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T. Michael Barclay's "Asylum Earth" takes a slightly different look at people, places and events that shape the planet we are confined to. It's overwhelming evidence that the patients are indeed running the asylum.
Monday, February 16, 2004
SETTING HISTORY STRAIGHT, OR OTHERWISE -
Real Men Don’t Carry Myrrh . . .
Isn’t it interesting that the term, ‘mankind’ is a word recognized by pretty much every dictionary known to, well, mankind. Now before you get your thong in a wad, the term ‘womankind’ will also fly right by the ‘ole spellchecker without a hiccup. Now try, ‘personkind,’ and see what happens. Bells, whistles and a fog-horn go off like James Carville at a Republican mixer.
But, leave it to the authority above all authorities, the Church of England, to weigh in on an issue that has plagued all mankind, opps, womankind, opps, all sperm-kind since the first bra was burned in 1964 . . . were the three Wise Men, wise or even men?
Given that the term, ‘Wise Men’ could be considered an oxymoron, following a star across the desert for months was probably not going to rank as a qualifier for the ‘Mensa’ Society anytime soon. But just how much pillow talk to you suppose it took to get this little piece or revisionist history going?
During recess at the annual Church of England General Synod in London last week, seems that there was a little loophole discovered concerning the definition of exactly who traveled where and with what. Forget for a moment that only two people in Tibet know what the word ‘Synod’ means, a committee was formed to figure out what the term ‘Magi’ was all about. Throwing out the rumor that there was a second gunman on the grassy knoll, this committee, made up of six woman and two just strange looking people, came to the conclusion that the term Magi could have meant anyone. Well, if that’s close enough for Gloria Steinem, it’s close enough for me.
Issuing a statement, the committee said, “Magi is a word which discloses nothing about numbers, wisdom or gender embodied in the term, good night!”
So, just what kind of woman hating monger could King James have been when he okayed the use of the term, “the Three Wise Men”, in reference to the gift-bearing visitors. Now we are all left with the unpleasant task of changing the mindset of 70 million worshippers in Anglican churches around the world. But I suppose in today’s political correct environment that only seems fair.
Personally I think I know where this is headed. The Church of England’s parliament meets twice a year to take up such matters. Now that it has been established that the term ‘Magi’ is not gender specific, and everyone knows that three women would not have traveled for months following nothing be a star, me thinks that after their next Synod we will get the pronouncement that the term ‘Magi’ was actually the first reference to gender bending and that it was actually three gay men who traveled all that distance refusing even once to ask for directions. After all, did you see those hats? And, there is also the frankincense and myrrh thing . . .
Bishop takes Queen . . . Hell, Bishop is a queen.
Wordsmith
Real Men Don’t Carry Myrrh . . .
Isn’t it interesting that the term, ‘mankind’ is a word recognized by pretty much every dictionary known to, well, mankind. Now before you get your thong in a wad, the term ‘womankind’ will also fly right by the ‘ole spellchecker without a hiccup. Now try, ‘personkind,’ and see what happens. Bells, whistles and a fog-horn go off like James Carville at a Republican mixer.
But, leave it to the authority above all authorities, the Church of England, to weigh in on an issue that has plagued all mankind, opps, womankind, opps, all sperm-kind since the first bra was burned in 1964 . . . were the three Wise Men, wise or even men?
Given that the term, ‘Wise Men’ could be considered an oxymoron, following a star across the desert for months was probably not going to rank as a qualifier for the ‘Mensa’ Society anytime soon. But just how much pillow talk to you suppose it took to get this little piece or revisionist history going?
During recess at the annual Church of England General Synod in London last week, seems that there was a little loophole discovered concerning the definition of exactly who traveled where and with what. Forget for a moment that only two people in Tibet know what the word ‘Synod’ means, a committee was formed to figure out what the term ‘Magi’ was all about. Throwing out the rumor that there was a second gunman on the grassy knoll, this committee, made up of six woman and two just strange looking people, came to the conclusion that the term Magi could have meant anyone. Well, if that’s close enough for Gloria Steinem, it’s close enough for me.
