So did Mack Sennett

Yes, his new Broadway play is called “Hangmen.” Sure, he writes about violent people doing violent things. But at heart, he said, he likes a good laugh.
NYT.

So did Mack Sennett.
Like a good laugh, I mean.
He was also a very violent man.
Who came from what's called Upper Canada.
Although we'd call it Lower Canada.
Sennett became an American citizen
the same year as the Dempsey-Firpo fight.

As I was saying . . . 
Sennett got in Dutch with some bookies
way back before World War One.
The bookies had an interest in a movie
studio out in California.
Although it was really nothing but a dusty grove 
of lemon trees with a large tool shed where they stored the cameras and an Italian barber
who gave shaves under the shade of a large eucalyptus tree.
Anywho . . . so the bookies said they'd cut Sennett 
a deal and let him run the studio for them --
just to get out of the movie bizzness.
They didn't think there was any future in it.

Sennett had no idea what to do with a movie studio.
He was an itinerant opera singer.
Or so I read somewhere. Maybe. Possibly.
But there was this handyman at the studio with strabismus.
Sennett thought he looked funny, so he put him in front of
the camera and had things thrown at him.
Including pies. 
This made Mack Sennett famous and rich and psychotic.
He murdered Charlie Chaplin. But got off on a technicality.
A guy named Billy West took over the Chaplin character.
Sennett sliced two fingers off of Harold Lloyd's left hand in a bar fight.
It was covered up with a lot of hush money.
He had Buster Keaton thrown in front of a train.
Luckily, he jumped onto the cowcatcher just in time.
He insisted that Mabel Normand be his sparring partner
when he was learning muay thai boxing.
He put castor oil in Harry Langdon's chamomile tea during the Spanish Flu Epidemic of 1918. 
Like I say. He was a violent and brutal man.
But he liked a good laugh.
And he lived long enough to lose his studio and all his
money in the Great Depression,
and then wound up with a bit part in the movie
"Abbott & Costello Meet the Keystone Kops"
in 1955.
And that was certainly a good laugh on him.

No science is good science

WASHINGTON — The Trump administration has formally revised a proposal that would significantly restrict the type of research that can be used to draft environmental and public health regulations, a measure that experts say amounts to one of the government’s most far-reaching restrictions on science.

NYT

I hear it all the time from John Q. Public: "Let's have less science in our affairs -- not more!" 

The cry echoes from one end of the country to the other, usually in the form of "The only good scientist is a dead scientist."

I can't say I blame the unshriven masses for their doubts and hostility towards science and its practitioners. After all, it was scientists who began the whole global warming thing, measuring glaciers and gases and telling us that in a few more years we'd be living on an electric griddle turned to 'Pancakes.' And once they started beating that drum all sorts of freakish weather occurred, like that marshmallow Peeps blizzard in North Dakota during Easter that killed several dozen ranchers. Or that disturbing talking cloud that floated down onto Pleasant Grove, Utah, and bored everyone to death with its complaints about zephyrs. It finally lifted, but left behind several catatonic school crossing guards. If scientists had just kept their big fat mouths shut, none of that would have happened -- now would it?

I could go on with many more egregious examples of how science and scientists have abused our trust and confidence over the years, but now that I'm head of the Science Eradication Bureau up here on Capital Hill, I guess I don't have to explain myself to anybody. 

I get a good salary, a small apartment in the attic of the Library of Congress, and all the bean soup I can eat at the Senate cafeteria. Plus my powers are so broad and vague that I can do just as I please and nobody can gainsay me. So I do what I can to diminish the inroads of scientific research. For the benefit of the public.

Like for instance, I recently made it illegal to wear a white lab coat outside of a chiropractor's office. Those guys know what they're about -- but all those other so-called eggheads are just posing. It's so easy to take advantage of someone when you are wearing a white lab coat. I should know -- I got my current position by wearing one in front of a Congressional panel.

And you have me to thank for bringing back the slide rule. No more computers for American scientists -- nossir; if they want to work out an equation they can jolly well use an old fashioned slipstick. If it was good enough for Paracelsus it's good enough for these young brains today. And that's why we've lost the space race and been hacked to death by cyber bandits -- now our economy is one of simple barter and starvation. Which, in turn, provides impetus to a return to our pioneer values -- such as self-reliance, medicinal whisky, and buckshot. 

Of course my Bureau is not against prudent use of common everyday knowledge to better the lot of the American citizen. Far from it! In fact, I've set up a grant program that encourages the use of crystal balls and ouija boards to help predict future global weather patterns. 

The tarot cards are saying that we can expect dust storms in Alaska and a permanent high pressure system over the Wisconsin Dells. With contented polar bears becoming so numerous they obtain the right to vote in Maine. And all this, mind you, is done without mulcting the taxpayer of his or her hard-earned kopeks. The work is done for free by carnies, who only ask in return that they be allowed to run an occasional badger game in Georgetown. 

So if you happen to find one of those outmoded and reactionary scientists hiding in your basement, just email us at burnatthestake@fanatic.com, and we'll send 

over a team of experts to deal with the problem. (It's probably best if you leave your house quickly while we set up the sulfur bombs.)

And, for a limited time only, those who tell us the whereabouts of any chemist, researcher, or physicist, will be sent a free 100 percent cotton t-shirt that says "Save Your Brains for Fantasy Football!" 

They make great party favors.

Repent and Hearken

Therefore, blessed are they who will repent and hearken unto the voice of the Lord their God; for these are they that shall be saved.
Helaman 12:23

Hearken to the voice above;
one of beauty and of love.
Blessings come to those that pray
and repent each fleeting day.
Perfect is eternal life
for those saved from mortal strife.
Won't you join us in our quest
to do good and be your best?

Naked Double Standards

BEIJING — China has accused the Trump administration of having “naked double standards” and indulging in “hegemonic bullying,” promising retaliation after the State Department introduced new rules that will force 60 Chinese journalists to leave the United States this month.

Washington Post

"Naked double standards" sounds like fun and games to me;

something I could get into if it was on TV.

But then I see that it refers to Chinese writers who

have to leave our country cuz they ain't red-white-and-blue.

What does a Chinese editor say to her minions here?

"Make the Yankee devils look like they are insincere!"

Or maybe "Show much chaos in the streets and in the courts!"

"Explain how the Americans are drunk on sex and sports!"

Coming from a foreigner it's propaganda, true;

but it is pretty much what native writers often spew.

Freedom of the press is fine, when natives rant and foam.

But when the Chinese do it we will send those rascals home!

Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God?

Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God? Know ye not that he hath all power, and at his great command the earth shall be rolled together as a scroll?
Mormon 5:23

In the hands of God are we;

he cradles us most tenderly.

His matchless power has no end,

and yet he wants to be our friend.

The earth at his command shall change;

he flattens out the mountain range.

A fool alone rejects his ways,

while dragging out his bitter days.

I went to work for Bloomberg and I wasn't very happy

"Every year, hundreds of departing employees at Bloomberg L.P. are presented with a choice: Either leave the company empty-handed or accept a generous financial package and agree to never speak ill of the company. Many take the money."

NYT.

I went to work for Bloomberg, and I wasn't very happy.

In fact I found his company was really pretty crappy.

I toughed it out as long as I could possibly endure it,

until I shouted in despair "Oh bother, just manure it!"

Directly was I circled by his mighty HR mavens,

spiraling around me like a flock of croaking ravens.

They rushed me to a conf'rence room to hold an exit powwow.

(I wish now I had brought along a regulation snowplow.)

Unctuously offering to buy me off eternal,

if only I would never speak of Bloomberg as infernal,

they handed me a wad of cash -- enough to choke a hippo --

and in return I only had to keep my lips all zippo.

At first I wallowed in my wealth; I even bought an Audi

and bathed in bathtubs of champagne like any other Saudi.

But journalists kept coming 'round to pester me with queries,

asking for opinions about Bloomberg and his theories.

My mouth was like a Ziplock bag; not one bean was I spilling.

But finally they wore me down (as gin I kept on swilling.)

And so I gave an interview, and so I killed the goose

that laid my golden eggs so fine -- my wealth did all vamoose.

Today I'm broke and unemployed, and writers will not hear

any Bloomberg stories that they once did loudly cheer.

Golden silence I did spurn, to see my name in print --

and what have I to show for it but just a speck of lint?

The covenant of my peace.

 For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.
3 Nephi 22:10

The kindness of the Lord of Hosts
outlasts the mountains hard;
it cannot be diminished
or in any way be marred.
His peace is ever present
in this world so full of fear;
all those who seek his mercy
will find that it's very near.
O troubled man, where'er thou art,
endure one moment longer --
and you will find the Lord of Hosts
is there to make you stronger!

Clean Noses. (Prose Poem)

Mount Pinky. Felbish Range. Wootland.

In Tuesday’s debate, Warren and Buttigieg both said their personal mottos come from scripture. Buttigieg cited a theme that appears in multiple parts of the Bible: “If you would be a leader, you must first be a servant.” Warren cited Matthew 25, which says, in part: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” Biden appeared in a CNN town hall Wednesday — Ash Wednesday — with ashes on his forehead.

Michelle Boorstein. Washington Post. 

I've enjoyed many different religions over a long and graveled lifetime.

As a child I worshiped the Mississippi River. 

It's brown, smelly waters spoke to my soul of churning hope.

Whenever I caught a carp with my cane pole I would rip its heart out and eat it raw. Hoping, I guess, to gain its sang-froid in the face of living in such a polluted environment. 

As a teenager I joined the Church of Surliness -- taking a vow of silence as far as my parents were concerned. But my tongue began to fuse to the roof of my mouth, so I became a dairy advocate instead. We built a mountain of cottage cheese in Nebraska that would still be there if it weren't for the Anti-Lactosites. 

As a religious refugee I found shelter with the Umish in Pennsylvania. They don't really believe in much, so they go around saying "Um . . . " a lot. I was so impressed with their lack of fanaticism that I asked to join their community. 

That would have been it for me, religiously speaking, except that I met a Grumbletonian from Oxford and fell in love with her. We eloped one moon-lit night and lived like Hobbits for many happy years. When she died I decided there was no real system of faith to which my allegiance could be given, so I moved to Utah and became a Jack Mormon. I made so many friends who wanted to reform me that eventually I started my own political party and became Governor. I was later thrown out of office for giving candy to babies. 

Today I relax on my ant farm and never give the afterlife any thought at all. Like Voltaire, I tend my garden and keep my nose clean.

And clean noses, as we all know, are next to godliness. 

Destroyed by Pestilence.

And they that believe not in him shall be destroyed . . . by pestilence . . .  And they shall know that the Lord is God, the Holy One of Israel.
2 Nephi 6:15

Master over life and death,

we beseech thee for our breath

in this time of plague and woe --

lead us not to overthrow!

Please forgive our doubts and fears;

we pray this epidemic clears.

Help us to obey, despite

dread at the approaching night.

All our courage comes from thee;

thou art our security!

Largely Indifferent. (Prose Poem)

Canadians have been largely indifferent to the arrival of the royal couple. But Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s government has faced repeated questions about who will foot the bill for the family’s security.

Amanda Coletta.  Washington Post.

I have spent my life largely indifferent to the shifts and upheavals around me. As a small boy I fell down a badger hole and tumbled in front of a wise man dressed in velveteen fog; he waited for me to stop crying and then said "Nothing is real, except the last potato chip."
Somehow, that comforted me. I managed to claw my way out of the badger hole to begin a life of shabbiness and irrelevance -- but that wise old man's words stuck with me like pills on a sweater.
My first job out of college was in a warehouse, counting off yards of bubble wrap with a gadget that eventually gave me carpal tunnel syndrome. I took Workman's Comp and traveled the country by bus. I wasn't seeking anything in particular, just rambling around to see how other people dealt with the mundane idiocy of everyday life.
I took a job for a while as a dishwasher in a greasy spoon-slash-gas station up in the high Sierras, where Warner Brother logos had proliferated back in the 1940's. The denizens of the cafe were all beat up looking specimens that scratched themselves constantly and spouted weary platitudes while they drank coffee and snacked on fried bandanas. The waitress' name was Trixie. She had a heart of gold, and long loopy earrings to match. She kept bringing me coffee and stale donuts, to 'build you up -- you're so scrawny' -- even though I told her I didn't drink coffee and stale pastry nauseated me. I finally threw her in a cactus patch, and she seemed to finally get the message.
When I'd had my fill of drippings and drips, I got back on the next bus and headed up to Canada.
You have probably noticed by now, from my grammar and syntax, that I am not a native English speaker. I did not come to America until I was fifteen. That explains why I still have three eyebrows.
On the bus to Canada I met a charming couple, the Pawlty-Drawboats. They're related to the Royal Family in Great Britain somehow, but they were completely down-to-earth.
"Have a potato chip, old boy" said Sir Pawlty-Drawboats to me as we sped through the boglands of Saskatchewan.
"Don't mind if I do, old chap" I replied lightly. "What brings you and the Duchess to moose country?"
"Oh, I dunno . . . bit of a tiff back home and all that" he replied, burbling through his mustache. "These provincials treat us like equals, not paper dolls, y'know. We can get away with wearing polyester and eating crisps in public -- potato chips, you bounders call them, what?"
We sat in companionable silence, sharing his bag of crisps, until I took the last one, bowed my head to him in mock deference, and popped it in my mouth.
Then, as the wise old man had predicted so many years before, reality set in.
"You two are pretentious bores" I told him, "and I'm a luftmensch."
I got off the bus in Burnaby and began a new purpose-driven life as an artisan saddle soaper.
I take great pride in my product and have funded a local bowling team. Because thinking small makes me feel large.