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Tag Archives: cliche

Back In Baby’s Arms

19 Wednesday Jan 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Crime, News, Politics

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

apologies to Patsy Cline, Barack Obama, Brother Voodoo, cliche, dictators, Duvalier dynasty, Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier, Haiti, Haitian Crisis, hereditary dictatorship, impoverished third-world backwater, Is that not what 'paradox' means?, Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier, Jobu, Major League, medically-themed despots, Pedro Cerrano, Rene Preval, Veronique Roy, voodoo despotism

By Smaktakula

This Is An Amazingly Authentic Depiction Of Day-To-Day Life In Haiti.

Fans of third-world despotism are aglow at the ominous tidings of Jean-Claude Duvalier’s return to Haiti after twenty-five years in well-deserved exile.  Duvalier, better known as “Baby Doc,” came to power in 1971 upon the death of his father François, appropriately called “Papa Doc.”  The paradox ruled the country from 1956 until Baby Doc was overthrown by a popular revolt in 1986.

Bad Boys: We Complain To Our Friends How They Hurt Us, But God!--How They Stick In Our Hearts.

In the nearly thirty years that the medically-themed despotic dynasty ruled Haiti, Papa and Baby managed to systematically drain the struggling nation of any single thing which might stem its decent into third-world squalor to a country at which even Hondurans turn up their noses.  But time has a bad memory, and history is just another word for accepted truth–some Haitians have begun to wax nostalgic about the Duvalier regimes.  The “Kims of the Caribbean” may have been repressive, but as the saying goes, they made the trains run on time.*

"Could I Have Missed Something The First Time?"

Many of the same people who a quarter-century ago chased Baby Doc from Haiti were today awaiting Duvalier’s arrival at the airport, filling the air with cries of “Duvalier!  Duvalier!”  A beaming Baby Doc, with his consort Veronique Roy in tow, said he had returned to help the beleaguered nation, which has been beset recently by allegations of electoral fraud and has yet to recover either from last year’s devastating earthquake or from the preceding years of shittiness stretching back as far as anyone can remember.

Several foreign leaders, including US President Barack Obama, expressed concern at the ex-dictator’s return to the nation he had in the past used so poorly.  However, Obama expressed confidence that Haitians “have too much on the ball” to fall prey to a charismatic dictator.

The God Jobu, Seen Here With Haitian Baseball Great Pedro Cerrano, Demands Ever-Greater Quantities Of Rum And Tobacco.

In fact, Baby Doc’s renewed interest in Haiti has set speculators buzzing.  It was long thought that by the time the Duvaliers were driven from Haiti, they had bled from the country everything of value, leaving it a desiccated, lifeless carcass.  But believing the likelihood slim that Baby Doc’s motives for returning to his homeland are even remotely altruistic, some are beginning to wonder if perhaps there’s still something in Haiti worth stealing.

Don't Get Your Hopes Up, It Hasn't Happened Yet.

On Tuesday, Haitian authorities briefly took Baby Doc into custody, where large groups of the tyrant’s supporters gathered, burning tires and shouting threats at current Haitian President, Rene Preval.  The second-generation dictator expressed surprise at the decision, but no real concern.  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

*Note: Smaktakula’s use of this cliché is purely the result of laziness.  Promethean Times does not wish to give readers the erroneous impression that Haiti has rail transit, and by extension an infrastructure. ∞T.

Things We Think About: Pictures

17 Monday Jan 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

a photograph is worth a thousand words, a picture is worth a thousand words, America's Funniest Home Videos, aphorisms, art, beautiful people, Bob Saget, casaba melons, Cat On A Leash, cliche, Full House, grammar, has-beens, images, maxims, Mike Tyson, mulletards, mullets, photobombs, photography, pictures, righteous mullet, shitty TV shows, syntactic singularities, syntax, Tardsie, Tardsie The Backpack, Things we think about, Travels With Tardsie, TV, ugly people, unfunny comedians, words

By Smaktakula

We're Pretty Sure You Could Squeeze A Few More Words Out Of This Beauty.

Few aphorisms are as ubiquitous–or contain as much self-evident truth–as  ‘A picture is worth a thousand words,‘ the notion that the camera’s eye catches such a visual abundance that it would take 1,000 words to describe it with any kind of justice.  This time-honored simile has not only survived since its introduction to common speech, but flourished thanks to its apt and easy-to-understand imagery.  The maxim is so well-known that it would not be at all surprising to hear it mouthed by a precocious six-year-old.

