Posts Tagged silkk the shocker
One of the great comedy bits ever concocted is Victor Borge’s famed “inflationary language” sketch. Borge, the brilliant Danish pianist and comedian, devised a way of inflating the value of each word that has a number in it by taking the number and adding one. Thus, the constitution becomes the constitthreesion, lieutenant becomes lieuelevenant, tulips become threelips and on and on. Utterly hysterical.
While Borge’s idea is a comedic masterpiece, I wonder if he didn’t happen to luck into a fantastic way of creating a more precise version of the English language. We live in a world where hyperbole is commonplace. Both a grilled cheese sandwich and a beautiful, once in a lifetime sunset can both be referred to as “wonderful”. The listener is left to determine from context clues and body language which wonderful is more wonderful. But, these bits of evidence can be misleading and in a text-based situation like the internet, one can easily miss the difference between the commonplace “wonderful” and the nearly spiritual “wonderful”.
Borge has unwittingly given us a solution. Numbers combined with language can help us find a more precise answer to the deeper meaning of many words. So, the excellent grilled cheese that you consumed for lunch can be “threetaful” or two points better than wonderful. The sunset which brought tears to your eyes is much more likely “tentaful”, a full nine points better than the original. In this way, once can clearly discern the differences between a great sandwich and a magnificent experience of nature’s wonder (or tender in this case).
Think of all the miscommunications this could clear up. If someone produces a really quality work of art it could be called a great “creatention”, a true masterpiece would be much more along the lines of a “creafifteention” and the best piece of art you’ve ever come across might well be a “creathirtytion” or even a “creainfinitytion”. Think of how much additional joy your neighbors will feel during the holidays when you complement them on their “sixtaful decortwelvetions”
It could work in either direction, too. Let’s say you meet someone you have a serious romantic interest in and make an offer to become better acquainted. There is no ambiguity in that person telling you, “No, I don’t want to go over your house and negativeonenicate.” In that case, it’s clear she’s not being coy and any sort of future inquiries should be made elsewhere.
In literature, there are serious possibilities as well. A writer could be given the gift of being able to explain complex circumstances in one word. A character with a ridiculously pronounced area between his eyebrows and his hairline could simply be described as a person with an “eighthead”. A character maimed by a poorly performed birth ritual could be quickly noted as someone with a problem with his “twoskin”. A character who is overly honest could be referred to as being “seventhright”. No fuss, no muss. Think of the efficiency.
Five us four fully understand each other it is a greytwelve skill six learn. When we creaeighteen a more precise language much of the twentytion that arises from miscommunications will be mitigtened. Face it, our current language is assafive.
Here’s Borge’s original bit…..
You wandered aimlessly or aimed wondrously
Or maybe both
Or maybe neither
About thyme to waist or maybe just Rosemary’s two thighs
An English major who was not general enough to become an English Major
You wonder if you are nothing but sheep just as ewes wonder if they are nothing but sheep
As they graze off into the distance
But sheep sleep
And dream of themselves jumping over fences
Or maybe neither
(!!!!You probably think that runny eggs are out of shape because they never come out of their shells!!!!!!)
Just as a pastor eyes milk
(Or at least two percent do)
As worms learn to hate silk
(Which we hope isn’t true)
Can a ewe eschew this sort of snafu?
(Or at least creatures of their ilk)
Or maybe neither
My unorthodox friend went to see his uncle in Antioch
(But not his aunt in Uncleoch?!?!?)
Because he is pro-Constantinople
But he can’t wholly see, you see!
Or maybe neither
Kids today I tell you…..
(They grow up to be goats)
Ant live with them……
(Ants ruin a picnic)
Or maybe neither
(!!!!!Are you moving the puppet or is the puppet moving you?????)
A tail wagging a dog
(Told by a mongrel)
Somewhere in Missouri
Or maybe neither
Editors note: Tyranny of Tradition is honored to be visited by guest writer and world-renowned grindcore expert Dr. Shawn “Von Deathmetal” Jobe. Shawn received his doctorate from the prestigious Millard Fillmore School of Grindcore Studies at Yale University. Dr. Von Deathmetal has just emerged from seven years on a mountaintop in Tibet continuously listening to Brutal Truth’s Extreme Conditions Demand Extreme Responses in the hopes of gaining spiritual enlightenment. Dr. Von Deathmetal has also been on the forefront of the medical movement to use grindcore to help reduce migraines and plantar warts. He is a Pisces whose hobbies include juggling squirrels and playing canasta.
Reek Of Putrefaction,the 1988 release from Carcass, is easily one of the most misunderstood albums ever recorded. Before Carcass became actual musicians and wrote some of the greatest riffs in the history of metal, they created their first album. Bill Steer, getting a fresh start after his tenure in Napalm Death joined short-lived vocalist Sanjiv and Ken Owen. Jeff Walker eventually took over on bass & vocals.
