Friday, November 25, 2005

Dave... Oprah. Oprah... Dave. OR... The Story of O (but not the really good one about the fem/sub nympho)

And so on Dec 1st, 2005 it will finally come to pass. The moment none of us were really waiting for... The Big "O" Oprah Winfrey (though not as big as she has been) will end her long-standing "feud" with David Letterman by appearing on his late night tv show.

And to what do we attribute this grand gesture?

A noble announcement to be made for a worthy cause?

The need to use her considerable Celebrity clout to sway the public consent for or away from the U.S.A.'s agressive and interventionist approach to foreign policy?

A fund-raising stunt for charity?

What could motivate the Queen of Daytime Talk...

(...who has been steadily poisoning North American pop conciousness for about 30 years now with her arguably well-intented-if-somewhat-myopic-overzealous-and-underdeveloped-"blipvert" philosophical approach to life, the universe and even womanhood and rabid consumerism, which she quaintly labels "having it all"...)

...what could possibly motivate her to appear on the Letterman show?

Why of course. This moment none of us were waiting for has been carefully orchestrated to coincide with a landmark theatrical event even-fewer-of-us could possibly give a rat's ass about: the opening of the "Color Purple" musical on Broadway.

(No... don't worry kids... I haven't suffered a stroke or become suddenly retarded. That's just how Americans think the word "colour" is spelled. They find the "u" to be superfluous. Why they don't also get rid of the superfluous "u" in the word "prple" remains a mystery.)

So in honour of this momentous non-occasion...

Here's a tidbit about Oprah Winfrey, talk-show host and spokes-mascot for such consumerist tripe as "O at Home Magazine"...which she'll probably mention when she shows up on the white guy's talk show to push her little "Color Prple" theater thing.

(No... don't worry kids... I haven't suffered a stroke or become suddenly retarded. That's just how Americans think the word "theatre" is spelled. They can't put the "e" at the end or they'd have to get rid of it as superfluous. Why they don't also get rid of the superfluous "e" in the words "Hom" "Magazin" "prpl" "Winfry" and "whit" remains a mystery.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...

Here's a tidbit about Oprah Winfrey...

( Or, if you prefer, as I'm the one passing it on... a TODbit about Oprah Winfrey.)

(Don't worry kids... I haven't suffered a stroke or become suddenly retarded. That's just how Americans think the name "Todd" is spelled. They find the second "d" to be superfluous. Why they don't also get rid of the superfluous second "d" in the word "didn't" remains a myster--- )

What's that? ...Some of them have?
...You're kidding.
...You're not kidding.
...Okay so... what? These ignorant fuckwads just going around saying "di'n't" and actually expect functionally literate adults NOT to give them a good smack in their drooling retard mouths!?!
HUH!?!
...Oh.
...They do, huh?
Fuck...

Where was I?

Oh yeah... a todbit about Opra Wnfre...

The Winter Edition of "O at Home Magazine"

...Or as a Cockney might have it "O at 'Ome Magazine"

...Or as her American "sisters" might have it "HO at Home Magazine"

But I digress.

The Winter Edition of "O at Home Magazine"

TOTAL PAGE COUNT: 140 pages not including inside back and front covers

TOTAL PAGE COUNT MINUS ADVERTISEMENTS: ...Uh... still 140 pages. Our O-so-spiritual-hostess with the mostesses seems to count the ads as "content".

TOTAL PAGES OF ADVERTISING: I lost count somewhere after 50... because honestly the first third of the magazine is 95 percent ads and the last two-thirds... (the so-called "content") seems to be... uh... articles and lists of things that you can buy. I'm not sure how that's different from an ad.

TOTAL PAGES OF CONTENT: Uh... 8 or nine.

TOTAL NUMBER OF PEOPLE DEPICTED IN THE MAGAZINE(including contributors, and images of people in paintings pictures on the walls of model rooms): 93

TOTAL NUMBER OF WHITE PEOPLE DEPICTED IN THE MAGAZINE: 71

TOTAL NUMBER OF NON-WHITE PEOPLE DEPICTED IN THE MAGAZINE: 17

TOTAL NUMBER OF BLACK MEN: 3

TOTAL NUMBER OF ASIANS: 4

TOTAL NUMBER OF DOGS: 4

TOTAL NUMBER OF CATS: 1

TOTAL NUMBER OF BLACK WOMEN (aka African American Women) including Oprah: 10

TOTAL NUMBER OF FAT-ASS, CHAIRS-ARE-FRIGHTENED-WHEN-THEY-COME-INTO-THE-ROOM, FRIED CHICKEN-EATIN' BLACK MOMMAS (LIKE OPRAH WAS BEFORE THE PERSONAL MILLIONS LET HER AFFORD PERSONAL TRAINERS, PERSONAL CHEFS, PERSONAL SURGEONS, PERSONAL REPLICANT BODY-DOUBLES): 0

Friday, November 18, 2005

Admit it... it was worth the wait.

