Saturday, February 28, 2009

Mr. Bingles

The Ventriloquist's dummy was no wooden facsimile, but a real boy, dead and mummified. It was his brother. They weren't twins but they looked alike enough that the boy looked a tiny version of the man. They'd done the act for fifteen years, since Andrew, the older brother was sixteen. Phillip, the younger brother, never got any older.

But his skin was yellowing as it tightened into a leather mask, pulling tighter around it's skull. Andrew applied a moisturizer daily. Of course, moving the jaw muscles wasn't good for Phillip's cheeks, but the effect was uncanny when he spoke.

"We're getting second billed behind a juggler."

"Is that you Mr. Bingles?"

"You know that's not my name, Andrew."

"What do you want! Why do you torture me!"

"The Great Kuranski must die!

"We can't keep killing off everyone who stands in our way!"

"We must!"

Alexander Kuranzki was practicing a new routine when Andrew snatched a pin from it's orbit and smashed the juggler on the head with it. He knocked Kuranski's teeth out and jammed the smashed up teeth and flesh back into his throat, choking him to death.

When your talking mummy brother tells you to do something, you do it.

That night, Andrew noticed the retired Sergeant McDonald in the audience. In Pittsburg, he'd come backstage to compliment the duo on their act, and ask some innocuous questions about the craft, never mentioning the recent passing of the local magician who usually headlined the show. What was he doing in Kentucky?

Andrew mulled it over, right there on stage. Phillip was turning yellow and stiff, and quite frankly, his timing wasn't what it used to be. He had blood on his hands and now maybe a man on his trail. Killing the competition still wasn't bringing the kind of following they needed. Maybe ventriloquism was a dead art. He didn't know what to do, so he just sat there, waiting for whatever was coming. He'd stopped moving his lips a long time ago.

--Dan Kilian


Friday, February 27, 2009

Atlanta Braves Fans Here

My buddy Eppie's podcast has arrived! This Saturday, March 1, they sit down with Pitcher Tom Glavine. Big stuff! They're soliciting questions now. Check it out!

Regarding the Dawn of Language and thus the Dawn of History as a Continuous Narrative of Events, Places, People, and Things

At least he knew he was a “he” and not an “it.” The lesser members of the troop did not, acting like hyenas, smearing themselves with filth and spurning the grooming advances of their fellows. But he knew this was wrong. They were different, they were the People of the Gourd. Antelopes would drink from the watering hole with their mouths, and mudfish would flap in the shallows, breathing in the wetness. But the people of the gourd would scoop up the water in vessels and bring it to the shade-trees and drink together.
One day after picking nits from one of the females he went to the gourd-field. He found a big, dry gourd and sniffed it to be sure it was good. It was. He brought it back to the water hole and found two of the younger males wallowing in mud.
Enraged, he cuffed them about the face and shoulders with his open hands, bellowing and plucking at his erection. He cracked the gourd open on a rock and tore out the seeds and fibers, flinging them at the bleeding males. He waded into the water, scattering the lizards and two gazelles that had paused to watch the fracas. He filled the gourd and drank from it. He filled it again and poured it over his head. He filled it a third time and brought it to the males and forced them to drink from it. They crouched and trembled in bewilderment. He pointed to the gourd and to the water and to the two of them, over and over again. He barked at them and pointed to the gourd. He pointed at them and howled, his larynx going raw as he pounded his fist against his chest, leader of the People of the Gourd -- a people who didn't know that they were any different from the animals and insects they ate. Still they shook, uncomprehending.
He paused for a moment, panting. His grandfather had done the same thing, trying to show the lesser ones where to find the fattest grubs in the rotting logs. But every morning the lesson was gone. For them, every morning was the first morning, and every night erased what had come before. They needed some way of knowing that would last beyond the final swallow of water, the last taste of the grub. They needed some sound for things that was apart from the thing itself.
Finally, he held the gourd up in the light and croaked out, “Gooooord.”
So it began.
-- Steve Kilian

Obama Song

Giiiiiirl I’m a turn you on
Giiiiirl I’m a turn you on turn you out turn you into something we can all believe
Turn you into something that’s just too precious to receive
We can all pull through
We can all come to
A new place beyond yoga and false

--Steve Kilian

---------------------------------------------------- Obama Poem

---------------------------------------------------- Flikp!

Fire and Ice 2009 Remix

Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of desire
I think that both are very nice
If you like them both, I have to ask ya,
Why not try some Baked Alaska?

--with apologies to Robert Frost by Dan Kilian

-------------------------------------------------- Obama Poem

-------------------------------------------------- Quesadilla

Thursday, February 26, 2009

A Pronounced Debt

As the Obama administration rolls out a budget featuring a $1.75 Trillion deficit for this year, let us consider the size of numbers.

