Obama Proposes Facial Hair Stimulus

This just in from the Bagpipe’s own White House correspondent:

President Barack Obama called a press conference Saturday in his now-infamous “Atomic Economics” room in order to unveil his latest proposal in the fight against recession.

“My fellow citizens,” he said, in a voice grimmer than a triple-B bond, “We have gone too far for ordinary solutions. This is a solution with special sauce and sautéed onions. A solution worthy of a situation that increasingly resembles a crap sandwich with a side of warm coleslaw. I propose that the federal government approve a $15 billion dollar budget allotment toward the immediate growth of facial hair on my face. This is real change. This is a new face in the white house. This is what I came here for.”

Dangling modifiers aside, the president’s words were greeted with immediate applause, because really what else can you do? An official press release from the White House clarified his statements as much as humanly possible, which is as good as they’ve got since Klaatu resigned.

“The President’s facial hair stimulus program is designed to encourage the American people by lending gravitas to the Presidential aura in hopes that he can approach the bearded cool of other famous facial-haired African-Americans like Denzel Washington, Cornel West and ?uestlove from the Roots.

In addition, history has taught us that every truly great President has exhibited fantastic facial hair. Just think of Chester A. Arthur, whose impressive mutton chops enabled him to enact sweeping reform of the civil service. Or Rutherford B. Hayes, whose wizard-like beard gave him the confidence to put down labor strikes with federal troops. Not to mention William Howard Taft’s elegantly curved moustache, which reportedly made him a turn-of-the-century sex symbol, despite his three-hundred pound girth. For these reasons, and others which we would like to discuss but it’s time for our coffee break, we urge the congress to pass the facial hair stimulus as soon as possible.”

Following the announcement, bearded, mustachioed and muttoned men everywhere gathered in trashy bars and outdoors stores to celebrate. In the meantime, the Obama administration continued work on their next slate of stimulus-themed party hats, briefs, body oils and off-shore accounts. “The work never stops, and neither do we,” said one operative, still shaking from the after-effects of Stimulus Speed, which he’d likely mixed with Crisis Crank. In other news, Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke sweats a fine single-malt. Correspondent out.

April Fools!

In honor of the day after April Fools, here is my latest output of satire:

Math Major Dies in Tragic Conceptual Firestorm

At 7:55 last Tuesday morning Sophomore Al Pharkerson arrived early for class in Mills 380, entirely ignorant of the flaming inferno awaiting him. As best as investigators can establish he was reviewing his notes from the previous Thursday’s Concepts in Mathematics when he misapplied an extremely volatile matrix series to a fractal equation, resulting in what mathematics safety specialists have dubbed “the perfect storm.”

Apparently Mr. Pharkerson’s ignorance of higher mathematics, combined with the dizzying amount of complex concepts facing him, ignited the flammable substrate of pure numbers that hangs in the atmosphere around the third floor of Mills, resulting in a conceptual firestorm so destructive it nearly consumed the entire science department with its intense heat.

The Pharkerson Incident (or PI for short), as math historians have dubbed it, takes its place in the pantheon of mathematical catastrophes alongside such famous disasters as Euclid’s Logical Lightning-Storm and the Great Fire of Princeton in 1987, reportedly sparked by the invention of string theory.

“We regret that such a regrettable occurrence took place on our campus” said Dr. Snark, Covenant’s resident expert on the mathematical paranormal, “however, given the dangerous nature of the equations Mr. Pharkerson was dealing with, I think it can be safely said he knew the risks. The lesson we should all draw from this sad story is simple: math is dangerous, kids. Stick to the Liberal Arts.”

“Praise Hero” Allows Anyone to Lead Chapel

Microsoft’s latest Praise Hero video-game for the X-Box 360 has shaken up youth groups, church camps and Christian colleges everywhere with its egalitarian implications: now anyone can lead worship.

The video game is similar to the popular Guitar Hero and Rock Band games, but instead of classic rock tracks, it includes such praise music classics as “Lord I Lift Your Name on High” and “Heart of Worship.” In addition, optional accessories like the patented Hand Position Sensor Glove and the Obligatory Cello offer even broader possibilities for game play.

Covenant’s own Chaplain Messed’er is excited about the possibilities. “Now we don’t need to limit our chapel worship-leading positions to those who can strum three chords and carry a tune. Anybody can do it. And I mean anybody. We might even let Joel Piedt help out.”

Given the run-away success of Praise Hero, Microsoft has begun development on further Hero-style interactive product lines. Reportedly Philosophy Hero is a possibility for the academic market, along with other more controversial titles like Knife Fight Hero and Dead Cat Swing Hero. No word yet on the much-anticipated Do Something Real For Once Hero, which threatens to throw the entire franchise into an all-consuming black hole of self-parody.

The Hot Watch: “It” is In

“It” is the new thing in music. “It” is next. “It” is big. “It” is it. “It” is what’s on the Hot Watch this week. Oh yes my indie fishies. There is a new genre burbling out of the fecund pool of genius somewhere in South Brooklyn, and that genre is “it.”

