Heel to the Power

I've heard a little feedback about that last dog attack but you'll have to excuse me if I'm reading it wrong. I heard that this was a deliberate attack by someone who thought I deserved it because 'I wouldn't kneel'. Is that right? I'm going to assume that it is right and continue on with my side of this argument. Kneel to what? Kneel to the power? What power? The power of darkness? It's too late for me to surrender to the Dark Lord. I've already lived a two thirds virtuous life and have established a permanent place for myself on the side of the light. If I were an occultist, I would belong with the Illuminati. And I did not write those abysmal words; that was just my guitar riff playing in the background. I don't think I should have to kneel to my own power. Even though I'm publicly exposing this assault, I fully expect to encounter this dog on the sidewalk again because I shared a similar protest the first time this happened and it did not save me from getting chewed up again. And whose disfigured hip has been poisoning hearts and minds with lies in all the years since that first assault? Does everyone know that it was my disfigured hip that was being used by these evil web criminals since I erased it from the web with everything else I had online in 2007 (dating back to 1999)? These fools think all these repeated life experiences are supposed to give birth to a new fraud industry made out of my songs and writings, but their former employers lost too much money on the last fraud. Their fraud radio chain has disappeared, along with thousands of jobs. TV shows and stars have been kicked off the air. So I think that I'm repeating all these life experiences in order to present myself as the rightful owner of my work and to give the business a chance to recover its losses with songs and scripts that won't have to be removed from the airwaves at any future point. Makes sense - as long as you don't subject yourself to the evil mind manipulation of TV shows that owe me vast sums of money, whose guilty staff want to save their jobs by lying about me. I was hoping for some feedback on my last song post Epitomes. I like the way I worked the word 'pit' into the title after that vicious pitbull attack, though it was entirely involuntary. Now that I've learned a little bit about my music fans, I'm trying to customize my music for them. Above all, they have a lot of energy and may appreciate my switch to a speedier tempo. They are good dancers, possessing a talent I do not, and I want them to feel secure about dancing to my music, which is why I struggle to produce reasonably intelligent lyrics for them. I think good lyrics are a dancer's greatest compliment. I've also been keeping my songs inside the normal, 'dancable' 4/4 time signature all this year. That's what I have to say about my last song post. Would you like to hear what I've been hearing about it? I hear that it's mental. Is that supposed to be a play on the word 'metal' which simultaneously attacks people with disabilities? Lovely crowd, this fraud fan club. They're the same people who spent years praising bands that stole my music and TV shows that stole my blogs. Disappointing to see how they are permitted to stay active online after their heroes go out of business. I wonder how long it will last. Oh yes, and I've been hearing more about who writes 'laughs'. Through the whole ridiculous debate, I managed to author and produce a very good new song. They blab about 'laughs' while I'm immersed in intellectual problems around my music: how I should set the tempo, how I should mark the accent, the search for original chord resolutions and lyrics, how I should distribute my words through the chord progression, etc, etc. Living free and clear of their intellectual prison has, I believe, greatly enriched my life. Whomever rewrote the words to my guitar riff for my somewhat mediocre and entirely innocuous Decent was clearly a person obsessed with gaining power. These power seeking monsters are the furthest thing from a God fearing individual that can be imagined. The only power I fear is the righteous wrath of the Lord, against which man cannot put up the slightest defense. Last week, for instance, a storm knocked out a local power grid. What do insurance people call that? An act of Satan? No, that would be confusing it with the lies made out of my music and writing on television and the radio. Insurance people call such a natural disaster an act of God. And one day, your heart will no longer function and that will be another act of God. As one who may stand closer to the edge of his grave than most of his readers, I pray that I do not place too much faith in the comparatively finite power of television before I succumb to the ultimate power of God. Loyal readers, please be on the lookout for new plagiarisms committed with my statements. Apparently a lot of you are finding my statements to be as amusing as my scripts. This would make them a target for theft, and George Carlin's extensive plagiarism of earlier statements I shared mostly in 2006 should show you their potential for misuse. Please continue flagging down posts that steal from this account. Don't worry about my 'blag'. It will remain online and gather more readers when it is wrongfully flagged than it would otherwise. But I promise you that any posts you flag that steals from this account will disappear soon afterwards. Thanks again, and I hope the new school year is good to you.
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Sunday Speech

