I’m getting on a plane tomorrow and going away for 4-5 days. I won’t be checking email while I am gone. If it can’t wait till after Christmas, you can try to call me.
Until then, Have a Happy war on Christmas and see you next year.
In the City of (name blotted out), so it is said, the people worship the bronze bull god, Moloch the King. Moloch apparently demands heavy sacrifices and particularly likes children when petitioners come to him asking for big favors (although he will accept adults in a pinch). The usual method of offering to Moloch is to take the child to the temple and place it in the bronze hands of the furnace-like idol. The priests intone their prayers and pull on hidden chains, and, with a creak and a snap of iron gears and the clanging of brass gongs, the mechanical idol will open it’s mouth and the child will be tossed alive into the roaring furnace within. A large orchestra of brass and percussion instruments plays at ear-shattering volume during this performance in order to drown out the screams of the sacrificed (most older priests of Moloch are usually quite deaf; the loud volume of the orchestra is widely believed to be the cause). When the supply of sacrificeable children runs low or the cause to be addressed by the Bull King is less urgent or important, the still beating hearts of humans or animals removed with surgical expertise by priests can be substituted, although Moloch apparently gets quite petulant over these menu substitutions.
For less important requests, various animals, artworks, plants, food, or even gold or silver or jewels may be offered. Some valuables are not tossed into the fire directly but instead accepted by the priesthood and then (we promise) sacrificed in ceremonies open only to members of the priesthood. Somehow, the temples and rectories of Moloch are magnifently opulent places that rival even the palace of the King of M even though the tithes are quite reasonable — another Moloch miracle. There is some speculation that not every item offered in sacrifice makes it into the flames, but somehow Moloch seems to understand. Perhaps the Bull King feels that his priests should live like lords.
The children for sacrifice are usually selected by lottery… a lottery to which no family in the city other than the current royal family is immune. However, even in the City of (name blotted out), wealth has it’s priveledges. The wealthy and powerful are rumored to purchase ‘substitute’ children on the black market in order to protect their own progeny from Moloch’s sacrifice. Since Moloch usually demands the youngest member of a household, the ‘substitute’ is then sacrificed in his place and the child who has been spared will be provided with a new name and a forged certificate of birth. Rather than risk having to scurry about procuring sacrifice substitutions at the 11th hour (a stressful and difficult activity), the most powerful and wealthy routinely simply have a substitute child ‘on deck’ in case their house is chosen in Moloch’s lottery. The kidnapping of infants for sale on the black market and forgery are booming industries in (name blotted out) and it is suggested that if visitors plan on spending any time there, one should be sure not to be the youngest person in any family group.
Theologically speaking, there is no express prohibition in Moloch’s church from providing a substitute, although openly speaking of the fraud in public is considered impolite. The poor deal with this inequality the way that the poor deal with inequality everywhere: they moan and cry and shed impotent tears.
It is thought that the city of (name blotted out) is crazy for lotteries, since the succeeding ‘royal family’ is chosen at random from a dozen noble families upon each king’s death. When the king dies, ivory plaques bearing the seal of all twelve royal families are placed in a sacred bag made from bull’s hide. The high priest chooses one plaque at random and that family becomes the new ruling family, with the eldest male becoming king, the eldest female becoming queen, etc. Other positions are filled by members of the family as the new king sees fit. Unfortunately, this means there is very little continuity in the governance of the city except in the unlikely occurance that the same family is picked twice in a row (in which case the throne goes to the next eldest surviving male member of the family and other positions are usually retained from the previous administration). Some claim that all families once took part in the lottery but a cabal of the wealthy and powerful passed a series of laws limiting the drawing to the smaller number of families of means and station. Even speaking aloud the possibility that this might indeed be the case is considered a capital crime, and the speaker is likely to find himself tied down on the altar and his still beating heart dissapearing into the fiery god’s idol before he can say, “Ba’al Hammon.”
I work for a company that I will refer to as ‘Levy Pants Company’ (a very clever reference on my part to Peter O’Toole’s ‘Confederacy of Dunces’). We have a relationship with a vendor of communications services that I will call ‘Acme Communications.’ Acme’s billing is so notoriously full of errors and overcharges that ‘Levy Pants’ employs a ‘billing negotiation company’ I shall call ‘Clawback Enterprises’ to negotiate our bills for us. As far as I understand the process, in Acme’s billing agreements, Acme specifies that it is dependent upon the customer (Levy Pants) to determine whether or not the bill is accurate… which is where ‘Clawback’ comes in. ‘Clawback’ uses billing specialists (most are former employees of companies like Acme) to look through the bills and dispute errors unfavorable to Levy Pants. Every over-charge that is successfully dismissed nets Clawback about a third of what Levy Pants would have otherwise overpaid. Acme’s usual strategy to fight Clawback is to simply ignore requests for disputes and to continually send incorrect invoices in hopes that Levy Pants pays them… where they land on my desk and I immediately forward them to my associate at Clawback whom I will call ‘Laura.’
