Niels Bohr finally told Einstein "stop telling God what to do", and the government of the Church of Rome is thinking about letting God do what he wants with the souls of unbaptized children. This would make Christian doctrine at least as merciful as some Aboriginal clans who believe the souls of miscarried or stillborn children are transmigrated as koala bears.

Closing down the Limbo of Children is a good thing, but so was the theory's original intent. The Limbo of Children was built in the human imagination by people like Peter Abelard in an attempt to mitigate the cruelty of medieval Christianity. It was a time of absolutes, and the construction of Limbo eased human suffering for mothers and fathers who thought their lost lambs were burning in Hell because they hadn't been baptized.

Limbo is an easy target for the goyim to make fun of, but I have a sentimental attachment for the Limbo of the Fathers, the supposed home of the virtuous pagans who were born, lived and died before the time of Christ. They rest "in Abraham's bosom", with the possible exceptions of Shakespeare's Falstaff and myself, who will sleep in Arthur's.

That first generation of Christians had a problem, as if the Romans weren't enough. If knowledge of Christ was a ticket to Heaven, what about their beloved grandparents, dead these many years, who wouldn't know a Christian from Adam? If you love your grandma, you wouldn't want to see her roasting in Hell with Nero...? The "Virtuous Pagans" teaching solved this psychological problem, and reconciled Heaven with the pagans' Elysian Fields. Imagine the day care, with babies swaddled by Aristotle, toddlers dawdled on the knees of Odysseus-- it would resemble the school of Chiron the Centaur, who taught the Greek heroes on Mount Pelion.

(The Harrowing of Hell, the story of Jesus rescuing the Virtuous Souls of antiquity from the maw of Death, is a later medieval construct that would make a smashing film. If Titian kept painting, I imagine there must be a "Rescue of Spartacus by Christ", which shows the trained warrior and the carpenter comparing scars.)

The Roman Catholic Church, which takes more time to turn around than an ocean liner (just ask Francis of Assisi or John XXIII) is not so much a medieval institution as a cautionary example of the perils of success. That Roman fortress, full of climbers, corruption, and holier-than-thou politicians, has almost no relationship to the human problems of the parish priest. The pedophile scandal shows (again!) how easy it is to hide in a bureaucracy. Still, I suspect that the Vatican's study of theology-- and I'm speaking as a believer-- is not entirely a wasted effort. Theology has been an attempt by the human mind to negotiate our understanding of the unreadable Universe we find ourselves in, and if humans look silly trying to parse the meaning of a disaster or whether God worries about our sex lives, whaddya gonna do? There are some howlers in old Psychology and Physics textbooks as well.

A Prayer for Wisdom

The technology of killing has outpaced our species’ ability to control or disarm violent psychopaths if they have three pieces of ID and a valid credit card.

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom, through the awful grace of God." -- Aeschylus.


A group of activists calling themselves The Van Helsings celebrated the anniverary of Slobodan Milosevic's death on March 11 by making sure the son of a bitch stayed dead. Both the UK Guardian and Scotland's Sunday Herald report the group's intention to drive a hawthorn stake into the ground and through the casket into whatever's left of the mass murderer's heart. (The cognoscenti will understand that this anniversary is an important one in vampire prevention.)

Milosevic still has his admirers, even while the World Court at the Hague ponders whether to just say Screw It and put the entire country of Serbia on trial for mass murder. There were more people at Milosovic's funeral than there were at Tom Paine's, which says a lot about our dubious species's choice of role models.

Guards have been posted and outrage has been expressed online against making light of "desecration", though it seems clear that the Van Helsings were never serious about actually attempting to stake the corpse-- for one thing, the casket's buried under a concrete vault. For another, if an autopsy was performed after Milosovic's death, the coroner might have moved the heart around, or stuffed it back inside the cavity in one of those little bags they use for turkey gizzards, and there's no guarantee of a straight shot at the offending organ.

This was political theater, which might be all we have left as a weapon when fighting complacency, silence and chauvinism. Mass media and consensual reality are more and more under the sway of murderous regimes. This kind of theatrical gesture might replace the earnest demonstration as a form of protest-- if we want the world's attention, we're going to have to put on a better show than the competition.