Trying to one-up his former noisemongers (one can only assume), Steer & co. entered a quaint studio fit for wealthy canines of the feminine sort in December of 1987 with 83 guitars, 12 bass guitars, a drum kit, 2 tornadoes, and 7 or 8 car crashes, depending on who you ask. The end result? The Reek Of Putrefaction. On the surface, it is cacophony of the highest measure, with all the melody of a combat tank rolling through landmine infested terrain. However, once you’ve stripped it down and have peeled back all of the layers, you soon discover that it was England’s answer to Bruce Springsteen’s “Born To Run” album.
Oxidized Razor Masticator
Chomping and splicing, your gums sliced to shreds
Tattered bloody ribbons, incisored skin is shred
Scraping on sore teeth, cracking and chipping
Shredding and mincing raw nerve endings
Salivating – sanguis, phlegm, froth and foam
Masticating – your mandible stripped to the bone
Mangling your tongue, bloody torn and dripping
The swollen savage muscle frayed and blistering
Your vocal chords severed, your lips are mutilated
Masticating carved palate as your mouth is grated
Only raw gargles croak from your throat
A trickling death-rasp as you choke
A silly grin carved from ear to ear
Spurting mucus and tongue as your wind-pipe tears
Gaping and sore
The rusty razors bore
Skin hangs and seeps
Peptic ulcers bleed
Your mouth is a sea of cartilage, rabid saliva bleeds
Swallowing shredded tongue and pulverized, crunching teeth
Respirating a bolus of rusty razor blades
“Oxidized Razor Masticator”, unlike the album’s more eloquent tracks, lacks philosophical ambiguity. It was simply Carcass taking a few moments to set things straight. Rumors began to circulate that Carcass members were vegetarians. This was not due, however, to their love of vegetables, but rather their willingness to ingest anything that was not beef, pork, etc.
This hideous buffet included oxidized razors. Nowhere can you find the use of this method more upfront than the blood-gargling vocals in the second verse here. Clearly practitioners of what they preached, Carcass were said to have owned stock in the Gillette Corporation, and later on, the Mach series of blades were inspired by the fast pace of the band’s music.
The song starts off with a veritable ‘how-to’ take on grindcore vocalizing with the Step One of “Chomping and splicing, your gums sliced to shreds.” From that point on, they lay out the instructional manual for every goregrind band that would enter the scene for the next 20+ years. From General Surgery to County Medical Examiners. From (early) Exhumed to Lymphatic Phlegm. The entire subgenre owes their vocal assault to the clearly printed lyrics to this song. “Your mouth is a sea of cartilage, rabid saliva bleeds – Swallowing shredded tongue and pulverized, crunching teeth.” Indeed, lads. Indeed.
Ending The Suffering In Style: Mets Promotions That Might Actually Get People To Citi Field in September
Sandy Alderson and I have been in a regular Friday night card game for the past three years. It’s a pretty low stakes game, but things got a bit out of hand last week. Sandy, or Santino as he likes to be called, went all in on a straight flush that never materialized. Long story short, Santino owes me 20 large. I know for a fact that he owes some very dangerous guys some serious coin, including an ungodly amount to a guy out in Staten Island that they call Joey The Lamppost. Anyway, I told Santino that if he lets me run the promotion side for the Mets for the last 6 games of the year, a god awfully unbearable home stand against two deeply disinterested teams, that I’d forgive what he owes me and talk to a few friends about allowing him to arrange a payment schedule that doesn’t involve forfeiting his kidneys. Basically, I get to create whatever promotions I want. I personally think this will be a good thing, because only a diehard baseball fans and flashers will be out for most of the games. These promotions might just get a few folks out to say farewell to another season of mind-numbingly awful baseball.
Friday Night vs. The Phillies
(Night of The Old Timers)
Most baseball teams have an old timers day, so this is not a new idea. However, few teams have actually ever had their old timers team play the actual game. The Phillies will have already clinched the division and will be resting everyone who is even marginally relevant to the team’s success. Why not have some fun? What could be more enjoyable than watching 66-year-old Eddie Kranepool trying to leg out an infield grounder or 67-year-old Ron Swoboda trying to hit a Brad Lidge slider? Imagine Cleon Jones trying to make a sliding catch and having to be revived by paramedics. Could 74 year old Choo-Choo Coleman throw out fleet-footed Catcher Brian Schneider as he was stealing 3rd base? Who knows? Who cares? They are 26 games out of first place for God sakes.