Put another way, Acme Communication’s bills are so notoriously filled with overcharges that companies like Clawback exist just to dispute them. This is insanity worthy of Twain or Swift… but overbilling may well be a growth source of revenue for Acme ‘cause they just keep doing it.
Periodically, I find myself in a three way conference call with representatives from Acme and Clawback. During these conference calls, I’m usually just trying to puzzle my way through the massive spreadsheets that Laura from Clawback has emailed to me about how fucked up the bills from Acme are that week and while they talk I try to figure out what the shizzle the Acme and Clawback people are arguing about.
Blitzenspitz is an unusual location in Northern Losel and the name may refer to either the village (The Village of Blitzenspitz) or the mountain (Blitzenspitz). The more poetically minded who dislike sibilant syllables call the mountain by its fancier name, “Thunderspire.”
The crystals, when filled with energy, glow with a white light. There are many uses for the energy; apparently many mages purchase the jars to power spells or charge magical devices. Some healers claim that the energy can be used to heal as well as harm (although I would be reluctant to undergo any of these experimental therapies). Persistent but unconfirmed rumors mention ancient devices that can be powered by the energy in the crystals; these are strange and dangerous devices that can give the user the power to cast thunderbolt spells like the most powerful of wizards… but this author is certain that those stories are just bullshit.
Not every crystal can be successfully charged. A few simply shatter or melt when any attempt is made to charge them. Others can be charged and recharged multiple times without a problem. The mine bosses of Blitzenspitz are usually pretty successful in grading the crystals and differentiating those which are not suitable for a single charge from those which can be used multiple times, although mistakes are often made and good crystals are declared to be flawed junk (and thrown on the scrap heap) while bad crystals are sometimes mistaken for crystals of the first water and sold for inflated prices. The best practice is to buy a crystal that is already charged (which will prove it is of at least adequate quality) and then attempt to have it recharged or trade it in after use.
Blitzenspitz has, traditionally, been ruled by the VanDurn family. Everyone who wants to buy powered crystals must pay a high tax to the VanDurns. The VanDurns, in turn, license the harvesters and the dealers and guard the village and the mines. The current ruler, Octavo VanDurn XIV, is a virtual recluse in his ancient and crumbling castle. He hasn’t been seen outside the castle in years, but rumors persist that he (or his agents) obtain a large number of jars of the glowing crystal every week; what they do with the power in the jars is unknown.
Lightning harvesters are well paid for their dangerous work, but spending so much time on the peak of Blitzenspitz is not without disadvantages. The few harvesters who are not blasted to bits or burned to a cinder often become a bit peculiar in their habits as the years go on, frequently becoming subject to bouts of paranoia or depression. In addition, most who have spent a large amount of time collecting lightning will gradually find it harder and harder to touch metal without painful (and, in some cases, dangerous) bursts of static energy. Utensils, buttons, buckles and other common items are made wood, bone, horn, clay, etc., whenever possible. Some common objects, like brass door knobs or pewter tankards, are actually illegal in the village. Most lightning harvesters use carved ivory plaques instead of coins of gold or silver or will have a trusted family member handle the money for them. Lightning harvesters can usually be easily identified by the way in which their hair stands straight out from their heads, like the puff-ball of a dandelion, and the faint whiff of ozone that seems to linger in their vicinity.
|Nothing personal; it’s just business.|
A teacher at a school for girls in London apparently wanted to teach her students about economics, business, history and the slave trade all in one lesson, so she asked the students to put their thinking caps on to create a business plan for importing slaves from Africa in the most profitable manner possible. As far as the assignment goes, everything was on the table… fucking over your suppliers by using violence, bribes or alcohol was OK, torture was on the menu (and they got down to specifics — whips, manacles, thumbscrews, etc., and here I though all those English Girl’s School stories were a product of the pornographer’s whimsy), and, best of all, one of the benefits was fucking your merchandise (yes, having sex with slaves) in order to breed ‘mixed race’ slave business employees who would handle the human flesh business overseas while your white offspring enjoyed snuff, claret and harpsichord music back on the estate in jolly old England.
The head of the school issued an apology: “On behalf of the school, I apologise unreservedly for the distress and anguish caused to [the student] and to her mother, as well as to you and others in your community who this material may have been shared with. Now I have had the opportunity to view the Powerpoint in its’ entirety, I share your concerns“.
