Chamblee54

There is a site called ISideWith. They have a test you can take about this years POTUS dilemma. “Answer the following questions to see which presidential candidates you side on most issues with.” In the never ending struggle to write text to go between the pictures, PG is going to take the test. Pictures are from The Library of Congress. This was written like David Foster Wallace.
The test is a series of questions. For each issue, there are three basic choices… Yes, No, Choose another stance. When you hit number three, another set of choices comes up. If none of those options satisfy you, you can type in your own answer. Finally, there is a sliding button, with the question “how important is this to you? You have five choices, least, less, somewhat, more, and most.
Lets take a look at question two, “Should gay marriage be allowed in the U.S.?” The other stances are Let each state decide, No, marriage should be defined as between a man and woman, No, allow civil unions for same-sex couples but don’t call it marriage, Take the government out of marriage and instead make it a religious decision, and Add your own stance. We do not know how Larry Craig answered.
As you get into the questions, you see that many are complicated issues. There are no easy answers. The tendency is to click either yes or no, and rate the importance. The further you get, the less patience you have for nit picking. This is a problem today … eyes glazing over when issues get complicated.
PG finally saw a question where he felt obliged to write in an answer. “How should the U.S. deal with Iran?””Treat them the same way we treat Israel.” After considering the possibility of Iran building settlements in Iraqi oil fields, PG added “, on cultural issues only.” Iranian immigrants having birthright trips to Iran will be good for everyone’s economy. This is less important.
The warning signs of a head explosion were coming on. If you are going to get a haircut, you should take this test before you do. The longer your hair, the less likely your head will explode. Just before toxic waste hit the ceiling, PG got to the end of the test, and clicked on the results button.
Candidates you side with… 89% Jill Stein, 73% Gary Johnson, 72% Stewart Alexander, 64% Ron Paul, 63% Barack Obama, 5% Mitt Romney.
Who is Jill Stein? Who is Stewart Alexander? At least Gary Johnson recited a funny line during a Republican debate… “My next door neighbor’s two dogs have created more shovel-ready jobs than this current administration.”
Ron Paul has some good ideas, and some sticky issues. He named his son after a typewriter. Dr. Paul’s hair is thinning to the point of no return, and is simply not presidential. While it might be a technicality, it should be noted that Dr. Paul is not running.
One point to remember is that Georgia is a red state. The major parties know this, and are not going to do any serious campaigning here. The electoral college has stolen the votes from the people of Georgia. Even after the disaster of 2000, there is no call for reforming eliminating the electoral college.
At the end of the survey, you are encouraged to give money to the site. You are also encouraged to tell people about this quiz, which is not really a bad idea. The reader(s) of Chamblee54 are seriously encouraged to go to ISideWith and take the test. If you wear a wide brim hat, the clean up will be easier when your head explodes.

The Pussy Riot story is getting strange. Last week they were sentenced to time in prison, for crimes that are mysterious to Americans. The fashion police testified on their behalf, but were overruled by the Church. What is going on there shows the danger of mingling church and state.
For years, Russia was part of the Soviet Union, a *communist* country. This was officially atheistic. Now there is a kleptocracy in control, and it has the blessing of the church. The church is behind the persecution of Pussy Riot.
One of the lively protests was in Ukraine. A topless lady cut down a cross. She wore eye protection. The video is embedded. Youtube comments tell a story.
Сука, против оккупации власти церкви спилить памятник в память жертвам Голодомора. Эти тупые шлюхи уже охуели до предела. А мудаки там стоят на камеры снимают, да возьмите кто-то и уебите эту шлюху, хули вы снимаете? Юрий Орлов Jew Agitators !! ShiekYerbooty OK I thought they was in jail for singing songs against putin but this just vadalizing stuff whilst showing your boobies have fun in jail dumb biatches. Scum71succer гореть ей в Аду Юрий Юрьевич the whole atheist world needs a piece of this. ~ sick degenerate jew lover. ~ See you in Hell……….from Heaven. :) TheWNMan A child’s tantrum. Cut down a cross, refuse to eat your vegetables , show your tits and wave a chainsaw, lay on the floor and kick and yell because you don’t get ice cream. There’s nothing here beyond people who never grew out of toddlerhood. gentilegrief
Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, Marina Alyokhina, and Yekaterina Samutsevich got sent to the big house the same week that Helen Gurley Brown went to the boudoir in the sky. Are the Pussy Riot players Cosmo Girls? Will they take off the masks to pose with Burt Reynolds?
There is a video attached to this post of the Joe Pyne show. Mr. Pyne went to the other side forty two years ago. In hell, you never have to ask for a light.
One alternative to writing original material is to copy tweets. ‏@PerHedetun I’ve really had it with all this #PussyRiot nonsense. I DO NOT support their buffoonery. Can we move on and talk about Bradley #Manning now? ‏@jwmaden How’s the Bradley Manning trial going? RT @Bourdain: Every day #pussyriot spends in jail is a reminder how short Putin is. #dicktatertot ‏@szonjalena Fly truth! Bradley Manning has been imprisoned w/out trial for 815 days. Meanwhile #PussyRiot’s 730 day sentence draws US condemnation. @jimgroom It seems quite surreal to see the US government castigating anyone about “disproportionate” prison sentences. @widefox sniggering each time a BBC newsreader pauses before saying “pussyriot” @thisis_nomi During my twitter-fast #PussyRiot was trending? How did you guys know what was going on in my pants..? @SabDumais «Derrière nos barreaux, nous sommes plus libres que ceux qui nous accusent.» Nadejda Tolokonnikova ‏@CaerwynFarm I know it is wrong to hope #pussyriot are still in jail during the debates but I would love to have both candidates say #pussyriot. @VeticanII Meanwhile, if we can tear ourselves away from #pussyriot , 34 miners lie dead at the hands of the S African police: http://huff.to/S3Lm8w
In the interest of balance, here is another POV. “The West, and more specifically, the corporate-financier interests of Wall Street and London, see Russia’s current government as a barrier to not only the return to the unmitigated plundering of the Russian people they had enjoyed in the 1990’s, but a check and balance inhibiting their hegemonic ambitions globally. The West has propped up with money and political support the opposition movement from which “Pussy Riot” has emanated. ”
Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives,Georgia State University Library”.

There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. ‘Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,’ thought Alice; ‘only, as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.’
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: ‘No room! No room!’ they cried out when they saw Alice coming. ‘There’s PLENTY of room!’ said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
‘Have some wine,’ the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. ‘I don’t see any wine,’ she remarked.
‘There isn’t any,’ said the March Hare.
‘Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,’ said Alice angrily.
‘It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,’ said the March Hare.
‘I didn’t know it was YOUR table,’ said Alice; ‘it’s laid for a great many more than three.’
