Tuesday, February 15, 2005


Today we have colds. We went to Walgreens and looked through all the remedies until Hannah was satisfied we had what we needed. I was surprised that for someone so cynical that she thought any of the remedies worked. I have trouble believing that it isn't basically the same stuff in every product.

I am aware that many people in the world see me as something of an intellectual, who knows why? Because I know who Nelson Algren is? Because I read a friend say "Joseph Boyce" exhibition and I know that she most likely means Joseph Beuys? Anyway, to confound this popular image of Extreme Unction as a chin-stroking man of ideas, I would like to take a few seconds to pay homage to my favo(u)rite trash TV star - Dog the Bounty Hunter (pictured below).

I don't just love the Dog for his tasteless mullet, skin-tight tops, and the way he wields a can of Mace. I dig the deeply weird mix of his daily life, working with his family (who all have tattoos, tight tops, and hair-trigger tempers), chasing down bad guys, his brief flashes of street wisdom, and the occasional explosions of sentimentality that invariably inspire a tear to trickle down below Dog's shades and end with men hugging men, men hugging women, and men hugging men again, usually while a handcuffed Mexican looks on bemused.

Bless you, Dog!

I know this is not a unique idea, but I ran yesterday's writing through Google's translation, turning it into German, then Italian, then back into English using Babelfish. The end result is quite funny.

The voice to understand

They have guided entirety ahead, with people in the posterior center. People have had names, but temporary she had alleviates them you of their labels. It has described like the man 1 of the stick and man 2 of the stick. One of the men of the stick has had misread just a sign that "the sale of the goodses" dictates and it had rendered it like "sale of the dii." That one was up to now the culminating point of the travel.

The cure was playing calmly therefore calmly, than all that you felt yourselves they were cymbals and the synthesisers. To its mind, the synthesisers they have seemed plans you for the maximum penetration of the skull. It has thought next to the giant robots in a future uncultivated land, stomping through the abandoned cities, the sounds of the synthesiser from the album of cure amplifies you to a volume that has transported the impressive destruction. Then it has thought next to all the members (and the former-members) of the cure that must have long operations and complex in a hospital in which not there was anaesthetic.

It has had its sense and Van put Morrison over. A period of thirty second ones is passed.

"sound like a turkey that is picked," has said its moglie brandnew.
"I have listened to hardly the cure that geme an hour, we is uniform."

The men of the stick in the posterior part, have still not had names. They were calm, like if they were trying hard to remember themselves of. Or perhaps forgotten to supply to the men of the stick the social abilities of base.

He has watched the sky of the Mississippi, has chosen that what has thought was the little meaningful part, therefore stared. From no part, he has felt the voice to understand , increasing towards the outside a message that has churned the automobile...

"... poichè we work to extricate same dal reign della reflection, finally we will see that not there is cure, here we are Van Morrison, but only a single song, the song della creation... and it not sound nothing at all like a turkey that is picked... "

It was calm. Van Morrison was calm, also. It was probably on its sense to the furnace by now.

Slowy, has begun to hit its barrette leggermente on the dashboard in order to remember to all that was here.


Blogger anan said...

ah. now my mind understand is. done well, hut of pin greater.

4:40 AM  
Blogger kingfelix said...

"The men of the stick in the posterior part..."

Oh, how I roared...

9:02 AM  
Blogger L said...

In one of my old blog posts, I did the same type of translation (with World Lingo, rather than Babelfish)-- absolutely hilarious-- and highly addictive!

6:05 PM  
Blogger kingfelix said...

I knew it had to be some ancient idea. I'm worn out, marrying is such tiring work. I think I might indulge myself and write about how exhausting polygamy must be.

If only I can get my posterior part into gear.

6:46 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home