- The world has changed more in the last thirty years than it has since Jesus Christ.
Charles Peguy 7 January 1873 – 5 September 1914
During a long interview Paul Mason envisions a short life for himself.
Costa Rica Beware!
Before the Saturday quarter final World Cup extravaganza against the Dutch take these words to heart: : “Dutch Footballers are Nasty, Brutish, and Tall.” Tommy Hobbes – famous English football commentator at the World Cup in 1651 in Groningen featuring the Oranje menace versus the Kingdom of Silesia.
Team Silesia took the lead on a face paced counter break driving down the right wing and swinging in the Charles I’s head which was used as the ball and headed home by attacking Silesia man mountain Miesko. During the half time interval King Charles II, still smarting over his dead fathers utility in scoring one against his home side ordered the Silesia team drawn and quartered. This is where the term “quarter finals” is derived from. The Kingdom of Silesia, in a state of embarrassment had itself drawn and quartered into four kingdoms, promptly joining the Czech, Poles, Austrians and Germans, never again making it to the knock out stages of a World Cup.
Fernley, NV (CB) – In 2014 Consumptionblog will totally be your source for all news Burning Man. Like CNN in 1991 Consumptionbloggers will be providing 24/7 live news coverage of all events leading up to Burning Man, 2014, ‘Bromance’.
Is there a crowdfunded seance summoning Paul Addis?
You won’t find this kind of news in the more traditional mainstream media like Harper’s Bazaar or Reddit.
What’s happening today, April 1st, 2014 you ask? Well, not much – it’s about 47F in Gerlach. Some e-mails were sent about the Port-a-Pottie contract. Several Burners complained about waiting 19 minutes at the totally huge new Blue Bottle Coffee cafe in Temescal, Oakland.
But its going to get exciting. We promise.
Dear Burning Man,
When I saw the news flash of a meteorite hitting Russia today I immediately ascribed it’s origins to Burning Man. As a long time Burner, how could I not? For more on this unique event I went to the source, BurningMan.com. What I found was a cover up of all evidence the meteorite stirke was caused by the people who run Burning Man. Burners.me will soon have the full story I am sure.
The Real Burning Man Project?
Instead what I found was a recent posting on the 2012 Burning Man Census helpfully entitled: BRC Census: Were You Counted? Did You Count? Can You Count? And it dawned on me. My camp, the eternal Bumblepuss, is Burning Man.
Just look at these numbers and tell me I’m wrong:
Under 20 years: 4% (1% – 7%)
20 – 40 years: 71% (65% – 77%)
Over 40 years: 24% (19% – 29%)
Average age: 34 (33 – 36)
Female: 38% (32% – 44%)
Male: 60% (56% – 65%)
Both/neither/fluid: 1.5% (< 1% – 3%)
Percent of population who are at Burning Man for the FIRST TIME
39%* (32% – 45%)
Burning Man: 60% (55% – 64%)
friend: 27% (25% – 28%)
stranger: 6% (2% – 11%)
third party reseller: 3.3% (2.6% – 4.1%)
More than face value: 6% (4% – 7%)
Face value: 74% (72% – 75%)
Less than face value: 8% (5% – 11%)
Gift: 5% (3% – 7%)
Percent of eligible voters who VOTED in at least one of the last four federal US elections
83% (80% – 87%)
Political party affiliation among eligible voters
Democratic: 34% (30% – 38%)
None: 33% (26% – 40%)
Republican: 24% (18% – 29%)
Other: 3.5% (2% – 5%)
Green: 1.5% (< 1% – 2.2%)
Percent of the population for whom English is their first language
86% (81% – 90%)
Percent of population who reside in the US
76% (59% – 93%)
Except the fact that Bumblers are all hedonistic consequentialists practicing radical anarcho-syndicalism in all aspects in our lives and thus uniformly vote Republican, sans two wild and wooly Kantian Canadians, you basically nailed the nail on the head with the Burning Hammer of Truth.