At some point in our history, possibly in the late 1800s (anyone know?), the government began juggling not just Millions of dollars, but Billions. There should have been an announcement given by the president or the secretary of the treasury to the effect of “Hear ye, hear ye, people, we’re dealing in BILLIONS now, not Millions. As in one thousand millions. BILLIONS. The shit’s getting big.”

We were too cavalier when it happened. They sounded too much alike. That’s why when W. Bush confused the two when he was running in 2000, no one made a big deal about it. We should have paid more attention. Hear ye, hear ye, we’re bumping into a Trillion.

I’m not saying we have to panic, just that we need to acknowledge where we are and how big the number is. Here are some ideas for giving Trillion the respect it is due.

Capitalize anything ending in “illion.”. These numbers are big enough to have a personality. A Trillion is a proper noun.

Never say 1.75 Trillion. That’s sounds like one and change. That’s 1 Trillion, 750 Billion, y’all.

When we speak the word aloud, we should pronounce it with an echo. As in “Barack Obama inherited a Trill-rill-rillion dollar deficit.” It’s a Trillion dollars; it merits a couple more syllables. A Trill-rill-rillion.

And of course, trill those Rs.

--Dan Kil-il-ilian
-------------------------------------------------- The New Depression

When Will We Find The Bottom?

Whether you’re on the dole or just scared for your job, everybody is reeling from our economic woes. The signs are bad, the mood is gloomy, and prospects are few. If the only thing we have to fear is “fear itself,” it turns out that fear kicks ass pretty severely.

Still, things will eventually get better. Confidence shall return and we shall have a recovery. If it happens within two years, Obama wins. If it takes longer, cannibalism wins. The two questions are: when do we turn the corner, and where is the bottom? How will we know when we’ve seen the worst?

We shall have hit the bottom WHEN:
Houses in North Carolina and Pennsylvania cost as much to build as they do on North Carolina Avenue and Pennsylvania Avenue on the Monopoly board. (And by the way, green is the best monopoly; no one ever lands on Park Place.)

The Obama administration scraps its idea of creating a “bad bank” to absorb toxic
assets in favor of an “absolutely horrible, rankly evil bank.”

Homeless guys get their hand-outs capped at twenty-five cents.

People switch back to landlines from cell phones, even when they don’t have a home.

Professional toilet lickers are just happy to have a job.

The Secret Ingredient on Iron Chef is…SHOE!

GM officially goes green when its entire workforce can share the same car for their commute—and living quarters.

Newspapers, publishing houses, refrigerator magnet makers, all industries that spread those confusing and dispiriting “words” are run out of business.

Songs can be bought for a song.

Tom Friedman develops a perfect recycling regime, allowing him to use the same four paragraphs for a column, three T.V. spots, pillow talk and a book.

New Yorker cartoons featuring a blind guy selling pencils are funny again.

Pickpockets start stealing actual pockets, for the valuable pocket making materials.
Things will get better. While the global economy can exacerbate our problems, eventually it will help us. Once the Seppuku craze on Wall Street stimulates Japan’s export levels things may turn around. The Jonas Brothers should be brutally murdered and their remains set on fire. (This won’t actually affect our economy, but we should do it anyway, right?) Tim Geithner will be sacrificed to the volcano and the gods will be appeased. The bottom is coming. Climb up on it.
--Dan Kilian

-------------------------------------------------- The New Depression
-------------------------------------------------- Moneyday

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Bobby Jindal's Republican Response to the Obama Address

Here I come, walking towards ya! Here I am! Happy Mardi Gras. Y’know, we saw something extraordinary tonight. Barack Obama, a son of a white woman and a Kenyan, addressed the chamber where we abolished slavery! Look how far we’ve come; let’s move on. Did I mention that my parents came here from India? And now for some reason I’m a rising star in the Republican Party, even though few in the party know my positions or have ever heard my voice. Bet you didn’t know I was all folksy sounding, did you?

My dad always told me “There is nothing Americans can’t do.” Now I’m going to tell you that over and over again. See my hand gesture! Pretty good, huh? It’s like I’m shaking your hand through the television. Boy, I’m really scared.

Republicans want to work with President Obama. We just don’t agree with anything he does, and will do our best to stop him, as we work with him.

There is nothing Americans can’t do. Remember Hurricane Katrina? I was visiting some Sheriff and he was on the phone and he was cussin’ and a hollerin’ cause some bureaucrat was holding things up, and then I was all cussin’ an’ hollerin’. There’s a lesson there. Hurricane Katrina was all screwed up. And that’s why we tried to stop the stimulus package.

Republicans believe that all Americans should have access to health care. The emergency room is a great way into the hospital! Likewise, we believe in a “scholarship program” to give parents the chance to send their kids to private schools. That’s the new way we say “vouchers.” “Scholarship programs.” The Republican Party is going to come up with a whole slew of new phrases and terms for their ideas, bringing us into the 21st century.

We need ethics. In my home state, we used to have a saying: At any given time, half of Louisiana was said to be half under water, and the other half is under indictment. No one says that anymore. We’re taking care of the ethics. The water part, not so much.