COMMONPLACE BOOK: Current Readings

“As for the people I am accusing, I do not know them, I have never seen them, and I bear them neither ill will nor hatred. To me they are mere entities, agents of harm to society.”
(Emile Zola)

“You no longer rely on your citizens to make wars; you now rely on private companies.”
(Jeremy Scahill, author of Blackwater, in an interview on C-SPAN)

“What to think of a man who would rather believe a member of the Gestapo because he is German than to believe a woman of the Résistance because she is French? “
(“Kiki” posting on the blog Global Clashes)


“I wonder if I might offer you some constructive criticism. Among the problems, I think, has been your clarity of precisely why you were fighting me and how you intended to wage that fight. Like when you say: "As the rhythm designed to bounce / What counts is that the rhymes / Designed to fill your mind / Now that you've realized the pride's arrived / We got to pump the stuff to make us tough / from the heart / It's a start, a work of art." Pardon my frankness but what the hell are you talking about there? It rhymes, but what are people supposed to do with that information? If you're trying to fight someone, especially someone like me, you need clear action items. Maybe "Carjack The Power's limousine after an important board meeting" or "Expose The Power's malfeasance in a national publication" or maybe "Propose a better alternative to The Power and let the people decide." Those are just off the top of my head! Look, take this advice or don't, but before dismissing it just remember The Power must know what he's doing, right? Thus the name. Think about it.”

(A Letter from "The Power" to Public Enemy, one of John Moe’s “Pop Songs Correspondences at McSweeney’s Internet Tendency)


“Propaganda... undermines trust in the source of information, which means that even the truth, when it comes, may not be believed.”

(Magnus Linklater, UK Times )

“Image wins out over reality more and more in the battle for attention and belief. Virtually every public event now arrives filtered through a lens, laptop computer, or recording device, and hence nearly all our daily news has been “produced” and woven into some kind of narrative. Old-fashioned, relatively unmediated reality at times appears obsolete. In this environment, [Frank] Rich’s New York Times columns attempt to redress the balance as he rips holes in the scenery of the image manipulators to reveal stagehands frantically hauling on ropes, and drags unwelcome truths onstage.”

(Christopher Lambert on Frank Rich’s shift from theatre critic to political observer in Harvard magazine)


“It’s [media manipulation] a cultural pattern now: empirical reality doesn’t penetrate as well as it should... If we can’t agree on what the facts are, then we have no hope. We need to distinguish between facts and showmanship, facts and propaganda. If you can’t agree on the fact that the house is burning down, you can’t put out the fire.”

(Frank Rich)

"What are creation's needs for full functioning? Wholly surrendered and dedicated lives; time as needed for the work; totality of self."

(Tillie Olsen)


“The fallout from Don Imus’s racist and misogynistic remarks about the Rutgers women’s basketball team has led to one of those periodic and quintessentially American paroxysms of disapproval, contrition and repentance. But the response of the mainstream media—and CBS radio and MSNBC, in particular—is as hypocritical as it is revealing. [Late Wednesday, MSNBC announced that it will no longer broadcast the Imus radio show]. Using stereotypes—about blacks, Jews, women, and gays and lesbians—has been a part of Imus’s act for decades.”

(Marcus Mabry, Newsweek Online)

“Incredible how the top dog always announces with such an air of discovery that the underdog is childish, stupid, emotional, irresponsible, uninterested in serious matters, incapable of learning — but for god’s sake don’t teach him anything! — and both cowardly and ferocious […] The oppressed is also treacherous, incapable of fighting fair, full of dark magics, prone to do nasty things like fighting back when attacked, and contented with his place in life unless stirred up by outside agitators.”
(James Tiptree Jr., aka Alice Sheldon)


“Americans don’t want to play chicken with the troops.”
(Barack Obama, April 6, 2007)

“Some of us are still Pleistocene bipeds, no matter that we like James Joyce and Heidegger.”
(Jim Harrison)

“Kurt Vonnegut was a hero to baby boomers, though he was raised in an earlier time. The president he mourned was Franklin Delano Roosevelt, not John F. Kennedy. His war was World War II, not Vietnam. Vonnegut was less a peer... than a wise, eccentric and cranky uncle, scorning the world's madness but rarely failing to get some laughs or challenge some minds.”
(Hillel Italie)


“One story line that Virginia Tech is emphatically not about is a unique American culture of violence. To tell it that way demeans other massacres by deranged gunmen over the past thirty years in Australia, Scotland, South Korea, Germany. Simply put, such mass shootings have occurred wherever in the world mentally ill and enraged loners had easy access to guns. This is neither a pro- nor antigun statement, just a fact.”
(Bruce Shapiro, The Nation )