So we've reached another Sunday already. That didn't take long. I'll be in a position to take my songs on the road before I know it. I passed by the sweet little people under their steeple today. It's okay to call them sweet little people, but it's an insult to call them the sweetest little people. I certainly admire their devotion to God on their precious time off. I'm sure God does, too. When they're under that steeple, they should try to love and pray for their enemies. They should pray for the soul of Goldie Hawn. And they should pray for people who want to call me the urine king and for the song vandals who call my tom-toms koo-koo. And they should pray for the salvation of liars who try to confuse innocent people about my appearance by saying that I still have my beard or that I'm African or that I'm the bastard son of a half gypsy. Pray that God's saving grace will transform the hearts of these lost sheep and open the true gates of Heaven for them. In the name of the Blessed Trinity: amen.
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Nasty Neighbors

Have you people out there heard of Robert Pickton? He's that guy who fed the corpses of those working women to pigs. He was with the respectable crowd here, by virtue of his money. As I've been saying all along in this account, there is a group of well-to-do miscreants here who hate the poor and who have opposed my progress from the outset of my online activities. Maybe that pitbull who attacked me lives on a nearby farm, like Pickton's farm. And that short man in the limousine that cruised through my neighborhood, looking into mischief, is a local slum lord or something, isn't he? So he's got money, too! I could picture both of these characters, as well as those evil stars, partying with Robert Pickton at the pig farm. Oh well, hopefully I won't have to put up with this anymore when I leave. In the meantime, I think it's important that I'm learning how to resist overspending. If I'm going to be rich, I will have to control my money or it will end up destroying me. I've re-posted my latest musical effort this morning with a touch up on the bass line. If it's new, I think we should try to avoid it ending up like the other new songs of mine I've been reporting as having been stolen from me.
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Epitomes

Taken by surprise, soon to be made gravely wise No room to surpass, spirit drawing on its last Standing in plain sight, promises of sheer delight Should I rise above what I'm fantasizing of Clashes of unbridled love Dangers in disguise manifest and tantalize Too dark to advance, keeping at a distant glance Bracing to hold still, contradict my restless will Find the space between drowning in a shining scene And making do with gains unseen Showy garlands adorn the occasion Of monumental preoccupation Grand displays are firmly enthralling Truth consigned to further forestalling Let fate rightly roll, wavering astride control No need to disclose reasons for the side you chose Hour closing in, false appearance wearing thin Against hardly won epitomes of times to come Wish they were less troublesome Nature supremely springs into motion Misgivings buried in the commotion Fallacies maliciously faded Myth for knowledge judiciously traded
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Why Are They Here?

The hip is healing nicely and I barely feel it today. I figure I survived it before, so I should be able to survive it again, hopefully headed for happier outcomes. A couple of things I've heard this morning should be talked about. My music's being criticized again. Like most musicians, I can't make every song a masterpiece. I'm sure I write the odd tune that fails. I think my best songs strike an ideal balance between rhythm and melody. Someone said I was too 'basic'. That might be true of some of my older failures, but my best songs are original sounding. Songs that are too simple sound derivative, while songs that are too original tend to be scattered and confusing. The melody in my songs exists mostly in the singing and the bass line. If I played leads on top of it, it would sound cluttered. That's why I play chords, which are also the strongest accompaniment for my singing. Someone said I'm flat. The only song I practice with my guitar tuned town to D# is Hairball. My lyrics are consistently good, I think. Perhaps it's too late to criticize my songs when they've already been on the radio. But someone said 'I like My Song 1'. Was that you, Ellen? All finished bashing me on TV and now you've moved to the internet? I need a lot of songs so that I can work on the best ones. Out of my last seven songs, I'm only focusing on three or four, but this new one is developing into the ultimate party tune. And here's a weird one: they've assigned me to something. That sounds like career talk. I'm on disability and just naturally expressing myself through my music and writing. This blog is my real life and probably better than any popular reality show. I have kept to myself and worked to generate all this material since 2010. Any public discussion about me or this work that excludes me, especially after I was excluded from a worldwide party made out of my songs and scripts, must be considered both illegitimate and unfair.
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From What's Left of the Hip

