rhetoricpig

mp3s-2 from Daft Punk's new lp, an Armand van Helden, and the delicious Distroia ep by Mouse On Mars in it's entirety.

Daft Punk
Robot Rock
Steam Machine

First, let's take a look at Robot Rock from Daft Punk's Human After All. Here's a pretty standard representation of the robot-man, there's some increased speed, there's a certain obvious detachment, and there's the extended use of repetition. Robots love the repetition. Also present is a certain simplicity, and personally, I've seen/heard nothing yet to give me pause to worry. Steam Machine, aside from the anarchic title, presents the image of a possibly more formidable foe, just in that we get our first example of the robotic application of force. I'm not impressed. Though the inhuman steadiness with which the slightly high level force was applied is of note.
In closing I doubt these robots possess the initiative nor creativity to constitute a threat to man. But more importantly, in direct conflict, strategically and on the battlefield, we'll wipe the floor with them.

Armand van Helden
The Robots Are Cumming

Now then, let's move on to Armand van Helden's much more problematic The Robots Are Cumming. In comparison to the previous this is faster, the repetition is more pronounced, and while the force exerted may be similar to that of Daft Punk's 'bot, the force applied seems to be much greater here. The repetition may be an exploitable weakness and strength and speed are arenas we must expect to relinquish superiority in in the event of a human-robot coflict. What's most disturbing is the disposition of these metallic Oedipuses. There is a dangerous paranoia. "We will survive," is repeated as in turn, a threat, a statement of hope, and an expression of apocalytic fear. All of which fuel a fierce opposition. While strategically of little suprise, it cannot be ignored that the immediate target of all this automated maladroit energy is the human female! "When we cum inside." It is this phrase, pardon the expression, coupled with the seemingly willing flesh and blood woman whom can be heard at the outset of the audio, which leaves me so worried. I can't imagine how a breeding relationship could lead elsewhere than a second-class and terminal position. I know this is a sentimental 'problem' of less tactical note than their speed and strength. But I can't help myself, I'm just a human.
We're all just human.
Brothers and sisters, we have our work cut out for us. Do I think we can win? Yes. But bloody.

Mouse On Mars- Distroia ep
1. Distroia
2. Yippie
3. Distroia [Super Sonig Fadeout]
4. E135
Music by robots, for robots.

Okay, there's the requisite speed and repetition. And there are the occasional expressions of inhuman strength. But where is the simplicity? Most disturbing, where is the detachment, the hollow robotiness? It would appear that the M.O.M. (Mouse On Mars) robots are a different breed of beast altogether than the previous two sorry shades of robotic threat. Dammit! Where is the easily intimated human-centrism which has made us feel so much more important, so much better in our previous conflicts with 'metals'? Am I jumping around? Am I scaring you? I'm scared! These satanic M.O.M. 'bots are too much for us to hope to handle. They're smarter than us! They're faster and stronger than us! And now they're more fucking sensitive than us!
There is one thing in our favor. Only one thing. The M.O.M. 'bots have not deemed us a threat. Yet. Let us hope and pray that we maintain this slight from our new metal masters. Believe it and *quietly I whisper* shut the fuck up!



One can picture/hear a M.O.M. robot standing over the inconsequential last dead person, remarking, "I'm human after all."

*mp3* Class System (feat. Pharrell Williams and Julee Cruise) - Handsome Boy Modeling School

In a previous post I gave a list of invasion-ripe nations. The comments that followed included a number of intelligent suggestions for additions to the list. There was also the suggestion of Poland. I quickly replied that this was a horrible and stupid idea, mainly because Poland is an ally (and a friend), but also that they have a frightfully powerful navy.
While this truly is a bad idea, after the properly chided commenter quickly responded that there was some mistyping, the truly wonderful (and noble) invasion suggestion came to light. We must invade the Roland music technology corporation.
Not only do they have primo keyboards, mixers, mass-cd burners, and even beautiful digital accordians like the one pictured. They torture their people! Women have little to no rights nor expectation of safety in/at Roland! Not content with being world leaders in the advancement of sound recording technology, Roland is ACTIVELY PURSUING A NUCLEAR DEVICE!

