Professor Pille's Planetary Panopticon
Currently under advisement and endless reconstruction. Perhaps confusing yet amusing. A highly vulnerable manifestation of the internationally-regarded Mt. Palomine Institute of Mysteries and its founder, the venerable Professor Antonio Pille. Dedicated with warmest regards to the varied ghosts of Aristophanes, Rabelais, Swift, Sterne, Jarry, Mencken, Baron Munchhausen, and the gentle and honorable Robert Benchley.
About Me
- Name: Prof. Antonio Pille
- Location: Portville, Narragansett National District
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Beswept by Turbifying Exhaustions and Penumbrances, yet Jollymaking Nonetheless!
Friday, December 23, 2005
"Ring a Gong Wrong"--a New Moving Picture Epic by Maori National District's Herr P. Jackson
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
Sailing or Flying Through Space--the Mt. Palomine Institute Clarifies
Semi-Finals!
How to Read Professor Pille's Planetary Panopticon
"Peeper's" Jeepers, what Creepers!
[Ed: Professor Pille is handling the "incident" directly below, inquiring with his legal team as to if it is truly homicide if no hom is involved] Anyway, "Der Peeper" personnel, peering at the goings-on of our awful Echo World, "Da Urth" came across this conundrum, one example of numbers of this type we find there (the word hypocrisy surely comes to thought). Overheard was a motorized conversation between two individual "Urthers" about the educational credentials of their current red-state leader, stimulated by a broadcast emanating from a National Public Wireless station. They seemed scandalized by the existence of something called a "Gentleman's C." Aside from the laughability of even the idea of a "gentleman" existing anywhere on that churning cauldron of twaddle, our ever-alert crew noted the presence, on the collision-protector of the horseless carriage delivering the shocked ditherers to the gaping "Maul," of a collision-protector adhesive broadside that proclaimed "Every Student is an Honored Student at JFK High." There was some confusion about the JFK reference--we do know this "Urth" historical character indulged in pharmaceuticals and such but the context seemed odd--otherwise Team Peeper experienced complete bewilderment regarding the striking disjunction 'tween the demand-for-standards voiced by the driver's loosely-hinged mouth and the simultaneous refutation of them plastered to the posterior of her grotesquely large Mechanical Ass (a gargantuan Futility Vehicle of some ornamental facture). We are researching this further as we, that very same day, encountered an excited alarum regarding environmental deterioration affixed adjacent an exhaust vent on yet another vehicle (a Sue-Brew wagon)! Supposedly a "peepingly" nearby institution of lower learning--a veritable gnat swarm of red-state and "PEZ-head-ent" vilifiers--abjures standards of excellence altogether while it contradictorily revels in the self-proclaimed superiority of their bold nihilistic schema! Their system does work as the school consistently expectorates top-drawer Know-Nothings, saboteurs, and Luddites. We are also considering shorter rotation periods for "Peeper" personnel as they are constantly being bludgeoned with cognitive dissonance and made grievously ill.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Whenever You Think, Think PILLEBOX!
Sincerely, Tony Pille (being chased by Mt. Palomine security personnel even as I write this on the wireless lapsitter computing engine)
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Why Space Aliens Don't Matter One Tiddle
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
How to Pronounce "Dohgorse"
One Hundred is Just Another Phone Number
An Even (and very odd) One Hundred!
Monday, December 12, 2005
Succulent Bejeebers! A Kindness! A Confection!
A electricity-generating factric has this moment wafted in from the gentle cirruses above, settled, adjusted its cumber-bum, and ambled drunkenly (yet stylishly) across the lustrous surface of my cooling spinet. Apparently mention has been made of this Institute, my Person, and the scientific/historical ramblings of my hired cohorts, within the flickering foolscap of another "Urthly" blog, floating--out there--in the dim and near-infinite Virtuality-Space! We are flattered, flattened, and fully fandangoed! The excited assembled staff--security, custodial, citizen-monkey, no exceptings--of the Mt. Palomine Institute of Mysteries has eye-balled this newly revealed companion--the creation of a comely, yet menacing (and surely stiletto- wielding!), Corsican who is made singular and re-findable with the Celtish-ringing handle, The Erin. She is indubitably a brain-hunkered lass; The Institute has universally pronounced the blog Golden with Oak-Leaf Cluster. An abruptly amour-stricken, moon-pied Director Zliplitt viewed one pic-choked entry on The Erin's blog and nuttily interrogated as to the identity of the, to quote, "sumptuous aryanesque blonde, the Wotanic vision of fjordian pulchritude, the embrasure-of-all-luminosity man would typically view capering coquettishly about the linoleumed halls of Valhalla in jewel-studded carpet slippers configured as hound dogs" that we find embedded sofa-wise behind the "besotted, Titania-seeking, humoresque" (Zliplitt's envy-forged words) dubbed a STACKHAUS in one of the myriad mirthful daguerreotypes of a fantastic orgy, appended to the impressive literary reminiscences of The Erin. By the instant he loudly began demanding a harquebus duel with the hapless STACKHAUS, an oaken bucket of water, heaved by a green-visaged custodial, cooled his ardor and soggily restored The Director's dignity. To survey what we have only moments ago seen within this "blog," to witness a creepily frigid record of leering, maddened, hormone-inflected males swinging about vine-draped mugs of mead; ankle-flashing, gyrating sirens, floozies, and strumpets caught doing the Hokey-Pokey and Charleston; a witless reckoning of wrecklessly abandoned wastrels; and obscene debauches of boxes o' booze ordered up for some birth-date bacchanalia, (along with somber notes and dry observations of the The Erin who deigned to roll out the understated assignation rambunctiously for the hell-bent hootenanny) then haul your haunted indexical across the glowing tablet before you, and hammer home most forcefully upon the linkage defined below as it was clogged with Cheeze-Its debris, and doused (as was everything, everywhere!) with aqueous budget inebriants, and is now quite jammed and rusted. Our thanks again for this free notice, and the attendant kind words, well plumbed and multi-syllabically "Pilled." We shall, with enthusiasm and inquisitivity, read through aloud this "blog" of The Erin's morsel by morsel during our daily Zack beverage break, anticipating added insights and further galleries of depravity.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Back to Blog: Our Story So Far...
- Version Uno--When we last left our story dangling, Anther Bedloe, member of the world-famed circus percussionist act, The Nebulous Bedloes, had just discovered that Audry, his second wife, was a latent imbiber of fruit juices (LIFJ), so he turned her into the State Police, using forbidden knowledge and pedestrian magic.
- Version Duo--It's nearly Santariamas and I haven't even started my shopping!! Meanwhile, up at the Norge Pole, Old Nick and his Saucy Rhinemaidens have decorated Santarialand in the traditionally lucrative green and gold of the holiday! Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets!
- Version Thrace--Welcome to the world of Professor Antonio Buxtehude Pille, the Mt. Palomine Insititute of Mysteries, and the glorious Planet of Erde which has only an oblique and distorted resemblance to a nasty little parallel universe world we recently discovered, called by its grunting troglodyte inhabitants "Da Urth." Please scout through the ARCHIVES if interested as this is all far more untidy than it seems right here.