There is nothing that Americans cannot do. Tax cuts, defense, earmarks, Katrina, socialism, universal government-run health care, government bureaucrats. Still shaking your hand. There’s nothing Americans can’t do. I bet I made you all forget about Sarah Palin, didn’t I?

--Bobby Jindal as transcribed to Dan Kilian

--------------------------------------------------------- Stump Speech
--------------------------------------------------------- Pope Letter

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Here’s What I Was Thinking At 5:30 Today When I Should Have Been Sleeping

Ever see Neil Diamond in The Jazz Singer? No, of course you didn’t. Well, Mr. Diamond plays a Cantor who somehow ends up a songwriter for a major studio. This being a very with it 70’s movie, there’s a punk rocker who’s recording one of Neil’s songs. “It’s got to be faaaaster!” the mohawked rocker testily demands.

“No,” says Neil, “It goes like this.”

He sits down at the piano and croons out “Love on the Rocks.” The punker hates it, but, get this, the engineer is taping it, and it turn into a big hit, propelling Neil Diamond’s character to stardom!

What I was thinking at 5:30 this morning was why did the Punk rocker select “Love on the Rocks”? Surely there was a demo that was not unlike Diamond’s slow ballad version. Maybe his whiny Prima Donna performance in the studio belies a more sensitive creature. Most Punk rockers of the time performed their own material, or ironic covers, yet this guy seems to have wanted to make a hard-driving sincere punk version of this tune. Was he mad? A genius?

I think there’s a movie to be made about this strange fellow. I’d call it Love On The Rocks. It would explore the Punk rocker’s fall from grace after a brief spin in the machinery of fame. As he watches Neil Diamond’s career arc into greatness, he lapses into obscurity, trying in vain to instill the works of Gordon Lightfoot, Engelbert Humperdinck, Dan Fogelberg and others with that Punk rock power he so loves. Unsuccessful and hard to love, this vain little man thrashes through the disappointments of his life, and turns on those closest to him, sinking no doubt into hard boozing and drug addiction. Love on the rocks indeed.
Finally, after crashing to the bottom, he befriends some kid or dog or prostitute or something and achieves the kind of small time redemption Hollywood loves to splatter on the big screen. Perhaps he gets to sing “Love on the Rocks” in some small (Still better than the dives he’s been reduced to) theatre, the way it was meant to be sung. Loud, caustic and fast as hell.

It’s got to be faster.

--Dan Kilian
The Human Fly

Monday, February 23, 2009

Soup of the Day: Soup Clarifies His Positions

Q: Libertarians are crazy.

I'm not a libertarian, nor do I know any, nor do I agree with their precepts.

However, I am a fiscal conservative and that puts me at odds with about 99% of my fellow Americans who believe humans should live beyond their means and government should live beyond its means. "Walkin' around with your head in the clouds, makes no sense at all." Bob Mould, Husker Du. Pretty much tells the tale.

Of the 272 folks who ran for Prez last year, Ron Paul was the only one I noticed who actually talked about this problem and had good ideas about how to try to solve it. In the age of the internet, each Senator and Congressman could get by with a staff of about 5. Pensions across the board inside the Beltway should be whacked. The list of government spending cuts is pretty easy and definitely fair. His positions on abortion don't concern me because nothing will change on that issue, ever. One man's opinion.

I like Obama's slogan about change and do believe he cares about others, like nobody I've seen in Casa Blanca since Jimmy from Georgia.

The housing bubble was overdue to burst by about 11 years. It came, it tried to correct itself, but then got real messy. At that point we should have nationalized all 3 big banks, like every other country on earth did this time around, and like FDR did in his day. That's the way to free up lines of credit and make it possible for folks with household incomes of 52k to buy houses, cars, education, health, and golf at correct prices. The economy turns around. It's an immutable law of physics.

On the war front, Obama should back out of Iraq immediately, close every US military base on earth, keep the fleet of aircraft carriers floating on the 7 seas - in modern times, that's all you need for defense, plus you get the bonus of good-will disaster relief - and get Hillary to lay down the law in troubled spots. She's a good one to have in that key post. I believe good results can come from such an approach, and I cannot count the government savings on this one. A Cray supercomputer could.

Obama has said he wants to make Afghanistan his Vietnam. I know that place like Kipling did in his day . No need to follow W's Iraq.

I want to get bin Laden. It's personal. Obama should use the James Bond approach: spies, then strike. We can do both, real good. And get MI5 and Mossad to join in the hunt. I believe good will come. Sanity will win. And good people will win, in the short run, if possible.

--Dave "Soup" Campbell

--------------------------------------------------------- Geithner Nor

--------------------------------------------------------- Sully

Final Thought on The Oscars

If you're going to celebrate the movies, does it really make sense to perform the celebration as staged theatre on television? If that's what movie people really like, maybe they should put on more plays. It's as if you were going to celebrate the Internet by writing a letter and reading it over the phone.

