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Gaius Octavius

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  2. Gaius Octavius

    "Prince...."

    By Gaius Octavius,

    "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.
  3. Gaius Octavius
    In these days, it has come to pass that the infamous GO was caught out to be an exceptionally bad child of the devil. He accepts this charge with his usual Grace, Humility, and Aplomb. It has come to his attention that, amongst untold other missteps, he has trod upon the sensibilities of many. For this, he is contrite, and asks for absolution and remission for all his sins. In future, should he trespass on The Rudiments of Elementary Bad Manners, or commit any assault against the integrity of the Forum, please be so kind as to advise him publicly or privately - no matter to him**. He will respond with either an apology or an explanation. He promises all that he will attempt to be a good little vagabond in the future. This entire infamous calamity shall be recorded in the Annals of UNRV as the "The GO Affair".
    _____________
     
    ** Poo! The brain cell must be in Hibernation! No, I won't have my agents burn your house down; put smilies after your name, or hold your loved ones for ransom.
     
     
     
    ---------------------------------------------------------------000--------------------------------------------------------
     
    As you know, Pantagathus was sent up the river to a georgia chain gang for a recent arson. It was my understanding that his sentence was commutated by prez chinny. Yet, he is absent from the Forum. His silence is deafening! Could it possibly be that His Greekness is responsible for the late flooding of his province? Has he been cuffed once again?
     
    -----------------------------
     
    Recently, my everyday 'day/date' watch committed suicide, undoubtedly, as a result of a stay at the watch knackers. It was determined that I would have to part with about $150 hard stolen smackeroos to replace the morbid ticker. This all burned my sin stained soul for weeks. It was on a visit to my two best friends, (two Jack Russells) situate in the boondocks of upstate New York, that I deigned to enter upon the premises of a Walgreen. And there me beheld watches! Day/date watches cut from their usual expensive $18 bucks to $15 semoleans! You must understand that parting with money is not something that is within my province. I pondered upon the problem at great length, and determined that stealing it was the only acceptable option. Case closed - or is it still open? Works better than the old loser. As usual, one problem. When the battery goes to glory, it will cost more to replace it than the watch would have!
     
    Addendum:
    How could I have forgotten! When the 'date' is reset at the end of 30 day months, the 'day' comes up in Espanish. Good thing that I didn't steal it in Chinatown!
     
    ------------------------------
     
    I would like to alert you to the fact that it has come to Light that a member of the Forum is a biblioklepto. Lend the member nothing - not even your ears.
    ------------------------------
     
    "This critter should never be taken too seriously."
    Unscrupulato

  4. Gaius Octavius

    2008!

    By Gaius Octavius,

    For the New Year, GO RESOLVES to:
     
    Stop bugging the Lost Soul, My Lady Sophia, Doll, My Lords Pantagathus & Pertinax, The G-Man, MPC, and of course, the most highly esteemed and honourable "Fair is fair, young man,....".
     
    Start bugging Domina Nomina, Kosmo, Viggen, The Klingon, GPM, JR, Faustus, and Moonlapse.
     
    Stop imbibing of wine, whisky, and beer - while posting to UNRV.
     
    Stop posting in enigmas so as not to confuse great minds.
     
    Not to use talking smilies!
     
    Stop lying.
     
     
     
    For 2008, GO PREDICTS:
     
    Maladict will be elected pope - of the Pastafarians.
     
    Basil Fawlty and Hyacinth Bouquet will take over the management of The Ritz.
     
    Now that Tony Blair has made the Leap, Prince Charles will convert to Catholicism, thus driving the Royal Family, and Parliament into apoplexy, to say nothing about giving the now plurality Catholiics untolled great belly guffaws!
    Guy Fawkes will be declared a Saint!
     
    My Lord Pantagathus will be found skulking around some Grecian village - plotzed.
     
    God will stop having chin wags with georgius Secundus, Osama, and the Telereverendos.
     
    My Lords Pertinax & Pantagathus will open 'Smoke & Beer Cafes' in San Francisco and Amsterdam.
     
    "Fair is fair, young man,...." will be deported to Russia and/or shot for a trophy.
     
    PP will write up the history of Pope Gaius (really!).
     
    N.N. will make a 1:1 model of the Colosseum.
     
    Domina Nomina will be thrown off of the dole!
     
    Cicero, Brutus, and Cato will be declared saints - in the Cult of the Flying Pizza.
     
    Faustus & Ursus will have their pants sued off for copyright infringement!
     
    Caldrail will win a Certified Pre-Owned 50 year old jalopy.
     
    GO will suffer eternal 'Damnatio' - smashed!
     
     
    HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL Y'ALL!
     
     
     

  5. Gaius Octavius

    Ahgrrrruh

    By Gaius Octavius,

    Comrade Sojourners:
     
    In re Medicare Part 'D'. The drug companies got 4 billion smackeroos; the insurance companies 1 1/2; and old folks got the shaft. It seems that one may only get a 30 day supply of a drug that one will take for the rest of his life. That CENSORED
    Speaking of that OH! MY GOD! I hope that he gets a ride in a Hum-Vee while in Baghdad. Even better if he takes the rest of his mob with him and they all wear those worthless helmets.
     
