Maynard Holtz & The Limits Of Human Incompetence

Who was Smiley Man Smiley? The answers surprised no one. From a day spa in Oklahoma City's controversial "strip mall district" (also known as "Oklahoma City") to the oil-spattered shores of Angola (specifically Sumbe, but it could be true for Benguela as well) messages were sent, unencrypted, in briefcases & pinned to children's shirts so they wouldn't forget. "Amortization" was the magic word & every other default was someone else's fault. The other every other? The authorities would come to blame Maynard Holtz.

Known socially for casting & filming his own birthdays since he was twelve, Holtz employed a "plumber" (which was a code name for a real plumber with a gay ponytail who owned a sniper rifle signed by Charles Whitman) discovered in a mercenary magazines & the new, non-digest-sized TV Guide, who was known as Smiley Man Smiley. Smiley Man Smiley himself employed a cadre of Jim Croce impersonators who operated out of a studio known as the Bad Bad Leroy Brown building but who, as far as authorities could ascertain, were never hired to perform any of the soft-rock star's hits at parties, private functions, or clubs. It was suspected, of course, that they were the "plumber's friends," which made them the laughingstock of all meetings of the United Cover Bands Union, where they found relief only when the members of a suburban Foreigner tribute band would attend.

Holtz was seen cavorting (although other witnesses would claim he was carousing) with Smiley Man Smiley during at least three commercial breaks when Oklahoma City denizens would come out of their condominium cubicles to sit politely at a bar & watch three-fourths of an episode of "The Sons Of Anarchy" at a time. Holtz himself welcomed these diversions from continual church attendance, but never danced nor drank nor pinky-swore, as was sometimes the custom. The three confirmed conversations with Smiley Man Smiley would begin as shouting matches, but soon settled into what bartender Robert Magoo called "a huddle." This proved to be wise: with the two men so entangled, no one could hear what they discussed.

No one but Oklahoma City ATF Agent Jeremy Slow. Slow made his fortune by installing restrooms in Oklahoma City gas stations, & happened to be at Willard's Gas & Snax, the same gas station where pigeons were first cloned, when he saw a scribbling on the wall of one of his famous men's rooms, which read something like, "For a good time, call the Division Of Alcohol, Tobacco, & Firearms." One short night course later, he had been put in charge of the agency's Malignancy Division. Though short of funds & staff - he was allowed only twenty dollars a day & a faithful sidekick who had lost his ability to discern sarcasm at Waco - Slow noticed Smiley Man Smiley at a famous dog breeder's funeral, &, followed him after the chaos that ensued when they attempted to inter the man's dogs in his tomb. The commotion was caused by the fact that the dogs were still very much alive.

Smiley Man Smiley thought he had lost the plucky ATF rookie, but Slow had slipped into an adult video store where, it turned out, Maynard Holtz had his own private booth. Often confusing it for a confessional, Holtz told the Asian peep show dancers everything, including his bloody oil dealings in Angola, his numerous failed attempts to blackmail actual stars to appear on "Dancing With The Stars," & the financial deals which had him purchasing mortgages for disaffected Mexican drug lords, who mainly just wanted an in-ground pool & perhaps a nice little bungalow, somewhat away from the property, where they could keep their mothers-in-law fat & happy.

As expected, Holtz gave up everyone, especially Smiley Man Smiley, who, as you doubtless know, turned out to be none other than Roger Chillingworth, the antagonist of Nathaniel Hawthorne's masterpiece of sin & guilt, The Scarlet Letter. Being a fictional character, he was not allowed to take the stand, but it is said he still visits Maynard Holtz in his day-prison, & often gives him rides home at night, where the two stare bewilderedly at Holtz's ankle-bracelet monitor & get a little angry when commercials interrupt their favorite sitcom reruns.

As a post-script, Jeremy Slow, fresh from his first & only triumph as an ATF agent, quit the agency & now lives as a retired steamboat captain in land-locked Missoula, Montana.

The Sad News

Yes, newspapers are dying a horrible death, while American culture, unable to see truth past ideology, crippled by a financial crisis exacerbated both caused & "helped" by greedy moneyed people insensitive & apathetic to anyone or anything but their class, their corporate overlords, & their bottom line, falls sadly to pieces, to be replaced by who knows what, & in the middle of it all, forces more sinister than even those (whose evil is banal & whose appetite is vulgar & obvious) seek to replace some standard of justice & right with twisted hurt & sadistic want - friends, the future has never looked more bleak. Not, of course, if you weren't aware of the War On Sailing.

Sadly, the War On Sailing radio show is no more. While I would love to blame it on pressure from above, or sneaky corporate misdirection, or confounding & scheming from within, the fact is, the War On Sailing offices are in need of tidying & relocation. I will attempt to update the playlists for the final two months in the near future, & continue to compose and collate dispatches from the front, & the back, & probably the sides. It may be too much to expect dispatches from the seedy underbelly, which is how one client got impetigo, & of course it's just unpleasant to get dispatches from the rear.

Will it reemerge at some point? I wonder myself. Just stay tuned.

"War On Sailing" Playlist March 15, 2009

This was a very long show during a very short Spring Break. & that's the long & short of it.

Screw Radio: "I'm A Generation X" from I'm A Generation X
Roots Manuva: "C.R.U.F.F." from Slime & Reason
Blacklisted Individuals: "Fist Full Of Strife" from Fist Full Of Strife
Volcano Suns: "Four Letters" from All-Night Lotus Party

Matmos: "Count Tweakula (Donnacha Costello Remix)" from American Breakbeat Rebuilt
Sleepy Eyes Of Death: "Shattered Limbs" from Dark Signals
Bad Sports: "All The Time" from All The Time
Howlies: "Dirty Woman" from Trippin' With Howlies
Broken Family Band: "The Booze & The Drugs" from Balls

The Bad Plus: "Variation d'Apollon" from For All I Care
Headhunters: "Rima" from Survival Of The Fittest
Jean-Luc Ponty: "Rhum 'n' Zouc" from Tchokola
Amon Düül II: "Archangels Thunderbird" from Yeti
Lejeune: "Replaced By Robots" from For Club & Country

Ruth Copeland: "Suburban Family Lament" from Gimme Shelter: The Invictus Sessions
King Clarentz: "Martha Stewart" from Day Of The Supermodel
Jerry Lewis: "Sunday Driving" from Jerry Lewis: Capitol Collector's Series
Carrots: "Secret Since '99" from Local Live Volume 13: Stimulus Package
Built By Snow: "All The Weird Kids Know" from Mega