Issuing a statement, the committee said, “Magi is a word which discloses nothing about numbers, wisdom or gender embodied in the term, good night!”
So, just what kind of woman hating monger could King James have been when he okayed the use of the term, “the Three Wise Men”, in reference to the gift-bearing visitors. Now we are all left with the unpleasant task of changing the mindset of 70 million worshippers in Anglican churches around the world. But I suppose in today’s political correct environment that only seems fair.
Personally I think I know where this is headed. The Church of England’s parliament meets twice a year to take up such matters. Now that it has been established that the term ‘Magi’ is not gender specific, and everyone knows that three women would not have traveled for months following nothing be a star, me thinks that after their next Synod we will get the pronouncement that the term ‘Magi’ was actually the first reference to gender bending and that it was actually three gay men who traveled all that distance refusing even once to ask for directions. After all, did you see those hats? And, there is also the frankincense and myrrh thing . . .
Bishop takes Queen . . . Hell, Bishop is a queen.
Wordsmith
Monday, February 09, 2004
DIANA ROSS TO GO TO JAIL ON DUI CHARGE –
National Black History Month Canceled . . .
A Tucson Magistrate found Ms. Ross guilty of DUI and sentenced her to serve 48 hours in Jail. She was also sentenced to a year of unsupervised probation.
Let’s look at the facts . . . Tucson police arrested her December 30, 2002 after her car was seen traveling southbound in the northbound lanes just outside the city’s northeast limits. Breath test results showed Ross had a blood alcohol concentration of 0.20 percent or slightly over Arizona’s legal limit of 0.08. The R&B diva, who telephoned into the Tucson city court hearing from New York, pleaded no contest to DUI. My guess is, that did it . . .
Listen up Kobe, make the trip, Judges really, really do not like it when you do not bother to show up in their court. Why else sentence her to two whole days in jail? Other than embarrass her, what exactly does two days in jail do for someone with millions of dollars? It’s not like she is going to miss any work!
Let’s see, given time served, (In most states they, by law, have to keep you four hours or they are just releasing you still drunk) she is down to one and three-quarters days already. Now, I’m not sure how they calculate ‘good-time’, but say she is a good girl for one-half day, bam! She is out by noon on the second day.
Don’t you just know that some jail administrator is beside him/herself with joy considering the circus that is going to show up to witness this ‘hard-time’! The Rev. Al will have to take a day out of his nail biting political race or face being upstaged by the Rev. Jackson (no, not the pigment challenged one).
And what exactly is ‘unsupervised’ probation? What does she have to do that no one is going to supervise? Does she perhaps have to put the cap back on the whiskey bottle after each drink? Is it a no-no for her chauffeur to be seated next to her at the bar? Maybe she has to write; “I understand that ‘One-Way’ doesn’t mean either”, 500 times!
What if she hadn’t called? What if she had just sent a picture of herself thumbing her nose at the Judge? Suppose he might have been sufficiently upset enough to have fined her about a million dollars, to be given to some group that has to deal with the results of people driving southbound into northbound traffic?
Now we’re talking punishment to fit the crime . . .
Wordsmith
National Black History Month Canceled . . .
A Tucson Magistrate found Ms. Ross guilty of DUI and sentenced her to serve 48 hours in Jail. She was also sentenced to a year of unsupervised probation.
Let’s look at the facts . . . Tucson police arrested her December 30, 2002 after her car was seen traveling southbound in the northbound lanes just outside the city’s northeast limits. Breath test results showed Ross had a blood alcohol concentration of 0.20 percent or slightly over Arizona’s legal limit of 0.08. The R&B diva, who telephoned into the Tucson city court hearing from New York, pleaded no contest to DUI. My guess is, that did it . . .
Listen up Kobe, make the trip, Judges really, really do not like it when you do not bother to show up in their court. Why else sentence her to two whole days in jail? Other than embarrass her, what exactly does two days in jail do for someone with millions of dollars? It’s not like she is going to miss any work!
