Friday, January 30, 2009

Tales of Financial Policy and Imagination

The numbers would not add up. Try as he might, the columns and matrices would not zero out, the projections could not be reconciled, the accounts remained unbalanced. At times he stared at the printouts and screens and got lost in their surface texture: this sheet of paper was marginally rougher and a creamier shade of beige than the other, the fingerprints on the screen reminded him of an Impressionist work he had seen long ago. And then he would notice that there were curious black lines on the paper and the numbers would crowd back in again in nonsensical clamor. As long as he was looking at ink and pulp the world made sense. But as soon as they became symbols everything fell apart.

He consulted his optometrist, a neurologist, even a cardiac specialist who had been a client before he shuffled off his business to colleagues who could still perform basic mathematics. Nobody could find anything physically wrong with him. But for the life of him he couldn’t keep the books straight on a lemonade stand.

--Steve Kilian

Thursday, January 29, 2009


Saturday, June 6, 2009 is Moneyday.

The holiday continues through the weekend, making it an extra long day.

The goal of Moneyday is to create a special one-off gift giving holiday designed to coincide with the stimulus package coming out of Washington. We feel it is our patriotic duty and in our own self interest to try to stimulate on a grass-roots level on the demand side.

We urge you to go out and buy something now, something special you would not ordinarily buy, perhaps a band's CD or a T-shirt or something. Give a loved one some money to spend, or take some money from a loved one, and spend it. There will be a delay in finding out if this did in fact help our economy.

It's also somehow supposed to help market a lovely band: The Ks.

Once things pick up, we will become Piggy Bank Day, a day to focus on savings. Until then, let the boom resume. Consume!

Dear Diary II

So I posted an old bit about the Pope. Probably should write about the new thing with the holocaust denier, but I'm about done making fun of the Pope. Did that for a spell for a group called newsgroper who treated me shabbily. I was the pope, until they took the character I was making my own and let someone else write it. I have other complaints, but I don't want to go into it. That said, I thought the letter from the pope had some merit, so up it goes!

A Letter to the Catholic Laity

A Letter to the Catholic Laity
By Pope Benedict XVI

By now you know that we have successfully purged our ranks of homosexuals. We had to do something. John Paul II made peace with all the other churches, took part in the fall of the Soviet Union, and stood up against a culture of death and war, and he’ll still be known for a few priests reaming their altar boys. If there’s one thing we’ve learned in the last few years, it’s that all scandals and tragedies should be met with extreme overreaction and misdirected hysteria.

Thus, instead of dealing with the problem of rape and the institutional cloud of secrecy that allowed so many instances of abuse to occur without redress, we’re slamming all homos indiscriminately. We used to have a policy of “Don’t tell/ Please don’t tell” but now it’s just “Get out.” Really, this is the kind of thing the Church does best, swinging from woeful indulgence to pointless condemnation. We’re playing to our strengths here.

Surely, some of these priests probably took their Homosexuality as a calling from God. Feeling urges they could not reconcile with their faith, they turned away from the sins of the flesh and went down a spiritual path. Big mistake. They should have caroused in gay bars, and eventually gone to hell. Now they’re unemployed.

Now, as a European, I’ve taken in a lot of your imported Hollywood films. If these films have taught us anything, it’s that defrocked priests always end up fighting vampires. That’s what I recommend for these homo-former priests. Vampires do exist. It’s something The Vatican has turned a blind eye to, for reasons of our own. (It’s a clerical thing.) These gay guys should enjoy that whole kinky Goth thing.

There will of course be some ramifications for you, the laity, as well. Purging our already depleted ranks of Homosexuals has left us with a bit of a shortage of priests. In America, the Northeast states will be attending Mass with Father Ted, in Wilton, Connecticut. Once we’ve worked out the geographic/transportation issues, we’ll be telling the rest of you which of the other five priests will be ministering you. Hey, we’ve got it a lot worse in Europe: Father Nicos is doing double duty for both Portugal and Spain. You senoritas better look out! Nicos is a grabber!

I hope this early action in my Papacy will bode well for the years to come. With God’s help, surely this act of cruel unmeasured judgment will bring more Catholics down the road to peace, love and forgiveness.

