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Musings and Rantings

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Eureka!

New element discovered!   The recent hurricanes and gasoline issues are proof of the existence of a new chemical element. A major research institution has recently announced the discovery of the heaviest element yet known to science.   The new element has been named *Governmentium*. Governmentium (Gv) has one neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.   These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons. Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert. However, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact. A minute amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction which would normally take less than a second - to take over four days to complete.   Governmentium has a normal half-life of 4 years; it does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places. In fact, Governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.   This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as Critical Morass. When catalyzed with money, Governmentium becomes Administratium - an element which radiates just as much energy as Governmentium since it has half as many peons but twice as many morons.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Diurinal Journal of 12/19/05

Komrade Patriots: Why is it that, if a woman wears pants and a polo shirt, she is cool; whereas if a man wears a dress and pumps, he is a degenerate? Why are there no great female philosophers? If evolution is a fact, why isn't a monkey dropping out of a tree now and proclaiming: "Ecce Homo"? Queen Victoria spawned a crop of jackasses and idiots. Not that Gaius wishes to be too severe on the 'poor lad', but a 'certain party' should know that it is against the first WASP Commandment to talk with one's hands. The second commandment requires one to keep his elbows tucked in. No subway strike - yet. Rats! Cookie baking went well. Domina Claudia dropped a rolling pin on a Jack Russell's head. No sense. No feeling. No foul. Told a little boy, who was outnumbered by little girls, that Gaius had already spent a day in a Coast Guard brig at his age after being caught on failed stealing sortie; failed escape attempt; rifle pointed at captured ruffians. Made his day. Soon will be talk of the playground. Same kid only managed to decorate a few cookies and all his clothes. Kept sticking his fingers in the icing and eating the muck. Looked like a voting Iraki. Didn't have many cookies for himself, so Gaius told him to steal the girls' cookies. After all, they were only girls. Got the Evil Eye from mama. Kid chased JR's. Finally realized JR's were chasing him. Great fun until kid crashed into wall. Fed JR's carrots; skritched their tummies and opened doors for them when varmints put in appearances. Varmints all escaped and flipped the bird to them. They in turn licked me up. "Oh, what the blazes, let's give him a couple of kisses." Gaius took nap; so, one took a nap on Gaius' chest, the other on his lap. Gaius had a fine day. As Irak gains liberty, we lose ours. Just like a balloon. Sounds fair to me. When civil servants go on strike, it is always for the benefit of the masses. When politicos raise their salaries, they deserve it for all their hard work. Do they get docked when they are out conducting shakedown cruises or when they are off trying to get another job servicing the polloi? The Kali4kneeya Land Baron used to dock me for taking lunch. Some partner. Oh, oh! We now have a Triumvirate of Satan. Castro, Chavez & Morales. Cuba, Venezuela & Bolivia. Sugar, oil & tin. Time for them to get some freedom - if we can find the troopers. We all have to make sacrifices and stay the course. So, I am going to do my patriotic duty and volunteer the efforts of a 'certain party', his fellow draft dodgers, his daughters and grandma. I wish that 'certain party' would get his ears bobbed. Noback will now grace Fox. Where else? Looking forward to his make-up job. They'll need a battalion of beauticians to work on that head. His nose, lips and ears need work. Come to think of it, some 'retired surgeon' might re-do the entire head, on the cuff, in the interests of sight pollution. _____________________________________________________________________________ ANNOUNCEMENT   Today's Journal was funded by the Barbara Z. & George H.W. Bush Foundation for Honesty & Sarcasm in Journalism. The Rush Limbower Foundation for Circular Logic. And... (Ta Da!), The Bill O'Ryeley Foundation for Fair and Balanced News. _____________________________________________________________________________ C. Octavius SPQR

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

In Re Pater Arcanae.

IRIS has tendered to the god-Consul the intelligence that celebrations have been afoot hereabouts with regard to my recent absence. It does not displease me to inform all y'all that I am still here. Tough!   I have been tending to taxes , the felonies of my brokerage house and other baloney.   Easter went well. We had a little rain here in America. Nothing to really talk about.   I am illegitimate uncle to a 16 year old nymph. She's a junior Rockette or something like that. So I attended her Sweet Sixteen party. The girls were gorgeous. The guys looked like ragamuffins. Naturally, a gaggle of these Chicks fell hopelessly in love with me. Kisses of all sorts galore. Since I can't stand the boom-boom-boom of their noise, I settled in with my Scotch friend at the bar. The to-do was held at an Elk's club. My gregarious nature produced an invitation to join up with the herds of Elks - naturally.   Capt. Blackadder, Ret'd

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

U.S. Military Manual.