I say get rid of the theatre. Have a parade. Let everyone wear all the nice gowns, and they can present some things from the parade, but let filmmakers handle more of the presentation. Mini docs on the making of the films. Show some of the shorts. Where does the parade go? Maybe, if you want to plug the movies of 2009, they should all go see a bunch of different movies. "What are you going to see?" could be a more interesting question than "Who are you wearing?"

I am clearly right.

--Dan Kilian

-------------------------------------------------------- Oscars Part I

-------------------------------------------------------- Oscars Part II

-------------------------------------------------------- Grammys

Listening to Sunn O)))

Yes, the femur is strong. Good to break through the frostbound layer of ancient soil under the crypt.

In that chamber a coffin is suspended by heavy chains bolted to the stone walls, ceiling, and cellar floor. The links are cold-forged iron bands, trembling with the motions of whatever is in the coffin.

You stop digging for a moment, certain that you can hear the sound of those vibrations.

You hold your breath and become very still, and you can hear music.

You can also feel that the vibrations have propagated through the wall into the earth, up through the femur and into your body, resonating in your chest cavity.

You open your mouth and it is deafening.

--Steve Kilian,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Live Blogging The Oscars Part II

More Stuff.

I think Waltz With Bashir got robbed, because I'd heard of it, and I hadn't heard of whatever won.

Paul Newman. Very sad.

I'm not sure about the whole Legion of Former Academy Awards Winner Friends format for introducing the nominees, but if it saves time, so be it.

Sean Penn says something nice about Mickey Rourke.

Slumdog slumdog slumdog.

That little Indian kid's face is worth the price of admission. That doesn't make sense, since I'm watching at home for free, but it's a nice thing to see.

Guess I should see some of these movies.

--Dan Kilian

----------------------------------------------------------- Part I

----------------------------------------------------------- Grammys

Live Blogging the Oscars

Hugh Jackman sings a song.

Penelope Cruz wins an Oscar for something.

More stuff happens.

Hugh Jackman's "I Have More Talent Than You" interlude meets the mandatory Beyonce portion of the evening.

Heath Ledger. Very sad.

Man On Wire guy balances the Oscar on his chin.

Indian people can make us smile and laugh just by opening their mouths. What lovely accents! There should be more Indian people.

Hey, the "1" in the "81 Oscar" logo is an Oscar statue!

More stuff.

When it's a year without any good movie musicals, maybe they should just skip the best song category. Give out a few more Grammys instead.

--Dan Kilian
---------------------------------------------------------------- Part II

---------------------------------------------------------------- Grammys

Saturday, February 21, 2009

The Human Fly

Gilberto Tomici, The Human Fly is more fly than man in appearance, but he dresses well, and so he's accepted. Like a black celebrity in the 60s, alien to the whites and straights, he's other, but the recognition of fame bridges the gap. Few black celebrities actually crossed over, but here is a race of only one. Or as he said it: "The world's only Fly-Italian American"

He's hard to shake hands with, bristly palms, with fingers diminishing into velcroed tendrils. The girls kiss him on his big shiny green eye, and they give him an affectionate squeeze, but he's never seen embracing anyone. There are certainly some strange groupies who dream of getting physical with the star, but reality is always stranger than the dream. I've been told stories of some drunken encounters from the wild years after Gilberto finally got out from under his father/manager's domination. Those stories end with awkward apologies from Gilberto, and nothing more.

That was a brief period, that transition from circus freak to debonair entertainer, and now the fly is never seen drinking anything stronger than orange juice.

He's invented his own instruments to suit his physiology, and he's an excellent singer, getting amazing tones and range out of his snout, and the voice is certainly distinctive. He's done guest chorus on a number of hip-hop records, but at greater length the buzz is too much to take. So he's a guest and a sideman.

He has an exercise DVD, but that's more an elaborate joke than a business, though a few hundred sell every year. He has a book of poems which wasn't savaged when published, though it wasn't hailed, and the book sells worse than the video. No, it's his autobiography that's been his cash cow. Ghostwritten and not too revelatory, it sells nonetheless, just outlining the basics of The Human Fly's life. Face it, the guy's had and has an interesting life.

I met him in a studio session for a Stuart Murdoch solo album, recorded in New York. He was playing the triple trombone (He plays the slides like a trumpet's valves; it sounds like a French Horn through honey) and I was laying down some dobro, live in the studio together. It was a relaxed session, a lot of joking as I recall. Murdoch and the Fly were very professional and neither said much but in between takes I remember the engineer accidentally knocked over Gilberto's fruit smootie, making quite the mess.

"Hey man," Gilberto squawked, "I'm a friggin' human fly. Those smoothies are all I've got." We all laughed, not because it was the funniest line of the day, but because of the obvious overstatement, and because of the brutal truth. The man had fame, he had music, he had friends, but he didn't eat solid food like the rest of us, and sucking on a smoothie was one of the few ways he came close to regular human behavior.

