Sunday, June 29, 2014

News You Can't Use: 'Lacklustre' Lana Del Rey Fails to Put a Smile on Rain-Soaked Crowd

When times are tough I just remind myself that things could be worse. I could be writing concert reviews. This thought is the cerebral equivalent of a Hollywood hand-job. Yes, I can enjoy the false superiority of looking down on the poor devil who uses an well-worn thesaurus to try to come up with fresh ways to say the same things over and over: "The sound wasn't good (cuz it's live)," "The crowd covered in rain/mud/sewage/agent orange had a subdued reaction," and, of course, "the entire band was shit-faced." No, I don't envy this lost soul, but I will use them to slap together a weekend update.

If Friday was the day that Glastonbury 2014 sparked and fizzed to a solid opening, then Saturday was the day that Worthy Farm struggled to dry out from the subsequent deluge, offered a daytime line-up that tried hard but failed to excite, before finally handing proceedings over to rock in the evening.

See, this is what I'm talking about. "The Boeing 747 that was the Glastonbury 2014 fair struggled with lift-off, dropping those oxygen masks, losing fuel and threatening to crash back down to earth as Worthy Fair wrung the heavy rain from tired bones for a line-up that gave it a go but fell short of creating a Maslow-style peak experience before passing the ball to various garbage metal acts." Now just rewrite that a few thousand times and the dream of reporting on "music fairs" can come true for you!

It started well at the Pyramid stage where Nick Mulvey opened with a sweet set, the ideal remedy for the bleary-eyed campers, who had trudged through the mud to see him.

Look mom, I'm WRITING!!!!

And mud there was; in vast quantities. Thankfully not enough to dampen the trademark positive Glastonbury spirit

Yes, that famous "Glastonbury" spirit that no one who lives west of East Port or south of Hastings has ever heard of. Stiff upper lip lads, the "Lana" should be over soon and then we're all going home.

but enough for many to ask the question, why has the English language only got one word to describe the huge varieties of the slippery brown stuff?

It's the English language that has failed, not me.

But some of the best “Glastonbury moments” where to be found further afield, including at the John Peel Tent where hectic Brighton duo Royal Blood staked an early claim on 'festival highlight' status with a frantically aggressive rock-metal set.

Good old "rock-metal," not to be confused with "metal-rock" or "it's kind of like late era Metallica, but somehow even worse, something that, scientifically speaking shouldn't even be possible."

Elsewhere though the complaint that Saturday line-up was disappointing was widely heard.

"Right, it's a bloody outrage, it is!"

Perhaps explaining why the site seemed to convulse with rumours upon rumours about secret gigs.

Sadly the "Young M.C. double-secret comeback gig" did not occur.

And just like last year, it spread like anti-bacterial hand wash at a Glastonbury long drop that Prince would appear, though at the time of writing he had yet to be even spotted on site.

Maybe you're just too demanding.

It was down to Lana Del Ray to fill the late afternoon slot on the Pyramid Stage. She drew a big crowd, but it started growing smaller well before thunder roared and rain dumped down.

How does something "grow smaller?" It's like saying it started to increase in lack of size.

Sadly the singer, who smoked a cigarette on stage, was a big disappointment, even to some or her loyal fans.

We have very high standards for live performances by soon-to-be-forgotten Top 40 fodder, after all.

Her usual stand-out track “Blue Jeans” failed to muster a reaction with hard-to-define vocals and lacklustre delivery, while new track “Ultraviolence” went largely unnoticed by a distracted crowd.

The distracted crowd failed to viddy well, my brother, viddy well.

Just the thing to sharpen you up and get you ready for a bit of the old hard-to-define vocals and lackluster delivery.

Meanwhile on the Other Stage it was the duty of Imagine Dragons to up the pace, which they did with a mud battle in front of their stage, leaving them covered in ooze, presumably in sympathy with their fans.

It's on the "Other Stage." I can see how that could become confusing.

In was “Radioactive” that really a sort of trance-like communal act of swaying worship.

It was like a Catholic Mass, but maybe 4% as entertaining and unpredictable.

Soon after Jacked White opened his set on the Pyramid Stage with two White Stripes numbers to keep the crowd warm, before meandering into a country-music style interlude and then a self-indulgent rock out.

Well, who doesn't enjoy a good "jazz odyssey" before the headlining puppet show begins?