WISDOM - FROM THE MILITARY MANUAL "A slipping gear could let your M203 grenade launcher fire when you least expect it. That would make you quite unpopular in what's left of your unit. - Army's magazine of preventive maintenance. ------------------------------------------------------ "Aim towards the Enemy." - Instruction printed on US Rocket Launcher ------------------------------------------------------ "When the pin is pulled, Mr. Grenade is not our friend. -U.S.Marine Corps   ------------------------------------------------------ "Cluster bombing from B-52s are very, very accurate. The bombs are guaranteed to always hit the ground." - USAF Ammo Troop ------------------------------------------------------ "If the enemy is in range, so are you." - Infantry Journal ----------------------------------------------------- "It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed" -U.S.Air Force Manual ------------------------------------------------------ "Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons." - General Macarthur ----------------------------------------------------- "Try to look unimportant; they may be low on ammo." - Infantry Journal ------------------------------------------------------ "You, you, and you . Panic. The rest of you, come with me." - U.S. Marine Corp Gunnery Sgt. ------------------------------------------------------ "Tracers work both ways." -U.S.Army Ordnance ----------------------------------------------------- "Five second fuses only last three seconds." - Infantry Journal ------------------------------------------------------- "Don't ever be the first, ! don't ev er be the last, and don't ever volunteer to do anything." -U.S.Navy Swabbie --------------------------------------------------- "Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid." - David Hackworth ------------------------------------------------------- "If your attack is going too well, you're walking into an ambush." - Infantry Journal -------------------------------------------------------- "No combat-ready unit has ever passed inspection." - Joe Gay ------------------------------------------------------ "Any ship can be a minesweeper. Once." ------------------------------------------------------ "Never tell the Platoon Sergeant you have nothing to do." - Unknown Marine Recruit ------------------------------------------------------- "Don't draw fire; it irritates the people around you." - Your Buddies ------------------------------------------------------- "If you see a bomb technician running, follow him." - USAF Ammo Troop ------------------------------------------------------- "Though I Fly Through theValleyof Death, I Shall Fear No Evil. For I am at 80,000 Feet and Climbing." - At the entrance to the old SR-71 operating baseKadena, Japan ------------------------------------------------------- "You've never been lost until you've been lost at Mach 3." - Paul F. Crickmore (test pilot) ------------------------------------------------------- "The only time you have too much fuel is when you're on fire." ------------------------------------------------------- "Blue water Navy truism: There are more planes in the ocean than submarines in the sky." - >From an old carrier sailor ------------------------------------------------------ "If the wings are traveling faster than the fuselage, it's probably a helicopter -- and therefore, unsafe." ----------! -------- ------------------------------------- "When one engine fails on a twin-engine airplane you always have enough power left to get you to the scene of the crash." ------------------------------------------------------- "Without ammunition, the USAF would be just another expensive flying club." ------------------------------------------------------- "What is the similarity between air traffic controllers and pilots? If a pilot screws up, the pilot dies; If ATC screws up, .... The pilot dies." ------------------------------------------------------- "Never trade luck for skill." ------------------------------------------------------- The three most common expressions (or famous last words) in aviation are: Why is it doing that?", "Where are we?" And "Oh S...!" ------------------------------------------------------ "Weather forecasts are horoscopes with numbers." ------------------------------------------------------- "Progress in airline flying: now a flight attendant can get a pilot pregnant" ------------------------------------------------------- "Airspeed, altitude and brains. Two are always needed to successfully complete the flight." ------------------------------------------------------- "A smooth landing is mostly luck; two in a row is all luck; three in a row is prevarication." ------------------------------------------------------- "I remember when sex was safe and flying was dangerous." --------------------------------------------------------- "Mankind has a perfect record in aviation; we never left one up there!" ------------------------------------------------------- "Flashlights are tubular metal containers kept in a flight bag for the purpose of storing dead batteries." ------------------------------------------------------- "Flying the airplane is more important than radioing your plight to a person on the ground incapable of understanding or doing anything about it." --------------------------------! -------- ---------------- "The Piper Cub is the safest airplane in the world; it can just barely kill you." - Attributed to Max Stanley (Northrop test pilot) -------------------------------------------------------- "A pilot who doesn't have any fear probably isn't flying his plane to its maximum." - Jon McBride, astronaut -------------------------------------------------------- "If you're faced with a forced landing, fly the thing as far into the crash as possible." - Bob Hoover (renowned aerobatic and test pilot) -------------------------------------------------------- "Never fly in the same cockpit with someone braver than you." ------------------------------------------------------- "There is no reason to fly through a thunderstorm in peacetime." - Sign over squadron ops desk at Davis-Monthan AFB, AZ, 1970 --------------------------------------------------------- "If something hasn't broken on your helicopter, it's about to." --------------------------------------------------------- Basic Flying Rules: "Try to stay in the middle of the air. Do not go near the edges of it. The edges of the air can be recognized by the appearance of ground, buildings, sea, trees and interstellar space. It is much more difficult to fly there." ------------------------------------------------------- "You know that your landing gear is up and locked when it takes full power to taxi to the terminal." -------------------------------------------------------------- As the test pilot climbs out of the experimental aircraft, having torn off the wings and tail in the crash landing, the crash truck arrives, the rescuer sees a bloodied pilot and asks "What happened?". The pilot's reply: "I don't know, I just got here myself!" - Attributed to Ray Crandell (Lockheed test pilot)

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Diurnal Journal of 3/1/06

Komrades:   The Imperial Roman Intelligence Service (IRIS) - get it?, has intercepted a letter from busche to president chinney. For your edification, it is reproduced here. Keep in mind that this is Top Secret and for your eyes only, else it is off to Poland with you.     Deer mista prezaden? Look, yu *CENSORED*, iv been frontin 4 yu 4 5 yeers now and everythin has gone Right. nothin iz correk. i trid to *CENSORED* up soshul sekurity n faled. then i did *GRRR!* up medakar. now th old fokz are oilin up ther gresse gunz 2 git me. yu got me in2 2 warz in plasez that i nevr herd ov. yu sadeld me wit browny n chirpoff n thay *CENSORED* up katrina n nobody tole me notin. if i waz to tak a wauk in noo yok sombodee id jump a lite n leve tire tredz up my body. ur boy snojob puled a fast 1 on me wit this port *BRR!*. waytll thay find out about th chineez runnnin som portz. nobody telz me notin. now som *Uh Oh!* hedz r tryin to git sharia law 4 themselvz in ontario. then ther ar a passel of pulpit poundin preechers tryin to set up Cristian govment in sout karolina. some exodus *BRR!*. ther tryin to git fokz to com therr n kik out demokratz, liberlz n even republixz n neo conz who dont coton 2 them. Jus *CENSORED* grate. this *OH DEAR*! sadam runz hiz own trial. wanna bet thay cut im loosz. iv got thoz guyz in bowlivea n venizzwala so *OHHH!* off that thay wil probablee put a contrak out on me. wear th *COOO!* r thoz plases. wat th *BRR!* r stem celz. th partee is afta me bout theez wetbakxz n th border. thoz minitmen lik az plugg me az a wetbak. haf th partee iz on th take n r goin 2 alkatraz. th rest r bangin therr hedz on th florz n walz. wil u pleez git that guy deelay to take the merkury treetment. th ol man n ol ladee lik thet guy klinten betr than me. thay cut me out ov ther wil and put him in. nise. thoz *MY GOD!* at fox r turnin on me. u go off huntin n drinkinn n allmost put down a shister. he haz grate earz. then u dont tel enybody. wat wer u watin 4. did u wanna see if u snuffed him. hoo pade th bilz. thenn u git him to tak a div 4 u. nex time ur out shootin tak mkklellen n rover wit u. doo th job rite thiz time. wot th *OUCH!* wer u doin. praktisin to git osama. u shudna takin 5 defurmentz. im gittin tiered of thisz fony texaz axsent n waukin round lik a puppit n telin liz. now ur pakin me off to indeeya. wherr th *MY WORD!* iz that. wot kind ov *OH NO!* r thay. how manee dizeezez wil i git. do thay speek inglissh. o god it jest hit th wirez. thay hav a tape showin brownie tellin me all about katrina. u *GOOD GRIEF!*. Tak brownie huntin. git judg starr 2 be4 he gits me. wot else r u puttin on mi plate. dont i hav enuff u *LORDY, LORDY!*. giv bugs buny that shot gun nex tim ur out.   hav a nise day georgee dubya _____________________________________________________________________________ ADVERTISEMENT Today's Journal brought to you through the good offices of the Chinney Hunting, Lying, Fishing & Cursing School. We will educate you on how to whack your best friend on private propety. Lie about it and get away with it, so long as it's in Dixie. The proper curses to use when speaking at a liberal. Fish stories for every occasion. As a free gift, we will show you how to fix your election and get a government pension when you go to jail. Anyone is well qualified, so long as you are a whacko or a red neck. All this for the low low price of 10 grand in tuition. Fully laundered cash on the barrel head only. Call your local Radio Trash Talker or Fox for further details and limitations. Fully warranteed. _____________________________________________________________________________   IRIS SPQR

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

My First Time in the Slammer.