After the session, we had some drinks and smoke. Stuart and Gilberto abstained, but they got caught up in the silly banter and war stories musicians love to tell. As we left for our cars, we got to see something very few people outside of a circus have ever seen. Gilberto, struck by the warmth of a beautiful spring night, stripped off his suit and underclothes and stood before us, looking like a monstrous fly.

"See you gents," he said, and flew back to his hotel. Somehow no one caught it on camera. He hadn't flown in public for fifteen years.

We all agreed it was quite a thing. We all talked about what it must be like to fly, and to not fly. It had to be nice to let that out, but the guy didn't fly, accept that one time. I don't really know the guy, but I guess he just doesn't want to be thought of as flying, as a fly.

--Dan Kilian

Friday, February 20, 2009

Movie Script Treatment #129*

He’s a hot Chinese-American interior designer by day, crime fighter by night. FENG SHUI. Our Hero, Robert Chan, takes on Dr. Devon Unkulssen, a German crime boss and neo-Nazi leader who is extorting Chan’s lovely client, Susanne Luft, over some nude photographs. Using his FENG SHUI skills, he is able to infiltrate Unkulssen’s operation and overcome his henchmen, the suave and sinister Mr. Scissors and the troll-like Urdu.

Here is a sample scene: Chan and Luft have been caught trying to infiltrate Unkulssen’s neo-Nazi headquarters. Urdo ties them up while Mr. Scissors points a gun at them.

Urdo: That oughtta hold ’em.

Chan: You’ll never get away with this!

Mr. Scissors: We don’t have to. By the time the authorities find you, Herr Doctor’s death gas will have killed all non-Aryans on the face of the earth, and we’ll be living in the giant underground city we constructed!

Luft: Hard to believe he had time for petty extortion.

Mr. Scissors: Shut. Up. [The actor should really say this line with the periods between the words, to emphasize his cold, methodical malevolence. In fact, he should say “Shut, period. Up, period.”] Come, Urdo, let us tell Dr. Unkulssen he has guests. We’ll be right back.

Urdo: And then it’s lights out for you!

Urdo and Scissors leave.
Luft: Oh Robert, what will we do?
Chan: Wait! I think I’ve got an idea.
Using alternating below and overhead shots, we see Chan, with his feet, misalign various chairs and a desk, creating disturbing and confusing angles. He pushes a stack of papers and a wastebasket under a table.

Chan: It’s a risk we’ll have to take. If I can generate just enough negative
room energy...

Scissors and Urdo return.
Scissors: So he wants us to kill them, eh?
Urdo: It’s lights out for them!
Scissors pulls his gun.

Scissors: All we have to do’s see...

Urdo: Uhh...yeah...uh...lights




In a furious gun battle the two thugs shoot each other to death.
Luft: One of those bullets cut my ropes!
She frees Chan.
Chan: Now let’s find Herr Doctor Unkulssen and...rearrange his room!

* A lot of thought went into the selection of this number, 129, to be the funny number for this movie treatment. Obviously this is actually the first and possibly only movie treatment bit I’ve written, but to call it Movie Treatment #1 isn’t amusing. I’m trying to suggest an ongoing process whereby I have come up with hundreds of these implausible script ideas, this just one selected at random. Thus the idea becomes glacial, with the reader perhaps conjecturing as to what ideas may have come before, or as to whether even worse fare comes later on down the list. An anthropologist who falls in love with a million-year-old skeleton? A politician who decides to communicate through rapping? I liked 129 because it suggested a very large collection of treatments, and because it is a pleasantly ungainly number. It’s not quite prime but it’s hard to do math with. It’s got nice round feminine loops, which is pleasing to the eye, without being sluttish, like 363, and it’s silly without being too zany, like 517. Other numbers I considered were 28, 73 and 146. Okay, 146 was never a serious contender.
--Dan Kilian
---------------------------------------------- A dream
---------------------------------------------- Garfield Minus Garfield

Signs We’re In A New Depression

Top 100 lists have been slashed to 25 things.

Cats are distributed in smaller “kitten” form.

People no longer order escargot, opting instead for slugs.

The dark horse candidate for next year’s Best Picture Oscar is “Slumdog Poor Person.”

Cereal is now sold by the flake.

Many signs of the Apocalypse (which is imminent, by the way) are confused for economic indicators.

The toy surprise in a box of Cracker Jack is now made of popcorn.

We’re noticing a lot of great deals on whores.

Desperate citizens and small businesses are now filing Chapter 39, a deadly combination of Chapters 11, 13 and 15.

Speaking of chapters, publishing houses have come up with a new edition of Don Quixote that is only one chapter long, the one people actually read before they give up. It’s the one with the windmills.