It was a touching tribute and left the crowd whistling the tune into the night, with the Pixies, Jake Bugg and Metallica still to play.

1994 is back and better than ever!

Komment Korner  

While I realize the author has a thesaurus, I don't need it proven to me as I read every possible adjective used to describe each situation.

I only clicked on this link to look at Lana's picture! She's HOT! But she's a lousy performer

Sadly, young Lana seems to be porking up, too.

Who are these people and who even cares.

I know nothing about her, but if she smoked a cigarette onstage, she's all right by me, by golly!

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read free excerpts here and here.

His first novel "The Foolchild Invention" is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Excerpt from "Posts from the Underground"

Gonna Set New Personal Records Today

Broseph Smith
Posts: 6,486

I no most of you homos dont even lift so u cant rlate to this or nothin but im all fired up to hit the fukkin gym. theres been so much fuarking shizit lately im gonna go fukin crazy in there prolly and beat all my prs. yeah, its fukkin on now.


Posts: 2,867

I liked the part where any of this actually happened and/or was documented.


Bow to the Masters
Posts: 12,024

In before phaggots who don’t even lift make idiotic comments and show off their ignorance.

Edit: Too late.


Posts: 4,115

Please keep us all motivated with lots of progress pics and videos. I want to see what you got, man. Annihilate those fukking weights, bro! Bring down the pain, we’re all ready for it. This is SPARTA!!!!!!


 “You’re not going to throw up, are you?” The fair young maiden avoided eye contact while abandoning her hair twirling routine to fully express the annoyance and repulsion at said possibility.

“Just give me the key, all right?” They say that a good reputation takes a lifetime to earn while a bad reputation can be obtained in a matter of seconds. The exchange, in addition to being of the highest possible literary quality, was an object lesson in that particular old saw. A few drunken misadventures several months earlier had effectively erased years of disciplined form, weight re-racking and wiping down sweaty surfaces. Indeed, it completely overshadowed all of that good and had become the sum total of his earthly value as far as the employees at Twenty Four Shred were concerned. There was probably some sort of lesson buried in all this, but honestly who fucking knows.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.” Mumbling incoherent oaths the Man who Actually Lifts negotiated serpentine hallways, found lockers, discarded the garb of an ordinary citizen for the uniform of the Iron Soldier and prepared to set new standards in the realm of moving heavy objects without any particular end objective.

It was coming up on midnight. Some reporter who looked drunk and/or stoned was soundlessly passing on the news, his weary features identical on ten different monitors. A few other lost souls were milling about, apparently done with their workouts but choosing not to leave for whatever reason. He had the weights all to himself, more or less. It was a special providence, a preview of what heaven would be like for the muscleman, assuming he somehow made it because of a clerical error or the like.

Forty Five pound plates slid on to the bar, finding their place with a satisfying metallic clang. Four bells, ready to lift. It wasn’t long before the minimalist preparation for the “dead” was completed and it was time to go testicles to the drywall and shatter preconceptions about what is and is not possible in the arena of raising something to waist level. Every last ounce of strength was deployed as our hero lifted the bar, struggled for one terrifying second and then snapping the bar up to belt level while simultaneously straightening his body to a posture worthy of a finishing school. In his mind the three white lights for “good lift” came on and he let everything crash to the floor, the hellacious collision caused by gravitational forces nearly drowned out by screams of victory. The concrete wall was punched repeatedly and even given a headbutt before an explosion of red pin pricks in front of blurred vision discouraged further self-abuse. The record had been set and it how belonged to the ages.

Adrenaline continued to flow freely, to the point where the pain generated by the injurious behavior that had been part of the celebration quickly faded and than was replaced entirely by a flood of mind narcotics of the “good job” variety. One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to stop there. In this elevated state anything was possible, not just major dead lifts. It was time to squat. Calloused hands balled into fists in anticipation of another tough battle. It happened, but not in the way that was expected. The rack was occupied. It was one of the lost souls, an unbelievably ordinary looking middle age slice of American mediocrity. He was doing curls. In the squat rack. Curls. This could not stand.

Even under the best of circumstances Joe was hardly what you would call even-tempered and right now chemicals generated by triumph and bodily damage removed any free agency that might otherwise have been present. In essence, what was about to unfold had very little to do with free will, if anything.

