Tag Archives: satire

Those lizard people? Good eggs.

There’s been… A terrible accident involving a li’l scientist atomic pile kit. The rec-room has been evacuated. It’s projected not to be safe for 100,000 years. I spilled root beer on the kit even though the instructions clearly stated no food no drink near kit. I have removed the aa battery, but it is too late. There is no use crying over spilt uranium.

The president has come to survey the area. Jesus, he looks like a deer in headlights. One of his handlers proposes we build a concrete wall around the area. To keep out the mutants. And to advertise a casino the president gets kickbacks from. That anti-mutant son of a bitch. He hires them to save money. Luckily he was too close to the pile and he melted down. And sank toward China. Their problem now.

The president has risen from the sea as a weird prehistoric monster. He demands that he is “the real green new deal.” The ACLU complained a giant lizard could not be president, but the supreme court ruled otherwise. Typical.

The loyal opposition came. At the seashore. He came out strongly in favor of appeasement. He says giant mutant Republican presidents are not the problem, there have been very good ones. They are regular Joes. Like lobbyists. He says that only corporate acquiescence could help solve the true problem, which is that wealth distribution doesn’t work. And more prisons will help reduce bankruptcies.

He took some corporate cash. An infusion he shot in his arm like junk. Then he was destroyed by the president, accidentally, as he spoke of the many points of agreement he held with past.

Then the president smashed an insulin factory with his tail. He said he only respected diabetics who were not diabetic. He was given plenty of time on every major network and every minor network, which he ate right up.

Shockingly, he won his reelection bid against the only other viable candidate, viability being judged by the top media conglomerates, beating out in a landslide his opponent, the honorable Spuds McKenzie, corporate dog.

Frito-Lay brought back the Frito Bandito. The people’s attention slowly drifted away.

It will normalize. Like the market.

People will pay for the promise of escape.

The money is in the resistance.

This is normal now. Say it.

Tragic Stories (disguised as jokes)

Tragic Stories (disguised as jokes) is a collection of tales told by a monster to a demanding little girl.

Monsters are unlucky in love. Cupid explains. Some monsters are closer than others. There is a monster who only dines on one half of any available loving couple, A specialty. You can judge a person by their hat. If you want to protect your children (and see them less) you send them back in time. Hungry lions. The suicide machine built with love. Hate mail. Oscar Wilde judges the beauty pageant.

A bouquet of thorns. Falsely called the black book.

Tragic Stories (disguised as jokes).

“It is better, in every scenario,

to steal someone’s heart rather than break it.

That is my official stance on theft.

Trust me, I looked at all the scenarios.”

David Raffin

ebook: print:

ebook:  print: 

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Rabbit Digs the Hole

The Rabbit needed a place to rest. And the safety in the open was a matter, as usual, of grave importance. So he claimed the right of the land and began to dig. Down. Sloping down. Into the cool and welcoming Earth. Some creatures were displaced, with as much grace as could be administered in the circumstance, and a network of tunnels joined the network of tunnels that formed the local underground. A refuge of perpetual night.

Idle Rabbit, Rabbit Idol

One digs to escape, dig it?

There were Moles in the underground.

It was to be expected. As the rabbit was relaxing after a cool dig, in the cool splendor of his new digs, one of the moles literally tripped over him.

“I say, who’s there?” shouted the Mole in a horse whisper. 

“I am just an adventurer,” said the Rabbit. “I am not a fighter.”

One digs to escape, dig it?

“Well, sir,” said the Mole, “You are a malingerer! Hiding away from the troubles of the world! A shirker. What do you say for yourself?”

“At the moment,” said Rabbit, “Nothing.”

The accusation was not without some merit.

“Deadly silence,” said the Mole.

And there were dim eyes all around. The underground. Moles in the underground. Suspicious. For good reason.

One digs to escape.

“We are the consolidated underground,” said the Mole. “We are what is left of those who came before. Scraps. Bits and pieces.”

“Where will you go from here?” asked Rabbit.

“Onward,” said the Mole. “To the inevitable ending. We fight no longer to win, no longer is it personal survival which drives us. We fight especially hard when we cannot win, for then our actions matter even more. For then it is a matter of righteous history.” He shrugged his slight shoulders. “We travel the underground. It provides escape routes and comfort. Comfort is, you know, fleeting in this world.”

