Hey, Dude, That SurrenderWatch Looks Awesome

In celebration of Unity & Justice Month (the only month where we come together and pretend to honor Unity and Justice), Mega has released its SurrenderWatch (patent pending). Sweet!

Does it tell the time? Of course it does, you moron. But it also tracks how much exercise you get. And in this month only, the more you exercise the faster you close the Unity & Justice Ring (trademark pending).

Oh, hey, this is wonderful! By simply wearing a SurrenderWatch, I will get healthier and in return for my patronage Mega will donate money to worthy causes that promote Unity and Justice, which are not vague platitudes at all!

Hold on, my friend. Who said anything about money? Let’s not sully all these puppy-dog feelings by bringing up money. No one has to pay anything (except you to buy a SurrenderWatch) to support Unity and Justice.

All you need to do is complete the exercise ring within the prescribed time every day. So get off the couch, walk to the kitchen, and microwave some pizza bagel bites. Simply by living healthier, you will promote Unity and Justice – and provide Mega with some useful biometrics, which it will sell for a massive profit.

So what are you waiting for? Do you hate Unity and Justice?

Titmouse Beak, CEO of Pungent Sound Technical College of Technology and Owner of Pungent Sound’s Only SurrenderWatch Store

Like Here But Worse

In 2022 Shehan Karunatilaka won the Booker Prize for The Seven Moons of Maali Ameida. Hi ho. The book is bizarre in all the best ways.

It’s 1990 in Sri Lanka. Maali Almeida is a photographer, gambler, and self-described slut. He’s also a journalist and homosexual, so he has lots of enemies. And because Sri Lanka is in the middle of a civil war, it’s easy for a photo-journalist to die. It’s also easy for a homosexual to die – but not for the same reasons.

And what do you know? It’s page 1 and Maali is already dead. The after-life is a hellscape filled with demons, ghouls, ghosts, and bureaucrats who claim they want to help you. It’s just like the “living” world only worse.

Maali has no idea who killed him, why, or how he died. He has seven days (or seven moons) to figure it all out. Then he needs to decide what he’ll do next. To paraphrase The Clash: should he stay or should he go? Does his decision matter? Does anything matter? Yes, obviously, The Clash matters. Stay focused.

Seven Moons is impossible to categorize. It’s historical fiction in how it describes the Sri Lankan civil war. It’s a love letter to the Sri Lankan people traumatized by that war. It’s a satire on religion. It’s a parody lampooning people who try to change society through violence. It’s a deadly-serious comedy, and it succeeds regardless of the category you put it in.

But mostly, the story is a delight because, as flawed as Maali is, he is honest when it counts. Even though he lies to nearly everyone, he never lies to himself or the reader. He’s also brave, even when it’s not smart to be. When he is told his photos are gruesome, he responds “then maybe people should stop doing gruesome things.”

If Karunatilaka resembles any writer, it’s Kurt Vonnegut. At one time people read him. Maybe, with Seven Moons‘ deserved success, people will start reading Vonnegut again. If so, that would be another great thing about Maali Almeida.

Gladiola Overdrive, Chief Editor

Planter’s Punch

I’m rich because I don’t like to pay for things – like taxes. And because I’m rich, I don’t have to. Take, for example, vacations. I can afford to pay top dollar and stay at an exclusive resort in a wealthy country. But why would I do that when it is so much cheaper to stay at an exquisite resort in a poor country?

I know what you’re thinking. But, Knowgood, will you be safe? With all the intense pressure you are under everyday as a powerful hotel magnate, how will you relax? We’re worried about you.

Don’t worry. Vacationing in poor countries is remarkably fun and safe. You land at the airport and people are everywhere desperate to help you out for a small fee. It’s as if their lives depend on it. But what’s best is you can haggle. That small fee then becomes paltry.

I hear you. That does sound like fun, Knowgood, but do you ever get a chance to relax?

Sure you do – at the posh resort drinking Planter’s Punch and smoking Cuban cigars while pissing in the colonial blue waters. You can relax because you are perfectly safe. That’s what the men armed with assault weapons make sure of. At least I think they’re men. It’s hard to say because they’re wearing camo with Kevlar vests – and balaclavas, so all you can see is their angry eyes.

It’s impossible not to relax.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of All the Hotels on Block Island (and Some in Connecticut)

Kinda Like Loam – A Testimonial

When Uncle Wood died, we were bereft. No one knew what to do with his wrinkled corpse. He hadn’t made any plans for his burial. We were stuck.

So we turned to the internet for solutions. Surprisingly, there are lots of laws restricting what people can do with corpses. Fortunately, we found Raven Breathless’ Kind Like Loam (patent pending). It’s the almost natural way to speedily decompose unwanted corpses.

So we shipped Uncle Wood up to Block Island and about six weeks later a bag of Kinda Like Loam arrived at our home – just in time for Christmas. The bag was really heavy, but once we removed Uncle’s titanium knees, iron lung, plastic heart, and the sharp blade he used as a tongue it was much lighter. But where to dump him?

Having ruined so many Thanksgivings, no one wanted to sprinkle him near the house. So we settled on Dr. Pepper Park, where we found a thriving cherry tree and poured out Uncle Wood at its base. We chose a cherry tree because Uncle’s nickname was Soft Wood. It just seemed perfect.

And it was. Within 5 days that tree died, and after a burst of heavy rain some of Uncle Wood ran into the Roanoke River. All the catfish turned belly up. And when you poked them, they exploded. The air smelled like Uncle Wood and rotting fish. It was exactly what he would have wanted.