P.O.S.: "Savion Glover" from Never Better
Illustrate: "Winter Lady" from The Stuff
AYB M.O.D.: "Turn Back The Clock" from G.A.M.M Allstars Doin James
Philip Glass: "Island" from Glassworks
Gourds: "Foggy Blossom (Mechanical Bride)" from Cow Fish Fowl Or Pig

Arborea: "Onto The Shore" from House Of Sticks
Depth Affect" from Modellbilder: "Little Darla Has A Treat For You, Vol. 24: Endless Summer Edition
Michna: "Triple Chrome Dipped" from Ghostly Swim
The Great Luke Ski: "What's Up Spock?" from Unconventional

Kasai Allstars: "Katuulu Balu" from Congotronics 3: In The 7th Moon, The Chief Turned Into A Swimming Fish & Ate The Head Of His Enemy By Magic
Badawi: "Enter The Heretic" from The Heretic Of Ether
Guild League: "Mouse Vs Mountain" from Speak Up
Lucksmiths: "Good Light" from First Frost

Bertha "Chippie" Hill: "Trouble In Mind" from Fattenin' Frogs For Snakes: The Essential Recordings Of The Blues Ladies
Lightnin' Hopkins: "Gamblers Blues" from Devil's Blues
Clarence Pinetop Smith: "Jump Steady Blues" from Piano Boogie Woogie Vol. 2
T-Bone Walker: "Mean Old World" from Colored

Bran Flakes: "I Comb My Hair Sideways" from I Have Hands
Aurora Plastics Company: "No Place For Restriction" from No Place For Restriction
The Thoughts: "1235" from Consider The Bear
Eugene Mirman: "Joking & Lying/Jack In The Box/Extreme Bowling" from En Garde, Society!
Abe Vigoda: "Don't Lie" from Reviver EP

The Belleville Outfit: "Caroline" from Wanderin'
Klaus Nomi: "Metronomi" from Za Bakdaz
Billie Holiday: "Gloomy Sunday" from Lady Day: The Best Of Billie Holiday
Blue Giant: "Lonely Girl" from Target Heart EP

Charles Spearin: "Mrs. Morris" from The Happiness Project
Los Destellos: "Para Elisa" from The Roots Of Chicha: Psychedelic Cumbias From Peru
MC Solaar: "Paris Samba" from Chapitre 7
Dadamnphreaknoizphunk: "Waiting (feat. Jen)" from The Cheerleaders Are Smiling At You

The War On Sailing. Detailed & delineated Sundays 7 to 9am on KVRX Austin.

"War On Sailing" Playlist March 8, 2009

Some people, I hear tell, can recreate radio shows from playlists in the same way baseball fans can recreate ball games from the descriptions in the little boxes in the newspapers. This playlist, then, is for those people.

Ryan Lee Crosby: "Nicoline" from Out To Dry
One Happy Island: "Shorthand" from Promotional Sampler
Mystic Zephyrs: "It's Much Too Soon" from Maybe
Tanya Donelly & Dylan In The Movies: "The Lovecats" from Just Like Heaven

Dim Dim" from Riri: "Little Darla Has A Treat For You - Volume 17
Squarepusher: "The Coathanger" from Just A Souvenir
Hypnoz: "Generation Qui En Veut" from Compte Avec Moi
Bran Flakes: "Dance Of The Sugarsnap Fairy" from I Have Hands
Yusef Lateef: "Nile Valley Blues" from Reevaluations: The Impulse Years
Fight Bite: "Age Of Faith" from Emerald Eyes

Johnny Dollar: "Action Packed" from Gene Vincent Cut Our Songs: Primitive Texas Rockabilly & Honky Tonk
Gary Numan: "Me! I Disconnect From You" from BBC Sessions
Amar Singh Chamkila: "Jija Lak Min Le" from Kings & Queens - The Best Panjabi Roots Music
Billy Eckstine & His Orchestra: "I Love The Rhythm In A Riff" from The Savoy Story
Academy Of St. Martin-In-The-Fields Under Neville Marriner: "W.A. Mozart: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (Serenade), K. 525; 1st. Movement" from Amadeus: Original Soundtrack Special Edition: Directors Cut

Lee Fields: "Problems" from Problems
The Final Solution: "Girl In My Life" from Brotherman Soundtrack
Norman Rose: "Deteriorata" from Greatest Hits Of The National Lampoon
Robyn Hitchcock & The Venus Three: "What You Is" from Goodnight, Oslo
Abashed: "Exploitation Is Cool!" from Green Light Go!

Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele: "College Town Boy" from The Good Feeling Music Of...
The Colours: "Helplessly Hoping" from Colours
Ezra Weiss: "Get Happy" from Get Happy
Peanuts Hucko: "Memories Of You" from Peanuts Hucko - Vol. 2

Elder Utah Smith: "Two Wings & Every Man's Got To Lay Down & Die" from I Got Two Wings
Claude Rains: "Joseph & His Coat Of Many Colors" from Bible Stories For Children
Ashra: "Deep Distance" from New Age Of Earth

You don't just have to do for this show, either. There are more at kvrx.org. Your brain will bleed.

"War On Sailing" Playlist March 1, 2009

Do I look fat in this playlist?

Bosque Brown: "Train Song" from Baby
Blue Giant: "Lonely Girl" from Target Heart EP
La Fille d'Erne: "Ta Petite Amie (I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend)" from Ramones Forever: An International Tribute
Howlies: "Sea Level" from Trippin' With Howlies
Big Sonny & His Furies: "Fail Safe" from Fail Safe

Distant Seconds: "Half A Believer" from Spectral Evidence
The Juan MacLean: "One Day" from The Future Will Come
Mux Mool: "Night Court" from Ghostly Swim
Spoonie Gee: "The Big Beat" from The Big Beat
Captain Dan & The Scurvy Crew: "Hook It Up" from Rimes Of The Ancient Mariners

Freddy Kempf: "Impromptu No. 4 In C Sharp Minor, Op. 66, 'Fantaisie-impromptu'" from Chopin: 4 Ballades / Polonaise-Fantaisie / Fantaisie-Impromptu
Glenn Miller & His Orchestra: "Song Of The Volga Boatmen" from A Legendary Performer
Frank Teschemacher (with Eddie Condon & Quartet): "Indiana" from Clarinet Masters
George Wild Child Butler: "Axe & The Wind" from Willie Dixon - Mr Dixon's Workshop

Kutumba: "Maitighar" from Folk Roots
Rokia Traore: "Kounandi" from Tchmantche
Charles Steven Page: "Suddenly" from Bizarro Compilation #1
Juni Jarvi: "If We Just Want To" from Wherever Thou Art

Del Reeves: "Barroom Talk" from Friends & Neighbors
Salesman: "Beekeeper" from Sweetheart
Rattlesnake Cooper: "Rattlesnake Blues" from Howling Wolf Blues: The Story Of Talent & Star Talent
Johnny Nicholas: "Tell Me Why" from Bocce Boogie

Earthtribe: "Indian Dope Trick" from Indian Dope Trick
Spaceships Are Cool: "Let Things Go" from Spaceships Are Cool
Robert Tilton: "Singing In Tongues" from Jesus Made Me Do It Volume 2
Fishboy: "Talking To The Doctor After Pressing The Elevator Button That Grew On Your Forehead Overnight Causing Your Legs To Grow Uncontrollably" from Zipbangboom

You'd tell me, right? Right?

