Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Logic Problem

A situation similar to one in logic books:
I stood before two lab'rinth guards identical in looks

A placard stood before them; it should come as no surprise
it said "one guard tells only truths - the other only lies.

A single question's all you get to figure out your way
So ponder carefully and work out what you want to say."

I thought awhile to no avail, and could not work it out
What could I ask to get the truth and not be filled with doubt?

Instead I walked up to the guards - each drew a wicked knife -
and asked as plainly as I could "do you enjoy this life?"

The guards looked shocked, they stood awhile, making no reply.
Then suddenly they dropped their knives and both began to cry.

They pulled themselves together, and one said, through his tears
"No one's ever asked us that, not in all our years!"

"that's wrong!" the other one replied, but winked so I would know
that he's the guard who always lies. "Am I UNhappy? No!"

"That sounds so sad," I sympathized. "Don't you have any friends?"
"The only people that we've met are corpses in dead ends!"

I gave them Kleenex, and we chatted for a good long while.
And when I asked them where to go they told me with a smile

I started, halted, turned around, asked them to come with me.
They left their posts, we left the maze, all happy to be free.

The moral of this poem is: With problems facing you,
logic is an awesome force, but being nice is, too.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Game of Owns

Open on The Wall. JEOR MORMONT and 3-FINGER HOBB stand looking out at the North.

HOBB: Getting colder, my lord.

JEOR: Aye. If we don't put more men on the wall, the rest of the realm will feel it too. We can't possibly hold off an invasion of windings, let alone what might happen if the rumors are true.

HOBB: Are the dead walking again, m'lord?

JEOR: I don't know, Hobb. But you need only concern yourself with cooking for the men - leave the politics to me.

PIPP enters at a run. He kneels, then stands.

PIPP: Lord Mormont! We've received a raven from Florent House.

JEOR: Excellent! Perhaps Yoren has convinced these southren lord to cough up a few good men.

PIPP: Well, no, m'lord. It is but a single word: "First."

JEOR: "First"?

PIPP: That's all it says, Lord Mormont.

PIPP exits.

JEOR: Hobb, can you make any sense of this?

HOBB: No, m'lord. Perhaps Lord Florent wished to inform you that he will be the first to send reinforcements.

JEOR: But why would he just say "first"?

PIPP enters.

PIPP: Another raven, m'lord, this one from the Greyjoys. It says..."The Wall sux." and "sux" is misspelled.

JEOR: What?? Curse these southron lords - have they no respect for the men that guard their way of life?

HOBB: Why would they write us to display their apathy? Why not keep silent?

PIPP: Worry not, m'lord; Stark house has sent a reply. [reads] "The Wall does not suck. It is Florent House that sucks. And Florent House is not well versed in letters if they cannot even spell their slights."

JEOR: I am glad of the Starks' support, but we would be better served if they sent men.

A raven flies in and lands on PIPP's shoulder. Ravens will periodically come in and land on PIPP's shoulder.

PIPP: A message from the Tullys! [reads] "This Wall is just another government money hole, the Iron Throne is corrupt and failing, send me a raven for the truth!"

JEOR: The Others take this nonsense!

PIPP: from the Greyjoys again! "We did not know that Stark House was named Protector of the Realm's Grammar. Please accept our apologies, douchebags." It seems this raven was meant for the Starks.

HOBB: Why do they use us as a forum to talk to each other? Can they not send ravens to one another directly?

JEOR: The white walkers are coming! Will no one come to our aid?

PIPP: This raven has no name. "I know very few will read this. I am a small unheralded knight trying to create my own wall. It is hard to get exposure in this realm so I hope someone will come and visit my wall. All support is welcome!"

JEOR: They cannot use our Wall for spam!

HOBB: They seem to be doing so regardless, m'lord.

JEOR: Tell them to stop leaving stupid comments on our Wall!

PIPP: A letter from the Baratheons! "The Iron Throne is not corrupt - the Tullys are wacko conspiracy theorists"

HOBB: It matters not when we all perish to the cold!

PIPP: from the Lannisters: "This Wall is great! We saw it ourselves at cc.org.tz/142"

JEOR: Enough!

The room is overrun with white walkers and others that slaughter everyone. The ravens leave squawking. One more raven flies in. In its hand is a note from the Florents: "LOL Gay."

Sunday, August 19, 2012

House Cup

Open on Hogwarts Great Hall. End of year ceremonies. BRANDON GOLDTHWAIT, a first year Ravenclaw, is excited. AMELIA PINDLESTAFF, a 5th year Ravenclaw, is not.

All right, we did it! Ravenclaws are number one! Woo!

No we didn't. We didn't do anything.

What do you mean, Amelia? We won the House Cup and it's not even close! See? We're 200 points ahead of the runner-up!

It doesn't matter. I hate to break it to you, first-year, but we won't win.

What do you mean? Did someone get in trouble? I hope not, I worked like a House-Elf off for those points.

No, it's nothing to do with us. It's them. [gestures to Gryffindor bench.] Gryffindor always wins.