    A couple of baseball commentators on Fox got poisoned eating mussels in Detroit. Don't eat the mussels in Detroit. Better still, skip Detroit. Nonetheless, I commend mussels in Detroit to the rest of the Fox trash talkers. And Ann Coulter, that sallow bag of bones and bad manners, had the crust to send me (of all people) an e-mail hawking her garbage!
     
    A poster on this site had the smarts to say "I was graduated...." rather than the solecistic "I graduated...."
     
    The latest Somali gangsters, who are running the rackets there now, have banned the World Cup. Hacking heads off still on the menu?!.
     
    A coyote has been caught in Central Park (NYC). Weredogs (Oh, Yes!) have been seen in Prospect Park (Brooklyn). The outlying provinces have nothing on us when it comes to monsters!
     
    It will take all the old gods to help us,
    Basil Fawlty
  6. Gaius Octavius

    Alert!

    By Gaius Octavius,

    Dear Friends:
     
    Little Sen. ricky santorum, that mendacious murine mountebank, has announced that WMD's have been found in Eyewreck. A miracle is delivered unto us (once again)!
     
    ann couter, that sallow, scoriaceous, sulphovinic, specious specimen, feels that if Rep.Murtha was fragged now, he will have earned one of his two Purple Hearts. I'd give her one for that condyloid face.
     
    hiraldo the hirsute, has vomited that he has seen more 'action' than John Kerry did! Yeah! He got punched around on one of his TV shows. It was a Liberal before fox gave It a salary. Went packing in Afganistan, just in case osama strolled by. Now, It would have shown osama how to run.
     
    Moonlapse scared the carp out of me! Then he relented! :wub:
     
    A mocking bird is serenading us. Now, that's a pleasure.
     
    Domina Claudia put together a melange of chicken, veggies and rice with the balance of Pantagathus' chimineychurra. Pretty d_mn_d tasty.
     
    The pre-hominoid Dept. of Environmental Protection beings eschewed playing with the water valves today. Didn't have to use alcohol to cleanse the countenance.
     
    flush rimflour, the pill popping, pot smoking, draft dodging, serial polygynist, will turn himself in to the magistrates for drug posession. Obfuscation and prevarication are his forte.
     
    Share in my joy,
    Major Black Adder
  7. Gaius Octavius
    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.
  8. Gaius Octavius

    Bah!

    By Gaius Octavius,

    My Dear Romans:
     
    My wine and beer are only a pleasant memory. Now my lasagne and coffee have joined the afore mentioned! The whiskey won't last out the day! The Empire is ancient history! The Yankees lost - again! Pertinax and Pentagathus are driving me . I had to have a corned beef sandwich for breakfast! The corned beef will have to last until lunch Monday! I have to go to two (2!) weddings! One is a serial polygynist. The other is a novice at it. Told them to do the jobs on some mountain top in Italy where the goats roam. No luck! Tried to get the parents to forego the caterers and give the good golden guilders to the soon to be blissful newly weds rather than to the divestment bankers (caterers). Again, my bad luck held up. Dropped a pill this AM and it disappeared into a black hole! Lipitor is gone, ergo cheese is off the menu. Can't remember the difference between the words 'anyone' and 'anybody'. Been trying to for years. There is a difference, don't you know? Obviously the folic acid is of no help.
    What's left? Lithium, Avodart and *iagr*!
     
    Going to take my mid morning nap and cogitate on harry-carry. Probably will befoul any effort to that end.
     
    Iupiter, why?
    Gaius
  9. Gaius Octavius

    Banana Heads.

    By Gaius Octavius,

    These Bible thumping neo-con job artist turkeys really need a lot of hard work on their heads. Help me! One may destroy human embryos but not use them for stem cell research?
     
    When told that God is not mentioned in the Constitution, a block headed retard replied: "Wrongo! The date, Anno Domini!"
  10. Gaius Octavius

    Being A Kid.

    By Gaius Octavius,

    Put me down! Let me go!, you wild, weird, wicked woemens! Stop petting me! I'm not a doggie! Quit kissing me! You're embarrassing me. My pals are laughing at me.
     
    This is how that scene came about. During WWII, the traffic on our street was like an unending snake. Men had to get to the docks. The cross street had practically no traffic. In the event of a crash, the men simply got out of their jalopies and punched each other out. Case closed. Some politico decided that a traffic light would be to some advantage. It would also take away our entertainment.
     
    So that you will understand, there are two more items to reveal. We were good little ragamuffins. We were always helpful. One day we relieved a parky of the odious duty of caring for a basketball. We hid it in the bushes, as bringing it home would have resulted in some searching questions and the attendant thrashing. In those days, Mothers used to take their precious cares out for an airing in the morning. They would take to the benches and commence babbling.
     
