September 21, 2014

From “Pirates and Ninjas All Taste the Same to Zombies” by Poe Edminster-Caar

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This column, a response to the previous columns by William “Black Bill” Cubbins IV and Felisa Lloyd Matsumura-Tamaribuchi is from Poe Edminster-Caar. Dr. Edminster-Caar is a professor of Undead Studies at Ravensholme University in New England and the author of the controversial undead rights book “I Am Zombie.” As one of the first openly zombie faculty members at a major North American university, Dr. Edminster-Caar has won five ZAAD awards and the prestigious Golden Brain trophy from the Swedish Zombie Academy.

I was, as ever, amused to see the childish infighting between pirate affairs commentator “Black Bill” Cubbins and ninja activist Felisa Matsumura-Tamaribuchi in these pages. One can predict their scrapes with almost clockwork efficiency, point and counterpoint, attempts at serious discourse by one hijacked in favor of shrill condemnation by the other, all in the service of flogging their pet horses in the ridiculously named “Pirate-Ninja Peace Process.” Which, as Voltaire might quip, involves neither pirates, nor ninjas, nor peace, nor a process.

It matters not, though, because in the end they will all taste the same when they are devoured by zombies.

I have been accused, occasionally, by living commentators of militantly pushing an “undead agenda” and attempting to pervert the young and the impressionable into taking up a zombie lifestyle. Implicit in that is the backwards notion that zombiehood is a “deathstyle choice” or acceptance of the abhorrent “resurrection camps” where people attempt to “cure” zombies, as if we are suffering from some sort of affliction or disease. I am certainly more reasonably in my pursuits than Mr. Cubbins or Ms. Matsumura-Tamaribuchi, I think, though not for any lack of passion.

Rather, I am confident that time is on my side and that history will prove that we zombies are the ultimate solution to the “pirate-ninja peace process” and indeed all societal problems. Once we’ve all grown enlightened enough to learn that zombiehood is as natural as being alive, and is in fact preferable, we can all agree that laying down and accepting living death will solve all the world’s problems. Mr. Cubbins and Ms. Matsumura-Tamaribuchi are united in their opposition to undead rights, perhaps the only thing they do agree on, but even now any country or municipality that bans open zombiehood is experiencing a brain drain to more undead-friendly locales, and whether by persuasion or open bitings on the street, zombies will soon render both pirates and ninjas obsolete, with those that resist shown the error of their ways through the devouring of their delectable brain matter.

History is on our side; we will exhume you.

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September 20, 2014

From “Down With Talk Like A Pirate Day” by Felisa Lloyd Matsumura-Tamaribuchi

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Yesterday’s post by Willam “Black Bill” Cubbins has elicited the following response from Felisa Lloyd Matsumura-Tamaribuchi. Ms. Matsumura-Tamaribuchi is a noted participant in the Occupy Treasure Island movement, the Sharper Blades, Sharper Minds katana outreach program, and the United Ninja College Fund. She is a current Distinguished Daimyo at Kaizoku University and is the Tokugawa Chair of Shinobi Studies there.

I actually find myself agreeing with the vile corsair “Black Bill” Cubbins when he wrote in his recent column warning against cultural misappropriation and lack of diversity within “Talk Like A Pirate Day,” a pseudo-holiday that no doubt many of he and his fellow repulsive buccaneers would like wiped off the face of the earth in as much as it highlights their inability to form articulate and coherent thoughts and sentences and their predisposition to plunder and violence.

But I would go even farther than “Black Bill” and argue that he and his race and their expansionist piratism are guilty of the very charges with which they seek to tar and muzzle their opponents. After all, what is the pirate-promoted image of the ninja as a violent and mercenary group of assassins but cultural misappropriation? What is the racist, xenophobic, colon-blocking, and meteor-summoning pirate occupation and oppression of ninja islands of spice and gold if not a lack of diversity? Humanity may be a beautiful rainbow, but it is clear that pirates are the reddest part of that rainbow, unable to communicate except by cannon fire and boardings in what they hypocritically call self-defense.