Gryffindor? But they're in last. And I believe some of their students ran afoul of the administration - broke quite a few rules.

Just shut up and watch.

DUMBLEDORE takes the podium.

Ah, my dear weezlewumps and gullyfrogs, alas, alas, the end of the year has come and so it is time to distribute the prized House Cup. If you will direct your eyeballs to the standings, you will see: Ravenclaw: 1216, Slytherin: 983, Hufflepuff: 881, and Gryffindor: 540. Congratulations, Ravenclaw.

Listless cheer from the Ravenclaw bench, with the exception of BRANDON, who cheers loudly.

And yet, magic is full of tricks and caprices, and things like mathematics can not be considered as they are in the Muggle world. Therefore, we have a few last-minute points to award.

What? Last-minute points?

Here we go...

First, to Miss Hermione Granger, who proved that in a pinch, an intellect is an able substitute for a wand - we award 100 points.

Gryffindor bench cheers. Other benches grumble.

Oh well, Hermione is very smart. But I though her wand was confiscated after she threw it at a professor; that shouldn't count.

Next, to Ronald Weasley, who, in the end, let his virtue win out over his jealousy, and his fortitude triumph over his insecurity, we award 120 points.

Gryffindor bench cheers again. Other benches begin to mutter protests.

That's an awfully vague reason to give out 120 points! I revamped the castle drainage system and only got 50.

I told you, this thing is a farce. Boo, Dumbledore! Boo!

DUMBLEDORE [overriding]
Magic can sometimes cloud the difference between what is right, and what is good. And to delineate between a friend, and an acquaintance. To Mr. Neville Longbottom, for divining said differences, we award 150 points.

Gryffindor bench cheers even louder, as other benches begin chanting "You suck!" "Re-count!" etc.

We're just pawns in his sick game. Get it over with, you hack!

Well, surely that's all the points he can give out without seeming completely biased.

A frown is an upside down smile, but it is equally important to remember that a smile is an inside out frown. For that we award Colin Creevey 75 points.


Laughter may not always be the best medicine, but then again...50 points to the Weasley twins!

Are you kidding me? They beat up a first year for ruining one of their punchlines.

Gigglesnorts and rumplestacks may quarrel in the moonlight, but hey-blibber junebugs run the triangle offense. In sum, 80 points to Rubeus Hagrid, and by association, Gryffindor!

Great Hall is in an uproar.

He's just making up words! He's giving points arbitrarily to teachers and making up words! HOW IS THIS JUST?!

Silence, my guinea pigs. Well, those are all the points that I had to give out; it seems Ravenclaw has won with 1216, while Gryffindor trails with 1215.

DUMBLEDORE winks and smiles at HARRY POTTER, who winks and smiles back. HARRY sneezes.

Bless you!

Thank you!


Ahhhhhhh, gratitude. "Thank you" truly is a magical phrase. 2 points to Gryffindor, Gryffindor wins!

Gryffindor bench explodes with cheers. RON gets up on the table and starts doing the "suck it" motion to the Ravenclaw bench. HERMIONE conjures a giant middle finger to wave in the air. Professors all dance and clap for Gryffindor. Gryffindor bench starts singing "na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, hey hey hey, goodbye!"

I'm transferring.


Saturday, August 18, 2012

Dick Tattoo

JACK, a 20-something office drone, is working at his desk with his headphones in.

JACK [singing]
Wake me up inside, wake me up inside, call my name and save me from the dark.

ETHAN, a similarly aged office drone, runs in.

Psst. Jack. Jack!

He grabs JACK’s shoulders; JACK jumps.

Whoa, hey, man, you scared me! [he pats his shoulder and realizes they are dry]. Did you wash your hands?

Doesn't matter dude, listen! I was at the urinal when Mr. Frankle came in, and I saw his dick.

What? Why?

Shut up! He has a CARLY RAE JEPSEN tattoo on his dick.

A what?

You know, Carly Rae Jepsen? Call Me Maybe?

JACK shrugs.

ETHAN [sings reluctantly]
Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number-

Oh, right right. Wait, dude, that's ridiculous. He's 60, no way he has any sort of dick tattoo. It was probably a liver spot.

I know what I saw! She had bangs - liver spots don't have bangs!

OK, fine, suppose our boss, Mr. Frankle, has a Carly Rae Jepsen dick tattoo. Who cares? It's not a big deal.

Because I HAVE THE EXACT SAME TATTOO, Jack. That's how I recognized it.


AMANDA enters.

Hey, would you guys keep it down?

Wait a second, Amanda. Ethan, what are you saying?

Mr. Frankle and I have the exact same dick tattoo.

The Carly Rae Jepsen tattoo?

How do you know about it?!

Christmas party.

Look, none of that matters. I'm scared about what this means, guys. Is Mr. Frankle my long-lost father?

You KNOW who your father is.

Maybe we're meant to be best friends. Maybe we're part of a secret society.

I hope not - he smells like a WetNap.

Look, regardless, I gotta confront him.