Even Zombies can’t be as choosy as they used to be, eating whatever human flesh they can get, and no longer dining exclusively on the choice braiiins.

Jazz is starting to sound good again.

Young men go to singles bars to try and get laid off. That doesn’t really make any sense and yet that’s what’s going on I tell you!

Aging actresses no longer get horrible plastic surgery operations, and are instead donning hideous masks.

Shantytown residents are facing foreclosure, driving down the property values of the surrounding cardboard boxes.

The Fed is financing the acquisition of Pyramid schemes by Ponzi schemes before the Pyramid schemes have to declare bankruptcy. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but they’ve learned from the collapse of the Three Card Monte.

Cartoons are now in black and white, and are all elaborate song and dance numbers.

Muppets are being replaced with puppets.

Atlantic City has become a grim town full of seedy stores and casinos.

Instead of dinner and a movie, the new “classic” date involves going hungry and wailing in misery.

--Dan Kilian

---------------------------------------- Moneyday

---------------------------------------- Financial Imagination

Thursday, February 19, 2009

The Bands Three Are We

Tips for landing a job

Look over your resume one more time.

I know you wrote it and rewrote it and revised it all last year. Give it one more look. Is there some awkward spacing? Does it somehow go one line into a second page? Is there a clump of Xs where you meant to look up some skill or job you couldn’t remember? Have you really been sending out a flubbed resume all this time? Shouldn’t you have a lot better experience and more skills by now? Make sure all your tenses are consistent. Where it says “-Present,” substitute “-2007.” Yes, you’ve been unemployed for over a year now.

Rewrite your introductory letter every time.

Resist the urge to cut and paste your letter. Read the job postings requirement, and then address those needs as skills in your letter. Think of it as the first job you’ll be doing for this company, but don’t bill them for time worked until after you have the job. Show how you’re the ideal candidate for this specific job, even if you’d really rather be doing something else. Show how you stand apart from the field, only don’t betray any actual human aspect of yourself.

Here are some words and phrases to avoid during a job interview.


“What do you think?”

“That’s stupid.”

“I’ll show them. I’ll show them all.”

“Who’s laughing now?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Here are some words and phrases to use during a job interview.


“I can do that!”

“I like temping! It fits in with my schedule!”

“Can I take the typing test again?”

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

“I’ll suck your dick. Right here in this conference room. I’ll suck you off like you’ve never been sucked, every day if you just give me this lousy job.”
Write that novel you’ve always dreamt of writing.

You’ve got time now. Let your creative juices flow! What, no novel? Of course you don’t have a novel. If it was in you, you would have already written it, job or no job. All your talk of an artistic life was just the pipe dreams of a pretentious prima donna. Now get back to work getting a job.

Use those negative feelings to your advantage.

Face it. You really are worthless. You’re of no value to society; in fact, you’re a drain. Do you have a wife and family? You can’t even provide for them. The world would be better off without you. You really should consider killing yourself.
Consider killing yourself.

Regardless of whatever Dorothy Parker might have said, the only way to waste yourself that’s worth a damn is to blow your brains out. If you had a gun, you’d be holding up convenience stores by now. So you can’t afford to go out with a proper bang. Get a job.

Accept the Stave of Power.

You’ve been holding off looking directly at that image of Carolyn Corcetti, the girl you loved in second grade. She keeps hovering in your peripheral vision. You instinctively know that to acknowledge her means madness. Give in. She carries the gifts which will make you invincible and free you from your needs. Once you have taken the gift you will be free to spread your disturbing message to the others and set them all free. Yes, there will be some discomfort living on the street, but as your mind degenerates you will become too gone to even understand. Finally, the angel of your Carolyn Corcetti will return a third time, and all will become warm, and you will float away, and nothing will ever hurt you again.
--Dan Kilian
**************************************** Moneyday
**************************************** Masturbation

Wednesday, February 18, 2009


I go to the science fiction convention alone, in costume, speaking to noone.
Humiliated by what I am, I skulk from booth to booth, lurking in the back of the lecture halls, showing up at screenings after the lights go down. They call out for me to join the gaming tables, the filking circles, the memorabilia swaps -- and I lurch away, head bowed under absurd plumage of shame. Even here, of all places, I am outside.

Their unselfconscious revelry is not burdened by loathing of the ridiculous roles they play, not burdened by loathing of themselves. They exchange the names of avatars; later they'll meet on digital battlegrounds I am too embarrassed to visit. I will peel off hair appliances and prosthetics, carefully fold the fabric of my costume, and hang the ceremonial blades -- undrawn from their scabbards, yet again -- in theback of the closet.

Then I'll shower away the rank smell of postadolescent fantasy and put my street clothes back on.

--Steve Kilian

---------------------------------------------- Cthulhu

---------------------------------------------- Groundhog's Day

The Turnip Girl of Europe

That Hitler was a woman and my lesbian lover is but one of the revelations to unfold in my soon to be published memoir: The Turnip Girl of Europe. Yes, you’ll be delighted to know she had a Hitler. Among other truths finally told is that Kurt Waldheim was actually a woman and was my lesbian lover.

