The benefits of attitude adjustment and splayed frontality

It’s amazing what a little attitude adjustment will do.

The Y2K6 version of the Allied Pungeoning Front is making waves. Legendary Johnny Gutts is pounding his chest as he psychically pounds Pink Boys’ minds.

The APF has already had more pungeoning victories in 2005 as they’ve had in the past few years.

This is the very same squad that splayed the BubbaCabal’s frontal lobes last year, forcing them to cry ‘uncle.’ But Gutts’ enthusiasm and attention to fundamentals has rejuvenated a somewhat beleaguered pungeoning program and made it efficient again. The guys can’t wait to pungeon everyday. And you better keep some heads up there. Gutts’ brain-scabbing practices are entertaining in themselves. There are always several head games in play at once. If you don’t pay attention you are liable to catch a high-pierced psy-meme with your skull. Gutts even makes punge warm-ups a spectacle. Gutts handles minds like Napoleon handled Europe. He has five brains in the palm of his hand at one time and splays the mental frontality of his subjects like no other. It is quite appropriate that the pungeonary’s P.A. system plays “We Will Punge You” during psychological operations.

The APF has already made an early impression during these pungeoning sessions. With Master Gutts at the helm, look for the APF to make a lot of noise in the pungeoning world.

Display some attitude — Splay some Pink dude!

You knew it was gonna happen... didn't you?

Make no mistake, many people are so busy just trying to survive that they never have the time or energy to dream. It is a hard lesson about life. Getting a clue in this day and age is tough, and doubly so if you are dense.
Success, however long it took to come, will be marked by breaking away from one’s dependency on The Man, not by becoming further dependent on it.
Intuition is often “such a fleeting thing. It also often takes a lot of patience to grasp,” as Johnny Gutts once said.
No matter how noble one’s intuition may be, their fulfillment is eventually guaranteed on this planet, if you hold out. And despite all of the nonsense frequently spouted by Pink Boys, hunches are, in fact, trustworthy.
Everything from Media Manipulation to Plantation Mentality is part of a dastardly plot by the BubbaCabal to make money administering new disinformation programs while taking money from people who need help to achieve their dreams.
When and where did these pink boys and their spokesdudes garner their authority to “demand” more of the working man’s income? Apparently it still isn’t enough to comfort, educate and nurture the wretched.
People who trust their hunches may have the psychological upper hand, but must be cautious of pink boys with a berserker mentality, thinking that everyone owes them, and they are constantly trying to get more and more money, while making everything they touch turn to waste.
Could it be that your intuition is really a growing awareness for less bullsh*t and a reinvestment in pungeoning?

Block Party Watermelon Casualty 1975

Against a backdrop of card tables and umbrellas, 7-year-olds sow the seeds of discord.

One jostle will soon upset the delicate balance of the universe. Fruit will come tumbling in slo-motion, finally making a shattering impact with hot asphalt.

It is then for a split-second that eyes from above will bulge forth and shoot darts. The accidental perpetrator will then make his stealthy getaway into the festive throngs of a secret Saturday. And amidst the pulp and broken rind lies the future seeds of Sunday's discord.

DVZ: The Vital Force Will Remain Unfettered

Outside of the Mandated Psychological Protectorate, Captain Black encounters Magnetic Scullery Maid, forcing him to disengage from Orthotic Mental Buffers.

Viva Vis Vita

G. Clooney: "What's a metaphor?"

Opportunistic grooming of the veracious fidus achates by Manichaeanistic Pink Boys results in whole-hog meddling, thus defeating the intentions of both. This is tantamount to...
George Clooney inducing whiplash on an innocent baboon.

Wholesale tampering of an honest process fouls the entire system. The attribute-localized free-scouring tension hinders the system, dictating reactive efforts that repel any aptitude-intensive fluke barrage, ultimately resulting in impulse-consequent prefect disposal.

hipi vibe 2000

"Jetez-moi un animal!"

©1993JAM

signe de bourbon 1

©1992JAM

Please... Leave Room for Soy

Please consider the sensitivities of patrons and their needs to uphold delicate social façades by making the necessary allowances for potential beverage additives. Proactive deference towards these customer needs will help ‘save face’ as well as provide opportunities to ‘up-sell’ our product.