Among the Moles were scattered others. To the far side was a Shrew. Her eyes illuminated and flickered reflecting the Rabbit’s light. 

Dig it?

“Now,” said the Mole, “We construct the story of our glory. Battling against great odds we keep true to our ethics. And hope that our ideals emerge victorious. You see young Vanja. She joined us after her village was destroyed. We have scattered into cells and travel the tunnels. We emerge one at a time and tell our story at random locations, to random listeners. Then we retreat back underground. It is the only way. Vanja is particularly adept at this kind of warfare. It is like starting a thousand fires. It is uncontrollable. It is unconquerable.”

“Have you heard,” said Vanja, “The song of the traveler? It is reverberating everywhere. The traveler landed in a field. Fell out of the sky. And arose. It was a celebratory feast the traveler had landed on the outskirts of. There were park benches and food. Flowers. And merriment. But the traveler saw above the festivities hung the body of a man, dangling over the events. Still. And no one else gazed toward the sight. Instead children played and lovers fraternized, even quarreled over trifles, while above the man twisted in the happy breeze. And the traveler said, ‘Who is that man? Why does he hang around here?’ And the crowd turned ugly. For it was not a topic for polite conversation. And words were minced. And there were misunderstandings and malice. And the traveler left, for it was not the destination, you see, but afterward people kept looking at the hanging man, who they had previously forgotten. And they were ashamed. But they did not know what to do about it. And that is how the picnic was spoiled, but there were disagreements about why.”

The marketing of desires unfulfilled

Scene from a pornographic film in 8 millimeter, silent:

A title card read: “Oh, Eros! God of Love! Forgive me!”
There are street scenes of people of all ages walking alone in the city. At the park. Eating alone in a restaurant, an act Rain considered the impetus for the creation of drive-through windows, and then, as she thought this, a shot of cars lined up at a drive through window, each car with one passenger. A shot of exhaust spilling out of the tail of an idle car, ready to go but confined in line, waiting for full satisfaction, only to be thwarted by industrialized processed food from which most nutrients were removed, prompting a drive to continue consumption in order to fill the resulting void which was bottomless. Top off. Always.

Continue reading

More Than True with David Raffin, ep. 1

In these trying times what is needed is

More Than True

now more than ever.


If the Shoe Fits.

The cobbler has succeeded.

Music:
“Divertimento K131”, “Winner Winner!” by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

“Strange Italian Song”, “Exotica”, “Oriental Fever” from the album “Exotica” by Juanitos is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 France.

“Someone Else’s Memories” from the album The Politics of Desire by Revolution Void licensed under Creative Commons Attribution License 3.0.

Slice of life

What is the relationship between being the judge of a pie baking contest, and the age old tradition of hiring on a food taster for royals with low approval ratings?

“It is a shame,” said the Queen to the jester, “for in addition to alerting me to potential poison, my taster would tell me which was good and which was bad. Indeed. Even which was the best. Two things in case of Tie!”

Then the queen laughed. Because the jester did something which invoked the response. However, neither of them considered how social roles would change inevitably through Time: how that which once invoked amusement would eventually become old hat, then unintelligible. The role of the jester would change. The role of the royal taster. Even the role of the queen herself, for anyone could be a queen, if but for a day, though the Powers would not be what they were.

Reign of error

Hark, dear friends, a terrible fate

America ran down the sewer grate

Beavers shouted “damn!” But it was too late

They were attending a party at 10,000 a plate

“What to do?” said the otter to its mate

“Why I otter…” was the reply-but it was too late

The Dragon said, “We’ll consolidate!”

“We can own this parched landscape if we concoctitrate!”

“If anyone tries to stop us we’ll denunciate!”

“Berate. Sublimate. Keep both eyes on Homeplate. Trust in me and I will make this land again great!”

“The first thing we’ll do is seal up those drains.

So we can keep all the water when it rains.”

And the creatures sang the dragon’s grand refrains

And they praised his renowned business brains

So they sealed up those drains

And muddied those plains

And reminded that only a traitor complains

About the mixture of clean water with sewer drains

And how drinking sewage causes stomach pains

But complaints, the dragon, he disdains

For it is his golden reign.

Let it rain golden showers.