Thanks To The Casaba Queen, These Newlyweds Are Relegated Fewer Words In This Photo Than You'll Find In The Sentence "I Do."

But for as much use as it has seen since its probable introduction as a bit of ad copy in the early 20th Century, philosophers have yet to mount a critical study of the proverb’s underlying tenets.  Such an examination can yield heretofore unexpected insights into the nature of the image itself.

What A Tragic Waste. Those Lovely Young Ladies Deserved Their 333 And A Third.

The truth in this saying becomes evident after a limited examination of just one of the many propositions it puts forth.  Given that any single photograph is worth no more and no less than 1,000 words, how are we then to apportion dedicated words to the individual images contained within the photograph?

This Righteous Mullet Acts As A Syntactic Singularity, Sucking Sentences From Everything In Its Presence.

It would be hard to dispute, for example, that the Colosseum of Rome as depicted in a photograph might on its own merits command 1,000 words, so majestic and replete with history is the ancient structure.  That example is easy enough to follow, but lulls the viewer into the erroneous assumption that an image’s word value is a constant.  It is not.

Imagine then the same image of the Colosseum, but now with a huge Weimaraner lustily humping a French poodle in the foreground of the shot.  Wouldn’t the descriptive words necessitated by the inclusion of this comical scene into the otherwise-stolid tableau syphon syntax intended for the Colosseum?

Together The Kids Are Worth About 25 Words.

Unquestionably, the answer is yes: the 1,000 words alloted to a picture must be divided among the image’s component parts, such as in the previous example.  However, in the aforementioned instance we posited two subjects–a historical marvel and copulating canines–of equal interest to the average viewer.  But when we pair items of unequal appeal–say for example the Colosseum of Rome and a 1999 Buick LeSabre, or the randy dogs and Bob Saget, host of America’s Funniest Home Videos–it quickly becomes evident that all images are not created equal.

We Doubt There's A Person Alive Who Wouldn't Sacrifice Words Just To Be In This Photo.

Given that the various images captured within a photograph, digital recording device or artwork are not equally deserving of the object’s finite word supply–certainly the copulating dogs in the previous example rate higher than the irritating Full House has-been–the truth which reveals itself through this insight is as old as the image itself.  If images within a photograph are inherently unequal, then some are simply more important than others.

Try As He Might, Tardsie Can't Hope To Compete With Cat-On-A-Leash.

What does this all mean for you?  The implications are myriad, and at the very least will increase your awareness of the many factors comprising a good–that is, asthetically pleasing–photo.  Accordingly, you now will endeavor to pose for pictures with people less attractive and interesting than yourself, and if an enormous black drag queen dressed up like Brittney Spears circa 2001 wanders into the shot while you’re posing for a picture, you’ll be sure to let that thing of beauty speak for itself by getting your ass out of the shot.

Plain Girls--The Strategy Of Posing With A Less-Attractive Friend Can Be Taken Too Far.

Further Examples Of The Phenomenon:

In A Way, This Is Actually Fairer. The Chick On Our Left Would Only Have Taken Words From The More-Deserving Girls.

This Asswipe Successfully Executes The Very Difficult '1000 Word Steal.'

No Loss Here. We Can All Agree That The Cute Little Critter Deserves The Words.

The Poodle Doesn't Stand A Chance.

Meet Tardsie!

30 Tuesday Nov 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Arturo the Copy Editor, Chicago, cliche, condoms, Coors, Coors is horse piss, Dublin, Ireland, Jamba Juice, James Joyce, Las Vegas, Mike Meyers, Pope Benedict XVI, rent boys, Rome, Saigon, Silvio Berlusconi, So Beats The Nylon Heart, Special Olympics, Tardsie, Tardsie The Backpack, Tardsie's lifelong hatred of the Irish, The Untouchables, travel reporting, Travels With Tardsie, Union Station, Vatican, Vietnam, Washington DC

By Smaktakula

Tardsie Has Long Been An Advocate For The Less Fortunate.

Much of the hard work which makes Promethean Times such a magical family experience occurs behind the scenes.  Our small, tight-knit staff is more like a family than a collection of colleagues, with the exception of our copy editor, Arturo, although we are quite fond of him.

If You See Something Fishy In This Picture, You're Right! The Backpack Posing With Mike Meyers Is Actually A Tardsie Impersonator.

