the Earth's fragile ecosystem may no longer support the shrimp and cocktail sauce I ate just a moment ago, and so I may for the first time come to face a larger danger than poaching. The human race may yet get the damnation Mark Twain prayed for. You don't want to see a Sasquatch without his cocktail shrimp."