Archive for February, 2009

kidneys, mares, and mayers

APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE!

Enter Stockton B on a bright stage, curtains behind him, house band to his right, and a boisterous crowd just yards in front.

“Thank you folks, it’s great to be here. First thing, I gotta talk about this. Medical history in the making. Surgeons removed a woman’s kidney through her vagina, so she could give it to her ailing niece! You heard me. An unusual operation they hope will encourage others to donate because it reduces pain. Amazing. Yeah, apparently soon after, Kim Kardashian made an appointment to have her entire insides removed that way. Yup, she had 200 consecutive orgasms, and now she’s dead. The doctors are thrilled with the results.

And that’s it. I’m done. How’s that for a monologue? Take a note, Leno.

But seriously folks, Tonight, as you know, is our 5th Post Anniversary. And so we’re beginning the fifth, with a first.

For Johnny Carson, it was Groucho Marx. For Conan O’Brien, it was John Goodman, for Diego Maradona on La Noche del 10, it was Pelé.

And for The Cuisinart, it is Dylan Mayer, of Dance on Friday fame. Our first celebrity! So, mindless babbling and off putting jokes aside, here is the first outside submission to the blog. Who will be next?

FADE OUT, FADE IN:

HORSE WITNESS -

Please forgive me and my horse
We need some money for the courts
Who apprehended my eldest girl
For a wrong she’s not done

You see it was the orphan lad
A castrato for that retched band
Who with my daughter had a dalliance
Now she’s in jail for a lustrum

He went into the barn with her
Laid her in the provender
No, I was not there, of course
But this falabella has stated

That the boy produced
A match and lit it on his boot
Dropped it to the floor and hooted
As the place conflagrated

You see it’s the oldest tale
According to this miniature mare
Two lovers in peril who prevail
But one flees as the other is hauled off to jail

If it wasn’t for she
Not speaking it would most certainly be he
Behind bars but they two agreed
To not squeal to the authorities

So I’m taking this tiny steed
The only witness to the entire scene
To tell the police exactly what he’s seen
And set my poor little girl free

I just hope they believe
And can understand this horses’ speech
And it won’t come out a string of whinnies
But first some money for the bus ride, please
A few pence for my pony and me.

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DylanMayer on February 6th 2009 in Comedy, Fiction, News, Poetry

Chickens are decent people.

First off are a few graphs from an article from our fair, unbiased, and objective news source, The Huffington Post- with unfair and biased color commentary from me:

Former Vice President Dick Cheney warned that there is a “high probability” that terrorists will attempt a catastrophic nuclear or biological attack in coming years, and said he fears the Obama administration’s policies will make it more likely the attempt will succeed.

The Bushmen will soon have successfully
blamed everything that happened when they were
in office on Clinton and all the repercussions of those
problems on Obama. I did the same thing with my
brother and  sister throughout my childhood. It
worked like a charm and I was the only child to receive
care packages my freshman year in College.

Cheney unyieldingly defended the Bush administration’s support for the Guantanamo Bay prison and coercive interrogation of terrorism suspects.
Protecting the country’s security is “a tough, mean, dirty, nasty business,” he said. “These are evil people. And we’re not going to win this fight by turning the other cheek.”

Yes. We’re going to win it the same way we’ve won the wars
on drugs, abortion, corruption in business, and political scandal.
And we need your help.

Now, for a bedtime story…

Edgar had always been alone. His first memory was waking up from a midday nap, prying his shuddering and heavy eyes open, lifting his head from the pillow on his bed and seeing no one there to welcome him back from slumber. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, adjusted himself to the light and walked, precariously, through the house in search for his mother. Edgar never knew, nor would he ever know, that at that time, his mother was in the garage having extramarital intercourse in her station wagon.

Edgar was four years old at this time, and lived with constant separation anxiety. His mother, Evelyn, birthed Edgar unintentionally. While she had no plans to today, or any other day, 15 years from now she would, in a fit of anger, tell Edgar he was a mistake. Edgar, after admittedly only a moments search for his mother, began to cry. Evelyn could not hear his cries. After a painstaking hour of trying to get him to sleep, she felt vindicated in engaging in this act unfettered, and her moans were a manifestation of that, more than the pleasure she received from her male suitor.

Unsure of what to do, Edgar did what most children would do, he sat on the couch, clutched at a pillow and wept. First loudly and hysterically with the hope that salvation was a mere earshot away, and then weakly, as if the way an injured and helpless dog cries after breaking a bone. In the garage, Evelyn relished in the moment of having responsibilities for no one: not for her burdensome and austere husband and not for her sensitive and fragile son.

After some time, a crow perched itself on the branch of a naked tree, just outside the window from where Edgar sat. It was not the first time Edgar had seen this type of bird, with its gleaming black feathers and penetrating eyes, but he was always accustomed to them flying. And now here it was, sitting next to him, with but a partition of glass separating the two. Edgar stared hopefully at the bird.  He tapped on the window gently. The bird reacted and turned his head, with a subtle and curious tilt to see who or what it was making the noise.

Edgar, with tears dried to his crimson cheeks began to cool down. He waved at the bird and the bird nodded slightly yet unmistakably in return. He felt safe, almost instantly. The two sat for nearly fifteen minutes together before Edgar’s mother slipped in through the garage door. When he saw her, he didn’t feel the comfort he normally did, but fear that this was a woman who left him and may leave him again. Evelyn was mortified that Edgar sat that there, within earshot of her screams. She was worried about herself first, and in some capacity, Edgar new this: her hair in disarray, her button down blouse flung over her shoulder, and her shoes in one hand. The unknown scared Edgar and the prospect of the known scared Evelyn.

