Genghis Khan was a Health Care Reformer (and other Observations)

Goddamn it. 

Please win.  Seriously.  Pleeeeease win.  Pleeeeeaaaaaase. 

 "WASHINGTON (Reuters): US President George W. Bush opened a four-point lead on Democratic Sen. John Kerry the day after the final debate between the White House rivals, according to a Reuters/Zogby poll released on Friday.  Bush led Kerry 48-44 percent in the latest three-day tracking poll, which included one night of polling done after Wednesday's debate in Tempe, Arizona."

 Udmurtia, here I come!  It's an autonomous republic in the Federation of Russia!   Population: welcoming.  Things are going downhill in the US.  But which Udmurtian city should I make my base?  Izhevsk?  Votkinsk?  Glazov?

 I will have to look at the Pros and Cons before I go.

 PROS: "The climate is temperate continental with cold winters and rather warm summers," according to http://www.udm.ru/climatic.html.  So, kind of like California, then.

 "Profitable transport and geographical situation of the Republic convinient [sic] for being  placed of enterprises, connected closely economy complexes both in the Ural economic region and nearby regions."  Excellent, excellent.

 "The present year is especially significant both for Izhevsk and Udmurtia and for the whole armour producing industry of Russia.  A world-famous Mikhail Kalashnikov, who is a prominent arms designer, is celebrating his 85th anniversary on November 10, 2004."  Cool.  I like birthdays!

 CONS: I'm going to have to buy new business cards.  But I think Izhevsk may have a Kinko's.

 "The name for the Udmurts propagated by the use in the Russian language and now outdated is Votyak, which the Udmurts consider disparaging and offensive."  I wanted to call myself a Votyak, not an Udmurt.

 Getting there from the 405 Freeway is tough in five o'clock traffic. 

No one can dispute the claim that CSI: Las Vegas is a popular show, so popular in fact that it has given rise to CSI: New York, CSI: Miami, CSI: Dakar, CSI: Boise.  Network executives should never question the appeal of exposed wounds and realististic autopsies and corpses showing nip and everything!  NBC's Joey is making that mistake.  What other crime-solver is also popular?  No, not Scooby Doo (definitely not).  Nancy Drew.  She's still going strong after six decades of sleuthing.  Nancy Drew's first mystery was "The Secret of the Old Clock" (1930), which is definitely a stirring adventure, but let's combine the appeal of CSI and of Nancy Drew, and let ol' Nancy probe a cadaver for vital clues instead of an old clock.  I'd like to see her test vital organs for protein degradation and amino-acid breakdown as she pursues a maniacal, homicidal chiropodist with porphyria, who wants to see all of the barbers, Boy Scouts, and firemen of Nancy's hometown of River Heights DEAD.  Not just dead, but decapitated and mutilated (all of their feet would be chopped off; the guy's a maniacal chiropodist, you see).  I have already provided the title for the first in this new ND/CSI series of hard science and mass appeal. 

It is a common fact that George W. Bush is a far easier target for humorists than the President, Codpiece Cheney, who as an insistently dreary figure in American politics, leaves no room for satirical attack.  Bush is an easy target because he looks as bad on TV as he does on paper.  One look at the Presidential Debate transcript (which can be found at http://www.debates.org/pages/trans2004a.html) will find such hilarious malapropisms as:

BUSH: In Iraq, no doubt about it, it's tough.  It's hard work.  It's incredibly hard.  You know why?  Because an enemy realizes the stakes.  The enemy understands a free Iraq will be a major defeat in their ideology of hatred.  That's why they're fighting so vociferously.  

Vociferously?  No wonder they're earning so much hatred.  The American soldiers are shouting their heads off on the streets of Baghdad.  What's next?  "We find ourselves fighting terror oftenly, frequentfully...It's hard work."  Ha ha, et cetera, et cetera.