I'm quite sure now that I reported a similar dog attack in my previous blogger account, complete with photos. It's too bad that it didn't stay online to remind me of the danger. It happened in the same location, the perfect killing ground: fenced in by trees on one side and buildings on the other. And last year, I had a close call with the same dog in the same spot, on my way to my old rehearsal space to record a video. That white spot might be on his throat, by the way. Anyway, I'm still in one piece. I keep hearing about who wrote whose laughs while I've been composing a new song to follow my last one, Denial, or as Garageband calls it, My Song 207. My Song 208 is going to be a little heavier but in the same vein. I don't call my scripts laughs. I often think of them more as illustrations of my thoughts and feelings. It's people in the comedy business who would refer to them first as laughs. So I'm still repeating old interactions, like that pitbull attack, from a forgotten year in my past. I hope I didn't get hit by any vehicles and forget about it. People have all along repeated the same reactions to me as when they first found me on the web. I recall how I tried to remind one of my Toronto friends in 2010 of something he had done in 2007 and forgotten about and he didn't believe me. But he might remember it now. I'm not the only one who suffers from this amnesia. The last couple of weeks have been rough, but that's what it takes to save money on a fixed income. And if I shared all this online before, it means that those spoiled, pampered stars knew all about my hardships and still went ahead and partied with my music and scripts, on top of using their popularity to make me unpopular. That's why I think I'm entitled to sharply criticize them.
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Attention Vancouverites: Aggressive Pitbull

I didn't notice the flesh wounds caused by that pitbull attack until I got home and undressed for the bath. Notice how the animal attacked my hip. Police, this happened at about 8:30 am this morning, at that creepy stretch of sidewalk where pedestrians are forced off of the main route, immediately west of the Chevron station, in front of the Shoprite store. The dog was a large pitbull with a mousy coat and a white patch on its head. The native woman who had it on a leash seemed to be standing there, waiting for me. She was accompanied by a white male, medium length hair, medium build and height, thirty to forty years of age, in a black t-shirt, jeans, and I think, a black baseball hat. Kind of a suspicious looking sort. And who said they were my pitbull in 2011? Dateline? Yeah, that would make sense. And Dateline attacked my hip, too, didn't you, Dateline! Because I'm not hip, I'm hick! And I'm not hot, I'm hock! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. Enjoy these photos. I'm sure that you and your fans will find them very amusing. This is what I was wearing as I passed by the woman holding her dog. This is how the dog attacked me: from behind, tearing this hole into my coat as it pulled me off of my feet. Once I fell, it grabbed this pocket of my pants and tried to pull me towards it. I felt some tissue damage from the fall, but these wounds line up with the tear in my pants. I expect them to turn black and blue over the next few days. Isn't that hilarious, NBC?
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Heard It Not from Dateline

