Sunday, November 29, 2009

Bout As Low As She Can Get

Levi Presents: Beating a Horse who Doesn't Know it's Dead

At Home: with Donald Rumsfeld

By: Levi Larrington

Welcome! Good day! Hello!
Today on At Home, we'll be spending some time with Defense Secratary, Donald Rumsfeld.
Many of us know of his significant accomplishes within the Bush administration, but what we may not know is his love of cooking, gardening, and a good book.

So, here from the Ranch in New Mexico - Donald Rumsfeld.

LL: Hello, Secratary Rumsfeld, how are you on this balmy evening?

DR: Little parched (laughs).

LL: What have you been up to today and how are you enjoying your vacation?

DR: Oh, what haven't I been up to? Gee, well, got up around five, did some planting out in the field, over yonder; gee, then I made some enchildas for your visit and finished up with a good read.

LL: Could you give my readers some idea of books you enjoy reading?

DR: Certainly. Overall, history, you know: Churchill, Eisenhower, Nixon biographies.

LL: But, didn't you serve in Nixon's administration - what more could you want?

DR: Well, there's a lot about that administration that I didn't know about. You see, when the shi - crap hit the fan in that administration, I fled like rat on a ship to pursue a Foreign Relations post elsewhere. In retrospect, I consider it a God send. So, out in Europe, I wasn't kept up on the day-to-day ongoings of Nixon. So, I invested some reading into it and found that there's a lot we can learn from Dick.

LL: Like?

DR: Well, when a cabinet member is dismissed due to a certain scandal, there's a good chance that this will act like dominoes. And, I think it's important for any sitting president to know that it ends with him: if one falls, the rest will topple.

LL: Do you think you acquired any ideas that may help the current administration?

DR: Sure. I think it's important for a sitting president, and mainly his advisors, to know that when you, say, know who leaked a certain identity to the public, and that man is a senior advisor, it's best not to begin throwing blame around willy nilly.

LL: Good point.

DR: But, books aren't my only passion.

LL: Yes, yes, I'm sorry. The gardening. Tell us a little about it.

DR: Well, first, it's not gardening when you're planting a whole crop.

LL: Sorry, it was a case of lack for a better word.

DR: Granted, but there's a big difference from growing an entire crop of poppies for the consumption of hippies and blacks and planting - say, sunflowers.

LL: Interesting. Very interesting. Can I take a look at the current crop, or is under construction? I'm not good with seasons and I really have no clue when poppies are in bloom.

DR: Well, first of all, they're not on this ranch. Hell, they're not even on this continent.

LL: Where might they be?

DR: Well, let's just say South of Asia and to the left of, and above, of Pakistan.

LL: Right. Are the conditions better there?

DR: Oh, well, I'm not going to go and tell you that the conditions are great. There seems to be a lot of problems keeping them out of harm's way.

LL: Explain?

DR: Well, there's a large amount of, shall we say, birds that enjoy a nibble or two off the profits, er, fruit.

LL: Really?

DR: Yes. It's very important that a poppy has room to bloom, and when other farmers get into the act...well, you need to crack down.

LL: I understand.

DR: But, on the plus side, it's a new farm and things are on the up and up. See, in the world of farming, some people get a pipeline into Uzbekistan, and others get a pipeline of the sweetest horse the world has ever shot.

LL: Fascinating. Who are these other "farmers?"

DR: Well, they're native to the soil, so - that's the problem. Some people figure that if they live in a certain area, they are entitled to go on growing poppy on the land they already....harvested... rather than understanding that a new landowner is in town.

LL: Facinating.

DR: Yes. Well, back in the day, we were able to have farms out there that were run by the locals. But, well, then you see, a minority group of people come in and decide that your farms are putting out bad harvests. And, as it turns out, it's not even worth the time and money to pay these farmers, because they're being shot left and right. Well, then the minority group....leaves, indefinitly, and you have yourself in the same position as before. But, now the farmers want to harvest without your help. So, you have to split the difference and weed out those who don't want the old management, and those who understand what napalm is - get me?

LL: Sure. But, what incentive do these farmers have in working for you, the landowner?

DR: Assurances that the minority will not come back and shoot them.

LL: And if they don't agree?

DR: WE shoot them.

LL: Fascinating.

DR: So, what else?

LL: I'm sorry, I tranced out there. Cooking! Apparently, you have an affinity for cooking. Tell us more.

