News of the Week

Item: Area woman reads fine print in Wal-Mart Halloween display, has epiphany. After picking out two pairs of reading glasses ("2 fer $4-Ize") at the Get Glassed! section of her local Wal-Mart, Enid Snipgrass corralled her kids (4 fer 3 seat pram) and proceeded to the pumpkin hued holiday display to pick out various interchangeable and equally priced plastic and sugar coated items for the upcoming Horror Hotel web series cast party, which featured her cousin Velma as a zombie dominatrix in webisode 5 ("Room 911 - Brainz and Chainz!!!"). Unable to read the fine print underneath the giant lurid crimson fonts, Enid donned her new not-quite-yet-purchased spectacles and, as a test of their efficacy, peered closely at the 8 point verbiage crammed below the price point:

Every thing is different from any other thing. No identity exists. Names for things are invented, traded, equated. They (the names) are not things. They are a shepherd's call. Invisible restraints to bunch real things. Herein lies meaning. It may seem demeaning, yet it holds everything together. Its incredible.

Upon reading the fine print, Enid took off her glasses and paused a moment, surveying the 2 acre expanse of products and prices arrayed around her as if she were (as a nearby oxygen challenged Wal-Mart greeter later gravely stated) "the epicenter of a torus-shaped shockwave of pure consciousness, radiating out to imbibe all things within its purview", whereupon she placed the not-yet-purchased glasses  astride the triangular eyes of the nearest jack-o-lantern, gathered her kids with a nod and a keen whistle, and exited the store without paying for squat.

After an endless eleven minute board meeting, Whirled HeadQuarters has opted to spin off its construction subsidiary despite wild success as a cash cow that keeps this entire barge awash in beverages.

Therefore: Lucky You! Because now all the names reserved for subsidiaries of the subsidiary are no longer needed, and we'd rather share them with you than them, for a modest fee of course. All reasonable offers will be refused.

Let us know which ones sing.

_______________________________

Construction Business Names Available for a Short Time Only

Homes for Honkies

Groveling Clients Construction

Rube Goldberg Homes

Immobile Homes

            “We Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere and Neither Are You”

Placenta Construction

Sign of the Beast Builders

Craven Construction

Beaver Builders

Hypotenuse Trapezoid Apocalypse

You Lookin at Me? Builders 

Casa Bluto

Stiffy Erection Co.

Flushing Homes

Quicksand Construction

            Formerly – My Name Is Mud Construction

Spandex Underwear Thongkini Construction

Level My Ass Builders

Free Sex If You Buy One Homes

Gay Happy Shiny Special Residences

            For happy shiny peoples

Speed Stops Here

R.I.P. Speed  by  Calvin Burgamy

waitress from heaven

yes! I'm ready to order . . .

i’ll have the grapes and wine special

with some sleep and a cool pillow

an aloe-and-sunburn aperitif

for dessert i’ll have an island

with palm trees and sand

for my entrée please give me a line

that’ll work on you

and i’ll take that line to go

to go with you after dinner

yes everything is divine

no i don’t want the bill

just give me some wings

and a ride on the sky

  

Barely Used Fragments of Conversation

Now Available for Re-Uptake

• Well, what if you can't find in Epicureanism what you find in Stoicism?

• The term "dead end" really brings me down.

• Just because she apologized doesn't mean I have to.

• Does that mean you'd like to go back to the barter system?

• You're invisible now. You don't need a passport.

• There are never apples in that apple tree.

• So you think he was the next Jesus?

• How do you speak for a generation that has nothing to say?

• Don't say I never warned you about watermelon.

• You hafta have a sense of humor about bankruptcy and death.

• Not all Swiss cheese has holes, and not all of it is Swiss.

• Just because you hafta ask doesn't mean you should ask.

• Two left turns do not make a right, but three do.

• You don't smell like you look.

• It's a lot easier to mix liquids together than it is to mix them apart. 