This has been a test of the Emotive Response System. Employee reactions may cater to self-absorbed clientele. Such is the toil of the minimum wage slave.

La Pungeón: ¡Golpe en Mente!

Emo Tae-Bo

“The flutter of a butterfly’s wings makes a hurricane wind halfway around the world.”

Or so goes the Chinese proverb. But here in Classic Town USA, those that claim fuzzy Anthro-Nostalgias, international travel and smirks at ‘The Man’ as notches in the Belt of Enlightenment dryly reply, “This breeze is mussin’ up my pre-mussed hair.”

Thus, the claims of worldly sensitivities clash with the inability to anonymize world events. In other words: It's all about you.

Post-university idleness tends to force would-be players to gaze into the proverbial mirror; ego-obligated, they carve out a social identity from the barren cliffs known as “‘Life’ in 2005” [scare quotes intentional].

From there, a years-long phase of sashaying the Whining Waltz, airing a steady steaming stream of sure-to-be-noticed Useless Introspections and Traumotional Affidavits tailored to gallantly shore up one's Emotional Tackle.

Alas, even Self-Referential SulkFests get old and the vicissitudes of Façade Fatigue finally set in, forcing our player to seek out a new front.

Un Occhio che li Vede Tutti

Public Cavort in G Major

It has been said that The Younger Set are quick to utilize their media-savvy sensibilities...

Muttering popular catchphrases and styling ‘deck’ with excessive drama may seem radically ‘in the now’ while masking Inner Wussdom...

...But in the end the recognition of Misplaced Ego Ideals explains the lack of originality of individuals who, easily enough, find themselves on the World’s Stage with nil to offer.

The Perception:
The sight of a mic and camera sends knees a-quivering as the whiff of fame wafts by, baiting the Everydude to bow up for the lens and Tell It Like It Is, Man...

The Reality:
The proverbial ‘15 Minutes of Fame’ actually has two functions. First, as a Soapbox for Stupidity, it entertains while warning the audience of nitwits in their midst. Second, the spectacle is a boon for the media itself as it sucks out feeble souls from the desiccated torsos of the willing, all for the sake of high ratings with the corresponding twentysomething demographic.

As for our friend:
Well, his 16th Minute
will last a long
and limp lifetime.

Psy 5: The Apple Doesn't Rot Far From The Tree

Good counselor Mr. Fayer holds rap sesh with the youth helping to provide a discursive ‘safe space’ where instilling a ‘kiddie dialectic’ and nurturing correct esteemitude reifies grown-up resentment using logical positivism to blind the what-if’s and naturalistic fallacies to whine of would-be’s.

But at home...
Young Master Fayer is quite the enfant terrible; ostentatious hissy as holding court.
Unctuous bed-soiling, torching small animals, and tossing banana peels before piano movers, all without fatherly judgement that would deny him of ‘his voice’...

Thus, in absentia...
Praxis Makes Pervert.

Baltan-Seijin Peace Memorial (alternate timeline)

Please refrain from persuaded urge by meta-idol to suck-in belief. Hive mentality can feel justify, good feeling because everyone else. But defer from self-judgement is not correct. Please think twice before swalloing spoutings.

バルタン星人

Guess Who's On The Couch... Again?

“What’s the difference, man? We’re all struggling together in the isocosmos... You know... against The Man. He’s trying to stomp down on our Will To Be. I’m just filtering out the infotoxins on my journey to cosmic one-ness. It’s all good...”

Actually, it’s not all that good.

Crimes Against Civility:
• Brown Bag Performances masquerading as Important Artistic Statements.
• Prognathous ponderings that sound oh-so-deep, but are nothing more than the Paranoid Plantings of Seeds of Infotoxins.
• The Tyranny of Theory Over Praxis and the Gloating of Gnostic Self-Certainty: Facile claims of knowledge without the benefit of experience.
• The Brusque Waving-Away of Any Criticism with thoughtless off-the-cuff quips like, “You sold out,” or “You’re just jealous.”
• Overextended Couch-Camping with the subsequent hollow gesture of making amends via Hideous Art Donations as feeble barter towards utilities.

The verdict of scammage is frowned upon in all cultures, dude.

