The Vogons have landed

You know how everything Trump says should be read as pure projection? When he complains about corruption it’s because he’s about to launch a kleptocracy, etc.? You should read the poem written for his inauguration.

My god.

Oh my fucking god.

Come out for the Domhnall, ye brave men and proud,
The scion of Torquil and best of MacLeod!
With purpose and strength he came down from his tower
To snatch from a tyrant his ill-gotten power.
Now the cry has gone up with a cheer from the crowd:
“Come out for the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!”
When freedom is threatened by slavery’s chains
And voices are silenced as misery reigns,
We’ll come out for a leader whose courage is true
Whose virtues are solid and long overdue.
For, he’ll never forget us, we men of the crowd
Who elected the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
When crippling corruption polluted our nation
And plunged our economy into stagnation,
As self-righteous rogues took the opulent office
And plump politicians reneged on their promise,
The forgotten continued to form a great crowd
That defended the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
The Domhnall’s a giver whilst others just take,
Ne’er gaining from that which his hands did not make.
A builder of buildings, employing good men,
He’s enriched many cities by factors of ten.
The honest and true gladly march with the crowd
Standing up for the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
True friend of the migrant from both far and near,
He welcomes the worthy, but guards our frontier,
Lest a murderous horde, for whom hell is the norm,
Should threaten our lives and our nation deform.
We immigrants hasten to swell the great crowd
Coming out for the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
Academe now lies dead, the old order rots,
No longer policing our words and our thoughts;
Its ignorant hirelings pretending to teach
Are backward in vision, sophomoric in speech.
Now we learnèd of mind add ourselves to the crowd
That cheers on the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
The black man, forgotten, in poverty dying,
The poor man, the sick man, with young children crying,
The soldier abroad and the mother who waits,
The young without work or behind prison gates,
The veterans, wounded, all welcome the crowd
That fights for the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
Whilst hapless old harridans flapping their traps
Teach women to look and behave like us chaps,
The Domhnall defends the defenseless forlorn;
For, a woman’s first right is the right to be born.
Now the bonnie young lassies that fly to the crowd
Have a champion in Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
But for all his great wisdom, the braw gallant man
Is matched by his children, the handsome Trump clan,
And the flower of Europe, Melania the fair,
Adds a luster and grace with her long flowing hair.
May they flourish and prosper to form a great crowd
Around the good Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!
Is there man left in Scotland, without base alloy,
Who remembers the Wallace, the Bruce, or Rob Roy?
Or have five hundred years of a blasphemous lie
Robbed your manhood of might that you lay down and die?
Get up and walk free, all ye brave men and proud!
Long life to the Domhnall, the best of MacLeod!

JESUS, I’M BLIND! Or at least, I’ve really got a terrible headache.

Don’t tell the Cuttlefish. He’ll be whirling in his grave, moments after that poem killed him.

I’m doing him no favor, but I will acknowledge the author, Joseph Charles MacKenzie of The Society of Classical Poets, who, I think, might be related to Ewan McTeagle.

Who knew fjords could be so dangerous?

If you’re looking for an entertaining movie on Netflix, my wife and I just watched Bølgen (The Wave) — it looks like the Norwegians (it’s subtitled) took the standard American disaster movie, stripped out the egregious stupidity and the exaggerated catastrophes, and made a good thriller about a realistic and major problem. It seems some of those scenic, steep-sided fjords have occasional gigantic rockfalls that can cause tsunami-like walls of water to go rushing down, destroying everything in their path. No volcanoes erupting in LA, no comets plummeting towards earth, no colossal earthquake that splits the planet in half…just a terrifying local danger and people trying to cope.

Rogue One is a movie

It has a beginning and an end. It has many characters (maybe too many characters). It has conflicts. Many of the conflicts are resolved.

It is a science fiction movie. There were many special effects. There were aliens and robots. There were many strange planets (maybe too many planets). There were gigantic slow motion explosions. There were space battles.

It benefitted from a large special effects budget, and from the 40 years of Star Wars resonances constantly humming under the hood. Aside from those, though, it seemed more like a Roger Corman imitation of a Star Wars movie. The fact that the music was just slightly off from the expected John Williams score made that even more gratingly apparent.

However, it was a perfectly serviceable, if unexceptional science fiction movie. Much more upscale than you’d get on SyFy, but otherwise it would have fit in well with other genre movies on cable TV.

Join the Rebel Alliance

I didn’t make it to the midnight showing last night, so don’t worry, no spoilers here. I did run across this poster though, which for some reason speaks to me.


Never mind the goofy movie, sign me up to rebel against tyranny.

I’ll probably get to the movie tonight, though, and I’ll probably be disappointed, because the whole damn universe has been disappointing lately.

Do we really want to encourage people to rewrite Christmas carols?

They’re already so tiresome, the world doesn’t need an excuse to play Christmas carols more. I already cringe when I step into any store.

But OK, just one. As we all know, “Baby it’s cold outside” is one of the rapiest songs ever, so how about killing those lyrics? So Lydia Liza and Josiah Lemanski did. Here’s the new version.

I really can’t stay/Baby I’m fine with that
I’ve got to go away/Baby I’m cool with that
This evening has been/Been hoping you get home safe
So very nice/I’m glad you had a real good time
My mother will start to worry/Call her so she knows that you’re coming
Father will be pacing the floor/Better get your car a-humming
So really I’d better scurry/No rush.
Should I use the front or back door?/Which one are you pulling towards more?
The neighbors might think/That you’re a real nice girl
What is this drink?/Pomegranate La Croix
I wish I knew how/Maybe I can help you out
To break this spell/I don’t know what you’re talking about
I ought to say no, no, no/you reserve the right to say no
At least I’m gonna say that I tried/you reserve the right to say no
I really can’t stay/…Well you don’t have to
Baby it’s cold outside
I’ve got to get home/Do you know how to get there from here
Say, where is my coat/I’ll go and grab it my dear
You’ve really been grand/We’ll have to do this again
Yes I agree/How ’bout the Cheesecake Factory?
We’re bound to be talking tomorrow/Text me at your earliest convenience
At least I have been getting that vibe/Unless I catch pneumonia and die
I’ll be on my way/Thanks for the great night

I still don’t want to listen to it every day, but stripping out the consent overrides makes it a little better.

Next, kill Jesus from all those other old chestnuts. “Chestnuts”, damn. Now I’m thinking of that other Christmas favorite that starts off with a line about chestnuts…the problem with most of these songs isn’t actually the lyrics, it’s the frequency.