Let’s see, given time served, (In most states they, by law, have to keep you four hours or they are just releasing you still drunk) she is down to one and three-quarters days already. Now, I’m not sure how they calculate ‘good-time’, but say she is a good girl for one-half day, bam! She is out by noon on the second day.
Don’t you just know that some jail administrator is beside him/herself with joy considering the circus that is going to show up to witness this ‘hard-time’! The Rev. Al will have to take a day out of his nail biting political race or face being upstaged by the Rev. Jackson (no, not the pigment challenged one).
And what exactly is ‘unsupervised’ probation? What does she have to do that no one is going to supervise? Does she perhaps have to put the cap back on the whiskey bottle after each drink? Is it a no-no for her chauffeur to be seated next to her at the bar? Maybe she has to write; “I understand that ‘One-Way’ doesn’t mean either”, 500 times!
What if she hadn’t called? What if she had just sent a picture of herself thumbing her nose at the Judge? Suppose he might have been sufficiently upset enough to have fined her about a million dollars, to be given to some group that has to deal with the results of people driving southbound into northbound traffic?
Now we’re talking punishment to fit the crime . . .
Wordsmith
Friday, February 06, 2004
AND WE HAVE A WIMMER! -
Putting the Duh in DUI . . .
Ever hear of Scott Wimmer? I didn’t think so. However, not wanting to be left out of the sports scandal world, NASCAR has decided to give ‘ole Scott the benefit of the doubt; or the Michael Jackson ‘What Me?’ pass, and allow him to start their race season as if a preponderance of evidence didn’t indicate that this is not a real good idea.
Seems that our boy Scott (not to be confused with Boy Scout!) had been out partying while driving the company truck belonging to his boss, Bill Davis, that of the Bill Davis Racing Bill Davis’s. Scott, a highly qualified race car driver, was apparently driving on the way to his home while having some problem with a painted center line that tended to veer off to both sides of the road. Well, Scott had a decision to make, drive with one eye shut or decide on which white line to follow. He decided to veer right. Who knew?
Behind door two was a rather large rock that jumped right smack in front of Scott’s truck and propelled him in an upward spiraling fashion akin to wayward bottle rocket. The next thing Scott didn’t remember was hitting a road sign that said, “Slow down curve ahead.” Now, that was a stroke of luck because in another 100 feet Scott would have run straight off into a hay field.
Another stroke of luck was that Scott lives in High Point North Carolina and having just made the transition to the major NASCAR racing circuit, hardly anyone knew him. This way, when the High Point Police found the Bill Davis Racing pickup truck overturned with three tires missing, about a mile from Wimmer’s home, they had absolutely no idea where to look for the driver.
Using an old O.J. Simpson Police video training tape, the High Point police decided to just follow the trail of blood and amazingly ended up at Scott’s house. Scott of course was right where you might expect to find someone at that hour, hiding behind a bed. Still holding a piece of the trucks steering wheel, a besmirched and rather dazed Scott managed to state, “Take a little wedge out of the rear and I think we’ve got a shot!”
Unimpressed, the police took an air sample and immediately declared his bedroom a bio-hazard area. With a blood alcohol level of twice that of a NHRA ‘funny Car’, Scott was allowed to take a little chauffeured lap to the nearest drunk tank, but under no circumstances . . . smoke!
Now, in an all too familiar sports announcement, NASCAR declared that Scott would be able to race in the upcoming Daytona 500 pending the outcome of the police investigation. Outcome! The guy was driving with twice as much antifreeze as the truck. What part of, ‘only one tire remained’ did you not understand?
In another announcement NASCAR said that they believe that the qualifying speeds for the upcoming Daytona 500 will set records. Well, naturally, everyone is going to want to start in front of Scott!
Maybe NASCAR is waiting for the one piece of information I am, Scott, “Where are those three tires?”
