Paradise Lost

Paradise Lost - the inside story

Rabbi, The Priest, The Imam, Da MAN:

Women are evil and lead to the downfall of man. Besides this, they menstruate. YEEEACH!!

The Devil:

I was my master's favorite until man was
created. How can my master ask me to serve such an imperfect creature? I shall destroy man and become my master's favorite once again.

Eve:

I was hopelessly in love but also innocent and naive. Evil crept into my life and threatened to separate me from my lover. I could not live without him, so I was forced to hurt him.

Adam:

God created a paradise for me, but I was bored and lonely. God then created a companion for me, but I was still bored. I suppose in the end, I found a way out of my cage.

I get by with a little help from my
friends...

The Rooster and the Dragon

One evening the rooster had a dream. He was walking through the forest when suddenly he found himself facing a dragon.

“Hopefully you are not hungry”, said the rooster, “but if you are, then I suppose today is a good day to die”.

Roosters are not afraid of anything and tend to be foolish philosophers.

The dragon crooked its head like a great, green, scaly dog and purred,

“I will not eat you. If you want to know the truth, I envy you.”

“How could YOU envy ME?”, the rooster clucked incrediously, although in his heart the Rooster was flattered by the Dragon’s statement.

“You see my friend”, the Dragon said, “you are a real creature and live in the real world. I am only fantasy. You suffer pleasure and pain in your world. I suffer neither in my realm and the worst pain is having no pain at all…”

Saying this, the dragon began to wither and fade like the autum leaves. The resplendent scales became yellow and thin. As the Dragon appeared to sink into the earth the Rooster realized he was looking down at his own feet. It was morning and the sun was just creeping over the horizon.

The rooster sings because he is a dreamer.

letter to a kindergarden teacher

Has it ever ocurred to you the class is acting pretty
much the same way congress did when the execuitive
branch declared "who knows Sadamn has WEAPONS OF MASS
DESTRUCTION?"

Dozens of little hands pecked the "yassir" button
like so many panio playing chickens. Panio playing
chickens. Isn't that CLEVER?

You are the victim of 1001 soccer moms - American
parents competing through their own children.
Competition is a game for loosers. I don't care whose
team you are on. Playing on a team means 50% of
everybody looses.

Let me hip you to reality.

Cooperpation is where it's at. We should all pull
together despite those market forces working day and
night to brainwash us that there is only one winner.
The loosers get recycled into propaganda that
AMERICA IS THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH.

I hope you someday experience a gifted child. It will
catch your attention eventually, and you might become
concerned. Is it abused? Well, yes. It probably still
thinks it has something to give humanity, but dosen't
know how. The cruelest lesson it will learn is that
America has absolutly no interest in it's dreams,
except perhaps in what they mean to somebody's
investment portfolio.

Is there any hope? The gifted learn that hapiness
comes from small things. Those pennys one finds
discarded if one is observant enough to spot them.
The gifted always do, leaving their critics forever
searching for a fortune they will never be able to
find.

I suggest you fly off the handle and declare "French
Marigold Day". There are dozens of cultivars of
french marigolds. Grab some potting soil and teach
everybody that styrofoam cups are also pots for
plants. Show everybody that ballpoint pens are not
only good for writing, but make good drainage hole
punches as well.

While everything grows in the windowsill, get
creatice and maybe establish a government. Establish
a congress, senate, legislative branch and supreme
court. If this is too taxing, just go tribal and
elect a headman and council. Perserve democracy. Hold
elections once a week.

The marigold crop will eventually flower and your new
democracy will bask in its agricultural glow. Then
teach the class that true greatness is recognizing
the greatness in other people, other nations, other
religions.

live long and propser,

Roger L. Sieloff

8-7-6

This dream began as mother and I examined some sort of legal document, a will perhaps. I was encouraged to read some of the details aloud, but this seemed rather pointless since the text was little more than incomprehensible gibberish.

The scene then shifted and a frog prince was riding in a parade, when suddenly some sort of video game abomination materialized in the middle of the street. Hovering just off the ground, a hudge spear was fired right into the prince's open mouth. This seemed to be the end of the poor prince until it was revealed he stopped the spear by biting down on the tip. This saved his life, but he fainted and then a fierce windstorm erupted.

He awoke lying on a small street beside a picket fence. Just beyond the fence, the sea churned under the rentless force of the howling wind. The prince concidered himself very lucky because the fence had apparently saved him from being blown out to sea. .

