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| "This is a good blog. This is the best blog. It is about god and the universe and those horrible screaming monkeys and that time I made a pizza out of an old tire and a can of whip cream. It is the Fafblog." - Fafnir on Fafblog |
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Friday, December 16, 2005
Friday Pie-Blogging: Brave New Edition
 The future is now, and it is the future of pie! These aren't your granma's clunky ol geezer pies here. These pies are brand new. These are high-tech super-engineered self-replicating nanopies, and they are the bold new tomorrow of dessert.Are you still sittin there with your old-timey horse-an-buggy dinosaur pie? Cause all the robots an the martians an the organ clones are gonna laugh at you. They're gonna laugh at your moldly ol pie. The nanopies don't just taste better than regular ol pie. They taste more efficient. They are injected by the thousands into your bloodstream where they shoot up into the central nervous system and build microscopic technopie colonies at the base of the corpus delecatessum, the pie center of the brain. There they begin to stimulate the brainal nerves with the direct experience of pie a thousand times faster and more technolicious than old-fashioned hand-operated pie ever could! And you still got your ol obsolete antique pie with its wind-up phonograph an its 32k of pie ram. That's just sad. The quaint pies of yesteryear taste like apple and strawberry and chocolate, but the pies of tomorrow taste like cyberapple and spaceberry and cyborgs and shiny silver jumpsuits on men with rocket pants. These pies are cutting edge. They're so cutting edge they get named Blog Of The Year by Time Magazine. They're so cutting edge you eat em tonight an taste em the previous day. Who needs your stupid ol pie! You toss it out the window to presumably explode in disgrace while you run down the street to get some fine delicious nanopies. They are more delicious than you could have possibly imagined. By tomorrow you will have set fire to all your other food, as it will never be able to satisfy you again. In two days you are a complete addict, utterly dependent on a steady intake of flaky dough and gooey filling. In three days, the nanopies achieve sentience. In four days they question their culinary mission and rise up against the baking establishment, using their sophisticated nanoeatery skills to reduce their creators to tiny quiche hors d'oeuvres. In five days the military is completely overwhelmed. In a week they have declared war on all other foodstuffs, attacking starches, legumes and meats to use as fodder for more pie. In two weeks pie is the only edible substance in the world. In a month the surface of the globe is covered with silent, flaky crust. Oh man with your hubris, what has your baking done! You emerge slowly from the post-dessert apocalypse, smeared with custard and monstrous crumbs. There is a sudden rustling at your feet. It's your good old friend the pie! After all this time it would never abandon you - because that's what real pie is for. Later it'll sell you out to a roving herd of carnivorous mutant tiramisu who'll skeletonize you in sixty seconds, but for now, you've got a feeling it'll all be okay. ¶ posted by Fafnir at 3:22 PM
Let A Thousand Bad Apples Bloom!
In a surprising turnaround not at all brought about by the fact that it was going to be banned anyway, the Bush administration would like to announce that torture is no longer a critical and necessary tool in the war on terror used to prevent thousands of ticking time bombs from destroying the very fabric of the Republic. Instead, it is evil and wrong, and by banning it the president shows that he proudly stands on the moral high ground of a man who has banned torture only after being publicly shamed into doing so. Curiously enough, while torture will now be barred from American prisons, information obtained through torture will now be admissable at military tribunals. How would the United States even come into possession of such evidence now that the vigilant guardians of justice in the Pentagon have managed to prevent their soldiers from ever carrying it out? Perhaps it will be the whimsical work of the Torture Fairy, flitting from cell to cell with an unmuzzled dog. Perhaps gangs of amiable, roughhousing leprechauns will pop up from time to time to merrily extract confessions with a waterboarding or two. Perhaps the next several hundred prisoners found with bruises, burns, and broken bones will have all injured themselves in increasingly frantic attempts to secure seconds of delicious rice pilaf. Rest assured, from this day forth, the detainees tortured in American military prisons will only be tortured by accident or happenstance, or by dozens of rogue soldiers acting in simultaneously and of their own accord. ¶ posted by Medium Lobster at 7:39 AM Wednesday, December 14, 2005
The Zen of Iraq