“’It’ is like no-wave,” said one single 40-year old unemployed expert, “but without the wave. Or the no.” “’It’ just is, man” commented another lousy excuse for a human being, “’It’ is music in the realm of pure being.”

The semantic difficulties caused by the new genre’s baffling name can all be traced back to the movement’s founding band: ^*%!!!!), whose name is only pronounceable by trained linguists and native speakers of Igbo.

“It” has so far generated more buzz than Flo Rida’s admission to criminal possession of goat testicles, the growing self-knowledge of Madonna’s sentient hair-piece, and Britney’s come-back. This despite the fact that no band associated with the genre has yet released a single recording.

“We’ll get around to it” said ^*%!!!!)’s lead singer. First we have to re-design our web-site, start a tour diary and learn which way to hold the guitar.” Anticipation and pretension both remain high, as does this reporter’s tab at the Greenwich Village Pub, but that’s beside the point. Incidentally, “The Point” is probably the next genre on the Hot Watch.

Also next on the Hot Watch: the Grizzly Bear side-project chain reaction reaches critical mass; Chris Brown offers restitution to Rihanna to be payable in pizza bagels; and Matt Brown breaks into the underground trip-hop scene. Stay tuned.

Book Review: Beer and Loathing

This spring break I read two things: Sartre’s What is Writing? and a novel entitled (no joke) Beer and Loathing in Panama City: A Bloodthirsty Spring Break Exodus, by Keith Strausbaugh. Sartre says of the poet, “one might think that he is composing a sentence, but this is only what it appears to be. He is creating an object.” In other words, literature is the creation of an object outside of the self. Then again, from another point of view literature is an encounter with another self.

Strausbaugh’s book fails on both counts. Though his unpleasant self is spattered across the pages of Beer and Loathing, he doesn’t give the reader any reason to want to keep the encounter going. And he certainly doesn’t go far toward creating a credible artistic object. His parody of Hunter S. Thompson soon degrades into a parody of himself, leaving the reader with a plotless mess of flat characters.

Beer and Loathing in Panama City is not a good book. What fascinates me is the fact that Keith Strausbaugh wrote it. He created a fictional proxy for himself, sent this self-object on a wild ride through the soul-destroying emptiness of spring break Panama City, then wrapped it up in a cheap paperback and self-published it. What impulse drives a human being to do this?

According to Sartre, “the function of the writer is to act in such a way that nobody can be ignorant of the world.” Strausbaugh certainly burns with this desire for “disclosure,” in Sartre’s words. His abrasive style builds to an angry diatribe against traditional morality, but the form can’t bear the weight of the content.

Bad art fails to turn the creator’s need for expression into something that can affect the beholder. Tomorrow I will forget Beer and Loathing in Panama City and so should you. But you won’t forget Sartre once you’ve read him, even if you want to.

Strausbaugh’s failure and Sartre’s success both prove that this need for disclosure is a force to be reckoned with. Something inside of us yearns to be expressed, but once it’s out it becomes an independent thing-in-itself. Or, from another angle, we strive to create self-transcendent beauty but then find that our creations reveal us in unexpected ways. No matter how many different ways we talk about it the final point is that we can’t stop talking. Literature is an essential act.

The Bail-Out

If you read only one thing about the financial crisis, read this CBS interview with Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke.  Really.  Fed Chairmen almost never give interviews, but since these are extraordinary times, he did it anyway.  He explains the crisis and the government’s response to it in very approachable terms.

Sonnets: Loss=Transformation

I

In Praise of Forgetfulness

A patterned absence: shadow leaves on snow,

A strain of music on the wind, a wisp

Of something in my mouth. The subtle gifts

Are given in his place, and somehow known

As traces, tracks left by the animal,

Who, great as men are great, would naturally

Impress himself on his surroundings, we

Reason, not willing to admit that all

The tears aside, a door will be a door

Without his heavy knock, a book will be

A book without his voice. The way we see

Him missing in the kitchen’s dirty floor

Persists, as dirt persists, but then again

Did not the dirt itself once pass—to man?

II

The Birdmen Lose Their Wings

It was difficult at first without the wings,

The feeling was all off, the balance wrong

As if we’d lost the tunes to all our songs

But something still impelled us all to sing.

We leapt off cliffs and balconies and dropped

Like stones in water through our native air,

Then higher, higher climbed, high as we dared,

Till even the most desperate had to stop.

We walked for several days on bloody feet,

Like animals, all shackled to the earth

Back packed with all the others lame from birth.

Till drawn by some starred piper to the sea,

We dreaming limped through dark awaiting night

And plunged into the cool, deep, secret flight.

III

After the Ascension

Angel: Why stand you staring after him?

He’s gone but he will soon return again,

And you will drown in floods of glory when

He rends the earth’s thin veil, but do not swim,

Inhale. Yet while you breathe stale air, I say:

Do not forget what wonder round about

Enshrines your dry dust path. Soon you will doubt,

It will be long, you will not know the way

But do not be so foolish as to think

That dust is dust, and not the stuff God’s hands

Made into you, that man is only man,

And not the image of the great unseen.