Since no one will, we must! We will! We will prevail!

mp3 Kreator- Total Death. From Endless Pain, 1985.

You have three things. What you deserve. What you can affect. And what you're gonna get. That's reality, there're no rights on that list. You don't have any rights.

So let me get this straight. You're not a huge fan of ignoring the reality of the constructs of society.

Marriage, feh. Religion, yawn. Racism, boo. Gender, pshaw. Rights, I got fu*king rights!

You point out these constructs' artifice, their weakness, their falsity. Even while attesting that you have freedom of speech. Even while attesting that 'I have my rights!' and 'You can't give me a cavity search!' Even while attesting that 'My lord cannot!' run you through, from horseback, with his sword, as the Sheriff sits on his favorite stump and laughs.

You have:
1. What you deserve. Your feelings are real. That's why things hurt.
2. What you can affect. Gun, cash, bigtime lawyer, big muscles, working spine, all can be plusses.
3. What you're gonna get. This is the intersection between what you can affect and everything else. You should write a poem about your problems with it.

I guess I can understand using the rhetoric to accomplish/gain things. But that's all it is, rhetoric.

If you get a moving violation (and maybe other stuff) in California and go to court, the court arbitrarily adds a significant amount to the fine and then doubles the whole deal. Or something like that. Is that in the constitution?

#7 and #8 from Tony, Toni, Tone's Sons of Soul, (Lay Your Head On My) Pillow, I Couldn't Keep It To Myself.

1st. Africa- Where do I begin? This country more desperately needs United States intervention than any other.

2nd. Iran- They have long goaty beards and wear black robes. Plus, it's pretty confusing having Iran and Iraq right next to each other, we could fix that.

3rd. Switzerland- Those neutral bastards have had it coming for a long, long time.

4th. Great Britain- The most highly anticipated rematch of our lifetimes! WHITE VERSUS WHITE! ANGLO VERSUS ANGLO! Will they fight with their pinkies out or will they show the world what savagery really looks like?

5th. Texas- This truculent nation's sovereignity is a constant threat to the security of the U.S. and it's populace.

6th. India- Somebody's been getting a bit big for their britches and is due to get knocked down a peg or two.

7th. Vatican City- There are many invaluable and immeasurably destructive items, devices, artifacts, sigils, books, and scrolls hidden away beneath the city. If they are too big of pussies to use them then we have the obligation to our people to secure the greatest available position of strength.

8th. Georgia- What sort of trickery is this? We have a proprietary right to this great southern state, even it is somehow located in eastern Europe.

--INCOMPLETE LIST--

Why must so much power be used for evil?

RIRSAD (the rhetoricpig institute for remedial socialization and advanced deepness, rhetoricpig for short) is ecstatic to announce a new inductee into the Glue Hall of Fame! 'Jet fuel, pet fuel! Give me glue!' Here's Armand Van Helden's Koochy.

We here at rhetoricpig feel it incumbent upon ourselves to comment on President Bush's recent innauguration speech. This speech was MOST extraordinary. For the last 90 or maybe 150 years there has been first a vibrant debate and then a consenual negation of the idea that the U.S. should/must excercise moral authority and righteous physical dominance over the planet the U.S. happens to reside on, ie be the world's policeman. NOT IN BUSH'S MIND. W is the world's beat cop. And making his rounds just like that beat cop he'll eventually get to your corner of HIS neighborhood. And that cop's morally obligated to stop the crime he encounters, right? I mean, he's got the gun, who else is gonna do it?

All of this is rhetorical shorthand for action, action, ACTION.

Maybe the sniffer-in-chief should switch to glue.

And again, why must Ninja Tune use it's immense power for such downtempo, jazzy evil?

See if your blog is on the list. If it's not, holler at me. It may be because your blog takes itself too serious, but an invitation makes everything sweeter to the pig.

The mp3s aren't the worst. Here's #5 and #6 off Tony, Toni, Tone's Sons Of Soul, Leavin' and Slow Wine.

