Category Archives: writing

Palin Poetry: The Palinleaks Haikus

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New Shakespalin

New Shakespalin

Many and varied are the treasures of the internet, and the greatest of these may be HaikuFinder. After spending far too much time trying to download and run the damn thing (okay, i got the program…and now I need to install Python? And then I need to hack a workaround into Vista, which won’t run Python? And then I need to disable my virus protection so it can run? and whatever, dudes) I find out there’s a website. Paste in the words aye wallah! Your Haiku: dey are fownd.

So, presumably the Python script etcetera exist so you can Haiku-ify top secret documents without the off-chance that Wikileaks will find your sooper-sekrit poetry stash? Okay then!

In related news, it’s obvious to the most casual observer of the Contemporary Poetry Scene that we are not the first to take a stab at finding the poetry in Palinisms: There was Slate’s fictional Palintry roundup, The Utne Reader’s architectonic analysis of an interview, Prospect Magazine (yes, even in the UK, which reminds me, did you see Mike Tyson at the Oxford Union? Oscar Wilde is spinning like a turbine, I’m telling you), and, of course, a year later the Huffington Post. And this book:

Tap that!

Tap that!

And, of course,William Fucking Shatner.

As you may be aware, the Great State and Future Province of Alaska has recently released all of Sarah Palin’s emails (now, Republicknuts, keep your panties on: they’re redacted) for your reading pleasure, and we at the ol’ raincoaster blog have taken this one step further by running said emails through the HaikuFinder, and here are the results [who, by the way, is this “Tibbles” who gets cc’d in on so much? Her cat?]:

Continue reading →

Operation Global Media Domination: the intellectual situation

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We’ll try not to be smug about this.

Julian Assange Smug Life. I got 99 problems but a snitch ain't one

Julian Assange Smug Life. I got 99 problems but a snitch ain't one

We will fail.

Today we got a link and some actually decent traffic because a post from the ol’ raincoaster blog was excerpted at the International Journal of Baudrillard Studies, bringing to four the number of universities which have used this blog in either their academic publications or their course materials.

This almost makes up for a recent, and high-profile, local blogging conference at whose keynote someone else was publicly thanked, at length, for the job that I did. No, really, that was me. On the other hand, I guess this makes me the Executive Director of W2 by default; I sure hope the salary is good!

But I’m SO over that!

In bonus good news news: our Iron Maiden/Bollywood mashup unicorn chaser is going the teensiest bit viral, and if you’ve clicked Play you know why. And speaking of music, we know the music on our WWII Dogfights in Colour YouTube video is intolerable, but we got paid $95 to put it on and if you want it off, make us a better offer.

We note further that the appalling music hasn’t stopped it from getting over one million hits. Let’s give it a few more, eh?

Help Us Help You Help Us All: The Shebeen Club May Meeting!

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Mr. Grumpy Pants

Shamelessly stolen from the Shebeen Club, which is officially as of right now no longer my baby! Yes, I wrapped it in swaddling clothes and put it in a wicker basket and took it down to the river and…found out wicker baskets don’t float, so I complained online until somebody solved my problem, as per usual.

Why so serious, pookie?

Has your writing career got you down? Things not falling into your lap like those unicorn rainbows and lollipop dreams would have it? Wondering what to do and how to do that (short of offering to sleep with Jack McClelland)?

THEN YOU NEED TO COME TO THE MAY MEETING OF THE SHEBEEN CLUB!

What with raincoaster heading off to places to our north so as to discover new alcohol-based uses for ice, The Shebeen Club is being forced on a new sucker transferred to a new, bright, shining set of hands! Ian Alexander Martin (a guy comfortable with writing about himself in the 3rd person) wants to know what you — yes, you — want to see in the meetings!

Come on down to the Rebel Room, put him in a sleeper hold, and then calmly explain what you need to learn about and who should explain it to you as a presenter.

The best way to get what you want is to say what that is. No one is willing to admit they can read minds, so join us on Tuesday, May 24th at 7pm for a timely, lively discussion by you and other intelligent people who are writers, publishers, literary agents, PR and Media people, or just plain people involved in that Publishing Biz. Bring your questions, suggestions, and your brain!

As always, tickets are $20 in advance [Eventbrite Link; let us know you’re coming and we’ll give you the early bird price] (available till May 23rd) or $25 at the door, and that includes dinner and a drink. The venue is the upstairs lounge at Revel Room, 238 Abbott Street just south of Gastown.

  • Revel Room: 238 Abbott Street just south of Gastown [need a map? CLICK HERE]
  • JUST $20!! GET YOUR TICKETS HERE! [Eventbrite Link!] includes dinner!
  • …or, bring $25 cash on the evening
  • Tuesday, May 24th
    • 7:00 – 7:30 meet & mingle
    • 7:30 – 8:00-ish listen & learn

Selah.

Keep Calm and Recite the Lords of Hockey Prayer

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Keep calm and Canuck on

Keep calm and Canuck on

I was walking down the street, minding my own business (for once) when, right at the corner of Richards and Hastings, I saw this. I had to have it. And since I don’t have a camera capable of photographing it well enough to capture all the text, I ripped it off the hydro pole on which it had been pasted, and took it with me to type it all out. So here it all is, laboriously typed out by hand, so I hope you appreciate it.

