Imperial Cavalry provided with new armour-ed vehicle

Our first line of defense against foreign road dirt and maple seeds--on patrol near Kanadan border

Protests on "da Urth" sparked by Professor's doodle-pad

Inflamed and boiling masses seek soothing vengeance, hope to someday "kill everything!"

Professor Pille unapologetic over absent-minded scrawl on phone pad depicting major "Urther" religious prophet wearing a pink and tasty farmyard critter on head like chapeau, with legend Morris "Mo" Ham-Head. Sez the Professor: "Ofttimes I have found this my-self encumbered with the obligation to disentangle aboriginals from their vicarious hoodoos and brainworms; merely provide these waifs with pocket coinage, festive helium-lofted balloons shaped as a sponge-gentleman, and comfortable conveyance to the "mall" and their dis-insouciance shall froth lightly, and--Wotan be guided--wander skyward like dew before the blazing solar oelyptus! Once, in years past, I forestalled a near-cataclysm of civic turmoil in the mountain strongholds of Tinkanistan--nay, was nearly worshipped as a deity--with a fistful of "sparklers" and a surplus trampoline. In the "Urther" land of Merka one can mesmerize entire populaces with the mere swtching on of an optical wireless device!

Institute Creates Stealth Craft for Imperial Air Force

Seen and heard from ten kilometers away it precisely simulates a nearby and totally innocuous cicada

Miracle craft uses magic of forced perspective and classified inverse-square laws to evade detection, worried policy-makers suggest immediate revision of international law to ban hi-tech flying machine as "impolite"

No apple-logies

Tearing the mask away and looking at the drippy cold pudding at the end of the spoon!

Ripping away the hypocrisy and crunching down on the seedy inner core of caramel that's always scuttling away from the revealing light beneath the inside-out socks of Truth.

More protests rock "da Urth"

Urr...

Pille candidacy endorsed by Taft

Floating City Opera-house legend, Luciano Taft, sings candidate's praises at rally

Beloved Imperial musician, Lord Kartofel Pomfrits, composes and performs Professor Pille Cake-Walk on National Wotanshrine's recently transplanted Grande Wallaby 60-stop, gas-powered, internally mounted organ--Le Petomane

Professor throwing rings into a hat for 2008 election

Accepting the Inevitable--a Pillogical candidate for Pillogical times

"If elected, it will be this humble savant's topmost endeavor to uninstall Zouaves and Hussars from Puta Babylon and download them, and their various embedations, crenelations, and armours, within a thoroughly depopulated land where they may seek out healthful food and simple shelter; restore goodly relations with our orbiting mistress, D'anna, and her Moonoid denizens; look Tic-Toc sternly in the Gesicht and demand no MSG, seek out the Autistic-Horrorists, and their leader Baphomet Q'ung, and confiscate their crayons and mittens; apply balm to the friction-ed surfaces betwixt Baalist and Bykist; smooch babies with gusto; jog before cameras; hurl spittoons with voting ethnics; belabour the opposition; and otherwise inflict my soft wares upon The Empire! My running mate, in keeping with newly-found traditions of applying a lead-like "stinker" around the neck of any ticket, will be my own negative anti-self, Tony Pill, wherein we may someday play Pleasant-Law Officer/Unpleasant Law-officer to the Empire and to all Erde!"

Um...

Uh...

Pongo overdue for renovations

City Center showing effects of deferred maintenance

Mayor suggests discontinuing Free Parking policy and paying visitors to park, purchase of mechanical dust-sweeper, more street lights, and quaint roadside shrubbery arrangements

Now let's everybody just stop for a second and take a nice deep breath

One Angry and Vengeful Prophet...or Deity...or Something

Prostrate yourselves before me worthless mortals! Follow the path of peace and enlightenment or suffer my excruciating tortures! Sacrifice virgins, punish unbelievers, kill, conquer, and convert and complain about words and pictures in my glorious name! Send my media representatives boodles of cash and get out there and vote! Do my bidding and I shall reward you with food, sex, wealth and nice-looking wings (maybe a harp if you're really good); deny me and boyo you'll regret it! I am the Great and Wrathful Boo-Duh! All praise unto me or else!

