Clarity Hahaha

There is, I suppose, a world of objects which have a certain form, like this coffee mug. I turn it, and it has no handle. I tilt it, and it has no cavity. But there is something real here which is always a mug with a handle. I suppose. But politics, justice, patriotism - they aren’t even like coffee mugs. There’s nothing real there separate from our perception of them. So if you try to change them as though there were something there to change, you’ll get frustrated, and frustration will finally make you violent. If you know this and proceed with humility, you may perhaps alter people’s perceptions so that they behave a little differently at that axis of behavior where we locate politics or justice; but if you don’t know this, then you’re acting on a mistake. Prejudice is the expression of this mistake.

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—	Tom Stoppard, The Real Thing

It is somehow fitting that those who believe in radical conservatism, believe in an oxymoron.

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—	Frankie Houlihan

Obama: The Moslem

Heaven forbid. It needed front page coverage. Eighteen percent of Americans think Obama is a Moslem. If we could get the percentage of Americans who think the earth is flat or that Disney productions was fully responsible for the moon walk down to eighteen percent this country might be able to get on with some of what needs doing, but hey, good luck with that as they say.

It’s not that there is anything wrong with wealth, it’s that there is nothing right with exploitation.

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—	Frankie Houlihan

The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

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—	Groucho Marx

I’ve Got the Freedom to Fail

When I was a young son-of-a-gun
To win you had to be willing to lose
You could get knocked about, or even knocked out
While in the service of paying your dues
Here’s what I said, as I went through life
Battered by golfball sized hail
When Lady Liberty came knocking at my door
I told her,
“I’ve got the freedom to fail”

I told the Government, “Stay out of my life
And don’t you dare touch my medicare”
If a man didn’t have a job with insurance
I told him,
“Get another job,” might be some there
And when my neighbor fell upon hard times
And I was stuck listenin’ to him wail
I told him,
“Try looking on the sunny side of life,
You’ve got the freedom to fail”

Now the Frenchman he has his fine wine and cheese
And can drink latte in a cafe all day
Gets six weeks of vacation, paid for by the state
And kisses his women in public, any which way
He doesn’t even worry about a doctor when he’s ill
But what he’s missing would turn my face pale
In America, here’s what I’ve got, for no money down
I’ve got the freedom to fail

For twenty years my 4-0-1-K
Went soaring right through the roof
Risk’s a fine thing when there’s no risk at all
Clueless, my monthly statement was proof
But just when retirement was comming into sight
And beyond that horizon I’d sail
Risk kicked back in,
the natural order was restored
They gave me back my freedom to fail

Now, the Wall Street man, has no respect at all
For the natural order of things
As he stole the bootstraps,
    He said I needed to pull up
Happy days never left he would sing
He tells me, “Clarity,
    Have I got a deal for you”
Heads he wins, But I lose if it’s tails
As I switch chairs with my wife
    On the Titanic’s deck
He belly laughs at my freedom to fail

I believed early on that a fetish for failure
Would all but guarrantee I’d succeed
I could roam through life, getting sliced and diced
And somehow I would never bleed
But once my blood had spilt and dried
And life’s hammer used me for its nail
I posted on e-bay, for whatever I could get
That good ol’ American freedom to fail

I’m now ninety-two, in my room watching reruns
I can’t keep a thought in my head
Wond’ring when next my children will visit
I can’t remember if they’re alive or dead
Every now and then, I nod off and dream
I’m sixteen again, and I’m chasing tail
Back when I first learned, that great lesson of my youth
I’ve got the freedom to fail

It is as if the hour of the amateurs has arrived.

- Norman Mailer

A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five.

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—	Groucho Marx (via mudwerks)

abcsoupdot:

Harpo & Chico play Mama Yo Quiero: the essence of Vaudeville was talent and schtick.

Mister Bill Morrissey