What about the Battle of Kagishuma Shrine Island which “Black Bill” mentioned in passing? Even though pirates claim to have given up their claims to that sacred outpost of ninjadom, they saw fit to invade it again over the summer, cannons and flintlocks blazing. By rough estimates compiled by the Ninjauthority, a completely impartial and independent group, over 200,000 ninjas died in the assault out of a prewar population of 200,001. And all that just because the ninjas of that peaceful island were exercising their sacred right, as ingrained at the bedrock of our culture and heritage, to raid passing pirate galleons and stuff the flayed skins of their crews with straw for use as targeting dummies. The pirate-run media has, of course, only taken their side in the matter through their biased reporting of ninjas going into battle wearing their own children as armor (which anyone with five minutes and Wikipedia knows is actually both a sacred tradition and a necessity on tiny Kagishuma Shrine Island).

In short, we must take “Black Bill” Cubbins at his word every “Talk Like A Pirate Day,” and indeed every day of the year, by pledging our lives and our treasure to the cause of throwing every last pirate back into the sea and slaughtering them to a man in the name of the peaceful ninja peoples.

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October 5, 2013

From “SNN Presents: A Special Report on the Current Political Grid Lock Box” by Kensington Schauer

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The political crisis continues this week in the Republic of Slon, where deadlock between the Democratic-Republican Party and the Whig Party has led to the suspension of all essential and non-essential government functions. The Slon News Network reports on the fallout.

Surprisingly, the shutdown does not seem to have affected the average person on the street in Slon, despite the apocalyptic rhetoric unleashed by the two parties in the weeks prior to the shutdown. According to experts, this is because most functions that were once provided by the Slon central government, and which are provided by many of its fellow governments, were so inefficient and backward that most citizens long ago made the transition to using unethical corporate alternatives. “Sure, it sucks that Slon Post isn’t delivering,” said one citizen, “but my packages always arrived late, singed, and smelling of bacon, so I send all my stuff through GesteCo Express these days. GestEx might pollute the environment and use my money to influence corrupt legislators, but at least they get the job done.” Another citizen, on being informed that the Slon Library and Archives of the Republic were closed for the duration, expressed surprise that they were still in operation: “Oh they were maintaining our priceless heritage for free and making it available on the network? I just assumed that GesteCo Heritage Services was the only source for that stuff, so I’ve been buying access at 99 sloncs a month.”

In a statement for the Democratic-Republican Party, Archon Laden O’Bourne said that the shutdown was entirely the fault of the Whig Party, saying that the Democratic-Republicans were “innocent as little baby goats” while adding that the four-day-old shutdown was “the worst such political crisis in the history of Slon.” When reminded of the gridlock that led to a shutdown 18 years ago, which lasted two weeks, Archon O’Bourne backpedaled, claiming that “no one remembered” the earlier incident and that his statement was still correct inasmuch as he meant “the worst crisis in current history.”

The leader of the Whigs in the Assembly, Ephor Jimmy MacRibb, countered with a statement of his own indicating that O’Bourne’s words cast him as the “most ignorant, ineffective, and reviled Archon of modern times.” When reminded of Archon Crater, whose four years in office 35 years ago were so disastrous for the Republic of Slon that they are still known today as “The Great Malaise,” MacRibb said that his comments were taken out of context, despite being the only words he had said in a featureless and otherwise unoccupied room.

An uninterested third party, speaking on condition of anonymity, had the following remarks: “The end result of the gridlock will primarily be twofold. On the one hand, when the Whigs are in power, the Democratic-Republicans will use the same tactics they now decry with a smile on their faces. Much as the Whigs’ current tactics were practiced by the Democratic-Republicans during Archon Germanicus Briar’s administration six years ago, tactics that the Whigs at the time called ‘a holocaust-genocide-abortion.’ On the other hand, other countries jealous of the Republic of Slon or wishing to minimize their own horrible internal problems will trumpet the problems. Expect the Tyranny of Kyiiv to use jokes about the shutdown to distract from their current practice of grinding up political opponents and homosexuals into a nutrient paste for general consumption, and the Confederation of Maghrebos to feel better about themselves despite their corrupt governments squandering every cent of aid earmarked for their starving and restive citizenry.”