The street angled around the corner of a building and the prince set off to try and find his way back home. Although it was presumably day, the sky was so overcast it seemed to be twilight. The wind had also whipped up a sandstorm, and the prince made his way past an empty lot to another building.

Seeking shelter within, the prince changed into a young woman. This was some sort of university and halfway through the orientation seminar it was revealed orgies were frequent events amoung the faculty. The blackboard metamorphasized into a pattern of large, dark, oval shaped holes. This seemed to suggest an erotic theme wherein any of a number of erogenous zones could be thrust through the holes, both partners could then enjoy the thrills of having a sexual encounter with an unknown stranger.

This being a dream, the next scene was particularly surreal. The orgy had started and the holes were replaced with the view of a number of Orchid specimens in what appeared to be a wooden shipping container. Everyone was milling around amoungst the packing material, trying to find another partner with the appropriately dimensioned pseudobulbs.

The scene following this was perhaps the only openly sexual part of this dream. The young woman had taken a bath after the orgy, and lying nude in the tub, examined a small scab just over her left breast. Apparently this was made by a weevel during the heat of the orgy. She seemed happy however, and it seemed to be implied she had just lost her virginity.

The scene shifted again to another orgy, perhaps a decade later. It was organized as amateur theatre. A stage show was going on and eventually the cast and audiance were both participating in the preformance. The scene shifted and the woman was now enjoying a clandestine, though brief sexual encounter in an office. She had her back against some sort of cabnet as her partner vigirously pressed against her. As he consumated the union, he told her how he was an assistant to the president of the university. The woman paid more attention to the view just outside a window to her left. It was a bright, sunny afternoon and this was probably the only sunshine to be seen in this dream.

The dream ended perhaps a decade later. I walked down a street under the same twilight sky the dream began with. I came to an intersection where a bright yellow schoolbus had stopped. The door opened and I climbed aboard, only to find the bus driver was the woman in my dream. It seems her tryst with the assistant had not enhanced her career, and in fact she now seemed to be preforming a rather menial task.

As I took a seat at the front of the bus, it was apparent she was delighted to see me. She then came over to sit next to me, although she still was driving. She hung onto the steering wheel as I gently put my arm around her. I suppose she then abandoned her bus duties in favor of being together with me, for the next thing I remember is the two of us creeping past cactus pads behind some brush, headed to the door of my dormitory. As we approached the door, we began to sing "dan-cing, dan-cing, dan-cing ..."

I woke up around 4 AM and as I thought about this dream, it left me with a lonley, bittersweet feeling. The woman had spent twenty years enjoying casual sex but all she had in the end was one of her old lovers and I doubt there was any fidelity in this relationship. I was sad to think this was probably going to be the closest thing to true intimacy this woman would ever know in her life inside my head.

Terrorism

This morning I was thinking back on my Internet adventures as a flaming troll. I especially liked to bait American apologists. Calling George Washing a terrorist was especially good tackle and it wasn’t long before patriots of all stripes began crawling out of the woodwork. The reverie at hand concerned some South African who was offended at being accused of “lip synching lip service” to the USA. His terse reply stated George was not a terrorist by Geneva Convention standards, since the father of our beloved country wore a military uniform. This seemed an oxymoron, since the current US administration has openly ignored the convention whenever it seemed fit to do so. Now I think Mr. Washington most likely never even wore an actual uniform in the first place. Certainly not the black polished boots, fine silk vest and flowing cape that artists have depicted him in. The only standard military uniform he had was what he wore as a British lieutenant. This certainly was inappropriate for the leader of an anti-British insurgency. Dressed as a “redcoat”, the poor fool probably would have been shot by his own troops. If Washington did wear anything fancy, it was probably patched together as some one of a kind example of theatrical costumery. Certainly his troops didn’t wear uniforms – unless they were “turncoats” which meant he and his rag tag militia would have eventually been sniping at them. Besides, this was a guerilla movement which means the enemy has to hide amongst ordinary citizens. All the better to spy on the occupiers and launch unexpected attacks. Just like terrorists, in fact.

Scorpio

Meanwhile…

My recient sojurn to the monthly reptile fair got me 4 giant, black scorpions to replace the pygmy mice who failed to breed and then failed to live sometime last March. The pen was cleansed of mice, bedding and toys and remained empty until a good washing, some wood mulsh and a few heated stones - the enclosure was then deemed suitable for the world’s largest scorpions.