3 Remotes, One video

Road to Nowhere Not a Dead End

Road to nowhere is not a dead end. Scientists at Huffakers University in Huffakers, NV have discovered that the road to nowhere is not a dead end but is actually a vast array of a somewhat bluish vagueness. Dr. Kevin Riddle, physicist at Huffakers U., checked out his departments Chevron Algonguin Stevedore 8 cylinder, fuel injected duo jet carburetor  hyperbolic test vehicle and went further down the road to nowhere than anyone has gone previously. States Riddle, "I rounded a curve and up ahead I see a bluish vagueness instead of the nothingness that I was seeing before. The nothingness gave way to the vague bluishness and there it was and it was vague and blue so I just stopped and took it all in. I made note of it, drove toward it but it didn't look like I was getting closer so I just wheeled the Algonguin around came back to some hereness and nowness. As a physicist you don't want to hang around the vague too long.  Dig it?"

News of the Week

Item: General Motors to market "faith based" internal combustion engines. Following its hostile yet weirdly rapturous takeover by the Vatican, GM has announced plans to introduce a new line of bloatmobiles powered by what company promotional literature terms "the awesome force generated by clean living, tight jockey underwear and The Holy Ghost". Substituting the holy spirit for petrol, these new cars promise to revolutionize transportation as we know it. As GM spokesperson Sister Ignitius Magillicutty put it, "You may think you're on route 24 to Poughkeepsie, but you're actually on the High Occupancy Vehicle lane to heaven!" Responding to accusations that the new vehicles were nothing more than a bunch of hot air, Sister Ignitius was quick to point out the virtual pseudoscience behind the new design: as the driver settles behind the wheel, nerve induction sensors imbedded in the genuine leatherette upholstery penetrate the driver's fleshy posterior and measure the impurity levels vs. the spiritual force flowing through the driver's cerebro-anal fluid and utilizes a special alchemical formula to circulate the "holy nectar" throughout the car's hydraulic and combustatory mechanisms. In effect, the holier you are, the faster you go. Said Hector Thibadoux of Flatline, Loosiana, one of the twelve blessed winners of the "Pray Today, Pay Much Later" lottery, upon receipt of the prototype Holy Roller demo model, "Well, truth to tell, I haven't been able to get it out of the driveway on account of my moral turpitude, so yesterday I gave up likker and armed robbery so hopefully I'll be able to take her for a downhill spin come Sunday. That is, if I don't go on a tri-bayou murderin' rampage first." Ex-President George Bush applauded the company's efforts to "raise the depth of the average commuter's stigmata", but that was before he figured out that the new cars didn't need no high quality Texas grade crude petroleum.

The future is formed 

from the collision

of mute forces with language. 

Time Machine # 123

Computers and Lizards

News of the Week

Item: Ice Machine Kills Witnit Neo-Fascist. Dwight ("just call me D-Wite!") White, senior assistant Grand Omnikludd of the Super Duper "No, WE Da Man" White Peep's Party was killed last night in a chilling yet oddly cool act of karmic retribution. After fishing a frosty crank-sized Mountain Dooby Dooyoo out of the soda machine in the parking lot "concession area" of the Yellow Liver River Motel with his special "thing on a string" lucky one-sided coin, Dwight dismissively depressed the dispensing lever on the adjoining Absolutely Free & Absolutely All White Ice machine which promptly ejected a high velocity ice cold nugget of truth and justice right between the cross-hairs of his creamy white & knotty ass. According to witness Mayrene Magillicutty, who happened to be looking for her teeth under the rear axle of her man's souped up Pussy Vanagon, White then keeled over and gasped, "This has absolutely no relation to my supreme belief that white people have a super manlified overlordian dive-in-the-shallow-end gene pool that super seeds all other bro-races. Anybody of any pigment could get killed by an ice machine." Whereupon he lost what was left of his color and promptly quit breathing. Another Dwight White, the very black and very bulky former member of the Pittsburgh Steeler's famed Iron Curtain defense, sequestered across town in the offices of his leopard-skinned tanning salon, chuckled and knowingly adjusted his red felt beret as an opaque forewarning of the coming darkness (a darkness that would be omnipresent save for the ubiquitous light).

The Emotional Periodic Table

The mostly good folks in our psychology laboratory are assembling the long-awaited Emotional Periodic Table. It isn't done yet, but in a rare departure from the stringent standards at Whirled HeadQuarters, we have deemed this work so important that we releasing it in a developmental state and are welcoming input from sophisticated readers, if we have any, no offense intended. The following "feelings" will be arranged in bunch of boxes, just like the thing in chemistry class, with specific gravities and numbers and stuff like that assigned to each box. Enough already, you either get the idea or you don't. Comments and suggestions are welcome until Midnight, Greenwich.