We-ell I heard it not from Dateline That you said my songs were not mine Well, I hope you had a great time If that dick of yours has just been signed... Yes, I heard it through the grapevine that a certain antisemite, recently accused in this account of illegally stealing and performing my songs, has had his dick signed with the name Hateful. Are you reading this, you who tried to get away with holding your nose as you walked by me about twenty minutes ago at the corner of Commercial Drive and Hastings? Did I surprise you by confronting you about your rude behavior? Are you a fan of Mister Hateful? Or did someone already tell you that I'm the person who was punished. Well, I'll just let this blog post stay online and argue for me, the same way everything I've shared in the last few years of this nature has stayed online to argue for me. I'm sure you'll be convinced by the time I leave town next year. And I don't need your support to accomplish my aims. Canadian offenders who are accustomed to the soft, lenient Canadian style of crime's punishment should be warned that copyright law is international. The punishments for copyright offenses have been agreed upon by all the countries of the world, many of which punish their criminals with far greater severity than we do here. For instance, you might get your hand cut off for stealing in some Middle Eastern countries or you might be publicly caned for mischief in some Asian countries. If you steal my songs or blogs and lie to the world with them, you offend people with stricter standards of justice and you will be punished accordingly. With this name, Hateful, I must gather that this offender is local. I guess he is the one who has been bombarding me with the word 'hat' all summer long, while Dateline bombarded me with the word, 'hick'. Really wrecked my summer, hearing such malicious hate on such a continuous basis. It reminds me of when I used to have to hear 'maybe you're gay' over and over again in early 2010 because Dean told the world that those were the words he wrote on my dick while he was pretending to be rock star on TV with over four hours of my music. Good people, my enemies are sure to tell you that this offender was not punished by my hand. They're right. I am not involved in the punishment of criminals. That is left to law enforcement officials. I wouldn't want people to think of me as some stern authoritarian when all I am is an artist who suffers from constant attacks against his work and name. By the way, all these backstabbers are complete strangers to me. I know them only by reports of their offenses against me. Another lie I heard about was that I personally witnessed the punishment of one of the violators of my copyrights by sharing a prison cell with him. This lie was told some time ago, and only the slowest, dumbest people would fall for it after I have added so many more counts of fraud to the case I will be making against those crooked corporate broadcasters and their lying media. Such slow, dumb people would include the above mentioned woman, who held her nose as she walked by me, that person I sat next to in the library two days ago, who got up from his chair and sat further away from me, and perhaps the owner of the large, aggressive pitbull who attacked me this morning on my way here. I'm lucky I was wearing my coat because he bit right through it as he seized me by the back and flung me to the pavement. I'm lucky his owner, a native woman, had strong enough arms to pull him off of me. I'm also lucky I'm not a small child or I might be on my way to the hospital right now with a severed limb. Anyway, I'll be carrying a canister of pepper spray if I'm walking by that place next to the Chevron station on Hastings (between Clark and Commercial Drive) and if I sense danger, my policy will be to spray first and ask questions later.
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Attention Dateline: You'll Burn for Your Lies

Sep 01, 2017: Following italicized parody lyrics re-posted for Blondie Hateful. Please flag his fraud video of my song Hot. We-ell I heard it not from Dateline That you said my songs were not mine We-ell I hope you had a great time If that dick of yours has just been signed! Hey Dateline, how do you like my new song, Denial? Does it trouble you that I grew up in a small town and it doesn't sound like John Cougar Mellencamp? When one of your viewers is duped by your show into thinking I'm powerless, they're always shocked to learn that I'm protected. Who do you hate more: me or the people who trust you? Did it give you a lift to read that I don't want to play my song Hot anymore? I'll find the spirit to perform it when your show gets kicked off the air and you're standing in soup lines. Do you think I'm trying to be funny when I accuse you of witchcraft? What do you call it when you take an empty suit like Jay Leno and bring it to life with stolen punchlines from my blogs? Do you say he's deceased now? And tell me, Dateline, what were you doing in 2011, shortly following your illegal punishing of that crooked band? Did I hear the words of my poem, the Porcupine Girls, being recited? Can you cast evil spells with truthful works like that when you have them in your possession against the will of their gifted author? Can you levitate objects with them? How are all your corporate media comrades? Are you their leader? Have they broadcast any rhyming news reports lately or did they just do that in 2007 to support your lie that I was a fraud and help initiate three unbroken years of corporate crime? Remember that article about the world's funniest people from '08 or '09? It put Americans on top, led by Jay Leno. Was Canada even on the list? Is anyone less funny than arrogant dorks who want to be funny? Actually, yes: arrogant dorks who want to be funny by destroying a promising musician and poet. Which news program plagiarized my script, Privileged Information? Was it you or CNN? Funny how your viewers will accept a comedy sketch on a news program before they'll accept it as my property in an account stuffed with original works of humor, especially when it effectively illustrates the true menace of your evil. If you can't bump the truth off of the internet with your lies in this world, what good will your lies do you in the afterlife? You know what, Dateline? I think you'll burn for your lies. I think you'll burn like witches at the stake. Now get busy and drag as many of my readers as you can down to Hell with you so you won't have to suffer alone.
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A Comedy of Horrors

