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The last person left with a job

I always loved this comic. I don’t know the artist’s name, anyone recognize them?

 

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Modern Man – By George Carlin

Thanks to the wonders of bittorrent I downloaded and watched PBS special “George Carlin, The Mark Twain Prize” (http://www.pbs.org/marktwainprize)

What an amazing man he was, he was beyond funny, he was a genius who used humor as a tool to get his ideas and beliefs across. And, as Ani says, every tool is a weapon if you use it right… and he was a master.

The show ended with a recording of him doing the following performance. I’ve listened to it several times and it still blows me away.

“I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium, digital and smoke-free. A diversified multicultural postmodern deconstructionist. Politically, anatomically, and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been uplinked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech lowlife. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bicoastal multitasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond. I’m new wave, but I’m old school, and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice-activated and biodegradable. I interface with my database, and my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive, and from time to time I’m radioactive. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging a bullet, pushing the envelope. I’m on point, on task, on message, and off drugs. I got no need for coke and speed, I got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb, a top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing bigfoot slam dunk rainmaker with a proactive outreach. A raging workaholic; a working rageaholic. Out of rehab, and in denial. I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up, you can’t dumb me down. ‘Cause I’m tireless, and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion forward. Up front, down home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-size, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready, and built to last. I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk, headcase. Prematurely post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate mail. But I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing, a supportive bonding nurturing primary caregiver. My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports. I’m gender-specific, capital-intensive, user-friendly, and lactose-intolerant. I like rough sex, I like rough sex, I like tough love, I use the F-word in my E-Mail, and the software on my hard drive is hardcore, no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini mall;I bought a mini van in a mega store. I eat fast food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear, and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed, and I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal, lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready to rock. Rough tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide, I got glide in my stride. Drivin’ and movin’, sailin’ and spinnin’, jivin’ and groovin’, wailin’ and whinin.’ I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty, and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hanging in, there ain’t no doubt. And I’m hanging tough, over and out.”

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Thanksgiving & “Uncle Dave’s Grace”

After having a short discussion tonight about the ‘real’ history of Thanksgiving and pilgrims (search for ‘Thanksgiving Myth’ if you really want to know), Emily said ‘Thanks for ruining another holiday’ and the following song came to mind.

Uncle Dave’s Grace

Lyrics by Peter Berryman, music by Lou Berryman on their House Concert CD (http://www.louandpeter.com/house.html)

Thanksgiving day Uncle Dave was our guest
Who reads the Progressive which makes him depressed
We asked Uncle Dave if he’d like to say grace
A dark desolation crept over his face

Thanks he began as he gazed at his knife
To poor Mr. Turkey for living his life
All crowded and cramped in a great metal shed
Where life was a drag then they cut off his head

Thanks he went on for the grapes in my wine
Picked by sick women of seventy nine
Scrambling all morning for bunch after bunch
Then brushing the pesticide off of their lunch

Thanks for the stuffing all heaped on my fork
Shiny with sausage descended from pork
I think of the trucks full of pigs that I see
And can’t help imagine what they think of me

Continuing, I’d like to thank if you please
Our salad bowl hacked out of tropical trees
And for this mahogany table and chair
We thank all the jungles that used to be there

For cream in our coffee and milk in our mugs
We thank all the cows full of hormones and drugs
Whose calves are removed at a very young age
And force-fed as veal in a minuscule cage

Oh thanks for the furnace that heats up these rooms
And thanks for the rich fossil fuel it consumes
Corrupting the atmosphere ounce after ounce
But we’re warm and toasty and that is what counts

I’m grateful he said for these clothes on my back
Lovely and comfy and cheap off the rack
Fashioned in warehouses noisy and cold
In China by seamstresses seven years old

And thanks for my silverware setting that shines
In memory of miners who died in the mines
Worn down by the shoveling of tailings in piles
Whose runoff destroys all the rivers for miles

We thank the reactors for our chandelier
Although the plutonium won’t disappear
For hundreds of decades it still will be there
But a few more Chernobyls and who’s gonna care

Sighed Uncle Dave though there’s more to be told
The wine’s getting warm and the bird’s getting cold
And with that he sat down as he mumbled again
Thank you for everything, amen

We felt so guilty when he was all through
It seemed there was one of two things we could do
Live without food in the nude in a cave
Or next year have someone say grace besides Dave

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