Scorpio imperitor is a resident of African rain forests and despite its menacing size, is actually the most docile member of its kind. Keepers routinely handle these giants, knowing their claws are far more damaging than their sting. Hence, they grab the tail and lift the arachnid onto a smooth skin surface. Once suitably accustomed to human pheramones, these arthropod beasts are prone to wander happily about
wondering where the next meal is.

I have decided not to handle what are most likley kidnapped African slaves designed to amuse me. I think it is sort of rude to grab their tails and lift them suddenly into the air like a hungry preditor. Hence, a glass barrier and my hopes they can neither jump nor are ever hungry enough to eat one another.

I believe I have solved the latter problem by gorging them on my abundant insect stock. Crickets are always relished, but two crab sized pincers and a tenacious propensity to use them means my new pets can actually help subdue my burgenioning population of giant cave roaches. Having erected a comfortable domicile beneith a rock, my new pets fled the opressive imperitives of captivity after an initial offering of lobster roaches.

One eventually emerged back into my world, an arachnid of unknown sex identifiable only by an uneven pattern in the segments on the back of its abdomen.

Ever hungry, it would happilly accept any squirming, doomed tidbit offered it via the steel pincers of my forecepts. As time passed, I began to notice it noticing me. Its eyes were clustered in the pit of a dimple on its back. I did not expect much visual acuity from such tiny beads, expecting this creature to rely far more on the touch its sensory hairs provided.

Its attention eventually caught my attention. Despite the fact I am almost half a century old, my own urges deem sexual release despite the fact I have never known a recipient to my endeavors. Well, not until reciently. Settling down before my cybernetic crytsal ball, I noted the residents of the left wing seemed to be skulking beneith their rock. The lizzards to my right were basking unseen and as reguards the far right, well, I had pulled down the shades.

The show began, and equipment in hand, I glanced left to see old crooked scales eyeying me from just under one of the rocks. It certainly didn’t seem interested in my presence when my pants where on.

Just what was it after?

Arthropods aren’t supposed to act this way.

The Libertarian & I

Concider poker. Just like the free market, players exchange chips by taking risks. As the game continues however, there will be certain players who accumulate more chips than other players. The end result is just a single player who has all the chips. The game then ends unless the winner's chips are re-distributed to the other players. If poker isn't quite the right anology, concider "monopoly". Same game really, and quite the same ending. If this still seems irrevelant, concider Micro$oft. What's the real difference between a politician holding all the chips and a businessman holding all the chips?

The only libertarian counter arguement I can think of is that in a completly free market, monopolies are impossible. The only place I've ever seen this happen is amoungst the bushmen of the Khalarhi desert in Africa. These people own absolutly nothing. Left completly to its own devices, the market behaves like matter under the influence of gravity. Its only a matter of time before a black hole forms.

Is capitalism "progressive"? If so, what are we progressing twoards in a universe with no edge nor any center? All I can imagine is a day when American children are 50% plastic and eat electricity for breakfast. Will they stand out in the rain and catch lightening on their tongues? Is the sterilized, standardized mechanized American menu really superior to what bushmen eat? Frankly, dirt is tastier than styrofoam. As reguards starving foreigners, they don't have any food because the king decreed they all eat cake. The king got to be the king because some dirt farmer had a bumper crop and turned his plow into a swoard. Those he didn't kill then starved. Then the King starved when he found his Gold was about as edible as dirt.

Again, how exactly does a completly free market discourage the accumulation of wealth? Quite a paradoxical oxymoron, non?

Returning to our bushmen friends - these people regurarly live into their 80's without an HMO. It seems to me modern medicine is just a means of keeping people alive in what is essentially a toxic waste dump. Ah, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, even if the beholder is blind. "Progressive medicine" reminds me of one of Gulliver's travels. He meets a race of people who never die. Unfortunately their oldest citizens are little more than animated, rotting corpses. Hopefully we will become 100% plastic before this happens. Then Europeans can not only refer to Americans as children, they can call us children's toys!

In the final analysis, I think the Chineese might just be evolving a system more suited to the shrinking resources of a very finite planet. Small businesses are free to compete with little governmental regulation. Past a certain size however, the government either treats mega-business as a public utility as the Russians did or smash it to bits with anti-trust laws as the Americans do. Anarchy can only benefit the people if the people themselves are perfect. Unless we all evolve into robot insects, nobody will be perfect. Until then, everybody needs big brother.