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June 2, 2013

From “That Feathery Fracas” by G. J. Meyers

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Meyers, Greg Jamison. “Defilement of Civil Rights Statue at University of Northern Mississippi Shows Racists Up to Their Old Tricks Again.” Hopewell Democrat-Tribune 2 Jun. 2013, University ed.: A1+.

The defilement of a civil rights statue on the University of Northern Mississippi campus has drawn outrage, condemnation, and concern from a wide variety of campus figures. The statue, depicting the first African-American student admitted to the university in 1966, was found vandalized by university janitorial staff in the course of their morning duties, with the face completely covered by bird excrement.

The University of Northern Mississippi became infamous during the desegregation battles of the 1960s as the very last state-funded school to admit an African-American student following the integration of major schools like the University of Mississippi (October 1962), Mississippi State University (July 1965), and what became the University of Southern Mississippi (September 1965). While the integration of the university in mid-1966 was neither the bloodbath of UM or the non-event of MSU, there was still extensive rioting and protest marches, national attention, and strong local opposition.

“The bird that vandalized this statue does not represent the values of the faculty, staff, and students of UNM as a whole,” said university president Brody in a statement. “We strongly condemn the actions of a lone individual bird in setting back issues of tolerance and diversity here.”

For many observers, though, the incident represents the latest in a troubling pattern. “Clearly, there are repressed issues deep in the university’s psyche at work here,” said Dr. Janice Soderquist-Mmbathu, vice-chair of Diversity Studies at Southern Michigan University. “UNM may have 45% non-white enrollment and generous scholarships for minority students, but ugly feelings such as those espoused by this bird in defiling the statue clearly show that there is a very, very, very long way to go.”

In response to the anonymous bird’s attack on the statue, which many have described as a hate crime, President Brody has announced the formation of a task force to investigate the incident. “Some have said that the action in question were not intended as racist,” his statement continued, “but in light of recent tweets expressing sentiments like ‘LOL’ and ‘ROTFLMAO’ about the event, we can only conclude that this must be treated with deadly, deadly seriousness.”

“It’s Mississippi, what do you expect?” said Andrew Cullingdonham, a Southern Michigan student interviewed by the Democrat-Tribune. “Everything they do is racist, no matter how much they try to hide it. The bird is only doing what everyone wants to do. I don’t care how many investigations they do or how quickly the statue is cleaned up.”

At press time, UNM had announced a full investigation, a Diversity Days festival, a visit by Winnie Mandela, a much larger statue protected by a laser grid, a moment of silence campuswide, a candlelight vigil, and a statewide bird education initiative in addition to the committee mentioned by President Brody. Critics were quick to call these moves “insubstantial,” “window dressing,” and “proof that the administration of UNM has more in common with the offending bird than it would like to be generally known.”

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April 19, 2013

From “The Manifesto of Choice” by K. G. D. Niltrosh

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Prosecution Exhibit #47
Fragment from contraband Manifesto of Choice by “Zeitengel,” possession of which is prohibited by City Ordinance 217 §10

We are all products of our choices. It is only through choice and the exercise of a free will that we can impact our environment, and ourselves. Free choice, and free acceptance of whatever consequences those choices bring, are the very foundation of human life and by extension a moral imperative.

Some have said that their choices are made for them before they are born or before they are old enough to choose for themselves. There is an element of truth to this, but it does not negate the central precept. Dealing with the choices others have made is, in and of itself, a choice. This is why some choices have led those of mean circumstance to power and those of wealth and affluence to ruin.

The abdication of choice, therefore, represents a death. Without the will to choose, blindly allowing others to choose for them, the abdicator has no influence and no impact. They are, functionally, deceased–and it is only a matter of allowing the physical reality to catch up with the metaphysical. At the mercy of the choosers and choicemakers, the abdicators must redeem themselves or face the consequences of their actions.

