History Lesson II: The Romans, from Colony to Empire.

A long time ago in an Italy far, far away, a bunch of Greeks landed on an island that had some ugly people on it. They colonized the hell outta that bitch, and spread their culture to a variety of pastoral groups in the region, which wasn’t an island after all, but rather Sicily, which, though technically an island, it’s more or less Italy. Do not tell this to a Sicilian grandmother if you value your life. So a bunch of fluted columns started cropping up, and groups such as the Latins, Rutilians, and the Serjtankanians began to prosper and start killing one another. It turned out that the Latins were the best at this, and so they went into a camp of Sabines and took all their ladies. The Sabines were pissed off, but the ladies got “Latin Fever” and totally loved the Latin cock. (FORESHADOWING: Menudo). So, as these groups coalesced, a city called Rome was built in between seven hills on the Tiber river. Legend says that it was built by Romulus, an Etruscan (yet another pointless group) that was hungry like the wolf; that is to say, for a bitch wolf’s milk, as he was raised by a pack of wolves. This is what mythologists like to call “totally fucking weird.” Romulus, and his brother Remus ruled over the seven hills on the Tiber, until one day Remus stole Romulus’ gameboy, and they both built fortresses, and started killing one another’s followers. Romulus was better at it (SPOLILERS: THE CITY IS NOT CALLED REAM.)

Hundreds of years passed as the Etruscan monarchs extended their rule over a healthy portion of Central Italy. Then, a feller by the name of Tarquin the Proud, who really needed an image consultant as that name wasn’t such a great idea, was executed by a group of Patricians, who were notable for being rich and powerful, and therefore exercised control over Plebians, who ain’t got shit. The Patricians introduced a Republic, wherein Roman Citizens (oddly enough, mostly Patricians at that point) voted for representatives. This practice is carried on in America today by “American Idol.”

Years of peace, and by peace, I mean the ritualistic slaughter of people around the Roman power base ensued. Yeah, the Romans had some funky ideas about peace. Then the Carthaginians, who lived directly across the mediterranean sea from the Romans totally wanted to start some shit, and so they fought three times in the Punic wars, which is notable for being mispronounced by my 9th grade history teacher as “The Pubic Wars.” I shit you not. Here’s a quick recap:

The first Punic war, which was actually the fourth according to the historian Lucas Georgio’s vision, was where Scipio Africanus, a mighty dude who grew up in the desert met the old Jovian Knight Obus Kenobus and went to carthage to destroy the Carthaginian Empire’s deadliest weapon, a catapult that could destroy an entire granary. Said Kenobus, “It was if I heard a thousand tiny oats crying out before being mashed into granola.” Kenobus fell in battle with Darth Hannibal at the gates of Carthage, but guided Scipio in destroying Carthage’s catapult.

The second Punic war involved Darth Hannibal, who incidentally, loved it when a plan came together, leading a series of elephants over the Alps into Italy. The Romans fought bravely to guard their shield generator and enable Admiral Akbarum to lead a naval assault on the Carthaginians. The Romans managed to fell Hannibal’s elephants, who totally thought that snow sucked ass, by using tow cables to wrap up their legs.

The third Punic war involved a whole bunch of stuff that made us uncomfortable about when Princess Leia kissed Scipio Africanus at the beginning of the second war. Carthage was burned to the ground, and then they salted the earth so that nothing could grow. Do not piss off Italians. The Romans now controlled, or sorta controlled most of the Mediterranean.

Since things were going so great, a guy named Gaius Julius Caesar, who went by Caesar, because his first two names are so fucking laughable when placed together, started a civil war. Caesar was well known for decimating the Gauls, who had a lot of damn gall, and setting events in motion that would create a lot of wiccans later on. Caesar created a Triumvirate (cf. Menage a trois) when elected First Consul of the Republic, using the financial backing of Crassus, known for being crass, and the general Pompey, known for… pomp-ing. Caesar then killed Pompey for being a dick, and took over executive control of the Republic.

Anyway, Caesar got stabbed for trying to start an empire by fucking the shit out of Cleopatra, like, every single day, and his nephew, Octavian smartly changed his name to Caesar Augustus, and formed a second triumvirate featuring Marc Antony on vocals. They killed Brutus and his buddies, who stabbed Caesar and beat up Popeye, and then divided the chores of empire, with Augustus taking over the government and Marc Antony fucking the shit out of Cleopatra. Then Augustus killed both of them, and finally united the Roman empire.

