you never read this, and I never wrote it.

I hear a lot of talk about “big conspiracy”. I have boiled it down to just three questions:

1) Who has the real power?

2) Just how closely are we being watched?

4) What happened to question number 3? Why did it suddenly disappear? Was it close to something? Did it make the people with the real power nervous? Are we just going to just stand by and buy the story that “It just left without any notice.” What? It just vanished without a trace? Keep asking questions about number three. Don’t back down. The truth is out there.

-Anonymous (spence.)

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where have all the stranglers gone?

In this day of Hannibal Lechters and Jason Voorhies… um Voorhies’ses… you know what I mean. These days, there’s nowhere for an old fashioned “strangler” to ply his trade. That’s what used to terrify us, the mysterious and ambiguous “Lover’s Hill… street… something… strangler.” He was hiding in the shadows waiting to choke some unlucky person in a convertible, wearing his black golfing gloves and black turtleneck sweater… a real gentleman’s homicidal maniac. These days the killers dress in old winter sports equipment and rarely take the time to look for just the right hat.

I met with an old strangler last night. He was hanging out in a small coffee shop next to the senior center downtown. A lot of old killers congregate there and reminisce of a more civilized time. Times when you weren’t just a “guy with an axe” but you were a very important “axe murderer”… a time when nicknames were well-thought-out.

He ordered the banana pudding and sipped a coffee. His hands were wracked with arthritis and he couldn’t even strangle an earthworm. It was a bit like seeing the old lion at the zoo with his shabby coat and toothless snarl. Out of respect I didn’t turn my back to him at all. I think he appreciated the gesture.

“Strangling? That’s a young man’s game.” he’d say. “I don’t think much about it anymore. Oh sure, I’ll think about it now and again when I’m trying to wrench the lid off of a mayonnaise jar or when I’m squeezing the neck of a life-sized replica of a surprised looking human that I keep in my attic. Otherwise, I don’t pay it much mind.”

I, for one, feel safer knowing he’s off the streets and making potholders in a craft class.

spence.


craig’s list deleted my post.

 

click it to view.

spence.


animal testing.

I want to take a few moments to speak with you all about something that may not affect your everyday life but is nevertheless going on all the time. It is cruel, inhumane and wrong. We need to do what we can to stop animal testing. I am vehemently opposed to animal testing in several fundamental ways:

1) CRUEL
I read that in Germany, they subject kennels full of dachshunds to standardized tests such as the SAT, MCAT, LSAT and more. These poor little dogs can hardly hold a number two pencil and yet their little paws are pressed down on scantron sheets for hours with few breaks for water and walkies. These loving, unquestioning and loyal canines are then forced to apply to schools that, quite frankly, most of them can’t afford without financial aid, which is scarce in the German university system. Most of them will never even be accepted.

2) NEEDLESS
These tests are not adjusted to determine animal aptitude. They are, therefore wildly inaccurate and irrelevant in their results. Is it really an indication of a “superior” animal when the critter has attended an extensive test prep course or instead simply an example of “teaching to the test”? When a cheetah, the fastest land animal, is unable to finish a test in the alotted time, has the cat failed or has the system failed in its inflexibility? Should a horse raised in the country and a monkey raised in a city pet shop be given the same word problems? What do we actually learn from animal testing?

3) UNFAIR
Do you think these tests are fair to all the animals who are subjected to them? Ask “Pretty Roy”, a dyslexic myna bird from the East Indies, who can barely squawk out “Roy wants a Karcker.” without embarrassment and humiliation by the other birds, let alone apply the Pythagorean theorem correctly to geometry problems. How about Clive, a Portuguese boa constrictor, who does not even speak English as a first language? How does Clive or any other non-native reptile make reading comprehension commentary or classic literary analysis on a text written for another culture, and often written in a completely different time period, long before they were ever born and/or hatched?

Let’s think out of the box here. Please let’s let go of old interspecies educational paradigms. These varmints, pooches, kitties, serpents, rodents and marsupials alike deserve our love and respect. They are our cuddly companions not guinea pigs for our curricular convenience. (Unless they are actually Guinea Pigs.) Instead of taking your cute, lop-eared albino bunny to a tutor for work on its vocabulary, maybe spoil the little fellow for a day at the spa. Get the little man a shampoo, get his little nails painted, maybe treat him to some fancy and expensive mascara or eye shadow. People who say they can’t really tell if an animal is happy or sad have never looked closely at the smile of a rabbit wearing a fabulous shade of Yves Saint Laurent lipstick.

spence.

Ha. Ha. I’m so clever, but seriously, stop fucking with the animals with product testing.

They didn’t ask for it and if they could, they wouldn’t.

Click here to find out about who’s naughty and nice.


confessions of a tough guy.

I have something personal to share. It’s nothing I am ashamed of, just something that I don’t usually share with strangers. I was born without nipples. I had these tattooed on. They were done in Thailand by a one-eyed fisherman with a cleft lip and a rusty needle. I asked for anchors… the fucker gave me nipples. I was pissed. Apparently, in the Thai language, the words for “anchor” and “give me nipples”… are very similar. To pronounce the word for anchor, you have to roll your tongue and throw your uvula over your left shoulder, but I was born without a prehensile uvula so I cannot say “anchor” in Thai and when Tweety-bird is in my throat, he cannot box the speed bag.

I knew it would hurt, so I asked for a bullet to bite down on, but apparently, in Thai, the words for “bullet” and “Will your cow give me sympathy”… are also very similar. When I found this out, of course, I refused and bore the pain without the aid of bovine condolences.

I’m pretty tough like that. I eat Rangers and Seals for breakfast. Not Navy seals, real seals… and Lone Rangers… for breakfast. Incidentally, if you are going to eat a seal, don’t eat the big colorful ball, turns out it’s not edible. Think of it as a garnish.

spence.


i should be on iron chef.

This holiday season, try something a little different.

ORCTURDUCKEN FLAMBE ALA OCEANA

You put the duck in the chicken, inside a turkey and feed it to a killer whale, light the whale on fire and set it free. You don’t get to eat it this way, but even if I weren’t a vegetarian, I wouldn’t eat something with the word TURD in it.

Don’t worry. A whale, doused in coleman fuel can burn for 3 minutes without permanent injury, if it doesn’t submerge first… but they always do after 5 seconds 😦

spence.


what’s mine is mine.

When you rent, the landlord asks you to list all the things the that are wrong with the place when you move in… scratch on the cabinet, broken doorknob. I like to throw in a few extra things with the future in mind… That way when I move out and we do the walk-through I can be like, “That was there.”

spence.