Varied and random notes from the MySpace-cadetery post-mortum meeting

An Institute researcher contemplates MySpace

In attendance, or the players:

Professor Pille

Anatole Zliplitt
Patty Pille

Edward Pahnjorndice

Leavander Fricke

Penny Pille

Dave Dimp

*

Prof: Sweet Wotan upon the oak! Which of you irresponsible sirens birdsonged me into this fiasco!

*

Zliplitt: Fiasco indeed!

*

Patty: Now wait! It wasn't all that bad!

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Dave: Parts of it were almost sort of fun... almost. There sure were a lot of pretty girls.

*

Zliplitt: Yes, cyber-strumpets and virtua-streetwalkers! Caution, one may yet contract a virus...

*

Ed: There was something a touch disturbing about all the low-cleavage and muscle-boy MySpace profile pics turning up in the comments columns of various political and social-concern sites. I don't think people who are drawn into all this consider what the overall image of MySpace ends up as. I mean an anti-war sentiment loses all its gravitas when the person expressing it appends a picture of themselves as a half-dressed wanton.

*

Fricke: Ahem, Before this turns into one of our famed carnivals of complaint, and I intend to join in too, are we agreed that we should leave this MySpace-thing doorway at least partly ajar?

*

Dave: We have to, I think I left my scarf back there...

*

Penny: No Davy, nine on the Peepergate, we're talking about this Interknittal thango we tubbed-up and water-jockeyed for a nitter-smit.

*

Prof: Penny dear, please express your thoughts in common Erden at the conference table, this daddyoan sprach is leagues beyond us elders.

*

Penny: Sorry, daddy....oh (giggle)

*

Patty: Actually, I'm nervous about that--everyone's reassured me that the work my teams are engaged in on "da Urth" will not be effected by this MySpace experiment. This was a failed attempt at a communications interface, correct?

*

Fricke: ... and your invaluable work is something else altogether. "da Urth" may ultimately prove to be a lost cause in the social sense, but we need to understand this Echo World phenomenon and we may be witnessing a civilization at the edge of collapse. We have an unparalleled opportunity here.

*

Ed: Well, there's little to lose by allowing the site to continue along unsupervised. It may lure the right sorts of readers here.

*

Prof: Right sort of readers? Admirable view, but you carry hope about in your watch pocket, Edward. I desire never to see the comments section of the Panopticon jam-socked with the stylings of intellectual kapok I encountered on their Interknit!

*

Ed: To be realistic, I doubt we should have any worries in that regard; if anyone actually looks at this site it will be a wonder. People on "da Urth" seek more of the same--assurances--not anything truly novel.

*

Fricke: Only natural. They've been under tremendous stress these last decades. Novelty afflicts them--bad novelty that is. They see any uncertainty, any newness, as threatening; this without grasping that they are depriving themselves of genuine external-to-the-carton thinking, which they need, now more than ever, to extricate themselves from their crisis. The sense among my staff is that this is, very grossly, the process by which civilizations collapse...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

*

Zliplitt: Appalling that we are reduced to these methods and tin-pan venues to learn these things.

*

Fricke: All thoroughly moot, however. Professor, I think we should move on. Any thoughts on what is happening over there. I'm very disturbed by much of what I gleaned but I'd like some fresh input before I present my own thoughts.

*

Dave: "da Urthers" have strange ideas about having fun, that's for sure!

(to be continued)

We're redecorating--with Dave Dimp!

Aren't these just lovely!

Gad, too much time devoted to that infernal MySpace site lately! It's great to be back through the Peepergate and here again on familiar and thoroughly sane Erden turf.

The MySpace-cadetery is like the shop-window, a cautious tendril from the peaceful back office here projecting out into chaotic and noisy there. Look about and all is calm--no advertisements for prostitutes or for Colosseum-style amusements; no harangues; no street market types selling conspiracy crap, political snake oil, or egos. Even Patty, who normally almost likes "da Urth," seems secretly pleased to have returned. She's in the cafeterium right now whipping up a batch of brownies. We'll leave that creaking and clanking MySpace thing up and see if we can draw a few swell people here.

While we've been gone, Dave Dimp has been busy redecorating. We like the flowers.

Ultimo Boosh paste-up (yet with no satirical function!)

Admoretising, or how we barely succeed in business while being a bit trying

(admoretisement)

Please just buy all their products for Wotan's sake!