“In this world there is room for everyone, and the good earth is rich Soldiers! Don’t give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you; who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men – machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines, you are not cattle, you are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate; the unloved and the unnatural.”
(Charlie Chaplin, The Great Dictator)

“As long as there is a lower class, I am in it. As long as there is a criminal element, I am of it. As long as there is a soul in prison, I am not free.”
(Eugene Debs)

"If you are a younger journalist … how are you to know that there's another way to do it? A whole different tradition? That success is not becoming a talking head celebrity, saying what everyone else says?"
(Molly Ivins)

“Being Canadian must be like living next door to the Simpsons.”
(Molly Ivins)


“He’m verminous,” the hedgehog explained regretfully, “but he’m honest.” The little hedgehog, toiling from tussock to tussock, fell into the marshy puddles with grunts, panted as he struggled with the miniature cliffs. The weary King Arthur gave him a hand at the worst places, hoisting him to a better foothold or giving him a shove behind, noticing how pathetic and defenseless his bare legs looked from behind. When they had reached the top, he sat down puffing, and the old man sat beside him to admire the view...

Arthur saw suddenly all the people who had accepted sacrifice: learned men who had starved for truth, poets who had refused to compound in order to achieve success, parents who had swallowed their own love in order to let their children live, doctors and holy men who had died to help, millions of crusaders, generally stupid, who had been butchered for their stupidity—but who had meant well. They might be stupid, ferocious, unpolitical, almost hopeless. But here and there, oh so seldom, oh so rare, oh so glorious, there were those who would face the rack, the executioner, and even utter extinction, in the cause of something greater than themselves. Truth, that strange thing, that jest of Pilate’s...

The hedgehog asked, “Shire? Dost tha mind as how us used to sing for un?”

“I minds un well,” said Arthur. “’Twas ‘Rustic Bridge’, and ‘Genevieve' and ‘Home Sweet Home’.”

“Maggie’s Tea,” the hedgehog mentioned shyly, “us gotter fresh un. Twas for thy welcome, like. Us learned it off that there Mearn.” The hedgehog stood in the moonlight, assuming the position for song. And there, upon the height of England, in a good pronunciation because he had learned it carefully from Merlyn, with his sword of twigs in on grey hand and a chariot of mouldy leaves, the hedgehog stood to build Jerusalem, and meant it:

"Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental strife,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land."

-- T.H. White, “The Once and Future King” (The Book of Merlyn)


(Instructions passed on from Elspeth)

1. Grab the book that is closest to you.
2. Go to page 23.
3. Type in the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next three sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
{Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.}
4. Post the text of the next three sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Tag other people to do the same.

SHANNON: Goddamit, I never preached an atheistical sermon in my life, and...

MISS FELLOWES: I've completed my call, which I made collect to Texas.

SHANNON: Excuse me, Miss Fellowes, for not getting out of this hammock, but I... Miss Fellowes?

Consider yourself tagged. You're it.


The Seraphic web page I CAN HAS CHEESEBURGER offers lots of cute animals with misspelled captions added by semi-anonymous contributors. I laughed until I choked.

There are many variations of the "I'm in your base killin ur doodz" meme, which is defined here as an internet "catchphrase that can be roughly translated to 'LOL [laughing out loud] you got pwned [owned] and don't even know it yet.'" It caught on (is there a folklorist in the house?) and now there must be hundreds of chat room name tags reading "I'M IN UR [noun] [verb]ING UR [noun]", for example:

"I'm in your fridge eating your f00dz

"I'm in your house impeachin ur doodz"

and expressing-the-expressible: I'm in ur macaronis warming my feets.

It supposedly originated with on-line multiplayer games such as Command and Conquer, a taunt used when one player surprises another-- though I suspect it has deeper roots in street taunts from pick-up basketball games and such.

The creative spelling is part of the charm. Even the mistyped "pwned" is retained ironically. Deliberate misspellings were first legitimized by Prince in the printed lyrics on his album covers. Misspelled words began as a sign of ignorance, then as an indicator of street authenticity or "keeping it real", then were winked at by weak teachers, then mocked ironically by hipster youth, and finally achieved affectionate status as a form of creative wordplay among the young.

Does TIAA-CREF Hate America?

Okay, has anyone else noticed that the customers targeted by TIAA-CREF in their commercials-- "people in the academic, medical, cultural, and research fields"-- are the citizens most likely to be targeted as political enemies of the Bush administration? What does this MEAN?