My sidebar was straight shite. I admit it. But now it is organized baby! Four sections, you effing bloggers, rhetoric, impersonal music links, and ephemera.

From the Shaun of the Dead soundtrack here's Kid Koala's mix of the Noveltone's The Gonk. Followed by this extravaganza, Fun Dead (Cheggars vs. The Gonk). Shortbutsweet.

Any sort of band. And no, it wouldn't have anything to do with The Rolling Stones.

mp3s- #3 and #4 from Toni, Tony, Tone's Sons of Soul
My Ex-Girlfriend (one of my faves)
Tell Me Mama

I had a post planned about how all chordata (animals with spinal chords) are basically double layered tubes with three types of cells, inside, outside, and just in-between. These in-between cells are most interesting, your anus and the always-wet parts of your lips. The second part of this kiboshed post was a exploration of the idea that waste traveling through your digestive system (from teeth to ass) is never actually inside of you. Rather it is in a contiguous channel traveling through and defining the tube that you are. Urine is your only true waste.

So you say, 'you just posted it.' Well, what I had planned was more technical. But I forgot a word. The word for the category of those in-between cells. And now these devil words have invaded my brain guaranteeing I'll never remember. It's not 'parietal', that's a bone but also cells in a cavity or channel. And it's not 'perineum' that's the space between your anus and your jubblies. Nor 'perineal'.

mp3s- Al-Naafiysh (The Soul) - Hashim. Thanks Guys, Fu*k You - Good For Cows.

You know The Painted Bird. If not,

... And with a rapid movement such as women use to gouge out the rotten spots while peeling potatoes, he plunged the spoon into one of the boy's eyes and twisted it.

The eye sprang out of his face like a yolk from a broken egg and rolled down the miller's hand onto the floor. The plowboy howled and shrieked, but the miller's hold kept him pinned against the wall. Then the blood-covered spoon plunged into the other eye, which sprang out even faster. For a moment the eye rested on the boy's cheek as if uncertain what to do next; then it finally tumbled down his shirt onto the floor.

Eugh, that was tough to transcribe. *breathe* And it just gets worse after that, that's page 36. My book recommendation is Matthew Stokoe's High Life. It is a dark, dark, DAMN DARK, and nasty, and dirty, and filthy, and almost evil, but quite intelligent, read. I don't have my copy but here's a quote from his only other book; the much more fantasmagorical Cows.

... The Guernsey's head was soaked with blood, part of it's snout buried in the burst abdomen of a young woman held sideways and aloft by the snouts of other cows. Steven looked closely at her and saw her eyelids flutter. Wall impact was seconds away and there was nothing, absolutely nothing on earth she could do to escape dying under an avalanche of beef.

Involvement on a more personal level was imperative. He reached forward, gripping tthe Guernsey with his knees, and took hold of her head, thumbs gently closing her eyes and resting there. He locked his arms straight and drew his fingers back until they were curled behind the woman's ears.

Her head was the first thing to hit and the impact drove Steven's thumbs through her eyes and into her skull. Viscuous milky sludge squirted from her sockets and wet his forearms, then her head burst in his grasp and fountained blood and brain against the tiles in an enormous ink-blot pattern.

And yes, I quoted with the aim of somewhat shocking you. I wouldn't recommend either book unless there was a lot there other than just blood, guts, abuse, and nasty sex. If you just want that read Edward Lee and Wrath James White's The Teratologist. But don't think either, that I got the most nasty bits out of the way. No way.

I'd really, really like to hear from anybody that's read any Stokoe. Buy High Life, it's 11.53$.

Beans and Cornbread by Taj Mahal and Linda Tillery. Naah, this tune's all about brotherly love. Enjoy. And that is a picture of grilled meatloaf. Why didn't I think of that? As rhetoricpig wallows here in Los Angeles' San Fernando Valley, my piggy mouth waters, for I think back to a favorite UK delicacy. Deep fried sausages. *mmm* Now, we know that the English eat fish 'n' chips the way yanks eat burgers. This gives them deep-frying advantages. Don't get me wrong, America is home to the holy Mecca of deep-fried foods; the Minnesota State Fair. *mmm* Deep fried Snickers bars. Why didn't I think of that?
But where we're making fries and taquitos, they're making the main dish. And my main dish of choice right now would be 2 deep fried sausages and a large order of chips. These are stout sausages, about 2 inches by 6 inches, heavily battered. And this piggy likes an excessive amount of vinegar. Picture by benchilada.