Goofy	Annoying	Blissful	Weepy	Sick
Continental	Professional	Poser	Northeasterly	Chipper
Hysterical	Omniscient	Mellow	Pro Athlete	Phony
Corporate	Trembling	Prone	Patronizing	Postal
Certain	Campaigning	Foaming	Territorial	Loud
Ridiculous	Divine	Wrong	Militaristic	Staring

then there was one from Calvin Burgamy

Erratum

Our whiz-bang proofreaders have found an error in reportage as detailed herein. Staff is quite annoyed, yet still apologizes to our wide readership for the goof and is now mainly focused on finding someone to blame. 

The September 4, 2013 post announced, "Personal Flotation Device to be replaced by impersonal non-flotation sponge." This is not correct. Actually, the Personal Flotation Device, or "P.F.D." will be replaced by a Personal Flirtation Device. Therefore, the acronym PFD will remain in common usage forever. 

The old PFD was useful only to those in danger of drowning. The upgraded device will be of use to the many millions who never drown. 

The new PFD will apply the latest in flirtation technology, most notably the deployment of a holographic Third Eye that winks. 

Stay tuned for breaking news on who's to blame for the error. 
 

Canoe Poem #4

 

if all the while you stood and snored

thru cavalcades and drums

and stared the passing hours into

a steady background hum

then you might be missed

by all the gifts just waiting

to collide with you

should you come awake

snapped to, startled clear

then

do not exhort yourself, don't pause in reflection

stay  peeled

The time it takes to move from your mind to you

is an instant

the difference is not of kind or degree but dimension

it can only be extended by ignorance

don't think about it, it'll last longer that way

by Matt Rosenberger

 

Untitled

Untitled from Calvin Burgamy

A Big Day for Whirled HeadQuarters Headline News. 

Critical Facts Still Unconfirmed at Press Time!

Item: Supreme Court of Bermuda Shorts will hear suit over garment-activated penis reduction therapy.

Item: Personal Flotation Device to be replaced by impersonal non-flotation sponge.

Item: Voted least popular new beverage this year is The Water Bill, consisting of a glass of water, served chilled, with a frame-ready pay-now tab of Five Dollars.

Item: Jellyfish are in a jam.

Item: New Testament's red heifer deemed a red herring.

Item: The Homonym of the Year Award goes to holy, holey, wholly. Congratulations, words!

Item: Serge Piquerre, noted cineaste, pens scathing review of movie that doesn't exist: "March in Potato World."

Dr's office

on the shelf's upside
is the dr.'s hydrogen peroxide
which rhymes with peptide

on skin it is applied

working the worldwide

put it on the outside

then from the office stride

walking till it's dried

then go see your bride

careful not to collide

with a fast moving double wide

Canoe Poem #3

in the middle of the river the country kid stands on a rock

sipping a beer with the rapids curling around him

its 1999 and his hair is cut shock red

in between sips he tounges the new stud in his lip

he sticks his thumb in the bottle and launches his tattoos

into the pool below

its 1999 and some things never change

(row your boat, Mary Lee

Mary Lee, row your boat to me

and I'll dream you gently

upon my life

gently down the stream)

by Matt Rosenberger

Grizzled green warrior

emerges from the bush,

enters serene white hotel

under blue-on-blue sky.

Whirled HeadQuarters Elevator Pitch

Wow, man, it's weird we both wound up in the same elevator. You, the big deal god of creative writing, and me - the undiscovered genius. Are you, like, going to the top floor? What the hay, I'll ride with ya. And, wow, listen to this about my book. Unbelievable. It starts off where the young genius is riding the elevator with, like, the biggest dude in publishing, and they get into this conversation that is so completely profound, I mean, it not only jumps off the page, it changes your fucking life, you know what I mean? Anyhow, it blows the mind of the publishing dude so bad that he punches the emergency button so he can keep talking to the young genius! Cut to the chase: they take the elevator back down and get totally blissfully smashed and ultimately the book winds up with the Nobel Prize! For Literature!