Peeps from "der Peeper": Cartoon deniers speak out!

No Katz were injured during the making of this Denial

It wasn't the religion's Top Dog but a scruffy look-a-like Mutt named Jeff from Toon Town, and Elmer Fudd was just innocently hunting quail and didn't mean to blast Doktor Death, say scaffold-bound ink-pot revisionists, as enraged cartoonists "Urth"-wide sit home and play violent electro-optical computing engine games, vent fury on Interknit blogs, and burn comix collections. Further attempts to foolishly clear names of vilified Katzenjammers and Baron Munchausen doomed to failure as "Urther" kultur wars degenerate to level of international borderline personality disorders. Breaking news: "Urther" museum finds famed desert religion icon's phone pad and it's covered with doodles and amateurish caricatures; bewildered followers in ecstasy/agony beat selves bloody as punishment/reward; clearly need hobbies, better jobs, or back rubs! Meanwhile entire "Urther" sandlot/banana-oil region is filled to over-topping with mutually antagonistic parties all in deepest denial about their nasty true selves and/or endless self-serving motivations, all masked by high-and-mighty-isms of three hypocritical sun-struck religions this Institute and Wotan are getting mighty tired off.

Denial denier denies denial

This is not even my Head! sez dopey Lord Benchley

We complain about "da Urth" but things can get weird here on Erde sometimes. The tiny nation of Grand Swizzlestein, the "cutest little country" on Erde, has an ancient law making it illegal for Swizzlestonians to "with malice aforethought denieth that or any suche thinge whych plaine and obvious-lyke is impress-ed upon the mindes of all citizens and his lordshippe, the Duke of Swizzlestein, may Wotan granteth him long lyfe". This odd law came about largely due to the excruciatingly diminutive size of that adorable nation and corresponding real estate issues--denying the existence of any thing in Grand Swizzlestein simply created considerable confusion about available space and this then could lead to economic instability and chaos. In 1657 AP a Swizzlestonian Hausfrau, angered by her husband's nocturnal imbibings, denied him access to their tiny chalet one morning on the grounds that "he no longer existed" even though he was standing (well, passed-out) on the front stoop. Word immediately got around the half-acre stacked and packed Grand Duchy that the hung-over husband no longer occupied the valuable personal space allotted to him by the traditions of Swizzlestein and the "suddenly freed-up turf" made potentially available caused land speculators to run amok. Contradictory reports created confusion on the Swizzlestonian Stock Exchange floor and within seconds the entire miniature economy was in complete shambles. It was all fully straightened out by dinnertime but not until after a ten-minute Civil War had broken out, the Duke had almost been assassinated, most workers had been laid off and in anger revolted and declared the formation of a Worker's Paradise, and, in the confusion, an invasion force was organized by the Duke's daughter to seize a few square feet of land from neighboring Deutschbrand and provide additional Lebensraum (meaning a living room for her cramped apartment). Elsewhere on Erde, denying the obvious is considered to be the prerogative of fools and scoundrels--the handful of silly people totally ignored by all on our delightfully enlightened world unless they are entertaining.

There are many "Professors" and some want ad space

Plenty of speculation here at the Mt. Palomine Institute as to what consitutes a "mirthful" bowel movement; in fact we're having a contest with prizes

Fast breaking news!

Planet Ishtar's thick glass surface punctured by meteor and barrier between inner and outer worlds is breached!

Emperor asks for shipload of psychologists to be sent to our neighboring world to assist. Mt. Palomine Institute works feverishly to design and fabricate immense cork stopper that can survive atmospheric re-entry. Ishtar's dreadful ancient Id creatures ooze up from the oily darkness and through the hole in Ishtar's thick glass mantle to confront pleasant and peaceful natives with their own worst fears and nightmares, and with uncivilized thinking and behavior the horrified Ishtarians abandoned eons ago. This story has absolutely no relationship, even metaphorically, to the previous one on Vikings.