Saturday Afternoon vs. The Phillies
(Come, Come To The Sabbath Saturday)
Anyone who has spent more than 5 seconds on this site has to have figured out that I am completely obsessed with metal artist King Diamond. Imagine all the players dressed in King Diamond face paint reflecting the many eras of the King’s career. David Wright wearing the King’s Conspiracy look. Jose Reyes rocking The Puppet Master era top hat and backwards cross paint. Free orange sherbet to the first 500 fans (so, basically everybody who will be there). About two thirds of you just collectively said, “What on earth is this fool talking about?” They will probably stop reading at this point, thus depriving themselves of a golden opportunity to hear about Ruben Tejada fighting a bear.
Sunday Afternoon vs. The Phillies
(Ruben Tejada Fights A Bear Day)
I have yet to find a use for Ruben Tejada. People often tell me that he has a great deal of potential. He looks to me like a back-up middle infielder who, if everything goes perfectly and he manages to join a Santeria sect capable of utilizing functional spells, could one day hit .290. Why not have him fight a bear? Who wouldn’t love to watch little Ruben battle one of nature’s most terrifying beasts? Have the fight in the 5th inning and whoever wins gets to play second for the rest of the game. Imagine watching a bear, barely finished digesting Ruben Tejada trying to turn a double play. Some groups would call this cruelty to animals, but truthfully, unless there is a group that tries to prevent cruelty to moderately talented, light hitting second basemen, no one will complain too loudly.
Monday Night vs. The Reds
(Franz Kafka Night)
Imagine it…an entire baseball game dedicated to the demented mind of Franz Kafka. The game starts in the 4th inning. In the first inning, which follows the 8th, second base is removed mid-inning leaving the players to contemplate how to get to third. Pitchers refuse to pitch for hours cynically watching the batters prepare for a pitch that may never come. On a 3-2 fastball down the middle, the umpire randomly yells out “SQUID!” No one knows how to proceed. Jason Bay randomly turns into a giant turtle while running to first base after hitting a single. The game ends with both teams being swallowed by a choking fog that descends onto the field and the players disappearing into a vast and cruel nothingness.
Tuesday Night vs. The Reds
(Retiring Juan Samuel’s Jersey)
Do you remember the year that Juan Samuel led the Mets to the playoffs by hitting .400 down the stretch including a game winning homerun against the Cardinals to clinch the division? Or the time he picked up his third consecutive MVP award and led the Mets to back-to-back World Series victories? Of course you don’t. The Juan Samuel trade was a Hindenburg like catastrophe that managed to rip the heart and soul out of a once great team and all but ruin my childhood. Most teams retire player’s jersey because he performs at a high level. Listen, we are Mets fans. If there’s anything that epitomizes the franchise it is devastating trades that hamstring the organization for decades. Why not celebrate what we do best?!?!
I have no idea what his jersey number was. I don’t even think he remembers. We certainly could retire his batting average with the Mets in 1989. From this day forward, no one will be allowed to hit .228 again!
Wednesday Night vs. The Reds
(The Stoning of Mr. Met Night)
You know that Pepsi commercial they have now where all the great baseball players from different eras in a Field of Dreams type set up? While most clubs are represented by some great player like Randy Johnson or Dennis Eckersley, the Mets are represented by a dude with a baseball on his head. As if to say, the best thing that your storied franchise can produce is a silly mascot. Personally, I find the whole bit insulting. I have a deep hatred for mascots in general, but Mr. Met causes my heart to pump pure bile. The only way to truly end this fiasco of a season properly is by having Mr. Met pelted to death with stones. Thousands of them! It’s the only rational solution.
Wound him to the point that no thinking person will ever put a giant baseball on his head in the Tri-State area again. Make an example out of him! Send a message to baseball that goofy mascots will not be tolerated. Let’s remind America that we can again become the unruly demented mob that trashed Shea Stadium after clinching the division in 1986. Turn Mr. Met into a human piñata, then we’ll start winning some championships.
As every sports fan knows, August is the month in which the media spends an inordinate amount of time discussing whether Brett Favre will stay retired or not. This has been a solid tradition in American sports journalism going back to the 1920s. I was a bit concerned that the month was almost a day old and I had not heard a Favre story. Then came this morning’s press conference. As a service to the American public, who would surely collapse into fits of stifling depression without their hourly Brett Favre fix, I present to you the transcript from today’s press conference.
Brett Favre sits at a table in front of a microphone wearing a tee shirt, a baseball cap and jeans. Hundreds of excited journalists sit drooling with blind, wild, animal enthusiasm coursing through their veins.
Favre: I don’t want to take too much of your time today. There has been some speculation that I would be returning to the NFL this season. I want to set the record straight. I am retired, I will stay retired, and that’s the end of it. I have no idea why people keep bringing up my return to football, but to be clear, I am not coming back.
Reporter #1: Mr. Favre, is their any truth to the rumor that you considered returning to the Green Bay Packers this season?
Favre: Well, I’ve been in negotiations with the Packers for the last two weeks. I’d like to take this moment and officially announce I will be returning to the NFL as a Green Bay Packer this season.
