Despite a few years of recession-induced unemployment (during which time he nevertheless maintained eight different blogs each day and wrote hundreds of poems and essays), local self-loathing mendicant Reginald Augustus Steele finally proved his worth to his capitalist overlords. “For a while there, we thought he was a goner,” said billionaire poop-nugget Frances Hyacinth Warbucks, founder of the Buy&Cry retail empire and ultimate recipient of Mr. Steele's meager credit card debt payments. “And with Congress about to pass laws making it a crime to not pay one's financial debts, we were hoping to move Steele into one of our privately-owned prisons. But, alas, he seems to be pulling himself out of this tailspin and getting his life back together. Fuck.“ As a point of emphasis, Mr. Warbucks shot a nearby Filipino maid who had accidentally brushed against a bust of his direct ancestor, one John D. Rockefeller.
“I had my first job when I was 9 years old,” said Mr. Steele, “when I delivered newspapers to broke old ladies living in musty houses for a few dollars a week. I've done everything from courier to production assistant, barber, secretary, salesman, customer service agent, candy man, burial-banner carrier, transcriptionist, construction worker, fund-raiser, inventory-taker, janitor, and lumberjack; I've pretty much seen it all, and tried it all, and all I ever wanted all along was for someone of a caliber similar to Mr. Warbucks to openly acknowledge the fact that I am a productive and industrious individual who is worthy of love, life, and respect.”
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
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Showing posts with label capitalist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label capitalist. Show all posts
15 May 2013
24 August 2012
Grigovia remains unaffiliated
As its former Warsaw Pact allies either line up to join NATO, bow to the demands of American military-logistics planners, or grovel at the doorstep to the European Union, the Glorious Republic of Grigovia (GROG) has managed to go it (mostly) alone. While still technically a member of the United Nations, GROG has boycotted the General Assembly ever since 2002, when the United States of America launched an illegal war of aggression against Iraq, a Central Asian country rich in natural resources. Bursting with rare earth metals and home to vast stretches of endangered cold-weather rain forest untouched by ax or saw, Grigovia has safeguarded its independence, its natural resources, and the dignity of its human population by fighting off all efforts to incorporate it into international bodies or alliances. Said Hennu Yiptlend, GROG's Secretary of the Interior, Natural Resources: “We have watched as our neighbors in Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan caved to the murderous and incessant Yankees, sacrificing freedom, airspace, and honor at the altar of conspicuous consumerism and standing by helplessly as their countries became infested with fast-food restaurants and television advertising. The people of Grigovia were asked in a referendum if they wished to support the American invasion of neighboring sovereign lands, and if they wanted to join the E.U., and maybe the IMF, and 98% of the people answered with a resounding NO. Various international election-monitoring agencies tallied the results of the referendum, verifying our initial counts.”
Founded in 1904 as a parliamentary republic by King Hyu-Yennd Yündlennd, who abdicated shortly thereafter, Grigovia quickly became known throughout the world as a free and unaffiliated state similar to Switzerland. Whereas Switzerland became rich by stashing gold for the Nazis, gold that they had looted from the corpses of millions of innocents and non-combatants, Grigovia did not. Leading a quiet existence and laying low for the first few decades of the 20th century, GROG was one of the only nations to refuse Nazi gold as well as being among the first to grant women's suffrage and to outlaw the discrimination of persons based on skin tone, nation of origin, height, weight, sex, hair-style, health, wealth, beauty, and joi-de-vivre. Known for its liberal banking policies, raucous night-life, and refusal to sign any and all extradition treaties, Grigovia remained free until the ascendancy of the Soviet Union, which incorporated it into the Union of Soviet Socialists Republics (CCCP), ending its sovereignty and forcing it to adopt central-planning policies designed to enslave it to Moscow's corrupted will and to crush the spirit of its people.
That spirit simmered quietly until 1956, when, in lockstep with the Hungarian Freedom Movement, Grigovians rose up, unarmed civilians swarming Soviet tanks and dying in droves trying to re-take the high mountain passes. The Grigovian spirit kept simmering until 1989, when, in lockstep with the Polish Solidarity Movement, Grigovians erupted in violent protest, throwing off the last, dying vestiges of the Soviet Union and liberating themselves in just a few short days. Old habits die hard in this fierce little country, however, where communal gardens, public transportation, and neighborly helpfulness are still considered vital to a peaceful, healthy, and happy society. “Who needs fancy foreign taskmasters when we ourselves are free?” asked thirty-four year old Ninna Chueryennd, avid gardener, bicyclist, social activist, and lifelong inhabitant of Grig. “I was on the front lines when we threw off the mantle of Soviet oppression, and I shall die before I let this nation enslave itself to the theory of capitalism for the sake of conspicuous-consumption.”