History Lesson I: German Unification

About a thousand years ago, a guy named Frederick Barbarossa was the biggest mustachioedest bastard in The Germanies, a loose group of vassal states that totally got burned by the French and Lombards whenever possible. Freddy fucking hated this. So he got himself a huge ass sword and started fucking people up. He fucked up the Franks, he fucked up the Lombards, he even started the great Germanic tradition of fucking up the Poles. He fucked so many people up that by the time he was done, he controlled most of Central Europe. Also, Vikings were still around at this time, and they fucking ruled, but they mostly hung out in England and France, burning shit and screaming in Norse. Anyway, Freddy B. was in the place to be, so he said "Hey Pope, make me a king." The Pope, having much fear of Freddy's wrath said "Ok d00d." Freddy got to be the Holy Roman Emperor, a ceremonial title last bestowed upon Charlemagne (a big Frankish badass of a similar stripe) and the dumbasses who ruined his kingdom within a year of his death.

Barbarossa wasn't having any of that.

He built a strong line of Holy Roman Emperors, that ruled the Germanies (still independent vassal states) for all kindsa time, until some fuckhead called Martin Luther decided it was a great idea to go nailing shit all over churches. Ass. This caused the Thirty Year's War, which weakened the empire by means of well, 1) Having a bunch of Swedes running all over the German countryside burning shit. 2) Firmly dividing the factions within the empire into Protestant and Catholic factions (on pretty much a North/South divide). This sucked for the Holy Roman Empire, but it was awesome for people who wanted to pilliage the fuck out of Germany.

The Hapsburg family in Austria took power in the wake of all of this strife. They were bogus. For examples of Hapsburgs, see Marie Antoinette. She was Austrian. So was Hitler. Seeing a pattern? Anyway, they married their kids off to all kinds of people, and further expanded their loose confederation to include a healthy portion of Southeast Europe (causing a bevy of other problems), Spain, Portugal, parts of Italy, the Netherlands, Belgium, and seaports all over the place. Then some douchebag died without a male heir. All shit was ready to break loose. Maria Theresa, the heiress to the throne was challenged by a Spanish guy, and an Italian guy, and like, fifty other dudes in a screenplay ripe for an Anime along the lines of Love Hina, but with cannons. The war of the Austrian Succession created a divide between Austria and Germany more pronounced than any other previous rift. So those guys are out of the picture.
Prussia, dominated by the wealthy Hohenzollerin family of Berlin (SPOLILERS: BERLIN IS THE CAPITAL OF GERMANY) became militarily powerful as a series of wars that were Austria's fault swept through Europe. A strong nationalist tradition built in Prussia that allowed it to become the dominating power of the Confederation of the Rhine, Napoleon's united Germanic state that acted as a buffer between him and like a bajillion cossacks. This wasn't so effective as Napoleon decided pissing off Russia was a great idea. Historically, this has not been a sound idea. After Paris was burned and looted, the German states were reconstituted by (guess?) an Austrian dude named Klemens von Metternich at the Conference of (guess?) Vienna. Metternich did give Prussia all kinds of land along the French border (FORESHADOWING) in order to act as a buffer against French aggression. Proved pretty handy when Napoleon came back to power the next year.
Anyway, in the mid 19th Century, after years of stability and only a few major worker's revolutions in German states that were spurred by French demonstrations in 1830, Karl Marx' communist manifesto (1848), and no particular reason (pretty much every other year), the German peoples were in an awkward state. Vienna was burning, the Hapsburg emperor had to beg the Russian Emperor to send Russian soldiers to occupy his capital.

Anyway, Prussia became very interested in building a German Empire. With the blessing of every empire but the Austrians, the German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck picked a fight with and defeated the Austrians in a coupla wars, uniting the Germans into a common union similar to the Holy Roman Empire. King Wilhelm of Prussia was offered a position as emperor by a group of revolutionaries, but he said "I will not take the crown out of the gutter." This meant "No, dudes, I wanna pick a fight with France first." After Bismarck made the necessary arrangements for fighting France, the Germans stormed Paris, burning and looting etc. They took Alsace-Lorraine away from the French, and used that opportunity to send a plebescite to the many different German states left. It read:

"You forgot Poland."

Wait, no.

"Do you guys wanna join this German Empire thing or not? And Bavaria, this is mostly a rhetorical question, so don't pull any shit."
And they didn't. So in 1871, Germany was unified as the German Empire. It was said that it would last 1000 years, just as Barbarossa had said his empire would last. Germans have a bad knack for telling time. You'll hear this thousand years malarkey time and again. They only made it to 1918, but that's not too bad, right? Better than the next guy.