A Wild Idea!

I think I'll take a web cam into work tomorrow and present:

////////// The Wild World of State employment /////////////////////

G'day Mate! We're here in the outback of the State Health Department and are waiting
for something interesting to visit the office printer. Careful, mate - there's an office trouble maker over there in the corner playing "gotcha". Just look at those teeth! Wouldn't want to wander into those jaws... Wait, a report is coming out of the printer. Sure to attract something and yes, it's a deputy assistant comissioner (Assinus Maximus)! Sorry luv, can only see his fat behind at the moment, but woah - he's spreading manure!! What a mess. Not to worry ducky, here comes a dung eating ass kisser. Oops! Something just knocked the printer over. Oh, it's an office secretary. These creatures are perfectly adapted to their habitat - toally blind, deaf and dumb. Well, that's enough excitement for now, but tune in tomorrow and every day after that for the rest of your career for another episode of:

/////////////// The Wild World of State Employment //////////////////

How the Wench stole the Superbowl

How the Wench Stole the Superbowl

Dr. Susse’s ripoff of Dicken’s “Christmas Carol” can be further plagarized by
reworking it into how much men love football – and how women hate it.

All the men in the Den, they liked football a lot;
But the Wench up the stairs from the den – she did NOT!

The Wench HATED football;
The whole football season;
The guys don’t know why;
No one quite knows the reason…

Maybe hating the game was an innate reflex;
And that all football meant was she didn’t get sex;

-But I think she detested these athletic brawls;
Because that old Wench didn’t have any balls.

And the more the Wench thought of the pretzles & beer;
The more the Wench thought,

“I must stop it right HERE!

“For on Sunday I know;”
“All the jocks and the jerks;”
“Will all guzzle beer;”
“Till they go quite berzerks!”

“Then the ads!”

“Oh, the ads,Ads,Ads, ADS!!

“The shrieks and the squeals to sell new sets of wheels;”
“Then they’ll sing and they’ll dance to make ludricous deals;”
“and they’ll say stupid things :

‘Stock investments by Welk’
‘I want Kibbles and Bits’,
’Chevy’s BIGGER!’,
’Got Milk?’ !!’ “

THEN – as the national anthem is starting;
The guys in the den will be belching and farting!!

“Ever since I got married I’ve put up with this suet”
“I MUST end the Superbowl – but how can I do it?”

Then she got an idea – an awful idea;
The Wench got a wonderful, AWFUL idea!

“I know just what to do”, the Wench said to her plants;”
“I’ll make a cheap umpire suit and some pants”

Twas a quarter past two when she started her run;
All they guys lay asleep dreaming Superbowl fun;

As she struggled to get the T.V. in a cart;
The Wench heard a small noise;
Like an odorous fart;
She turned around quick;
To see what was this;

-One of the guys had got up to piss.

The guy stared at the Wench and asked,

“Referee, why;
Why are you taking our T.V. set - WHY?“

“Why my poor little jock”, the fake umpire lied,”
“There’s a tube in this set that won’t glow on one side”
“So I’m taking it back to the factory pier”
“I’ll issue a rebate;”
“And then bring it back here…”

And her lie fooled the jerk;
As he started to slouch;
He got a cold beer;
And passed out on the couch.

So, while the jocks lay a dreaming of the Superbowl bash;
The Winch rolled all their fun down the drive to the trash!;

“Ah, they’re just waking up;”
“And there won’t be no maybe’s;”
“Soon the guys in the den;”
“Will be crying like babies!”

The Wench crained her neck ‘till her sholders were smarting;
But no wailing was heard - only belching and farting!

She stood with her footies all damp from the grass;

“This cannot be happening;”
“Oh, how can this pass?”
“It came without T.V. or titties or ass……”

She grumbled and bitched ‘till she got PMS;
Then looked down at her feet and just had to confess;
Why suffer anxiety, lonliness, stress ….
Perhaps football all means just a little bit less..

And what happened then?
Well in some restroom stalls;
It’s inscribed that the Wench grew herself TWO sets of balls!

And now that her crotch felt uncomfortably tight;
She raced up the drive in the crisp morning light;

She brought everything back;
All the food for the bloat;
And she, she the WENCH;
Heald the channel remote!

Welcome football, bring your Cheer;
Bring your Tide, your Falstaff beer;
The Superbowl will always loom;
Just so long as we consume….