But Cheney is a different figure altogether.  Hunched, saturnine, scary.  His congeniality last night was painfully forced.  I was worried for Gwen Ifills.  Cheney was mentioning her name every five words ("Gwen, I believe Edwards' record does not point to a desire for World Domination -mine does.  Gwen, tell Camera Operator A to stop focusing on the pasty side of my face.  While you're at it, Gwen, tell Camera Operator B to stop panning in on the evil, shadowy side of my face.  I'll have you all working for the Halliburton-owned...well, everything...Anyway, grrrrr").

It seemed as if he were repeating "Gwen" to himself in order to remember it when he writes it down on his Enemies' List, which incidentally, also contains Carrot Top and the name of an Olive Garden waiter who brought him his salad at the same time as his lasagna (that ticks a lot of people off).  Edwards, no doubt, is already on the same list.  But I believe he held his own:

EDWARDS: Listen carefully to what the vice president is saying.  Because there is no connection between Saddam Hussein and the attacks of September 11th -period.  The 9/11 Commission has said that's true.  Colin Powell has said it's true.  But the vice president keeps suggesting that there is.  There is not.

Cheney's vaguely threatening, vaguely hungry look (as if he wanted to bite Edwards' head off and then bathe it in Thousand Island dressing) may make some Wyoming rancher feel cozy in his mud-caked boots, but not this non-Wyomingian (sic?).  Any why does it not make me feel better about Cheney when he claims not to have any aspirations beyond the vice-presidential office?  Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much, and his statement below makes me wonder what he -and Halliburton- have cooked for us for the next four years.

CHENEY: I think it's worked in part because I made it clear that I don't have any further political aspirations myself.  And I think that's been an advantage.  I think it allows the president to know that my only agenda is his agenda.  I'm not worried about what some precinct committeemen in Iowa were thinking of me with respect to the next round of caucuses of 2008.

Well, I am not currently, a committeeman (my last political appointment was co-president of the Spanish Honors Society in '97; and the last committee I was on voted to end all committees), but all I have to say is, "Yes, Mr. Cheney, you should be worried about what people think of you.  We want a vice-president, not a Richelieu nor a puppeteer.  Now go say 'Gwen' to yourself a couple more times.  Remember, her name on your Enemies' List comes before 'India, Republic of' and 'Iverson, Allen'."

P.M. © 2004.

https://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=24447

Q: Why do you think your blog is the best thing since sliced bread?

A: We don't.  We think it's better than sliced bread.  

Q: Who are you, anyway?

A: Who are any of us?

Q: Do a lot of people read your blog?

A: Once they receive the e-mail notifications informing them of a new entry, yes.  

Q: What do you know about the Internet?  On the Dodo bird?

A: One of them has the scientific name of Raphus cucullatus, lived on the island of Mauritius, and is now extinct.  The other one's just a dead bird.

Q: In your last entry, you mention "cattaloes."  Please tell me what they are.

A: That's an easy one.  A "cattalo" or "beefalo" is the name given to the animal hybridized from the native American bison and the domestic cow.  They are said to be a hardy and gently patronizing animals.  I'm not making this up.  See http://www.beefalobeef.com/.

Q: Are there any other blogs you recommend?

A: Why?  Don't you like mine?

Yes, we've changed names.  But not management.  The Editorial Board of Funambulus -I'm sorry, "Genghis Khan was a Health Care Reformer" or "GHWHCR"- has not yet cleared out and emptied its collective desks of its rotten peaches, hobby-horses, irony, and stolen post-its.  In fact, we have become even more firmly entrenched at our international orifices on 12 Dadashifichipskinded Square in the central European nation of Switzerstein.  At least, the armored Switzersteiner police is no match for our sarcasm.  We've also constructed a ballista that shoots most bosenittionisedly canteloupes and cattaloes at our foe.  

By all accounts and by all standards, John Kerry won the first presidential debate last night, his voice thundering across the lectern and into the hearts of undecided voters, putting to shame Bush's speechwriters, who can be faulted for inserting awkward pauses and illogical mental leaps into Arbusto's responses, and his acting coaches, for helping him perfect the deer-in-headlights look, which lost him valuable response-time minutes.  This orchestrated awfulness should make the Republican Guard (I'm not talking about the Iraqis) extremely nervous.  For my part, I just don't understand where President (insert big quotation marks here) Bush's mind wanders, and what his statements mean.