When I was a mere nipper of 7 or 8 tender years in Brooklyn* during and after WWII, there were anti-aircraft cannon emplaced on the roofs of industrial and warehouse buildings. Legionaries were on guard at all the entrances to these buildings. The lot in which we roasted stolen mickeys had a machine gun nest with pup tents for a full sized company. The repair docks were loaded with destroyers and other minor war ships. Life boats with all sorts of rations festooned the docks. They made perfect club houses for we kids. The listing ocean liner Normandy, was parked alongside a gigantic grain elevator. Air craft carriers in the harbor and at piers engendered dreams of glorious air battles. Coast Guard bases were all over the place. We could see ships of all sorts forming up for convoys in the harbor. We hitched on box cars being shunted by steam-powered switch engines. Our imaginations were driven to their utmost limits.   One summer day, after the war ended and school was out, a gaggle of us were sitting on the grass trying to decide what mischief we could get ourselves into that day. Some had relieved a grocer of the care for a couple of crates of cherries. Several delinquents had unburdened a soda delivery truck of a few crates of Mission soda. We sat there playing at seeing who could spit the cherry pits the farthest and who could belch loudest. Some imp put up that we should terrorize the girls. Another retorted that we had done that yesterday and that Marlene, the local tomboy, had trashed a couple of us. Jimmy declared that we should grab the machine gun and take care of the girls once and for all. Idiot!, those G.I's would as soon drill us as spit on us. Dopey Joey let out that we should rob the Coast Guard bank. He got punched for his efforts. Let's upend the push carts on Union Street, chimed in another. Those Italians are probably waiting for us with cargo hooks, was the immediate response. Let's rob the Coast Guard bank. Once again, Joey got whacked. Let's go banging on the doors of the Old Folks building. Do you want to get hit with a frying pan? They're ready for us. Baseball? The big guys have all the fields. Football? It's summer, stupid. Let's let the air out of the tires of a cop car. They'll shoot us. Let's rob the bank! Now, as we were reduced to splatting each other with cherries and spraying great jets of soda at one another (which always resulted in a very sound thrashing from our parents), this didn't sound like such a bad idea. So, we chewed the notion over and agreed that it was a very good idea.   This would be a military and naval operation. Big Mac was acclaimed Supreme Commander. He would supply whatever explosives that might be needed. Big John got the navy. I got the infantry and appointed Little Stevey as Chief of Sappers. The naval operation was to be a feint, to draw off the guards. Big John's Task Force was to pirate a paint boat from the Gowanus Canal and sail it to the seaside of the base and worry the guards. My job was to get the infantry under the fences and to dig under the bank to get at it from under ground. Wouldn't we need nurses for the wounded? Yeah, good idea. Under a Flag of Truce we approached the girls with our idea. If we are not in on the job, we're out. But, this is manly work. Then go Censored yourselves! Such language from mere girls! Dopey Joey said this plan was too complicated and that we should hijack a truck; crash the gates and ram the bank open. Can you drive a truck? Nope! Once again, several murderous punches graced the genius. The time for commencement of Operation Bag the Bank was set for zero one hundred hours the next day.   Off we went to our separate hogans and explained to our parents that we were off on a Cub Scout expedition, so supply us with vittles for the duration. We donned our leggings; hung our gun belts with canteens, first aid kits, knives and whatever else we had. Stuffed our knapsacks with blankets, the sustenance, candy and sundry. Trenching tools and B-B guns were slung. Helmets topped all off. Thus we would be in uniform and treated as Prisoners of War if we were caught. When we left at midnight, it was noted by all the commandos, that our parents looked to the Heavens, undoubtedly imploring the gods for our non-return.   Admiral John nicked the boat and sailed off to the base. Landed and made a racket. The Guardsmen surrounded them and fired off their blunderbusses. Navy surrendered. By now sirens of all sorts were wailing and squawking. Gobs running to and fro in their skivvies. The navy was shackled and thrown into a heap. Whilst this commotion was afoot, Little Stevy got the infantry under the fences and dug under the 'bank'. Big blunder. Very, very big Censored -up! It was the officers club! Hearing the scraping and what not, the officers doused the lights and awaited results. As we came through the opening in the floor boards, these louts trounced, gagged and shackled us. The entire force was unceremoniously hauled off to the brig. It was not large enough to handle us humanely, so we were crammed into whatever cells there were. Someone was missing - the Commander in Chief. One prisoner noted that he was last seen sitting atop a fence with a Censored eating grin on his face. He would be properly thanked if we ever got out of this mess alive. Need I relate that when the girls heard of matters they were besides themselves with hilarity and snide remarks.   Anyway, all was not over. Some bright light decided that we should empty our bladders into the wooden buckets provided and heave the presents into our jailers faces and then make a break for it, when they opened the cell doors to chastise us. This was the biggest blunder of all. Most of the base responded to the new emergency. All who could get a lick in, punched, kicked and cudgeled us. Crying and begging fell on deaf ears. No quarter was given. We motley many were physically kicked off the base at the end of the day.   Once upon a time these gobs used to give us great globs of ice cream when we were their bat boys. Ungrateful hooligans that we were.   When we repaired to our estates, our parents made inquiry with regard to our tattered conditions. Oh, some big guys had at us.   Operation Bag the Bank was a big bust and thus my first time in a slammer.   * Ancient name. Now Brookfordshiresexingham.  

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

"Prince...."

"Out swords and to work with all."   "Prince, pray God that is Lord of all, pardon your soul, for your time has come."   "...and came to tell me - what?"   "...this nose of mine that marches on before me by a quarter of an hour."   "No, no my own dear love, I love you not."   "...there he is, shod in marble; gloved in lead...."   ------------------   "Cyrano De Bergerac"   The Majesty! The Glory! The Panache! The Honor! The Pathos!   These last few days, I have had the pleasure of seeing that flic again (for the umpteenth time). When a picture is done well, all of the elements blend as in a great symphony. The inimitable Jose Ferrer leads a marvelous cast of supporting actors. He won the 1950 Academy Award for 'Best Actor' for this pic. His diction; voice; emotion; gestures; un-exceeded.   No blood; no gore. If one stretches his mind to its most outer limits, he will know that a person has been killed.   As one may see, I do not think very highly of this movie.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

And thus it comes to pass....

