is slowly (so slowly, in fact, that you probably didn't notice) making you better-looking but duller-witted

March 27, 2008

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The Guy Who Wrote the Code

is updated on Thursdays.

Fashion Tip #1:


Hats should never be worn over the eyebrows. Eyebrows are essential for conveying surprise and concern. If they are not visible you will be unable to display these emotions.


For sale: one of those games from Home Depot where you try to get the bubble between the two lines. $10OBO Box 436.
For rent: my left pants pocket. ideal for change, a roll of antacids or keys. $3/month. Box 229.
Wanted: steady South wind, not gusty and not really strong. Somewhere between 15 and 20 kph would be ideal. Reply to Box 3.
Available immediately: complete indifference. Box whatever.
Anyone who was seen the wind please contact W.O. Mitchell immediately.
Notice: "oleo" will no longer be an acceptable answer for any crossword puzzle printed in North America.



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Live The Adventure

Chesterton, in his estimable essay "On Running After One's Hat",says:

"An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered."

This is a point of view that absolutely guarantees one a virtually limitless supply of adventures. If one, for instance, attempts to travel by bus from Sunny St. James out to the farthest flung reaches of Fort Garry, that is to say, the University of Manitoba, one is embarking on an expedition worthy of Burton and Speke.

This transformative weltanschaung of Chesteron's supplies one with an unending cascade of joy. No longer is one an irritated cranky-pants, one is a character torn from the pages of H.Rider Haggard. It is not wonderful therefore that I have chosen to embrace this world-view.

Once I got used to the sniggering on the Number 78 evinced by my pith helmet I found that the adventurous attitude fit me like the proverbial glove.

I have been, to this point in my life, a dyed-in-the-wool crank. There is little that I do not find irritating about my fellow humans and their irrational and inexpicably stupid behaviour quite often I find inconvenient. Now though, that I have become a Chestertonian, I find all these people, whom I once considered morons, quainter than the Fuzzy-Wuzzies.

Outfitted for a major trek I now spend my bustrips fascinated by the veritable pot-pourri of odd customs displayed by the denizens of Transit World. This has had a salutary effect on my blood pressure.

Taking the bus, waiting in line, buying a pair of shoes, all of these I look forward to as a child looks forward to Christmas.

I also have a bridge for sale in Brooklyn should you be in need of one.


Scourge of the Potatoes!

Akhbar was the "Scourge of the Potatoes". Potatoes everywhere were wary when Akhbar went on the warpath.

Akhbar was a Yam but there was nothing sweet about him. Akhbar would sit in his yurt steaming over a cup of hot tea until, overwhelmed by his own violent impulses, he would go on a rampage.

Akhbar would ride into Potatotown on his trusty steed Steve a-whooping and a-hollering and then he would proceed to cause mayhem. No potato was safe. Potatoes caught out in the streets would be julienned within an inch of their life.

blurry, very blurry

What concerned the Potatoes the most was how little warning they got. Not even the eyes in the backs of their heads saved them. Akhbar and Steve were on them before you say "sebaceous tuber". Then one day an enterprising young spud named Norman had an idea.

Norman's idea was simplicity itself. He would sneak into Akhbar's yurt late at night and kill him. Really his idea had nothing to do with warning the other potatoes.

So one night, very, very late Norman tiptoed past the snoozing Steven and into Akhbar's yurt. Unfortunately Akhbar was not asleep but was loading and unloading his pistol for entertainment. Sadly, for Norman, he had just finsihed loading it when Norman entered the yurt with his upraised adze.

The Potatoes never got rid of Akhbar. He continued on as Scourge for another dozen years until he was suceeded in the post by his son Milt, who was luckily pretty damn lazy.

The End


Next week we will be posting an article about Gore Vidal which will, in no way, be accurate. We apologise in advance to you and to Mr. Vidal.