A Marshmallow Peep from "der Peeper"--Vikings say F**k-it!

Heading south for the spring

After nearly 1000 years of peace and quiet and being kind of nice folks, the Viking peoples of "da Urth," confronted with a spectacular, overblown, utterly absurd sh*t and sand-storm from Scheherazade's storied lands, have decided to pack in their pacifism and humanitarianism and revert back to the old-fashioned ways of their forefathers--burning, raping, pillaging, and generally laying waste to things. One bearded and freshly horn-helmeted Nordic fellow was quoted as saying, "If a few insulting cartoons make us the worst people around, lets just go down there and show them how bad "worst" can really be!"

Patty Pille on the Big Screen!

Agent Double-Oh-Boy! Patty Pille saving Erde yet again!

Erden Imperial Secret Agent Patty Pille (Saffron Burrows), escapes being drowned in chowder and is about to confront the legendary Smouldering Gunman (the only one of the 37 Texican assassins who missed his ride and arrived too late--played by Kevin Costner) while attempting to escape from the bewildering Kay F. Jay conspiracy Spasshaus deep beneath the Merkan White Mansion in the 2004 Universal epic Pille X.

The Real Joker behind Professor Pille's Planetary Panopticon

David Jacob Osterman (1957)

• The whimsical and thought-provoking Professor Pille's Planetary Panopticon was originally the brainchild--way back in 1959--of a shy and seemingly unremarkable University of Wisconsin journalism student from Green Bay named Dave Osterman. Osterman--an underclassman that year, and something of a science fiction/horror "nerd" (H.P. Lovecraft being a particular favorite)--thought it would be entertaining to create a newsletter for a fictitious and somewhat oddball research institute (initially called Professor Pille's College of Occult Arts) situated in a nearby parallel dimensional world--vaguely similar to our own--called Erde. Osterman's plan was to limit the "publications" of this fantasy institute to supernatural and paranormal topics. After two amateurish editions, he changed the name of the establishment to the Mt. Palomine Institute of Mysteries when, as he later admitted, it became apparent that the topics his "paper" explored ranged well beyond ghosts, psychics, and flying saucers. The Mt. Palomine Institute newsletter itself was called the Planetary Panopticon (eventually Professor Pille's Planetary Panopticon) and at roughly the same time as this change in the direction of his newsletter took place, he effected another more significant and probably related one with his studies-switching his major from journalism to political science with a minor in sociology. Osterman printed the first "editions" of the Planetary Panopticon with a toy printing set he'd received as a Christmas gift in his early teens, and distributed them free of charge at the school cafeteria while dressed up as a turn-of-the-century Chicago newsboy.
• The infrequently published humor/satire one-sheet became so popular with students and faculty at the University of Wisconsin that its creator was eventually asked by the editor of The Badger--the school newspaper--to be a regular contributor, enabling Osterman to focus his energies on his rapidly mounting workload. The first Badger posting, by "Professor Pille," the "head" of the Mt. Palomine Institute, appeared, appropriately, in the April 1, 1960 edition. Osterman used his school-wide "bully pulpit" as a platform for wacky humor and fantasy but also as a way to have some fun with the current events that were of increasing interest to him. A survey of contributions from those years reveals topical concerns as far-ranging as the missile-gap, hula-hoops, sputnik, tail-fins, Eisenhower's secret treaty with the E.T.s, the "Ugly American," fluoridation, and the tempest-in teapot controversy over the Chinese islands of Quemoy and Matsu.