    And so it was the day after our good deed. We suddenly discovered the basketball in the bushes and proclaimed to all that it was an act of God. Naturally, we commenced to play with it. Kicking it at each other seemed like a good idea. One of the guys sent the ball flying over my head and into the mudgutter. Not at all concerned about the 'snake', I went charging after it. There came about a screeching of brakes; the fetid burning of rubber; and the noisy locking of bumpers. These drivers became highly agitated. They exited their piles and started to jump up and down on the bumpers to disengage their buggies. They also were intent on providing some entertainment. Then they saw me. The entertainment was off. Some of the ugliest words - in all sorts of languages. I was appalled! Suggested that they go to confession. And also flipped them a Neapolitan salute. (No, not the bird - much too vulgar. This is an open palm flung into the air.) They understood and were besides themselves. They charged. By now the Mothers were alerted and alarmed. One of theirs in peril! They in turn counter charged. The behemoths were not about to tackle a gaggle of nasty woemens. They retreated.
     
    Then the scene first related came about. When it was ascertained that no damage had been done, the fun began."How many times have I told you not to run into the street?" (I don't know - I didn't count.) "Wait till your Father gets you." (I'd rather face him than you.) Like a school of fish, all the Mothers had at me at once. Hair pulling, kicks, punches. They finally wore themselves out and let me go. Needless to say I was somewhat groggy. My buddies were in hysterics.
     
    Oh, well, tomorrow will bring another adventure and a trip into the world of communal thrashing. Hope it's not me this time.
  11. Gaius Octavius

    Blaagh!

    By Gaius Octavius,

    Good Morning World:
     
    In NYC, there is a whacko, wrong wing, illiterate, radio trash talker and rectal ranger extraordinaire named curtis sliwa. He wears a silly red beret. Mangles English and whatever Italic language he thinks that he is speaking. Unfortunately, he was almost 'put down' by some mobsters. This clod hoped that the U.S. would lose yesterday! Because soccer is an un- American sport! Claudio is an un-American name!
    Never trust a person with two last names. To his credit, he has a number of graduate degrees earned at the Schola Skellorum. :punk:
     
    The other day, the Department of Environmental Protection shut my building's water off without so much as a how-do-you-do. What about my 'environment', you CENSORED Had to wash my face with rubbing alchohol, (Good for the eyes.), preparatory to the co-op's annual meeting. Things went well until some jerko (Should that be 'jerker'?), decided to use my kind of language. Had to go at him with :2guns:
     
    An obscure item in the news indicated that some good folks, who advocate the religion of peace, have sawed off the heads of a couple more defenseless chaps and administered a little more mayhem. I wonder why these good people want so much to go to the countries of the peoples they hate so much.? :wub:
     
    War is good!
  12. Gaius Octavius

    Bombs Away!

    By Gaius Octavius,

    Komrades:
     
    Gaius' reason for existence weekend last was to deliver and retrieve Consort to and from her venue for peddling her horsey stuff. In the interim, the booze and fodder held out and a project was accomplished in peace. Now comes Monday when Gaius was to retrieve said Individual. When the time to commence the voyage arrived, C. did not get his dumper into gear at the appointed hour. No matter. When the mission was almost accomplished, and we approached the wig-wam, the streets were cordoned off. Gumshoes all over the place. No matter; we'll simply take another route. This was not in the plan. Loaded with horsey carp C., pled with the gestapo (making untruthful claims), to allow him to pass. Didn't work. Some flatfoot babe gave C. a ration of feculence. Could have pulled her pony tail out by the roots. Of a sudden, C. noted that there were all sorts of cops, firemen, bomb squad types, and first responders of all varieties ranging hither and dither like cockroaches at a picnic. Sirens singing, air horns squawking, and the inevitable lights flashing away. Commissioned Consort to discover the matter. Bombs! Not one, many! All over the place! As mentioned earlier, C. couldn't get chariot through, but busses and casual strollers could. Nice! Apparently bombs have no effect on this lot. C. broiled in body and spirit for two hours. Finally, it was over - and even got a parking spot near the palace.
    To make a short story even longer, it turns out that some OUCH! had gone around the neighborhood planting boxes with the word 'bomb' on them. In passing, C. advised a gendarme that when the Oh! No! was caught, its supposed parents should be neutered. Some other charitable suggestions were made concerning the Lordy, Lordy! .
    Did I mention that Sen. Schumer lives a few doors down from the estate?
    Since the media has kept its tounge on this little to-do, all y'all probably think that C. has concocted this story!
     
    Now we go to this AM. It is alleged on the radio that a group of Not really too bad. want to blow a hole in the Holland Tunnel and sink the Isle of Manhattan. Not really a bad idea. Could start over with a clean conscience. Nonetheless, a clear case of idiocy gone amok. Wouldn't Nu Joyzee sink into the bargain?
     
    Gaius only reports the facts,
    :notworthy:
  13. Gaius Octavius

    Bumbler!