Komrades:   Little Liar Libby takes the fall for prez chinney and the jolly roger. 30 years? Nah, bet a groat or a stoat that The Shame of America pardons the twerp like his alleged old man did for his fellow co-conspirators in the Iran-Contra imbroglio.   How come the bailiffs haven't hauled liver lips noback before the magistrates? Ain't he the one who spilled the beans in the liberal press?   What was that, that the Sham Prez told the polloi about his administration going to be the most ethical ever? WMD's. Democracy for Eyewreck. What's next? You can always tell when his shamship is lieing - he opens his trap. Walks like john wayne. Looks like he is going to draw his six-shooters and drill some beggar. Ever notice that when he is digging the dung hole he is in deeper, that that phony drawl gets thicker?   The smarmy, yellow belly prez chinney (dead-eye dick) has sent his puppet off to South America. There goes a whole continent! Wanna bet a farthing or a feather that we will have to send the 82nd Airborne in to extract him? Shades of tricky dick!   "Go home gringo! You barfing more toro caca - again."   So, now gnewt dingrich owns up to an extra-marital affair whilst he was torturing the last elected president. He was rowing in the same boat as rolley poley, the loozana lecher and the babe from idaho. Not to worry, the always wrong rev dobbin, S.H.I.T. (Society of Holey Immaculate Telereverendos), has forgiven him since he didn't lie about it. I wonder if dobo gave him 10,000 Hail Marys on his knees? It doesn't depend on what the meaning of 'is', is; it depends on whether you want to run for prez or not, and if you are a neo-con-job artist, i.e., dissimulator.   Just to be fair, here in Noo Yawk, some brigand was elected state controller. But, it seems that he had been dipping his sticky, greedy paws in the aerarium. Unfortunately, he had to cop a plea to stay out of the slammer and also give up the job. Another one who lost his moral compass. Probably redeem himself by becoming a S.H.I.T. - just like colson. Should also give dishonorable mention to the ward healer selling judgeships.   And so it comes to pass that there are four committees of out of work and needy politicians investigating the V.A. pig stys and their fellow bureaucrats. Wanna bet a shilling or a slug that the politicos will pocket more gold than it would take to fix things up? Support Our Troops! Yeah, but not the wounded ones. Wear a yellow ribbon. ------------------------- Today's Journal brought to you through the good offices of god's own party and the twits of the republik national committee, flush rimflour (pill popper, serial polygynist, draft dodger, pot smoker and all around felon), president. ------------------------- Gaius Octavius, Cos.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Twas This & Nothing More.

Sunday last, as I sat sad and dreary at my computer contemplating posts at UNRV, there came a banging, a gentle banging, from the streets below. Twas the garbage men alerting sleeping citizens of the approaching Midnight Hour. This I thought, and nothing more. Then there came a peace shattering tingle from the phone. Me thought a lost and lonely soul seeking solace at the Plutonian shore. This me thought, and nothing more. Twas a fellow dweller in one of the stacked apartments, seeking my omniscient knowledge. "What's going on?", quoth she. "What are you talking about?" quoth me. "Don't you know?, look out of your window below", babbled she. And this I did as she did implore. Behold, there appeared to me squadrons of fire trucks, ambulances, cop cars, and first responders of all sorts all over the the road ways and walk ways. Their lights all flashing; quite a sight. Some building has gone alight, or some cop has been given a fright. This the god-Consul thought. This he thought, and nothing more. Then in the Stygian depths below, the Consul saw that the corps of cops and sundry were at my building's door. Then me thought that there was something more. Me dressed and flew through the apartment door seeking transportation to the lobby floor as me thought it an arson by my ancient enemies of yore. Twas not thus, the doorman did me implore. Twas some facing of the building falling on the unfortunate heads of unwary citizens wandering about in the the Gloom of Night. Thus twas it, and nothing more.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Deep Thoughts For Moonlapse.

Deep thoughts for those who take life too seriously:     1. Save the whales. Collect the whole set.   2. A day without sunshine is like . . . night.   3. On the other hand, you have different fingers.   4. 42.7 percent of all statistics are made up on the spot.   5. 99 percent of lawyers give the rest a bad name.   6. Remember, half the people you know are below average.   7. He who laughs last thinks slowest.   9. The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese in the trap.   10. Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.   11. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.   12. Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.   13. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments.   14. How many of you believe in psychokinesis? Raise my hand.   15. Okay . . . so what's the speed of dark?   16. When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.   17. Hard work pays off in the future. Laziness pays off now.   18. Every one has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.   19. How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges?   20. Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines.   21. What happens if you get scared half to death.........twice?   22. I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.   23. Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?   24. Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened?   25. Just remember - if the world didn't suck, we would all fall off.   26. Light travels faster than sound. That is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Pantagathus II.

I am sure that all y'all have noted that My Lord of the Greeks, Pantagathus :notworthy: is AWOL. You have also probably noted that he is now from Erebus. Blackness! The Son of Chaos! Mt Erebus is the world's southern most volcano, and the largest by volume. He is presently having Vulcan make a sword for him to get at those pesky weresquirrels and the protohominid who invaded the manor house. :sniper:   When matters are settled, My Lord :notworthy: will search for another place to come from.  

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Woe Am I!

Monday last, the Domina Claudia :wub: :wub: took off for some place in the boondocks, namely, knoxberg, 10AC. The Imperial Pro-Crastinator was supposed to be left well supplied. Well, the Old Moor Hen Shredded Sporran is almost at an end. The stompings don't look as if they will last the week. Down to the last half dozen beers. I have no idea what the things left in the fridge are.   This is the status quo:   Bride in the boondocks. :wub: :wub: Nurse Mary in Basra. :wub: Private Bohp on maneuvers in Wales. :wub: Lady Farrow is missing. :wub:   The position of 'Lady in Servicing' :wub: is presently open. Please address your applications to: Gaius Octavius.   N.B. - The Earl of Doncaster's application was forwarded to the Duke of Beaufort.   The Pro-Praetor

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

My Home In Corbridge, U.K.

I know that you all would like to see a picture of my home in Corbridge. Picture was taken by Pertinax ere he and his Lady had dinner with us. Antiochus of Seleucia kindly put the pic in. I haven't had a chance to bring the name up to date.    

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Obituary.

Since I make fun of everyone, here's one on me:   PORCOFACIO UNSCRUPULATO     San Francisco contractor, Porcofacio Unscrupulato, 68, of Canale Capone, North Beach, died yesterday from injuries he received in the collapse of a building he was inspecting, prior to sale to Roosevelt Moses of Oakland.   Born in Molto Pubisco, Italy, Unscrupulato was brought to this country at age 11 by his parents, Regurgito and Nauseata Unscrupulato.   Active for many years in community affairs, Unscrupulato took time from his early employment with the Strangulata Cesspool Cleaning and Catering Co. to appear in local nightclubs, performing a knife-throwing act with the late Inadverto Castrato. Prior to his death, Unscrupulato was president of the Insubstante Construction Co., which he operated with his brother, Devio.   Unscrupulato was a member of the Federated Sons of Sicily, Luciano Chapter, The Putrido Chianti and Marching Society, Crococitto's Fine Arts and Bocci Club, Insanitario's Pizzeria Bowling Team, and past president of the North Beach Enforcer Protection Benevolent Society and Garden Club.   He is survived by his wife, Inconsolata; sons Retardo, Cretino, Imbecilico and Faggotini: daughters Ovaria, Fallopia and Orgasma; sisters Mrs, Mammaria Penduloso, Mrs. Prolifica Fornicata and Mrs. Conspicua Testiculata; and 17 grandchildren, all of the Canale Capone address.   The Rev. Celibato Infortunato of Santo Buffone R.C. Church will offer a solemn requiem Mass Wednesday, following services at the Rigorio-Mortisco Funeral Home and Excavating Co. Internment will be in Addio Basta Cemetery.     Love the local weekly newspapers.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Murphy's Laws.