• Dave Osterman graduated with a B.A. in 1962 but remained at the University of Wisconsin as a graduate student, occasionally offering new Postings from the Institute-- when workload permitted--until he received his PhD. in Political Science in 1965. Dr. Osterman declined a tenured teaching position at the school, and instead accepted a job with the Central Intelligence Agency where he joined a highly classified CIA extraterrestrial and ancient technologies working group. He retired from his position as CIA Assistant Director of Special Projects in 1999 and now lives in the seaside community of Portville, in the Narragansett National District, where he tends a garden and writes a popular series of children's books about a mythical land called "Da Middle Urth."
• In an interview published in The Badger in 1966, Dr. Osterman admitted that many of the characters he had created in his Panopticon stories were based directly on eccentric family members, teachers, and various friends. The "Public Assuagement Director," Anatole Zliplitt, was, according to Dr. Osterman, a near perfect recreation of a crotchety-yet-lovable German great uncle from Milwaukee; Dave Dimp was a caricature of a well-liked "goofball" cousin who lived in Tennessee and whose childhood nickname was Dimples. Many of the Teutonic and Nordic references scattered throughout the Pille Universe were simply nods to his family's mixed German/Norwegian heritage. However, Professor Pille, Dr. Osterman explained, "just appeared" to him one day while he was tinkering with an electrical contraption of his own design at his family home in Green Bay--electronics and optics having been hobbies of his when he was a teenager.
• In 1967, the rights to the Professor Pille concepts and characters were purchased from their creator by Hammer Pictures in Great Britain and in 1969 the film, The Perils of Professor Pille, staring Peter Cushing and Anthony Quayle, was released to good reviews. This was to be the beginning of a succession of offbeat Professor Pille films first produced by Hammer and then picked up and continued by Universal when that British horrror and adventure film company collapsed in the 1970s. The series includes Revenge of Professor Pille, Song of Professor Pille, Professor Pille Goes Home, Daughter of Professor Pille (with Uma Thurman as Patty Pille), Return of Professor Pille, and Pille Happy. Aside from Quayle, the Professor role has been played by, among others, Raymond Burr, Sir Ralph Richardson, Jeremy Irons, Sean Connery, and Leonard Nimoy (in a made-for-TV adaptation).
• A well-disguised Jim Carey took on the role in the 2004 release Pille X--the twelfth and most recent in the series (although the confusing title caused many to think it was the tenth film), and the first to feature the Professor's daughter Patty (Saffron Burrows) as the story's lead character. In this CGI-packed, action/adventure film, Erden Imperial Intelligence Service operative Patty Pille (agent Double-Oh-Boy!) battles the evil "Urther" Pez-head-ent Billery Quentin (played by an icy and in-drag Alice Krige replete with Chaplin-esque moustache) and her nail-spitting homicidal assistant Condie Leashlaw (Samantha Mumba) when the Merken Schwarz-technikers develop a massive version of "Der Peeper," called a Fargate. After cunningly drugging Erde's protector, Wotan, the "Urther" villains, under the direction of a mysterious Überlord, attempt to use the trans-dimensional portal to invade peaceful Erde and place the entire planet under the "tough-love" iron rule of the brutal and matriarchal Merkans.

  
  

Where have we been and who cares anyway?

I've lost some weight, haven't I?

Ah yes, a long lull here at the Planetary Panopticon and largely because most of the staff at the Mt. Palomine Institute had ample genuine work scheduled and this thing-called-a-blog simply slipped from our collective minds (and collective they are, as we have a hive mentality--do join us or fear us!) much like a miniature and worthless bar of motel soap would slip unnoticed from the rim of a bathtub into the impenetrable Herr Bubbled water. We do have lives, you may well know, and hobbies, and laundry to process and hang with sprung wooden pinchers from horizontally oriented ropes. This piddly thingamabob read by no more than six sober citizens is scarcely the fulcrum of our existences. A number of salient points that have kept us at remove from, to make beginnings with, Peeper Galactic Control:

1. The entire "Urther" prophet-as-horrorist-Peanuts-character farce left us drained of all energy, good will, and goodly humor. There's been heated discussion in the Institute cafeteria regarding the pluses and minuses of unplugging the trans-dimensional "Peeper" device that enables us to visually scour our appalling Echo World dubbed "da Urth," and restoring its complex components respectively to the 4th floor washroom and Dave Dimp's portable Nipponinc-manufactured wireless (tuned perennially to "E-Z listening Newz" when not locked bull-dog-like upon his favored Sprechstimme symphonic doo-wop). This allowing us to continue on with our cheerful and much saner-seeming Erden lives.
2. Recent news that the "Urther" Assistant Pez-head-ent assaulted an elderly necropolis director with a blunderbuss because the funereal presence was "grousing" about something in the Bush, has added to our overall disillusionment. We know that this Cheese-knees fellow does not permit criticism, but his projectiled mayhem is excessive, even by psychotic "Urther" social-interactive principles. Certainly one of his aides--a youthful Red-Stater perhaps with keener eyesight, steadier aim, and more overwrought firearm, a bazooka perhaps (as is possible on that world of homicidal maniac mechanics)--could have performed the task more "cleanly" (as one might euphemize like an "Urther"). Rather, a wounded and maddened bull funeral director with 12-point rack now ranges across the gutted landscape of Merka seeking vengeance, and the populace are angered that they weren't immediately alerted to the danger, enabling them to seal their homes and recall their zombie progeny from various glowing screens.
3. As if mere cartoons were not ample to stir up nests of hornets, daguerreotypes of yet more Houdini-esque inflictions upon Muggalumpers, Mothespians, and Bush-babies by the Merkans are encirculating that tainted globe; one would almost suspect that airspace enlivened with shouting and wildly gesticulating stinging insects was the desired and planned-for result. That, or newspaper circulation in overheated regions soars when insults are offered aside the market coupons offering praiseworthy price reductions on fragmentary carpetry, Russlander weaponry, and steamed turbanes. Notwithstanding, the stratagem of the increasingly hyper-distended Merken government would appear to be the expensive conquest of worthless tracts of land and the escape-artist and endurance testing of the excitable sorts within the enslaved citizenry, perhaps with the eventual hope of creating either a durable master-race or a host of fresh contestants for competitive reality-based Optical Wireless programmings. Imperial francs are being placed on the barrel heads during Institute cafeteria imbroglios to the gambling effect that while "da Urth" is generally a sad and childish place (about age 5, overall), the Merkans, once a semi-noble tabula rasa-ed "Great Wiped Hope," have devolved to the comic-tragic level where they no longer even grasp why they venture onto Distant Quests and Crusades. Most of their activities these last befuddled years--from those of the lowliest Blue-Stater banning language and constructing un-poetic differently-unabled euphemisms, to the lofting-worthy (as from a cannon) Red-Stater insisting on the enforced promulgating of the Kindergarten faerie-telling that the Multiverse was conjured up as if by bearded flour-sack-garbed dime-store magician (when, in fact, the job was parceled out, contract-wise, to a bevy of incompetent Creatrix ditzes--witness our current Erden lawsuits!)--may be analogous to the random out-thrashings of a night-mared sleeper, or the continued growth of hair and such other unspeakable vilenesses on long-buried corpses.

Breaking Peeper News: Loony-Tuned Kooks express support for other kooks in global kook romp-fest

Angry anti-cartoonists exhibit unity with extremer Red-State/Blue State compatriots on "da Urth"--future strategy meetings scheduled with aging militant feminuts, pro-life homicidal maniacs, and political correctoads

Religious Cult to punish "just about everybody!"

Almighty Teakettle of Amun-Pok Worshippers are Steamed Up!

"Each day millions upon millions of infidels and blasphemers desecrate sacred representations of our Great Prophet by forcing water into them and passing them through torturing fires to make them whistle for their amusement!"

Director Zliplitt to the rescue

My sincerest apologies

Oftentimes, and in regard to issues with which this Director is in total sympathy , the entire staff and faculty of the Institute, from the lowliest toad scrubber to the finely focused gentleman who autographs my paycheck each week, can adopt the mannerisms of a herd of over-sugared schoolchildren (as one may witness through the sequence of increasingly infantile postings below). Certainly, events on "da Urth" recently--those involving the tribulations of a rather charming little nation that's barely recovered from the shock of being ravished by one of its neighbors scarcely a lifetime ago--are, shall we say, stimulating. As much as I am in congruence with my colleagues and am deeply troubled by the turmoil and childish threats I'm distantly hearing about, to save my own sanity and avoid falling into the maelstrom of emotion (for an example, a rather loud pro-Viking rally is taking place in the Institute parking lot even as I dictate this--Professor Pille on bullhorn is an experience to be eagerly missed) I must quite efficiently fall back upon my daily mantra of personal stability--it's "da Urth" so what else would one expect?