Because of this radical self expression of group similarity between Bumblepuss and Burning Man I suggest that in 2013 you simply take a census at Bumblepuss. This would save the time and money of the BMorg and perhaps lower the ticket prices by .25¢. Volunteers could be used for other purposes such as staying in Reno and preparing the Grand Sierra Resort for the after party. Finally, those concerned with the relentless measurement-ization of Burning Man would have their worse Orwellian fears simultaneously assuaged and inflamed.
We at Bumblepuss after a long days work helping naked people into the Steambath Project puff our chests out, put our hands up and say,
Dear Consumptives – the following fond remembrance of Daniel ‘Dany Boy’ Inouye, Senator, War Hero and Dead Man was submitted anonymously by an old friend who I once knew as The Minister of Tolerance.
Senator Danny Inouye; a Remembranc
by The Minister of Tolerance
Following the most timely demise of our U.S. Senate President Pro Tempore, I was asked to recall my fondest memory of the senior Senator from our westernmost colony. Thought I’d share it with you:
The year was 1993. I, a lowly page for the House of Representatives was carrying a whole bunch of boxes over to one of the Senate office buildings, because, as you may know, Senate pages are far too busy filling water glasses and taking naps to perform physical work. Said boxes were probably heavy and certainly unwieldy, as I expect they contained the budget books. (Flashback: Those were the OBRA years, halcyon days in which Congress actually managed to pass Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Acts for the entire government! All at once! Every year, no less! They were contained in ridiculously long green-covered tomes from the Government Printing Office that had to be distributed — one per office — throughout the Capitol Complex.)
So anyhoo, here I am, minding my own business, not doing anything too important (just ensuring the continuity of government in the capital of the free world; y’know, nothing major), struggling with all that stuff. I took a bit of a shortcut by riding the subway over to the office complex belonging to Congress’ Elderly Chamber (that is, the Senate). Standing up in the train, I peered over the glass to ensure nobody was coming (those were the old trains, before the Spendthrift Chamber — that is, the Senate — blew all sorts of money on unnecessary robot shuttles), and proceeded to step off with the intent to make my way upstairs.
Contemporaneously, and unbeknownst to me, an old guy from Hawaii was walking around with a bunch of his yes-men, no doubt plotting evil. I have no proof that said evil involved something about making sure that the intern from Indonesia would be able to deliver said Senator’s eulogy in the next century:
“But, sir, we’ll never get Barry Soetoro elected! His name sounds too much like Suharto! Besides, his mother is a… well, let’s just say her name is Stan.”
“Silence, you fool! Just use your last name on the phony birth certificate!”
“But… but… sir, I’m Irish! Nobody will believe his name is O’Bama!”
“Didn’t I tell you to be silent, fool? Haven’t you ever heard of the black Irish?! Now do it before I strike you down with my Hattori Hanzo steel!”
Anyhoo, while the gentleman from Hawaii (state motto: “It’s spelled Hawai’i, dipshit!”) was tossing rude epithets toward his yes-man, said member of the Senior Politicians’ Tour Chamber — that is, the Senate — charged ahead onto the train, specifically in my direction, as fast as his legs could carry him… ultimately slamming full-on into the stack of boxes that poor li’l ol’ me was attempting to lug.
Now, I’m no expert in Newtonian physics, but I know he was doing some kind of evil that violated natural law, because the force apparently acted upon HIM and not me, almost as though I were the one not watching where I was going — which, as you know, is quite impossible.
So at that point, Sen. In-No-Way slammed into the boxes I was carrying, which caused him to tip backwards and nearly fall on his senatorial keister.
It made a noise not unlike *THUD!*, to which the senator replied, “Oof!”
Fortunately for the member of that most august Near-Death Chamber — that is, the Senate — his yes-man was standing directly in line with said keister, absorbing the impact and ensuring that our first Japanese-American Senator remained upright.
Nevertheless, the gentleman from you-know-where had a touch of trouble stabilizing himself, as the spot where the boxes hit was unusual, as it was missing an arm.
All I remember was ensuring my ID and nametag was covered up as I hightailed it out of there.
The moral of this story? None, except that we can prove that the senior Senior from the Five-Oh state has (had) no sense of humor, because — at no point — and in no way — (get it? In no way? Inouye? Ha! I kill me!) — in no way did he say, “Nyuk nyuk nyuk.”