Thus saith Michael the Captain of the Lords Host,

The year I was born, they joined the Big League, and waited patiently for Me,

They didn’t play for last, no more two line pass, bring on the Holy Spirit Gas

To bring it into submission, you must surrender to a God, and agree on the vision

Good Grief, I love My Beloved Leafs, but Vancouver I desire to give the cup to thee

REVELATION 19 THROUGHT 22; EZEKIEL 9: DANIEL 12

I am Stanley’s Lord, drink from My cup, after the parade we will sit and sup

I AM the Man clothed in linen, with Trevor Linden, saying the Devils ain’t winning

Game 7, a loud trumpet sound, a musical ride gathered around

Oh Canada, don’t you see, New Jerusalem a virgin bride dressed for Me

Hebrews 13: Thessalonians 4:16-17

Skates of Fire, Stars on Ice, entertaining angels is it not nice

In 89, Al MacInnes stood on the line, Patrick Roy ducted every time

Lanny McDonald, I Am the Golden Arch, I began My shout on the 19th of March

Don Cherry, I Am the vine, you Me and Ron the Devils will whine

Matthew 24L Mathew 18:19, Daniel 12:1-4

Davey Crocket and the Richard Rocket, I have a cup, in My pocket,

Bobby Orr he shoots he scores, I AM Michael, I hold the oars

I row row row the boat, I Bless the Humble, and oppose the goat

If you want this gift from Me, get on your knes in My Name Jesus say please

Mark 13; Matthew 24; Luke 21

Uncle Steve and Wayne the future I see, Luongo, will stand on his head for Me

Hey twins call Sundin up, and tell him to come, and sip from My cup

Surroundd by the cops, the crowd weeps, and the tears will drop

The crowd will roar, the Master is home, as Roger packs the Thunder Dome

Revelation 14; 1st Thessalonians 4:16-17; Daniel 12:1-4

Scotties tissues, a tournament of hearst, as I tear her walls all apart

To her shall the Archangel sing, about a Seven Carrot, Diamond Ring

Hey B.C I aAm the Lion, I am Orion, and you are standing on Mount Zion

Before Christ, this is the blan, I long to give you the cup from My hand

Revelation CH 6 through CH 13 understand the silence Aug 26, 2011

The Pacific Rim, the Ring of Fire, all prepared for cowards and liars

A three game sweep, a three game come back, Michael and His Angels lead the attack

The Devil and his angels, all cast down, 7 trumpets and they will gather around

Gates and the Pope I will capture, the rest marked, and headed for disaster

Isaiah 11

Born to be My Baby, she gives love a bad name, The New Jersey Devils concede the game

Little Girl Airheart, I tore her world apart, IAM destined to win right from the start

Across the oceans her claim to fame, she is taking, My New Name in vain

In your hands, I command you to lift her up, Zion’s Daughter must raise My pup

Love OrionMichael Prince “MY NEW NAME” Rev 19:11-16; Rev CH 2 and 3

Email Michael_Prince777 AT yahoo.ca with questions and comments


Memo of the Day: Toilet Wars

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Or should that be “Loo Wars?” I dunno, “Loo Wars” kinda sounds like a 1920’s bisexual movie star, probably one that took the virginity of both Ginger Rogers and David Bowie later in life. In fact, “Loo Wars” sounds rather awesome, now that I think of it. I should pitch a biography of this fabulous, imaginary person. BRB, writing proposal…

Okay, back. Where was I? Oh yes, posting about toilets once again. I KNOW I’m supposed to call them “Washrooms” like the way the news refers to “Afghanistan” when what they mean is Tarok Kolache. But they’re toilets, specifically the things you sit on. And here are two memos from Ye Olde Englande where, it seems, standards (and colons) have relaxed considerably in recent times.

Why is it always the men’s room? Except at Metrotown (whereof we will not speak…)?

The first, from the Grauniad, venerated temple of lefty journalism:

Subject: Gentlemen of the Guardian and Observer, we must buck up!

A plea on behalf of the cleaners and your fellow staff…
In the event that you are, ahem, inconvenienced when visiting the toilets, please use the brush handily situated at the side of the toilet to clean the bowl after yourself, rather than leaving the bowl – and in one case on the second floor toilets – the seat covered with evidence of your visit for the next occupant of the stall to behold.
Surely no one would leave a toilet in that state at home, would they?
And a happy new year to all.

And the second, from Endemol, whose website is a masterwork of corporate gobbledygook (building franchises and extending them into new consumer experiences etc) but whose memo is admirably direct, vivid, amusing, and (doubtless) effective:

"You fucking animals" is the new "You dirty rats"

A toilet memo for the ages: "You fucking animals" is the new "You dirty rats"

via Popbitch, the rest of whose stories today involve absolutely nobody of whom I have ever heard except Adam Ant. If you want to feel like you’re far away from anywhere a language you speak is spoken, read British sports, celebrity, and music journalism. Impenetrable, I’m telling you; some day I’ll do a rant just on British sports writing, but that rant is not today. My doctor says only one rant per day until the 28th, then it’s back to free-flowing bile 24/7 as usual.