For abdication of choice is in and of itself a choice.

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October 20, 2012

From “A Pro-Ninja Rebuttal” by Felisa Lloyd Matsumura-Tamaribuchi

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This piece was contributed by Ms. Matsumura-Tamaribuchi as a rebuttal to “Black Bill” Cubbins’ article which appeared last week. We neither endorse nor condemn the views expressed therein, which remain solely those of the author. A noted pro-ninja activist, Ms. Matsumura-Tamaribuchi has written extensively on the topic and participated in several demonstrations, including the controversial Takeshima Freedom Flotilla intended to break the pirate “blockade of the pirate-occupied territories.” The wife of the late Sensei Takeharu Matsumura-Tamaribuchi of the Black Shadow Clan, Ms. Matsumura-Tamaribuchi was born and raised in Omaha, Nebraska.

-The Editors

It’s indicative of the pro-pirate media bias that exists in the West, with its pirate-owned and pirate-operated news and entertainment media outlets, that “Black Bill” Cubbins’ recent article has gone unchallenged for over a week at this point. I would like to specifically rebut his claims by framing them within the context of the larger ninja freedom struggle, in which I am a long-term participant.

Cubbins’ note that “ninja” is an appropriate Halloween costume cuts to the crux of the long ninja freedom struggle, in which the so-called pirates have long sought to minimize ninjas, deny our existence as a distinct group, and legitimize their occupation as “free ports” of many traditional ninja lands. If children are allowed to dress as ninjas but discouraged by pro-pirate activists from dressing as pirates, the inequity that is so often expressed in the media is ossified and ninjas find themselves further marginalized, disenfranchised, and demonized by the racist pirate policies.

In a larger sense, the issue is directly tied to the continuing, illegal, racist, fascist, and tooth-decay-promoting pirate occupation of the Takeshima, Okinotori, and Senkaku islands. You will note that I refuse as a matter of principle to use the so-called pirate names for the occupied territories (Plunder Harbor, Jolly Roger Cove, and Dead Man’s Cay). What does it matter what the children dress as for Halloween when the entire existence of the holiday indicates a monstrous indifference toward the plight of ninjas living in pirate-occupied lands? Even a child dressed as a pumpkin should be appalled that they are receiving food and clothing when so many ninjas oppressed by prates lack even basic niceties such as honed katanas and richly embroidered gis?

This Halloween, readers, discourage your children from dressing as a ninja. Discourage them from dressing as anything at all, or receiving any candy. Turn off your heat, your water, your air, your gravity. For only in lacking those most basic amenities can you (and they) understand what ninjas in pirate-occupied lands suffer every nanosecond of every day and be moved to radical political action to remedy the situation. Black Bill Cubbins used the right words, but he could have been speaking them into a mirror, for every one applies to his deceitful, wealthy, and irredeemable piratekind.

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July 21, 2012

From “Wuxia Breaks Out in the Supreme Court Chambers, March 3, 1832” by Brian Clem Dennard

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Aged Chief Justice Marshall rose and read from a paper. “In the case of Worcester v. Georgia, the court finds in favor of Worcester by a vote of five yeas, one concurrence, and one nay.”

A murmur ran through the audience; the President would not be pleased with such a ruling. But the loudest complaint came from the front row, where a robed man rose and cried “”John Marshall has made his decision; now let him enforce it!” He then cast off his robe to reveal President Jackson, resplendent in his old military uniform.

Marshall, 77 years old and ill with bladder stones, rose from the bench. He removed his bifocals, his rheumy eyes narrowing. “Very well,” he said.

At his signal seven of the other eight justices rose in unison; Henry Baldwin remained seated, dissenting now as he had before. “Enforce the decision!” Marshall cried.

Justice McLean, who had concurred with the opinion but for reasons of his own, struck first. He pirouetted over the bench, long robes flowing gracefully, and lunged at the President with a drawn gavel. Jackson ducked backwards, fluidly avoiding the blow; he brought a hand up an instant later and struck the gavel from McLean’s hand. Off-balance, the justice found himself locked in a hold by the President, who then flung him roughly into the galleries where he shattered a bench on landing.

