Tin Man

So I know what you’re saying, “Who Cares?”. Well, you really should. Apathy will get you nowhere my friend.

You watched “The Wizard of Oz” as a kid and it scared the crap out of you. You even watched it in college while listening to “The Dark Side of the Moon”. You now watch it with your kids (more like force them to watch it). Yet you still never even thought to ask “Just what is that freaking Tin Man supposed to be?”. I mean the Cowardly Lion is a lion, that idiot Scarecrow is a scarecrow, but what the f**k is the Tin Man?

Why would anyone build this Robbie the Robot wannabe only to chop down trees? I mean, in the primitive land of Oz, the munchkins went to all the trouble of designing and fabricating this elaborate cyborg, complete with artificial intelligence, and for what? Clear cutting old growth timber is a tedious job, but come on! A heartless automaton butcher of this magnitude could have distinct tactical military applications, the least of which being assassination of Wicked Witches. Alas, the Tin Man is resigned to merely use his axe to chop wood.

So, a mechanical-man stands rusting near a yellow, urine-stained brick road as if he belongs there and no one thinks to ask WTF?

I finally did, and found that Oz is not all Ruby Slippers and sleep-inducing narcotic flowers. It has a dark side. A Dexter-esque dark side.

According to my research, the Tin Man was at one time a normal munchkin (as if any munchkin could possibly be normal) known to all as Niccolo ‘Nick’ Chopper. Nick was a simple woodsman, as was his father before him. After tending to his wood alone for years, Nick succumbed to the desires of the flesh and fell for pint-sized tart named Nimmie Amee.

Now, Nimmie worked as a servant to a wretch of an old lady who did not want to lose Nimmie and have to clean up after herself, so she paid the Wicked Witch to intervene. The Witch cast a spell upon Nick’s trusty axe so it would chop off his body parts, one at a time. As each limb came off, Nick employed a local tinsmith to create new prostheses. Yada, yada, yada, long story short, Nick’s entire body is remade in tin except for his heart (duh!). No heart, no way to love, so he didn’t give a crap about Nimmie anymore. In time, Nick’s libido waned and he did the only thing left for a man of tin to do. He became engrossed in his work until he rusted-out and was incapable of movement. Enter Dorothy…

P.S.
Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more macabre, Nimmie ends up marrying a man mostly made up of Nick’s old, discarded body parts. In your face, Mary Shelley.

Noble [sic] Peace Prize

Bees?

Are you freakin’ kidding me? Bees!

Seriously,we’re talking about bees, right? What rung of the evolutionary ladder did these things fall from?

Do you really expect me to believe that some bee just one day thought: “Hey, I’ll just put my excess vomit into this nifty container I made with my poop. I’ll even make some poop-cradles to keep the young’uns in.” Oh, wait it gets better: “And then I’ll get all the other workers to do the same thing. We could ALL save our vomit in these poop capsules, then we'll feed it to the kids. Won’t the Queen be pleased?”

At least they chose the hexagon as the model for their little poop-condo. We would never get the Wiccans to shut up if it happened to be the pentagon. They’d be all: “Look at us, we are Gaia’s Chosen Ones. The bees prove it! Let’s all dress in black and pretend we’re sad vampires.”

And what’s with those Drones (what the hell is parthenogenesis anyway)? Let me get this straight: Drones are male bees developed from an UN-fertilized egg? Last time that happened, the Romans crucified the off-spring. (The Jews were really behind that one, if you believe Mel Gibson.)

Come on people, who’s being naive now? I can’t be the only one to notice this. Freakin' bees.

You Lie!

The wind is studded with obsidian stars.

Yet the solitary plecia nearctica lights on a blade of grass. Alas, he is alone.

Is he repulsive or ugly to his own breed? Is it that his ocelli bulge in an unflattering manner. Could he possibly be gay? Maybe he simply can not fly backwards.

Seemingly wasting away his scant 72 hours of existence, Herbert now hangs still in the morning air. Effortlessly he rides the breeze as if waiting for the world to acknowledge his presence. Herbert has become self-aware. He alone among his peers understands the futility of this bi-annual bibionidae ballet. Wanting more, Herbert explores his province searching for enlightened beings in which to share the only thing he has to offer. His story.

A few days later, Herbert is alone again. His crumpled body lay strewn on the exposed concrete. His blank stare reflecting the realization of a world beyond his comprehension.

"What dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause."

Not to go on a Rant...

From the Field Notes of Green Taylor Simms (Historian):

"Try to think of time not as a river, only flowing in one direction, but more like a subscription to “O” Magazine. Every cover has the face of God on it, and you seem to get next month’s issue long before the current month is over. As you travel forward through time, you are still free to linger in the past. (Did you try that blood orange and watercress salad recipe from July ’08? OMG!)"

Echo Lawrence (Night-timer, Party Crasher):

"If you ask me, time travelers don't dress in silver jumpsuits, they don't have bulbous heads, they don't even remotely resemble Scott Bakula. The real time travelers are the ones you see driving down the road at night and something just doesn’t seem right. They'll have junk strapped to their smashed-up cars like a mattress or a Christmas tree. If there's a full moon, look out for cars with “Just Married” painted on the side and what appears to be the entire wedding party inside. That’s them, or at least the wannabes."

Shot Dunyun (Night-timer, Party Crasher):

"The future you have tomorrow won't be the same future you have yesterday."

Labor Day 2009

A big thank you to our Canadian neighbors to the north for supplying the concept of "Labor Day" to the holiday-deprived United States.

Originating in Hamilton, Ontario during the 1870's as a pagan relief for chronic ennui, Labor Day was adopted by the Presbyterian Church in 1902 as a one of only 17 autumnal high holy days. The last 100+ years have seen this most sacred observance blossom into the drunken introduction to College Football we know today.

True to my gluttonous American up-bringing, I feasted on smoked bovine and suidae flesh, a solanum tuberosum salad with a mayonnaise base, and roasted Peruvian asparagus. Mmmm...