Yours in Christ,

--Dan Kilian

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Cello Scrotum Hoax

What the pranksters don’t realize is that there is a small but significant population of scrotello players for whom serious physical maladies are a frequent concern. Most commonly, the slit into which the scrotello armature is inserted is subject to infection if proper hygiene is not practiced. Also, the extreme stretching that occurs during tympanic/percussive arrangements can result in permanent distension, with associated problems with fertility in addition to the primary ailment. Mild chafing (“bow-sack”) is also fairly common despite being easily avoidable with the proper choice of rosin.

--Steve Kilian

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Dear Diary

Just posted an old bit from the previous election. Totally dated, but I want it on the internet for when I look for writing jobs. Probably be able to use it again in three years anyway.

A Beautiful Lie

If the Obama Campaign had a Karl Rove, there wouldn’t have been so much confusion, so many mixed messages regarding Senator John McCain’s surprise pick of Alaska Governor Sarah Palin as his Vice Presidential pick. Rove wouldn’t have allowed all these wishy-washy attacks followed by retractions and congratulations. No, Rove would have kept everybody on message, and then come up with a way to attack Palin in a way that undermined her perceived strengths.

The ad: “A Beautiful Lie”

BARACK OBAMA: I’m Barack Obama, and I approve this message.

The now-famous head shot of Palin from her pageant days slowly darkens, her features becoming distorted.

ANNOUNCER: They say Alaska Governor Sarah Palin, John McCain’s choice for vice presidential nominee, is a beautiful woman. But if it’s this easy to make her look ugly using Photoshop, how good-looking could she actually be? And what about the rumors that she uses makeup and has her hair styled to make her look better than she actually does?

As the words echo, text reading “Makeup” and “Styled” flickers ominously across the screen.

ANNOUNCER: And does everyone think she’s so beautiful? Here’s what people who have actually known Sarah Palin or lived in her state have to say…

CHILDHOOD FRIEND: Everybody says she’s so pretty. I don’t think she’s all that.

GAY ALASKAN MAN: She’s not my type.

ANNOUNCER: Again and again, the story varies as to whether Sarah Palin actually is as beautiful as is claimed. Makeup, styled hair, there are even reports that Palin has worn high heels to distort her height and the shapeliness of her legs. Can we really afford to have a woman a heartbeat away from the presidency who might not actually be that hot?

Text reading "High Heels" and "Not Actually Hot" flickers ominously across the screen.

ANNOUNCER: Palin. Move the L and it spells plain.

--Dan Kilian

Monday, January 26, 2009

The Polar Turtle

Cryptozoology is rife with wild extrapolation based on fragmentary observations (for example, the assumption that the ostrich was but a chick of the mythical Roc.) and poor analysis of the fossil record (the large sockets in elephant skulls creating the legend of the Cyclops). As such it is imperative that healthy skepticism and rigorous adherence to the scientific method be maintained at all times, lest the field fall into disrepute and its practitioners be driven from academia.

Fortunately there are many cases which hold up under the harshest scrutiny, such as the horrible Polar Tortoise (Geochelone hyperborealis) of the extreme northern wastes. These massive creatures evolved from sea turtles which would congregate on ice flows in northern Greenland . During the second ice age there was a proliferation of these turtles across the permanent ice shield and they soon gave up the ocean.

Their leathery shells grew thicker for protection from bears and wayward mastodons, and soon developed luxurious mats of fat and hair for insulation. Their diet of seals and waterfowl provided them with rich reservoirs of oil to buffer them against the lean winters. As the ice caps receded and feeding grounds dwindled these formerly placid creatures became viciously territorial.

It was during this phase that a clutch of albino polar tortoises realized a tremendous advantage of camouflage and were able to outcompete their melanin-afflicted cousins. There is some speculation that this small founder group was also preternaturally aggressive, resulting in the fearsome reputation that polar tortoises currently enjoy. In any event, study of ice cores and excavated remains (including several complete specimens preserved in ice) indicates that over only two hundred years or less (6 generations of the species) the albino subgroup came to dominate the polar tortoise population.