No, you don't! Your basing this off one errant glance in a bathroom - he doesn't have a Carly Rae Jepsen dick tattoo!

Let him be Jack. I think it's fate.

Thanks, Amanda.

MR. FRANKLE enters.

Mr. Frankle, I have to talk to you about something.

Don't do this man...

I believe we have the same Carly Rae Jepsen dick tattoo. I saw yours at the urinal and I have the same one. I don't know what this means but I figured you'd understand. We're kindred spirits, Mr. Frankle.


Are you crazy?!


That's preposterous! I don't even know who that is!

You know, [singing nervously] Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy-

You’re fired, you pervert! Get out of my office!

But sir, the tattoo…

I have never had a Carly Rae Jepsen tattoo on my penis, you freak! Just be glad I’m not pressing charges for ogling my privates!

ETHAN leaves. The others are silent.

What kind of sicko would mistake Megan Fox for Carly Rae Jepsen? [looking down, pats his crotch.] There, there, Megan.


Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Three Letters to Myself

Dear Me in the future,
What’s up? How are you?
It’s me from the past, which you probably knew.
I’m writing 'cause soon we’ll be one and the same
And I’m wondering things: does our wife take our name?
That is, will we marry? Will we procreate?
I’m trying to get, here, a sense of my fate.
Do we end up bald? (I guess I mean “when”)
Do we climb up the sea cliffs of Eire again?
And how are my parents? Are they still around?
Do we still jam to techno or is it just sound?
What job are we in? Do we find it fulfilling?
Do we live day-to-day or do we make a killing?
Sorry for this interrogative glut,
I’m dying to know all the who’s ,why’s and what’s!
I don’t know how you’ll send it, Please write back fast.
Ours, very truly,
You (Me) from the past.

Dear Me in the past,
My, how long has it been?
I’d call you “my friend” but we’re closer than kin.
I was tickled to get your inquisitive note
And even more so when I saw what you wrote.
You want to know how our whole life turns out,
But there’d be no fun in removing all doubt!
Plus I don’t want to mess up the space-time continuum
But I do love your letters, by all means continue ‘em.
I’m afraid you must wait and find out on your own.
You’re done growing up but you’re still far from grown.
I’ll give you this, kid, you got plenty of gumption,
So do us a favor: trim your candy consumption.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to our bed.
I’ll see you quite soon!
Me up ahead.

Hey Me from the future,
It’s earlier me.
I just got your letter: still an asshole, I see.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Post 44

Now here's a little story I've got to tell
About three right-wingers you know so well
It started way back in history
With Paul Ryan, Adelson, and me - Romney
Had a horsey named Rafalca for financial gain
Just me and my horsey and a job at Bain 
Stuck in a quagmire, because of who I fired 
Didn’t want the blame – retroactively retired 
One lonely Romney I be
All by myself without nobody
The campaign is beating down on my Touch of Gray
The polls are gettin' hot, I’m not sure what to say.
Lookin' for a mate I ran into a guy
His name is Paul Ryan, I said, "Howdy" he said, "Hi"

He told a little story that didn’t sound legit 
Seven terms in Congress and he’s looking to quit
The hour was at hand, I lacked a running mate 
His voice was hoarse, he whispered “I can guarantee my state” 
He said, "Can it be me?"
I said “let’s wait and see.”
Had a chance to leave
He denied my reprieve
He was quick to the point, I thought I was trapped 
He put his face up next to mine and this is what he rapped,

"Now my name is Paul Ryan and I hate the urban poor 
I think you know your polling sucks it’s time for something more 
Now what do we have here: a Mormon with gay fear;
I’ll help you out and raise your clout: I make myself clear?"
We stepped into the wind, in chilly Wisconsin, 
You think this campaign's over but it's ready to begin

"Now I got the looks, you got the dough
You got two choices of how this will go 
It's not a tough decision as you can see
You can lose the Christian fundie’s or you’ll run with me"
I said, I'll run with you if you can sway the middle classes
The left is blasting me for what I did to the masses
I did it for fun, I did it for sport 
I even hoped that they would self deport 
So I'm getting burned, they want my returns 
And  right about now it's time to let them yearn. 
The King Romney that is my name
And I know this fly guy who can fund our campaign."
We flew to Vegas in a private jet 
The beat was vanilla and the girlies? Upset. 
This dude was staring like he knew all our thoughts 
We took the empty spot next to him at the slots
Paul Ryan said, "Yo, you know this robber baron?"
I said, "I didn't." but it became apparent 
The dude said, "Get ready cause this ain't funny
My name's Sheldon A. and I have too much money."
Pulled out his wallet put it in my hand 
He yelled, "Pander to me!" to make sure I’d understand 
Funding uproar was being incited 
Sheldon bit back by citing Citizen’s United
"I'm Sheldon A. and I get respect
Corporate tax breaks is what I expect"
Paul Ryan was with it and he's my mate
So I said I’d fight for DOMA and a flat tax rate 
Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is back, the job growth stopped 
We used to have health care, but that got dropped.
This is just a scary and yet cautionary note
But Mitt will take the White House, unless you vote.