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
Founded in 1904 as a parliamentary republic by King Hyu-Yennd Yündlennd, who abdicated shortly thereafter, Grigovia quickly became known throughout the world as a free and unaffiliated state similar to Switzerland. Whereas Switzerland became rich by stashing gold for the Nazis, gold that they had looted from the corpses of millions of innocents and non-combatants, Grigovia did not. Leading a quiet existence and laying low for the first few decades of the 20th century, GROG was one of the only nations to refuse Nazi gold as well as being among the first to grant women's suffrage and to outlaw the discrimination of persons based on skin tone, nation of origin, height, weight, sex, hair-style, health, wealth, beauty, and joi-de-vivre. Known for its liberal banking policies, raucous night-life, and refusal to sign any and all extradition treaties, Grigovia remained free until the ascendancy of the Soviet Union, which incorporated it into the Union of Soviet Socialists Republics (CCCP), ending its sovereignty and forcing it to adopt central-planning policies designed to enslave it to Moscow's corrupted will and to crush the spirit of its people.
That spirit simmered quietly until 1956, when, in lockstep with the Hungarian Freedom Movement, Grigovians rose up, unarmed civilians swarming Soviet tanks and dying in droves trying to re-take the high mountain passes. The Grigovian spirit kept simmering until 1989, when, in lockstep with the Polish Solidarity Movement, Grigovians erupted in violent protest, throwing off the last, dying vestiges of the Soviet Union and liberating themselves in just a few short days. Old habits die hard in this fierce little country, however, where communal gardens, public transportation, and neighborly helpfulness are still considered vital to a peaceful, healthy, and happy society. “Who needs fancy foreign taskmasters when we ourselves are free?” asked thirty-four year old Ninna Chueryennd, avid gardener, bicyclist, social activist, and lifelong inhabitant of Grig. “I was on the front lines when we threw off the mantle of Soviet oppression, and I shall die before I let this nation enslave itself to the theory of capitalism for the sake of conspicuous-consumption.”
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
16 May 2012
in labyrinthine Grig
A vast, interconnected network of tunnels stretches underneath this bustling city of 1.75 millions of industrious Grigovians. In nearly every possible direction (except, generally, up) run an unknowable number of branches, tunnels, shafts, holes, pits, pit-falls, and dead-ends that are not mapped, well-ventilated, secured, water-tight, stable, or safe. While these tunnels are a boon to this metropolis that is bisected by the meandering, brownish-gray Yalung River, drawing tourists in search of mythical cities of the underworld, their great extent and sheer length have proven a nightmarish hindrance to every military force that has tried to take Grig during its nearly eight-hundred-year history.
Rolls of vellum discovered in a walled-off section of tunnel in the mid-1980s during construction of a Soviet-style housing block in Grig's Old City hint that the first tunnel may have been dug by Grigov the Watchful himself. The man in whose honor the nation is named, according to a new translation of these recently-restored vellum sheets, dug “a small recess in the larger mound by the four oak-trees so as to have somewhere to store all of these good and shapely tubers.” It is not clear from the ancient texts just what type of tubers he had obtained, but what may have started as a small recess now stretches from the banks of the Yalung to the very foothills of the Yiptlong massif itself. So extensive is this network, and so wide some of its larger tunnels, that it serves as bazaar, swap-meet, and marketplace for much of Grigovia's gray economy, which is suspected to be at least three times larger, and far more lively, than all of the country's above-ground, legitimate economic activity combined. Unconfirmed reports leaked by the U.S. State Department indicate that a majority of the fuel, mounts, firearms, provisions, and other such military gear that reaches the brave and heroic warriors of the various Yaelong tribes travels through the innumerable branches of this vast underground network of passageways.