"War On Sailing" Playlist February 22, 2009

I heard tell of a President's Day like no other, where all the famous dead presidents appeared in a deejay's head, & he woke up only slightly more confused than he normally did, it being 6am on a Sunday & only thirty minutes since he went to bed. Then, without warning, he played this music on the radio:

Bennis Hess: "Novelty Yodel" from Wild Hog Hop
Pains Of Being Pure At Heart: "Come Saturday" from Pains Of Being Pure At Heart
Tears Run Rings: "Send Me Back" from Always, Sometimes, Seldom, Never
Dear Nora: "The Sign Of The Times" from Three States: Rarities 1997-2007

Yuksek: "Break Ya" from Away From The Sea
Powerfunk: "Kill Your Children" from Pie!
Roxanne Shante: "Let's Rock Y'all" from Bad Sister
Femi Kuti: "Do You Know" from Day By Day
Oto Psoa: "Les Chemins d'Allahabad" from Asian Vibes
The Appleseed Cast: "Like A Locus (Shake Hands With The Dead)" from Sagarmatha

Buddy Tate: "Texas Twister" from Buddy Tate: The Texas Twister
Ernie K-Doe: "Here Come The Girls" from New Orleans Funk
Original Dixieland Jazz Band: "Livery Stable Blues" from The First Jazz Recordings, 1917-1921
Harry Simeone Chorale: "Onward Christian Soldiers" from The Ember Records Story Volume 1

Bronnt Industries Kapital: "Underground" from Haxan
Bell Telephone Labs: "Computer Speech" from Computer Speech
Lucksmiths: "California In Popular Song" from First Frost
Sally Timms: "Dreaming Cowboy" from Cowboy Sally's Twilight Laments... For Lost Buckaroos

The Secret History: "The Ballad Of The Haunted Hearts" from Desolation Town EP
This Microwave World: "In Hospital" from The Same Things Kill Your Kids
Sad Day For Puppets: "Marble Gods" from Unknown Colors

Mrs. L Reed & Mrs T A Duncans: "Light In The Valley" from Goodbye, Babylon
Big Joe Williams: "Coffeehouse Blues" from 55 Years Of Blues
Lee Hunter: "Back To Santa Fe" from Down Home Blues Classics 1943-1953
Sidike Diabate, Batrou Sekou & Djelimedi Sissoko: "Asumuka" from African Roots
Xela: "You Are In The Stars" from Tangled Wool

Where did this happen? Perhaps you didn't hear it, but you can find it on Sundays from 7 to 9am on 91.7 fm KVRX Austin.

"War On Sailing" Playlist February 15, 2009

Do you remember the mid-Februarys? They say that they never quite catch on, but you can get caught on one of them. Here's what was caught on this past mid-February:

Belle & Sebastian: "Stars Of Track & Field" from The BBC Sessions
Provision: "Intruder" from Visualize
Klaus Nomi: "Valentine's Day" from Za Bakdaz
Edan: "Syllable Practice" from Primitive Plus
Dan Le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip: "Angles" from Angles

Natacha Atlas: "When I Close My Eyes" from The Best Of Natacha Atlas
Rokia Traore: "Tounka" from Tchmantche
L'Altra: "Goodbye Music" from In The Afternoon
Antony & The Johnsons: "Kiss My Name" from The Crying Light
Phil Phillips: "The Evil Dope" from The Evil Dope

Freddie Keppard: "Messin' Around (Cookie's Gingersnaps)" from The Legend
Hank Locklin: "You're The Reason" from Happy Journey
Kinney Abair & Sonny Boy Terry: "Mr. Rockefeller" from Texas Harmonica Greats
Jimmy Holiday: "The Turning Point" from Dave Godin's Deep Soul Treasures: Taken From Our Vaults, Vol. 1

Rusty Warren: "The Newlyweds" from Knockers Up
Distant Seconds: "Your Politics" from Spectral Evidence
Voyeurism Is The New Tattoo: "Luxuriator" from Luxuriator
The Reflecting Skin: "Traffickers" from Ghostly Swim
Benga" from 26 Basslines: "Diaries Of An Afro Warrior
The Mackrosoft: "Hold Up" from Antonio's Giraffe

Michael Jacobson: "Concerto Da Camera: Allegro (Fisher Tull) (with the Baylor University Brass Quintet)" from Mixed Company
Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele: "I'm An Alcoholic" from The Good Feeling music Of...
Tamiya Lynn: "Mojo Hannah" from In Yo' Face!- The Roots Of Funk, Vol. 0.5
Ruthie Foster: "Stone Love" from The Truth According To Ruthie Foster

Burning Hearts: "The Galloping Horse" from Aboa Sleeping
Aissaoua Brotherhood Of Marrakesh: "'Ada (Part 2)" from Morocco The Music of Islam, Vol. 5: Aissaoua Sufi Ceremony
Angelo Badalamenti: "Dance Of The Dream Man" from Music From Twin Peaks

The old post is still standing. It stands Sundays from 7 to 9am on 91.7 fm KVRX Austin. Then, slightly worn out, it sits again.

Remembering Dogface Clifton

I was in the marketplace of ideas on the other side of Remington Avenue last Thursday next haggling over the price of strawberries & the Protestant concept of "free will" when word came down from unreliable sources that Homer Baraka "Dogface" Clifton has at last shuffled off his mortal coil. By all accounts, he was rather old, but he was also tenacious, & many folks expected him to outlive us all, usually to his face, if only to shut him up when he was complaining about the rheumatism. His death went unnoticed in the press because he was not in the least bit famous, but scholars of The War On Sailing knew him by sight, & unfortunately by smell.