    By Gaius Octavius,

    I didn't know that I was supposed to 'PUBLISH' my blog! So it's in a fouled up order. Maybe you can make something of it. Cretan!, Idiot!, that I am! And possibly find it in your hearts to forgive me - some day.
     
    My sainted mother used to tell me: "You'll learn - some day."
  14. Gaius Octavius

    Church.

    By Gaius Octavius,

    Komrades:
     
    Father M. stopped cold in his tracks at the altar. Nah, not in MY church! Millions of thoughts can traipse through the human mind at once. Was it a bosons pipe? The wind through an open window? A deranged Black Protestant? Nah, I have a Truce of God with Father F. at the Episky operation. The altar boys, who had just made easy work of the communion wine, were sniggering. They knew. A vicious glance from the kindly padre put an end to their hilarity. The nuns were alarmed and thus alerted. This abomination came from the area of the Fourth Station of the Cross. That was the public school kid's territory. They had no respect.
     
    The reason for the foregoing is summed up thus: In the late 40's and early 50's, guys signed up before being drafted. Only one of our guys got thrown out of the navy. He had a penchant for falling out of his bunk. We were suspicious of him. In reality, a draft dodger? A communist? A future president? When the guys came home on leave, we would all gather at the flag pole, real genuine pizza, pepperoni, and beer to hand. (In those days, the flag went up and down with the sun.) These guys would tell the most hilarious, truly filthy jokes for hours. During a hiatus, we young ones would wash down the bricks under foot. Nothing would dare to grow between the cracks. Someone would shinny up the flag pole and get the rope; wind it around the pole and then take a ride round the pole hanging on for dear life from the rope. There was a down side to this bit. If one dropped off too early, he crashed into the bricks or the steps. Too late, and he bashed his head on the hollow pole with a resounding Booowng. The goodies and jokes usually ran out at the same time. There was a Greek guy, Andy. He had a neck like a johnny-pump; his name used the entire alphabet - several times. Something about Constantinople. Strong like the bull! But he was such an easy going lad. He had a new 1950 black Pontiac. We all would pile into and onto it. Then it was off to Boro Park for fresh bagels. (Did you know that there are 13 bagels in a dozen?) In lieu and/or subsequent to that, it was off to Coney Island for hot dogs and sauerkraut at Nathan's. We'd buy gaggles of them. Andy would curse out the Jewish guys serving up the dogs - in Greek, and with that ever present smile. No one knew what curses the Jewish guys flang at us. Then it was back home and off to a metal door down the docks. We each took turns at the same spot and in the end sliced it open. I think that you all are personally aware of the other results of these affairs. And thus it was the Saturday before the Sunday Mass we speak of here.
     
    To continue. As one whistle tailed off another tailed on. (So to speak.) The wax in Fr. M's ears melted. The sound of a Gatling gun then chimed in. Almost popped Fr. M's skull. Fr. M couldn't leave the altar. But the nuns were on the way. Some rowdies in the general area of this most mortal sin were seen to have their faces buried in their hands as they knelt. Were they praying? Covering up their laughing or the crime itself? When the clicker signaled sitting, it seems as if it also signaled a broadside from Yamato's 18 inchers. It echoed off the back of the pew. A general cacophony of artillery ensued. Some have claimed that Fr. M's head was now on fire. Some urchins in the vicinity of the launch zone were gagging; some had tears in their eyes; a couple had passed out. One is alleged to have gone blind. A final great WOOOOFFFF channeled itself up a scoundrel's shirt and out of his collar. All was silence as the nuns reached the kill zone and passed out.
     
    The bishop was immediately summoned to re-sanctify the church. God, himself, was ticked off! You all do know that God lives in the Vatican; speaks Latin, (Gave up on Greek.), and has a nice bit of lasagna with the Pope after Mass?
     
    Now we come to Confession. It was standard practice for the louts to kneel in a pew and observe who came out of which confessional and what he was up to. If he was on his knees with a Rosary in his hands and rambling about the church, this was not to be your confessor. Sometimes mistakes were made. The next Saturday one of our heroes blundered. Bless me father for I have sinned most grievously. I broke wind at Mass Sunday last. Wuuuhaht? That was your work? Fly! Flee! Escape! The kid charged out of the confessional and bashed his head on the back of the last pew. He saw rockets and many stars. But this was no time to pass out. That would have to wait for later. Much later.
     
    It was a great Mitzvah that these doings did not take place in a crowded elevator or on an escalator.
     
    Cecil

  15. Gaius Octavius
    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.
  16. Gaius Octavius
    Some month or so ago, the computer commenced to really ail. It would take the quarter hour to pass from hither to thither. Gaius sat at the computer for so many hours that his legs commenced to fill with water. Quack forbid computer and ordered the Presence to go horizontal. Also ordered 'water' pills. Just what I need! During a hiatus from the horizontal, I chanced upon a private message from a Roman friend, one Pertinax. I thought it only mete and just that I refurbish my beaker with a refreshment in his honour prior to replying. The first few steps were peaceful. It was when I hit the rug that things went awry. Made a perfect seven point landing. Widow's peak, hands, elbows and knees. Wrists required splints. Have a nice little dot on headquarters. How I missed wrecking the coffee table with my head, is a matter beyond my competence. It was a miracle that the beak didn't get smashed. Have a map of Australia on my rib cage and one of Cyprus on my arm.
     