Joan Scott is a Miserable Woman

I just thought i touched something in my diet coke with my tongue. I hope this isn't like the time I found that machine part in my milk in grade four. Jeez, that sucked. Cured me of fucking drinking milk. Upon further sips, I think it was just coke. Ahh. Refreshng cherry-flavored coke.

I guess I should write about Minneapolis at some point. I don't have that experiential vibe down yet though. I've barely gotten used to the way places smell around here. I walked down a stairwell today, and it totally smelled like Leddy Park. I love that smell. Freon or something, probably. Whatever keeps the ice icy.

This is the most creative I've been in days.

Most of Père Patrice's students were fairly adept little kids, but one, Guillaume, always had trouble understanding his religion lessons. Père Patrice would lecture about Moses, and Guillaume would refuse to drink water, as he worried it would turn into blood. When Père Patrice lectured about the Wedding at Cana, Guillaume was all too eager to drink as much water as he could find. One day, Père Patrice brought up the sin of birth control in class. After a detailed lecture explaining in detail the perfidious specifics of multiple forms of birth control, class was dismissed.

Père Patrice stopped off at the Pharmaprix across from the school on his way back to the rectory. He was shocked to see Guillaume at the counter, buying a box of Trojan Magnums.

"Guillaume," Père Patrice said, "do you really think that's such a good idea?"

"Yes, Père, I do," replied Guillaume. "I don't know why you thought these things were so bad. My family could really use them. They're really a good deal."

"And why is that, Guillaume?" the aged priest inquired.

"Père Patrice, we're not as well off as some of the other families. I thought that this would save us money."

"And how would it save you money?"

"Six toques for the price of one! I couldn't pass a deal like that up."

Make Money. Make Money Now.

Look, it's an e/n post! Something out of a creative narrative. Damn. I am one self-absorbed cat. Ackkk!!!!!!1111oneoneoneeleven, there it is!

As if the other stories were somehow not about me. This is just a less creative version of my life. When people write in the enthusiastic 'real' trope, they've just bought themselves a ticket on the 'i can't pretend to have super powers express.' Oh, man. I'm listening to some of that Doduk stuff from Armenia right now. It is terrible, because it all sounds the same. It's all the same song. From what I can tell, Armenia is a sad, sad little land. Dear iTunes, please change the track on party shuffle, as my party is getting lame.

Speaking of lame, I think that my blaaargh is pretty lame right now. It's just a glorified livejournal, and while I appreciate that some of y'all are reading it, it causes drama to no end when I think that I'm in a creative drought. I am a smug bastard, and I have no friends, and I am a troll that lives under a bridge with internet access. I am, in the stupid words of Ben Folds, feeling more alone that I ever have before. However, Ben Folds is coming to town, and playing First Ave. in an attempt to get some credit in the cool bank. Ben Folds, you will never be cool while Adam Green is still your evil twin.

Who's got the crack?

More poetry, because it's friday night and I am a loser.

I saw a sign
that said "office space for lease"
and so I picked up the sign
and walked into the building
and the man was waiting inside
even though it was early morning
and he leased out the office space
and I got a bunch of my friends together
and we started making mattresses,
quilts, duvets and alabaster
shower curtain rings
and we made a million dollars
so we got the guy from the Mountain Goats
to come play at our Christmas Party
and he brought us all Good n' Plenty,
even though most of us don't like it
and we built a happy industry
which we modified to a cartel
with alabaster mines
if you can mine alabaster
which I'm pretty sure you can't.

I Have Misplaced Something.

I have misplaced something
And now after having ridden all the way through the rain
back to the office
To find this unimportant thing
I cannot find it
I shall search under my laundry again
Because I need to do my laundry anyway

A Poem

Massager

Slowly vibrating upon the table
I fumble in the dark
It slips from my fingers
It falls on the floor
It is covered in cat hair and lube
Damn it.

A Fork is Pitched

Abu Bakr and the Forty Needs have gained a reputation among the Montreal post-emocore scene as the preeminent purveyors of their genre. Drawing on a variety of influences such as The Non-Nan, Putainage, Let's Make a Record and The Sacreligious Tampons, ABnFN has provided fands with a slice of the softer side of Sears. The look, the feel of cotton. Their latest album I am walking with a gun in my hand in order to plant a rose on your grave covers a lot of territory, and marks a distinct break from the band's past as a light tweecore IDM act. Bret Kjornstad, the band's lyricist includes such musings as "Why does the sun not shine in one particular place?/I want to spread it all over the town" on track five "Premonition of the Latin Sunset." The 32-track (jeff?) magnum opus suggests great things to come for this band.