Murphy's (missed a few) LAWS   Law of Mechanical Repair: After your hands become coated with grease your nose will begin to itch or you'll have to pee   Law of the Workshop: Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible corner.   Law of Probability : The probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act.   Law of the Telephone: When you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal.   Law of the Alibi: If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the very next morning you will have a flat tire.   Variation Law : If you change lines (or traffic lanes), the one you were in will start to move faster than the one you are in now. (works every time)   Bath Theorem : When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone rings.   Law of Close Encounters: The probability of meeting someone you know increases when you are with someone you don't want to be seen with.   Law of the Result : When you try to prove to someone that a machine won't work, it will.   Law of Biomechanics : The severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the reach.   Theatre Rule : At any event, the people whose seats are furthest from the aisle arrives last.   Law of Coffee : As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, your boss will ask you to do something which will last until the coffee is cold.   Murphy's Law of Lockers: If there are only two people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.   Law of Dirty Rugs/Carpets : The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor covering are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet/rug.   Law of Location : No matter where you go, there you are.   Law of Logical Argument : Anything is possible if you don't know what you are talking about.   Brown's Law : If the shoe fits, it's really ugly.   Oliver's Law: A closed mouth gathers no feet.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Good Ole Sheriff Judd.

Subject: Police justice.   Another case of underestimating the ammo requirements.   As reported earlier this week, some dirtbag who got pulled over in a routine traffic stop in Florida ended up "executing" the deputy who stopped him. The deputy was shot eight times, including once behind his right ear at close range. Another deputy was wounded and a police dog killed.   A statewide manhunt ensued. The low-life piece of human garbage was found hiding in a wooded area with his gun. SWAT team officers fired and hit said low-life 68 times.   Now here's the kicker: Asked why they shot the guy 68 times, Polk County Sheriff Grady Judd told the Orlando Sentinel...get this:   "That's all the bullets we had."   God bless Sheriff Judd!   (Pantagathus?)  

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

In Re His Greekship.

It was my pleasure to have met His Greekness, Don Giovanni (aka Pantagathus) :notworthy: , about a week ago. He and his Domina trod up from one of the the outlying provinces to America. I picked him up with the Imperial Chariot somewhere in an exurb of NYC. We somehow knew each other immediately. At first, I must tell you that he is the handsome ideal of a Southern Gentleman. We yakked about many things, (strangling Ramses; putting a hex on Pertinax :notworthy: ) on our way to Brookfordshiresexingham for lunch at Fairway. He never once 'showed me up' on my lack of knowledge of things Roman.   I made the mistake of taking a side trip over the Brooklyn Bridge (which I tried to sell to him) to lower Manhattan to show him what was left of the World Trade Center and a bit of Wall St. Sat in traffic for quite a while, as Broadway funneled down to one lane and we could not get down Wall Street for the destruction taking place. So the NYSE, the Sub-Treasury Building and the shrapnel marks on the Morgan Guaranty Trust Co. wall were off the menu. Got to the WTC area. All we could see was a fence. Off to Brooketc. Showed him the site where I spent my first day in jail when I was about 7 or 8 years old. Finally hit Fairway.   Picked up some fruit, soda, a baguette and semolina bread, olives and sweet & sour red peppers and - Ta Da - some pecorino, Scottish Mull, Prestige de Boulogne and Blue Gouda cheeses. All to die for!!! Death by Cheese! (Eat your liver out Pertinax! :notworthy: ) Had to wash it down with Pepsi (no booze allowed). We nibbled for a long time on the enclosed patio facing the harbor. One can see from north of the Statue of Liberty south to Staten Island as one chomps away. Although the weather started out miserable, by now the old gods were shining on us.   His Greekness :notworthy: caught site of two dusky swans paddling their little innocent hearts out in the harbour a few feet from us. It was all I could do to stop P from making a meal of them. Amongst the rubble there were Civil War era buildings all over the place. A couple of trolley cars graced the patio. We then bopped along some cobble stone streets (in worse shape than the Via Appia Antiga) to a mole with a view of Lower Manhattan and Gouvenour's Island - site of the old First Army and later Coast Guard Headquarters. Think that he has pics of all. Time to head off for dinner.   Dropped off the remnants of lunch along with some Dogfish Head Ale (which he recommended - delish) and some Trappistee Ale (which he kindly got for me - haven't tried it yet) at the wigwam and picked up my Consort. His Lady was otherwise enterprised with some of her pals. Off to Coney Island and Gargulio's Restaurant. The maitre d' kissed my hand in greeting. This astounded P. Went into the church first and had a few pops. Bride had beer; he vino; me dirty extra dry vodka martinis on the rocks. Noted that he wasn't drinking vino. Told him that I would pour it into his pocket if he didn't commence. Never occurred to me that it might have tasted like battery acid! Oh, well! P entertained and charmed my Bride throughout the evening.   Off to table. They split a bottle of vino. And all had things to eat. (Hope it all was at least passable.) To the of all, I poured a bit of their wine into my now languishing martini and ate my calamari with my fingers. Of a sudden a fusillade of shots was heard from outside. P hit the deck like a dive bomber going at Yamato. Not a big deal. Happens all the time in Brooketc. Just a few of the lads probably settling a Cicero-Caesar thing. Had sfogliatelle for desert - saved one for his Lady.   At this place, when it comes time to settle up, you get a chance to leave scot free - if you pick the right number on a tile that falls out of a container. Told P to pick the number. P's luck was out to lunch. Off to pick up P's Lady in Manhattan.   She is the epitome of a Southern Belle. A soft drawl that sends electricity down to ones heels and up to the ears. I paid no attention whatsoever to P during the drive back to exurbia for listening to Her and my Bride babbling. As I am irresistible, She slipped an arm around me as we parted and as I tried to teach her how to say 'sfogliatelle'. :wub: Sounds better Her way.  

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Diurinal Journal Of 7/29/05

Gentles: As I suffer Early Onset Alzheimer's, I can't recall if I told you that we are joined by a fourth brother. Stiffed me on the subscription, so he is a natural for this collection. His biography runs thus: He parks his boots in some god forsaken place called miSHH-a-gin. This land mass sits on a giant toad stool. Its main city rests on a humongous salt mine. He may be a closet neo-con. Is a devotee of Air America and Al Franken in particular. He is not ethnically acceptible. A tea-totaler. He garners his lucre as a door-to-door pretzel monger, which, in reality is a cover for his night time job as arms supplier to the militias. Nothing with four legs or two wings is safe from his perditions. As the father of three unmarried beautiful young ladies, he is an advocate for the passage of the 35th Amendment which simply states: "Nanny government shall bear the truck for all wedding receptions." Has no facility with language. As the self appointed governor of our forum, it will be my burden to re-transmit to all, your 'Letters to the Editor', so long as they are scurrilous, scandalous and slanderous; obscure, oblique and opaque. Since I don't know how to excise any matter of a personal nature (yet), use your noggin. Recently one of you questioned my sanity. Another accused me of philological criminality. The last threatened to use medical terminology on me. To the first, I tender one half the victory sign and an obscene Brooklyn arm motion. For the second, hail me in front of your Peregrine Praetor. See if I give a fig. The Shade of Cicero will defend me. For the last (a philogynist, if ever there was one), whose threat was the slightest cut of all, I have spent more time with physicians, yourself included (albeit, inebriated), than you did at Quack School - sober. So there! Whilst all y'all were monitoring The Gospel According to lush rimflower, I was educated by Public Radio International. It seems that after your ancestors ravaged the Glorious Roman Empire and brought on the Black Plague, some monarch decided to bathe at least once a month. Did it for three months and promptly became a corpse. People wore the same clothes for years. One lout, after only two years, announced that he would bathe and change clothes. Crossed the River Styx. It was the law then, that, before emptying ones chamber pot on the tetes of the unwary peasants below, one had to shout: "Watch out below!" I was also informed that Barry Bonds, Giambi, et al., (as to any records they set as a result of their pill popping), are safe from persecution. Soon genetically modified athletes will enter on the stage and eclipse these records with ease. The philological crime of yester morrow, committed by a head line caster on the tube, was: "...downed power lines down...." The rot-gut has been replenished, so I am off for a libation.   Per Aspera Ad Astra, Gaius SPQR

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Justly Deserved World Fame.