The time machine proved useless. The great tragedies of history were nested within dangers of alternative warlords, apocalypse and strange unconsidered dystopia. Little could be changed for the better. Gambling schemes unleashed tiny spinning cycles of consequence that did us in, invalidating the original time travel, so every bet went uncollected, and un-gambled. A lack of know how on my part precluded the invention any but the simplest of technologies, and the cavemen were not ready for the change, nor I for the grim sustenance of their existence. Former-would-be -lovers were even less charmed by the man I had become, my modern desires too unpalatable by the innocents of my youth. I thought that I had blown it, but they had blown it too. Attempts to seduce myself were less hot than imagined, fumbling, predictable gropings that revealed a certain weakness of passion that was mutually detected. And no, you can’t kill your grandfather.

So I took solace in transportation, viewing the nations of the world and the new outposts of space, only to find, months and many transportations into my journeys, that a new study found the technology actually did bring about your demise, merely recreating a facsimile in it’s new location. I was a copy of a copy of copies of a corpse. A few more trips and I developed the right mixture of selfishness and self-control to walk away. I was born anew, and dead.

I joined the army, in The Lord’s Cause against the traitors in California and Washington. I burned down their homes and blew up their cars. I killed their kids, cut open their skulls and yes I scooped out and ate their brains. When California was deemed The New Holy Land I did not take part in that final cleansing. I sensed it was time to leave the world of war and make my way in business.

I set up a table and sold novelties. I was swept up in the toe-clipping fad that summer. It started as a sideline in the illegal immigrant transportation business. A child’s toe was part of the price for a trip across the border. At some point the maimed nature of so many of their schoolmates inspired naturalized children to cut off their toes for fun, as well as trading and collecting. Many toes passed across my table of novelties, and I prospered.

I was born in Indiana. I know virtually nothing of that place, other than that it has a town named Gary, and another named South Bend, which homes Notre Dame University, and that there is corn, fields of corn that runs on to the horizon, starting in my back yard.

Hitler and I changed our names to Adelle and Helena. We impregnated ourselves using our own DNA, using the secret science of the Third Reich, taking the good with the evil, just so there would be a balance. Helena never acknowledged the evil of her realm, but I knew we had gone too far, but I rationalized the matter. Yes, millions had died, so that these beautiful children could be born. We named them Adam (His “Father’s” name being verboten), and Eva. No I am not Eva, Adelle still had affection for the name.

We took the time machine back to the dawn of humanity and raised them as the first children. We played Gods, calling out commands from behind the ferns. Yes, the forbidden fruit is incest, and we failed to instill the proper amount of dread. The rest of the story follows the line of the Bibles telling rather closely.

It was Adelle who led the movement to wipe out the Neanderthals. When I saw her evil could not be contained, I turned from her and became devoted to thwarting her wicked causes. I became Queen of the Picts. Adelle became Lady Macbeth.

Each time I transported, I checked for the loss. Maybe I was strangely numb, but a good meal and a night’s sleep usually took care of the problem. Even when I knew I was successively killing myself I stuck to the same ritual and obtained almost the same relief.
--Dan Kilian
--------------------------------------------- Sarah Palin

--------------------------------------------- Moneyday

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Gain Narrows

The Eagle descends with a clawful of grain and a clawful of arrows. The sacrifices of Cain. When God didn't like the grain, Cain offered an arrow to his brother's neck. No one had ever done anything like that before, so how could he know what would happen? Still a voice in his head knew along. So he went off into the valley to grow grain.

Nuts, literally, to the hunter gatherers and their precious meat. We grow figs, the forbidden fruit. As we spill the seeds, a trash-heap turns into a garden, into a farm, into a city. We can already smell the sulfur. God always had it in for us. It was a garden; we just wanted more figs.

At some point the story changed to apples, and Cain, still alive and in the new promised land, wore a pot on his head to hide his mark. He walked west and legends grew.

Manifest destiny. As we drove the Indians on, and conquered the Mexicans the Eagle rose, and we planted apples. As we got to the Pacific, we started planting oranges.

The Eagle descends, a clawful of apples and a clawful of oranges. You can't compare them.

--Dan Kilian

_______________________________________ Cthulhu
_______________________________________ Cookie Monster

Monday, February 16, 2009

Come On Let The Magic Happen

Magic, if I have ever needed you I need you now. Bring my volunteer's card to the top of this deck. Don't make a fool of me!

In the dystopian future, broken nano-tech will be the equivalent of spells. Wizards will be call IT and will call out strange mystic terms into the air. Sometimes, if the viruses haven't been disabled the swarms of microscopic robots will issue forth to do the wizard's bidding. Magical icons will be useful tools, just as the video games of today marry computer technology to crude lumps of plastic.