Jackson had used only a single arm to defend himself, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. He extended his arm abd beckoned the other justices tauntingly on.

Infuriated, Marshall banged his gavel; justices Johnson, Duvall, Story, and Thompson attacked as one. The first three vaulted over the bench much like McLean had, while Thompson instead made a 10-yard vertical jump toward the chandelier. With a single hand as before, Jackson swatted Johnson aside, striking him on the throat, sweeping his legs out from under him, and then seizing his judicial robes and flinging him at the others. Duvall dodged the flying, flailing Johnson and swept behind the President, seizing both his arms as Story attempted to pummel him into submission.

President Jackson kicked himself off the floor, planting both boots on Story’s chest and then giving him a mighty kick, which had the dual effect of launching Story through one of the chamber windows and somersaulting the President over Duvall’s back. With that momentum, Jackson was able to blast Duvall through the domed ceiling; there was a distant splash as the Justice landed in the Potomac.

At that moment, Thompson descended from the chandelier. As he picked up speed, he cast open his robes to reveal eight razor-sharp silver gavels clutched between his fingers. Jackson bobbed and weaved as the weapons buried themselves in the chamber floor, but was struck a glancing blow by Thompson when he landed. Jackson quickly regained his balance and somersaulted up to the vistor gallery, where he perched by his bootheels on one of the railings.

Enraged, Thompson produced more gavels and flung them in a whirling metal storm of death. Jackson, finally deigning to use his other hand, unsheathed his sword and swatted each of the hundreds of projectiles aside easily, diverting them back toward their source. The flat of one blade struck Thomspon on the bridge of his nose and he collapsed, unconscious.

President Jackson held out his saber, pointing it at Marshall in a defiant gesture. “Let him enforce it!”

The Chief Justice shot up, not leaping so much as flying, and landed on Jackson’s very blade, balancing easily on the razor edge. From somewhere deep in his robes he unsheathed the golden two-handed Ur-Gavel, richly engraved with eagles, crackling with raw judicial energy. According to legend, it could not be resheathed without establishing constitutional precedent.

The two men regarded each other for a moment, and then the real battle began.

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July 10, 2012

From “The Least Objectionable Charity Ever” by Amélia Evelise Altamira

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A few years ago, as a fresh young professor straight out of graduate school, I was excited to be arriving at my new job just as we it was hosting a presidential debate. One of my co-workers at my old job had made me promise to get one candidate’s autograph for her if I met him, and I’d made the same promise to my parents for the other.

To my disappointment, though, many of the events were restricted to students, and faculty were not eligible to participate in the raffle for debate tickets. It seemed that my sole memories of the debate would be the traffic snarls, the high-security cordon set up around the performing arts center, and the endless stream of news media personalities talking about the civil rights era as if nothing had happened at the university in the interim.

Then, a stroke of luck: one of my friends, who was a grad student with Health and Nutrition, told me that the Partnership to Fight Chronic Disease needed volunteers to work the “Evening with Tom Brokaw” event in late September. The Partnership to Fight Chronic Disease might just be the least objectionable, least controversial charity ever—who in their right mind is actually in favor of chronic disease?

Best of all, volunteers would get free tickets to the event if there were any left.

So I donned the provided purple-and-white Partnership to Fight Chronic Disease t-shirt, one size too small, and took up a plastic placard with the Partnership’s URL. I worked the Brokaw line in the muggy dusk, urging anyone who would listen (and many who wouldn’t) to Fight Chronic Disease and flashing the placard for good measure. Most people agreed that there was merit to Fighting Chronic Disease; a few even asked to get involved. All I could do, as a mercenary draftee volunteer, was lamely point them to the URL.