The first talent I learned I had was drawing, which I discovered at about the age of seven. The next one I discovered in myself was songwriting, at about the age of thirteen. I was a songwriter long before I ever wrote a comedy script. That's why I would like to be able to sing and play my songs before I'm sixty-five. But NBC discovered my comedy writing skills first. They think I'm their comedy writer instead of a musician. Do you recall how easy it was for me to catch up with those songs the Crystalids stole from me? Over seventy of them. No one accused me of stealing them. And that was when networks like NBC still had most of the scripts I've rewritten in the last four years. You trust me when the TV says I'm legitimate. But ever since I've been rewriting those scripts, I've been constantly assaulted by false accusations of fraud and of being a 'hack'. I'm just being myself in my own words, the same way I reproduced my songs, but no one believes me when the TV disagrees with me. Look how much those TV stars stole from me. Since I'm more interested in my music, I would have sold it all to them cheap and they still would have made a fortune. But they were too arrogant. They had to plagiarize it all. Thousands of posts. How can you support them without hurting me? Do you need me to be friends with Dateline before you'll accept me? If you do, maybe you should go and party with Dateline. Bring a cute little hamster with you and a blowtorch. Have fun.
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The Summer of 2015

I know I said I wanted to stick with scripts through the weekdays, but the information I'm receiving at the moment makes that impossible. So here we go with another statement. No one tells me anything here and they just let me walk back and forth to the library every day to share these posts while crime after crime is committed with my work behind my back. Yesterday I heard that someone had been caught performing my songs without permission and had been incarcerated. Since his vicious supporters were chanting 'Jesus forgives' while he was playing, I thought that my old nemesis, Dean, was back to his old tricks. But now I hear that it was someone else. Superficial people like his supporters like to seize upon minor errors in my statements to excuse themselves for their major crimes, but the police don't really care what his name is. And if you see any videos of this crime on the web, please flag them.. As for 'it's because he's experienced', I'm going to answer that one now. Are they saying he's more experienced than I am and therefore he should be allowed to steal my songs that come from my experience? How old is he? Has he ever worked in a real job his whole life? Look at my employment history. I doubt their Jesus is experienced at very much more than looking at his face in the mirror. Superficial, pretentious people try to excuse themselves for major crimes by pointing to the minor errors of their victims. Yesterday I said that I knew about the theft of one of my scripts and now the offender is using it as permission to steal my post. Flag this post and incarcerate the offender. Arrogant fools who want to be rock stars question rock when someone else outmatches their 'talent'. They survey the crowd with silly questionnaires, asking them 'what is rock'? If rock is not them or their friends, they think it is illegitimate. And the same arrogant fools perform comedy shows that attempt to bash rock. They think that rock is ridiculous if it makes someone else look better than they do. Then as soon as they think they can get away with it, they rip off my tunes and perform an illegal concert with them. So ends the summer of 2015, the most miserable summer I've spent here yet. This year it was spoiled by the lies that cleared the way for another rock fraud with my newer songs. Last year it was ruined by the lies that cleared the way for someone's tour, wasn't it? The summer before that it was destroyed by the lies that were committed with my songs and blogs on the music and comedy stage. The summer before that was spoiled by fraud with my music. And all I've been doing the whole time is sitting here in the public library, adding more and more posts to my account that have to be repossessed from the broadcasters who stole them. On a more positive note, my new recording is working out well. I like the way Denial turned out: unpredictable, yet balanced and catchy. It doesn't have a chorus, but seems to flow more with classical type 'movements'. And of course, I like my lyrics. I will try to build on this new technique with my new composition.
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Manners of Fact