DR: Sure, where do I start? Well, I guess I can explain the enchiladas. It's a special recipe that takes some time and divergence from the old Mexican way.

LL: Explain?

DR: Well, the most important part of an enchilada is the sauce, of course. If you don't have a good enchilada sauce - you might as well be making soft tacos, get me?

LL: Fascinating.

DR: Well, what people find amazing, is that enchilada sauce uses a chicken broth for flavor. I'm sure a million vegetarians would have a hard time with that; but, it's the truth. So, you need a good bit of chicken - for the sauce and the filling. So, this morning, I got up real early and found myself a prized hen and went to work. The first thing you need to do in order to make enchiladas is to acquire a chicken that is ripe for the picking. Say, a chicken that's on it's last leg due to age and breeding. But, at the same time, the chicken must be good and fat, so that it looks like it's high on the hog, if you get me?

LL: Sure.

DR: Well, once you find that chicken, you need to kill it. But, before you kill a chicken, you have to make it compliant to your will. You can't just jump into the coop and grab a chicken willy nilly. I've learned they don't go for that. No, you must make it succumb to your will: humiliate it, scare it, and dominate it. So, once I've found the bird, I take it for a walk on a leash. This shows the chicken that I'm the dominate part of the relationship. I then walk it around the rest of the birds and show them that this could be them; that way, they know to be obediant and not cause a stir in the coop. Next, I need the bird to know that it's breeding days are done. So, I place the chicken in sexual positions with other female chickens to rob it of it's womanhood. In this way, the other chickens know that their futures are bleak as well and fall in line. Stripping a chicken of it's womanhood will show it that even as a slave, it's worthless. Next, I gouge out the birds reproductive organs and feed them to dogs.
Now, I have my chicken.
Next, I shoot the chicken in the head, dismember it and boil it.
At this point, I usually give in to my guilty habits and smoke a cigarette.

LL: While it's boiling?

DR: Sure, because I'm miles away.

LL: Explain?

DR: Well, I have the farm hands perform all of these task for me. I work more outside the flesh and bone of it.

LL: So, you administrate the enchiladas?

DR: Correct.

LL: Do you ever get your hands into it? You know, stir the pot yourself?

DR: I believe my adminstrative duties consist of stirring the pot.

LL: So, you're responsible for the enchilada?

DR: You bet.

LL: But, you don't actual cook it?

DR: No, like I said, I administrate the cuisine.

LL: And if it tastes bad?

DR: We have the farmhands to blame.

LL: Of course, because it's their job, right?

DR: I prefer the word duty.

LL: Fair enough.

Donald Rumsfeld Correlations

We have a shortage of fossile fuels. What makes fossil fuels? Dead organisms. How can we make more dead organisms? War. Therefore, the way to obtaining more fossil fuels: war.

I need to make more money. Money comes from utilities. What do humans utilize? Power. How do we obtain power? From enegry. Where do we get energy? From fuel. What is a fuel that is proven to stand the test of time? Oil. How do we utilize oil? We use it to power things. How do we get the oil? From oil-rich areas. Where are there oil-rich areas? All over. What area has the most? The Middle East. How do we get oil from the Middle East? We take it. How do we take it? We invade oil-rich nations. How do we suport our invasion? By declaring that the nation is using alternate forms of power; therefore, showing that the nation is using the alternate power for something else. How do we prove it? We don't need to, everyone uses alternate uses of power. How do we pay for the invasion? By convincing the world that the alternative use of power is so perverse, given the nation's abundance of oil, that it must be using the alternative form of power for perversion. How do we pay for the invasion? By using power. What power? Oil. How? In military tools. But, then we're using more power, therefore, putting us in the red. How will we make up for this? The military power will diminish our supplies and put more need on power from perverse nation. Oil will be scarce; without power we will be unable to take the power. Thus, forcing prices of power up. Then, as we obtain more power, we gain more dependency at higher prices. The equation doesn't work out? Yes, but not for many years.