The wizard school of religion seized theological discussion during the Bush years, and a couple of hotheaded scientists agreed to play along by attacking religion as if it were magic. It is time to put away childish things. Let magic live where it belongs: in nano-tech.

Is THIS your card?

--Dan Kilian

_______________________________ The Pope

_______________________________ The Critic Masturbates

Sunday, February 15, 2009


So very sleepy. If I can just drag my body under this fence I'll finally be free, but it's all shutting down. The helicopters are circling closer, it seems. I don't really know. This warm feeling has been taking over from the wound in my back. Now it's running down my side, and my right leg feels like it's gone to sleep.

I'm falling asleep every other second. Absurd notions that don't correspond with reality: There's a car, I can step from it onto the helicopters and if I do it that way they won't be after me, but will give me gifts. I shake my head and pull my limp body forward a few more inches.

I should dig deeper. The bottom of the fence is digging into my flesh. I can't feel it, but it's snagging me. I'm stuck, and bleeding worse, trapped under the fence, falling asleep.

Is that light on me from the helicopter? Have they found me? I just straddle the distance between the car and the open bay, and I'm in. They greet me with dishes of tapas.

--Dan Kilian

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Financial Imagination

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Greensleep

Technical Frustration

Still can't doa simple paste into this blog from my MAC. Why are computers so problem? 

Friday, February 13, 2009

Fake Piranha Repellent:


- May require frequent relocation of sales facilities

- Limited market

- Ethical concern


+ Cheap production costs (water with odor and/or coloring agent) yield high

+ Little to no regulatory costs

+ Dissatisfied customers typically reduced to a skeleton in seconds

--Steve Kilian
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Scrotum Hoax
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Greensleep

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Optimism: A Conversation About The Israeli Elections

An interesting conversation was struck up by S and myself over results of the election in Israel where Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni’s Kadima party won the contest by a single seat over Benjamin “Bibi” Netanyahu's Likud party. They’re still arguing over who can form a coalition government, a decision President Simon Peres will have to make. I’m pink. S is green.

Is it looking like Livni? Or Franken?

Are you talking about the Lady who said "they need to know we will go wild" and in her country they call her a "centrist moderate"? Yep it is looking that she may be leading.

There's an old Vulcan saying S: Only Nixon can go to China. Bibi's no Nixon.

I don't know what kind of pacifist you expect to come to power, conditions being what they are. Both sides are pretty brutalized.

Oh and by the way, the Parliamentary system suuucks!

I let the numbers (in the past 9 years), the UN and Non-Governmental Organizations speak for themselves. Only if the news media (and I am talking the TV) in the US and in Livni's country would show what the rest of world saw during the three week war...

But I am optimistic...

Doesn't it look like Bibi's going to have an easier time putting together a coalition? Or is there something I'm missing in my 28 seconds of research?

Does seem like if you carry the bomb yourself you're a terrorist and if you program a plane to do it you're a defender.

I've had this argument in my head. If people were lobbing in rockets from Canada (as the metaphor goes) what would we do? I keep saying, well, we wouldn't go to war with Canada, we'd do some kind of police action, major, but we wouldn't blow up Toronto. Then I say, yeah, but what if the government of Canada were itself encouraging the rocket-fire, and providing and firing the rockets. The Palestinians seem to have a gift for sabotaging any sympathy they might
get in the western world. I don't think they did themselves many favors by electing war-mongers to head their government.

My point is this: we should invade Canada.

I am trying to be optimistic, only because you are.

I am talking about hard numbers and data out of the region collected by the UN, news reporters (Europeans and others), NGOs and other observers about the last three week war and the two years before that.

Palestinians have lots of sympathy in the (People of) Western world but not as much in the US and the question is why. Same disconnect happened with the Iraq war: Iraq war was opposed by almost all the People (British, Spanish, Germans, Italians, French....) of the Western world but not by Americans and the question is why.

About Canada: Many Americans would understand that Canada would fire rockets if the US closed Canada's borders, collected their taxes and did not allow food or medicine in Canada for TWO years despite repeated agreements. Under this scenario, one might be much more sympathetic or understanding to Canadian rocket fires. Also, if one took in account that Only in the last TWO years US had killed over 1200 people while Canadian rockets killed at most 20 people in Nine years (according to all official numbers), one's view may become less steady.

What if we were already controlling Canada against their wish in all other ways?


P.S. Dan I am not be able to discuss this any further by e-mail despite all my desire because it is taking too much of my time that I don't have. I am still fighting the battle of Iraq war that ended in loss of funding for science under the Bush administration and left us scientists in a pretty shaky situation. But I will be more than happy to talk with you about this face to face over a drink, even though I can not enjoy drinks these days too much. Hope you won't be mad at me.

I was not mad at S, as I could never be mad at S. A food eating entertainment was set up, as was this blog. and the conversation will no doubt continue…

--Dan Kilian and S

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Iraq