    One of our Sacred Circle made out that he could cure the computer. Out with Millennium, in with XP. No help. Another of our Circle suggested a new computer. Done! An HP something or other with a giant flat screen. Feels as if I am sitting in the first row of a movie theatre. Computer can do most anything. Flush the toilet. Open the door. Make coffee. Couldn't convince it to do computering though. Bride rang up HP for assistance. Gets Punjob Pati. They babble on for about an hour to no successful conclusion. The speakers on this machine, when fully charged, operate at a mite less than a whisper. Of a sudden, the god-Consul sees Consort put the phone to the side of the screen. Gaius go ga-ga! Manhandles air-phone and curses out Punjob Pati. She thanks me for my observations. Then it is off to Costco. These guys actually knew what they were about. Told us the speakers actually Censored and to use the old ones. They were very nice and patient. The remaining problem was the DSL modem. It seems that the one we had would not marry up with the new computer. Probably Catholic. Off to Verizon. Nice guy tells Claudia that old modem is not compatible with new computer. Go to this number and they will ship the proper one to you FREE OF ANY Gaius! CHARGE, and since your Lord and Master is a basket case, get it to you over night. Not so maintains the number. Yew don't have a Verizon modem. Yeah, what's this I am holding in my hand? Why have I been paying yew for service lo these seven years? Behold a miracle! Modem appears at Dusthaven the very next morning! Packing slip has zero charges on it! Claudia and Gaius celebrate with breakfast. But then telephone bill comes, and surprise. Gaius now doing battle with Be Nice, Cecil at Verizon. The thing about these Oh God! children is that they can ruin your credit at their pleasure. Can't do likewise to those children of perfidy. Just wait until Verizon tries to put FIOS in our building. Claudia is the duly elected prez and Gaius is her guiding hand. Will the Presence win the WAR with Ivan Sidenberg?
     
    Anyway, as you can plainly see, Cecil is now playing with his computer. It is Cecil's fondest desire, now that all has been revealed, that My Lord of the Weeds will not take umbrage permanent for Capt. Blackaddre's tardy response.
  17. Gaius Octavius
    This is a little late in coming as it goes to subscribers first.
    ---------------------------------------
     
     
    My Children:
     
    The babbling and lying is all over in Iowa! But the air-waves are still polluted with the gas heads' condescending explanations of how, when, where, and why. Look, this is how it stands:
     
    Rev. Huckleberry vs Obama :: Faith vs Hope. No Charity whatsoever.
     
    Headlines in November:
     
    Obama Sweeps South Carolina, Florida, and Ohio. Wins By Landslide.
    Rev. Huckleberry Takes NY. Swears Himself in as Prez.
    Bloomberg Elected Veep.
    Osama Invited to White House for Tea & Pita.
    Bush & chinney Cuffed.
    Flush Rimflour Administers Auto D' Fe to Himself.
     
    And now, let the gouging, swearing, and lying commence in New Hampsheershire!
     
    I propose that Ohio be renamed Ocato. Just as easy, and makes more sense. Why?, some may ask.
     
    News stories I would have liked to have heard:
    Man gets a hair cut in Albania. Wetbacks used by Bechtel to build border fence and tunnels. Ron Paul takes a regular last name - Smith. Sen._______ goes into 'The Closet' directly from the men's room. Mayhem at the Vatican - Pope converts to Islam - Dalai Lama takes over. Bush wins Pulitzer. Hitler's love child found in UK. NY to tax sex. Plush Plim-Plammer goes Liberal. Prince Charles accepts US throne - primary B/S finished forever.
     
    Now, me buckos, take your lithium pill; put some aspirin in a handy spot, and grab hold of your chairs:
    Ron Paul was the only one who made any sense yesterday in those 'debates'!!! Still amongst the 'quick'? Let me know, so that I may clean out the 'recent'.
     
    A man never really loses his hair. It simply wanders from his pate to his eyebrows, nostrils, cheeks, and ears.
     
    I have a question: If a Moslem man blows himself, (and a gaggle of others), to kingdom come, he gets 71 virgins. Right? Now, if a woman of the same persuasion, does likewise, what does she get?
    I ask; you tell.
     
    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    ADVERTISEMENT
     
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    Call Suicide 12345; ask for Shiskabab. No refunds.
     