"Know thyself", says Thales, or Pythagorus, or some one of five Greek philosophers. In our end is our beginning, and as the Red Wings finish whomping the Calgary Flames in their first game of the Stanley Cup playoffs, it occurs to me that my interest in hockey, and indifference to football or the NBA, might have something to do with certain traits I admire that I see acted out in the most intense hockey games.

It is a very Arthurian sport. They play for a grail, there are gallant knights (and some villains) in armor, and the Stanley Cup, grail-like, is the hardest trophy to win in professional sports. There are four rounds in the playoffs, 5 games in each round, before you get to the Cup. Lots of sports reward strength and flash and speed and instinct, but this one rewards endurance. Guys play hurt more than any other sport, badly hurt. Picture a determined squirrel chewing through an oak board while predators are trying to eat him and scare him away from his goal, but he keeps going back and gnawing, gnawing. "Anyone can win a fight--when the odds are easy! It's when the going's tough when there seems to be no chance! That's when it counts!" (see Stan Lee/ Peter Parker, The Amazing Spider Man #33; Frank Miller/ Bruce Wayne, "Batman: Year One"; et alii)

Come to think of it, didn't Isak Dinesen, whose photograph talked me out of suicide one night twenty-five years ago, say that her motto was "je endure"?

Me, I'm not especially tough or strong in physical contests, but I'm good at enduring, a stubborn trait sometimes enough to compensate for my weaknesses. (Lest anyone feel a need to get Hemingway macho on my ass, I should probably mention my creatively vicious streak as well. One improvisation involves a squirrel. And nuts.)

I enjoy the skill in baseball and am awestruck by the human beauty of the Olympics, but hockey's combination of nobility (Stevie Yzerman) and brutality (the goons like to pick on the Europeans and the finesse guys, thinking them less likely to fight back-- then Chris Chelios, coming to the defense knocks the bully on his ass with a comically contemptuous expression of dismissal), mischief (Kris Draper our drama coach, checking his chin and pretending to look for blood whenever an opposing player brushes past him) physical grace and near surgical skill (have you ever seen a Russian skater like Datsuk or Federov weave through a line of defenders?)-- this touches me deeply.

As a Dog Returneth to Its Vomit, Part... I've Lost Count

Ah, there's nothing like vaudeville. Every time I think the Bush vaudevillians can no longer astonish me, when I think they've run out of tricks, one of them makes my jaw drop in delight and astonishment yet again.

Paul Wolfowitz, a principal architect of our success in Iraq, has for the past two years been serving as president of the World Bank. He might have retired from the public eye, lying doggo in the bushes, as it were, but Lo!

It seems that Mr. Wolfowitz's lady friend, Shaha Riza, herself a former communications advisor at the World Bank, has, in the words of The Washington Post, "done exceptionally well in terms of salary in the last 18 months." Miss Riza left her $132,660 job at the bank about six months after Mr. Wolfowitz became her boss, in order to avoid any hint of impropriety or conflict of interest. In September 2005, she went to work for Karen Hughes at the State Department.

All well and good-- until it was revealed that she's still getting a six-figure paycheck from the World Bank... AND she was promoted to a managerial-level just before she left... AND instead of a $20,000 raise for the promotion, she somehow received a $47,340 raise...

So THIS year-- still working at State, not the World Bank-- Riza ANOTHER raise of $13,500, bringing her up to $193,590, which is $7,000 more, net, than the Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice makes gross.

How does he do it? How does the man consistently make a shambles of everything he touches? How does this fifth column saboteur disguise his depredations as mere incompetence? What audacity! What arrogance! What a body count!

I hear the drums speak! They signal one another in the jungle night... they say the elephants are restless... they say that the other employees at the World Bank are very angry... the drums say the career employees are already unhappy with the one known as "Wolfie"... they fear his vengence will be terrible... they are sharpening their knives...

The poor schlub. And to think, he only went into this career for the chicks.

UPDATE: Mr, Wolfowitz says he's terribly sorry, and that it won't happen again.The White House says they still love him. His staff still doesn't like him. The State Department says Miss Riza has been working at Foundation for Freedom since September (but Foundation for Freedom still gets its money from State.) Me, I'd be much more sympathetic towards such a "painful personal dilemma" if it had occured on a shoestring budget.

OUR BLOOD AND TREASURE: BURN THREE THOUSAND DOLLAR BILLS: A Performance Art Piece/Media Event to Protest the War in Iraq

This is a proposal for a demonstration, not yet an action.