Before we get to the highly satisfying violent mayhem it should be pointed out that the weight room, like any other social construct, has a complex system of symbols, taboos, mores, stigmas and other two dollar concepts that are dispensed in low level sociology classes at your friendly local diploma mill. To an outsider this complex societal contract can seem nearly impenetrable, but the proscriptions can be distilled down to don’t bother others and don’t use the various stations incorrectly. Our half-way to the grave slice of average was in violation of both and grievously so by performing a wimpy “impress the holes” routine in an area specifically reserved for going all out with the balls out. This is the sort of thing that would make Ghandi beat your ass, let alone a jacked out, stressed out, balls out serious lifter whose pursuit of pee aars is being thwarted by your crapulence.

“Hey bro, I got to squat here. Move.” Across the room ten monitors were simultaneously displaying an image of a hot piece of ass being zipped into a body bag. Outside there was only darkness and a few lights from the parking lot hovering in the air like a will ‘o wisp. Heavy silence descended inside the Temple of Belief. The one other silver ager in the giant well-lit room rushed for the door like someone fleeing a wild west shootout. The silence now hung heavy as the offender of etiquette continued to transfer dumb bells from the belt to the shoulder and back, without a care in the world, as if nothing had been said and a hulking mass of well-defined muscle wasn’t well within punching range.

“Yo, chief, I’m talking to you. You hearing me pal?” Smith was now right on top of Mr. Ordinary. After a few moments of tense uncertainty his presence was finally acknowledged as the lukewarm sample of humanity ceased his exertions and turned partway, facing his inquisitor at a ninety degree angle.

“I just got three more sets. You can wait.” The voice was barely a whisper but it was clear and easy to understand. The actual content was far more difficult to get a handle upon. Three more sets? Of curls? In an otherwise empty gym? With me waiting? This was madness.

Perhaps confused by the way events were now unfolding the Forklift Engineer and Big Truck Pilot actually took a few steps away, even giving his back in what is generally a sign of submission among great apes.

The screens were showing the damage the second bomb had caused at the university. A different reporter, a little older and hopefully a little more sober, was walking through the rubble while making expansive gestures. He was talking, but with no sound it was impossible to imagine what insights were being offered. Probably “look at this fucking mess” or the like.

Mr. Smith spun back toward the violator of unspoken norms as if he was dodging one of those open field tackles in pig bladder ball. Two quick strides and he was on his victim like a tiger taking down a gazelle. The embarrassingly light free weights crashed to the ground, soon to be joined by the two men locked in mortal combat.

“Die, die, die!” Red haze fully descended as Joe flailed wildly at his prey. The young lady from the front desk, perhaps summoned by the man who had made a discrete escape before it all “went down,” took one look at the human insect fight and ran back to her station to make a telephone call that for once was not about ohmaigawd and allied concepts.


"Posts from the Underground is now available paperback and e-book.

"The Foolchild Invention" is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here. 

Sunday, June 15, 2014

News You Can't Use: It Looks Like Raging Hockey Fans Destroyed An LAPD Drone Last Night

Ice Gangs represent the last, best hope of the individual against an increasingly totalitarian system. Like a version of "Rollerball" that isn't pretentious and terrible, these "Raging Fans" are now locked in a battle for our national soul against the robotic shadow forces of Big Brother. Well, that or their team won and they started wrecking things because that's how joy is properly communicated, I'm not totally sure which is correct.

Multiple videos have been posted online showing what uploaders described as hockey fans destroying a Los Angeles Police Department drone outside the Staples Center Friday night after the LA Kings won the NHL's Stanley Cup.

It was later revealed that the videos were actually of a deleted scene from the movie "Space Jam."

Riot police were called in to break up what the LA Times described as a "melee" outside the arena following the King's victory over the New York Rangers.

When I feel good I wreck stuff. This is logical.

In one clip posted online, a drone can be seen hovering over the crowd of hockey fans before it was knocked out of the sky by people throwing shoes and clothing

No word if the anti-drone hoodie was used, but I would imagine so.

In another clip, the drone is not visible, but the hockey fans can be heard chanting, "We got the drone! We got the drone!"

If the end of civilization involves silly chants and hockey matches sign me up.

As of this writing, the LAPD has not responded to multiple requests for comment from Business Insider asking whether they lost a drone outside the Staples Center Friday night.

We were told that "you didn't see nothing" and then were made into unpersons.

Of course, with no official response, it is impossible to confirm whether the drone in the video did indeed belong to the police.

But wild speculation is fun, so let's do that.