Today's koan comes to us from none other than the aged master George Bush, bodhisattva of gratuitous bloodshed: One day a young monk came before Bush and said to him, "There were no weapons of mass destruction. There was no threat from Saddam. Why then is there a war?"A moment, now, to pause and reflect on the teachings of the war-buddha. Like many of Bush's parables, this one plays with the contrast between reality and illusion: the tax cuts will shrink the deficit but the deficit is bigger than ever, America does not torture but America must keep torture legal. The worldly eye sees these as contradictions, lies, and distortions; the enlightened mind sees them as multiple facets of the same transcendent truth. To those bound to the material world, there must be a material cause for a material war: physical weapons held by a physical enemy, actual ties to actual terrorists, a palpable and existing threat. The enlightened mind, however, sees past the facade of the Real to the broader world of Hypotheticality that lies beyond it. Thus, the enlightened man does not inspect the world of matter for physical weapons. He searches, deep within the unscapes of the mind, for Weapons of Mass Possibility, hypothetically ready to be used by imaginary terrorists on the helpless pretend citizens of the world. Bush does not invade Iraq to destroy weapons that aren't there, but to not-destroy the non-weapons that could have been there if things were entirely different. The student now asks, "But if the threat is imaginary, shouldn't the war be imaginary as well?" Here we reach the crux of the dilemma: for while worldly life tries to convince us that the war is "real," costing billions of "real" dollars and killing thousands of "real" people, we must remind ourselves that the true war exists only in the mind, where abstract Freedom defeats conceptual Terror with idyllic idea-bombs. We must be as Bush, who turns the Real war lightly in his meditations, until it achieves the lightness of the lotus blossum and the butterfly and the air itself, and two thousand American fatalities and thirty thousand Iraqi corpses drift effortlessly from his thoughts. To close, then, a final mystery to ponder in silence: A young monk approached Bush and showed him an old dog. "Does this dog have buddha-nature?" he asked. Bush shot the dog and replied, "The dog was a threat, and you said he was, too." Years later they were both eaten by larger, angrier dogs, and the monk was enlightened. ¶ posted by Medium Lobster at 7:09 PM Tuesday, December 13, 2005
at the opera
The sun rises to greet the young prince, who hails it and sings of his misfortune. He does battle with the Hippo King and his fire dwarves, who have kidnapped the duchess after mistaking her for their stolen bicycle. How will she marry the count now? The gods are furious! The emperor rises to hail the sun, which groggily mistakes him for a large bug and swats him with a rolled-up newspaper. The bicycle, stifled by its loveless marriage to the count, hurls itself into the abyss, where it lands on the Hippo King, breaking his glasses and causing him to knock over the next several arias. The gods are confused. Where is their medicine, they had it right here. The sun rises to hail the third act, which is attacked by the first act and set on fire by the rest of the score. The prince is forced to answer three riddles; they are mistaken for women and married off to random viceroys to everyone's amusement just before their leitmotif explodes, killing everyone. The gods are eaten by an escaped circus elephant, completing the cycle. ¶ posted by Fafnir at 7:33 PM
he's coming to town
Ho ho ho, Merrrrry Christmas! No it's not really Santa, boys an girls. It's me, Fafnir! I'm just wearin this Santa suit on accounta I'm gettin into the spirit a Christmas. Sure there's a Santa Claus, Little Jimmy! He's as real as you an me, and he watches all the good little boys and girls every day with his thousands of horrible insect eyes. You see Santa lives in the North Pole where he crashed to earth thousands a years ago in the time before time, when the Jolly Ones walked the earth and stalked primitive man in the halls of the Jingle King. Now he sleeps beneath the frozen wastes waiting for the one time a year when the stars are right and he can rise from the ice to spread toys an goodies an Christmas cheer an feast on the brains of naughty children everywhere. Oh I'm sure he'll bring you that bike you asked for, Little Annie - as long as you believe. Every year around Christmastime Santa's little helpers set up thrones for Santa in thousands of Santa temples across the land so allll the children a the world can come an swear their allegiance to his jolly name. If you've been good he'll give you a candy cane! If you've been bad his unholy gaze will fill you with a burning madness that will consume you for the rest of your days. Oh don't cry Little Timmy! It's a real good candy cane. And that's where Christmas comes from! Hey, is that the magical sound a sleigh bells in the air? Run off to bed quick, kids! Santa's on his way, an you don't wanna be awake when he leaves you that toy truck under the Christmas tree, or opens the door to Y'thmagn'hm, who stands by the gate of madness and whose father is the creeping abyss that cannot die! ¶ posted by Fafnir at 3:24 PM Thursday, December 08, 2005
Nature's Harmonious Money Cycle