I like to think that peoples’ awareness was piqued, if not about the need to Fight Chronic Disease then at least about what Chronic Disease was (I explained several times the difference between chronic and acute diseases as best a former English major could). And my friends and I were given tickets to see Brokaw, still clad in purple-white and clutching placards. His talk was illuminating, and it was the closest I’d come to seeing someone of importance during the debate. Neither candidate cared to spend more than the minimum time necessary for the debate in town or to waste even one iota of their precious time meeting anyone from the community.

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June 28, 2012

From “Interview With Œ” by Eric Cummings, Jr.

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I was thrust into a back room, illuminated only by a single overhead bulb. I think Œ sat casually slouched on a folding chair directly beneath it; I’m not sure because the figure there was clad in baggy cargo jeans, an oversized hoodie, a ragged baseball cap, big dark Ray-Bans, and a drawn bandana with a skeletal grin printed on it. It was impossible to tell their age, gender, or anything else about them, other than the fact that some kind of flesh filled those tattered raiments.

“A little theatrical, don’t you think?” I said. One of the others, dressed similarly to Œ, set out a folded chair for me and I took a seat. “If you really wanted to be anonymous we could have talked more on the phone.”

“But you want theatricality, Mr. Cummings,” Œ said. Their voice was distorted by one of those vox boxes you sometimes hear in cheap horror movies, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disconcerted by it. “You’re enough of a narcissist that you have to see your little investigation as a titanic struggle between you, the hero, and us, the blackest evil. If I were sitting here, ordinary and unmasked, you’d be devastated.”

I stung a little from that observation. “I just want the truth. What is this ‘Project’ you’re working on, and how do all these little bits and pieces fit together?”

“The truth?” Œ’s laughter was modified into an ominous chuckle. “It’s never been about the truth. It’s been you tilting at windmills from the start, sacrificing what little journalistic integrity you had for the sake of bad puns. The fact that you can’t see the bigger picture is indicative of your failings as a person: petty, narcissistic, lazy, with a latent but distinct fascist bent.”

Who was that rag-clad hobo to call me all that? I was trembling by now, the way I always do during any kind of a confrontation. “If you wanted to insult me you could have just sent a letter to the editor. Now either give me something about your ‘Project’ or crawl back into whatever hole you came out of and go back to sharpening your hammer and sickle.”

Œ laughed again. “The Project is the perfect small-scale experiment. What is a university but an ironclad despotism, with a vast disenfranchised population at the whims of a privileged few, just like any other system? Those people have the power to be awakened and moved to action. That’s what we’re doing, and it’s just the start.”

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October 8, 2010

From “The Secret of the Freckles” by Albert Ludwig

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The new mayor was a godsend for Grimes: heavily freckled, red hair fading to white, ears that stuck out just a bit, and the beginnings of jowls at his cheeks. Nobody could argue that Mayor Grayling wasn’t a handsome man, but in the eye of a seasoned caricaturist, those features were ripe to be pushed out of whack.

Grimes doodled at his easel while looking at an 8×10 glossy of the man. He began with the shape of the head: a Nixonesque pear was perfect, and was added in light pencil. He fleshed out the cheeks next, bloating the slight flabbiness of Grayling’s jaws into jowls of epic proportions that wouldn’t be out of place on a mastiff. The mayor’s ears were stretched into outrageous satellite dishes ready to receive broadcasts from the Viking landers on Mars. Brisk charcoal strokes placed the mayor’s modest hairdo atop the pear and turned it into a grizzled and crosshatched mop. A dash of red from a Copic would be added later for the full color Sunday edition.

But it was those freckles which really interested Grimes. He drew a group of outlines next to the main sketch, testing different patterns and colors of freckles. It was a delicate balance: too many and too large meant Grayling looked like a spotted Martian; too few and too small meant there was nothing funny about it. Soon Grimes hit on a good balance, but one of his freckle studies intrigued him: in it, he’d used the freckles to spell out the phrase “politics as usual,” an inversion of Grayling’s campaign slogan.

“That’s a keeper,” Grimes chuckled. He added the freckle-slogan to the main caricature and leaned back, admiring his handiwork.

 

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