Born somewhere on or near an apple cart just a few miles outside of Pennsylvania, Clifton was used as a glorified road sign & dinner bell for his hard-working parents, who sold cynicism door-to-door in the otherwise positive glow of post-war America. Accused often of heresy & redaction during his formative years, Clifton left formal schooling after accidentally making out with Neal Cassady, who had been introducing himself around town as Marie The Bellhop, & who was reportedly charmed by Clifton's inability to whisper. Clifton was to compulsively enroll in various schools, programs, seminaries, drug tests & surveys the entire rest of his life, but unsurprisingly never was able to attend or finish any of them. He was fond of saying, "I just like to sign on the dotted line."

Drafted to serve in Vietnam despite being unable to read an eye chart or even hear the instructions, Clifton hopped a boat & fled to Cambodia, incorrectly believing he was going to Cornwall. A lengthy imprisonment gave him a great deal of time to work on his hobby of inventing difficult Tom Swifties (one of his most famous was, "'They just took my left ventricle & right aorta,' he said, half-heartedly") & to examine the details of a government in decline. After he accidentally bested Saloth Sar (later known as "Pol Pot") in a game of Theravada Buddhism Horseshoes when the future dictator was touring rural prisons, he was expelled from the country. A chance encounter with a record by British mod/psychedelic band the Creation coincided with his first attempt at snorting crystallized cough syrup, & Clifton realized for the first time the central factors in what we now call "The War On Sailing."

It was at this time that he received his famous nickname, which people had called him since adolescence, actually, because he kind of looked like a dog. That condition got worse as he got older, much to the chagrin of dogs, all of whom were always more attractive than Clifton.

Hiding out for a long time (the entire 1970s) in a deaf couple's basement in Canberra, Australia, Clifton wrote several memorable observational treatises which have served as references for the entire Oceanic critique. In particular, it is widely thought that Clifton's polemics against SEATO, which he called "an anagram that smells like butt," brought the organization down despite its ineffectiveness in the United States' invasion of Vietnam. Clifton also privately published at this time angry letters he wrote to SEATO headquarters in Bangkok, although he did managed to ask for coupons at the end of every one.

"He was a showman," a colleague at the time wrote in personal correspondence upon hearing about Clifton's death. "Since nothing ever made any sense to him, he forewent the whole idea of reasoned argument. He was bellicose but conciliatory, blustery but demure, formal in manner but informal in personal hygiene. He was a little hard to be around, if you can believe that."

He accepted a seat in the California Underground Quilters Parliament at the beginning of the 1980s, but resigned once he explained that he had just stowed away on a liner for months just to get a new chair. Falling in love with the beach in Southern California, his affections were subsequently spurned. (Explained the beach, "I'm more attracted to surfers.") He moved, broken-hearted & drunken, to Utah, where he worked as a wife-tagger for a fanatical Mormon splinter group which claimed their holy writings demanded that all men have at least four hundred wives each. To help the husbands identify them, Dogface made attracted tee shirts for every wife, some with catchy sayings that later, in a manner that is still unclear, became popular slogans for fast food chains such as Wendy's & Taco Bell.

He wrote little (well, that wasn't on a tee shirt) in those days. His letters to the Christian Science Monitor, while generally on target about Broadway shows & the skin cancer chances of famous Republicans, were generally devoid of the insight which made his 1970s writing so powerful. In particular, Clifton refused to discuss populist movements, the decline of Disney animation, or anything having to do with the television show "Who's The Boss" - three of the great pillars of War On Sailing scholarship of the 1980s. His old compatriots, more or less disgusted by what they saw as his decline, but also probably too busy watching "Night Court," quickly abandoned him, & he seemed to be entering what many would consider obscurity.

But in the mid-90's, a traffic accident with a cast member of "Friends" propelled him back into the spotlight, & he became a staff writer for "E! News Daily," a "newscast" on a vapid pay cable channel which reported primarily on the cast of "Friends." Clifton inserted clues to those in the know about the actual state of the world, which he discovered to his delight was being re-written on the fly by powerful Hollywood moguls who actually did have four hundred wives each (& for whom he also made tee shirts which, as is now well-understood, became the names & plot-lines for every horror film released since 1997). It was heady stuff, & those of us who remember those days look back fondly on a brief moment when an actual "news" telecast contained real information.

Sleeping with the enemy took its toll, so Clifton began sleeping at ramshackle Hollywood parties, including a famous weekend at Tom Cruise's place, which he would never speak about, but which always produced one small tear at the corner of his left eye. He began writing pieces for the Internet, most of which he'd delete a few days later, so trying to catch a Clifton commentary became a frustrating game for his admirers. The fire had died a little during the Bush monarchy, but his continuing obsession with a group of far-right-wing Boy Scouts in Birmingham, Alabama, shed more light on Dick Cheney than the Vice President could tolerate, & a group of thugs armed only with Ralph Reed masks assaulted Clifton last year when he emerged from Nick Nolte's goldfish pond to steal some cheese crackers for breakfast.

Clifton made a slow but creaky recovery, & hopes were high that he'd be back sleeping on Bill Maher's lawn in no time. But it was not to be. An infection characterized by doctors as "reluctant" caused Clifton to return to the hospital, where he managed to infect not only his doctors, but also two nurses, a bedpan cleaner, the three other patients in his room, & former Laker Norm Nixon. He died not very peacefully, screaming at the top of his lungs, in his hospital bed, earlier this year.

Former friends are considering a collection of his many articles, letters, screeds & (in his later years) twitters.

Cogwell Machine: Birth, Uses, Stuff

Enrest Lemmoin invented the Cogwell Machine in his second wife's sewing room on a cold January morning this very day, February 5, 2009, in 1859. While English by birth, he was British in temperament, & lived his entire life in the small village just outside the hamlet located due east of the growing suburb south of Baltimore, Maryland. Not far enough south, though, as his village was either in the United States or in the United States Virgin Islands. Not even a hastily modified land-bridge could help the hapless atlas markers.

Enrest showed a propensity for proposals are a pretentious age. Ever full of ideas, young Enrie (as he wasn't called by virtually everyone who knew him) stuck his button-up nose into imaginary arguments between peddler & pedant, cop & choreographer, shopkeep & shut-in, artist's model & model citizen. His "solutions" (as he called them, making the quotes with his fingers) were more often than not embraced by the disputers, if only to make Lemmoin go away. His self-esteem thus enhanced, Enrie lived to butt in another day. & another day. & another day.

Graduated from a tiny arts college located in the storeroom of West Point in 1844, Lemmoin immediately enlisted in the Peace Corps, one hundred & twenty years before its invention. Having no government sponsorship, his ill-conceived plan to work in a small village in central Africa turned disastrous, but since Lemmoin barely made it out alive & swore never to speak of it again, we shan't either, except to say that it was not there, as previously imagined, that Enrest acquired his taste for human flesh. That would happen when he became friends Stephen F. Douglas.