While the Yaelong tribes were known even to Herodotus, who mentions them in his book, the Histories, a reference to the country now known as the Glorious Republic of Grigovia first appears in a Pashtun census from the year 1256, which says, roughly, “Avoid traversing the north-western Yplyn mountains, as a fierce people led by a priest-king named Krykuv guard all passes there with great diligence.“ Grigovia's Ministry of Internal Information Gathering, or MIIG, in a recent statement broadcast via short-wave radio, has warned all foreigners – especially foolhardy Americans – that any and all attempts to take the city of Grig, or to invade Grigovia, are, because of the all of the tunnels, and due to Grigovians' inherent fierceness and proven ability to resist invasion, doomed to fail. The statement concluded with, “Do not even try, you stupid, imperialist, capitalist, Yankee swine, because we, and our cozy tunnels, are ready, and waiting. Do you remember Viet-Nam? Imagine everything brown and covered in snow, and children leaping at you with knives in their teeth.”
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
Rolls of vellum discovered in a walled-off section of tunnel in the mid-1980s during construction of a Soviet-style housing block in Grig's Old City hint that the first tunnel may have been dug by Grigov the Watchful himself. The man in whose honor the nation is named, according to a new translation of these recently-restored vellum sheets, dug “a small recess in the larger mound by the four oak-trees so as to have somewhere to store all of these good and shapely tubers.” It is not clear from the ancient texts just what type of tubers he had obtained, but what may have started as a small recess now stretches from the banks of the Yalung to the very foothills of the Yiptlong massif itself. So extensive is this network, and so wide some of its larger tunnels, that it serves as bazaar, swap-meet, and marketplace for much of Grigovia's gray economy, which is suspected to be at least three times larger, and far more lively, than all of the country's above-ground, legitimate economic activity combined. Unconfirmed reports leaked by the U.S. State Department indicate that a majority of the fuel, mounts, firearms, provisions, and other such military gear that reaches the brave and heroic warriors of the various Yaelong tribes travels through the innumerable branches of this vast underground network of passageways.
While the Yaelong tribes were known even to Herodotus, who mentions them in his book, the Histories, a reference to the country now known as the Glorious Republic of Grigovia first appears in a Pashtun census from the year 1256, which says, roughly, “Avoid traversing the north-western Yplyn mountains, as a fierce people led by a priest-king named Krykuv guard all passes there with great diligence.“ Grigovia's Ministry of Internal Information Gathering, or MIIG, in a recent statement broadcast via short-wave radio, has warned all foreigners – especially foolhardy Americans – that any and all attempts to take the city of Grig, or to invade Grigovia, are, because of the all of the tunnels, and due to Grigovians' inherent fierceness and proven ability to resist invasion, doomed to fail. The statement concluded with, “Do not even try, you stupid, imperialist, capitalist, Yankee swine, because we, and our cozy tunnels, are ready, and waiting. Do you remember Viet-Nam? Imagine everything brown and covered in snow, and children leaping at you with knives in their teeth.”
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
04 May 2012
a week with the Yaelong
(or, having a whorphan of a time with marauders)
My first night in the Lower Yalung Valley is cold, damp, and filled with the haunting calls of the yip-yip-yend, Grigovia's first official national animal. For the next week, I shall be accompanying the Czabpamndt, one of four dedicated scouting parties for the fiercely independent, semi-nomadic warriors known as the Yaelong. Bandits feared since before the time of Alexander the Great, the Yaelong recently received international attention – and widespread acclaim – for their vehement refusal to submit to Yankee demands for the counting of their numbers, the video-taping of their traditional dances, the recording of their hunting calls, and that they finally settle down in tastefully-furnished, prefabricated structures built by nice civilian contractors from Texas; in truth, however, they have for untold centuries protected their rights – and their verdant, mountainous valleys – from most every incursion by, “idiotic, ignorant outsiders such as servile Persians, snooty Englishmen, meddlesome Soviets, and, now, capitalistic Americans.”
Due to its unique location and great age, the Lower Yalung Valley is home to many treasures, among them the czabtyip (a local spice-drug plant), the yip-yip-yend (a goat-like beast prized for its single horn, tender flesh, and dazzling coat), and, due to its location in the eastern Caucasus mountains, the vast deposits of rare-earth-minerals such as lithium, high-grade silicone, and inert, rock-bound hydrogen. The area is also known for its pristine aquifers and crisp, cold-running mountain streams that appear to keep the Yaelong in good health regardless of their hard-charging, marauding ways and a nearly universal addiction to czabtlan, a tart, intoxicating, and mildly hallucinogenic beverage made using czabtyip root.