The high-quality whole record is too rare. We love our singles. M.I.A.s album was pretty good. As is Nellie McKay's two disc. The latter is more impressive in that it is stylistically diverse (to say the least). Not AS diverse, but an equally impressive unified work, is one of my faves, Sons of Soul by Tony, Toni, Tone. 12 tracks, one dud. And the dud's debateable 'cause it's a slow ballad. I've spent my proverbial wad, it has been small as of late, so let's begin.

If I had No Loot
What Goes Around, Comes Around

Come back real soon for the next couple tracks, y'hear.

Don't get me wrong, we can all rattle off tons of favorite records, (Salt n Pepa, AC/DC, Leo Kottke, Asylum Choir, Joe Walsh, Culture Club, etc., etc.), but allow me my blanket statements.

Mr. Egyptian - Jon Wayne
What You Deserve Is What You Get - Seeed
Actionist Respoke - Mouse On Mars
Track 4 - Ya i Dryg Moy Gruzovik

*oynk* *oynk-oynk* More Aksak Maboul, Mouse on Mars, Jon Wayne, and if you demand it, Seeed to come.

Tous Les Trucs Qu'il Y A La Dehors and Mercredi Matin - Aksak Maboul
Exedrin - Kool Savas
Super 16 - NEU!

How about a stinkin' comment? I ain't had one in days and YOU can remedy that. Come on!

Angry, not-so-young man, Immortal Technique is a damn fine artisan. Refreshing is that his 'success' is attributable to his drive and perspective, not to his overly-hyped MAD SKILLZ. Not that I.T. don't have immodest skills. Here's 2 songs. Obnoxious and The Message and the Money. This post is apt to give the wrong impression about I.T.. He's intelligent, he's political, he's well read. But...

That's your girl? B!tch, get over here! Give me some brain. I'll bust off in her face. And right after the segment, she'll probably rub it in her pussy, tryin' to get herself pregnant. I said it, I meant it. That's the way I deal with enemies. Like pro-lifers who support the death penalty.

That's a pretty standard refrain from the progessive left. Not the pussy-rub line, rather that there is prima fascia evidence of horrid hypocrisy inherent in holding both a pro-life/anti-choice position and a pro-capital punishment view. This is not the case. Let rhetoricpig explain. The progressive left is unable or unwilling to admit to the stark differences in the ways in which the right and the left percieve and identify the concept of 'guilt'. For the left, guilt is something personal and subjective. It is about feelings and perceptions of actions done. For the left guilt belongs to the guilty. Not so for the right. To the right, guilt is not a feeling to be mulled and mewled over at one's whim rather it is a decisive statement of fact. 'You do bad thing. You guilty. You have guilt. You get onus.' And not a metaphorical onus, no, a big scarlet letter A.
Okay, so, anyone can admit the differential between an unborn, water-dwelling little human and a big scary con with tattoos and muscles and shivs and worldly pain.
That coupled with something rhetoricpig has already lectured about, the ever-present distinction in the bible, Talmud, and Koran, of the difference between killing and murdering. War and capital punishment are biblically endorsed, remember. Killing someone because they personally upset you is usually frowned upon.
So get with the program! Don't attack an invalid weakness. No fiery mental hoops need be jumped through to reconcile savin' the cute little embryos and fryin' the murderers and rapists and sendin' them to their just rewards.
That's it for the unrequested rhetorical rant, on with the other two promised Immortal Technique quotes. This one's also from Obnoxious.

I'm invokin' the spirit. We takin' it back in the day, to the golden age when whack motherf*ckers used to get thrown off stage!

Yee-haw! Don't worry whack blogger, nobody's in any position to throw your ass proverbially off-stage.
And from our other cut, The Message and the Money, Immortal Technique lets his rough side show.