Still spry & nimble though possessed of a crushing ego, Lemmoin took to inventing in the inventive 1850s. That decade saw the invention of the baseball bracket, the curlicue curtain, the car stereo (though not just recognized as such), the Society For Creative Anachronism, grape jelly on a stick, malaria (not considered a great invention), dental dams, fast-acting baby oil, & that picture of a heart with an arrow through it, among others. Lemmoin jumped into the market with both pants down, & found employment at Hooper's Inventions, Unlimited.

Old Man Hooper (whose really name was Young Man Hooper) ran a tight ship, although he allowed the famously seasick Lemmoin to work in his Manhattan office. Lemmoin was essential in the invention of such common household items as the stapler, the common house string roll, & refrigerator magnets, but he dreamt bigger, his dreams aided by the enormous amount of opium he smoked, & the enormous amount of gin given to all the employees of Hooper's Inventions, Unlimited. He'd return home every night with ideas cracking through the back of his head - although later, he'd admit it might just be blood.

The Cogwell Machine was patented just before the Civil War got all whiny. Demand at first was scarce, but as Americans (in rebellion & not) learned about the wonders of this modern labor-saving device, it was reduced to nothing. Even Abraham Lincoln mentioning that he had one in White House during his annual weekly radio address failed to help the product, mainly because he was out of town that week, so David Brenner did the address. The failure of the Cogwell Machine drove Enrest Lemmoin to the brink of despair, & then over that brink, into the sad pool of blood & bones called suicide.

Lemmoin died unhappy, leaving behind his three wives, nineteen children, kin in central Africa, & the fortune he made inventing refrigerator magnets. All three wives remarried the same person, & that person's grandson discovered the Cogwell Machine in one of his funny-looking relative's attics one day. Amazed that somone in his family, at that point the scions of New England aristocracy & three-time winner of Lifetime Achievement Awards from Inbreeding Today, could have invented something so practical terrified him, so he burned down the house. Ironically, though he lost an uncle, an aunt, two cousins, two wives, his left arm, part of his face, & a pet goldfish named spot, the fire fighters were able to save the prototype of the Cogwell Machine, which was quickly secured by the Department of the Secret Stuff & flown by unhappy butterflies to Washington.

Where it languishes to this day. Yes, the rumors are true! The Cogwell Machine not only exists, but it works! Rumor has it former Vice President Cheney spent more time with it than with his terrorist torture subjects. What does it do? Oh, you know what it does. When can we see? Oh, I believe we'll see - soon. Soon.

Arts &/Or Crafts

The Never Clean live in the Untidy Areas where Nothing happens. Leaving aside their allegiance to the Filth & to Disaster, it's fully possible to imagine a political or cultural scenario where the Never Clean serve a purpose, never useful, always Insidious, for the Powers-That-Are. & my friends, not only has this happened repeatedly in the past few Whens, it may yet be happening Now.

It is a strange fact of sociology that, although there are the Never Clean, there are not the Always Clean. For although most people will tell you they live somewhere in the discomfort between Normality & Hyperbole, they can never quite achieve the latter. Don't get me wrong - it is inherently human that we strive toward the Hyperbole - & fall toward it, too, on its other end. Or else there would be the need for Cure songs. But that we can never reach the more happy Hyperbole (the unhappy Hyperbole would probably be eternal damnation, so perhaps we never reach that, either) is an essential part of our natures.

Perhaps, then, the Never Clean are also mythological, & this essay spoke out of turn. Frankly, the author of this essay had not expected to be blind-sided by a kind of inner dialogue more often reserved for the dog-end of a long night of drinking. There were many other insights that this essay was prepared to share, but, as it stands, they are rendered suspect by the admission that the Hyperbole can never be reached, whether the reach be grasping high or digging low. Therefore, the tag "Never Clean," containing, as it does, the Hyperbole in its own title, becomes a useless description of a class of humanity which this essay endeavored to show as willing tools to the Powers-That-Are.

Damn it! This always happens. Weeks of gathering data for examples & extrapolation are completely ruined by attempts at poetic turns of phrase. Oh well. Never mind, then.

Who's Who In The Minneapolis Zoo

One might be forgiven for reading the above subject line & say to oneself or perhaps to another, sitting nearby, whom one has singled out as a person who might enjoy the gainsaying of a blog page, "There's no Minneapolis Zoo! There's the Minnesota Zoo, which is about twenty miles south of the Twin Cities, but there's no Minneapolis Zoo itself! What a mistake!"

I honestly worry about the sort of people who feel the need to quibble & nitpick in such a manner, not the least reason of which is the simple courtesy of questioning the assertion of the blog title. For example, this author might well be engaging in a "puff-piece" about the Minnesota Zoo, which is close enough to Minneapolis to engage in a "nickname" of sorts. As well, the author may well have been taking too many over-the-counter pain medications & may have simply "mis-print" the word, as he may have simply meant "Minnesota" but wrote "Minneapolis" because the words are so closely related. Or there may well be a Minneapolis Zoo that the person simply does not know about - which is entirely the case.

Because at the Minneapolis Zoo, the charges are not nature's creatures, caged for the perverse delight of so-called "free" people to view them as they live in mockeries of their natural habitats. No, the charges at the Minneapolis Zoo are none other than human beings themselves!

Scandal! Triptych! Diorama! It's more true than one might dare fear. & before there are other assumptions hurled at this writer, specifically ones about the underground human slave trade, I wish also to simply ask that the reader bear with me. True, the human slave trade has a very profitable hub in Minnesota, primarily because of all the lakes, but the Minneapolis Zoo has a different sinister scheme, one being replicated in many dying industrial cities across the United States & Europe, which is this: the displaying of human beings in mockeries of their natural habitats.

Imagine, if you will, a housewife abducted from her Tupperware bacchanalia in Rochester & put on display in a glass-case as a representative of the "Now Generation." Or an aging golfer on the fourteenth hole in the Boca Raton Community Gardens snatched away & placed at a kitchen table as an example of a grandparent with Alzheimer's. Or three children from a reform school in John McCain, Arizona, dressed as hip-hop artists & forced to reenact historically inaccurate gang violence for a wide-eyed, affluent audience. This is the Minneapolis Zoo. This is what the powers-that-be are doing in our crumbling economy.