Reporter #2: But, Mr. Favre, I don’t understand, you just said you would not be returning to the NFL this year?
Favre: See, now you are putting words in my mouth. I called this press conference today to announce that I will be returning to the NFL as a New York Giant. The Giants don’t need a quarterback, but they have told me I can be their punter.
Reporter #3: Wait, Mr. Favre, so….please help me understand.
Favre: This has been a difficult decision, but today, I’m proud to announce that I have decided to become a professional baseball player. I will start out in Birmingham with the White Sox minor league affiliate and hopefully will be in the majors by next spring.
Reporter #4: But, Brett….I…….What?!?!?!
Favre: Thank you so much for coming today. I would like to take this moment to announce that I am going to become a real Viking. I plan on dressing up like Leif Erickson and exploring Nova Scotia.
Reporter #5: Wait….wait…Mr….
Favre: There has been a lot of speculation as to my plans for next season. I want to make it clear in no uncertain terms that I plan to move to Burma. There, I will be working to overthrow the military junta that controls that country. I was considering returning to the NFL, but this cause is much more important.
Reporter #6: Mr. FARVE….please…..help us….we all have stories to write……we can’t deal with this sort of uncertainty…..please….help us…..
Favre: Let me be clear. There have been a lot of rumors about my return to the NFL. The media just seems to run wild with irrational ideas. Let me be 100 percent clear with you. I plan next season to undergo surgery that will merge my body with a mountain goat creating a Minotaur-like creature.
Reporter #7: Okay…okay…you’ve said a lot of conflicting things here. Please settle on one story…
Favre: You know…I don’t appreciate being pushed to make a decision. I called this press conference to end all of the wild speculation. So….let me announce today, without a shadow of doubt, that I plan on becoming the color orange next year. Wherever there is orange, a small bit of my soul will appear. I will be in orange paint, orange juice, oranges, orange sherbet, orange tee shirts, basketball rims….everywhere! I will be orange!
Reporter #8: It’s not possible for a human being….wait…
Favre: Listen, I want to end all of the speculation right now. I have never actually existed. I am a collection of illusory particles sent to earth from the planet Zuhro in the Nubuloid sector of Bode’s Galaxy. All the memories you have of me were implanted in your minds as a practical joke. There never was a Brett Favre. My fellow Hehroites was simply having fun at your expense. You participated in a long-term collective hallucination in the hopes of amusing beings that were very bored.
And with that, Favre disappeared in a giant burst of blue light….
In a stunning announcement, Presidential hopeful Mitt Romney divulged that his evil twin Mittt was actually responsible for many of the decisions made while he was governor. “After years of deliberation, I’ve decided to come forward with the truth about many of my decisions as governor of Massachutsetts. Passing the health care bill and many other leftist decisions were made by my twin. It is he who is a liberal. I have always been committed to positions consistent with the most died in the wool conservative Americans.”
According to Romney, he and his twin are mirror images of each other. Even the names are even extremely similar. Romney claims that the twin’s name is pronounced exactly the same. The final “t” is a silent and is neither pronounced nor written. While the two share identical features, they couldn’t be more different in terms of political views. Romney described his twin as a “card carrying socialist out of touch with the views of mainstream Americans” and excoriated him for his support of Massachusetts’ “dangerous and potentially apocalyptic” health care law.
During today’s press conference, Romney detailed how his twin locked him in a meat locker in the basement of the governor’s mansion for two years while “evil Mittt” made terrible decisions that turned the State of Massachusetts into a “communistic wasteland”. Romney was only able to survive by eating Vienna Sausages and reading from the two books he had with him, The Bible and The Wit And Wisdom of Ronald Reagan. “In my darkest moments, it was the words of God and The Gipper that allowed me to survive.”
Romney claims that at one point the Ghost of Barry Goldwater came to lighten his spirits. After Goldwater’s pep talk, Romney was able to use a frozen lamb shank to smash the lock and escape. “If not for the spirit of conservatism, I’d have surely frozen to death,” announced Romney proudly.
There have been several other occasions where the Republican Presidential Candidate has been abducted and hidden by his liberal brother. “That whole thing about being pro-choice, that was my twin. And the stuff about letting clerks issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples. Him again! Pretty much all the things that have made me appear moderate in anyway whatsoever are the responsibility of Mittt. I’ve never had a thought in my mind at anytime that was even remotely liberal. I have never been within 300 feet of anyone who has ever been a member of the Democratic Party. I will not eat food produced packaged in plants that employ liberals. Mittt’s is the guilty one. It was him all along!”
So far, no one has been able to contact Romney’s twin. Romney has furnished the media with pictures of Mittt (see below) but claims he has not spoken to him in years and is not sure where he is. “He’s joined Al-Qaeda for all I know,” fumed Romney, “I doubt we will see him again. Certainly not until the New York primary.”
The resemblance between the two Romneys is incredible….