So now go forth, shake temples, shudder kings.

Go forth! Your world must shatter ere it sings.

Hey look, a blog!

Well, akidabroad.wordpress.com and I have had a varied relationship. We started off with my adventures in Scotland, then we worked together to publish bits of fiction for a while. After that we were briefly in the political satire business. Then I abandoned the partnership and went to the Dominican Republic.   So I haven’t written here in a while, but I think I might like to return.  Spring break is upon me and I’ll be going backpacking with my dad.  Maybe I’ll take some sweet pics, or even better, write some poetry.  Anyway, I might just make that part of my life public knowledge on the internet.  Why not.

It’s been fun

Well, this whole Irony Shmirony thing has been fun, it really has.  Colin’s picture of Saint Barack of Assissi even made it onto a right-wing site opposing the ACLU. Colin and I are practically famous, let me tell you.  But fun though it’s been, all good things must come to an end, or at least take an indefinite hiatus.  I’m in the Dominican Republic now, doing research on Microfinance.  If you are at all interested in that, check my other blog out.  If not, God bless.

Democrats Undecided, Fight to Death Proposed

With the democratic nomination still in deadlock, the much-vaunted superdelegates (party officials imbued with supernatural powers by a radiation blast at the 1976 convention) began to discuss the little-known duel to the death option. “By-law 486 section b clearly states that if no candidate secures a clear majority by May, the convention may schedule a gladiatorial battle using whatever weapons the party deems suitable” said superdelegate Arthur “Radon-Man” Symons. “Right now we’re thinking daggers and morning-stars, but we haven’t ruled out rubber chickens” said Edward Patterson, also known as “The Fly.”

Both candidates have declared themselves ready for the fight. “Are you not entertained?!! Is this not what you came for?!” cried Senator Clinton at a recent rally, before being informed that the fight had not actually taken place. Barack Obama had no comment for the media, but observers noted the spiked helmet he now wears to all press conferences would come in handy both for protecting his immaculate face and striking terror in the hearts of his enemies.

Sophomore Asserts Freedom, Cultivates Slug on Lip

In a bold move intended to assert his free spirit and independence from others’ opinions, local sophomore Dwight Lundy recently decided to raise a rare species of South American slug on his upper lip. The exotic Hairy Leopard Slug, hailing from the headwaters of the Amazon River, is intended to give Lundy an air of devil-may-care maturity lacking in his fellow sophomores. “Great isn’t it?” grinned Lundy, soon after procuring the bizarre creature, “I’m just seeing how it goes for now. I’ll probably take it off before break.”

Reactions to his unconventional facial decoration have been mixed. Several of Dwight’s friends reportedly consider it “awesome” and “hilarious,” though reactions from the opposite sex have generally ranged from vague disgust to uncomfortable laughter.

Scientists are divided as to the possible consequences of Dwight’s slug-stash experiment. Though most agree it will only make him slightly more belligerent and out-going than he once was, a sizable minority contend that it will act as a stimulant on his nervous system, sending him into a short-lived bout of euphoria before eventually sucking his life away, leaving him a shattered shell of his once unselfconscious self.

Regardless, it is certain that life will never be the same for everyone who knows Dwight Lundy. Other sophomore males in his circle of influence are already considering ways that they too can assert their self-assurance. “I think maybe I won’t cut my hair for a while,” said Arthur Dingly. “Maybe I’ll wear this bright yellow t-shirt,” chimed in Mathew Boberick. “I know! I’ll get someone to give me braids!” Exclaimed Landon Newberry. No word yet on whether any of these changes have helped these strong, independent young men in their ongoing quest for a chance to hold hands in third lobby with a girl.

Ultimate Male Endorses Hillary!

In a surprise move, yesterday infamous men’s magazine Ultimate Male declared their endorsement of Hillary Clinton. Founder and CEO Bill Britcherson held a press conference to explain their position. “When we sat down to decide which presidential candidate to support, we only had one question: who has the best knockers? Surprisingly, Hillary was the only one who had the necessary qualifications!” said Britcherson, accompanying his speech with vague but unmistakably lewd hand gestures.

When questioned about how this position fit with Ultimate Male Magazine’s usually misogynist positions, Britcherson responded, “we don’t have them fish around here.” But this did not mollify Ultimate Male’s critics.

Readers of the magazine, on the other hand, were uniformly enthusiastic. “Look there’s a Heineken keg flying out of a giant explosion!” said one man, handling his precious issue of Ultimate Male with care. “And check out the babe with the machine gun, framed artistically by a ferrari and a fighter jet! Totally freaking awesome!” cried another. Neither of the males were able to express an opinion on the political views expressed in the magazine.

As stated by Britcherson, it does seem clear that Hillary Clinton fulfills Ultimate Male Magazine’s number one principle: boobies=good. No word yet on whether her platform will accommodate numbers two, three, four, five and six: beer, guns, explosions, sports and selfish, uncommitted sex with no regard for the woman’s pleasure, but we’re all holding our breath.