Step One: 3,292 (or more) people are enlisted to contribute one dollar each. (As of this writing, 3,292 Americans have been killed in Iraq.)

Step two: Publicize the event. Alert the media. Hire a professional.

Step Three: With each dollar representing "our blood and treasure" spent on the Iraq war, the participants will then burn their dollar bills.

I hear a voice in the back complain that burning money is shameful, with so many worthy things one could do with three thousand charitable dollars...

Yes. I agree. The waste is exactly the point we are trying to make.

It's just a little bit of guerilla theater, but I believe Americans can visualize 3,292 dollars burning much more concretely than they can grasp the reality of 3,292 dead soldiers, whose bodies and flag draped coffins are hidden from public view. Obstensibly they are hidden to protect the grieving families, but it seems more likely that the Administration doesn't want us to smell the blood, so as not to unsettle the herd.

The lives in Afghanistan-- 377 so far-- are being spent heroically. There the soldiers have placed their bodies between the war's desolation and our beloved homes. The war in Iraq, however, is counterproductive by any definition. Instead of eradicating terrorism, the invasion of Iraq has created more terrorists, and provided them with live-ammo training and combat experience. Instead of taking away the terrorists' safe harbor, we have only improved the breed.

This protest may be something that our physician friends, or some fiscally responsible anarchist, would undertake-- doctors have a bit more political autonomy than do lawyers, teachers and hourly wage earners.Title 18, Part I, Chapter 17, § 333 of the United States Code, states: “Whoever mutilates, cuts, defaces, disfigures, or perforates, or unites or cements together, or does any other thing to any bank bill, draft, note, or other evidence of debt issued by any national banking association, or Federal Reserve bank, or the Federal Reserve System, with intent to render such bank bill, draft, note, or other evidence of debt unfit to be reissued, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than six months, or both.” The stalwarts at Google answers believe "intent" is key here to any legal concerns: "... it seems unlikely that a prosecution would be possible if the primary purpose of the destruction of the currency was a speech act (e.g, protesting government action by publicly burning currency)." Such laws are enforced by the Secret Service, which is under the direction of the Treasury department, not Justice.

Let others add rhetoric to this burning if they wish, but I think the simplest image would be the most powerful. I've tried different catch phrases to explain this bizarre activity, but the best might be a simple galvanized bucket for the ashes, labeled


Steven Clemons (a friend of a friend to whose expertise I defer when teaching Middle Eastern politics to America's youth) has an entry on his blog called "What Will the Blowback from Iraq Look Like in the Decades to Come?"

Quoting a report from the Federation of American Scientists: "It is estimated that in total (including those displaced prior to the war) there may be two million Iraqi refugees who have fled to Jordan, Syria, and other neighboring states, and approximately two million Iraqis who have been displaced within Iraq itself."

If you'll allow me an understatement, it's going to take a while for that bruise to go down.

Mr. Clemons starts with an analogy between Bush's invasion of Iraq and our present relationship with Iran: "To a certain degree, the realities in Iran today were shaped by America's misguided, interventionist regime change success there in helping to overthrow Iranian President Mohammad Mossadegh in 1953 and installing Shah Reza Pahlavi."

Almost every television bloviator I've seen omits this basic truth when talking about Iran; it's the elephant in the room that we all need to talk about when we talk about why the Middle East hates us. It's not "America bashing"; it's just the way things are. Certainly the Islamic world is a mess, and a great deal of that is the fault of her own people-- but politicians who deny any American culpability in the crisis are no better than bullying children who refuse to take responsibility for the mess they've made. They are doing us no favors.

Read more here.

Generational Touchstones: "Which Side Are You On"?

Elegant Wits and Grand Horizontals, an entertaining book by Cornelia Otis Skinner about "La Belle Epoque" of Paris in the 1890s, notes that duels in that era had been comic opera affairs, with duels fought over journalists' reputations, whether Sarah Bernhardt was slender or skeletal or whether Hamlet should be blonde or brunette. It was the Dreyfuss Affair, when Captain Alfred Dreyfuss was falsely accused of treason and sentenced to life on Devil's Island that "split the nation into two warring camps breaking up lifelong friendships and causing bitter family rifts that were hardly healed before the outbreak of the First World War." The split went far beyond whether Dreyfuss was innocent or guilty, beyond anti-Semitism and chauvinism and the divisions of "left" and "right" in France and extended into personal awareness of where one stood in the world.