This machine kills fascists.

Late last month, the LAPD announced it was given two "unmanned aerial vehicles" by the Seattle Police Department.

First all that whiny, awful music and now this. Thanks a lot, you guys.

When they announced the gift from Seattle, the department said it wouldn't engage in widespread surveillance

"We promise not to get drunk with power. Honest."

On June 5, in response to criticism over the department's potential drone usage, LAPD Chief Charlie Beck said he would seek input from privacy advocates and civil rights groups before deploying the unmanned aerial vehicles.

Because we need special groups and focus meetings to tell this guy "No, don't do that."

"We're going to thoroughly vet the public's opinion on the use of the aerial surveillance platforms," Beck said.

"We now know how hockey fans feel, at least."

Several tipsters have emailed Business Insider suggesting the device in the video is one of the models in the DJI "Phantom" series. These are intended for consumer use.

Sorry that this new revelation basically wrecks the story. 

Komment Korner  

I think shooting it out of the sky is a good thing. This is but another case of police bringing danger to wherever they go.

Where you come from must be the land of retards

Let me get this straight - we downed and destroyed a hi-tech police drone with a shoe? Seriously?

I can't wait for the drone dog fights to begin.

Chief Beck should bend over and grab his ankles while someone pilots one of these liberty-killing-machines right where the sun don't shine.

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read a free excerpt here.

His first novel The Foolchild Invention is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

News You Can't Use: Florida John Offered Salad In Return For Sex

The economy is bad, just ask any story written on the subject since about 2006. Despite this truism, there are still people of vision in the world, people who attempt to win friends with salad. And by "friends" I mean a very good friend for the next ten to fifteen minutes who will then vanish forever. Yes, it's time for more wacky antics from the same "Florida Johns" that cost Al Gore the presidency and provide South Beach eye-ipecac.

Meet Alonzo Liverman.

Sounds like the subtitle for a proposed "Pretty Woman 2" sequel that was promptly shouted down in favor of another "sexy White collar criminal" film.

Short on cash, the 29-year-old Floridian allegedly offered to provide a salad to a prostitute in exchange for oral sex, according to cops.

We in the "industry" call this the "dinner and a show." Well, a rabbit dinner, anyway.

Liverman was arrested Monday morning during a reverse sting that netted nine other men for soliciting a prostitute.

I don't see what exactly makes this sting one of the "reverse" variety. Wouldn't a reverse sting try to entrap with criminal activity but instead of punishing anyone reward those who said "no" with government gimmes for their high moral character? That really doesn't sound so far-fetched these days.

The hookers in question were actually undercover Daytona Beach Police Department officers.

This is why you're supposed to be all "I gots a salad here. You ain't no cop, bay-bee?" instead of just the first part.

While negotiating a liaison with a female officer, Liverman--who was “operating a bicycle”--revealed that he did not have any money.

When you're using a ten-speed bike to try to pick up girls "broke as a joke" is probably a safe assumption.

“I’ll give you a blow job for a salad,” the cop declared.

This might be the greatest single line of literature ever penned in human history. We can all go retire, there's no topping this.

The document does not detail the location of Liverman’s salad (or its street value).

The "I got these cheeseburgers" guy from "Menace 2 Society" finally finds someone he can look down on.

Liverman was busted because he and the cop “agreed upon the sexual act in exchange for food,” investigators reported.

Not sure how this is different from this thing we call "dating."

It won't help you "do the Clinton" either.

Liverman was sentenced to two days in jail and fined $500.

The "reverse sting" cost the city $50,000.

Komment Korner 

Actually, it was her idea

cops are scum

He should have offered to take her to Dunkin Donuts. Then everyone would have gone home happy.

By offering the salad he was in essence saying "Lettuce Alone"

Maybe he should try offering a Big Mac next time.

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read a free excerpt here.

His first novel The Foolchild Invention is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Friday, June 6, 2014

Choose Your Own Adventure #15: House of Danger

Last time out my running like the dickens skills averted disaster when encountering a horrifying slime monster and its human minions. I'd talk about the long delay since then, but it seems excuse-making is all I do lately and all the obvious nursing home jokes have been made, so let's just suffice it say that better days are ahead. We might even get a "DotTeeVee" episode before there's snow on the ground. Today's subject looks like a good choice to get back up on this. The premise is intriguing (a house...of danger?), the author is gray pony-tailed hippie and dwarf-hater R.A. Montgomery and the reviews I've read suggest that we're in for a wild ride. It's time for the sort-of prequel to The Horror of High Ridge which will hopefully feature the happier days before I was put into a permanent state of fear paralysis by ghosts.

That does kind of put a damper on the proceedings. Whatever I do, that's my written-in-stone future. See, this is why prequels don't work [place lame Star Wars joke here].

Get your paws off me you damn dirty...Union soldier with a whip???

I'm just waiting for something to happen in the "lab" in my parents basement. Man, it's like this book can somehow see directly into my life. "No, I didn't get a job today, Mom. Yes, I'm reviewing a children's book that came out in 1982," etc. Anyway, I'm a "psychic investigator," sort of like in Ghost Hunter. Now "lack of originality" can be added to that book's many, many sins. At least this time I wouldn't be forced to steal things because the rightful owner "makes bombs for terrorists!" Well, probably not.

I get a "weak voice" call that is suggestive of trouble, but cuts off before any valuable information can be obtained. Since it's 1982, there's no way to identify the caller. I look around the "lab," scoping out my sick digs, complete with books like "Murder in Fun." Don't go killing anyone for Slender Man, ok kid? The mysterious caller phones again, but this time I'm ready and somehow trace the number while a desperate voice is all "help" and "they've got me." The caller is identified as a "Henry Marsden" and the whole situation reminds me of the case of the "Spider Ghost." Why does it always have to be spiders?

My calm demeanor here really plays continuity havok on my fearful reaction to the paranormal in "High Ridge," but again, it's only a sort-of sequel. Different authors and everything.

I was reminded of this, not ghost spiders.

It turns out the Spider Ghost case is the source of the funding for my sweet equipment (and an FBI commendation!). Man, this protagonist is a lot better than the "I found a bottle!" hero from Book Nine. Lessons learned from that experience include the need for strength in numbers, and I'm thinking Lisa and Ricardo, who will share a "incurable fear coma" hospital room with me in the near future. I try to call, but no one's home. Deciding time is of the essence I forget about back-up and go right to the address, where I suspect there might be a house, possibly of the dangerous variety. 

I park my car (???) near one of those ultra-modern homes that eventually fell out of favor with the rise of nearly identical brown boxes. Seriously, the character in the illustration does not look old enough to have a license and this would have been a great chance to introduce one of those patented R.A. Montgomery wussy vehicles, maybe a "pedal car" or "sugar three wheeler" or the like. Instead "car." All right, whatever you say.

  I guess "Superbike" wasn't available.

It turns out the house, dangerous or not, is built on the site of a prison that burned down in 1887, killing everyone inside. Very interesting. Meanwhile, the new house is all done up in glass and I'm going to resist making a "Fountainhead" joke that maybe one person in ten thousand would get. I often wonder why that novel didn't become a pop-culture touchstone like "Atlas Shrugged?" It's every bit as long and bad, after all. 

Some guy bolts out of the house, all in a panic, and then goes down as if hit by an "invisible hammer." Grandmaster Montgomery is laying down some sick prose game, right here, aw yeah. It turns out his pursuers are some sort of animals, possibly of the intelligent, half-ape, half-man variety. The entire scene gets a huge, lovingly drawn illustration that belongs in some museum, man.

The re-release art is, predictably, less than inspiring.

I decide that the "chimpanzees" probably aren't all that tough (they're only, like, eight times our strength pound for pound, no big deal) and rush to help the fallen man. Brandishing my "pen knife" I charge at them and incredibly they retreat into a ruin near the house. See kids, carrying concealed blades solves problems. We're learning a lot. I get a small triangular scrap of paper from the man, who has died of fear! Man, 1982 didn't mess around. 

The dirty apes are back, now equipped with some sort of "blow gun" and I feel the wind of a dart flying past without result. Time to use that running like the dickens ability. Back at the car I debate reporting this to the police. "You see officer, there was this invisible hammer that ended some dude, then some Planet of the Apes-type confrontation went down and I'm driving a car even though I just turned 12." The pros and cons are weighed and the negative wins out.

 "I expect you to die, Mr. Chimp."

While waiting to "sneak up" on the house I examine the paper some more, and it turns out it's actually a chunk of "U.S. Currency." Holy fudge, the Federal Reserve is run by Ape Men!!! That crazy guy on short-wave radio has been completely vindicated. Again. 