It gives me great pleasure to announce to you that I, Don Tomasso of Brooklyn, am world famous! If you would be so kind as to click on the below site, which is the product of one of our most eminent Forum contributors, :notworthy: you will see the reason. In addition, you will be treated to a most excellent education.   http://www.thenectarofgods.com/index.asp   I can't say that I am particularly whelmed with this eminent pertinacious personage's :notworthy: site as he has not touted my glory, but if you would also be so kind as to click below, you may be entertained and informed.   http://triclinium.spaces.live.com/    

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Diurnal Journal Of 2/28/06.

Fellow Citizens! Some of you, having not heard from me, thought I had become a member of the recently departed, and thus called to confirm that that was the case. Unfortunately, they were greatly disappointed. Some even had the temerity to ask for a return of their Golden Roman Asses - the ones they stiffed me on for the Journal. Some just could care less. No matter, I still love all y'all. Noblesse oblige, you know. Now, I shall relate what happened to me at the Saturnalia. During this joyous period, I was so foolish as to buy some four score books at Barnes & Noble. The NSA got wind of this and without so much as a FISA warrant, searched for the titles. They were beside themselves at what they found. While my Bride and I were upstate, making merry, for your Christmas, they inserted a midget under our bed and a dwarf in a cabinet to spy on me. They reported all the treason that they had collected on me to their masters. It was decided to abduct and render me to one of their foriegn donjons. And so it happened. One night whilst I was communing with the shade of Aristotle, the midget blasted me silly with his megatron gun. My limbs were tied and a bag put over my head. I was carried off to an old WWII Army Air Corps field. (Floyd Bennet Field, for those of you on the que vivre.) Into an ancient B17 bomber the corpus was unceremoniously tossed and the bag removed. I was surrounded by a squad of Brown Shirted men in shorts along with the midget. The pilot had a dueling scar on his cheek and an Iron Cross around his neck. They gagged me. I knew that I was doomed. The bomber shook and chattered, but we made it into the air. I knew that we were flying north as the bleak ocean was on my right and the lights of the land of my birth on the left. We stopped at Goose Bay, Thule, Rejkjavik and then Prestwick. The haughty stewardess, armed with a whip offered to sell me a schnitzel. I had no money and thus no food. Then we went off across Europe. The Alps, the Carpathians then the Mare Exume. We landed at an old secret Soviet airfield in Kishiniev. I had been rendered to Wild Moldavia! Immediately, I was handed off to three former KGB agents, Ivan, Nikita and Leonid. Along with the midget, I was bundled into an aged Soviet armoured personnel carrier. We drove westward for hours over what might have passed for a road in neolithic times. At last we arrived at a boyar's wrecked castle. There was one standing edifice - the donjon. It had two rooms - my tormentors' office and my cell which was dark, dank and dreary. As soon as my tormentors had refreshed themselves with vodka, caviar and black bread, my torture commenced. I was strapped into a chair in front of a TV. Then it began. I was forced to watch and listen to a certain party's speeches. The mangled English grated on my ears. The close set beady eyes; the ears; the insipid body movements. Then flush rimflour, bil o'ryelly, shorn insanity and yes, curtis sleewa as he mangled two languages while wearing that silly beret. All this mayhem over and over. I warned this lot that I needed my medications, else I should die. They told me that the U.S. Treasury couldn't afford them, so I had better confess all and be done with it. They had set the midget up on a chair. He laughed at and ridiculed me. He clapped his miniscule hands which were attached to balloon-like arms. As he jumped up and down on the chair, he stuck his tongue out at me. This went on for days. At last I could take no more of it. Twisted facts; unproven conclusions used as premises, circular logic - in two words - no sense. I cracked! Yes!, Yes! I bought and read such authors as Dickens, Paine, Hugo and Marx & Engels. And, my God, The U.S.Constitution! Yes!, I watched PBS, listened to NPR, the BBC, the CBC and Air America! The churls smiled and hurled me into my dungeon. They graciously provided me with a bucket of water, a bowl of cabbage soup and white bread - all rancid. I ate it like a wild ferret and then fell asleep on a bit of straw. The next morning I was kicked awake. Sitting at the table in the other room was a sneering man with a Death's Head on each of his lapels. He was flanked by two Black Shirted men wearing lederhosen and lugers slung at their sides. It was him! It was president chinney! His sneer turned into a scowl and then he snarled two words: "Garrotte him!" Cruel Fate! Would they at least put a silver coin on my tongue to pay the Ferryman? They all left and had a party outside. They knocked themselves out with vodka. As the night came on, the president and his guards were taken away on stretchers in an ambulance. Their rubber legs being of no help. While I pondered weak and weary in my dark and dreary cell, there came a tapping, a gentle rapping at my dungeon's window's bars. Startled, I saw an ancient hand at my window's bars. It was Maria! Maria Uspenskya!, with a raven perched on her head. She said: "My son, tonight you will be visited by three old friends at the full of the moon, and you shall live in this cell nevermore!" The raven spake:"Nevermore!" She returned to her fly which was drawn by a dappled mule and had two lanterns giving off yellow light. As she disappeared into the night, I contemplated her words. My tormentors returned to their room, three sheets to the wind and plopped their heads on the table. As the night drew on and the ashen clouds disappeared, a full moon rose. A mournful thrilling howl filled the leaden air. As the howl turned into a growl, my nefarious tormentors were startled awake. Their hair stood on end like spaghetti. The three KGB types knew! They took to their heels. The midget was at a loss. He scrambled out of the door as the wolf got to his bottom and bit off his pants. I could see three sixes - 666 - branded on his rump. There was screaming and yelling and one hell of a rout. Suddenly, two titanic hands grasped my chamber's window's bars. They easily pulled out the bars along with a good portion of the building as if all were cotton candy. It was the Monster! He carried me to the berline where Maria was waiting and got in himself. I noted the crest on the berline's door. I recognized it. Yes!, He was here! Soon the wolf jumped into the carriage, rested his head on my leg and licked the dead spot on my arm. Maria said: "My son, I have laid a curse on your president's head." The table was set and a bottle of French Cognac was produced to warm our spirits. The deathly screaming soon came to an end and what seemed like a condor flew towards our carriage. The berline was drawn by eight black percherons with four postillions. A coachman and four footmen, liveried in gold and red uniforms, attended