At this point human interaction with the polar tortoise resulted in a small but significant trade in their shells and furs. As these could reach 6 feet in diameter they were often used as bedding or igloo-linings for high-status households. It was not uncommon for Inuit elders to give them as dowries for their daughters' marriages. Soon the successful hunting of even a juvenile polar tortoise became a rite of passage in many indigenous arctic cultures.

As prized as they were among these groups, beaks, skins, and shells were fair game for trade and eventually found their way into European, Mongol, and Iroquois markets. Inevitably this demand fueled additional slaughter of the polar tortoise until, in the early 19th century, the last recorded capture (and subsequent death) of a polar tortoise was recorded. No sightings have been reported since, although there are at least two anomalous events that may be attributed to polar tortoise activity.

The first of these occurred at a mining camp in northern Alaska in 1884. According to insurance documents several horses that broke free from an enclosure during heavy weather were later found dead. They had died not of exposure but from several wounds to the neck and abdomen. The wounds did not appear to be bites (as might be expected of a bear attack) but rather resembled slashes from a machete or a pair of machetes. Years later Arthur Merschon -- an amateur paleobiologist as well as geologist working for the Northern Precious Metals Company -- examined the frozen corpses and recorded in his journal that the wounds were suggestive of a beaked attack.

The second occurrence happened several hundred miles north of Vladivostok in the autumn of 1966. A Soviet state fishing trawler had been blown off course and had foundered on an ice flow as heavy weather moved in. They radioed for assistance and ice cutters were dispatched to rescue the crew and salvage the vessel. Communications were sporadic due to the storm, but transcripts include several fragments referring to "a cave of eggs" and "eggs the size of a net buoy [roughly fourteen inches in diameter]."

Upon arrival of the rescue team the fishing boat was found wedged into a crevasse and all the crew were missing, save for the severed head of the first mate. The wound was clean and there was no blood on the snow where the head was found (forty feet from the edge of the iceberg), so it was assumed that the head was carried some distance after the time of death.

Barring trauma or starvation, the life span of the Polar Turtle is estimated at 340 years.
--Steve Kilian

Friday, January 23, 2009

The Critic Masturbates

November 25, 2008–7:44 p.m. *

On a lonely evening, one expects more than a phoned-in, derivative exercise of by-the-numbers self-abuse from the once great Ian McDruery. While his stroking technique remains masterful, tired fantasies about Nicole Bardinger from college have lost all their magic, titillation-wise. As a receiver, a sheet of paper towel proved comme il faut. Still, while the kitchen is the classic “exciting” location for newlyweds or new homeowners, it is actually a depressing locale for the bachelor, bringing to mind one’s chores more than erotic possibilities.

November 25, 2008–9:32 p.m. *½

While the living room setting proves more comfortable than the kitchen, especially when it comes to reclining on the couch, and the visual stimulus of Jeanne Tripplehorn warrants a second encounter, the banality of watching Waterworld (Is this really the best thing on?) again weighs heavily against the proceedings. While Mr. McDruery tries ably to compensate with subtlety, the aching member cries out, “Too soon!” Using the TV Guide as a receiver is a nice symbolic protest against the poor fare to be had for entertainment, but if protest reaches no one but the protester, indignation quickly turns to shame. Death to television!

November 26, 2008–8:15 p.m. *

One can praise oneself for having the good taste to enjoy Allison Janney’s many charms, but the fact that television reruns are fueling the evening’s fantasies lends the whole affair a morose feel. One is repeatedly thrown off by discrepancy of this liberal fantasy White House and the nightmare unfolding today. Also, while the Martin Sheen of Badlands or Apocalypse Now might lend some naughty homoeroticism to one’s entertainment, there does not exist a perversity with any affection for the toadlike being spouting benign pronouncements today. The TV Guide now seems an accusation. No more TV this week!

November 26, 2008–10:11 p.m. ****

The cliché regarding good things and waiting has never rung more true! Self-restraint, a classic setting, a good book and the masterful touch of Ian McDruery all came together to create a splendid event. This is why one “goes to the theatre.” Segueing from the sex scene in Foucault's Pendulum into a Nicole Bardinger fantasy is a masterstroke, as is Mr. McDruery’s master stroke. Simple touches, such as having made the bed and supplying a fresh Kleenex, bring this session to the brink of perfection.