Faking the Fruit of Non-Existent Labours...is the Aging of Bad Wine

Coat-Tailers Come in All Ages
(cue music: 'Grandpa Volleyball')

Dank, pissy vinegar, how secretly bitter art thou...

   We've seen this before. Music, generational gaps and the affirmation of hip credentials. From Boomers lecturing Gen X, to 70's dinosaurs claiming credit for Grunge, musicians of one decade tut-tutting those of another aren't anything new. But what about non-artists who try to make the same generational argument?
   Certain folks name-drop willy-nilly about scenesters of yesteryear, yet knowing they themselves contributed nothing 'back in the day' but pogo-posturing and convenient cleaving to collective coat-tailing.

And today? Still nothing to show other than smug, self-satisfied sniffings about how 'you weren't there.'
   Yeah. Like the fact that you stood in the middle of the old Classic City Rock Club in 1982 with your thumb up your ass hitting on everything that happened to walk by while some band was trying to rock out somehow magically gives you the cred to wag fingers at people half your age who dare attempt to engage in some creative venture without properly pledging fealty to All That Have Rocked Before Us.
   Even people your age who were there at the time shake their heads at you, as they were actually busy being artists, musicians... you know, actually creating things.   How about the next time Scenester Reunion rolls around, you regale some 22-year-old scene hag with Tales of Back Then. That way you can drag her in and show those old Gray Ponytails that you still got it and always had it. Yeah, that'll show 'em.
   In the end, it's kinda obvious to everyone that you were just another face in the crowd at a certain time and place, deserving no more merit than any other bystander who happens to witness life passing them by with a yawn.

Bend Over, Athens

A Curious Pattern of "Chickanery"

Local op-eds make a hand-wringing appeal to doe-eyed hipsters, shrieking about The Man and his nefarious plans of ‘banning the Scene,’ kicking little puppies and otherwise ‘being mean to the environment.’

With its deigning tone, emotionally-fraught words and nameless finger-pointing, this comes across as the journalistic equivalent of making flippy-floppy arm movements like a retard panicking over a lost sippy cup.
While this would certainly be considered pandering, perhaps we should instead turn our eyes from the sky, where Chicken Little would have us, to the landscape before us.

Notably absent from our Town Crier's mewlings is the mention of actual Nattering Nannies and Neo-Puritans who nickel-and-dime every patron and proprietor, sandbagging the very Scene they fawn over with their fanny packs full of feelings and jive pronouncements cooing over ‘funky culture.’

It's one thing to act as a priori apologist for your cronies at City Hall — that much chicanery is expected from small town scribblings of all political stripes. But what we see here are Scaaary Red Herrings being waved about with accompanying stank meant to forestall disagreement by flattering one's audience.

——

And here we have come full circle, for when Chicken Little speaks down to his entire audience as if they are all 18-year-old über-sensitive, doe-eyed hipsters, one can suspiciously hear the diversionary peepings of Chicken Little coming from the pocket of The Man himself.

Beware the bird who claims to speak with your best interests at heart, for all the paltry cluckings backed by nothing but weasel words and faux outrage is only meant to ruffle your feathers enough to skip gaily after this Pied Piper, who, in the long run, is basically covering for people who are...a c##k up your @$$.

...in there in the pines

(trad.) MMII

————

There's a place in the pines
if you wait long and hope
there's a face there you might find
if you sing by the wishing well
the smile will come to you
in there in the pines

Across the dale I'm with the wind
I see stone walls through the trees
welcoming lights, red door,
and the wishing well
in there in the pines

In the sky I'm with the full moon
I can see that place from above
amber embers, coals of aqua...
...in there
in the pines

Turtles Outclass the Sorry-Go-Round as Tards Are Turtling the Sacred Ground

Tudor House of bygone days...

Brass trim and stately oaken beams
dust covered elegance in a musty haze
all overlooked in favor of the telescreen
Banquet and salon grow dark
dialogue’s heady echoes die out
feenoid fribbles on their lark
ignore a past, thus have nil to forget
...And what of the turtles of distinction?

Still they lurk in the nether chambers
snapping with umbrage

snap, snap, snap
they cut no wheedle

The point? Who needs facetious flies on the wall pointing out the fading glory of forgotten thinkers?
The snappers snap not at flies assumed to be prey...
...but at the strivation of understanding
dying and displaced by the spectacle of teats and arse
and testosteroid fulmination
via overhead teleprompter

Turtling the Eternal...