I contemplate the possibility of a "counterfeiting animal trainer" but am forced to dismiss it as unlikely. Hey, you gotta consider all the angles. 

A limo pulls up and two Hard Men get out and approach the house. The ape-men confront them, but are ignored and then disappear. You guessed it, they're holograms being used by what is presumably the New World Order/Bilderbergers/The IRS/Whoever it is that inflicts shit like Justin Bieber on society to keep people away from whatever nefarious scheme is currently unfolding in the danger house. The men leave, carrying packages. Is it possible that I've somehow stumbled on the facility where our government created crack cocaine? 

I'm sure a pre-teen who is allowed to drive a car for some reason will defeat this.

Then I decide it must be a "gang of counterfeiters" and not my own government run amok. Good old 1982 naivete. Everything else is a neat little package, though. The monkey-illusions and scary prison remains would keep people away, and the dead man must have stumbled on the truth. Why he'd call me and not, say, someone in authority with a better weapon than a pen knife remains obscure, but we're probably almost done so let's stop questioning everything. 

I call the police, the gang is broken up, I'm a hero and hey, can't wait for that fun vacation in High Ridge!

This was a fun one. Discarding the usual R.A. Montgomery tropes really worked wonders for the quality of his writing, but I guess the urge to deliver socialist lectures, misapply nepotism, describe wimpy modes of transit and drown in unnecessary weirdness is a powerful force. Not to say the storyline I got wasn't a total mess, but it was fun and zany and let's shut off your mind dude because thinking is bad, so all is forgiven.

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read a free excerpt here.

His first novel The Foolchild Invention is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

News You Can't Use: Forget 'Practice Makes Perfect' - Meditation is the Key to Success, Study Claims

Have you been working hard to become successful? No? Hey, don't worry about it. According to a highly biased study we can just serenity our way to victory, instead of wasting valuable "Ohm" time practicing a craft in order to improve. We were wrong to believe in something that's eminently obvious. The answer is clearly a westernized version of Eastern Mysticism that accepts all major credit cards. No personal checks, please.

Researchers say that however hard some people try, they won’t excel at their chosen job, sport or hobby.

Why is the clumsy, five-foot-nothing video game addict not becoming the next [Insert Famous Sports Star's Name Here]? Not enough navel-gazing is the correct answer.

This is because the key to perfection lies in the mind.

Yeah, thanks Yoda.

They have shown that people who rise to the top have ‘highly-integrated’ brains finely-tuned for creativity.

Intelligent and creative people tend to succeed, claims controversial article.

The good news for those not naturally blessed is that mediation may help.

And by "may" we mean "won't."

The advice from Dr Fred Travis, a US neuroscientist and advocate of Transcendental Meditation, contradicts the widely-held belief that practice will, eventually, make perfect.

Who would know better than some guy with not one, but two scraps of paper who stands to gain pecuniary benefit from this latest attack against things that are unquestionably true but make us sad or uneasy.

Some experts have even put a number on it, saying that 10,000 hours of hard graft make the difference between being good enough and being world class.

It's a British article, so I don't know what to tell you. "Hard graft" definitely sounds like the key to success if it is what I think it is "Here's some money, tell everyone it was my idea," or "Here's some material goods or services, let me run past you into the end zone." Yeah, that strategy sounds good to me.

Honestly, what's up with Britain? Any moderately good idea is "brilliant." Working hard at something is "graft." Honesty is probably know as "clubbing a seal" and compassion to the less fortunate might be called "deserting your post." This sort of thinking certainly explains the current economic, intellectual and moral golden age going on in the United Kingdom.

But Dr Travis, of the Maharishi University of Management in Iowa, said: ‘Some people put in long hours and do not excel.

They waited this long to reveal the massive conflict of interest. Another Maharishi U. snob. They're probably still smarting after losing last year's rivalry football game against Gandi State College of Engineering in Nebraska.

‘It is a simple fact that some people stand out and we are trying to tease out why.

Someone suggested "genetics" but this unperson was promptly excommunicated from higher education.

In the highly-integrated mind, connections between various regions of the brain are strong, attention is keen and the brain is quick to spring into action when faced with a question.

Beer and television will cure that.

When world-class athletes, top managers and professional managers have been tested, all have shown high levels of brain integration, Dr Travis said.

Meanwhile only some of them have the "Evil Gene."

