I’m Marty Stouffer.
*fawning, smiling Marty*
And this is:
*uplifting nature music*
Last week on Wild America,
we saw the bald eagle removed from the endangered species list
and take to the Technicolor skies!
Soaring freely amongst the smog,
this majestic creature surveyed the land
for some well deserved prey,
dove for a three-headed frog and
drowned in a river of pig shit outside a factory feed lot in Upstate New York.
*intense nature music*
The flowing river carried the eagle
along with several newly evolved strains of lethal microbes
spawned from the fanatical use of antibiotics
to your local water treatment facility.
The porcine feces was strained through a colander
and piped into some lady’s quadruped bathtub in New Jersey.
*Marty takes a long drink of vodka from the plastic bottle*
*music picks up speed*
Curiously, her antibiotic hand soap had no effect
on the avian bird flu she subsequently contracted.
Had her grieving dog not hacked to death on its bark collar
alerting the neighborhood with its rotting corpse,
the old lady would never have been found.
This week on
We’ll see donkeys and elephants fight
like junkyard dogs
over sacred cows and red herrings
to the passionate bleat of
three hundred million well fed sheep.
*Marty shooting up*
Same shit, different day,
I’m Marty Stouffer.
Maybe advertising isn’t all bad. After all, we let television and radio and movie theaters and the ass of your pants have advertising. Why not a tweet stream?
I am experimenting with in-stream advertising on Twitter.
I am terrified of losing friends over it. Continue reading Dr. Strangetweet: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Sponsor
Mankind is an astounding innovation.
We procreate, we fill the Earth, we alter her skin. We send bits of her to other spheres, sometimes even riding along in little Earth bubbles, and back again.
We hold hammers and swing cities into existence. Show me one volcano that can do that.
Mankind can out-blast a volcano. Nukes. Out-sweet sugar cane. Aspartame. With paint we vie with flowers and macaws. The Sistine Chapel. Mankind is skilled in mimicry, driven by ego, helped by cunning, winged in dreams, and foiled by choice.
We do these miracles – for better or for worse – despite impossible odds. Such power deserves respect.
Continue reading A Sort of Ode: Nature, Man, and Why I Respect Anyone Who Chooses to Exist
Humming through darkness,
palm thumps stone. Fingers encage.
Water falls, stone glows.
“There it is, your gem.
“You’ve barely scratched the surface.
“All this time, still pure.”
Nodding donkeys pump
black gold from blue and green rock
awash in starlight.
meditates, drags brush through ink.
Stroke: “Vapor, Air, Sky.”
horizon to horizon
begins to disperse.
Razor crosses palm.
Platelets like poppies bloom one
by one by one by