At the center of it all is our venerable Editor-In-Chief, Tardsie the Backpack.  Although Tardsie was not the first to helm Promethean Times, it is his vision which guides us today.  When Rodrigo O’Bannon was fired after Promethean Times’ shaky first few months, Tardsie came out of a well-deserved retirement to right the ship.  The impact of his calm leadership on our inexperienced young staff cannot be overstated, and that Promethean Times not only exists but flourishes today is a testament to his influence.

Most People Aren't Aware That Tardsie Was The Stunt-Double For The Runaway Baby Stroller In "The Untouchables."

Tardsie the Backpack spent the majority of his career before coming to Promethean Times as a travel reporter, publishing several travel narratives.  The most famous among these, Travels With Tardsie, catapulted the young backpack to stardom and made him an overnight literary darling.  His out-of-print novel, So Beats The Nylon Heart, met with a warm response, although sales were disappointing.  He worked briefly as an investigative reporter, achieving some success, before being blacklisted for what he calls “political reasons.”

In Dublin With His Pal James Joyce, Of Whom Tardsie Once Said, "He's The Only Irishman I'd Allow In My Home."

Today Tardsie only slightly resembles the brash young backpack who courageously went undercover to expose point-shaving in Special Olympics basketball and who partied with celebrities.  At nine years old, Tardsie has grown contemplative.  Two of this three zippers are long gone, “And the other one’s busted!” he jokes.  “They made me with cheap nylon,” he says, indicating the rupturing seams along his sides.

Tardsie Always Stops At The Memorial When He's In DC. In '67, His Uncle Frederick, A Foot Locker, Was Misplaced In A Saigon Whorehouse, Never To Be Found.

“I don’t regret anything,” Tardsie says.  “Something my dad used to say still resonates with me.  He said ‘Life experiences are like quarters.  You lose both by sitting on the couch.’  I’ve tried to live my life by that.”

Although that advice actually comes from the side of a Jamba Juice cup, we’re sure that the elder Tardsie was indeed a wise bag.

Tardsie Reports On The Italian Elections. He Was Arrested And Briefly Detained For Defacing Berlusconi Campaign Posters.

Tardsie Goes Undercover To Investigate Allegations That Coors Is Made From Horse Piss. It Turns Out It's Supposed To Taste That Way.

Tardsie Successfully Lobbies Pope Benedict XVI To Permit Condom Use Among Rent Boys.

What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas. But The Stains Are Permanent.

Remembering The Sixties

25 Monday Oct 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture, History

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

1960s, acid, Baby Boomers, Baby Boomers eat their young, cliche, counterculture, dope, drugs, grass, helpful hints, hemp, If you can remember the 60s, Kingston Trio, LSD, lycergic acid diethylamide. LSD not LDS which is something very different, nostalgia for a nonexistent time, pot, reefer, second base, selective memory, squares, sweet sweet cheeba, the Sixties, wild times, Woodstock, you're still not getting anything from Martha

By Smaktakula

When an aging Baby Boomer wistfully opines, If you can remember the Sixties, you weren’t there, he wants to give the impression that life during the 1960s was like this:

"Brothers And Sisters, After We Bring The System To A Crashing Halt, We're Gonna Usher In The Age Of Aquarius. But First: Thirty-Six Hours Of Rainbow-Drenched Sex In An Environment Entirely Free Of Consequences! Far Out!"

When in all likelihood, reality was just a smidge more prosaic:

"When Martha Anderson Hears This Peachy Song I Wrote For Her, She's Sure To Let Me Get To Second Base!"

Promethean Short Short Stories: The Battle Of Anticlimax

14 Friday May 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture, Humor, Literature, Military, Movies, Mythology, People, Promethean Short Short Stories, Relationships

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

anticlimactic stories, cliche, flash fiction, hibiscus, I got a bad feeling about this one, mangrove, optimism, pessimism, Promethean Short Short Stories

By Smaktakula

I got a bad feeling about this one, Sarge. 

The private’s eyes shone bright and innocent under the moonshadow cast by hibiscus-draped mangroves, hulking and gnarled with age. 

I’m gonna buy it out here.  I can feel it.  

A nightjar’s call pierced the chittering insect liturgy that was the land’s buzz-choked heartbeat.  The young man cried out at the sound.

Sarge’s voice twinkled with checked laughter: You’ll be fine, Kid.  I’ll bet you’re back home in Valley City before Thanksgiving.

Sure, the young man said, trying to imbue his words with a conviction he did not feel. 

And wouldn’t you know it?  Sarge was right: the war ended two days later and everyone involved lived happily ever after.

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