Random Abstractions

If I were you, I'd drop out of the daily routines we have created amongst the dead and dying. There's no free verse that could establish this point home more subjectively. Take, for instance, the dead wife I had hanging from a hanger, not too long ago. She pouted and wanted more home fries to the degree that i found she was no longer dead. No, but living on in a pseudo universe made up of bed sheets that she constantly wanted to fold and hand among the dead fetuses we left in the garage.
I'm playing backgammon with myself again, and i keep losing. Take a slow trip to the evacuation chamber and you'll know haste.
I was trying to play solitaire, again, with the computer and he kept drawing blank cards. I inquired in the Help files and found nothing. It seems my computer would like to point out that he's in control, no matter who is typing.
There was once a disease that supplanted itself on my bedsheets and wouldn't go away. Oh, let's call her Vagerly. Vagerly knew that I didn't need another disease on my bedsheets, but, she persisted and later I found out that I had already removed her from the blood stream and sent her up North on a nowhere train bound for bungee cord.
What we later realized, was that there was no up or down, just shades of standing. We incorporated this into all of our work and decided that it was much better to sit.
I keep looking at boxes of cereal and wondering how much fiber I take in in one day? 100 grams sounds about right, so I keep telling myself this as I shit in long trails of yellow that stick to the toilet and float and swallow when flushed.
There's no point to the written language, until you decide that it's meaningless and go on randomly bantering, using combinations that will not make sense, because, they are on their own and don't wish to make sense: like humans.
There's no life in art, until you let go and keep let going until all the words fall into the page like cottonwood coming down in sheets on a dead apartment building in a suburb made of tract housing.
Somber thoughts; deader dreams. Remove the screen and you'll find that which you understood, staring you in the face, daring you to understand why you used it, and how it was used.
Kill the operator.

Operation denied.
Move onto the second level of the game and win more points by throwing stars at gingerbread people. There's no other way around the quarry that I have found in my head. I feed it filaments of dying flowers, in the hopes that it will awake and bloom.
I'm sinking slower, now.
There's a gift that they give you on your birthday. It consistst of fly larvae. You look at it, move it around, and then you spread it all over the wall in the hopes that you'll live another year.
If there is nothing sadder than the rudimentary thought processes of the monkey on thorazine, then you'll have to make due with the zoo.
Spilling feces on himself, Jarod trotted into the monkey cage and annouced his abstraction from the normal janitorial service he parlayed onto the monkeys. He said "just for that" and the monkeys began throwing shit at him and it turned into a chaos driven by dead carcasses that decided to live for the hour. In honor of this event, I will tell you a story about margarine and how it relates to ground zero in New York.
But, at a later date.
There's a point in which the feeble minds of our time begin to devour what is left of the mess they have made. They call it media and the feeble minds get to reproduce from the glow of it all.
I get a signal and decide that it's time to spice up my love life and I buy some baby oil and lube my partner and have sex to her, not feeling a thing.
We turn on the TV and begin to copulate like deranged Giraffes.
I come to quick and curse CNN.
But, then I'm back into the action. We invite a friend over and take turns sniffing glue and watching Freinds as I gain a larger hard on and have sex with myself to show my TV that I still have power over it.
Flicking channels I realize that I'm a lion humping on the Nature channel and I cannot fully, objectively, see how stupid I'm acting. I roar with emotion and then pick up empties of Thunderbird and tell the women I'll call them in the morning.
I'm stupider than this, I think. So, I turn on a reality show an pretend that I'm alive.
I will say this, if you are crook'd enough to still be reading this, then I didn't give you enough credit.
Left on the back door, is a shopping bill I received while purchasing small letters that I hang on the fridge and form words with.
I put them together in diagonals and pretend that they mean something in some foreign language I will never learn. I invite the neighors to view it and tell them that it's from another world.
We eat Brie an drink wine and chat about how amazing my letters are. I feel proud and let the cat out of the bag: it's my own language.
They grimace and leave me full of wine for another weekend.
There's nothing like meaning well in a closet full of idiots.
If I knocked into one, I've knocked into everyone I know.
And you know
And you know
And there I go
Something on the shelf, above the freezer, catches my eye and I begin to stare at it, blankly, thus, confusing the simple minds in the room that I am not blank.
No, I am made of something and I mettle.
I matter.
Here in my jar of margarine, with flies like locusts come cutting me down.
Here in my jar.
I learn new languages and drive fast cars.
I've spent the day out in limbo again, and I refuse to apologize for not making much sense. It's just that the sense of it all is the only thing holding me in suspense.

Today: woke up, showered, got coffee, went into work, looked at the internet, worked, drove home, watched TV, went to sleep. Woke up, showered, got coffee, went into work.....................

No comments: