Month: January 2004

The Las Vegas Coroner’s office would like you to help identify human remains. (link goes to a warning page) If it can assist in closing some cases, it can be helpful.

Want to be educated but don’t want to do all that reading? The Powepoint Anthology of Literature might be for you! It’s like Cliff Notes, without the bothersome necessity of having to go out and buy them.

Tired of doing daily chores? Why do tasks yourself when you can have your own anthropomorphic robot to handle those?

Speed cameras protected the UK populace from someone burning rubber at 406mph. In a Peugeot 406, no less. Wow.

Indonesia’s new hotness: civet-cat-poop coffee. Why is it that so many truly revolting things are considered “delicacies” anyway?

Back in my college days I was very fond of poetry, and Byron in particular. I once happened to chance on one of his lesser-known works called The Blues in which a number of leisure-oriented students poked fun at their lecturers in a poetic fashion. Inspired by this I decided to myself write such an ode on the subject of a professor I had for Romantic Literature (how appropriate!) who happened to be particularly harsh when it came to grading.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit to being no Byron, but I did find this poem quite fun to write, and did read it once publicly, so I figured that others may as well enjoy it. Also I haven’t had time to write much in the way of original content lately, so I offer my readers this bit.

The name of that professor is immaterial (she was only “on loan” from another University anyway); however for purposes of rhythm I will specify that her first name was three syllables long, although it could be contracted to two.

Without further ado, The Scourge in the Tower, by Tony A. Emond.

---

In days of old, when we were bold,
And spent days writing term papers,
Our efforts then rewarded were,
For to questions we put answers.

Today alas! we pine ever,
The efforts stay, the reward's gone,
The dumb now rank with the clever
For in the grade book 'tis all one.

For our great King! Noble David,
Perusing upon ancient scrolls
Did there find excessive bounty,
And much incensed did become.

"Why are we stuck with minds like these?"
Thus spoke the Rector's anointed,
"I do not care if it's deserts;
I want to see more dearth and dross."

But there was none there to hear him,
Save one attractive, young lady,
In lowly service she had been,
And advancement was her bounty.

Her hallowed name was J--
From faraway London she hailed,
And the securement of tenure
Was the prize she with her soul paid.

At work she went; her youth did help
Extract sympathy from her charge;
Once they were fooled, she knew she had
Them in the palm of her cruel hand.

I do not say she was all bad --
As lecturer she was peerless,
Witty, well-read and good-humored,
She entertained as well as taught.

Yet in the back of her great mind
A plan, a plot was formenting;
The King's favor she wished to gain
Come hell or high water.

Having thus heard the royal rant,
She could conclude but the one thing:
The enemy ever faced her,
And their silence was but cunning;

They must be stopped, those young upstarts,
From achieving their "A"s and "B"s;
Otherwise she knew she'd never,
Ever secure a stable place

Within the English Department,
And be condemned to spend her life
Revealing herself as human
To all -- yes, even to her class!

She was resolved, her mind made up,
That such a fate she'd not endure;
In harshness she could not be topped,
Save by one savage old-timer.

And what of him? Need we mention
The inf'mous name of Stan H--?
His name is torture to our minds,
Heresy to all who knew him.

How could beauty and black hate so unite?
What demon hath made that infernal match?
We won't surmise, lest me that creature smite
To repeating the curs'd act as we watch.

Proudly then she took up the sword
Used an edge where a pen had done;
Ink flowed like blood from that instant,
And dearth and dross did win the day.

Not content with criticism,
With keeping underlings in check,
She undertook to execute
Those who knelt before her mercy.

Heads rolled that day in Hingston Hall,
In her diseas'd mind bold J--
Decreed that none should stand so tall
But she'd lob off a fifth of him.

(On her behalf, I will hasten to add,
Unlike some others known to preferment
On the basis of sex, J-- was
An equal opportunity butcher)

This grizzly deed having been done,
The prof again took up the sword,
and, far from being satisfied,
Really gave vent to her mean streak.

The helpless lambs, the undergrads,
Without a means to stop the blows,
Complained, petitioned; some gave up,
Taking the shot in the wallet.

Or deaf, or dumb, we know not what,
J-- kept up the slaughter,
Even with a smile on her lips,
Those lips from which venom oft flew.

The falchion now smoking with gore
Kept hacking out, without respite;
Indeed she had such wicked fun
As to share with some minds alike.

To them she produced evidence,
Her scimitar, viscera-hung,
Bloody hands, and forced confessions
Signed unwilling by shaking hands.

No cannibal ever beheld
Such a well-garnished table;
The wails of the victims did cease
In time, along with their life-breath.

I am among those few who lived,
Having tasted of her blade twice;
Pleading for mercy produced sneers;
For humanity, puzzled looks.

---

With no law against the practice, is Germany becoming a haven for cannibalism? I swear I’ll never eat schnitzel again.

Is that a woman at the next urinal stall? The Magic Cone purports to be the great equalizer.

CorporateMofo brings you the Bush Lexicon. Concepts whose time is upon us. Not to be confused with the Bush Dyslexicon

Hmm… for some reason the mods at fark.com have seen fit to ban me for some time. How long? they don’t tell you. What for? they don’t tell you. Tight ship they’re running. In the spirit of keeping things mutual fark has been taken off the “Sites” list.