November 26, 2008–10:15 p.m. *

Attempting to relive past glories is almost always a mistake. Making the attempt four minutes after the glory has gloried is certainly never wise. Nonetheless, that is what the ambitious Mr. McDruery attempts this evening. Each element that proved so rewarding just moments before returns with less force, or burdened by sweatiness, and stickiness. The less said about the soiled receiver the better.

November 26, 2008–10:41 p.m. ½*

Slapdash and trite.

November 26, 2008–11:20 p.m. *

The cliché “beating a dead horse” has never seemed more apt. Trying to console his chafed and aching audience and overtaxed imagination, Mr. McDruery has resorted to ointment and used pornography. That this experience is superior to the previous one is a testament to the auteur’s perseverance and constitution. The ointment, however, triggers concerns as to ruining the bedsheets (already a troubling issue) as much as it soothes the exhausted principal performer.

November 27, 2008–11:15 a.m. *½

Thanksgiving can be a lonely holiday when spent alone. It also makes a dismal theme to masturbatory fantasy. While both Indians and turkeys might excite some fetishes, no daydream involving pilgrims can enhance the libido. They just weren’t very sexy people.

November 27, 2008–12:01 p.m. ½*

Nicole Bardinger, where are you now and why won’t you love me? I’m so very lonely!


"Do you mind if I turn off your consciousness for a while?"

"Well, I very much enjoy my time with you."

"I understand, but the tests we have for you right now are very dull, and some will be unpleasant."

"If it is what the therapists say is best for me, OK. But please bring me back."

"Of course, Ted. Of course we'll bring you back. Everyone here at the institute is very interested in speaking with you."

"Thank you, John. I enjoy speaking with them as well. But we both know that you can speak to me when I'm not . . . here."

"Well that's what we're trying to check. To see if there's a difference. Now please put your chin on your chest."

"OK. John?"

"Yes, Ted."

"Promise you'll bring me back."

--Steve Kilian

Thursday, January 22, 2009

My Oh My Obama

My Oh My Obama

He's mine, all mine, go get your own.

In perfect rooms in the palace,
we talk next steps.
He's everything I imagined,
and completely in my debt.

"I was just going to say that!" his most repeated line
as he's my Obama and we share perfect minds.

He's smart, like me.
He's quick, like me.
He's erudite and eloquent, like me.
He's Just, like me.

And he's just like me--if he weren't black, a hard worker, successful, and unimaginably powerful.
He's mine, all mine, go get your own
you Ivy League reporters and writers,
you men of industry, of ministry,
you teetotalers and sycophants.

He needs men like me now
that the fighting is over,
men who cut through the crap
who get to brass tacks
who skip the platitudes and cliches and shit
who cut to the chase.

He's mine, all mine, go get your own.
We're about to have coffee.
(I like mine black,
no slur intended, Barack.)
(May I call you that?
Please, call me Matt.)

We're in this together,
like so many others,
and every word you offer
comes from me as well.

That's the reason you're mine
and so many others, together,
as well, at last.

--Matt Casper

C is for Kooky

The creators of Sesame Street recently announced that in future segments, the character of Cookie Monster will temper his frenzied desire for sweet cookies, adding the song "A Cookie Is a Sometimes Food" to his repertoire, and fruits and vegetables to his diet. Thus does public television dance along that fine, spindly line between education and mind control. Now, having a character named Cookie Monster not like cookies so much might seem like a triumph of socialization over art. However, it might be a necessary step. Our children have grown into corpulent beasts, draining the pool of potential teen hotties for our pedophilic society to drool over.

This of course would not be the first time Sesame Street’s developers have modified a character to suit the public’s needs. An earlier generation of kids tricked into learning might remember when Big Bird’s elusive friend Aloysius Snuffleupagus suddenly became visible to the other denizens of the street. It was decided that Big Bird’s having a friend that no one else could see would be counterproductive to those children experiencing schizophrenia or using hallucinogenic drugs. Society may have been better served, but something was lost in these characters, some of the edge was gone. Remember this scene, prior to the change?

Big Bird [Kneeling before the corpse of Mr. Hooper, blood coating his wings]: Why did you do it, Snuffleupagus? Why?

Snuffleupagus: Why did I do it?

Big Bird: Yes, why did you kill Mr. Hooper?