Or was it?
A little anticlimatic? Well get used to it buckos.
This is the way of life.
First you're a pimply faced little runt with a fixation on the pretty flat-chested girl you can only pray won't stay flat-chested forever. And what've you got? Really?
You've got sweaty dreams of frenzied groping, or dreams of sweaty frenzied groping, or... awww hell, rearrange the words any way you want it all comes out the same...

She's the grail boys. She's your Dulcinea, your Quest, your Lost Ark of the Covenant (also known as your Found Ark of the One-Sided Rulebook for allowing the Levites to bully the shit out of the lesser Jew tribes for all eternity) the point is this: What've you got?

(Surely you remember that's the point. I said it just a few sentences ago. Remember? "Try to keep up, Wymer. And what's that? An ocarina? Well put it on the desk boy put it on the desk...")

Back to it... What've you got? All you've got is the anticipation, the dream and for that moment everything is only one step away from perfection.

That's right, perfection ---like the chance wind that raises a Catholic schoolgirl's skirt to reveal nothing but flawless buttocks surrounding a black thong and all that promises--- is always a moment away, a gesture, a word an action. This is the probability wave-form of existence I'm talkin' about here children. Can I get a hallelullah?
Can I get an amen?
We are creatures of motion. Our awareness isn't just OF motion... it IS motion... it is IN motion and doesn't know how to be otherwise...

-----howevermuch stuanch Republicans, knee-jerk, bleeding-heart Liberals and the great unwashed mass of thoughtlessly religious may seem evidence to the contrary. Don't be fooled. They only appear hopelessly mired and frozen in a stasis-pool of ignorance from the cushy ultra-light-speed vantage point of your own Warp-9 openmindedness and constant reflection and self-examination.------

Motion we are in. Always forward...
----except in Education where "Intelligent Design" adds momentum to the retreat of the public mind away from the onus of personal responsibility that comes with self-awareness----

...Always forward I say, never stopping, gliding from each moment of potential perfection to the next... and yet the moment never arrives, not really.

Why not?

Look down, kids.

That perpetual glide has us skating across the surface of a road paved and soiled with the reality that underlies all that potential perfection... the crushed and ground-down remnants of so many moments of promised perfection reduced to... what? So many sticky, stained and sodden candy wrappers, yellowed newspaper-clippings with headlines announcing bliss to be within reach, and the occasional sloppy condom, torn and half-inverted having served it's function one way or another, by "failing" or by succeeding.

That's the road. Brace yourself my fellow bastards. That's the deal.

Perfection is a waveform... but the waveform collapses.

Motion is what we are and the motion from here to there is the quintessence of ourselves. And that is why perfection is embodied not in the attained but in the attainable, not in the Now

-----------------and most especially not in the NOW that clutters T.O. landfills so a bunch of whining, mincing, myopic twenty-something jag-offs in boxy thick-framed "nerd" glasses...

(that they think make them look cool, when really all they do is reveal them outwardly for what they are inwardly: a bunch of trend-sucking, sneering, pampered, Bourgeois lick-spittles parading their fashionable feigned-angst to the world in the hopes that no one will notice they haven't the soul, depth or intelligence to actually know what angst is)

...can pretend to be "journalists" or "critics" who presume to enlighten us with editorials from the point of view of all those weasely little greasy fucks who were were always hovering at the edge of actual activity and pretending they were a part of it just because they were going to snap a pic for the highschool snotrag newsletter----------------

but in the Now that is "coming soon" "almost here" "could soon be".

So we move on...

...From an unattended-to blog that was potentially... well, anything (Insightful. Funny. The answer to a question we don't know how to ask) ... to this. Family Guy fart joke references and extended sexual metaphors.

From dreams of judgement-free and totally-accepting, flawlessly choreographed and executed acts of ecstacy (most likely to be found on the family-room floor while the parents are away) with that oh-so-pretty, pouty, schoolgirl, Goth-chick, ivy-league refined or strip-club sleazy Goddess of our wet dreams, we arrive at the fumbling, groping, awkward, drunken, cigarette-breath and body-odour reality of a vaguely feverish sensation, followed by a water-thin release and the desire to rationalize.

The waveform has collapsed.

This is all there is. The desire. The reality. The small disappointing death that doesn't culminate in the tunnel of light and all the gods' wisdom. And it's over.

This blog. Sex. Same deal.

It doesn't really matter if it isn't that good this time. Or even next time. I'll keep coming back for more.

Cause chasing perfection is what there is. And it's fun. Like bashing your head against a wall.

You felt good when it was over. Spent. Kinda dopey. So why not do it again?

I know I will.

I tend to be a randy little fucker.

TMcG

ANTICIPATION GETTING YOU DOWN? Well... CIPITATE NO MORE...

Hey Lois... remember that time I farted?

Hehheheheheeeeeeh!