24 August 2014

The Shadow

This is another one of them stupid posts twisting sentences and clich├ęs around a particular theme (see also "Insufferable Silence").  Usually it doesn't quite come off and the kids hate it, but must everything be about the children? In any case, this one is about …The Shadow. 

The shadow knows … what, exactly?  How does a shadow store information in its shadow brain?  How does it give voice to its thoughts, shadow voce?  Whatever the shadow may know, it ain't tellin.

I believe that if my shadow disappears into the shadow of another entity that I become one with it.  To truly understand a man you must walk a mile in his shadow.

Behind every great woman is a fantastic shadow.

The shadow picked up its briefcase and checked its e-mail one final time before pushing forth into the rush of humanity eddying past the officetower.

Shadow, reconstituted:  How sad.  Do wash.  Show ad.  Ow! Dash!  Dow ash.  Sod wha'?  Was? D'oh!  Shwoad.  Has ow'd.  Das how.  Shwado.  Wh--? Soda?

My doctor believes he can learn everything there is to know about my health by examining my shadow.  So far the results are mixed, but the surgery has been painless.

Eye shadow is not a true shadow.  The only way to achieve a true shadow over your eyes is through the installation of some type of awning.  Actually baseball hats were originally known as 'awning caps', 'shadow-casters', or 'fore-brimmers'.  OK I just made that up but the point holds.  Baseball caps render eye shadow meaningless, that's all I meant to say.  Yet so many women are married in eye shadow, so few in baseball caps.  Personally I prefer minimalist micro-visors over each eye rather than one broad brim wastefully shadowing much of the forehead and face; but that's just me.

 And finally, a classic number recast for modern tastes:

(Yo it's just) me and my shadow (yo)
(St)Rolling down the (motherf*ckin) avenue (Know 'um sayin?)
(Just) me and my shadow (yo)
Not a (motherf*ckin) soul to tell our troubles to

And that, mercifully, is all there is about that.

08 August 2014

Half of Earth's Population Wiped Out in Bananarama Mishap

'Why Me? Why Not Anybody Else, Say, My Uncle Tobias?' Cry Grief-Stricken Survivors

Pancakes to Still Exist*

A crowd of billions from across the globe went up in flames yesterday as stunned onlookers expressed feelings of terror, disbelief, bewilderment, loss of appetite, excitement tinged with schadenfreude, and just having everything taken away from them, like losing it all man.

Authorities were quick to blame Bananarama for what started as a peaceful gathering protesting the Seventh Annual Exxon Cowboy Sweepstakes Cheese Prize Massacre Award Memorial Anniversary Giveaway Tragedy. The group's publicist refused comment, sort of. What could he say, he pleaded. The whole thing sounded too fantastic to be true. How could Bananarama have wrought such havoc? I mean, they haven't even been popular in several years. That's like an exact quote from the dude.

Plenty of pancakes were not completely incinerated and were still available for order as of press time. Meanwhile Government has promised to ramp up production and would have you believe that because supplies of the necessary ingredients remain cheap and plentiful and many citizens have experience in their assembly, therefore, come what may, there will never, ever, ever be a shortage of pancakes. As Independent Experts could not be consulted before they were rounded up and sent into exile (or worse), Average Citizen is advised to believe Government and hope for the best, while preparing for the worst.

Among those surviving the cataclysmic carnage were Sting, Bono and two members of Sister Sledge. Among the dead: everybody else. Well if you're reading this, count yourself among the survivors, look around you and seek out the other ones that's movin', and just like thank heaven (man).

This is Alice Rondo, at the White House.

*Note: this 'story' was originally published on December 12, 2009, in the immediate aftermath of the devastation.  It is being re-hashed today not only to exploit cheap sentimentality for ratings but also to openly pick at the still fresh wounds among many survivors who lost all they ever cared about, and more.