In this country, there were defining splits between those who volunteered to fight the fascists in Spain and those who called them "prematurely anti-fascist" in the 1950s, right-wing code for a Communist sympathizer. The left itself split over Stalin's perversion of Marxism and the non-aggression pact between the Soviets and the Nazis, proving that conservatives don't have a monopoly on turning a blind eye to atrocity.

My own generation, lucky, feckless bastards, too young for Vietnam and too old for Iraq, had no greater moral choice than whether they dropped acid during their cousin's wedding in the seventies or embraced cocaine and designer jeans in the eighties, whether they voted for Reagan or thought Oliver North should be in jail. Of the great temptations of easy sex or recreational drugs and our last two presidents, one was a poor boy who chased tail and didn't inhale, and the other a rich boy who spent his salad years getting high. I leave it to the reader which pursuit was more destructive of the body politic.

I suspect that the current culture war might one day be divided between those who embrace advertising and consumerism, and the wars for oil, exploitation of labor and media manipulation that make that world view possible, and those who still dream of making a better world in empirical fact and not just rhetoric. In the swirl and confusion it is difficult to articulate these divisions, but we know by instinct the real turtle and the mock.

Huxley's Brave New World, with its masses directed by "feelies" and "soma", may have been even nearer the mark than Orwell. Call it the difference between those who drink the Kool-aid willingly and those who can take it or leave it alone. Which side are you on?

Turdblossom, Meet the Original "Shit in a Silk Stocking"

Whenever I am tempted to despair at the worldly success of men like Karl Rove, I shall remind myself that President Bush's beloved "Turdblossom" is only at the top of the heap for a few months more, 657 days at this counting. Thoreau tells us to "read not the times, but the eternities", and a look at the career of the 19th century diplomat Talleyrand shows us that the Bush minions are mere amateurs, and failed amateurs at that, when it comes to kissing up to power, squeezing out the profits, then dropping your patron like a used wrapper and ducking out the back door a moment before the cops arrive. An excellent profile of Talleyrand here at The New Criterion inspired these reflections.

Rove is despised by two-thirds of the country, and hangs on to power only by the indulgence of his boss and staying a step ahead of the hounds. Talleyrand, by comparison, kept the mass of men bamboozled as to his true motives, and even on the occasions when he had to skip town, never missed a meal or a paycheck-- then switched sides and was back in business with the same people who'd been calling for his head.

Napoleon called him "shit in a silk stocking", which outdoes "Turdblossom" as a lasting sobriquet. Talleyrand could take a bite out of your donut and be wiping the powdered sugar from his lips while asking with a straight face, "Donut? What donut?"

He did get off some good lines about power, politics and human nature:

"War is too serious to be left to military men."

"They [the aristocracy] remember everything and learn nothing."

Apt to our purpose today, "I am more afraid of an army of 100 sheep led by a lion than an army of 100 lions led by a sheep."

and out-Roving Rove, “Since the masses are always eager to believe something, for their benefit nothing is so easy to arrange as facts.”

... But never forget he was a shitheel, through and through, who got a lot of other people killed and profited enormously to the end of his days. He died in bed aged eighty-three, still collecting paychecks from both sides. Like Meyer Lansky, Talleyrand was a successful gangster, unlike the flashier failures like Capone and Napoleon, who both made headlines but died in prison with the clap.

How Does Wayne Do This? # 1 in a Series

Okay, so I'm collecting rejection slips as usual and my friend Wayne Allen Sallee, author of FIENDS BY TORCHLIGHT, THE HOLY TERROR, WITH WOUNDS STILL WET, and the only Penthouse story with "Division Street" in the title, sends me a picture of himself posing with GloriAnne Gilbert, actress and sci-fi model, star of BUSTY COPS 2, COUNTESS DRACULA'S ORGY OF BLOOD, and THE WITCHES OF BREASTWICK. He claims that he asked her to slap him and she felt sorry for him instead. In her film roles, Miss Gilbert's wide cheekbones, open smile and sweet demeanour set her apart from the usual hauteur of the B-movie barbarian princess, making Wayne's story weirdly plausible.

I'm starting to think the price of living in Kalamazoo, instead of one of the larger cultural centers, may be too high. Wayne's current adventures at the World Horror Convention in Toronto can be found at his blog, Frankenstein 1959 . Wayne sometimes wipes of the ichor, suppresses his bloodthirsty glee and pretends to be a tortured artiste. I look at this picture and I think Wayne is full of shit.