us. These men seemed to stare into eternity. Four phosphoric lanterns lit the outside of the coach. The condor melded into a giant bat and led the way for our berline. Yes!, it was the Count! The old Count in person. We traveled on an ancient Roman road over the steppe. As Dawn raised her rosy fingers, we approached the Wallachia-Romania border. The border guards of both sides were deep into a high stakes craps game. Upon seeing our berline approach with the old Count leading the way, they Crossed themselves and took to the hills. They knew! We soon came to an inn where we repaired for the day. The wolf had transmorgrified by now. He was the jolly Lyle Talbot. Our hosts at the inn seemed in a stupor and obeyed the Count's every request with what seemed like a ghostly obiesance. I glanced at a copy of the Kishiniev Post - Bugle. Its lead story was about an all too often episode in those parts. It seems that a travelling troupe of Gypsies had found the dessicated bodies of three men and a midget on the high road. Their throats had been gnawed open and there were two little punctures on their carotid arteries. When the Plutonian night drew on, we continued our trek. Soon we were in a leafless forest with gnarled, ghastly trees. The road's sides were delineated by hob-goblins whose heads were on fire. An ice laden wind pelted our berline. Water soaked black clouds hid every star. And the Count led the way. Night transformed into a grey dawn. As we exited the ghostly forest I could see the Carpathian Mountains. We were in Transylvania. We stopped and refreshed ourselves at an inn, very like the one we stayed at earlier. At noon we continued into the mountains. The road was soon bounded by grey-black jagged granite. Antique wooden bridges crossed steep ravines. Peasants tending their flocks made the Sign of the Cross in the Orthodox fashion and flipped the Horns at us as we passed by. They knew! The peasants always know. We stopped one last time to munch on some goodies and quaff some ale before we commenced our final climb. When we exited the inn, a semi-circle of peasants, villiens and churls armed with spears, halbreds and scimitars greeted us in an unfriendly fashion. They Crossed themselves, flipped us the Horns and covered their eyes. We would have met a very nasty end had the Count not exhaled a sulphorous vapour onto those ruffians. The louts scattered in all directions laying curses of the most virulent nature on our heads. Dr. Frankenstein's Monster and Lyle laughed and lit Cuban cigars. Maria said to me: "My son, those peasants will never learn." As dusk came on, we climbed higher and higher into those craggy gothic mountains. We reached a plateau and the road was now lit with torches held aloft by the Count's serfs. They were zombie-like creatures. Onward we travelled when an ancient Byzantine castle came into sight. Castle Dracula! We traversed the draw bridge over the keep. The bridge was drawn up as the portcullis yawned. The Count's personal standard arose atop the highest tower. It was a blood red flag with two golden fangs in its center. His Lordship was so gracious as to have my personal standard raised alongside his. Mine is purple with gold edging. A Roman eagle surmounts the legend "SPQR". Beneath it a red pennant flew with my motto: "Nemo Me Impune Lacesit". His seneschal, a hunch backed gorilla of a man greeted us. We passed through an ante chamber where a man in a black cloak and a white mask was playing an organ fit for a cathedral. As he reached the crescendo, he broke into a maniacal laugh and disappeared into a cavern beneath him. Soulless footmen took us to our warm elegantly appointed apartments. All dressed for supper and met in the dinning hall. The Count greeted and introduced us to another gentleman. A certain Mr. Hyde. He was quite a gregarious person. The table was of a ponderous carved mahogany. Above the fire place was a frieze of the Count's ancestor, Vlad. Vlad the Impaler. It was a scene of Vlad supervising the nailing of the Turkish ambassadors' turbans to their heads and then being impaled. The Count sat at the head of the table facing Maria. I to his right; the Monster to his left and Lyle and Mr. Hyde faced each other. The Chef du Table was a Sophia Loren look alike amazon. She was draped in a diaphanous peach, pink and puce pastel colored peek-a-boo peignoir. We each were served by likewise dressed sirens. Except for Maria, who was served by a bloodless handsome boy. My favorite Neapolitan goodies were served. We all picked at a sheep's head. The eyes were reserved for me, the guest of horror. Cold urchins. Scungilli. Pig skin braciola. My current favorite wine, a burgundy, imported from Naples - Naples, New York. 9 bucks a gallon. Lambrusco from California for the dessert, which was a sfoliatelle. We retired to cards with cognac or port with Cuban cigars. We feasted in this fashion for several days and toured the Count's domains with their undead serfs. All good things must come to an end. One morning I was greeted by a delegation of Cuban spies. They sped me off in a helicopter to a decrepit Warsaw Pact airfield. Before I left, Maria said unto me: "My son, beware of the Sign of the Pentagon!" An Antonov 19 flew us to Mexico City where I was inserted into a Venezuelan safe house. Next, a team of Bolivian smugglers got me across the border into Texas where I was passed off to a passel of Quakers running an underground railroad. When I got home, I embraced my Bride and told her the story. Then I sealed our apartment and threw in a canister of Zyclon-B gas. When the air cleared, I entered the apartment and there was the dwarf on his knees with his Right arm in a salute. Before I kicked him in the face, his last words were: "Mein Leader, I served!" His tongue hung from his mouth with a tattoo on it: "700 Club". Where his nose once existed there was a cave. His eyes looked at each other and his ears formed blinders for them. I had the porter throw him out with the other refuse. He now resides in the garbage dump on Staten Island. That's the truth; the whole truth; and nothing but the truth.   ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^   OPTION B   Please avert your eyes if your constitution forbids anatomical medical descriptions. At about New Year, I came down with a dose of perianal cysts. Six of them! Count 'em: s-i-c-k-x-z. Seven now! They were what Claudia would call a disgusting affair. The quack laughed at me and prescribed some pills that cost 10 bucks apiece. 15 without insurance. I had to take sitz baths. So I popped into the tub and warmed my coolie. But then I couldn't get out of the tub because I could not get safe purchase on the wall side of the tub. The grab bars were of no assistance. Claudia hired a crane which yanked me out. So much for sitz baths. My personal gynecologist told me to sit on a heating pad. I thank Iupiter for his aide - and at no cost. For the past two months I have avoided chairs as much as possible. And have forgotten how to charge up the computer. So, there. That's a story! You can believe this lollapalooza if you are credulous. Suit yourself.   -----------------------------------------------------------000--------------------------------------------------------------------- Dixie, Gaius SPQR

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Pertinax In Peril.