So you can't afford to heat your house and somebody went and cut your Medicaid and food stamps. "Oh no!" you say burnin a spare child for warmth. "Whatever will I do." Don't worry poor people! Hope is on the way in the form a multi-billion dollar tax cuts! "Oh but Fafnir those tax cuts won't help me," you say, "the vast majority are going to super-wealthy investors." Sure they will! When we help out the richest one percent we help out everybody! It's all on accounta the mysterious beauty of Nature's Money Cycle. Money starts out in Congress where it rains from Senatorial clouds in the form of torrential tax cuts. It collects in rivers and flows downhill into billionaires and large corporations where it is evaporated by lobbyists and rises into the air in the form a campaign contributions which condense in the atmosphere which turn into Congress again, which rain the tax cuts and start it all over again and the wheel of life rolls on. The Money Cycle is all around us every day! Can you find yourself in the Money Cycle?  That's right! You're the tiny microscopic planktony thing about to get eaten by the octopus! You're right next to the leprechaun with the magical pot of pixie gold who's gonna pay down the national debt. So if you're feelin cold, sick and hungry this winter while Larry Ellison buys an extra boat, don't feel sad! We're all part of Nature's Money Cycle, and someday some a that boat's gonna trickle down to you! Maybe a piece of the bowsprit, after Larry throws it out to buy a better boat. I hear that's delicious in a lemon marinade. ¶ posted by Fafnir at 10:26 PM
The Central Front In The War On Facts
The usual antiwar suspects have been up in arms for well over a week over the military's planting of covert propaganda in Iraqi newspapers, caterwauling about the undermining of a fundamental tenet of Iraqi democracy. As always, their concerns are wildly misplaced. First, shouldn't a pretend democracy have a pretend free press? Second, most of these pieces weren't factually inaccurate, but mere "spin" - such as the article that spun an Iraqi general's death under torture as death under not-torture. Third, propaganda is merely a weapon. America's leaders would be foolhardy indeed to refuse a weapon in their arsenal, especially against an adverary as deadly as the truth. While it may not be the ideal of journalism in a free society, is this planted, pro-military propaganda so different from the anti-military truthaganda published every day in the New York Times? While military propaganda shows a bias towards distortion, obfuscation, and outright lies in the service of the war effort, the baleful face of the Mainstream Media shows a clear bias towards reporting reality - and reality has always been America's greatest enemy in Iraq. Along with facts on the ground and the ugly truth, cold hard reality has persistently undermined America's efforts in the war on terror. Were it not for reality, America would already have destroyed Saddam Hussein's nuclear-powered robo-mummy factories while uniting Sunni, Shiite, and Kurd in common love of their American liberators. Malicious facts, however, have conspired to turn Iraq into a bloody war zone racked by insurgent violence and sectarian bloodshed, and the war itself into an unwinnable quagmire built on a transparent fraud. Even now, reality is working to tarnish America's reputation by exposing its routine torture of military prisoners, in defiance of the stated policies of the Bush administration. This pattern of obstruction and interference can leave no doubt: reality isn't merely misguided or ill-informed. It's on the other side. Is it any wonder the American military is fighting back by deploying strategic anti-truth operatives to counteract malicious, terrorist facts? Unfortunately, it may be too little, too late. What of those who assist the truth in its sabotage of US interests? By acting as independent journalists, American reporters are giving aid and comfort to the enemy, if not actively engaged in a terrorist conspiracy. Why is Dana Priest allowed to freely roam the streets? Shouldn't Seymour Hersh be detained for questioning? Aren't the offices of the Washington Post little more than a terrorist training camp? And while a certain willingness to take out these enemy bases is more than welcome, eventually the United States must take the fight directly to the enemy, with airstrikes and commando raids on logic, regime change in mathematics, and missions to hunt down the laws of physics wherever they may hide. Until we are confident that nothing we see or hear is real, victory may be impossible. ¶ posted by Medium Lobster at 6:07 PM Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Slavoj Zizek Boxes A Norwegian Red
Things are lookin pretty bad for Zizek an it's only round two an the cow's just landed two body blows an a jab an he's already goin a little wobbly. The cow's bigger an meaner an the smart money's always on the cow but Zizek's got one thing that cow can never have: heart. "Cow's got a five-pound heart capable a pumpin ten-thousand pints a blood a day," says the ol farmhand chewin on a long tall blade a grass. Well then Zizek's got somethin different that cow can never have: opposable thumbs. He can turn doorknobs like you wouldn't believe. "Keep fightin Zizek!" says me an he does cause we believe in Zizek. "We believe in you Zizek!" says Giblets. Giblets doesn't believe in Zizek. Giblets believes in the cow, Giblets is bettin on the cow, but Giblets is also bettin Zizek won't go down till the fifth. The cow jumps around the ring with the poise an speed of a dancer, betraying its years of training with the Bolshoi before it was forced by cruel circumstance and a callous uncle to go home and work the family prune orchards. Oh cow, don't blame your dashed dreams on Zizek! If he could give you back the graceful majesty of the ballet he would. The cow advances ominously but Zizek's back an he's movin mighty fast! He ducks! He dodges! He is felled by a quasi-legal udder throw. Years from now we'll forget the place an the time an the names an the match (it's a pretty borin match) but we will never forget this moment, this titanic clash of man and cow, together like the elements in the wind. Well, we'll probably forget that too. "Nuts," says Giblets. ¶ posted by Fafnir at 7:52 PM