On the sixth day of my visit, we climb – precariously – up to a string of sheltered glens that do not appear on any of my maps. We meander from spot to spot, with the Yaelong pausing to tend semi-wild, seemingly-perennial crops along the way. For hours we walk in silence, soaking up such rays of sunlight that manage to penetrate the thick overhead canopy of trees. We keep our eyes peeled for the poisonous harsh-vine, which strikes with a whip-like lash, and speak little so as to listen for predators such as cougar, bear, or man. As I am preparing, the next morning, to leave for the Glorious Republic of Grigovia's capital, Grig, Yhend Yipyend, the self-educated and democratically-elected leader of the Western Lower Yalung Yaelong, tells me, “We did not assist the Russians when they asked for our help to fight our neighbors, and we shall help neither the Americans nor the Islamists; we said the same thing to the clean-faced Yankee missionaries that we told the bearded Saudi jihadists: 'Please, leave us alone,' we said, 'please, everyone, please go fuck yourselves and stop trying to interfere with our ancient and long-standing traditions.' We have no problem with the way other people go about their business, and we expect them to leave us alone – on own our lands, in our own valleys – and that they respect our right to go about our business as we please.” Mr. Yipyend is being considered for various peace prizes, including a Nobel, and one from the United Nations.
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
My first night in the Lower Yalung Valley is cold, damp, and filled with the haunting calls of the yip-yip-yend, Grigovia's first official national animal. For the next week, I shall be accompanying the Czabpamndt, one of four dedicated scouting parties for the fiercely independent, semi-nomadic warriors known as the Yaelong. Bandits feared since before the time of Alexander the Great, the Yaelong recently received international attention – and widespread acclaim – for their vehement refusal to submit to Yankee demands for the counting of their numbers, the video-taping of their traditional dances, the recording of their hunting calls, and that they finally settle down in tastefully-furnished, prefabricated structures built by nice civilian contractors from Texas; in truth, however, they have for untold centuries protected their rights – and their verdant, mountainous valleys – from most every incursion by, “idiotic, ignorant outsiders such as servile Persians, snooty Englishmen, meddlesome Soviets, and, now, capitalistic Americans.”
Due to its unique location and great age, the Lower Yalung Valley is home to many treasures, among them the czabtyip (a local spice-drug plant), the yip-yip-yend (a goat-like beast prized for its single horn, tender flesh, and dazzling coat), and, due to its location in the eastern Caucasus mountains, the vast deposits of rare-earth-minerals such as lithium, high-grade silicone, and inert, rock-bound hydrogen. The area is also known for its pristine aquifers and crisp, cold-running mountain streams that appear to keep the Yaelong in good health regardless of their hard-charging, marauding ways and a nearly universal addiction to czabtlan, a tart, intoxicating, and mildly hallucinogenic beverage made using czabtyip root.
On the sixth day of my visit, we climb – precariously – up to a string of sheltered glens that do not appear on any of my maps. We meander from spot to spot, with the Yaelong pausing to tend semi-wild, seemingly-perennial crops along the way. For hours we walk in silence, soaking up such rays of sunlight that manage to penetrate the thick overhead canopy of trees. We keep our eyes peeled for the poisonous harsh-vine, which strikes with a whip-like lash, and speak little so as to listen for predators such as cougar, bear, or man. As I am preparing, the next morning, to leave for the Glorious Republic of Grigovia's capital, Grig, Yhend Yipyend, the self-educated and democratically-elected leader of the Western Lower Yalung Yaelong, tells me, “We did not assist the Russians when they asked for our help to fight our neighbors, and we shall help neither the Americans nor the Islamists; we said the same thing to the clean-faced Yankee missionaries that we told the bearded Saudi jihadists: 'Please, leave us alone,' we said, 'please, everyone, please go fuck yourselves and stop trying to interfere with our ancient and long-standing traditions.' We have no problem with the way other people go about their business, and we expect them to leave us alone – on own our lands, in our own valleys – and that they respect our right to go about our business as we please.” Mr. Yipyend is being considered for various peace prizes, including a Nobel, and one from the United Nations.
場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit
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