‘Your hair wants cutting,’ said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
‘You should learn not to make personal remarks,’ Alice said with some severity; ‘it’s very rude.’
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he SAID was,
‘Why is a raven like a writing-desk?’
‘Come, we shall have some fun now!’ thought Alice. ‘I’m glad they’ve begun asking riddles.—I believe I can guess that,’ she added aloud.
‘Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?’ said the March Hare.
‘Exactly so,’ said Alice.
‘Then you should say what you mean,’ the March Hare went on.
‘I do,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘at least—at least I mean what I say—that’s the same thing, you know.’
‘Not the same thing a bit!’ said the Hatter. ‘You might just as well say that “I see what I eat” is the same thing as “I eat what I see”!’
‘You might just as well say,’ added the March Hare, ‘that “I like what I get” is the same thing as “I get what I like”!’
‘You might just as well say,’ added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, ‘that “I breathe when I sleep” is the same thing as “I sleep when I breathe”!’
‘It IS the same thing with you,’ said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn’t much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. ‘What day of the month is it?’ he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said ‘The fourth.’
‘Two days wrong!’ sighed the Hatter. ‘I told you butter wouldn’t suit the works!’ he added looking angrily at the March Hare.
‘It was the BEST butter,’ the March Hare meekly replied.
‘Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,’ the Hatter grumbled:
‘you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.’
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, ‘It was the BEST butter, you know.’
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. ‘What a funny watch!’ she remarked. ‘It tells the day of the month, and doesn’t tell what o’clock it is!’
‘Why should it?’ muttered the Hatter. ‘Does YOUR watch tell you what year it is?’
‘Of course not,’ Alice replied very readily:
‘but that’s because it stays the same year for such a long time together.’
‘Which is just the case with MINE,’ said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. ‘I don’t quite understand you,’ she said, as politely as she could.
‘The Dormouse is asleep again,’ said the Hatter, and he poured a little hot tea upon its nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its eyes, ‘Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.’
‘Have you guessed the riddle yet?’ the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
‘No, I give it up,’ Alice replied: ‘what’s the answer?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said the Hatter.
‘Nor I,’ said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. ‘I think you might do something better with the time,’ she said, ‘than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.’
‘If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, ‘you wouldn’t talk about wasting IT. It’s HIM.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Alice.
‘Of course you don’t!’ the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously.
‘I dare say you never even spoke to Time!’
‘Perhaps not,’ Alice cautiously replied: ‘but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.’
‘Ah! that accounts for it,’ said the Hatter. ‘He won’t stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o’clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you’d only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!’
(‘I only wish it was,’ the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)
‘That would be grand, certainly,’ said Alice thoughtfully:
‘but then—I shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.’
‘Not at first, perhaps,’ said the Hatter: ‘but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you liked.’
‘Is that the way YOU manage?’ Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. ‘Not I!’ he replied. ‘We quarrelled last March—just before HE went mad, you know—’ (pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) ‘—it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing
“Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you’re at!”
You know the song, perhaps?’
‘I’ve heard something like it,’ said Alice.
‘It goes on, you know,’ the Hatter continued, ‘in this way:—
“Up above the world you fly, Like a tea-tray in the sky.Twinkle, twinkle—”‘
Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep ‘Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle—’ and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop.
‘Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,’ said the Hatter, ‘when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, “He’s murdering the time! Off with his head!”‘
‘How dreadfully savage!’ exclaimed Alice.
‘And ever since that,’ the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, ‘he won’t do a thing I ask!
It’s always six o’clock now.’
A bright idea came into Alice’s head. ‘Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said the Hatter with a sigh: ‘it’s always tea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.’
‘Then you keep moving round, I suppose?’ said Alice.
‘Exactly so,’ said the Hatter: ‘as the things get used up.’








‘But what happens when you come to the beginning again?’ Alice ventured to ask.
‘Suppose we change the subject,’ the March Hare interrupted, yawning. ‘I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know one,’ said Alice, rather alarmed at the proposal.
‘Then the Dormouse shall!’ they both cried.
‘Wake up, Dormouse!’ And they pinched it on both sides at once.
The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ he said in a hoarse, feeble voice:
‘I heard every word you fellows were saying.’
‘Tell us a story!’ said the March Hare.
‘Yes, please do!’ pleaded Alice.
‘And be quick about it,’ added the Hatter, ‘or you’ll be asleep again before it’s done.’
‘Once upon a time there were three little sisters,’ the Dormouse began in a great hurry; ‘and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well—’
‘What did they live on?’ said Alice, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.
‘They lived on treacle,’ said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or two.
‘They couldn’t have done that, you know,’ Alice gently remarked; ‘they’d have been ill.’
‘So they were,’ said the Dormouse; ‘VERY ill.’
Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: ‘But why did they live at the bottom of a well?’
‘Take some more tea,’ the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
‘I’ve had nothing yet,’ Alice replied in an offended tone, ‘so I can’t take more.’
‘You mean you can’t take LESS,’ said the Hatter: ‘it’s very easy to take MORE than nothing.’
‘Nobody asked YOUR opinion,’ said Alice.
‘Who’s making personal remarks now?’ the Hatter asked triumphantly.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question. ‘Why did they live at the bottom of a well?’
The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said, ‘It was a treacle-well.’
‘There’s no such thing!’ Alice was beginning very angrily, but the Hatter and the March Hare went ‘Sh! sh!’ and the Dormouse sulkily remarked, ‘If you can’t be civil, you’d better finish the story for yourself.’
‘No, please go on!’ Alice said very humbly; ‘I won’t interrupt again. I dare say there may be ONE.’
‘One, indeed!’ said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he consented to go on. ‘And so these three little sisters—they were learning to draw, you know—’
‘What did they draw?’ said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.
‘Treacle,’ said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time.
‘I want a clean cup,’ interrupted the Hatter: ‘let’s all move one place on.’
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare moved into the Dormouse’s place, and Alice rather unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk-jug into his plate.
Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began very cautiously: ‘But I don’t understand. Where did they draw the treacle from?’
‘You can draw water out of a water-well,’ said the Hatter; ‘so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well—eh, stupid?’
‘But they were IN the well,’ Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing to notice this last remark.
‘Of course they were’, said the Dormouse; ‘—well in.’ This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting it.
‘They were learning to draw,’ the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; ‘and they drew all manner of things—everything that begins with an M—’
‘Why with an M?’ said Alice.
‘Why not?’ said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with a little shriek, and went on: ‘—that begins with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness—you know you say things are “much of a muchness”—did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?’
‘Really, now you ask me,’ said Alice, very much confused, ‘I don’t think—’
‘Then you shouldn’t talk,’ said the Hatter.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in great disgust, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her: the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.
‘At any rate I’ll never go THERE again!’ said Alice as she picked her way through the wood. ‘It’s the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life!’ Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it. ‘That’s very curious!’ she thought. ‘But everything’s curious today. I think I may as well go in at once.’ And in she went.
Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass table. ‘Now, I’ll manage better this time,’ she said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot high: then she walked down the little passage: and THEN—she found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.
Today’s entertainment is Chapter VII of ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND By Lewis Carroll .
The text is courtesy of Project Gutenberg. This is a repost. Video is from WTF Japan Seriously!?

Radio whiner Dennis Prager has a new hobby, a website called Prager University. There are a few youtube courses, which everyone passes. PU has one other test, Are You a Liberal? PG is always wondering which label is right correct for him. He decided to take this test.
The test is 21 statements, that you agree or disagree with. The way it is set up, liberals agree with the statements. I don’t know, more information please, or other choices are not available. It is black or white, agree or disagree. Here are the statements.
1 Because of past and present racism in America, standards for admission to public universities, and governmental institutions such as fire departments, should be lowered for people of color.
2 Bilingual education for children of immigrants, rather than immersion in English,
is good for them and good for America.
3 Marriage should be redefined from male-female to any two people.
4 Colleges should not allow ROTC programs,
and the military should not be recruiting on college campuses.
5 Assuming equally loving and competent adults, adoption agencies should not favor a husband and wife over two men or two women.
6 In the Israeli–Palestinian dispute, either both parties are equally at fault or Israel is more at fault.
7 The United Nations is a force for good in the world, and therefore America should not engage in international behavior opposed by the United Nations.
8 No abortions can be labeled immoral.
9 Cities should ban smoking everywhere – i.e., outdoors as well as indoors — except in one’s own home.
10 High schools should make condoms available to students and teach them how to use them.
11 Racism and poverty – more than, for example, a lack of fathers and a crisis of values — are the primary causes of violent crime in black America.
12 No speaker should be permitted to say “God bless you,”
to students at a public high school assembly or graduation ceremony.
13 No culture is morally superior to any other.
14 There are more similarities – moral and otherwise – than differences between fundamentalist Christians and fundamentalist Muslims.
15 The earth is rapidly warming. The consequences are dire. And man, not nature, is mostly responsible.
16 Since World War II, America has made war in foreign countries such as Korea, Vietnam, Kuwait, and Iraq primarily out of economic and imperialist concerns.
17 “Merry Christmas” should be replaced with “Happy Holidays,” and “Christmas Party” should be replaced by “Holiday Party” because “Merry Christmas” and “Christmas Party” offend non-Christians.
18 If a male employee decides to wear women’s clothing at work, his employer has no right ask him not to, and if the employer fires the man, the employer should be heavily fined.
19 Most Tea Party members, and most conservative opposition to President Obama,
are animated by racism.
20 No identification should be demanded of anyone who comes to vote at a voting place.
21 Capital punishment should be abolished,
meaning that no one found guilty of murder should be put to death.
PG looked at the list, and saw that while he might agree with some of these issues, the way the question was worded forced him to disagree. The semantics can obscure the genuine discussion.
There are some issues that PG simply has a conservative outlook. This is a problem with tagging people with labels. Several of the statements addressed more than one issue. Sometimes, you can agree with part of the statement, and disagree with another part. PG has long felt that liberal and conservative are meaningless phrases, meant to divide and confuse.
Another problem is the divide between what people believe, and what they do. Lets take driving. Is a conservative driver one who obeys the speed limits, and watches out for others? How many people are proud of their conservative ideology, but are flaming liberals behind the wheel? This is a matter with immediate life or death consequences, but is seldom discussed. PG has always wondered why safe driving is not considered a moral issue.
The answer for PG was You may not be a Conservative yet, but you’re not a liberal.
Pictures are from The Library of Congress.

In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors, were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.
Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.
But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.
When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king’s arena, a structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism.
When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the inclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and respected, should have merited so dire a fate.
But, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his bride to his home.
This was the king’s semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not know out of which door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased, without having the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they were positively determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king’s arena.
The institution was a very popular one. When the people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and pleased, and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?
This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king’s arena. This, of course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after years such things became commonplace enough, but then they were in no slight degree novel and startling.
The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be selected for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for him a different destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor any one else, thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out, the youth would be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.
The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful portals, so terrible in their similarity.All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!
As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king’s arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had ever before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person had done,—she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold, and the power of a woman’s will, had brought the secret to the princess.

And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now and then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent door.
When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she sat there, paler and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she would succeed.
Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: “Which?” It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye was fixed on the man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.
Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady? The more we reflect upon this question, the harder it is to answer. It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the question depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?
How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel fangs of the tiger!
But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her hair, when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!
Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!
Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.
The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out of the opened door,—the lady, or the tiger?
The Lady, Or The Tiger? by Frank R. Stockton
The text today is from Project Gutenberg. This is a repost.