It has devolved to the PRESENCE to relate the sad intelligence that His Grace, The Lord of the Herbs, Pertinax, :notworthy: is presently situate in the donjon of the Highland Laird, Peter of Perth. It came about in this fashion:   Whilst presiding at a Perfect Patented Pertimaxus party in a popular porter pleasure parlour in the Port of Perth in Perthshire, a Pictish piper was playing some moaning and groaning on his pipes in the pronaos. When His Grace :notworthy: had had his fill of the noise, he politely put a request to the Pictish piper: "Please play something resembling an English air or a pleasant polonaise." The polluted Pictish piper paid no attention to the humble prayer of the Patron of the Party :notworthy: and went about his now parlous piping. Upon Pertinax :notworthy: repeating his petition, the plastered piping pultroon continued his skirling at his palpable peril. Pertinax' :notworthy: next entry in the book of account, was to plant a punch on the piper's puker. The potted pultroon plunged to the portico pavement comatose. The now petrified and perplexed pub proprietor summoned the Perthshire constabulary. In all the confusion, His Grace :notworthy: plucked the purse of the Pictish piper.   The Perth police dragooned our Hero :notworthy: off to the precincts of the Perthshire Provincial Peregrine Propraetor. This magistrate held a prolusion at which a proces-verbal was conducted. No consideration whatsoever was given to P's :notworthy: procere in the Brigantine Boondocks. Pertinax :notworthy: was denied bail and ordered to be held in the Pokey of Peter of Perth.   There Our Hero :notworthy: languishes as your indubitable, indomitable, inebriated intelligencer scribbles.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Letters & Words

Sundry criminals have been at work on the English language for ages. It is high time these miscreants were brought to book.   Let us examine the letter "H".   Not pronounced in 'eight' where it lives; prounced in Sean where it is on vacation. Not pronounced in 'ghost' (yes, yes, I know, it tells us how to pronounce the 'g'). OK, so, gho ghet ghum. Lets be consistent. The Irish don't bother pronouncing it in 'thanks', but they do in 'Sean'. Koo-koo, no? Thought, bought, caught! Pronounce that last 'h'? No way Jose! I know! What about the likes of how, hero, help and hello? Just drop the 'h'. Would anyone call the spelling cops if we wrote ow, ero, elp and ello? Of course not. No one rats on 'herb'! Saves ink, time and wear and tear on the eyes. Some Brits say it this way anyway. And they invented the confounding confounded language. Mite just as well use ghoti. Nothing but a trouble maker. Tear is another beaut that needs work.   Let us proceed to the criminal "K".   Knock; two k's - wats de point ere? Ghet rid of dem and you wind up wit 'noc'. Just as ghood! Knight? nite! Knew? new! Kale? cale! Knave? nave! Kind? cind! Keen? ceen! Ghood enuf for the Romans; ghood enuf for me.   On to some useless words. Moot. Once debatable now undebatable. Or do I ave it bacwards? Ghet wat I mean? Good. Bad! Wats de point of being ghood anyow? Dere is no suce ding as a ghood proto-neo-con. Dats an oxyignoranus! Foul, fowl? Run de to togeder in speece and you ave no idea of wats ghoing on.   Put dis one on your tounge. De bride, nee Neigh, said nay at de altar. So it ghoes in speece: De bride nay nay, said nay at de altar? Lovely!   Look, dis confuses little vagabonds and de prezident, so lets elp em. Ghet rid of all dis twaddle and little cids will danc uz. Den we can be proud of gheeorgy-poo. De nicompoop is constantly adding words suce as 'fascistististists' and 'conservatistismist' along wit de required nucUlar. Now, ere is were I need your elp. De following words need plurals and possessives.   Ignorattus   Illiteratus   Ignoranus   And so I propose dat we :giljotiini: 'H' & 'K'. Ghet rid of some words and add de above tree too de lexicon. Dey are interesting words and sound nise. Very appropriate wen describing certain proto-neo ominid kriminals.

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

In Re My Lord Pertinax

It pleases me to be the presenter of pleasant tidings pertaining to the present perigrinations of the pertinacious and puissant Lord Pertinax of Putney :notworthy: . His Grace, :notworthy: in his perpetual pursuit of pastoral provender, is perambulating through the pastures of the provinces of the Picts; picking parsley, purslane, pansies and peppermint, and imbibing potent porter. These powerful precious pearls of paradise will provide his porridge with potent palatable provisions. Paroxysms of pleasure will permeate his person :notworthy: and perpetuate his pleasure at all prandial proceedings.   His :notworthy: peculiar pastime proceeds from a penchant for perpetuating the practice of polyphristic psyonics.   This ponderous, peripatetic periphrasis should not be perplexing to the polloi.  

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Pantagathus

My Dearest Romans:   It has fallen to my saddened lamentable lot to have to inform you of the recent savaging of His Greekness, Don Giovanni :notworthy:, by a squardron of savage squirrels (Arboratus Rodentus Ratus).   Whilst he was gargling a brew, and taking in the visions of lightly clad maidens, the lately reported cowardly Red Coated vulture, cruelly interrupted his sanguine reverie and swooped down and fowlly snuffed another innocent chipmunk. This action could no longer stand. His Greekness :notworthy: , sprang to the Browning, (which he constantly keeps to hand in the event of a Yankee raid), and blew the plumed fowl murderer to kingdom come. Feathers all over the homestead. The racket caused a great alarm in the resident squirrel community and fearing that they were next in line for a judicious reckoning, they presumed it best that they attack first. Armed with acorn onagers and specially sharpened teeth, they had at the startled unprepared and besotted Pantagathus :notworthy:,(Peace be with him.). He did not give in easily. Fur, flesh and other sorts of gore ornamented the estate. His Domina put in a cameo appearance and laden with sundry armaments, made short work of the varmints. RIP   Thenceforth, His Greekness :notworthy: , was given another brew and carted off in a most casual fashion to Greate Basil's Memorial Hospital. He is lying in state, in a full body cast, in total traction, in the ICU unit. Tubes are coming out of him like a spaghetti dinner. Fortunately, one is connected to a keg of ale which is recharged daily. He shall be amongst the missing until recovery or a miracle.   His Greekness :notworthy: has requested that in lieu of flowers, candy, fruit and such waste, that you send to me, (Whoever I am at this moment and at where ever I reside at same moment) such gold, currency, coupons, stamps or anything of great value that you intend for him :notworthy:   Whoever, whatever and where ever I am now,

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

 

Oh, Jove!

Fellow Boozers:   Some Korean Mooney type, named Rock Lee, has invaded America. This new blister hath sattethe on the right side of God. He hathethe commanded angels. But can't seem to get that walking on water thingy right. Probably can't do the Cana bit either. Will trade him for a couple of millions of wetbacks - or one Brigantine - or yea, and I sayethe unto all y'all, Col. Rupert Rebel!   Domina Claudia, in Her wisdom, has just named me Pontifex Messimus. I wonder why?   Some Russian has worked out the Pointcare(?) mathematical problem as to wheather we are all dieing on a meatball or a dough nut shaped object in space. Thrilling!   Had recourse to matico this AM after erring whilst shaving.   Bride back to rationing booze again. Need a little ting-a-ling bell to summon Her when the SENATOR is in need of refreshments. After shampooing the headquarters, will command Her to give me a haircut. Can you believe it, Gasper has jacked up the price of haircuts from a quarter! Refuse to encourage such inflation.   ,

Gaius Octavius

Gaius Octavius

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