I give you:

BUSH: I don't see how you can lead this country to succeed in Iraq if you say wrong war, wrong time, wrong place.  What message does that send our troops?  What message does that send to our allies? What message does that send the Iraqis?

How about this one?  I can't understand the logic in it all, and if someone can, please explain it to me:

BUSH:  My opponent just said something amazing.  He said Osama bin Laden uses the invasion of Iraq as an excuse to spread hatred for America.  Osama bin Laden isn't going to determine how we defend ourselves.  Osama bin Laden doesn't get to decide.  The American people decide. 

The spin on this response is actually brilliant.  It WAS a miscalculation…we miscalculated how great we were doing! 

LEHRER:  New question, Mr. President, two minutes.  You have said there was a, quote, "miscalculation," of what the conditions would be in post-war Iraq.  What was the miscalculation, and how did it happen?

BUSH:  No, what I said was that, because we achieved such a rapid victory, more of the Saddam loyalists were around.  I mean, we thought we'd whip more of them going in.  But because Tommy Franks did such a great job in planning the operation, we moved rapidly, and a lot of the Baathists and Saddam loyalists laid down their arms and disappeared.  I thought they would stay and fight, but they didn't. 

If this doesn't open people's eyes a little about what future errors in judgment George "What about Poland?" Bush will make (perhaps invading Syria, Iran?), I don't know what will.  So I leave you with: 

BUSH:  First of all, of course I know Osama bin Laden attacked us.  I know that.  [Does he?]

And secondly, to think that another round of resolutions would have caused Saddam Hussein to disarm, disclose, is ludicrous, in my judgment.  It just shows a significant difference of opinion.

We tried diplomacy.  We did our best.  He was hoping to turn a blind eye.  And, yes, he would have been stronger had we not dealt with him.  He had the capability of making weapons, and he would have made weapons.

  PROFESSOR POLLIWIG

1) Move at the speed of darkness, like the person who is currently getting away with murder. 

 2) Do not commit murder (that will keep your record clean, and allow you to move up in the future if the person benefiting from favoritism quits, retires, or DIES).

 3) Spill coffee and sprinkle Cheet-Os on the person benefiting from favoritism's desk.  No one likes a dirty co-worker. 

 4) Cold-call all of your customers to apologize on behalf of the person in question.  

 5) Since the person benefiting from favoritism has lost your company all of its customers, take the time to decorate the company walls with some drawrings (Crayons recommended).

 6) Whine and complain to your boss.  When he's stopped kissing the a-- of the person in question, threaten to quit.  Tell your boss that Hot Dog on a Stick offers exciting opportunities to energetic individuals with experience dealing with lard.    

 7) At your new job, look for the person most likely to benefit from favoritism and begin dating him/her.  Sleep with him/her, too.    

 8) Favoritism spreads, like margarine on toast, or like the bubonic plague (nice breakfast image!).  Benefit and scramble up the ladder.  That's the American way!     

People whine and complain about nothing.  They tut as they stand in line at the Post Office; they get bugged when the workers at Subway take too long to make their meatball sandwiches.  They complain when they wait on hold for customer service for fifteen minutes, and then write angry three-page letters that probably took longer than fifteen minutes to compose ("I can't cook you dinner right now, honey.  Mommy's got to write to these Acme Kitchen Supplies people for sending her a defective collander").  A couple of weeks ago, as I was sitting at a table outside of Starbucks, I observed a guy, completely ticked off, and probably a massive jerk, stop his car at the traffic light and raise his middle finger at a woman in the lane next to his.  He gave the bird to this lady for a good ten minutes.  I mean, he didn't give his middle finger a single break.  He kept on saluting her in this fashion until the light changed and his car screeched off.  She sat there, in horrified silence.  Was she in the wrong?  Probably.  Did it justify a ten-minute flick-off?  No, not at all.  I mean, you read the DMV Manual to pass the test.  You don't really expect people to know what to do at a Yield sign, do you?  Be reasonable!  For all of these fine souls, I bring them:

The world's smallest violin

I think it's due time that Californians rid themselves of their ratty old banner and adopt a new standard to which they can pledge their allegiance.  It's an ugly old thing.  The star looks vaguely Stalinistic.  I mean, look at it, the bear looks intoxicated, for God's sakes, or as if it had just consumed two PowerBars out of the backpack of a Yosemite hiker.  And not the good ones, either.  I'm talking about the peach-flavored ones that blow prior meals out of your colon before you can say "California Republic."   

So, I propose...

© Paul Morris

Interestingly enough, the U.S. State of Georgia has also changed its state flag.  I found out this piece of news after my old entry had aged by several hours.  This flag apparently opens up a new era of progressive thought, cultural sensitivity, and...wishful thinking, I suppose. 

So much of our news is violent and brutish.  I thought I'd bring you some news from the world of vexillology (that's the study of flags) so that you won't think it's all about abuse at the highest levels of executive power...but enough about the Byzantine Empire.

The Republic of Georgia (capital: Tbilisi) has adopted a new national flag, replacing the old flag below. 

Personally, I believe they made a good choice, and my opinion has nothing to do with the religious symbolism displayed on the new flag.  Aesthetically, the color choice is much more pleasing than the drab black and blood-clot red of the old flag.  It's all about good design, especially since the Summer Olympics are fast approaching and you want a good flag to wave about when your delegation is walking in the parade of nations.  (The Georgian Delegation will never receive as great an ovation as during the Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, 1996.  True story.  Blame the American education system for that case of mistaken identity).     

Much like cats in Egyptian culture and cows in Hinduism, the penguin was a sacred animal for people of the Ice Shelf Culture.  The na-bu-ú was seen as a living representative of the storm god Ashu-u, and was believed to have been rendered flightless by Ashu-u Himself, who wanted only one being to exist with the ability to soar across the heavens.  Emerging in the Eocene Era 40 millions years ago, penguins are descendants of birds like Palaeeudyptes antarcticus, whose remarkably large ankle bones has led to speculation that primordial penguin species were giants of their time.

Not only were human sacrifices performed at the feet of these members of the taxonomic order Sphenisciformes, a odesh-uut, or High-Priest, dressed in black-and-white regalia made from the dead (rather than butchered) bodies of penguins.  The 1504 expedition of Estéban de Camarco, long believed to have been lost at sea, is now thought to have been massacred at the hands of the Ice Shelf people at Neptune's Bellows, on Deception Island, off the Antarctic Peninsula.  According to the Flemish physical anthropologist Per Ghysaks, the bones found at the Deception site are too large and too plagued by European diseases to belong to anyone but Europeans.  It is not know whether the Ice Shelf People had a permanent settlement at Deception Island, but a reference has been found to:

Ga-nat A-ku Dishakadik Skotari e-u Yuoi-laksa Knoi

That Isle of Hot Springs, Dark as in Death and Hot as in Heaven. 

Where "e-u" ("Death") can be translated literally as "un-life." 

We must imagine that the Ice Shelf People fell upon the Spaniards with little or no hesitation.  Unlike Montezuma, they did not believe that the Spaniards were gods incarnate paying their devotees an earthly visit.  In fact, the must have viewed the expedition, weakened and starving, as an appropriate and convenient sacrifice for the god Ashu-u.  Spanish fire-arms were not able to function in the Antarctic.  The Ice Shelf People fell upon them with tuc ("pole-axe") and yob-uuoc ("Bowie knife"). 

The search for more data continues.    