    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  18. Gaius Octavius
    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
  19. Gaius Octavius
    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
  20. Gaius Octavius
    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
  21. Gaius Octavius
    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
    _____________________________________________________________________________
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    IRIS
    SPQR
  22. Gaius Octavius
    Greetings & Salutations:
     
    In re the new $5 bill - good for one gallon of petrol:
     
    Soon, it will be a Ten Spot! Follow me: It costs a little less than 10 bucks to get oil out of the ground. The 'Spot' market is ~ +$110/barrel. But, I lied saying that oil comes out of the ground - it is produced by the 'Spot' market. Get it so far? It is well known that such as Exxon have no $10 oil. (As a matter of fact, they have no oil at all!) No depletion allowances, (aka nanny government tax subsidy), for that which they did not produce, but found in the ground. Still with me? Ergo, one must conclude that the problem is in the 'Spot' market. Yes? Now, if the 'players' in the 'Spot' market had to take/make delivery of oil futures, the price would tumble to ?. Or just as good, raise the margin requirements to 100%!
     
    Still here? Good.
     
    Let us amble together unto the Sub Prime Fraud: In days of old, when community banks existed by the gaggles, a president would have a cup of joe in the local diner with the early wandering farmers and business men. Yea!, I say unto you, he might even take toast with a member of the Great Unwashed! When called upon to make loans or mortgages, the prez could read and understand financial statements! He never packaged his loans and palmed them off to others. Putting exceptionally little trust in sleazy schiesters or lying CPA's, he corroborated the info. He required a decent down payment for mortgages and collateral for most business loans.
     
    Now let us charge into the more recent past. Some while back, a couple of most intelligent and all knowing statistician/economists wrote up a paper in a Federal Reserve Bank (of somewhere) Review. They proved beyond any doubt whatsoever, with enough statistics and formulas to build a neutron bomb, that now that 'derivatives' had been discovered, the Circle of Risk had been closed! The No-Risk; No Profit Theory was now consigned to Hades! Humungus profits were now guaranteed. Since all the stops were pulled on regulation, and the regulators and bond raters were safely in the thrall and pockets of investment, merchant and commercial bankers, Collateralized Debt (of all sorts) Obligations could be conjured up by the most worthy investment bankers and their lackey liars (Sorry! Sorry!, I meant lawyers.). These little beauties were to be laid off on those seeking yield. Such honest men went about convincing real estate types of all greedy stripes (Yes!, even their own hungry frauds.), to convince anyone who asked for a mortgage, that he could afford one. Why that's why we have Adjustable Rate Mortgages. (In effect, borrow short; buy long.) Why LIBOR is your best friend. One day we will introduce you to HIBOR. And the masses were over joyed and completely shafted. Why some even announced that they would name their last born Libor. The prices for used toilet paper constructed shacks climbed upwards to Uranus. I am as rich as Croesus cried the polloi. Bring me credit cards!!!
     
    Now we all know that lawyers can only say 'yes' in nothing less than a thousand pages. Thus, the I.B's and L's concocted these CDO's. Neither they, nor the good folk they were to palm them off on, knew what these CDO's were/are. So the banks said unto themselves, we must take advantage of these instruments that we know nothing of. After all, why should we worry? It's really only depositor/creditor money we are playing with. But, it came to pass that something was amiss (or was/is it?). All sorts of 'banks' claim that they are losing bundles. We must go to Sovereign Funds and leeches to get us out of this Serbonian mess. Why should we worry about watering our stock said the gangs at the tops of the corporate ladders. It's not our money. We used back dated options for ours. We're 'in the money' by a long shot. Anyone know what any IBOR is? Never mind.
     
    Thence it came to ground that Bear, Siht was in a mound of poo. J.P. Morgan-Chase Malignancy in for the kill (I meant rescue.). Frankly, I am still not sure if JPM has aggregated Ursus Siht unto itself or not. Now enters the Bearded Liberarian, St. Bernanke, who, along with Mr. Greenspun knew all, but didn't call the gendarmes. Quoth St. B. to JPM: You may deposit any worthless or troubling CDO's at the RE-Discount Window. And any Primary Dealers may follow suit. Anyone know what a P.D. is? It ain't Laybach & Whachit, your friendly broker.
     
    At last the god-Consul enters - stage right! Hold up there St. Bernanke! Why the blazes didn't you allow Bear Siht to go to the Window in the first place? Might there be much more to this? Let us investigate. Compared to the trillions of CMO's outstanding, only a paltry amount have actually gone the way of all flesh. Aha!, said Gaius. Could it be that Lord Effingham is paying a visit? One may 'buy' a tax loss, e.g., the one that exists at B/S. Or one may be created by marking down ones un-marketable inventory. One may use 'models', 'guesses', or whatever comes to mind in the case of CDO's. Now, assume that some honest folk are telling mere fibs, OK? A write down that does not come to fruition, means that the Treasury is being pilfered out of current tax revenue. Who knows, there may be another King Georgie-poo in the future. Then again, the whole Congress can be bought off to make life easier - for guess who?
     
    Some very short while back, Gaius said to Claudia, in one of his tender moments: Why don't the CENSORED children simply return the sub-prime mortgages to their teaser rates? Like the squirrel, She shrugged. Guess what? That is exactly what the Brits are now doing for a two year period!
     