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We’d love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article. ~ (fb) ~ Jimmy Crack Corn was written in the style of James Joyce. ~ When a Republican sees someone else grooving on the thing she loves, her reaction is to say “how can I make money off this?” When a grammar nazi sees a post like this, she makes all the nouns and verbs singular. ~ hit b on advance search on this machine, and the choices are brookhaven, bob dylan, and bleeding lambs ~ The Get Religion article does not give any quotes from the radio interview that upset Miss Piggy so. Mr. Cathy said ” “I think we are inviting G-d’s judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at Him and say, ‘We know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage,’ I pray G-d’s mercy on our generation that has such a prideful, arrogant attitude to think that we have the audacity to define what marriage is about.” ~ I might settle for using less twenty dollar modifiers. What if I choose to use fewer big words? ~ Here is a heteronormative video. ~ Childers you are an embarrassment to any credible political effort – Please do yourself a favor, study the ramifications of a cranio-rectal inversion before posting ever again, you blithering doofus. ~ “I drank to drown my sorrows, but the damned things learned how to swim.” ― Frida Kahlo (fb) ~ “I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.” ― Frida Kahlo (fb) ~ When you told me you were disappointed that I didn’t grant your request, I felt empathy for you. It can be tough not getting what we want. But I don’t do anything I don’t want to do, so my hope for you is that you either find an offer that appeals to me, or you realize you are capable of tolerating your frustration. (fb) ~ This is a serious, if somewhat flippant, depiction of something I think is important. When people who knew me from when I was younger find out I’m an atheist, they ask, “what happened?” as if surely some horrible or traumatic thing must have occurred for me to stop believing in god. No. What happened was that I learned. I read. I thought. I grew up. I have no ill will or dislike of those I know or met through the church, some of whom I think are spectacular and wonderful people. (fb) ~ I will never post a self-congratulatory post stating how many followers I have. I will not state that I’m creating another blog specifically for personal info/self-pics of me and that it is “members-only”/requires a password. I will never confuse people noticing posting/re-posting various shit onto the internet for fame when it is really only self-indulgence. Most importantly, I will not mistake almost total strangers “unliking”/”unfollowing” me for any kind of personal attack when it simply means they aren’t interested in what I’m posting. Repost this if you’re bored enough to. (fb) ~ Randomness is a proposed disconnect between existing conditions and results, which in my entire life I don’t feel I’ve encountered…. everything that happens is a direct result of circumstances preceding it, even if the complexity is beyond human grasp. (I’m bored) (fb) ~ I don’t know about you, but I definitely have an inner troll. Of course, while poking people with sticks and seeing their reactions can be fun, doing it in front of hundreds or thousands of people (some of whom I might actually want to relate with) doesn’t do much for my reputation. That’s why I prefer to reserve my sadistic streak for private consensual encounters. (fb) ~ “My wake-up call came when someone told me last year (paraphrasing), “many people in the queer communities of color in Atlanta don’t come to MondoHomo bc they don’t feel like it’s a safe and welcoming space.” Good Grief. Some people are never going to feel like “it is a safe and welcoming space.” How far do you want to go, to accomodate people who are going to reject you anyway? At what point do you stop throwing your own community under the bus, to try to attract this hostile community? In the next sentence you say something about white privilege. Is this constant claiming to be the victim POC privilege? ~ This is the Rush Center on DeKalb Ave. Anyone going to Rush Center KS will be disappointed. ~ CFA was moving slowly and carefully into northern cities. I suspect they had no plans to go into Boston. The mayor was doing a bit of low risk grandstanding. Also, who wants to bet the the Henson company wasn’t happy with their arrangement(i.e. not making enough money) , and was looking for a way out. ~ There is a concept called felony murder. If you commit a felony, and a person dies as a result, then you are guilty of murder. A man in georgia was executed for this last year. While making tacky comments is not a felony (good thing too, or we would all be guilty) It is arguable that Mr. Cathy’s mouth running caused a PR nightmare for the company, whose PR vice president then has a heart attack. ~ I thought agnostic was something you blew out of your nose. ~ Freedom from the desire for an answer is essential to the understanding of a problem. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti (fb) ~ I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. — F. Scott Fitzgerald (fb) ~ If you wear a leopard coat in a black and white picture, that’s all the audience will look at. — Shelley Winters (fb) ~ After you turn 50, every 15 minutes it’s breakfast! — Kitty Carlyle Hart (fb) ~ That is what fresh ground means. ~ Test Results Sickness Quotient: 75% Your “Sickness Quotient” of 75% indicates therapy may be useful. Detailed Diagnosis Interpersonal Insights You are utterly incapable of meaningful relationships, which is probably a good thing since you’re a horrible bore under the best of conditions. You have difficulty concentrating or keeping on task, probably because you’re an idiot with a short attention-span. Job Performance & Attitude You aspire to becoming the CEO of a large, powerful company. This is unlikely since you rarely leave your parent’s basement. You have little empathy for anyone more successful at work than you, which is pretty much everyone. Personality Insight Your personal motto is “Dance like nobody’s watching.” That’ just stupid. Get a better motto. ~ The constant assertion of belief is an indication of fear. ~Jiddu Krishnamurti (fb) ~ Well, I’m an asshole. I bet I’ll repost this 5 times in the next 8 days. Some lame suburban asshole who admits being a “Christian” was up in arms about stop being mean to Christians, to which I retorted: ” OK–this is cute, like any comment thread. It should (by now, because it’s preached from every single pulpit worth a god damn, and every Sunday) go without saying that Jesus thinks your version of Christianity. Sucks. You are very bad at being his follower. You are a hypocrite (just like the Pharisees that followed him around), you are lousy at giving away everything you own (entry fee), you perpetually blame the poor for their condition (which doesn’t happen in the Gospels, at all, even once), you want to punish sexual deviants (like the lovely assholes he invited to cast the first stone), and (just a guess!) you eat shellfish and/or meat and cheese together in the same meal. YOU ARE A LOUSY FUCKING CHRISTIAN. YOU SUCK AT YOUR RELIGION. GIVE UP. While you’re at it, leave my atheist ass out of it. It’s really the least you can do. In Jesus’ name.” (fb) ~ I’m making some changes in my life. You may not understand or agree, but I hope you will respect that I’m trying to do what *I* need. I’m stepping away from politics, arguing, and trying to save the world. I’m going to do what gives *me* happiness – laughing and playing with friends and taking care of my personal responsibilities. I still appreciate everyone I’ve connected with and the things we fought for, but I know myself and I recognize this is what I need. Happy Friday! (fb) ~ I like cows. So for years students would give me those calendars and I would accept but never use the coupons. I think I am going to try to make a collage with them so at the very least they become queer art created by a queer artist. I don’t like cows because of the reasons you think. My love is for steak, shakes and my awesome leather jacket. And don’t give me that cruelty to animals shit because I know if a cow could he would eat my ass and wear my skin because I am delicious. I have testimonials…just saying (fb) ~ “The Christians with heart are painfully silent..” You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full. (fb) ~ 1-When the SCOTUS ruled that “Lethal Injection” was constitutional, they were ruling on a three drug cocktail. Is it permissible for the states to decide that one drug is good enough? 2- Why was this change announced on the day before a scheduled execution? 3- If we are going to be a society of laws, then the authorities must obey the laws as well. 4- Is anyone else troubled by the spectacle of the Department of Corrections killing a prisoner with a deliberate overdose of a barbituate? 