I apologize for turning Funambulus into a monthly instead of its intended status as a hebdomedary (not a type of camel).  There is no web access in the frozen wastes of Antarctica, where I have been conducting research on an ancient civilization that extended southwards from what is now Zhong Shan, the Chinese Antarctic Station, to Dumont d'Urville, the coastal research station controlled by France.  I am excited for two reasons.  The first is that Princess Diaries will be playing tonight on TBS; the second is that I was able to discover the rudiments of a large city underneath the ice.  There is no drill more powerful than the Ǖberblitz, capable of drilling at 2000/2500rpm with its Nickel Metal Hydride pointy thing.

Unfortunately, because I left it at home, I had to use my little ice-pick to get to the spire of what I perceived to be some kind of ziggurat.  After three horrible weeks involving auto-cannibalism (my left arm was tastier than my right one) and drinking my own frozen tears (I would have brought Snickers bars, but I'm allergic to nuts), I was able to hit the globular structure that served as the very apex of the Antarctic structure.

There were words on it and stuff!  (See?  I'm already talking like an academic or something).  A cuneiform text, akin to Akkadian and Sumerian, read:   

I was able to transliterate this as:

g-nu-ma e-sash la na-bu-ú mhá-ma-mu
enüma plish lä nabû stamämü

Which obviously means: "He who consumes the Waddling Bird [the penguin] shall have his wretched neck touch the evil side of the axe." 

Plish ("evil") is the literary form of the plural plushämü ("very bad things").   Na-bu-ú is an onomatopoeic word for the bird we call the "penguin" (itself a word originally applied to the auk).  After reviewing a series of Nigerian pamphlets on microfilm, I was also able to determine that this ancient civilization, tentatively named The Ice Shelf Culture, was discovered by Amerigo Vespucci in 1501, after he was blown off course from the Falkland Islands.  So Antarctica should actually be named America-2.

© Paul Morris 2004. 

The Doorman

Leaning across the woman's breasts,

Flapping with a newspaper like angry origami.

His companion the television tube

Talks back, feeding him air, light,

Sports scores, cancer, news, noise.

In his booth, he sneers at those

Leaving an elevator,

Heaving himself out of his booth, his lovely booth,

Only to feed the disposal with more trash or

To mop the elevator floor

(even though it's not his job to do it).

The mop feels powerful in his hands.

Doorman-warrior until

The motorcyclist with the mail (junk, not real) begins

To cram the inboxes with incoming fliers.

The doorman bows his back and

Descends to the earth, stooping.

He is himself again, in his booth,

With his noisy set, contraption,

His newspaper, and the mink-coated,

Young, makeupped woman who passes him by.

There they go, using a participle in a movie title.  Yes, she's hot.  Yes, when a bus bearing her poster drives by, there is a need to search through law books in order to verify whether physically assaulting a bus earns the maximum sentence.  But still, the movie WILL be bad.  The synopsis itself earns a groan or two: "A self-centered blond New York City party girl (Kate Hudson) inherits her sister's three kids (ages 5, 10, and 15) and, after becoming a single parent overnight seeks guidance (and redemption from her decadent lifestyle) by embarking on a love affair with the minister at the kids' school..."

Hmph!  Since the last entry addressing this issue (ignore the poem and the oversized comic dividing the two), more than one example has been suggested to me by my avid readers.  Bringing Down the House, suggested by E.H.: excellent example.  E.H. also suggested Van Helsing as an honorable mention, because it includes that pernicious Ing that is a fouler creature than any CGI'd beast that Hugh Jackman fights in that movie.  M.B. agreed with my comments, and thought that Debbie Doing Dallas would have sounded a lot worse than Debbie Does Dallas.  S.C. suggested Kissing Jessica Stein, being a good movie, as an exception to my theory, and the reviewers would seem to agree with her.  I know, readers, it's too much.  First I show you Kate Hudson and now I start quoting movies that carry a girl-meets-girl theme…By the way, one of the worst movies I've ever seen in my life (it was automatically short-listed upon viewing) is The Wedding Planner.  A gerundive, not a participle.  Terrible.  God-awful.  Dismal.