Outraged? You ought to be. Instead, you're given an invitation, & though you imagine leopards with cancerous scrotal tumors belching at you behind plexiglass, what you get is far more intriguing: a bevy of unhappy southern women beating up black men as a demonstration of the "PUMA" of the last election cycle. Or a Chicano worker dressed as Santa Claus being forced to sleep cold nights in the Wal-Mart power-tool department. Or an overgrown lawn to which a sorority girl & a member of the cast of one of the cancelled "Law & Order" shows have been inexplicably tied, to represent god-knows-what.

These are the things the rich, famous, lucky, disturbed, politically well-connected, & media-employed are not only watching but fostering. This author received an invitation accidentally; it was meant for my nearest neighbor, a giant corporation dedicated to polluting America's lakes & rivers. I went, & discovered something so awful it makes Cirque Du Soleil seem as innocuous as Ban De Soleil.

Skeptics are invited to seek their own "New City Zoos." There are reported ones in Dallas, Vancouver, Los Angeles (not hard to find), Denver, Pittsburgh, Portland, Des Moines, & Lexington. They are expanding - & more & more innocent people may be involved. A crisis is brewing of national import - please learn more before you too become just another exhibit!

As a postscript: Xhibit the rapper is not currently an exhibit.

Stayed Of Execution

Good news! Bad news! Someone put cheese on my sandwich news!

Yes, kind floorboards, "The War On Sailing" radio show has been renewed on KVRX 91.7 fm Austin for another few months. We campaigned against it. We made a viral video with a virus in a music video, but to no avail. It seems too much of a good thing is not important in this grey area we are starting to call "Obama's America." I don't want to have to keep up, but I suppose I shall.

This time around we'll be "pulling out all the stops." By which I mean, the buses will not stop in the regular places. Why? All the bus stops have been pulled out. It'll be smooth sailing for the bus, from the garage & back. It no longer even needs to stop at red lights. It's a worry-free bus. Like the bus in "Speed." Without the bomb or Keanu Reeves.

Which is my way of saying that "The War On Sailing," once very nearly listenable, may yet be. & we have something of a chore ahead of us, as the show will air on Sunday mornings from 7 to 9am Central Standard Time, when the only people awake are in the drunk tank from the night before (or in church - same difference). It shall be a long road & we shall limp feebly down it, only to wake up somewhere someday thinking, "Did I really just kill a hobo?"

Please listen. The rest is yet to come.

For Close Comfort, Too

Reasonably priced, exceptionally well-worn. All-weather, seasonally sound. Vetted by over twelve product-liability organizations including but not limited to Damaged Newborn Incorporated, Smashy The Car, Elevensies, Head Neck & Shoulder Trauma 'R' Us, Weather Prophecy UK, Sempleton Smear, & Dolores Rainier, PhD. Focus-group tested in all Western & most Eastern European countries as well as most of the "red" states of these United States except Louisiana & Alberta. Subject to rigorous hypotheticals at food fairs & fun runs during the hot summer of 2007 & part of the warm autumn of 2006. Trendy but singular. Dependable, reliable, controversial, standard. Kid-safe, animal-friendly, for use in virtually every home, rented or foreclosed-upon. Solar powered (no batteries required) or operational with old-fashioned alternating current. For use with ages six months & up although you must be at least one meter tall to ride the ride. Not available for sale in "dry" counties or the Low Countries. Limited amounts so stock up today. Patents pending, patents impending, registered trademark, no contract, limited license. No signature or blood work required; acceptable use of the product implies understanding of property rights. Unacceptable use of the product is not recommended. Salt-free, fat-free, lactose-intolerant, manufactured on machines that may or may not have processed peanuts, coca leaves, or low-income families. Chemically neutral unless operated with alcoholic machinery. Happily the product is refunded if not entirely satisfied. Today's solution for tomorrow's youthful indiscretions. Kosher, no animal products intended, safe for diabetics & megalomaniacs. The taste grows on you. The growth tastes like you. A transformation of sensation for the "do it" generation. Ask for it by name! Tell your friends about it by name! Enjoy it by name!

Panda Crisis Escalated!

From the newswire:

"Continuing Panda Crisis worsening Hollywood Hills! Moreover standard Edward Asner Emmy-Nominated Takeover! Cast-iron Container unusable in Current Predicament! Let's Sandpaper Mutual Protection Team Temporary scanning Opportunity!"

From the editorial pages:

"Never before in the vertiginous heights of alacrity has headline fervor so infected and delighted an impassive populace as the indefatigable pronouncements of the risible news media."

From the on-the-spot commentary:

"Panda pretty! Pretty panda! Panda wanna eucalyptus leaf? Panda wanna? Panda? Wanna? Uh? Uh! My hand! My hand!"

From the bloggers (present company excluded):

"The MSM is AWOL on WTF is happening in CPC. If the PTB haven't LTM, we're still looking at SOL PDQ SVP."

From the man on the woman on the street:

"Panda Crisis? I'm more worried about my wife. I've been standing on her for days & she looks unfazed!"

From the Panda King:

"There will be yet time for bells & whistles. Today, though, more treasure & blood. More treasure & blood my lovelies! More treasure! More blood!"

To be continual!

Genuflection For Our Time

As we approach (with approbation) another holiday season, emphasis ought to be given, we feel, to imaginary traditions, never practiced or followed, before we kowtow to the (frankly) blatantly Iron Age rituals we use our platinum credit cards to observe.

The War On Sailing would like everyone to begin the holiday season by handing out maps to different cities or countries (you can buy them in used bookstores or steal them from used gas stations) to strangers you happen to meet while out & about. The National Geographic maps from different periods of time are especially fun. Offer no explanation, simply say, "Have a map!" If pressed, perhaps you can tell everyone you're an out-of-work cartographer.

The War On Sailing encourages the substitution of tofu for virtually every normal holiday foodstuff, at least half the time. Tofurkey, tofu nog, tofu candy canes - there are any number of confusing substitutions you can make that will have at least one uncle leaving in a huff pretending to quote the Bible.

The War On Sailing appreciates the atonal or otherwise stony delivery of your favorite carol. Imagine how Nico would sing it, & there you are. Reciting them as if you're a modern poet in a modern poetry reading is also fine. The key is to convince others you're "reimagining" the stodgy seasonal ditty, while really you're just trying to annoy.

Lest you think that the War On Sailing wants to replace "good tidings & good cheer" with "confusion & spite" as the target emotions for the yuletide, we want to encourage more than good wishes - we demand you be supportive. For even the most rudimentary of tasks, you should shout, "Excellent work!" Often call for "three cheers!" for a co-worker or a family member who needs a boost. Serial hand-shaking is also much desired. The more folks shake hands, you know, the less they have palm-space for guns, knives, or other implements of violence.