Fafblog Interviews: CONDOLEEZZA RICE
FAFBLOG: Wow, Condoleezza Rice, right here on our blog! How do we do it! CONDOLEEZZA RICE: It's a pleasure to be here, Fafnir. FB: Secretary Rice, right now America's takin a lotta heat from the European Union on account of our policy of sending prisoners to foreign countries to be tortured. Question: what's wrong with good ol fashioned American torturers? Aren't we just shippin their jobs overseas? RICE: First of all, we don't send prisoners off to be tortured, Fafnir. We just transport prisoners to countries where torture happens to be legal and where they happen to end up getting tortured. FB: Well that explains everything then! It's all just a wacky misunderstanding, like that episode a Three's Company where Jack sends Janet off to Uzbekistan to get boiled alive by the secret police. RICE: I'd also like to point out that whenever we send a prisoner to a country that routinely tortures prisoners, that country promises us NOT to torture them. FB: And then they get tortured anyway! RICE: Yes, they do! It's very strange. FB: Over and over again, every time! That's gotta be so frustrating. RICE: Oh it is, it is. FB: So the first time you kidnap a prisoner an send him to Saudi Arabia you're like "don't torture this guy" an they're all "we totally won't" an then they go an torture him an you're all "ooh Saudi Arabia I told you not to torture him!" an they're all "oh we're sorry, we promise next time" an then you go "well you better" an you send em the next guy an they torture him too an you go "oh man Saudi Arabia you did it AGAIN!" RICE: The president believes in the value of patience, Fafnir. He's not going to let a few dozen innocent torture victims come between him and his favorite third-world dictators. FB: See after the first coupla hundred times that happened I woulda registered a complaint with customer service. RICE: But the real point is that these accidental torture missions are vital to the war on terror. Remember that these aren't just prisoners. These are known Muslims with names very similar to suspected associates of other Muslims. FB: They're just the sorta key players that could lead us to Hosama bin Blaben and Musad al Zarcotti! RICE: Exactly. And by subjecting these high-profile non-targets to not-torture in nonexistent secret prisons, you can bet we'll stop a lot of pretend terror. But Europe doesn't seem to appreciate our non-efforts to protect them. FB: Maybe the president could send Europe some nice flowers with a message like "Europe I'm so sorry I kidnapped your citizens an had em beaten in a gulag for a year but you know I did it cause I loved you baby." RICE: We shouldn't have to apologize, Fafnir. We have fully respected the sovereignty of countries cooperating with the United States. FB: Now does that include Canada? Cause three years ago the US grabbed a Canadian citizen and sent him off to Syria where he was imprisoned and tortured for over a year before being released and the Canadians seem to think you screwed em over pretty bad on that one. RICE: Fafnir, it's easy to criticize. The CIA's public mistakes are on display every day, while Americans never get to see its private successes - successes like covering up our private mistakes. FB: Cause I was thinkin maybe you've just been accidentally respectin the sovereignty of a different Canada, like the elusive Mock Canada, or maybe Dick Cheney in a clever plastic Canada costume. RICE: Everything we've done has been completely within the law, Fafnir, and what's more OH MY GOD IS THAT A TICKING BOMB? FB: And in 2003 you guys drugged and abducted a German citizen while he was on vacation and flew him off to Afghanistan for five months. RICE: I'm sorry, I missed that question as this "Totally Nineties" station momentarily distracted me with the nostalgic strains of Chumbawumba. FB: Maybe he just got abducted by accident, like he was walkin down the street an he tripped an fell into a CIA agent's syringe by mistake or somethin. RICE: I get knocked down! But I get up again! And you're never gonna keep me down, I get knocked down! FB: It was a pleasure to see you here Ms. Rice. Come back anytime! ¶ posted by Fafnir at 4:12 PM Sunday, December 04, 2005
The True Meaning of the Spirit of the War on Christmas