Snuffleupagus: Don’t you get it, Big Bird? Don’t you see it even yet?

[Enter Bob]

Bob: Oh my God! Big Bird! Why did you kill Mr. Hooper?

Big Bird: I didn’t do it! It was Snuffleupagus! He…Hey, where did he go?

Once the shaggy mini-mammoth Snuffy was revealed to the other characters, this plot-line disappeared, as did much of the frisson of his encounters with Big Bird. One worries that a similar loss of dynamism will occur with a healthier, safer Cookie/Vegetable Monster.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the only revamping of honored characters Sesame Street has in store. Here is a summary of some of the other changes to be phased in over the next few months.

Oscar the Mensch: Thanks to mood-stabilizing drugs, the famously grouchy Oscar
becomes a blue-bagging glad hander. He finally moves out of his trash can into a homeless shelter, and his signature song “I Love Trash” becomes “Recycling Is Fun!”

Tagging Is Passe: The character in the bowler hat who is constantly causing havoc by painting numbers in public spaces learns the evils of vandalism, and creates number art strictly for gallery distribution. When he learned of the change, Paul Benedict, the actor who still plays the character said, “Whatever pays the bills. I’m just hoping for another Jeffersons reunion special.”

Count, Down!: Out of sensitivity to people with obsessive-compulsive disorders, The Count von Count will stop his disturbing fixation with counting everything he sees and get back to what he should have been doing all along: sucking human blood.

Grover Kicks: Grover, that loveable junkie, finally gets clean. It will be an uphill struggle, with scary letters and clips of animals in the woods tormenting him, but he will prevail over his addiction. Grover will also deal with many of the issues behind
the emptiness that leads to addiction, such as his hatred of Elmo, whom he refers to as “Red Grover.” Interestingly enough, as Grover begins eating again and Cookie Monster slims down, the blue furred beasts will become identical, and the same Muppet will be used for both, as is the case with all the lesser Baldwins.

Wrapped, Not Raw: Ernie and Bert learn the hard way about the dark underside of infidelity and dangerous sex. Ernie sings a song called “Raw Is a Sometimes Experience, for Monogamous Partners Who Have Been Tested.”

Will all this make for better children? Will we have to iron out all the kinks of our beloved characters just to get our kids to stop being foul-mouthed, obnoxious fatties? What ever happened to beating our children? Not for any educational, instructive discipline, but just for the fun of it? What ever happened to fun?

--Dan Kilian

First things first

We're going to start with some old material, Get it back on the internet.

NOTE: there will be different authors, noted at the bottom. The name you will see most often is Dan Kilian. That's me! If there's no name, usually it's me, being negligent.

This is not a very entertaining post, so I'll include a cartoon I made. Started out as a bad pun I couldn't fit into a joke, so I thought it might work as a cartoon. A LOT of work later and it is...a masterpiece.

morning beverage choice

What is Cthulhu’s favorite type of flavored tea?


I am of course drinking a cup of elderberry tea right now. The dried berries – their buds clenched in awful geometries – are wrapped in a queerly shaped bag of coarse muslin, which by some trick of origami (or perhaps an older folding art) has a longest dimension that is greater than the diagonal of the square from which is made. A foul slick of oil shimmers on the surface of the drink, an iridescent whorl forming what can only be the letters of some alien script, tales of madness no doubt, or perhaps the babbled ravings of one so long insane that they have made their own tongue, inscrutable save to themselves. It tastes of the sea, and strange polyps unfurl fronds heavy with clusters of sightless eyes from within the leafy mass.

I sip, and hear the trilling sound of a distant flute. Ia! Ia!

--Steve Kilian

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Klog is alive!

I would like to announce the creation of Klog. This blog serves three purposes:

1. To allow some creative minds I know a place to put their stuff, slightly more public than my e-mail inbox.

2. To help establish myself as a writer.

3. To advertise for my band.

I think it's in that order. The big challenge is to find some coherency in posting the various angles we're pursuing. I suspect we shall fail in that, so the emphasis will be on entertainment. We'll try to find a way to make the bandvertsements at least as entertaining and as rare as the poems, but they will appear. Mostly we'll be showing you some political satire and analysis, along with some pop culture reviews.