5- The manufactorer of phenobarbital is opposed to the use of their product for executions. Where does the GDC get their supply? Is this a legitimate source? If an ordinary person gets a substance like pentobarbital from a less than reputable source, then this ordinary person is in severe trouble. See point 3. 6- The conduct of the State of Georgia in this case is an indication that they are not capable of administering the death penalty in a fair and just manner. 7- The motto of the state is wisdom, justice, and moderation. Killing a prisoner with a deliberate drug overdose is neither wise, just, nor moderate. Especially not moderate. ~ 1 – Twenty years ago, I worked in the Healey Building. CFA had a store in the flatiron building. It was in an old bank office, and the vault was a dining room. 2 – CFA is overpriced. If someone else pays for it, I might eat there. ~ Breakfast at the Waffle House on Cheshire Bridge Road this morning. The crowd: White families, gay jocks (Pride Run and Timberfell Lodge T-shirts), young African-American men and women; three line cooks turning out about a plate a minute; the waitresses efficient and smiling; the manager and I agreeing that this is how Atlanta should always be, and that Chick-fil-A is not representative of those of us working for equality. (fb) ~ “The way to develop self-confidence is to do the thing you fear and get a record of successful experiences behind you. Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice; it is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.” ~ it has been a long, long chemo day and it is time to bed down for the night. I am grateful for family, friends who are chosen family, medical technology that will help keep me alive to enjoy it all a little longer, complications enough in the process so I don’t trade humility for hubris, and for my sobriety, without which none of it would be possible. God is merciful. Blessed Be. ~ William Jennings Bryan (fb) ~ To the guy who tried to mug me in downtown savannah night before last date ~ That is not a fashion statement I would make.~ Another comparison is the treatment of Jesus and Mohammed. Christians routinely present grossout pictures of Jesus on the cross. Muslims are forbidden to present images of Mohammed. ~ The Brookhaven Ballot Committee/ Brookhaven Yes thing bothers me. It makes me wonder if I want this crowd to run a new city. Thank you for your thoughtful attention to this matter. ~ I like Chick-fil-A’s food. I think Mr. Cathy has a right to his ignorant opinion. And I think people have a right to eat elsewhere – but I’m not sure what the point is, because for every cocksucker that gets angry about his opinion, there is at least one bigot that likes him more, so from a dollars perspective, I don’t think we faggots can win this one. On the other hand, we could strike and stop sucking closeted homophobes’ dicks. That’ll teach em. (fb) ~ “Turning a chicken sandwich into Public Gay Enemy Number One makes LGBT people look superficial, vindictive and juvenile — everything that we as a community have worked hard to overcome.” Maybe that is why the press is giving this so much attention. It takes attention away from Sally Ride’s surviving partner. ~ James Dickey said that Sylvia Plath was the Judy Garland of american poets. Or maybe it was Anne Sexton. ~ can you go glitter bomb gay pride and leave the big decisions to the adults? ~ You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger. ~ Gautama Siddhartha ~ Your email address and IP address has been logged and your incoming access permanently blocked to this recipient. You are an asshole. ~ At least with CFA and WM we have a choice. The gummit chooses to go to war, and doesn’t ask what we think. If you don’t pay the tax to support the war machine, your money is seized. ~ I am happy to know Miles Davis through his music, and not his reputed personality ~ Just as treasures are uncovered from the earth, so virtue appears from good deeds, and wisdom appears from a pure and peaceful mind. To walk safely through the maze of human life, one needs the light of wisdom and the guidance of virtue. – Gautama Siddhartha ~ Pictures are from “The Special Collections and Archives,Georgia State University Library” ~ Selah

Gore Vidal died Tuesday. He was a writer, celebrity, and a few other things. Mr. Vidal did not suffer false modesty. He probably would not have liked this blog, if he had bothered to look at it. He produced tons of material, much of which is preserved.
The media machine is certain to go into overdrive today. Since Mr. Vidal was 86, and using a wheelchair, this event was not unexpected. The obituaries were pre written, with a blank space reserved for the date of the event.
When Truman Capote passed, Mr. Vidal said it was a good career move. Which of his contemporaries are still around to pass the snark for Gore Vidal?
Eugene Luther Gore Vidal Jr. was born on Oct. 3, 1925, at the United States Military Academy at West Point. His father was an instructor there. His mother divorced him, and married the step father of Jackie Kennedy Onassis. There were upper crust schools, service in World War II, and a few novels. The filthy money of Hollywood beckoned, and Mr. Vidal wrote scripts for TV and movies. There was script doctor work on “Ben Hur”. Mr. Vidal said that Charlton Heston was such a wooden actor that he could supply a furniture factory.
After a while, novels, essays, and TV appearances occupied Mr. Vidal. Myra Breckinridge appeared in 1968, and is currently available on amazon for $0.01. PG paid $0.25 for his copy, and had so much fun reading it.
The movie Myra Breckinridge was a big deal when it came out. PG has never seen it, but heard it was horrible. Mae West came out of retirement to perform. Raquel Welch was on the Dick Cavett show, talking about the vortex of fans at the flick’s premiere. Sex changing has never been the same.
The other book by Gore Vidal that PG owns a copy of is Palimpsest: A Memoir. (Some yard sale had a hardback copy. PG might have paid a dollar.) This is a fun way to kill a few hours. Gore Vidal might be the last man to be angry with Woodrow Wilson for getting America into World War I.
Is it fair to quote one star autobiography reviews while the body is still warm? Was that body ever warm? It doesn’t matter, since Mr. Vidal wouldn’t have bothered to read these.
Why I couldn’t finish this book July 17, 2000 A Customer
1. His ridiculous treatment of his own novels as serious literature. 2. His attempts at revenge (for WHAT?) against Truman Capote and others. (Methinks the lady doth protest too much.) 3. The disillusionment and depression I was experiencing at learning that someone whose wit and intelligence I had always admired is really lacking in both when it comes to writing about his own life.
The only hardcover book I have ever thrown away . . ., February 5, 1998 A Customer
I gave this a “1” because I cannot give it a “0”. A stylized account of who sodomised whom with detail I frankly didn’t want to know, this is an unpleasant exercise in self-agrandisement by a writer suffering from, on the basis the talent displayed here, delusions of adequacy.
Dry As Old Sticks October 16, 2005 Cat Black “Wizard’s Hat” (Boston, Mass)
How could anyone who lived such an interesting life write such a boring book? (…)It’s like the only point of this memoir is to score points off his contemporaries. And in so doing, further puff up his already inflated ego. The guy clearly has no self-awareness whatsoever. Like are we supposed to admire him when he claims he is 100% top in bed and cares not a fig for his partner’s satisfaction? Very admirable, Mr Vidal. What a prince amongst men! His “life partner” is referred to in passing approximately three times in the entire book and is otherwise notable by his absence. As are friends in general. Did Vidal have any? No, just famous acquaintances he could pick apart, if this memoirs is anything to go by. The structure of the book is as self-consciously clever-clever as is the title. A grab bag of memories scattered like cushions over the overstuffed horsehair sofa of the ultimate prissy literary queen.
As this is written, there are 1913 new tweets , waiting to be untwittered. Knowing twitter, many of them are copies of this selection. If you have the time, some of the links might prove to be fun. Gore Vidal was a smart man, and told plenty of journalists about it.
@jaketapper RIP Gore Vidal. I interviewed him 12 years ago > http://www.salon.com/2000/09/20/vidal_5/ Quite an experience!
@morninggloria Gore Vidal, genius even in death, leaves earth before having to endure something called “Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day.”
‏@brainpicker “How marvelous books are,crossing worlds & centuries,defeating ignorance &, finally,cruel time itself.” RIP, Gore Vidal http://j.mp/OAJLCd
‏@PykeA I’ve never read any Gore Vidal, but he’s dead now so I feel like I should, or something. Good starting point?