Nyah, Nyah--Look what we can do!

Wotan fell over laughing!
Poster hangs in Institute cafeteria and all are encouraged to have their say

Quakers in uproar!

Pencil-vania recalls ambassador--violent shunnings in Philly!

Chief Quakerian image desecrated by being placed on cartons of gruel and porridge--protesting Quakers call upon their vengeful Quaker-God to rain hot cereal down on blasphemers and unbelievers!

Asgard to offer Coalition of Viking-Nations assistance

Wotan--a big free speech guy--is PO-ed

Bloche Block has no museum but the other guy do unofficially

Trapped like a Gas-Filled Plastic Kitten in a Cardboard Carton: The LZ-131 J.R. "Bob" Dobbs

A strange salute to a "da Urther" figure found noble and honorable (f0r a change) by the usually appalled citizenry of Erde, this airship of corporate brick (steely irony intended) lay sleeping in a cardboard box awaiting re installation into a bizarre-yet-didactic Feetball diorama that was concept-ed (to use a dopey "Urther" jargonism) by the psyops design team here at the Mt. Palomine Institute. A click hereabouts will vent you to the location of this wonder, a museum in Oh-hi-uh, in Merka, on "da Urth." Proceed there for added brickery and other Institute creations, including a terpsichorean crockagator dressed as Pharoah:

www.danstoymuseum.blogspot.com

Peeper Crisis Update: Kanadia unveils new WID

"We will crush you!" sez Kanadan PM as new Weapon of Ice Destruction revealed at Kanadan Party Congress

Merkans in uproar as device can easily be delivered by military Cruise Toboggan or UPS

New Feature: Our One-Eyed, Uninformed, Purple-Prose, People Peeper on the Echo-World Tarmac with Paranoid Reports from "da Urth"

Gadzooks! A Roadmap of the "Secret Government"

Institute journalist-spy (to be known as Agent Pi) embedded on (or hopefully in) "da Urth" to send back reports on the news that lies behind the lies that are in the news (a man, a plan, a canal, Panama!). Coming soon:

• Proof positives that there was a conspiratorial plot (of land) behind the Bumpkinville 7-eleven attack involving gas station magnates, the Bumpkinville FD, and high level figures on the mysterious Zoning Board; security cameras show the entranceway collapsing (or perhaps it was just a customer opening the door) before being struck by the runaway AMC Matador, plus there are seven letters in Matador and eleven in AMC Matador if you count the space.
• How "da Urth" is controlled by the McMasons and the Illumi-naughty (with the Munchkinlodgers and New World Odorists acting as intermediaries) and the precise location of the super-secret polar "gas pedal" and "steering wheel"
• Cy "Pops" Ops--seemingly confused drive-by theater "black" project-ionist, mis-directionist, and pops "corn" server who speaks in riddles and somehow always forgets to give you your change, your butter, or the right directions home
• The story behind the assassination of Kay F. Jay, a dark day in the Texican bowling town of Dulles--all evidence points to complicity of Vice-President Jackie O'Ruby as 365 bored and lonely gunmen loaded with shots of tequila and blank looks jostled for positions between the Gassy Gnome (a diner), the Under-past, and the Dulles Bookworm Suppository in a scene that looked like the Rebel line at Gettysburg--hometown of a very complex military anti-industrialist; the limousine suddenly lurched forward but the seasick President's lunch blows backwards (limo forward, lunch backward--again, limo forward, lunch backward); and the big clue everyone missed?--how hired-gun filmmaker Cecil B. Dapruder took the fatal shot seen 'round "da Urth." It's a riddle, wrapped in caramel, dipped in Pennsylvania Dutch chocolate, and sprinkled with lots and lots of nuts.
• The truth about Femtrails, the New World Odorists, and the use of pheromones and ozone-depleting feminine hygiene sprays to manipulate "da Urth's" population
• At last, the story of the lost world of Flatlantis, a sandy, geographically featureless island-nation that averaged only two-inches above sea level and disappeared forever when an overenthusiastic Flatlantian passed wind. [EDITOR: There was no way we were stooping to Flatulantis]
• Much much much much more