Wordsmith
Putting the Duh in DUI . . .
Ever hear of Scott Wimmer? I didn’t think so. However, not wanting to be left out of the sports scandal world, NASCAR has decided to give ‘ole Scott the benefit of the doubt; or the Michael Jackson ‘What Me?’ pass, and allow him to start their race season as if a preponderance of evidence didn’t indicate that this is not a real good idea.
Seems that our boy Scott (not to be confused with Boy Scout!) had been out partying while driving the company truck belonging to his boss, Bill Davis, that of the Bill Davis Racing Bill Davis’s. Scott, a highly qualified race car driver, was apparently driving on the way to his home while having some problem with a painted center line that tended to veer off to both sides of the road. Well, Scott had a decision to make, drive with one eye shut or decide on which white line to follow. He decided to veer right. Who knew?
Behind door two was a rather large rock that jumped right smack in front of Scott’s truck and propelled him in an upward spiraling fashion akin to wayward bottle rocket. The next thing Scott didn’t remember was hitting a road sign that said, “Slow down curve ahead.” Now, that was a stroke of luck because in another 100 feet Scott would have run straight off into a hay field.
Another stroke of luck was that Scott lives in High Point North Carolina and having just made the transition to the major NASCAR racing circuit, hardly anyone knew him. This way, when the High Point Police found the Bill Davis Racing pickup truck overturned with three tires missing, about a mile from Wimmer’s home, they had absolutely no idea where to look for the driver.
Using an old O.J. Simpson Police video training tape, the High Point police decided to just follow the trail of blood and amazingly ended up at Scott’s house. Scott of course was right where you might expect to find someone at that hour, hiding behind a bed. Still holding a piece of the trucks steering wheel, a besmirched and rather dazed Scott managed to state, “Take a little wedge out of the rear and I think we’ve got a shot!”
Unimpressed, the police took an air sample and immediately declared his bedroom a bio-hazard area. With a blood alcohol level of twice that of a NHRA ‘funny Car’, Scott was allowed to take a little chauffeured lap to the nearest drunk tank, but under no circumstances . . . smoke!
Now, in an all too familiar sports announcement, NASCAR declared that Scott would be able to race in the upcoming Daytona 500 pending the outcome of the police investigation. Outcome! The guy was driving with twice as much antifreeze as the truck. What part of, ‘only one tire remained’ did you not understand?
In another announcement NASCAR said that they believe that the qualifying speeds for the upcoming Daytona 500 will set records. Well, naturally, everyone is going to want to start in front of Scott!
Maybe NASCAR is waiting for the one piece of information I am, Scott, “Where are those three tires?”
Wordsmith
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
JANET JACKSON EXPOSED -
Appears To Have More In Common With Michael Than We Thought . . .
There was one thing most refreshing about this year’s Super Bowl . . . For the first time in the history of the event, the game was exciting and the commercials were absurd! Now, don’t get me wrong, I like a good horse flatulent commercial just like the next person. It may have set the seventh grade advertising class back a bit, but the ninth grade government class would have had a dozy of a time discussing how freedom of speech somehow covers every orifice.
First, how embarrassing for the Ford Motor Company, appears the Vice President of Stupidity Prevention was absent for the meeting to pick the one $2.3 million dollar spot they would run during the Super Bowl. Somehow in his absence it seemed like a good idea to run an ad for a 500 horse power GT model yet to be manufactured. And when it is, it might have a small problem appealing to the masses at a price something over $100,000. To add insult to injury, its 140 mph test track run was blown away by an AOL powered wheelchair bound doofus with a DNA link to the Osbourne family.
7-Up, coming fresh off it’s latest brainstorm of putting it’s name upside-down on the label, decided nobody would have a problem believing that anyone dribbling a basketball down a sidewalk would not be able to resist the urge to do a slam dunk on a basket mounted on the back of a moving beverage truck. And, that was one of the more believable attempts at reality advertising during the game . . .