@GlobeBender Adieu Gore Vidal, equal parts literary genious and pompous gadly (with a tryst here or there w/ Jack Kerouac) http://wapo.st/OCP6wq
‏@SHotchkissNYC “We had been too happy, and the gods cannot bear the happiness of mortals.” – R.I.P. Mr. Gore Vidal – http://gqm.ag/MiJvMb
‏@daily “50% of people won’t vote, and 50% don’t read newspapers. I hope it’s the same 50%.” Gore Vidal dies at 86: http://bit.ly/N1sl1Q
@pete_sinclair Angry at a bad review, Norman Mailer punched Gore Vidal at a party. On the floor, Gore said “Once again, words fail Norman Mailer.” #class
@dreamhampton I was born a writer. If you’re born that, you can’t change it. You’re going to do it whether you want to or not. ~Gore Vidal
@thesulk Gore Vidal died. He was the opposite of twitter.
Perhaps the best tweet for today is this: @Holmes7David Gore Vidal quotes: 26 of the best http://gu.com/p/39dnq/tw via @guardian This fine newspaper knew today was coming, and had a collection of quotes ready. They are probably delighted at having something other than the Olympics to discuss. Here are the quotes. Pictures for this feature are from The Library of Congress.
“I never miss a chance to have sex or appear on television.”
“It is not enough to succeed. Others must fail.”
“A narcissist is someone better looking than you are.”
“Any American who is prepared to run for president should automatically by definition be disqualified from ever doing so.”
“Democracy is supposed to give you the feeling of choice like, Painkiller X and Painkiller Y. But they’re both just aspirin.”
“Envy is the central fact of American life.”
“Every time a friend succeeds, I die a little.”
“The United States was founded by the brightest people in the country
and we haven’t seen them since.”
“Every four years the naive half who vote are encouraged to believe that if we can elect a really nice man or woman President everything will be all right. But it won’t be.”
“Andy Warhol is the only genius I’ve ever known with an IQ of 60”
“A good deed never goes unpunished.”
“All children alarm their parents, if only because you are forever expecting to encounter yourself.”
“Apparently, a democracy is a place where numerous elections are held at great cost without issues and with interchangeable candidates.”
“Fifty percent of people won’t vote, and fifty percent don’t read newspapers.
I hope it’s the same fifty percent.”
“Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences.”
“The genius of our ruling class is that it has kept a majority of the people from ever questioning the inequity of a system where most people drudge along,
paying heavy taxes for which they get nothing in return”
“Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn.”
“The more money an American accumulates, the less interesting he becomes.”
“The four most beautiful words in our common language: I told you so.”
“Congress no longer declares war or makes budgets.
So that’s the end of the constitution as a working machine.”
“We should stop going around babbling about how we’re the greatest democracy on earth, when we’re not even a democracy. We are a sort of militarised republic.”
“As the age of television progresses the Reagans will be the rule, not the exception. To be perfect for television is all a President has to be these days.”
“Sex is. There is nothing more to be done about it. Sex builds no roads, writes no novels and sex certainly gives no meaning to anything in life but itself.”
“Think of the earth as a living organism that is being attacked by billions of bacteria whose numbers double every forty years. Either the host dies, or the virus dies, or both die.”
“There is no such thing as a homosexual or a heterosexual person. There are only homo- or heterosexual acts. Most people are a mixture of impulses if not practices.”
“There is no human problem which could not be solved if people would simply do as I advise.”
There are more quotes, this time from The Gore Vidal Pages. If you get tired of reading, it is perfectly all right to skip ahead to the pictures. The first five are about Truman Capote .
Truman made lying an art form—a minor art form.
A relentless liar ought to be, if not stopped, curbed.
Every generation gets the Tiny Tim it deserves. – Vespa, Mary. People. June 25, 1979. Vol. 11 No. 25.
[Capote] lived for gossip, and he was also a marvellous liar. No fact ever gave him pause.
A great zircon in the diadem of American literature.
Everything the Bushites touch is screwed up. They could never have pulled off 9/11, even if they wanted to. Even if they longed to. They could step aside, though, or just go out to lunch while these terrible things were happening to the nation. I believe that of them.
Diary: May 5 | Books | The Guardian (online). May 5, 2007.
[When I heard that William F. Buckley had died,] I thought hell is bound to be a livelier place, as he joins forever those whom he served in life, applauding their prejudices and fanning their hatred.
She never baked a pie, but she did manage to drink, in the course of a lifetime, the equivalent of the Chesapeake Bay in vodka. – on his mother. – Point to Point Navigation (2006).
Reading a speech with his usual sense of discovery. – on Eisenhower speaking at the Republican Convention (Source attribution sought; contact gorevidalpages-at-gmail.com)
[Princess Margaret] was far too intelligent for her station in life. She often had bad press, the usual fate of wits in a literal society. – Point to Point Navigation (2006).
She’s just another dum-dum waddling along the pike. And she is not demure. If she were demure, she’d realize that there are whole areas in which a 10th-rate member of Congress ought to keep her trap shut. Nobody cares about her views. – on Congresswoman Michelle Bachman (R-Minnesota). Interview with Timothy Hodler. Details. March 2011.
[Tennessee Williams’ writings had] a tone of voice the like of which had not been heard since Mark Twain. Each was a comic genius within a dark universe that the innocent persist in calling “home sweet home.” – Point to Point Navigation (2006).

After a few minutes, PG ran out of excuses. He found a clean shirt, and his sandals, and put them on. The drivers license was removed from the wallet. A bungee cord wrapped around the billfold, as a reminder to replace the ID. The rain was nothing but a glorified drizzle, and not a good reason to stay inside. Maybe, just maybe, it will be a bit cooler today.
The path was in mid summer form, with a few of the vines trimmed out of the way. There are always a few renegade plants creeping into the walkway. The first couple of feet are easy to snap off by hand, and nothing here has briars or poison. If only you could say the same about the ballot.
When you vote at the school you attended as a child, you always notice how little everything is. The cafetorium was a giant hall way back then. There is a sepia of picture of the Principal in the hall. PG may be the only person there today who knows who got sent to his office.
The slip of paper you fill out asks you to list a preference. It means Democratic or Republican. While PG is non affiliated, he knows there is usually more action on the Republican side. Just a preference.
The third person you interact with takes your drivers license, and holds it in front of a device. The gizmo code on the back is scanned. PG said hi to big brother, which confused the poll worker lady.
Then you go to the ballot stations. They are these stand up devices, with a *privacy* barrier on each side. There was the usual onslaught of judges. Ashford Park is in the sixth Congressional district now, with Tom Price as the designated thief. Casino gambling, cell phone towers on school property, and an non binding anti abortion measure were all there for the bleary eyed voters to consider.
There are two proposals on the ballot today. Both have spawned highly unpleasant debates. PG received a number of robocalls supporting T-SPLOST over the weekend before the vote. Roy Barnes, Joseph Lowery, Burrell Ellis, and a few county politicians earned eternal scorn with their automated efforts.
There was only one yard sign visible on the walk to the polls. It said “No City”. PG did not argue. Pictures today are from “The Special Collections and Archives,Georgia State University Library”.