I found the feedback I got from my song Promise offensive. Someone is calling me a pervert over one of the drawings. I bet it's that one I made of the girl on a swing. I tried to find its source image online today, but I can't recall the search words. The source image for that drawing is a plastic dummy in stirrups. I just needed the outline to make it into a two dimensional image, which these idiots find pornographic. Meanwhile, half the internet makes it money from the most vile pornography imaginable. So the hypocrisy of these song wreckers offends me as much as their foolishness. At least such people have returned to what they do best: wrecking my music, instead of pretending that they wrote it. This group who would scold me for showing bad manners also needs to be addressed. Let me share a little rhyme I learned as a child: Gimme, gimme, never get Don't you know your manners yet? I have stated repeatedly that I will not be performing my scripts because I would rather perform my songs. I would not object to my scripts being performed by others, as long as they have my written permission to do so. So far, all others have done is grab my scripts without asking and try to seize the authoring credit for them. I would call this behavior extremely rude, and the same fools or their supporters now think it is fair to scold me if I occasionally resort to strong language to effectively communicate the intensity of my indignation on this moral cesspool of an internet. Crude behavior is often wrongly associated with a rural upbringing, something that Dateline NBC has been trying to use against me as long as I can remember. Dateline NBC, whose mad host made the same mistake that the Crystalids did: she fell for her own illusion. When the Crystalids had my songs, they believed that they had stolen my talent, and I recall how many people told me in 2009 that I had never authored a hit and that I traced my drawings. And when NBC stole my scripts, they thought they had stolen my refinement and sophistication, leaving me with the image of a bumpkin. By 2012, when this illusion started to noticeably deteriorate, they invited half of my small home town to their studio to restore it in the minds of their unassuming viewers. But I am not a bumpkin who dreams of making it big on Dateline and I stayed clear of their show, which is why I still have a future with my work.
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Shannon Shriek

Yes, I recall sharing something like this in 2006 or 2007, which was inspired by a girl who passed my home, screaming her head off. She did the same thing again recently. Voice: Her classmates called her Shannon, but to the perverts she was known as the Shriek Heard around the World. (Outside the girl's restroom in a public swimming pool, a peeping Tom struggles to peer through a small hole. Enter Shriek in her swimsuit. On catching sight of the intruder, she lets out a loud, piercing cry.) Peeping Tom: Oh no! Shannon Shriek! (Downtown at police headquarters, a trace of Shannon's distress signal reaches an astute constable.) Constable: Did you hear that? Constable #2: Sounded like a shriek. Constable: Not just any shriek: Shannon Shriek! Let's roll! (They rise and spring into action.) Voice: It was Shannon's resourcefulness that foiled the prowler. (The prowler assumes a precarious second-floor perch to peek through Shannon's lit bedroom window at night. As soon as the light goes out, a tumultuous scream shatters the glass and sends him tumbling to the ground.) Voice: Her shriek struck fear into the hearts of her adversaries. (Shannon catches an ogler lurking behind a tree in the schoolyard.) Ogler: (Panic stricken) All right, I'll turn myself in right now, okay? (Pulling out his cellphone) Look! I'm calling 911 to report myself! Just don't shriek at me! Please! Voice: If you're up to mischief, her shriek might be the last thing you ever hear. Don't miss Shannon Shriek: the Shriek Heard around the World!
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For My Niece

To the niece that time outgrew Torn by bitter circumstance Let me say now what I'd do If I ever had the chance I'd brave the fiercest winter storm Running ragged on the spot To make sure that you stayed warm In the only coat I've got To keep your feet from painful wear I'd carry you upon my back And miseries I'd gladly bear To save your virtue from attack I'd dance on one leg like a clown To hold your heart in steadfast cheer I'd turn the treetops upside down To make your troubles disappear Favors numbered but a few For the people I adore For little girls as good as you And God loves you even more!
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The Thousand Dollar Man