Oh, heh, and one last thing. You don't have to agree with everything I said, but don't ever be condescending to me. Biggin' up your whack-ass friends that rhyme and bein' like, 'Oh yeah, Immortal Technique, he's a'ight.' No, nigger! Your mom's pussy, that's a'ight! Your peoples getting shot dead in the street. That's a'ight! I'm the motherf*ckin Immortal Technique nigger! The message and the money! And you ain't got either.

Sounds like Saturday night at the donut shop playin' Street Fighter 2. Shoryuken, b!tch!

Kill All The DJs - Beats for Beginners
See, I was having a hotdog at QT's dogs, actually a split and grilled Chicago fire dog with mustard and onions. And next door is the Pizza Hut. Well pizza man #1 was driving out while pizza man #2 was walking into the Hut. And get this, #1 signalled #2 by honking his horn! Whatever the code was, the message was passed because #2 smiled at his conspirator!
Now all this could be an extended series of Rube Goldberg coincidences. But! But I smiled at pizzaman #2 as he walked up to the store... And he did not smile at me!
What the HELL is Bush up to NOW?!
My photo-server's down today, so imagine a picture of a bloody butcher knife.

And. My Name Is Cheech The School Bus Driver - Cheech Marin. *oink-oink* *oink-oink* *oink-oink-oink-oink*

Here's to your day being well-oiled, be it with pork fat, wd-40, or edible massage oil. Here's Pete Townshend and Raphael Rudd with an acoustic guitar and harp, Let My Love Open The Door.

You know this. The best music can sometimes feel as though it is a direct act of kind and affectionate love between the artist and the specific audience (you). This is beautiful, but best not to be thought too hard about as they probably do not want to hug or hang out with you. This wonderful Cockney cracker makes this valley boy feel just so. So here's The Streets with a big aural hug. Don't Mug Yourself and Same Old Thing.

I think I'm still partial to the original, (which I posted in the last couple weeks), but I am impressed with Marilyn Manson's version of Rock n' Roll Nigger. *oink* *oinkoink*

Rza and ODB- We Pop

A spirit passed before me: I beheld
The face of immortality unveil'd
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine
And there it stood, all formless- but divine;
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake:

And the next stanza basically says 'Who the hell do you think you are, you're nothing compared to God!' And there's a reason why I didn't include it. I'm fascinated with that third line, 'Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine'. Zonk! Everybody's out but you. The first issue of Judge Dredd published in American comic format had that storyline, sorta. Aah, stories drawn entirely by Brian Bolland. *sigh*

Let me see your happy-dance. You know, the one you should be proud of, that you think is silly. It is silly. But it's awesome. From 1985, off of Invasion of the Spacepeckers, here's Video Kids with La Bamba. Hey! Watch this!

Dead Gringo Malt Liquor by Aztlan Nation.
Crack open a dead gringo. I used to be partial to Laser and Brickhouse me'self. More later on the drastic upsweep in violent revolutionary rhetoric.

I missed you. Am I sorry about giving you this crappy song? I don't know.

I really only have one question. Why do they have to be German? I mean they're not exactly a comedy group like the McKenzie Brothers. So what's with the jackbooted sound. It's good, but they could be from Belgium or Georgia or Portugal. But they're not. They're German. Coincidence?
Amerika Western Remix By Olson Involtini
Amerika Electro Ghetto Remix By Bushido

mp3s- Louis Prima- Beep! Beep! *oink*. Two Herbalisers from The Gumball 3000- Mission Improbable and Time 2 Build, that first one's tight but the second has a better intro. Los Halos- Black Thread from Driv3r.

We here at the Rhetoricpig Institute for Remedial Socialization and Advanced Deepness (RIRSAD) feel it incumbent upon us to bring to light things lurking just below the surface of our shining and blithe mp3 sphere. I have a couple horns to toot other than my own.