There isn't much weird that perturbs adult Erdens, but this ghost dairy-product Stoff sure does make the neck hairs stand at alert on some of us. Most olde time-outers (hereabouts meaning the sedentary staff languishing at the Institute and not the spridgeletings who are out conquering Echo Worlds) were raised on ordinary pascalized baluchatherium nectar, straight from the distant, cloud-enveloped udders of contented baluchatheriums. We poured the milk on our bowls of Krotchety Kornholes at morning fastbreak, mixed it with powdered Vita del Choco-Psycho as an after-school treat, and downed tureens of the alabaster elixir straight up so that we'd grow long arms and tall teeth, just like our citizen monkey-mommys wanted.

What this trend is all about is anyone's guess, as ghost milk and ghost cheese are, well, barely there, if at all... barely. The Kinder "dis-entomb it lyke, wide-breather"* as they say, because it's "liminal,"** and that's the high-falutinest praise an average Erden "kultur-yoot" will heap on anything nowadays (oldsters, by-the-by, are sub-liminal, which, we're often assured, is a actually a good thing). What a crazy Erde! Truly, these are the "Finish-Line Times" predicted in the thoroughly ludicrous and joke-filled Book of Crenelations!***.

*appreciate it, kind citizen is an approximation in communicative Imperial Erden, or dig-it, daddy-o in "Urth-er" High Daddyoan (Hoch Daddyoanisch)

**Boyo, you've got me there!

***a wicked satire and de-rection of ancient monotheist-schizoid desert religions written by "Feetobrass McLampstand" (paratheologian Kariolynda Bacon) in the 1500's

[Post Scriptum: You too can addmoretise in Professor Pille's Planetary Panopticon; check your "refrigerator" for pull dates]

Institute staff face-book in preparation

Some of the fine heads that roll through our halls

A contest is under consideration--each of these Institute staffers, by pure coincidence, resembles a famed (or not so) person from "da Urth." Can you tell us who?

Venus-whaler is irrepressible Pille-pusher!

Slide over Noam, Professor Pille has a finer blend of nonsense... and it's decaffeinated!

(text below is taken from Professor Pille's contribution to the Stephen Colbert MySpace site)

Citizens! Niche Markets! Lifestyle zombies! Lend me your handbags! Abandon your Chomskys to the unyielding tug of the water-closet whirlpools and instead attend to this, my latest published brief on issues of gravest concern to the woe-soddened and politically insurrected; fully endorsed by the stalwart Venus-whaler, who knows a good plug but when he espies it!

Awaken now to a Dire Conspiracy of Deviltry so vast, so all-embracing, so stupendous, that no Jack or Jill or slithering thing--from the lowliest Desda-moaning Michael Moore to the loftiest wrong-trail blazing Bush; from the crossest Politically Correct spell-checker to the cross-burdened checker-for-Satanic spells; from the middle-headed media-cretins and entertain-morons to even the ivory-towering, cloud-dappled Lord Chomsky himself—is innocent of affiliation, collusion, duplicity, guile, and complicity!

Witness (via purchase of my book, available from the warlike Amazonians at moderate cost) the rise of multi-political Gargantuan Bobbleheadedness across the length and breadth of a dithering landscape dubbed A-Merka! Thrill to its internal village idiot strifes, its Punch and Jerry death-matches, its fetal and cellular squabbles, and its full gamut of incoherencies and inconsistencies incorporating not only those of the willowy and weeping Blau and NASCAR-nivorous Rouge E’states but otherwise the full rainbow spectrum of all known and unknown tom-fooleries!

Grimace and cover the eyes as this decorticated and amnesiacal Frankenstein’s monster of collective wrong-headedness alternately, and often simultaneously, saucily flirts with or angrily lashes out at other Grande Idiocricies and Klown Kultures (of equivalent petri-dish depth) of “da Urth” in a mud-level multicultural Love/Hate commingling of a species no mortal has beheld since the Darkest of Ages eclipsed common sense, or a Monsieur Moose made woo to old Bessie!

All is unearthed and laid to steam before the noontime sun in my newest volume (see accompanying daguerreotype) “Defenestrating Whatchamahoosit,” one more in series of globe-shattering critiques that will continue to manifest themselves as long as the market is in place, the critical sensibilities are turned to “Low,” and the coinage is sound!

Famed Mt. Palomine Institute Eyeballatory telescope is our transom to the weird sparkly lights in the sky

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