WTF, England? The perfect bookend for this little tale would be for some teacher in Germany to casually suggest to the students that they come up with a ‘business plan’ for the occupation of Poland.
Tea Party congressman Jim DeMint (R-SC) has apparently bailed on serving the people of the great state of South Carolina in order to take over as president of “The Heritage Foundation.” DeMint served only 2 years as a congress member before accepting what is apparently a very cushy gig as a non-elected member of a political ‘think’ tank.
As a principled opponent of “big guvvernment” and leading light of the Tea Party, I wonder if Jim ‘The Freshmaker’ DeMint will refuse the lifetime healthcare that members of congress have elected to give themselves? Or, like most congress members, is he only against funded government healthcare when it is for anyone other than members of congress?
|“These hands have never done an honest days work… my palms are as soft and supple as a baby’s bottom!”|
The Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit is hosting a ‘Monster Drawing Rally’ on December 7th. Go to MOCAD, listen to some music, buy a drawing of a monster made right them and there by one of 90+ local artists for $40.00… sounds like a great night. I’m going to have to see if Annie wants to go, and, if not, maybe I’ll go stag.
From their website:
LIVE DRAWING EVENT AND FUNDRAISER
MOCAD New Wave presents Monster Drawing Rally
Friday December 7, 8PM to 12 Midnight
Monster Drawing Rally is a live drawing event and fundraiser featuring more than 90 artists. Part performance, part laboratory, part art bazaar, the Monster Drawing Rally is an incredible opportunity to watch your favorite local artists create original drawings. The event begins promptly at 8 pm and consists of three one-hour shifts that each feature approximately 30 artists drawing simultaneously. As the drawings are completed, they’re hung on the walls and made available for purchase for $40 each. Proceeds from the event provide direct support for MOCAD’s programs.
A live DJ will be spinning music to draw and dance to all night long, while our staff, interns and volunteers assist the artists and serve refreshments. This event is sponsored by Utrecht, French Paper and Hour Detroit Magazine.
The event concept, Monster Drawing Rally, was originally developed by Southern Exposure in San Francisco.
A friend of mine owns a business where they rent furnished apartments to the well heeled traveling executive who needs a place to stay for extended periods. They have a crew that cleans the places out after a guest leaves, this group of male executives and high rollers leave behind a surprisingly large number of sex toys. If my friend rented apartments to porn stars or sex therapists, I guess finding sex toys would seem less surprising (at least to me).
Maybe the dildos and penis pumps are left behind by call girls? Maybe these middle aged dudes end up in a city and think to themselves, “I’ve always wanted to stick a dildo in my butt without my family judging me… here is my chance…”? I don’t know. Some of them are still in the package, meaning, I suppose, that they are still ‘perfectly good.’
What is a ‘penis pump’ for, anyway? As a species, have we grown so lazy that masturbating ‘by hand’ is too much work and we want a machine to do it for us? Or does the pump really permanently increase the size of the organ? Or does it just help the man who cannot rise to the occasion seal the deal with the call girl?
Nasa officials recently offered up the cheerful news that the world really isn’t going to end on December 21st, 2012, as supposedly predicted by the Mayans and their impressive stone calendars. Someone once told me that the fact that the Mayan calendars ended on the day we describe as December 21, 2012 was of no significance; it just meant that by the time the Spanish arrived and started killing them, that was as far in the future as the Mayans had bothered to calculate time… although part of me likes the idea of some ancient Mayan calendar carver, dying of whooping cough, thinking to himself, “The joke’s on you, Spaniards — according to this calendar I just finished, in about four hundred and twelve years from now you guys are FUCKED!”
Of course, the skeptic in me thinks that if the Mayans had the power to predict the end of the world more than 400 years in the future, they also would have had the power to prevent a bunch of unwashed Spaniards with fancy hats to destroy their civilization.
Q’uq’umatz is apparently the Mayan feathered serpent god whom some claim is much like the Aztec god, Quezcoatl (and others say that Q’uq’umatz is nothing like Quezcoatl — me, I don’t have an opinion because I don’t know). Quezcoatl is cool because they also call him, “The Smoking Mirror” which is an excellent name. I chose Q’uq’umatz’s name from a list because I was wondering how you pronounce it. “Kwu-kwu mats? Ku-uk-oo-matz? Kwuck-oo-matz?”
Note to self: Never agree to join any Mayan sport team. If I understand it correctly, the winners usually eat the losers and my softball skills are so woefully poor that I am more likely to find myself among the eaten rather than the eaters.