How A Little P Became A Big P

Posted on March 24, 2012. Filed under: History, Humor, language, Mythology | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

No!  Definitely NOT a physiology class.  More of a chemistry thing.  Previously, we left Yohan (as his buds called him) nursing a world-class hang over, possibly resulting from a bad guilt trip over his soon-to-be-realized ripple effect on global societies.  Or, maybe, from a cheap wine called Thor’s Thunder Juice – 100% Natural.  Can’t corroborate that because history, like expensive PC software today, does suffer considerable “corruption” of its records.  Unlike software (a planned obsolescence product) you cannot buy an upgrade of historical data because — like the software license disclaimer states no one is taking responsibility for lost data.

Judging from the long-term nausea engendered by printing on demand, I have to conclude that Yohan took time out from his copy of Victoria’s Secret (the cookbook) for a late-night assignation with a mysterious vixen called Dora, only to find out later when he clumsily knocked her “jewelry” box off the bed stand that her full name was Pandora, of Greek descent.  Thunder Juice or no, Yohan got down on the floor with her and they both groped around trying to get those little squirmers back into the box.  Yohan did notice that one of the escaped critters seem to blow him a kiss as it disappeared from view.  He described it later as having button-like studs all over it and a little window displaying the letters “xoxo” (there is but one brief account of this in a moldy, later edition of Victoria’s Secret (the cookbook) under “Letters to the Chef).  Yeah.  That’s my story, and…

Now, about the pP thing.  Back then, it was guys that made the world go around.  And, always with guys, size is important.  In the printing business, I’m sure those inkers were very keen on owning the biggest press available, and, over at the local watering hole that catered to printers, et alia, the boast “my press is bigger than your press” got a lot of laughs.  Rapid printing meant that you could get away from printing slow-changing text books and those old and tired authoritarian government edicts and actually blab about something in almost real-time.  These new blabbers called themselves reporters, an obvious ploy to redecorate the term gossip-monger.  Vying to get the best gossip,,,   story...    to the public first, caused an epidemic of swollen egos floating their pride in lots of suds at the local pub.  But, the competition did not end with the longest belch; out back, at the walled trench that passed for a public rest room, the contestants lined up to see whose puddle had the biggest head of foam on it.  The prize:  the winner could now truthfully boast, “My pee is bigger than your pee!”

Back in the press club, this spore group that would propagate like fungus to become reporters, paparazzi, columnists, anchor persons, journalists, bleah, bleah, bleah, came to a common conclusion:  they were BIG in every way.  Big printers, big egos, big pee, big mouths.  It was inevitable that one of them would see the word press and subconsciously realize that “since my pee is bigger than Ed’s pee, the p in my press ought to be bigger than the p in his press.”  So, whenever you see the phrase “The Press,” you are not seeing a claim to elite status, but a brash boast that the touter has come out on top in an ancient, drunken male ritual called a pissing contest.

Next up:  An update on my cynicism

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Muse to the Rescue

Posted on March 6, 2012. Filed under: General Interest, Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , |

Greek mythology.  If you went to high school, you know about all those ancient Greeks and their gods and goddesses.  They had one for everything.  Should something new come up that they had no god/goddess for, just get a couple of them together in a procreative way and, BOOM, you got tailor-made divinity (the Mount Olympus kind, not the candy).

Case in point:  Zeus, king of the gods, and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory.  Some of the arts needed a little regal backup, so out pops — not one, not two, but — NINE little misses…  uh, muses.  Here, count ’em for yourself:  Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, and Urania.  For your own safety, just count them, don’t try to pronounce them.  In order of appearance, their specialties are:  epic poetry, history, love poetry, lyric poetry, tragedy, sacred song, dance, comedy, and astronomy.  Hmmm.  Star gazing is one of the arts?  Maybe Urania was the one disappointment in the litter.  Hey, it can happen in any family.

Quit looking around on those navigation charts, and pay attention here.  You were warned about my lack of navigation skills and a tendency to digress in my first two posts not more than a month ago.  You’ve already booked passage, so suck it up, me bucko!

Situation here is I’ve run aground just short of Inspiration Point, and, I thought maybe one of those divine chicks might put a big boot in my, uh, CPU and get me on course.  Three of those girls are into poetry, one is a dancer, and yet another is a gospel singer;  I’m just not feeling it.  Since I’m stuck in NOW, the history major won’t work, either.  Tragedy?  Now, there you got your big downer, and I’m already at a low point.  Comedy is a frame of mind, and we previously established that I don’t have that…   the frame part.  Star gazing involves all those charts, and, we don’t really want to go there, do we?  0 for 9.  Now what?  A lot more work for SID (i.e., Ship’s Inane Digressor)?

Next:  We will get through this.

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