The War On Sailing would also ask that the more mischievous of you make a habit of gainsaying during the month of December. This is especially delightful with political-minded relatives or friends, & works with both the liberal- & the conservative-minded. Preface any remark to a strident opinion with, "Do you really think that's true?" Of course they will, so you can follow with, "I just don't think that's true." Most people of this ilk will strive to prove their point, & it takes virtually no knowledge of the subject matter to simply deny an assertion out of hand. Exasperation for them can mean hilarity for you!

Finally, the War On Sailing reminds you that killing a tradition is not nearly as dishonorable as it seems. Slavery, female circumcision, bowl game parades - these are all "traditions" which are considered morally reprehensible by most persons in the universe today, but once upon a time they were accepted, even defended, by the vast majority of people. Alas, they were never truly replaced with an opposite number, & that's the task we've set out for you.

If only to have a little fun, this holiday season, kick your favorite tradition where it counts.

Do Cell Phones Cause Male Pattern Baldness?

It behooves you - as well as I - as well as they - to keep track of the current literature, specifically the scientific literature - also, the airport-novel literature, but that's for another essay - on how human beings constantly create things - we call it "technology" - the effects of which we not only fail to foresee, but also we choose to deny or ignore. Until, of course, it is far past too late.

Cellular phones, invented by the Romans but not feasible for mass production until the Nazis, came into their own in the late 20th century. Powered by the body scrapings of ghouls, these helpful communication devices have proliferated to the point that, in the United States alone, even the unborn are offered cell phone plans. But wait! I hear you interrupt. Parts of ghouls? Wouldn't that make them radioactive? Of course it would.

Below are some common claims about cell phone effects & the latest scientific responses to them. Please take them with a healthy dose of skepticism. If you see something you know to be false, text me.

Claim # 1: Cell phones feed off the plasma in your blood.
True. Ghouls, while perfectly fine as a power source for jumbo jets & all-night raves in abandoned warehouses, need human blood plasma to sustain themselves - even in tiny pieces - over long periods of time. The Catholic Church pioneered ghoul technology after they exploded the first atomic bomb in 1254 CE, but ghoul technology remains hopelessly misunderstood - partly because the church tends to fund more grants to prove the Bible can zip around in the air by itself.

Claim # 2: Ringtones are codes designed for secretly communicating with alien circus freaks.
Undetermined. The rise of alien circus freaks in most of the world's alien interactions has coincided with the rise of cell phone technology. However, as captured alien circus freaks have apparently only mastered Esperanto, it's impossible as yet to know why they have begun visiting Earth en masse. If you speak Esperanto, please contact your local alien apprehension squad. If you cannot find your local alien apprehension squad, please look in the phone book under "contact lens repair." There. That's them.

Claim # 3: A cellular phone can distill liquor.
False. Who told you that, anyway?

Claim # 4: Several legislative bodies all over the globe, including the United States, are debating adding amendments to their respective incorporation documents guaranteeing their citizens the right to a cell phone.
Undetermined. But would it surprise you?

Claim # 5: Cell phone are of the devil.
A little bit true, a little bit false. Of course, there is no "devil," although there are some American politicians who believe so & have acted accordingly, drinking the blood of children & gutting environmental laws. But if "of the devil," one means "evil," then most certainly cell phones have more of a capacity for evil than good. While a cell phone might be handy, for example, when your automobile breaks down by the side of the road, so you can call for help or chat with your mom or what-not, an annoying cell phone ring is 452% more likely to get you beat the fuck up than a home phone.

Claim # 6: All I need is my cell phone & a label maker & I am set.
What? Who submitted this? I'm trying to write a serious article here. Come on!

Claim # 7: While we don't know what cell phones are really doing to us & to our environment, they can't be as bad as the paranoid folks think.
Dream on, bright eyes.

2040 C.E.

Red "Tucker" Fosberg has once again produced his famous "2040" list, a compendium of predictions, based almost entirely on the opposite of probability, statistics, & scientific fact, of what the world will be like in 2040. A provocative list, much discussed in very small circles, Fosberg's "2040" has been produced every year since Fosberg was four years old, when his list predicted, somewhat direly, that "In 2040 giant waterbug monster will kill everyone." Fans of Fosberg appreciate that this early sophistication has not been improved upon in the list's many years.

The War On Sailing blog is proud to present excerpts from Fosberg's 2008 "2040" list. Now in its seventh decade, the list remains the only predictive list which has been utterly different every time it's published.

From Fosburg's preface:

"In 2040, I plan to be dead. I have therefore spent my entire life wondering what the world would be like if I could live to be that age. Although the 1975 2040 list predicted that I would actually be alive in 2040 but as a disembodied 'selfish gene,' the foolishness of that prediction was revised in my 1980 2040 list, in which I predicted that, in 2040, I would have been dead for half a century. Happily, that prediction turned out to be untrue, as has the especially hysterical one in which I imagined that, in 2040, the Insect King would finish his forty-year reign of terror after his workers had consumed the last human. I don't know what I was thinking then. I might have been getting the house sprayed for termites. In any event, enjoy this list, &, as always, don't tell me when my predictions come true. They're supposed to."

My favorite prognostications from this year's list:

"In 2040, thumbs and pinky fingers, generally comfortable on opposite ends of the hand, will finish the strange, rapid evolutionary process of fusion, making a bony claw which will be instrumental in the Avian Civil War to follow."

"In 2040, science will invent a cheese that, once consumed, will make it possible for humans to breathe in liquid. Not water, unfortunately, but in milk, colas, beer & some runny yogurts."

"In 2040, a band of renegade outlaw clowns will win the Nobel Prize for Piracy by kidnapping the entire country of Indonesia & holding it hostage. None of the tiny islands will be spared."

"In 2040, the last remaining examples of paper currency which are not preserved in digital form in digital museums will be passed out to the AfrAsian mutant population to line their nests & feed their pods."

"In 2040, the Undersea Kingdom of Houston will finally end its terrorist attacks against the surface world."

"In 2040, the unexpected return of Jesus will coincide with the unexpected return of Horus & the resulting embarrassment of the two godlings will be endlessly mocked in the media."

"In 2040, chewing gum will once again be legalized, after previously subjugated dentists are freed."

"In 2040, everything will be changed & nothing will hurt you any more."

Proud Colossus!