Not to be outdone, Bud Light came back with its cute little crotch biting pooch. I don’t know about you, but my first thought watching a guy in excruciating pain was that Anheuser Busch must produce one fine tasting product. Come to think of it, the one thing missing from every beverage commercial during this event was whether the product tasted any damn good or was the least bit refreshing. I suppose we buy these products because we get a sudden impulse thinking about men getting bikini waxes . . .
Just when it seemed that this year’s commercials had taken us to an all time low, a new standard was set by the half time show. In a lineup that only MTV (Moronic Talent Vegans) could have hallucinated up, they pulled names out of a do-rag and came up with Toby Keith, Willie Nelson, Aerosmith and P-Diddy. And, to prove that you can take Viagra, Cialis and Levitra all at the same time, they had Kid Rock come out and scream incoherently into a microphone for ten minutes.
This brought us to the ‘excretainment’ highlight of the evening, Janet Jackson upholding her families honor by giving Justin Timberlake a cheap feel in front of NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue, who having had less sex than Britney Spires, ran completely naked out on the field to join in all the fun only to discover they had started the second half.
The bottom line (and you were hoping there was one) was that amidst all the absurdity the person who looked most out of place was Beyonce Knowles! What the hell was she thinking when she waltzed out there, looking like a perfect lady, and sang a beautiful version of the Star Spangled Banner, didn’t she get the letter?
Wordsmith
Appears To Have More In Common With Michael Than We Thought . . .
There was one thing most refreshing about this year’s Super Bowl . . . For the first time in the history of the event, the game was exciting and the commercials were absurd! Now, don’t get me wrong, I like a good horse flatulent commercial just like the next person. It may have set the seventh grade advertising class back a bit, but the ninth grade government class would have had a dozy of a time discussing how freedom of speech somehow covers every orifice.
First, how embarrassing for the Ford Motor Company, appears the Vice President of Stupidity Prevention was absent for the meeting to pick the one $2.3 million dollar spot they would run during the Super Bowl. Somehow in his absence it seemed like a good idea to run an ad for a 500 horse power GT model yet to be manufactured. And when it is, it might have a small problem appealing to the masses at a price something over $100,000. To add insult to injury, its 140 mph test track run was blown away by an AOL powered wheelchair bound doofus with a DNA link to the Osbourne family.
7-Up, coming fresh off it’s latest brainstorm of putting it’s name upside-down on the label, decided nobody would have a problem believing that anyone dribbling a basketball down a sidewalk would not be able to resist the urge to do a slam dunk on a basket mounted on the back of a moving beverage truck. And, that was one of the more believable attempts at reality advertising during the game . . .
Not to be outdone, Bud Light came back with its cute little crotch biting pooch. I don’t know about you, but my first thought watching a guy in excruciating pain was that Anheuser Busch must produce one fine tasting product. Come to think of it, the one thing missing from every beverage commercial during this event was whether the product tasted any damn good or was the least bit refreshing. I suppose we buy these products because we get a sudden impulse thinking about men getting bikini waxes . . .
Just when it seemed that this year’s commercials had taken us to an all time low, a new standard was set by the half time show. In a lineup that only MTV (Moronic Talent Vegans) could have hallucinated up, they pulled names out of a do-rag and came up with Toby Keith, Willie Nelson, Aerosmith and P-Diddy. And, to prove that you can take Viagra, Cialis and Levitra all at the same time, they had Kid Rock come out and scream incoherently into a microphone for ten minutes.
This brought us to the ‘excretainment’ highlight of the evening, Janet Jackson upholding her families honor by giving Justin Timberlake a cheap feel in front of NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue, who having had less sex than Britney Spires, ran completely naked out on the field to join in all the fun only to discover they had started the second half.
The bottom line (and you were hoping there was one) was that amidst all the absurdity the person who looked most out of place was Beyonce Knowles! What the hell was she thinking when she waltzed out there, looking like a perfect lady, and sang a beautiful version of the Star Spangled Banner, didn’t she get the letter?
Wordsmith
