Thursday, April 15, 2010


Have I slipped my berth? Lost my mooring? Jumped the shark? Something must have gone terribly wrong. It's just ugly. I froth. I do research into how to be a more vicious racist. Found a great site. Here. "Ethnic slurs". Ah.

But, Charlie? A white person? My feelings are not hurt. Dune coon is good, for Arabs. That's why I started looking. Someone asked me what the derivation of the word coon was. My grandfather used the word. Might come from a Portuguese word for slave quarters, but that's pretty obscure. It really came from Zip Coon, a blackface Minstrel song from the 1830s. Lots of foods, something on the outside and white on the inside. Coconuts and bananas and apples. Those are good foods. Oreo, Bounty Bar -- mess with your insulin. Avoid.

So that's everything there is to say about race. The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. The United Negro College Fund. Words have only the meaning we give them.

But my real point is insulin. You know, things to avoid. My son gave me these links, one two three, saying they were absolutely the best thing he'd ever seen on nutrition. He could not stop watching. Said the guy seemed at first like he was trying to seem smart, but then it was clear that he actually was smart. I'm watching it now, and my response would be that, by that age, you've stopped trying to seem to be something.

I tried three sets of three reps of 305 deadlifts last night, two min rests. It had been three weeks since I'd last done that workout, at 295, with good success. But it was too much. Lowered the weight, and it was still too much. But, no, I'm not getting weaker. My first theory slash excuse was that it had been three weeks, which must be too long. Even though it never had been before. Then I remembered that I couldn't sleep the night before. Just wasn't tired. Maybe two hours of fitful sleep? If that. So that's a very good excuse. I'm still a very powerful man. Don't doubt it. And also I'm quite handsome, if the lighting is favorable. Now my lower back is sore. Not an injury, but bothersome.

The future of FP is uncertain. You'd better tell all your friend to hurry up and read all the old posts, because one day you may come here and find that I've Gone Fishing. I won't miss you at all. You probably won't be able to recover from the loss. Too bad. You weren't a very good friend, not at all loyal, and you deserve what you get. And it will just be too late, for I shall be gone. You never even bothered to get my email address, which is right there in the profile, although I'm taking it out, maybe. A clean break. Like loving a faithless woman. Shake the dust from my sandals.

You just don't know what you've given up. Like America. You elect this glib fool, this shallow pool, this tailor's dummy, The Speechifier, the Pronouncer of the United States -- and expect a cornucopia of blessings. Hey, stupid, someone has to work, to produce the goods that fall so bountifully out of the Horn of Plenty. Because symbolism is not magic. Get it? Printing money produces wealth only for the counterfeiters slash oligarchy.

And so we come full semicircle. Back to delusions and fools. And for all you know, that's the last that ever will be said on the matter.


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