    Did I forget to mention that Bulls and Bears make markets; pigs make a mess!
     
    ____________________________________________
     
    Gaius would like to find something out. If he mis-spells a word here, a little red line appears under it. Right? No suggestions appear for repair of the blunder. Now, if Gaius knew how to spell the Shame on you G.O.! word in the first instance, he would not have erred! Your turn Moon - in easy language for my ancient wits.
     
    Done This Twenty-Fifth Day of April,
    In the Year of Grace,
    The Two Thousand and Eighth,
    At Dusthaven
    C. Octavius, Cos.
  23. Gaius Octavius
    IMPERIAL ROMAN NEWS SERVICE
     
    Florida's famous fearsome 455th Fighting Friggin Fusiliers, has been activated for duty on the Israel-Lebanon border. Provision will be made for wheel chairs, crutches, canes and seeing eye dogs. The new commander will be Brigadier Busche of Bar Harbor and Boston's Bedlam. With his brass and bugle, he will buck up the braves and be billeted behind a barricade of bushes.
     
    Southhampton's slumbering 666th Swimming Zouaves have been posted to Portsmouth for port protection.
     
    Delaware's daring doting Division of Dragoons has been detailed for duty in Dubai.
     
    Peace,
    Basil

  24. Gaius Octavius

    Eureka!

    By Gaius Octavius,

    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.
  25. Gaius Octavius
    Gaius Octavius:
     
    QUOTE(Moonlapse @ Sep 22 2007, 01:26 PM)
    Fiat money...
     
     
    I doubt if a modern economy could exist without fiat money. The transaction amounts are much too great.
    When the Spanish introduced New World gold to Europe, there was a great inflation!
    ---------------------------------
    Moonlapse:
     
    QUOTE(Gaius Octavius @ Sep 23 2007, 12:24 PM)
    QUOTE(Moonlapse @ Sep 22 2007, 01:26 PM)
    Fiat money...
     
    I doubt if a modern economy could exist without fiat money.
     
    You are absolutely right, and that is the THE problem. Actually, I should say modern war-driven economies.
     
    QUOTE
    The transaction amounts are much too great.
     
    If a nation has a fixed currency standard and a certain amount of wealth, then all other amounts are relative to that... until you want to force a debt based monetary system in order to sped more money than is available.
     
    QUOTE
    When the Spanish introduced New World gold to Europe, there was a great inflation!
     
    Of course. The supply of the actual commodity which has intrinsic value had increased. Paper money has no intrinsic value, whoever controls the supply has the ability to do what the Spanish did, but all that is involved is the allocation of credit, WITH INTEREST. The only limit they have is the point at which they have sucked out all the value that the original gold currency contained.
    -----------------------------------------------
    G.O.:
     
    Moonlapse, are you advocating a commodity based monetary system?
    -----------------------------------------------
    Moon.:
     
    Absolutely.
     
    "Bankers own the earth; take it away from them but leave them with the power to create credit, and, with a flick of the pen, they will create enough money to buy it all back again. Take this power away from them and all great fortunes like mine will disappear, and they ought to disappear, for then this world would be a happier and better world to live in. But if you want to be slaves of bankers and pay the cost of your own slavery, then let the bankers control money and control credit."
    Josiah Stamp
     
    "I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around [the banks] will deprive the people of all property until their children wake-up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs."
    Thomas Jefferson
     
    "A great industrial nation is controlled by it's system of credit. Our system of credit is concentrated in the hands of a few men. We have come to be one of the worst ruled, one of the most completely controlled and dominated governments in the world--no longer a government of free opinion, no longer a government by conviction and vote of the majority, but a government by the opinion and duress of small groups of dominant men."
    Woodrow Wilson
     
    "In the absence of the gold standard, there is no way to protect savings from confiscation through inflation. ... This is the shabby secret of the welfare statists' tirades against gold. Deficit spending is simply a scheme for the confiscation of wealth. Gold stands in the way of this insidious process. It stands as a protector of property rights. If one grasps this, one has no difficulty in understanding the statists' antagonism toward the gold standard."
    Alan Greenspan
     
    I would never advocate a fiat monetary system, because it will always be used for its capability to extract wealth and control. Why do you think the system was implemented right before the first World War? Why do you think the dollar is dropping against other currencies? What do you think is happening in the Middle East? We are trying to prop up the dollar with the commodity of oil, because the dollar is becoming worthless. If the dollar becomes worthless, then what happens?
    -------------------------------------------
    M. Porcious Cato:
     
    In his new book, Greenspan repeats his views about the overwhelming benefits of the gold standard for a stable money supply. I'll see if I can find the original quote because it's quite revealing.
     
    I should add that a gold standard doesn't mean that people would have to actually carry out transactions in gold. All that matters is that bank notes are redeemable in gold.
    ------------------------------------------
    Moon.:
     
    I would love to see a return to the gold standard, with the control of money given back to Congress and the selection of Senators given back to the states, as prescribed in the Constitution.
     