Thanks so much, Raven Breathless. Now we can’t wait for Auntie Blister to die.

Saffron Crow, Special Correspondent for Corpse Disposal

Cavities

Who throws pepper in the air
so upstanding citizens will sneeze?
Who slips sugar into milk 
so wholesome kids get cavities?
Who hides the cherry flavored 
condoms so chaste teens get STDs?

Once it was the evil fascists,
then the dirty commies
followed by the hairy hippies,
Russians, Iraqis and Chinese
who committed these depravities.

So who will we blame next
for giving us a mouthful of cavities? 

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Annie Ernaux’s Exteriors: The Most Honest Review Ever

Don’t read this book. It’s a fraud.

I don’t normally give book reviews, because I don’t normally read books. They’re a waste of time, and this one sure was.

First, it bills itself as a memoir. Now, when I think of memoir, I think of great men, like myself, doing great things, like own hotels. To my surprise, this memoir was written by a woman. I was immediately suspicious. What has she ever done? The answer is nothing. She rides trains all day and makes observations. I could do that, but I have better things to do. And for this kind of crap someone decided this Annie Ernaux woman should be awarded the 2022 Nobel Prize in Literature. It just confirms why I never had any respect for that award.

Second, Annie Ernaux has no friends. Nor should she. She’s a voyeur who is obsessed with eavesdropping on strangers – as if strangers can tell us anything about ourselves or our world. Yet, she seems to think so. Here’s something stupid she said. “It is other people – anonymous figures glimpsed in the subway or in waiting rooms – who revive our memory and reveal our true selves through the interest, the anger or the shame that they send rippling through us.”

The only time a stranger ripples me is when she’s sexy. Then the hunt is on, and she won’t be a stranger for long.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of all the Hotels on Block Island and some in Connecticut

Breaking News

A cow covered with hundreds of mouth-like lesions   
each containing a tongue that lovingly licks my ear -    
tells me all the black lies I desperately want to hear;    
a massive udder with hundreds of mottled leathery teats    
and I suck the sour milk.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Please Don’t Vote

The U.S. election yesterday reminded me of the two principles I’ve held ever since I dropped out of Boy Scouts as a Tenderfoot. One: I love democracy. And I mean that in the biblical sense. I do democracy doggie style every night.

Two: I hate that we vote.

Let me be clear. I cherish having a vote. But what I really want is having THE vote. This requires you having no vote. So in the next election, please don’t vote. You’re only diluting my vote, which is a shame because I am very smart, and I know what’s best for you. So don’t worry your pretty little head. Let me handle our democracy and then I’ll handle you.

Titmouse Beak, CEO of Pungent Sound Technical College of Technology and President of Pungent Sound Community Bank

Nothing Objectionable Here

Being the CEO of a for-profit college, the first thing I think about every morning (after I review the profit/loss statements) is our students’ education. And because there has been so much controversy lately over school textbooks, and the disgusting lies found in them, I decided to review our textbooks. I am thrilled to report I found nothing problematic, objectionable, or interesting in them.

Take our U.S. History textbook, for example. It’s perfect. Here’s the chapter on the Civil Disagreement Between the States in 1861.

For a handful of years, people in Africa were given free trips to the United States so they could work in the lovely country homes found in some those states. Due to the careful planning and generous spirit of the owners of these country homes, there were soon many people of African descent happily working. They sang songs.

But some states without country homes didn’t want people of African descent to work at these homes. They wanted people of African descent to swim back to Africa.

The people who owned the country homes said “No way. You can’t discriminate against people of African descent. They should be allowed to work at our country homes if we say they can.”

In 1861 the states got tired of shouting encouragement to each other inside buildings. So they went outside on large, open fields and shouted. It was so much fun people died.

Finally in 1865 the states got tired of all the fun. They decided it was wrong to allow people of African descent to work only at country homes. They passed laws enabling people of African descent to work for less than minimum wage anywhere an employer said they could. And American mythology continued to thrive.

That’s the entire chapter, and it’s beautiful. I love stories with a happy ending. And, really, isn’t that what education is all about?

Titmouse Beak, CEO of Pungent Sound Technical College of Technology

A Tender Heart Prone to Foolishness

If you have been reading my posts (and why wouldn’t you – you seem intelligent), you know I regularly give money to homeless people in downtown Roanoke. This year alone I have handed out a total of $7.00. However, I do much more than give pathetic misfits a dollar. I counsel them, so they can improve their lives. After all, money can’t buy happiness. It can only buy shelter, warmth, food, and medicine.

Today on Church Street, I encountered a filthy homeless man and decided to help. His steel-colored beard was long and wild. His pants and shirt were unfashionable and mismatched. He seemed unable to focus on what I was saying. Regardless, I forged ahead. I told him businesses all over town were hiring. He didn’t need to live like a greasy feral cat. Just as I was getting to the part about picking yourself up by your bootstraps, he turned and got on a rusty bicycle with flat, no-tread tires and rode away as fast as that decrepit thing could carry him.

I smiled at myself in relief. My tender heart is blind and prone to foolishness. I almost gave that charlatan a dollar. As you know, I only give money to homeless people. It’s my motto. Now call me old-fashioned, but I also prefer the homeless to be bikeless. There is just something intrinsically wrong about giving money to someone who has the ways and means of owning a bicycle.

Knowgood Carp, Owner of All the Hotels on Block Island (and Some in Connecticut)