In the time when there were hobgoblins and fairies, Brother Goat and Brother Rabbit lived in the same neighborhood, not far from each other.Proud of his long beard and sharp horns, Brother Goat looked on Brother Rabbit with disdain. He would hardly speak to Brother Rabbit when he met him, and his greatest pleasure was to make his little neighbor the victim of his tricks and practical jokes.
For instance, he would say: “Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Fox,” and this would cause Brother Rabbit to run away as hard as he could. Again he would say: “Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Wolf,” and poor Brother Rabbit would shake and tremble with fear. Sometimes he would cry out: “Brother Rabbit, here is Mr. Tiger,” and then Brother Rabbit would shudder and think that his last hour had come.
Tired of this miserable existence, Brother Rabbit tried to think of some means by which he could change his powerful and terrible neighbor into a friend. After a time he thought he had discovered a way to make Brother Goat his friend, and so he invited him to dinner.
Brother Goat was quick to accept the invitation. The dinner was a fine affair, and there was an abundance of good eating. A great many different dishes were served. Brother Goat licked his mouth and shook his long beard with satisfaction. He had never before been present at such a feast.
“Well, my friend,” exclaimed Brother Rabbit, when the dessert was brought in, “how do you like your dinner?” “I could certainly wish for nothing better,” replied Brother Goat, rubbing the tips of his horns against the back of his chair; “but my throat is very dry and a little water would hurt neither the dinner nor me.”
“Gracious!” said Brother Rabbit, “I have neither wine-cellar nor water. I am not in the habit of drinking while I am eating.”
“Neither have I any water, Brother Rabbit,” said Brother Goat. “But I have an idea! If you will go with me over yonder by the big poplar, we will dig a well.”
“No, Brother Goat,” said Brother Rabbit, who hoped to revenge himself—”no, I do not care to dig a well. At daybreak I drink the dew from the cups of the flowers, and in the heat of the day I milk the cows and drink the cream.”
“Well and good,” said Brother Goat. “Alone I will dig the well, and alone I will drink out of it.”
“Success to you, Brother Goat,” said Brother Rabbit.
“Thank you kindly, Brother Rabbit.”
Brother Goat then went to the foot of the big poplar and began to dig his well. He dug with his forefeet and with his horns, and the well got deeper and deeper. Soon the water began to bubble up and the well was finished, and then Brother Goat made haste to quench his thirst. He was in such a hurry that his beard got in the water, but he drank and drank until he had his fill.
Brother Rabbit, who had followed him at a little distance, hid himself behind a bush and laughed heartily. He said to himself: “What an innocent creature you are!”
The next day, when Brother Goat, with his big beard and sharp horns, returned to his well to get some water, he saw the tracks of Brother Rabbit in the soft earth. This put him to thinking. He sat down, pulled his beard, scratched his head, and tapped himself on the forehead.
“My friend,” he exclaimed after a while, “I will catch you yet.”
Then he ran and got his tools (for Brother Goat was something of a carpenter in those days) and made a large doll out of laurel wood. When the doll was finished, he spread tar on it here and there, on the right and on the left, and up and down. He smeared it all over with the sticky stuff, until it was as black as a Guinea negro.
This finished, Brother Goat waited quietly until evening. At sunset he placed the tarred doll near the well, and ran and hid himself behind the trees and bushes. The moon had just risen, and the heavens twinkled with millions of little star-torches.
Brother Rabbit, who was waiting in his house, believed that the time had come for him to get some water, so he took his bucket and went to Brother Goat’s well. On the way he was very much afraid that something would catch him. He trembled when the wind shook the leaves of the trees. He would go a little distance and then stop and listen; he hid here behind a stone, and there behind a tuft of grass.
At last he arrived at the well, and there he saw the little negro. He stopped and looked at it with astonishment. Then he drew back a little way, advanced again, drew back, advanced a little, and stopped once more.
“What can that be?” he said to himself. He listened, with his long ears pointed forward, but the trees could not talk, and the bushes were dumb. He winked his eyes and lowered his head: “Hey, friend! Who are you?” he asked.
The tar-doll didn’t move. Brother Rabbit went up a little closer, and asked again: “Who are you?”
The tar-doll said nothing. Brother Rabbit breathed more at ease. Then he went to the brink of the well, but when he looked in the water the tar-doll seemed to look in too. He could see her reflection in the water. This made Brother Rabbit so mad that he grew red in the face.
“See here!” he exclaimed, “If you look in this well I’ll give you a rap on the nose!”
Brother Rabbit leaned over the brink of the well, and saw the tar- doll smiling at him in the water. He raised his right hand and hit her—bam! His hand stuck.
“What’s this?” exclaimed Brother Rabbit. “Turn me loose, imp of Satan! If you do not, I will rap you on the eye with my other hand.”
Then he hit her—bim! The left hand stuck also. Then Brother Rabbit raised his right foot, saying:
“Mark me well, little Congo! Do you see this foot? I will kick you in the stomach if you do not turn me loose this instant.”
No sooner said than done. Brother Rabbit let fly his right foot— vip! The foot stuck, and he raised the other. “Do you see this foot?” he exclaimed. “If I hit you with it, you will think a thunderbolt has struck you.”Then he kicked her with the left foot, and it also stuck like the other, and Brother Rabbit held fast his Guinea negro.
“Watch out, now!” he cried. “I’ve already butted a great many people with my head. If I butt you in your ugly face I’ll knock it into a jelly. Turn me loose! Oho! You don’t answer?” Bap!
“Guinea girl!” exclaimed Brother Rabbit, “Are you dead? Gracious goodness! How my head does stick!”
When the sun rose, Brother Goat went to his well to find out something about Brother Rabbit. The result was beyond his expectations.
“Hey, little rogue, big rogue!” exclaimed Brother Goat. “Hey, Brother Rabbit! What are you doing there? I thought you drank the dew from the cups of the flowers, or milk from the cows. Aha, Brother Rabbit! I will punish you for stealing my water.”
“I am your friend,” said Brother Rabbit; “don’t kill me.”
“Thief, thief!” cried Brother Goat, and then he ran quickly into the woods, gathered up a pile of dry limbs, and made a great fire. He took Brother Rabbit from the tar-doll, and prepared to burn him alive. As he was passing a thicket of brambles with Brother Rabbit on his shoulders, Brother Goat met his daughter Beledie, who was walking about in the fields.
“Where are you going, Papa, muffled up with such a burden? Come and eat the fresh grass with me, and throw wicked Brother Rabbit in the brambles.”
Cunning Brother Rabbit raised his long ears and pretended to be very much frightened.
“Oh, no, Brother Goat!” he cried. “Don’t throw me in the brambles. They will tear my flesh, put out my eyes, and pierce my heart. Oh, I pray you, rather throw me in the fire.”