Wearing matching cream colored vests, their live show (included on the bonus DVD) is remarkable for its simplicity and extravagance. Every night, they hire a vagrant to the tune of a bottle of Captain Morgan Spiced Rum to come up on stage and tell his life story. During this event, Karl Kralstein, the bassist, prepares a musical alchemy of dissonance and feedback by placing screwdrivers into the band's equipment in ways not suggested by the owner's manuals. Connie Ferguson wears a sweater and plays the keyboards because she is an indie rock girl. Or grrl. Depending on her mood.

ABnFN get a 5.9 out of a possible ten, because this record is way too commercial, and is probably going to go triple platinum and lead to a collaboration with 50 Cent.

Their Eyes Were Watching Zod

Planet Houston was at rest, slumbering on one half in the depths of the night, and basking in the glow of day on the other side. The moon rose in the sky, and shooting stars twinkled in the atmosphere. In the basement of a ranch-style house somewhere way up north, their eyes were watching Zod.
The television was on at a moderate volume, neither blaring nor muted, but at the appropriate level for a 2AM viewing when not trying to piss off the neighbors who had to get up early for homechurch the next day. You tried not to piss off the wacky religious neighbors, who had more denominations than Citibank.
You sat, and you watched Superman give up his powers. You watched him sacrifice everything (that is to say, the encumbrances as well as the benefits of being a superhero) for the love of that woman who went crazy and started to wear a poop mask in the bushes a few years ago. But that’s a better fate than what happened to Superman.
It makes you wonder how Gene Hackman is so healthy and successful.
Zod was powerful, Zod was mighty, but Superman used his superpowers once again to reclaim our planet from his Kryptonian brethren.
And we sat and talked about Zod, and his funky black vest. And we ate late night nachos. And we fell asleep.

Knowing is half the battle

I don’t know where he came from, or why he was wearing that military uniform. He didn’t appear to be with any branch of the service that I could recognize; he had no rank insignia, so I didn’t know how to address him. His nametag sported an obvious hoax: nobody could possibly have the name “Bombardment” but there he was in front of me, lurching over my infantile body.
To be honest, I thought I was being fair. Sally had repeatedly demonstrated that she was utterly incapable of grasping even the fundamental elements of baseball. She held the bat upside down, she couldn’t keep her eye on the ball and her swing was reminiscent of a drunken midget trying to swat a fly.
So I told her she wasn’t allowed to play with us today. I invoked a ‘no girls allowed’ rule in order to spare her the embarrassment of being singled out for her horrible play. Then this Bombardment character showed up out of nowhere, just walking into my frame of sight and lambasting my decision.
He singled me out. Ironically, I had been trying to avoid giving Sally a similar treatment. “Hey kid,” he said, “That’s no way to treat a lady.”
I looked at him quizzically. Was I not being deferential and kind to Sally? Yes, I had the best of intentions, but Bombardment didn’t seem to agree.
“Girls can be just as good as boys at anything they put their mind to. Whether it’s baseball, or running for congress, or calling in an airstrike on Cobra Commander’s secret island.” He smirked, basking in the awed glow of my comrades, who evidently recognized him, as they looked upon him with a familiarity that continued to rouse my suspicions. What could I do, however? This heavily-armed adult wanted to make our game subject to Sally’s horrible play.
“So, now what do you say, Tommy?” he said in a way that expected my compliance.
“How in the sweet fuck do you know my name?” I asked.
“Wow, kid, you’ve got quite a mouth on you. Hey kids, you might think that it’s cool to swear, but really, it’s not as cool as eating a complete breakfast every morning, complete with the vitamins found in your favorite breakfast cereal.”
“No, how do you know my name, you fucking psycho? I bet you’re a pervert.”
“Hey kid, are you feeling uncomfortable? You know, sometimes adults make you feel uncomfortable, especially if you don’t know them. The best thing to do is to go find a grownup you trust, like a parent, or a police officer, or your commanding officer, and get away from the stranger as quickly as possible.”
I stared at him, stammering.
“Tom, don’t be a dick to Bombardment,” I heard Jerry say.
I just shook my head at Jerry. All the neighborhood kids were staring at me, and I was feeling pressured to do something. To comply, to get out of there, to run home to my parents, anything.
“Are you feeling peer pressure, son?” Bombardment knelt down and put his hands on my shoulders. “You don’t have to go along with anything anyone ever tells you to do just because you want to be popular, or fit in with ‘the gang.’”
“But just a minute ago, you said…”
“Now, what do you think about this baseball game? Can Sally play?”
“How did you get inside my head? How did you know what I was thinking? Bombardment, who are you?”
“And now you know,” he said smugly, “and knowing is half the battle.”