Canoe Poem #2

fluid flux flummoxed

flat water found out and roiled

turned towards intuitive turmoil

tumescent turbulence tumbling over

eddy oh eddy oh eddy line o'mine

pine trees with poop on the roots

gap-toothed wonders skinnydipping

with menthol kools in clenched lips

hard chines, shoals tumblehomed

spooked trout about dusk

sounds something like this but

its got an indian name

and there's an arrow in my head

pointed upstream

drawn to aim by magnetic me

not quite the "real me"

always slightly to the light from the truth as I perceive it

by Matt Rosenberger 

Whirled HeadQuarters is closed for the day. We are not closed for any of the following reasons:

• For Repairs
• So you you may pardon our progress
• For inventory
• So we can figure out how to serve you better
• For staff training
• For the installation of new software
• National Guard Duty
• Taking a me day
• Rented out for a celebrity benefit
• Issue with the parole officer
• We were just elected President!

 We are closed because, well, just because. Not sure why, frankly. It just happened. We are trying to take a picture of it but we can't focus, and neither will it.

See you on Friday or Thursday.

Canoe Poem #1

on the river on a rock

this head turns

green trees sprout on my retina

down a bit

white water aerosols off my skin

at each and every moment

the universe is precisely arranged

to take you into account

every molecule, opinion

each quantum spurt of resistance and charm

calibrated to your presence

this moment rocks cuz you're aware of it

the others rock on

regardless in the river

by Matt Rosenberger

Structural Paint

Water

Colors

Bank Closes in Huffakers, NV.

The last bank in Huffakers, Nevada is finally closing after years of corruption, naked corporate greed, employee malfeasance and several brushes with bank auditors that resulted in mammoth fines and lengthy jail terms to the entire board of directors. Former teller and now acting-president Hart Akers announced, "We are exuberantly ambivalent that The Last of the Mohican Banks of Huffakers is closing. But rest assured that all non-monetized deposits of things like, say, cocoa beans, crank or Bitcoins will be converted into extremely valuable shares of our next great Huffakers community venture. Yes, you will be fully vested in our new Huff Acres Mobile Meth Amphibian Wranglers Ranch franchise opportunity!" Akers proceeded to gush willy nilly explaining the income opportunities for ground floor, nay, sub-basement entry. Quite a few of the bank depositors were decidedly un-ambivalent about the idea, demanding withdrawals of mucho actual dinero plus cocoa beans. Said Heck Tar, nearby resident of a nearby community in a nearby tax bracket, “Shut the fucking door man! It’s bad enough that you have to go the county prison to get a withdrawal and now they is closing? Why don’t they just kick me in the nuts with the stone hard miracle of compound interest? Again?”

Estate Sale

(Thank You, Veronica)

  

the estate sale hobby is one I never imagined –

at first try, it's just an excuse to cruise

cruise to the far corners of this new old town

and cruise into homes without homebodies

fun to cringe at baby blue shag carpeting shagging oak floors

or to smirk at the crappy taste that money lathers

into cramped hallways, sad bedrooms and giant attics

or to pause in awe at a slice of perfection and

cherish it now the way the recently departed cherished it then

and every now and then at an estate sale . . .

. . . a choice trophy fits home and budget and home it goes

to grace a new old room in our new old home

stud it with color, comfort, craft and curves

our new old home, built the year Mom was born

one century ago, and now – old estates live on here

in new ways, in new old time

by Jonathan Marcus, rocking in a chair of unknown provenance

Zone 1 Now a Priority Zone

After years of fussy, over-wrought, total domination landscaping campaigns, historic Oakland Cemetery in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, has been declared a Zone 1 Priority Zone, according to Erominel Loosflucker, Fulton County’s Deputy Redundancy Deputy, and will receive  major decompression and chaos enhancement therapy immediately. Said Loosflucker, "Sure the people here are dead, tell me something I don't know why doncha, but that doesn't mean they don't have feelings. Not to mention the ghosts who are being driven mad by all this bogus visual rectitude. Plus all these straight clean lines reduce the creep factor here, and what's a cemetery if isn't a bit creepy? You might as well go to a mall, where the dead people are walking around. Now that's creepy!" Loosflooker admitted that he was digressing, and blamed it rather obviously on the general lack of disorganization.