“Aha, little rogue, big rogue! Aha, Brother Rabbit!” exclaimed Brother Goat, exultingly, “You don’t like the brambles? Well, then, go and laugh in them,” and he threw Brother Rabbit in without a feeling of pity. Brother Rabbit fell in the brambles, leaped to his feet, and began to laugh.
“Ha-ha-ha! Brother Goat, what a simpleton you are!—ha-ha-ha! A better bed I never had! In these brambles I was born!”
Brother Goat was in despair, but he could not help himself. Brother Rabbit was safe.
A long beard is not always a sign of intelligence.
A French Tar-Baby was written by Joel Chandler Harris.
The text is from Project Gutenberg . The pictures are from The Library of Congress . This is a repost.

The new tradition of States offing condemned prisoners with an intentional drug overdose is going to be reviewed by the courts. That is what Associated Press says. It is being repeated verbatim by numerous media outlets, including mainstream, lamestream, and dry creek bed.
The execution of Warren Hill was delayed. The court wants to consider the state’s decision to use an overdose of pentobarbital, instead of a three drug cocktail. The latest development is the court refusing to expedite the case, but to have oral arguments in November. PG left this comment at Peach Pundit, where he first heard this story.
1- The stories that you linked to regard sodium thiopental. It has been replaced by pentobarbital. The initial role of these two substances was to sedate the prisoner, so the other two drugs of the procedure could be used. (i.e. the gateway drug) The State has since decided to use a deliberate overdose of pentobarbital as a one shop stop.
2- This is a good decision. When SCOTUS ruled on chemical execution, they ruled on the three drug protocol, including sodium thiopental. Whether or not the State can change this at will is a matter for the courts to decide. This should provide lots of work for the legal industry.
3- Most of those death row inmates are not going anywhere anyway. The pace of executions is glacial.
4- This hemming and hawing about the number of drugs to use in an execution makes me wonder if the State is wise enough to employ the death penalty in a just and proper manner.
For those who just joined us, here is a review. When SCOTUS ruled that “lethal injection” was constitutional, the case referred to the Kentucky Protocol This was a three drug process. The protocol included sodium thiopental to kill pain, pancuronium bromide to paralyze the inmate and potassium chloride to stop the heart. (The spell check suggestion for Pancuronium is Pandemonium.)
The manufacturer of sodium thiopental objected to the use of their product in executions. States began to stockpile the drug, buying it from shady sources. Eventually, pentobarbital was used as a substitute. The manufacturer of pentobarbital objected to it’s use for executions, and this may cause problems in the future.
For various reasons, states decided to use a deliberate overdose of pentobarbital to waste the condemned. There are several reasons for this. Pancuronium bromide has been in short supply. Also, some say that the sedation is inadequate to prevent the pain caused by pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride. Some say that the one drug approach is more humane. Now, it appears that the court is going to have a say so.
CNN had a fun feature recently, about this issue. “Pentobarbital is widely available and has been used for physician-assisted suicide, including in Oregon, where the practice is legal in limited circumstances.”
There are a couple of other chemical execution stories today. This is from Associated Press via Washington Post.
Virginia has added a new drug to be used in executions to replace one that is in short supply. The Virginia Department of Corrections said Friday that Rocuronium Bromide can now be used in the lethal injection cocktail. The drug is an alternative to Pancuronium Bromide, which is scarce nationwide.
Richard Dieter of the Death Penalty Information Center says Virginia appears to be the first state to substitute a drug for Pancuronium Bromide, which is used to paralyze the muscles. He says Texas and Georgia have switched from the three-drug cocktail to a bigger dose of the sedative that typically is the first of three drugs administered. In May, an anti-death penalty group called Reprieve complained that Virginia had a stockpile of Pancuronium Bromide while hospitals are in short supply.
In Missouri, the plan is to do one drug executions using Propofol. This substance became famous when it caused Michael Jackson to leave the planet. Propofol is a British product, and some don’t want it imported to use in executions. (The spell check suggestion for Propofol is Foolproof.)
The Business Secretary Vince Cable is expected to introduce new legislative controls over the sale of Propofol, which will be used to prepare the injection that puts prisoners to death in America. It was also the drug used by Michael Jackson to treat his insomnia. The move was announced after Missouri became the first state to confirm it would begin using the drug in its executions, with others expected to follow, according to the Times.
Mr Cable said: “This country opposes the death penalty. We are clear that the state should never be complicit in judiciary executions through the use of British drugs in lethal injections.” He added a ban would not stop anaesthetics being sold the US for medical purposes. Since Missouri outlined its intention to use Propofol, campaigners have set out a legal challenge, arguing the drug causes pain before death, and humane administration of a fatal dose was unlikely.
A voice was heard in the distance, singing “Beat it, Beat it, no one wants to be defeated.”
Pictures are from The Library of Congress. This post was written like H. P. Lovecraft.

The Washington Post’s Mensa Invitational once again invited readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and then supplying a new definition for the new word. Here are the winners. This post is based on an email from Uzi
1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.
2. Ignoranus: A person who’s both stupid and an asshole.
3. Intaxicaton: Euphoria from a tax refund. It lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn’t get it.
9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It’s like when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then,like the Earth explodes… and it’s like, a serious bummer.
12. Decafalon (n): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you’ve accidentally walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you’re eating.
The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common words. And the winners are
1. Coffee, n. The person upon whom one coughs.
2. Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained.
3. Abdicate, v. To give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade, v. To attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent.
6. Negligent, adj. Absent-mindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown.
7. Lymph, v. To walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.
9. Flatulence, n. Emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash, n. A rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle, n. A humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude, n. The formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.
13. Pokemon, n. A Rastafarian proctologist.
14. Oyster, n. A person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.
15. Frisbeetarianism, n. The belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Circumvent, n. An opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

A couple of years ago, the internet sensation was a site called I Write Like. You paste a sample of your writing in the window, click, and the gizmo tells you who you write like. PG wrote a piece, with the derivative title “I Write Like”.
Now it is two years later. PG is still writing, and IWL is still crunching. It might be fun to go back.
Houseplants Complained About The Noise is the story of a party that PG attended. The hostess was offended by his remarks. This story was written in the style of David Foster Wallace.
Dark Skinned Appreciation Day is written like H.P. Lovecraft.
MARTA Dance Show is written like Kurt Vonnegut.
Another Motivational Poster is written like Dan Brown. This post was making fun of a poster. The words on the poster were from a Preacher, who probably thinks Dan Brown is a terrible person.
Yossarian Part Two is written like H.P. Lovecraft. So is the post you are reading.
At the end of every page is a link to Amazon. You get the opportunity to buy the author’s product. There might be a large unsold inventory of H.P. Lovecraft.
Pictures are from The Library of Congress.