———

Neon track suits replace cravat and coat
as well as Lady’s dress
Unisex Casual Sundays show no shame in bloat
as they parade their sartorial best
And again from on low
the clack of chomping maws
drift up through the floors
The ire of snapping outcasts
pine for pasts unflawed
while they stomach all the boors

Top Shelf [pre-requiem]

The moment in time...
...July 16, 2003 A.D.

Epiphanies come crashing down...
...like future monuments, burdened by the expectations of mortals for their false idols.

Grizzled bartenders, wary of BS pretensions, mistakenly scold the local provocateur’s what-ifs as Dilettante Culture Snobbery, as Earthy Jammers who shirk their ‘real world’ latency regale in hard-luck stories while searching for potential crash pad references.

Between the Gauntlet of Whines

Stuck between the bestial tirades of the bellicose Irkus and the petty mandates of the cerebrally irradiated Mendez IV...

Where stands the Everyman?
In the chasm... between the smug sitting with a bland plan that supposedly explains where man stands ...and the hand waving the tired brand of contrarian spouting, sinking into the sand under scrutiny but well damned by an id-expectant scam.

What would Neptune do?

What comes between a man and the ardent vision that strikes him at sea?

...The all-knowing isle of heart that beckons softly from ocean’s edge? It is the intransigent Scylla of puffed authority and the wheedling siphon of a fawning Charybdis.

He must stand for the truth in his heart, and win over the guiding hand of Neptune to see him swimmingly prevail over monstrous obstacles towards his stirring pursuit.

Be Your Own Lemming

Global EgoPrécis: The Same All Over

Consistent archetypes everywhere, regardless of culture:
• AUTISTIC SAVANT: The subtle savvy savage with an otherworldly talent as seer
• PREDATORY PSYCHOPATH: The lurking misfit, with vampiric tastes
• SMUG FINANCIER: The wedge-driving haggler, sniffing for opportunity
• ÆTHERIC GODDESS: The Hope-Eternal, sprung from visions of potential

Feel the burden

"Non me ne frega un cazzo!"

Orders come
down the line…
Do this, do that… and so on. From the ghosts of imperial decree all the way to capos dictating hits to self-styled guappos… do we believe everything we hear…?

When we are on our own...
…we are forced to make our own observations, judgements, and actions based upon the given input. How do we deal? At the risk of condoning the ancients’ methods of fickle decisions, we mentally pungeon the parade of know-it-all Fonzie‘s and Chachi’s thoroughly, as if it’s any of their business.

Vatenni!

On Media Button-Pushing

BAITING THE EVERYMAN REACTION TO B.S.:
PUSH ALL BUTTONS,
SNUB ALL SOLUTIONS

anthro-transmutation in the spotlight can be assumed to attract a certain amount of media attention...
72-point headlines and tabloid trembling sensationalize the effect while ignoring the cause... Recourse? Psychological triage must be applied to counter spin...

MMLXXI: A Head-Start on Tomorrow's Regrets

Thanks to Quantum Time Portals™, the future is just minutes away.

Stepping on through just to bail out on some present-day entanglements?
Well, just wait and see what 66 years of unconsidered consequences might add up to.

The well-meaning heart gets to see where the road he paved leads to...
Today's dewy-eyed idealism gets a preview of the ‘fallout’ of tomorrow's appeasement.

How about that wussy speech about laying down arms in front of a sworn enemy? Yeah, it was all mushy enough to get you some tail (that was the intention, right?), but what actually happened? Those jerks overran everything, blew it all up, and laid waste to the land. Oh, but you just wanted to split the messy scene that you yourself made and go off to some utopian future! Well here you are! Guess what?!! The buds you ditched in the desert out at Burning Man got irradiated and their descendants are out for blood. The folks that were sane enough to ignore you at the time are the ones turning over in their graves while their grandkids are building robots to fend off these marauding scammers... All the while building some far-fetched Space Ark to get them off this sorry cinder of a planet that you had charred with your idle feel-good-ism masking hindsight-oblivious nihilism...

So much for good intentions...