The invention of the oud in the early Middle Ages is the subject of a provocative new documentary (currently unreleased & feeling a little rejected in its metal container) by former filmmaker & current electrical engineer Hermann Wrassler. Wrassler, whose lovely wife Maybelline is the leading Avon Brand Raspberry Rouge salesgirlie in the South-West Idaho District for three years running, can't play the instrument & is in fact completely tone deaf (also, color-blind & uppity-nosed), & so relied on expert testimony from friends of his who speculated on the past, future, current whereabouts & possible philosophic/political bent of the instrument which most scholars believe preceded the lute & which some betting men wager could hand the lute its ass in a basket.

Wrassler remains passionate about the project despite mistakenly returning one copy he had to Netflix instead of the recent Indiana Jones sequel. Netflix executives reportedly sent it on five more times until someone complained that they had gotten the wrong movie, & that person had mistaken Harrison Ford for Henry Ford, at whose auto plant the customer once lost the use of every long vowel after a mishap with a power window. But Wrassler was not cheered by the meager reception his magnum opus has thus far received:

"Did you see the last Indiana Jones movie?" he said, exasperated. "That fucking sucked!"

Scholars of the War On Sailing often find themselves enraptured by musical instruments, a common way to mis-transmit information in repressive or otherwise nonsensical cultures. Tweed Muppet's landmark seven volume History Of The Tambourine once reportedly sent Vladimir Putin into a rage because it revealed KGB techniques that he - Putin - thought were invented in his lifetime. As well, Young Sandy Arfster's Oboe, written & re-written at least two dozen times during her lifetime, & three times since her death, is widely read not only to discover what a "double reed" is but to understand how Hoover failed as the economy crashed around him.

Is the same true about Wrassler's "filmic history" of the Middle Eastern stringed instrument called the oud? The five Netflix customers who have seen it chose not to review it for the DVD rental agency, & the agency would not reveal the names for further research. What of Wrassler's friends? Have they seen it?

"I have no friends," said Wrassler.

Too many complete works are either unavailable (think of the last seventeen novels JD Salinger has written) or have been completely destroyed (think of the first seventeen novels JD Salinger wrote) for scholars to be sanguine about this short film (apparently only thirteen minutes long, minus previews) which was filmed on location in South-West Idaho, with some scenes secretly shot in a Home Depot ten minutes before closing. Repeated requests to Wrassler by this writer were denied, although when I offered to throw in a donut, he hesitated.

More research, as always, is needed.

Astride The Auld Libertine

"Frank Pankuk, a Hungarian, boarding at No. 72 East Fourth-street, was called on last evening by his brother Joseph, a worthless young ruffian, 21 years old, who wanted money. Frank refused to give it to him, whereupon Joseph pulled a revolver and fired two shots at his brother. One took effect in his right breast, inflicting a dangerous wound. Joseph fled, and had not been arrested at a late hour. The wounded man was removed to Bellevue Hospital."

So reported the New York Times on January 9, 1885. But about the incident's outcome, the paper is silent - as is history itself. What happened to Frank Pankuk? Did he live? How dangerous was his wound? How did he, a simple boarder, afford his bill at Bellevue?

& what about that worthless young ruffian, Joseph Pankuk? Was he ever caught? Did he ever shoot anyone again? Will he continue to be vilified by history, being an unhappy example of young, worthless Hungarian ruffians?

Alas, the "grey lady," the "paper of record," does not answer these questions. Frank Pankuk, a young adult Hungarian male who had arrived in the United States in early 1883 in order to find work in the slave labor trade, distinguished himself early on as an obvious foreigner & strange-looking person who couldn't speak English very well. His brother Joseph, too, seemed very much unlike average New Yorkers unless they had recently arrived from Eastern Europe or were in some ways unpleasant to the observer. The two brothers chose not to live together, Joseph instead preferring to hang out with other young ruffians, & Frank being far more comfortable with sitting in his filthy room drawing pictures of naked women in his bible.

Why wouldn't the New York Times report these obviously untrue facts? & why, after deigning to report on a bloody skirmish between the two brothers, not bother to report on their fates? What was more important? Teddy Roosevelt at Harvard? Kaiser Wilhelm learning how to tango? Sarah Bernhardt in La Fille de Roland? The discovery & subsequent loss of Fred Hermsch's entire oeuvre? What I had for breakfast?

Surely you can see my point. Alas, we may never know what fate befell the Pankuk brothers, but you can make sure the same thing never happens to you, especially if you're Hungarian, a young ruffian, &/or living in the 19th century. So please do. & tell them it has everything to do with the War On Sailing.

Contents May Unsettle After Opening

While the international debacle in regards to feral children continues unmolested, let quasi-independent observer & part-time committed activist Ernest Growl weigh in on this airy subject:

Contrary to popular misdirection, there is no "problem" with feral children provided you have a continual demarcation between so-called "raised by wolves" types & "raised by douchebag" types. The three Austrian girls, for example, whose mother kept them in a cellar for seven years - raised by a total douchebag. The young Romanian boy allegedly reared by dogs who was discovered in 2002 - a feral child. Let's put too fine a point on it: you cannot bandy the phrase "feral child" about when you just want to inflate the numbers so you have extra heft to your empty doctoral dissertation. You should write about Bruce Springsteen like you wanted to & forget this subject. You'll get a PhD! They give them out like condoms!

As a former feral child (I was raised by pumas because my parents couldn't afford to get me into a decent prep school), I can say with virtual certainty that being able to clean oneself with one's tongue is a talent that verges on the heaven-sent. I can also say that, although English is my second-language, it has none of the elegance of the truly subtle purr-speak of most felines. These kinds of insights are not only exclusive to me & my feral brethren, they are highly disputed among the jealously elite we call the "raised by their own kind." Are these haters able to kill & eat their own dinner despite the fleas? Are they able to differentiate a threatening footstep from a friendly padding? How about in a thunderstorm? How about while tripping balls on catnip? Why do they, then, insist on reporting on & classifying "feral children"? You wouldn't let someone who didn't know Czech teach Czech to some No Children who were Left Behind, would you? You wouldn't.

This maligning of the feral child & mislabeling of the truly abused must end here & it must end now. Although we'll totally understand if you need time to think about it. There are maybe only a few dozen feral children & obviously tens of thousands of abused children, so we understand that our anger at being treated this way is not proportional to the number of those who are suffering. We're not dumb. & we also won't mind if there's government money available for us which we are - oh, let's just pile it on - for which we're just too socially awkward to ask. We were raised by turtles! & peregrine falcons! & grizzlies! & evangelicals! Help us with some cash!

For more information on feral children, please visit big ominous forests & ask the animals there if they've found anything that belongs to you. They'll know what you mean. They'll take you straight to the feral child nursery. Just take care they don't eat you - animals in the forest are hungry!