First, you know Vinyl Mine. Then you know the vinyl miner is serious about his music. But *psshaw* that's not why we're here, anyways it's usually too serious for my ADHD ass. But didja know he was an equally serious aspiring gourmand. That means he likes to eat and smoke and drink. He has a neglected little blog called Drinking and Eating. Example: his last post was a paen to squeezable sour cream and had a pic of his breakfast. I thought it looked excessive, and I'm the rhetoricpig! Visit, salivate, love, repeat.

That community service announcement accomplished let's move on.

Music Forest is, to my eye, our only nearly all Japanese-language neighbor here at the blog rolls. There is some very strategic English to be found, mp3 names and genre. Genres are, in order, electronica, rock, jazz, and a bit of pop. I go for the electronica. I stay for the quality and the utter lack of context that I engender from the surroundings. That and the brief attempt to change the webtemplate to something that celebrated winter or the boy's festival or something else Japanese and conservative. Did I mention the quality? Aphex Twin's Pikachu Muthafucka and Homer's Donut Odyssey were quite a treat. It's a music forest, don't take an axe, take a basket.

Rhetoricpig hates slam poetry, but absolutely loves this piece. From Sage Francis' Sickly Business here's Killing Muslims w/ George McKibbens. If you don't like, tell us why.

I am cheap and/or poor. Please visit Cabaret Chocolates, order some dark chocolate diamonds, and let my cheap ass know if they are as delicious as they look. Oh, and I hope you enjoy this old Masters of Reality tune, The Eyes of Texas. ZRS question- What is the tastiest, bacon or chocolate? That pic is not Cabaret.

Black Betty by Spider Bait. This song makes me want to lay down in the middle of the dance floor, yawn, stretch, and scratch my ass. And then get my size 13 hillbilly feet in the air and through the floor.

I got a real manly, American song you should listen to. Listen to it hard, comrade. Merle Haggard- Fightin' Side of Me
I bet you can't wait to get your grubby red paws on my cheese.

How's that delicious-looking pie?

America taught me how to kidnap and torture cats. Exit the stargate.

That's my favorite line from Non Phixion's Black Helicopters. And off the Driv3r videogame soundtrack, here's Teddybears STHLM backing up rhetoricpig asking you nicely to, "Move Over."

The Devil is beautiful. That's why he's the Devil. The mullahs say that music will stupefy you, and make you ripe for the Devil. They've got a point.

That too is off the Driv3r disc. Ripe For The Devil by Okuniev. I'm runnin' out in the rain to rent that 'ish. See, I rented it before, and it sucked round things. Gamewise, it was... jenky. But I heard nothing. See when I play games, which I am oft to do till my arthritic hands curl up like the pincers they've become, when I play the sound is minimal and I am usually listening to some horrid talk/rhetoric program or, in the rare times I'm calm enough, music.

Am I missing something? No rhetoric, I'm scared I'll offend somebody.

Here take these parasites off my hands. Summer of '69 by JJ Fad and Supersonic by Bryan Adams. And here's the sound of my pre-pubescent vision of a 'real' woman.

My butt sweats alot. And it isn't even big and fleshy. Four from The Cars. Good Times Roll, Shake It Up, My Best Friend's Girl, and Magic. So how'd I do with the sharing? Pretty good, ay? :)

Sh!t, I almost forgot about this post.
Tiger Rag (Hold That Tiger)- Stephane Grappelli and David Grisman
Go here to give them your money.
Here's 25 types of sandwiches.

1. Ham and swiss
2. Salami
3. Chicken salad
4. Tuna salad
5. Egg salad
6. Bologna and cheez
7. Liverwurst
8. Fried egg
9. Peanut butter and jelly
10. Turkey
11. Pastrami
12. Corned Beef
13. Roast Beef
14. Pepperoni, mmmm
15. Cheese
17. Cheesesteak
18. Barbecue beef
19. Pulled pork
20. Poor boy
21. Deviled ham
22. Peanut butter and banana
23. Fried bologna
24. Bacon, lettuce, and tomato
25. Muffaletta

Don't Try Suicide by Queen. You have so much to live for. Please leave a comment if you decide not to kill yourself.

Zakir Hussain and the Rhythm Experience- Lineage.