August 21: I recall previously sharing this one now, after I saved a thousand dollars in 2007. I've recently repeated the achievement. Derrick Groves started life as an ordinary house painter. But by the end of the summer, through a program of strict budgeting, he became the Thousand Dollar Man. (A supermarket checkout) Cashier: Hi there! I see you've chosen brand name waffles over the generic ones. Are you the Thousand Dollar Man? Groves: (Beaming proudly) Glad to be of service. (A park bench. The seated Groves is approached by a ragged stranger.) Stranger: Do you have a light? Groves: Certainly. (He pulls a lighter from his pocket and hands it over. The stranger keeps it continuously lit for the next three minutes, drawing white smoke through a glass tube. After exhaling an immense cloud of smoke, clearly intoxicated, the stranger extends his hand to return the lighter.) Keep it. Stranger: But it's still half full! Groves: That's all right. You need it more than I do. Stranger: You must be the Thousand Dollar Man! Groves: Glad to be of service. (The interior of a public transit vehicle. Groves is approached by two young women.) Woman #1: Excuse me, but are you the Thousand Dollar Man? Groves: How did you know? Woman #1: Those shoes you're wearing look barely a week old. (Drawing from her purse and handing him a small writing utensil.) Can we have your autograph? Groves: Sure, but it might turn out a little crude with this lipstick... Oh... Learn the inestimable value of a dollar with Derrick Groves, the Thousand Dollar Man.
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Spendthrift

Looking for a more convenient way to blow your money? Sometimes electronic transactions aren't fast enough. Sometimes they force you to wait until you have money. Sometimes they hold your spotty employment history against you. Sometimes tellers and finance clerks simply don't like your face. That's why we invented Spendthrift, the surest way to quick cash since the proliferation of the internet. Here at Spendthrift, we know that there's no real point in you ever saving money from your puny income. Instead, the kind of big money it takes to make great things happen depends on people like you combining your wealth in regular payments to us. And you don't need to worry about collateral as long as you have at least one child - preferably a boy, unless you are a swimsuit model. So start thinking of your children's future with an account from Spendthrift. Spendthrift: Spend today... or there may be no tomorrow.
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© 2007, 2015. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Canadian History with Clarence McPhee: the French and Indian War