Blandarchy

endosymbionté les lâches

endosymbionté

X is the unknown... but the “Y” should be our quarry

Stomping your feet trying to defend someone else’s ideas you happened to swallow when you were 22...
Not a wise step towards the pursuit of truth...
It looks like you made a bad investment...
But then again, you should have been asking “Why?” from the beginning...

Convergent Time Lines [Brunch as Focal Point]

SOLAR DISTANCE: 15.4LY • RIGHT ASCENSION: 22 53 15.6 • DECLINATION: -14 15 40 • SPECTRAL TYPE: M4 V • APPARENT MAGNITUDE: 10.17 • MASS: 1.89 SOLAR MASSES • RADIUS: -1 SOLAR RADII • SUNDAY BRUNCH: $7.99

• Selected for remote staging base
• Semi-habitable with gaseous surface
• Strategic location serves as halfway point
• Senior hospitality allays stresses of interstellar layovers

Granny’s kibble brunch is the crossroads between homey earthbound sensibilities and far-flung interstellar meanderings.
J-rod is the host who offers Sunday amenities that bridge the vast differences across light years.
Please join our repast on Gliese 876c.

Radical Chic Defends [default] Neander-Turd Wannabe

How can one possibly pretend to assume the mantle of the ingenuous “tune-out, drop-out” rebel with overt luddite pretensions — getting back to the primeval, if you will — while at the same time using said affectations in a highly calculated manner meant to condescendingly conjure sympathy for a perceived “modern primitive”?

Oh, the irony. The sponsor blushes when learning that the suffering subjects to whom he deigned are simply Pulling the Wool.
LESSON: Wannabe spokespeople for the downtroden should have enough sense to recognize Dunwoody gutterpunks for the grifters that they are.

Are We Following The Wrong Caveman?

Take the Punge!

MAKING THE DECISION to place a nemesis in an alternate living situation is easier when one experiences the dedication and personal care at Seaside Pungeonary, a psychological adjustment facility in Higby Beach. The facility focuses on an ethics-based pungeoning for its guests, who are treated with just desserts and professional care by a trained staff.
‘‘I feel our niche is the attention we give to the details that make Seaside Pungeonary a true difference for our guests,” said Johnny Gutts, Administrator. ‘‘Our approach is to render psychological operations as effectively efficiently as possible.”
The staff at Seaside Pungeonary provides 24-hour personal attention for their guests, a group of Pink Boys and ne'er-do-wells who have stepped over the Moral Boundary and require the extensive service of skilled pungeoneers. Despite their insolence, many Pinks deserve their comeuppance. Seaside Pungeonary provides the flexibility to pungeon at various levels.
‘‘Our staff is terrific. They love what they do and it adds to the comfort we strive to provide,” Gutts said. Personal services at Seaside Pungeonary include supervision of ‘meds,’ local pharmacy delivery, re-education, cerebral truncheonings, a hair salon and daily psychological manipulation.
The physical facilities at Seaside Pungeonary are as attractive and inviting as the professional care. Cold, hard concrete and an apparent lack of windows make both guests and residents feel worthless. Inside, the main chamber features uncomfortable seating, an interrogation circle and a ‘session booth.’ Each of the four wings has separate psychological functions.
Seaside Pungeonary has 23 private chambers featuring individually controlled environment and mind conditioning, a pungeonette and private rack. ‘‘The chambers were designed with mental insecurity and re-education in mind,” explains Gutts. ‘‘The architect went to great lengths to add classic Mussolini-like touches such as archways, lack of windows, and harsh lighting to create the atmosphere.”
Residents participate in a wide variety of regularly scheduled activities, including day trips, cranial punge therapy, crafts, Bible studies, games and Aerobix classes. Seaside Pungeonary is also a Partner in Pungeoning with The Orville Corporation and enjoys regular visits and entertainment from students.
‘‘Quality of mind is our first priority!” emphasizes Johnny Gutts. ‘‘We can give you the best of both worlds by providing pungeoning in a private, secure atmosphere.”
Seaside Pungeonary is a private-pay, non-smoking facility located at Higby Beach, at Highway A1A and Boardwalk, just 7 miles east of Furley Square Mall. Call (701) JKL-2300 to schedule your personal tour.

Curmudgeon 2001