After adoring reassurance of her love and devotion, a pleasant movie put on and a surprise snack made for his enjoyment, Edgar felt a bit better, but in a way that was unnatural- It wasn’t the way he felt when the crow nodded and sat with him, in silence, and in company.

For the ensuing years, Edgar often encountered this crow in times of isolation. It would return, and perch outside the window, and the two would sit together as Edgar grew old enough to stay home alone, and as Evelyn felt comfortable leaving the house to pursue her interests. They sat while Edgar watched movies, while he read, and while he planned out his future. What was always constant, was the mutual recognition the two had and that the crow, in some capacity, knew he provided solace to Edgar, and perhaps Edgar to him.

And on the eve that he left for college, three months and seventeen days after Evelyn told Edgar that he was a mistake, he went outside in the yard and waited. He waited for an hour until the crow finally flew down. He didn’t perch on his shoulder, or come and eat off his hand, but he went back to the tree he’d always sat on, and stared at Edgar. Edgar knew, at that moment, that he would never return home again. And, content with that, he also knew that the crow would find him again, and sit outside his window.

Finally:

Here is a great video on crows that you may find can be a great answer to some of the problems facing US Foreign Relations/National Security.

-stockton

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Stockton Borealis on February 4th 2009 in Fiction, News, Short Story

Info

The following message is from supporters of the cuisinart blog:

I realized that I may not have been as clear as I could have been, with regards to submitting material. The best way for you to submit your stuff, would be via email. Mine is Snrswaz@gmail.com.

“I’m Stockton Borealis, and I support this message.”

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Stockton Borealis on February 3rd 2009 in Uncategorized

Prideful Plugs and Celebratory Hugs!

“Now the business we have, heretofore, you can speak with my aforementioned attorney.”

This is a quote from a movie I like. Can you guess it (sans Internet search)? This can be a regular function of the blog, if you don’t cheat.

First:

Since this is intended to be collaborative, I’d like to plug a few sites run by some friends.

*Marla’s Photo Blog. “She’s Very Good”

*Pete Berg’s Power Hour Site, and Six Word Stories

*Wikipedia (I think this one could really change the world once an English version is released.)

*Ari’s rant blog

Secondofly:

Ever notice that right before someone says something terrible to you, or about you, they preface it with “No offense, but…”?

Also:

Tibet has been freed! So put your signs away, cuz you’re 50 years late anyway. They’re liberated and the 50th Anniversary is less than a month away. Take this opportunity to pick out something to wear. Thank your local Chinese official, as well. It’s a celebration!
I’m glad that this burden has been lifted off of the Tibetan citizens. And this is not the only Anniversary, Darfurians will be celebrating their twenty years of deliverance under the benevolent Omar al-Bashir. For the occasion, he’s giving everyone the day off.

Next (possibly last):

I was in a Verizon store recently and I noticed there are no longer employees greeting you at the door. There is now an electronic sign-in. I think Wal-Mart should adopt the same system and give those seniors a break. Upon looking at all the different phones, I started thinking about how much machines are a part of our lives. They do quite a bit, and more and more, humans are doing less.
Our phones have text, picture, and video messages. Games, ring tones, and touch screens. Youtube, myspace. They even have GPS. Most cars don’t have that. These elegant devices keep us connected and are nearly limitless in their potential. But why is it that when I go to the counter to pay for the thing, that little electronic signature machine still looks like a retarded mutant fishfrog man signed it? I think we can do better, and frankly, I’m sick of feeling stupid at the end of transactions.
Moreover, if you actually purchase something that expensive, there should be an employee standing at the counter, whose sole responsibility is to open the High Security Prison Packaging the charger comes in. I think it should be the old Wal-Mart greeters. Long story longer, by the end this, I was so frustrated that I decided to return my cell, and purchase a land line. I’m not sure who uses these anymore, and it may have been a poor decision. But time will tell.

Apparently David Simon feels the same way I do about Verizon stores. Here is a video response he made to my blog entry (This is actually quite interesting, check it out).

-stockton

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Stockton Borealis on February 3rd 2009 in Comedy, News, OpEd, Uncategorized

Your Road To Demascus

Note: For your guided entertainment, links are integrated into this blog and should thus be clicked with your mouse button as you read. Most of them don’t even take you away from the page, and the ones that do are super happy fun time links.

Hello Blogosphere, I’m ready for my closeup. There will be an important note at the end of this post. The third part of the first part of this endeavor will reveal two truths. The second part of the first part of this blog will be the dissemination of my fake identity. The first part of the first entry will, in part, explain why this blog was created…

This blog was created with one purpose: To solve each, every, and all of the world’s problems. Big ones, tall ones, baby gap small ones, and regular medium shape sized ones. I welcome them all ones.

My name is Stockton Borealis (no it’s not).

I’m not going to solve all of the world’s problems, mostly because of my remote location relative to at least a bushel of problems currently plaguing the worlds (hyperspace included).

More accurately, this will function as a creative food processor for friends and colleagues. It is like This Site, except it is for writers. There are no creative limitations, only that you accompany your submission with some form of narrative supplement.

Published here will include short stories, news articles, youtube videos, movie, book, tv reviews and recommendations, and THAT’S IT! THE LIST FUCKING ENDS THERE! Just kidding, again. I know it’s not best for relationships to start with lies, but I think we’ll make it anyway. In actualness, I encourage written submissions of all kinds, and I will publish many of them. But don’t forget, they have to CHANGE THE WORLD, in some form or another.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Blogosphere is NOT a recognized cosmological term.

-stockton

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Stockton Borealis on February 3rd 2009 in Comedy, News