Wednesday, November 12, 2014

I Don't See Any Other Animals Landing Shit On Comets

The European Union, in the form of the European Space Agency, landed a probe on a comet today.

Consider that, one hundred years ago, this same group of peoples were engaged in geopolitical Lesch-Nyhan Syndrome: some one-million-plus people slaughtered since July of 1914, trenches now scarring a moonscape which was once a landscape. A lot more gruesome ghoulishness is to occur until four years from now - minus one hundred years and a day - when an armistice went into effect.

It's not that we've advanced any. We are the same killer ape we one hundred years ago. If anything, we've only managed to manage the carnage, and there's no reason to think we won't screw the pooch at some (near) time in the future, and do far worse than try and chew our tongues off, or poke our eyes out.

Still, as bestial as we are, I don't see any other animals landing shit on comets. And if other animals  did, why, I suppose it would be our duty to wipe them out.

Other things. I had probably the most horrible lunch at the college the other day. I got a chicken sandwich, and the chicken was a grisly, gristly mess. I sure do miss the socialist food service we used to have. Now, because of privatization, the food quality is down, service is shoddier, portions are smaller, and prices are up. Yay, capitalism!

I expect no less once our new empty Carhartt jacket is installed in the governor's mansion that he just bought, I'm sure we can expect to see the destruction of lots public institutions, the emptying of public coffers into the pockets of rich crooks, and the ongoing race to the bottom which we have all come to expect here in America.

Speaking of Bruce Rauner, I have been taking an inordinate number of poops lately. You know how, you eat a whole bunch, and you don't gain weight, but then, when you empty your bowels, this pathetic teaspoon of stool comes out. And you wonder, where the heck did the food go? Perhaps there is some extra-dimensional pocket in our innards where it gets stored, and then finally it fills up, and even though aren't eat any more than usual, suddenly you are pooping out a cornucopia, a horn of plenty of poop?

Yeah, America, like that. Get used to it.


  1. It took me a minute to connect inordinate poops with landing shit on comets...,

  2. Well, you'll have to explain it me...

    1. quoth one of my colleagues who reads the blog: Sadly I enjoyed Random Walks. That last paragraph must have come from his own personal blackhole.

    2. Ah, I see. Believe me, no one is more aware than I of the deterioration - in both quantity and quality - of this here blog lately.

    3. lol, had nothing to do with any of all that, the cat who read the article liked it, but was just struck by the peculiar discordance of the last paragraph.

      For my own part, I chalked it up to a generative grammatical gestalt, i.e., once the old brain pan began firing around the noun shit, it just dragged along every other coherent fragment associated with that noun. i.e., landing shit on comets is generatively equivalent to blowing mass quantities of kale and cabbage out'cha bunghole. To the machinery of the ordinary waking state, it's all just grammar....,

  3. but, but, John, they are making record profits! who cares if the food in inedible.