    Basically, repeal all the screw-ups made in 1913.
    -----------------------------------------
    MPC:
     
    If bank notes are redeemable in gold, there is no need for a national currency.
    -----------------------------------------
    MPC:
     
    From Greenspan's new book:
     
    pp. 480-481: "I have always harbored a nostalgia for the gold standard's inherent price stability--a stable currency was its primary goal. But I've long since acquiesced in the fact that the gold standard does not readily accommodate the widely accepted current view of the appropriate functions of government--in particular the need for government to provide a social safety net. The propensity of Congress to create benefits for constituents without specifying the means by which they are to be funded has led to deficit spending in every fiscal year since 1970, with the exception of the surpluses of 1998 to 2001 generated by the stock market boom. The shifting of real resources required to perform such functions has imparted a bias toward inflation. In the political arena, the pressure to make low-interest-rate credit generally available and to use fiscal measures to boost employment and avoid the unpleasantness of downward adjustments in nominal wages and prices has become nearly impossible to resist. For the most part, the American people have tolerated the inflation bias as an acceptable cost of the modern welfare state. There is no support for the gold standard today, and I see no likelihood of its return. [...]
     
    We know that the average inflation rate under the gold and earlier commodity standards was essentially zero. At the height of the gold standard between 1870 and 1913, just prior to World War I, the cost of living in the United States, as calculated by the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, rose by a scant 0.2 percent per annum on average. From 1939 to 1989, the year of the fall of the Berlin Wall and before the onset of the post-cold war wage-price disinflation, the CPI rose nine-fold, or 4.5 percent per year. The reflects the fact that there is no inherent anchor in a fiat money regime. What constitutes its "normal" inflation rate is a function solely of a country's culture and history. In the United States, modest amounts of inflation are politically tolerated, but inflation rates close to double digits create a political storm. Indeed, Richard Nixon felt the political need to impose wage and price controls in 1971 even though the inflation rate was below 5 percent. Thus, while political considerations mean that the gold standard can be ruled out as a way to suppress a forthcoming rise in inflationary pressures, ironically, politics driven by an irate populace just might accomplish the same purpose."
     
    What follows is a very scary scenario regarding the combination of the collapse of social security and currently high inflation, requiring a rise in the interest rate in the double digits and a "return of populist, anti-Fed rhetoric, which was lain dormant since 1991."
     
    Greenspan's book is definitely worth a read.
    --------------------------------------------
    GO:
     
    How would a gold standard work? Assume that a bank has 100 ounces of gold (capital and depositor's gold). How would it go about making loans (and protect itself against 'runs')? Would it be a gyro bank?
    --------------------------------------------
    MPC:
     
    QUOTE(Gaius Octavius @ Oct 1 2007, 06:44 AM)
    How would a gold standard work? Assume that a bank has 100 ounces of gold (capital and depositor's gold). How would it go about making loans (and protect itself against 'runs')? Would it be a gyro bank?
     
     
    Typically, banks made loans and conducted business via bank notes that were redeemable in gold, which were kept in deposit. This is really no different from the fiat currency that we all expect banks to disburse on demand. Then, as now, there was a short-term risk of runs on the banks, which banks dealt with then, as now, by borrowing from other banks. Of course, the cost of a panic isn't trivial, but the benefits of stable currency are well worth it.
    --------------------------------------------
    GO:
     
    Is there any limit to this expansion? Do you think that one could conduct Wall Street's business today and how?
     
    Once there were Gold Certificates issued by the Treasury or Fed (no longer remember) prior to the great Depression. They were in circulation. Didn't stop the Great Deflation.
     
    The Federal Reserve used (?) to balance check clearance balances with special Gold Certificates. Oddly enough, those districts losing Certificates would find themselves in economic trouble.
    ---------------------------------------------
    MPC:
     
    QUOTE(Gaius Octavius @ Oct 1 2007, 11:58 AM)
    Is there any limit to this expansion? Do you think that one could conduct Wall Street's business today and how?
     
    Absolutely there is a limit to the expansion of gold and thus to the expansion of prices. If we were to go back to the gold standard (at $733 = 1 gold dollar), there would certainly have to be a change in denomination, but there's no reason that one couldn't trade any number (or denominations) of proxies for gold reserves.
     
     
    QUOTE
    Once there were Gold Certificates issued by the Treasury or Fed (no longer remember) prior to the great Depression. They were in circulation. Didn't stop the Great Deflation.
     
    The gold standard doesn't protect against every deflationary pressure known to man. Obviously, if the sum total of goods triples overnight, the gold value of each of those goods will decline.
     
     
    QUOTE
    -----------------------------------------
    Moon:
     
    Gaius, here's some related reading on the Depression from a gold standard perspective, if you are curious:
     
    http://www.mises.org/rothbard/agd/contents.asp
     
    There's a link to a full PDF text beneath the title.
    -----------------------------------------
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