Recipe

Blue Ribbon Overnight Rolls
Pam Vienneau

INGREDIENTS:
· 1 (.25 ounce) package active dry yeast
· 1 cup warm milk
· 1/2 cup white sugar
· 2 eggs, beaten
· 1/2 cup butter, melted
· 1 teaspoon salt
· 4 cups all-purpose flour
DIRECTIONS:
1. In a large bowl, mix together yeast, milk and sugar. Let stand for 30 minutes.
2. Mix eggs, butter and salt into yeast mixture. Mix in flour, 2 cups at a time. Cover with wax paper. Let dough stand at room temperature overnight.
3. In the morning, divide the dough in half. Roll each half into a 9 inch round circle. Cut each round into 12 pie shaped wedges. Roll up each wedge starting from wide end to the tip. Place on greased cookie sheets. Let stand until ready to bake.
4. Bake at 375 degrees F (190 degrees C) for 12 to 15 minutes.


First, invent the convection heating oven. For this, you will need to have a hominid society geared towards toolmaking with a taste preference for food that has been heated. In a primordial village, have a lowly shepherd slaughter one of his herd, and accidentally drop it on the fire. Have him forget about it for a few minutes. Have him realize that the dead mutton is roasting on the fire. The smell intoxicates and intrigues him; he decides to let it got hotter. When the flesh is almost seared, our villager tastes it. Fuck. It is incredibly hot. He blows on it to get the evil heat demons out of it. Once the heat demons have vacated the premises, our villager tastes again. It is delicious. You have now invented cooking theory. Reinforce it by having our villager pull up random plants (ideally, non-toxic) and have him sprinkle, rub or otherwise cover the meat with them, developing the concept of a recipe. Once the first jerk rub has been invented, it is only a matter of five thousand years before you invent the contemporary convection heating oven. Congrats! You will need to develop a few things first: electricity (or natural gas), cooking utensils and pans, potholders, industrial capitalism, and let’s not forget the concept of little things that live in uncooked food that make you die. That’s a big one. Now, since you’ve spent the past five thousand years killing animals for food, become a vegetarian. Murderer.
The second most important process to undergo is developing a centralized agricultural infrastructure. For this, you will need domesticated animals for labor and nutrition, malleable crops, an interstate highway system, the seed drill, crop rotation, a series of urban processing centers, the enclosure movement, governmental subsidies of agricultural production, selective breeding and whiskey, to give you something to do when you’re not tilling the land.
After creating an industrial-agricultural society, you need to create a series of social institutions that empirically determine the best method to produce rolls. The best way to do this is to create a series of regional events geared towards competitive culinary skills. These competitions can take many forms and structures, ranging from haute cuisine to chili cook-offs. Invent Texas, so that somebody will say “Anyone who knows beans about chili knows that chili ain’t got no beans.” Immediately kick Texas out of your country (so far, only Mexico has achieved this level of advancement, therefore they make the best rolls). Develop different doughs, pastries and goodies for purposes of comparison. If your rolls taste slightly of coffee cake, people will be able to say that, rather than saying “These rolls do not taste like Henrietta’s rolls, but they are unique in their own way. I wish there was something I could compare them to, but nobody has seen fit to invent coffee cake. Let us all commit ritualistic suicide.” Do you see the kinds of tragedies that need to be averted? People will be drinking kool-aid all over your state fair if you’re not careful.
Yes, the bad kind of kool-aid.
Once you’ve assembled your ingredients, you need to create an educational system, a language and a form of script in order for you to comprehend the recipe. This could take several years, especially if the Republicans cut your funding for reading and replace it with “video about Hitler time.” It is estimated that by the year 2321, rolls will be impossible to make without help from our reader monkeys. Please make certain to scan this article into the reader monkeys’ database, or all is lost.
After that, follow the above directions, let sit overnight, etc. Then, give some rum to your icon of Julia Child for keeping away the heat demons when you blow on food.