Co-researcher Yvonne Lagrosen, of University West in Sweden, said that optimising brain functioning should be a priority.

"Getting smarter should be a priority!" says some Swedish diploma-mill victim. Pass.

Dr Travis said: ‘People who want to excel in any field should consider learning transcendental meditation.’

In the words of a great poet and philosopher: "I could teach you, but I'd have to charge."

Not a suitable replacement for "hard graft."

Once the provenance of hippies, the technique claims to wipe away anxieties and fears by helping people let go of their thoughts and enter a state of complete relaxation.

Well, that's explains why "Dr. Moonbeam" just cured cancer.

Studies have shown that world-leading sportsmen, composers, authors, chess players and even master criminals, have all put in that amount of effort.

So don't expect to inner-peace your way to successful criminality. 

Examples of those who have put in their 10,000 hours include the Beatles.

*Shrieks loudly and has minor epileptic fit*

Komment Korner  

What is hard graft?

if you meditated for 24 hours per day you could rack up that 10,000 hours in just 416 days if you never slept or ate

Thanks scientists, for once again "discovering" something that everyone with a brain already knew.

A transcendental meditation Luxury Condo is for sale on Heavenly Mountain in Boone, NC for only $69k.

Google 147 Moonlight Ridge Boone NC! You will love this place!

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read a free excerpt here.

His first novel The Foolchild Invention is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

News You Can't Use: Highly Radioactive Substance found in Swiss Dump

I think I'm going to switch to an All-Swiss News format in a concentrated effort to dethrone the Zurich Daily Double or whoever as the best source of information about that tiny slice of Europe. I know it sounds drastic, but the righteous and amazing stories keep falling from heaven and I'm well versed in the basic stereotypes so it will be quite awhile before the watch/knife/avoidance of entangling alliances humor runs out. Consider today's wacky tale of dumps, radiation, substances and, I'm assuming, not allowing foreign passions to draw a nation into disastrous adventures.

A highly radioactive substance, emitting in some places radiation 100 times the permitted amount, has been discovered in Switzerland, local media reported Sunday, adding that authorities had covered it up for 18 months.

So yeah, your top-quality watch actually wasn't supposed to glow in the dark and that knife shouldn't have had three corkscrews.

It just writes itself. Maybe a "Heidi" reference next?

Swiss weeklies Le Matin Dimanche and SonntagsZeitung reported that federal, regional and local officials decided not to reveal the fact that they had found radium deposits in an old dump in the town of Bienne so as not to scare the 50,000 local inhabitants.

Nice to see that literally the best, most civilized nation in the world is not immune from allowing horrible things to happen so as not to anger the peasants. After all, we wouldn't want to ruin my idyllic childhood being raised by my Grandpa in the Alps with awful truths about why I'm sterile and my teeth keep falling out.

"120 kilogrammes of radioactive waste was obtained after sorting. We measured doses of several hundred microsieverts at the source," Daniel Dauwalder, a spokesman for the Swiss federal office for public health (OFSP), told Le Matin Dimanche.

"This is bad," he further clarified after receiving blank stares.

Exposure for three hours to that level of radiation would be equivalent to the tolerable level over a whole year.

Please help us make a big deal out of this.

The OFSP judged the risk to public health "weak", although SonntagsZeitung said that tests on the water table would begin next month.

We'll then cover up those water table results for a decade or two because we don't want anyone getting upset.

Public health authorities have shifted the blame back and forth, with local officials saying the OFSP should have informed the public about the incident, and the OFSP saying the responsibility lay with municipal authorities.

"I was on vacation that day!"

The president of the federal commission in charge of monitoring radiation (CPR), which was not informed of the incident, said the various authorities had made a "mistake".

I guess that's a fair assessment.

"Me, I trust the total silence from our government."

"This will all come back to bite us and it is much more difficult to stay credible and win back the public's trust," Francois Bochud told Le Matin Dimanche.

"I don't expect to win much of the ghoul vote in the next election."

Komment Korner   

It probably got dumped there by another country that paid Switzerland for the right.

I REALLY want a true 'glow in the dark' watch again. What's a little radiation when juxtaposed against the quality of life?

Meanwhile a giant radioactive Reindeer is growing in the forest, getting ready to challenge Godzilla for supremacy.

Radiation is everywhere- concrete for example often is emitting radiation. We go outside, the sun blasts us  

This is what big gov't gets you. "It's their fault, no It's their fault!" lol

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