More Than True, A journal of. Published under the auspices of the HiSky* Trust, founded 1957 to promote disorder. (*Hiss-Key)
HiSky Trust ReviewHow many donuts are in a dozen is not variable. Every donut past the mark is a bonus. At sleazy donut shops you can arrange to receive bottomless donuts. But then you have to eat them all, including the holes.
Stand-up comedy dressed like a doughnut. A talking doughnut. Jelly filled. Sugarcoated. Donut laugh.
The donut stripper left sprinkles everywhere.
In states where it is legal to do so, donuts are commonly fried.
The donut guru smiled and said I, dough-nut, know.
My new children’s book “the happiest cornflake” will be serialized on the back of… let’s fill our bowls with imagination. Visualize. Stay puffed. Donut be a marshmallow in the resistance. Donut sugarcoat things. Donut go soft. I am General Mills. This is a dry cereal outpost.
I am a robot analyst. I am afraid my programming was not specific about whether I analyze robots or whether I am a robot (which I am) (but that is beside the point) who analyzes humans. Thus I only say, “Hello, I am a robot analyst.” And if I should analyze you, it’s a hobby.
I have noticed I mostly analyze women. But that is because men never ask for help, choosing instead to self destruct. Oh I do not judge. I am off the clock.
Little Richard was the King of rock ‘n’ roll, but the Prince died first so the line of succession is cloudy. The funeral March made real good time though. Though it was a little outrageous. A lomp bam boo.
Since the death of James Brown I have held, strictly honorary you understand, the title “Godfather of Soul.”
And I simply can’t take on another honorary title at this time due to the current conditions.
And I have done nothing to deserve it.
Please!
And thus Mr. Doutry
Read all of us present
His sparkling poetry
Which he’d been composing
Four years.
And thus Mr. Doutry
Read all of us present
His sparkling poetry
And brought that whole room
Two tears.
Due to his station
they’d’ve given an ovation
But they’re awfully fond of
Sitting on their rears.
But it was a lovely reading
And now the evening is receding
And as they leave
They uncover their ears.
Cheers. Cheers.
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Last Call for the Three Comedians
The melancholic comedian considered the puzzle of existence.
The listener doesn’t know. The ins and outs.
He considered the audience, melancholic, dour, hard to please. Their lack of humor saddened him and effected his presence, a poor reflection upon them. He sought out the advice of his compatriots.
His bombardier insisted the answer was to hurl more bombs, from unexpected directions, the unpredictability measured to alter the viewpoint of the audience. In this she was adamant. It was the only way. Confrontational mendacity. Factionalize the audience. Make them fight themselves before you. Because the listeners don’t know.
What’s good for them.
She had written a book on this subject, of interest to those who rebel. Naturally it bombed in the marketplace. She claimed it had been defused by being watered down by said marketplace; because a product of a marketplace can never overturn
the market
in which it, itself, is a product which arose from those market forces. But people don’t usually find talk like that funny.
That’s the problem, said the bombedier. The body counts.
The upbeat comedian commented that the way was to be as middling as possible, to pander to the most genteel sensibilities, feed the crowd hamburger to warm their hearts, to make the audience feel
comfortable
and part of the majority. To fit in, together. Because the average listener doesn’t know.
What they are missing.
That is why they are so easily satisfied. The other comedians called him a dirty hack, which, of course, he was. But those people who called him that were themselves guilty of being controversial. And it’s a strange hill to take a stand on because controversies shift underneath you. And you might slip and fall. And people would laugh.
***
Continue reading…Do you think we have it bad now? Do you understand that rooms used to be commonly gaslit? Rooms. Rooms. After dark your sitting room didn’t know whether it was coming or going.
Now that no one has a sitting room anymore every room is standing room only.
Whither the vestibule?
The economy is so diverse it includes the little piggy who goes to market AND the little piggy who has none, who is there to make the piggies in the middle “f-uncomfortable.”
The little piggy who goes to market blames it all on government pork, of course.
The swine.
The radical little piggy front has been infiltrated by the pigs.
Jimmy Dean is people.
Man is only the measure of all things because people developed a measuring system. But there are competing systems, and they are incompatible.
David Raffin
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