If it takes years for me to inadvertently restore my earlier copyrighted web posts, then years of daily fraud have been committed by the TV stars who have been stealing from me since at least 2004. Good day, and welcome to Canadian History, the ancient history of the distant future. I'm your host, Clarence McPhee. The publisher of the Pennsylvania Gazette, Benjamin Franklin, was still an Englishman in the 1750's. At that time, the North American colony of New France extended from Quebec to Louisiana, along a north/south trade route that confined the over one million inhabitants of the thriving British United Colonies of America to a comparatively small region of the Atlantic Seaboard. The British settlers needed living space and the French were in the way. Using his newspaper for propaganda, Franklin aroused the blood lust of his fellow colonists. His war fever spread all the way to Europe, where the Prussians were feeling equally hemmed in by the Austrians, sparking the Seven Years' War (1756-63) in which the British and the French stood on opposing sides. In North America, the Indians sided with the French. Under the supreme command of the Marquis Louis D'Montcalm, Quebec's defenders numbered fifteen thousand and drew upon everyone from old men to boys as young as twelve, the latter of whom were eager to pass themselves off as thirteen, the legal marrying age in Quebec since the arrival of the good ship Ooo-la-la and her precious cargo of young French maidens a century earlier. Sailing from Great Britain was a fleet of two hundred ships with a compliment of nine thousand soldiers and eighteen thousand sailors. They would be led on land by General James Wolfe. The British fleet blasted through the stubborn fort of Louisbourg and headed down the Saint Lawrence River to Quebec City, anchoring offshore at Ile D'Orleans. They were greeted by a surfing flotilla of unmanned canoes packed with explosives. Were it not for a school of mackerels skimming the surface for floating British table scraps, the wooden torpedoes would have reached their target. Incensed by such a dastardly attack, the British fired on Quebec for the next nine weeks. On July 31, Wolfe landed four thousand men at Beauport, where Montcalm was well entrenched. The invasion force ended up pinned down on the beach until the onset of winter and the arrival of French reinforcements in the formidable person of Bonhomme the Snowman. The following year, on September 13, 1759, the British marched on the fateful Plains of Abraham just outside Quebec City and formed a mile long line of muskets and cannons. Against them the French advanced, knelt, fired, and missed - a grave tactical error. The British responded with a devastating volley of concentrated fire and unleashed the Scottish Highlanders in a furious charge. In their kilts, the only protection the Highlanders had against insect bites was to sprint, frantically waving their swords, howling like madmen and playing a cacophony on their bagpipes. The aggravated assault demoralized the French and collapsed Quebec's defensive line, winning the most pivotal battle of the war for the redcoats. Both Wolfe and Montcalm were killed in action, but Wolfe died more peacefully, having just received a note informing him that Montcalm had died first. Meanwhile, faraway in Pennsylvania, Benjamin Franklin remained entirely unscathed. At war's end in 1763 with the signing of the Treaty of Paris, Great Britain tried to give Quebec back to the French in exchange for the more lucrative sugar plantation of Guadalupe. The mass production of maple syrup had not yet been envisioned. France declined the British offer, complaining that Canada was too cold and that the last shipment of beaver pelts had cooties because all the tanners had been killed in the war. Just in case the French changed their minds, the British kept Quebec as French and as Catholic as possible, doing away only with the French seigniorial system of landholding for being far too fair. However, the Indians had not been invited to Paris for the peace negotiations and still considered themselves to be at war. The British had to subdue them with the kind gesture of giving them wool blankets to keep their babies warm. The blankets turned out to be infected with smallpox, decimating the Indian population and clearing out large patches of the interior for the British colonists. So it was that Franklin's dream of 'living space' for his people would come to its cold, logical, and ultimately genocidal conclusion.
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The Roachademy

2007 must have been a traumatic year to get me writing work like this. As it turns out, on the scale of the cosmos, the meek shall not inherit the Earth, but the sleek, who in turn, shall evolve into the next form of intelligent life. Being smaller and vastly more prolific, their lecture halls shall be swarming. (An auditorium. A professor stands on the edge of the top of his dais and transmits his lecture through his wiggling antennae.) Professor: (Beep! Beep!) Today we shall discuss the extinct species of bipedal giants known as kongosaurus rex. (An image of an overweight man on a lawn chair with a can of beer in his hand frightens the students.) Stop that scurrying at once! It's only a diagram! (In a moment calm is restored.) That's better. Now this species proved to be unfit for survival. Can anyone tell me why? Yes, Euripides? Euripides: (Beep! Beep!) Because they didn't have enough legs to escape catastrophes? Professor: Not enough legs, yes, that's one of them. Can you think of another one? Epicurus? Epicurus: (Beep! Beep!) Because they had no natural shell against radiation. Professor: Very good! That's right. They belonged to the dwindling non-exovertebrate family. Can you think of another one? Sophocles? Sophocles: (Beep! Beep!) Because they had poor immune systems. Professor: Right again. These over-sized, lumbering bipeds could catch the flu from merely standing in a sewer, while we not only survive the smell of excrement, but the flavor of it. And what else about them was deficient? Hera, haven't heard from you in a while. (Pause) Can't think of anything? What about their conspicuous manner of movement? Bipeds used locomotion instead of our more advanced lurkamotion. Their preference for being out in the open made them easy prey. Right, that covers our lesson for today. On the matter of our field trip to the bromide reactor, I count over four thousand of you and I have only one permission slip. Please hand in the other one before the end of the week.
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© 2007, 2015. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.