If there's one thing rhetoricpig can't handle, besides leaving the house, it's positive attention and praise. So here is an absolutely wretched, wretched song. Time Zone (World Destruction Mix) by Time Zone featuring Afrika Bambataa and John Lydon. Even the title sucks in so many ways. Nominees for worse lyrics can be left in the Zero Response comment box. But my pain is my problem, no matter how much I try to share it. Blog? And as such... love. Here is love. By Musiq, that's actually the greek letter 'mu' followed by 'siq', by Mu-siq we have Lunatic Harness off the same titled lp.
This hurt me more than it hurt you. And here's some reversespeech, Cause I Love You.

Here's How Old R U off of Master Blaster's We Love Italo Disco. I like to think about the dirtiness this upbeat ditty entails. *piggy smile* Kinda like this Drifter's tune, Under The Boardwalk. I always figgered that a rendezvous under the boardwalk would be hurried and sandy and could suffer from a lack of lubrication.

Angela Bofill-Can't Slow Down, from Let Me Be The One '84. Cage and Copywrite- Weather Report from Big Fam Remixes. DJ Q-Bert- Hawaii Scratch Training Session off of Rise: The Story Of Rave Outlaw Disco Donnie.

912 years ago, I mean 913 years ago, me and you are standing in the Eagle's Nest, it's in the Persian mountains, up high. I'm me, rhetoricpig, and you're the emmisary of the current Persian potentate. Who by the way is the leader of the largest army ever. In my ever grandiloquent way I say, "Yo, look over there, you see my guard guarding at that cliff, turret thing? Well, check this out!" Rhetoricpig, me, raises his palm as if to wave, clenches all his fingers save the pointer which is left aimed at the lighest of blue skies. In a seemingly noncoincidental yet fantastic event, yonder guard suddenly transforms into a white-robed cartoon anvil plunging towards the ground. Having not actually transformed into anything with the compression strength of iron, just being a guy that jumped off a cliff, he reaches the deep and distant solid ground with the expected terminal and wet results. No one was pushed. But you are afraid. I continue to speak, "Your king wants me to... I have seventy thousand men and women and children ready to do the same for me, or better yet take somebody with them, and your king wants me to bow to him. Tell your king I'd rather see him bow to me. Go. Go, and every time you speak, thank me, rhetoricpig, that you still have a tongue in your mouth."

Okay, so that is a bit melodramatic. And no it wasn't rhetoricpig or a distant piggy ancestor, rather it was Hasan al Sabah, The Old Man of the Mountains, the leader of the Assassins, the famed Hashishims. And the story is lifted with liberty from Akron Daraul's A History of Secret Societies. But how the Old Man got such allegiance is by far the more interesting story.

First, get the skeleton of a child. Affix it to a pole. Cover or replace the head with an animal head. Carry it around with you for the next eight years until another clan steals it. Tell stories about your fearsome and ferocious god.
F*ck Da World - Raptile. I am... crazy... help me... f*ck the world. Wodka and Bacardi by Sido, Fler, and B-Tight, off of Aggro Ansage Nr. 4. It's not in English.

Rhetoricpig definitely does know how loaded one would have to be to fully appreciate this song. Ain't No Party (Like An Alcoholic Party) by DJ Kicken VS. MC Q. But given the right conditions, rhetoricpig feels that this would be sweeping the floor with your ass, ball-busting fun. Oh magic eightblog, will rhetoricpig ever again be so loaded? 'OUTCOME DOUBTFUL'. I don't believe it! And I'm gonna do something about it!

That pic reminds me. Rhetoricpig recommends reading Tim Lebbon's novel, The Nature Of Balance. In it's own way it is quite nasty.

I am currently fixated on this 42 second song, from Mountain Music of Kentucky Smithsonian/Folkways '96, Martha Hall- Young and Tender Ladies.

Come all you young and tender ladies
Be careful how you court young men
They're like a star of a summer morning
They first appear and then they're gone
If I'd've known before I courted
That love had been such a killin' thing
I'd have locked my heart
In a box of golden
And fastened it down
With a silver chain

Enjoy. And damned if I know what's up with the link,if it fails to load press reload and it'll work for some reason.