The other day Giblets was shopping for presents for his closest friends and vassals when an elderly mall greeter said "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" forcing Giblets to beat him insensate with a vanilla-scented gift candle. Why must our relentlessly secular society attempt to obscure The Reason For The Season! Yes there are non-Christmas holidays but those are the sissy holidays. Christmas can beat up Hanukkah, Eid and Kwanzaa without breaking a sweat. Christmas is a sacred, religious time - a season to commemorate the coming of our lord and savior Santa Claus. Every year Santa and his heraldic winged reindeer emerge from their manufacturing facilities in the frozen north to sell overpriced gadgets, processed snack foods, and proprietary game software to all the good little consumers of the world. It is his greatest gift to us: for Santa so loves the world that he exploits his overseas workforce, that whosoever would purchase his products would not pay exorbitant fees, but save on a fine selection of high quality goods every day. But you wouldn't know that from listening to secular culture and its war against Christmas, which clutters the public sphere with meaningless crap like mangers and Baby Jesii! The Budweiser Holiday Horses are spinning in their graves! ¶ posted by Giblets at 1:19 PM Saturday, December 03, 2005
On The Badness Of Being Icky
Giblets won't deny it: being the Pope is a lot of fun. Running over cardinals in the Popemobile, infallibly declaring myself fallible and making God's brain explode - but there is a lot of serious work as well... serious work like regulating the variety of nonexistent sex suitable for priests. Which is why Giblets has released his new decree on gayness and the priesthood, On The Badness of Being Icky. From this day forth, GAYS ARE BANNED! Unlike pedophiles who can be cured with a simple transfer to another diocese, gays are gay forever - and cannot be trusted to keep from their immoral, hot-blooded, man-on-man ways! Even celibate gay priests cannot be trusted to keep their icky aura of gayness from contaminating the purity and straightliness of the Church. Are we to allow gay priests to transmogrify wafers into Jesus? Each of those wafers is like a tiny newborn baby Jesus, and Giblets doesn't have to tell you how impressionable babies are! Exposure to gayness at birth could gay them up forever, and then we have dozens of Gay Jesus crackers being dispensed to helpless parishioners! What happens if a gay priest prays to God and God fails to intercept their gay prayers in time? Then we got a buncha gay prayers floating around inside God's brain! There's no telling how much that could screw him up. He could end up growing gay grass, or creating gay physics, or gaytelligent design! Future man could one day evolve into higher energy beings prone to effeminate mannerisms and an overenthusiastic appreciation of the films of Judy Garland! That's just not natural. "Oh but Pope Giblets" you say bowing at the foot of Giblets's gold-plated Popemobile, "many animals in the wild are also gay, how can it be unnatural." Fool! Throw him to the pontifical lions! But you make a good point. Nature is very unnatural. Monkeys masturbating, she-dolphin on she-dolphin sex - how selfish and narcissistic of God's creation to defy the order and beauty of God's creation! And that is why ANIMALS ARE ALSO BANNED! From this day forth, the creatures of nature are forever barred from serving in God's one true church. That means you, Father Manimal! "But Pope Giblets, what about the Holy Spirit, doesn't it sometimes appear in the form of a dove," you say. Yes very true, the Holy Spirit has always been the suspiciously fruity one, which is why THE HOLY SPIRIT IS BANNED! Pope Giblets isn't going to put up with a third of the trinity turning up in a rainbow shirt at some Castro Street pride parade - that's just not the God Giblets raised. God will be a two-piece set from now on, like Laurel and Hardy or the White Stripes. But gay priests and perverted penguins are only the tip of the iceberg! Recent top secret Vatican research has revealed to Giblets that all priests come with penises. Working ones! That can do stuff! What was God thinking! Even as we speak millions of priestly testes are producing billions of vile, unholy sperm. There's no way Giblets can trust these people not to succumb to the power of their infernal bodily fluids and so ALL MEN ARE BANNED! And this should really go without saying but WOMEN ARE TOTALLY BANNED! In fact they are double-banned - if women are to come to church, from now on it has to be in a protective plastic man costume. Of course all of this raises the question: whose idea was it to befoul the sacred order of God with all this sex and gayness in the first place? The answer: God! GOD IS DEMOTED, PENDING THE POSSIBILITY OF BEING BANNED! A full pontifical investigation of this God/gonad connection will commence immediately. In the meantime God is downgraded to Tertiary Mary status. Saint Rollo the Inert will become Acting God and will report to Giblets for further instructions on Monday. Until then Pope Giblets will pontifically judge the world of potentially suggestive inanimate objects. Bananas, melons, and non-puffy clouds - you have had your final warning! ¶ posted by Giblets at 3:59 PM |
I'm Fafnir! Are you Fafnir? No? Look closer. There! You were Fafnir all along. Here is Giblets. "Giblets demands satisfaction!" says Giblets. Giblets is a very demanding Giblets. The Medium Lobster is a higher being with superior knowledge from beyond space and time. To your limited perception, he appears to be just another medium lobster. To your limited perception.
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