Professor denounces Blog-Buzz

No Interknit Strumpets be We!

Somewhere traipsed about within these flickering journals is a mice-directed interknit placement pressure point directing blogstarians to a "window" (unto nothingness) that, to most effect, provides the surf-nitwit with sage counsel and advice on "how to gain popularity" within this illusory fabrication and marketing con fatuously dubbed a "community." Humbug! Do I puff my coiffure, apply berry-juice to cheeks and lips, and otherwise saunter langorously through the back-alleyways seeking the remunerative attentions of clodhoppers and fishpans? Twaddle! Do we trim words and mince phrases to make them congestible to the teaming unwashed of "da Urth"? Hoshposh! Do we douse our necks and loins with spiced unguents and mount pixillating multi-coloured beacons to our noggins to draw to our persons moths, horseflies, or worse? Great Bountiful Whale-Girdles, no! You would have us rubbed down with goose grease, impaled upon a hook, and trailed behind a tugboat in shark-owned waters! Inexcusable enough that I have been hornswoggled into permitting this Patty "cake" to be flashed now and thither as one would add or subtract ballast from a lighter-than-air contraption to keep it trim and in aeronautical health, as the buffoonery with Marketing informs me that mere Merit and Edification alone (scarce to mention desire for Novel Divertings) are no deep draw on your chamberpot orb! Good night; dinner is served.

Institute Blue Chips made soggy by "cheese" dip

Marketing sez Decline due to Lack o'Patty

(This pic should, as always, get our numbers UP!)

[EDITOR: The response to this damsel has been ridiculous, some saying Patty and her photo crew somehow conjured up the ultimate cheesecake photo, the Beethoven Ninth of saucy photos. Incredible! Our big question--what the heck is she sitting on?]

Histofactoid: Panopticon and Professor flaunt literary heresy

Delicious Freedom here Loftily Attained at Temporally Indulgent Last!

Ten years ago today, in an event broadcast across the Empire by National Optical Wireless, Professor Antonio Pille, with great ceremony and following a speech lasting 73 minutes, took a first edition copy of Strunk and White's Elements of Style in hand, dropped it into the alabaster bowl of a specially installed and decorated water closet fixture, and, with solemn dignity and slight smile, depressed the flush handle. Since this blasphemy occured on Erde and not "da Urth" thunderous global applause and hurrahs followed, not mindless rage-fueled riots and pointless carnage. A similar proceeding is planned for this upcoming Solstice involving the Institute office personal electronical computing engines once a large-enough potty is fabricated. The "flushing-out" of sacred cows, idolatrous objects, and "holy" books is turning into high sport and even a popular Optical Wireless program on our beloved world (hosted by Wotan himself!). With our newly found access to "da Urth" we are now never lacking in--how shall we place it?--raw materials for this mirthful recreation! The Amazonians (noble bare-breasted warrior librarians, we surmise) already have stupendous orders from us; we were delighted to discover that all the oozing effluviant of the late Dawore-kin is at sinus-clearance prices. Bibbles and Krayons (or is it Koreans?) are costly (as any wild-walleted penurious profit-fanatic will tell), but books of the superheroic More-man ("A delirious laugh riot!"-Portville Trumpeter Doubloon) and those of the ever-reliable "Witnesses" are provided to us gratis! Unmolested will be the rantings of the Boo-duh as this rare fellow (similar to the Erden wise-guy Bobdhob) apparently discriminated forests from trees.