Let it rain. Let it rain.

Hark!

Hark, dear friends, a terrible fate
America ran down the sewer grate
Beavers shouted “damn!” But it was too late
They were attending a party at 10,000 a plate
“What to do?” said the otter to its mate
“Why I otter…” was the reply-but it was too late
The Dragon said, “We’ll consolidate!”
“We can own this parched landscape if we concoctitrate!”
“If anyone tries to stop us we’ll denunciate!”
“Berate. Sublimate. Keep both eyes on Homeplate. Trust in me and I will make this land again great!”
“The first thing we’ll do is seal up those drains.
So we can keep all the water when it rains.”
And the creatures sang the dragon’s refrains
And they praised his renowned business brains
So they sealed up those drains
And muddied those plains
And reminded that only a traitor complains
About the mixture of clean water with sewer drains
And how drinking sewage causes stomach pains
But complaints, the dragon, he disdains
For it is his golden reign.
Let it rain golden showers.
Let it rain. Let it rain.

 

Burn this flag, please

I question all the proposed laws against burning or desecrating the flag. That’s bad for business; ergo it is un-American. Think of it: every flag burned is product moved. Flag burning should be encouraged. That’s good business.

Otherwise flags would have to be manufactured to wear out sooner. Or the design would have to change seasonally to encourage sales. Only a traitor waves last years flag. Displaying an old flag from the back of your pickup truck? Prepare to be pulled over and ticketed. It’s all about your safety. Security.

You’re either with us or against us. Remember, America is about shopping and turning in (on) your neighbor.

The media tells me about many things I need to buy. It seems my old toothbrush is not doing an adequate and hygienic job. There have been technological breakthroughs in the field of personal hygiene and I am being left behind. How can anyone love me; I live in the filthy world of yesterday.

Still, there is the hope of stability. We do not hope for peace, as the starry-eyed utopians, but stability—the utopia of the hard-hearted realist. War. It’s good for the economy they say; it sells American flags. They’re made in China, but still, business is business.

There has been much talk of terrorism in the last decades. I want to say this clearly so it will be well understood: Terrorism is peachy. Otherwise we would not have funded it. It’s stimulating the economy.

This country was built on terrorism. It was not for nothing our founding fathers stole and destroyed tea. It was so that we, their heirs, would be free to steal and destroy tea. Do not let anyone tell you it is not your right to steal and destroy tea! Our boys in uniform fought and died to insure that right. The stores are filled with tea. Go out and do your duty citizen! Anyone who tries to stop you is a traitor.

One principal of private property (the foundation of the Free Market) is that you have the right to slash your own tires.

They’re yours. You paid for them. How dare someone prevent you from slashing your own tires!

Friend, I will fight for your right to slash your own tires—just as I will fight for your right to burn your own flag. Remember, burning flags is good for the economy. Stimulates flag sales. Anyone who tells you otherwise is anti-business and anti-American. They are traitors.

You can either be pro-business or anti-flag burning. Logic dictates you cannot be both. Those who cannot choose are wishy-washy liberals. Which is just another word for traitor. Stand in the middle of the road long enough, buddy, and I will run you down.

I say defend your rights: Slash a tire today!

If you do not use your rights you will surely lose them. I understand you may not want to slash the tires on the car you drive to work. You shouldn’t let that stop you. Let me suggest that you slash the tires of city police or state patrol vehicles.

Do you not pay taxes? Are those not, in fact, your vehicles?

How could any politician argue otherwise? Do they not all promise to “slash government?” You are just doing your part to help. You are a patriot and you are defending your rights—as well as the rights of all Americans. Anyone who disagrees is a traitor.

Those tires are yours to give and yours to take away. If they don’t want you to slash them, perhaps they should have business pay for them instead. The businesses write the laws in this country, so they might as well write some checks for the upkeep of their government. They already give money to the politicians and parties, why not to the government? Why should they expect us to pick up the tab?

The business of government is the business of business. That is why businessmen run and control the business of government.

We hold this truth to be self evident: that the business of government shall never perish from the earth. To secure this truth, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the businesses governed. Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of business to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.

The Pepsi generation is ready for a fight.

Will we leave the field scattered with paper cups and bottle-caps with “Sorry, not a winner” imprinted under them?

We may have no choice.