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PUTIPOO DANCING QUEEN

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Kremlin Denies Private Concert for Putin by ABBA Cover Band



Dr. Strangelove
Direktor of Flashing Lights, Shiny Things, Bobbles, and Cinematography
Ministry of Agitprop
"Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room."

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ABBA was very popular in the USSR in the 70s and 80s. You couldn't officially buy their records in the store or hear them on the radio or TV, but everybody had pirated tapes of their songs. Against the backdrop of domestic musical diet, ABBA sounded like a miracle. The regime didn't seem to view ABBA as the enemy, in part because they were from a neutral Sweden and not the dark, capitalist USA or Britain. And their music was also more traditional European, with few blue notes and only a touch of rock and roll. I do remember, though, an article in a Russian youth magazine that complimented ABBA for being good musicians, but regretted their leanings towards the English language, Western pop culture and abandoning their Swedish roots, language, and folk songs.

The current crop of Russian leaders are mostly my generation, so they must have listened to ABBA a LOT when they were teenagers. It's part of who they are. I admit I liked ABBA too at the time.

The tribute band to whom they paid $45,000 for a one-hour performance was not even ABBA but a tribute band named Bjorn Again. They sound a lot like ABBA but can only be mistaken for the original if you watch them perform through a curtain, from afar, and while drunk.

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He must be like Putin - Russian lyrics - English subs

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Comrades! If Comrade Putin lip-synched, then we are in for a brand new dawn. One of the songs that the band performed was

Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight
Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away
Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight
Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight...
Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight...

We will know that it's so when we have Commissarka Putin and Bed, Bath and Big Queen set up shop in Red Square.

Bruno will be delighted.

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Red Square wrote:The current crop of Russianleaders are mostly my generation, so they must have listened to ABBA aLOT when they were teenagers. It's part of who they are. I admit Iliked ABBA too at the time.

Actually, I still like ABBA and own their greatest hits 2-CD compilation. I just thought it was funny that KGB tough-guy Putipoo likes them too.

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[ off ]I like them too. And I have the same collection. With me though that was the music that I was listening to when I first started having fun with other people and the music of that time, no matter what it is, will be what is dear to you. So Jethro Tull and Alice Cooper and that Brit group M. "Pop Music" and so forth.

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Dear me. I seem to have stumbled into a support group for recovering male ABBA fans. Do you need a facilitator? Because I can facilitate. Do ya do ya want my--oh wait, that's ELO.

Does your mother know? Let's reminisce, the way old friends do. And on and on and on.

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Pinkitita, tell me what's wrong.
You're enchained by your own dacha...

I was drawn to ABBA by, of course, "Money." Voulez-vous?

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LOL, Theocritus, there may be some truth in those lyrics. Methinks listening to ABBA is one of those things that everyone does but no one will admit they do it.

My sons like them. The youngest one listens to those same CDs over and over and over (if that's not an ABBA song it should be). He falls asleep to them; one of the last things I do every night before going to bed is to go into his room and unplug ABBA.

Years ago my sister was absolutely bonkers for them; she even started an ABBA fan club. When I was in the military stationed in Germany, I took a week long bus tour of Scandinavia that included two days in Stockholm. When she found out I was going, she mailed me a list of ABBA-related places she wanted me to visit and photograph; e.g. the studio where they recorded their albums. She was only about 14 at the time, but I kid you not--she even said if I saw a certain make/model of a car parked outside, that it was Bjorn's and to make sure I touched the door handle. (And then what? Was I never to wash my hand until I returned to the States the following year and saw her again, at which time I'd touch my filthy palm to hers?)

Needless to say, I didn't comply with her request, though I did ship her some ABBA souvenirs I picked up. Too many other things in that beautiful city were more interesting. And it was in June--white nights!

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They're catchy and well crafted. The men wrote those things as a job--get there in the morning, work, go home. It wasn't some drug-induced (cough, cough) work of genius like Iron Butterfly or Pink Floyd. They would be like Vivaldi if they were classical music--well done, no acts of genius, no blinding streaks of illumination and always listenable.

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OK, now you've lost me by comparing ABBA to Vivaldi. Next, you'll tell me Trent Reznor is the music genius of our times and equivalent to Mozart (This has actually been said, I kid you not, and perhaps I might slightly agree if NIN didn't suck for the most part after the first album, Pretty Hate Machine).

[While I like ABBA, listening to them on a regularly basis would drive me nuts as it's hard enough to get their songs out of my head. I mostly listen to everything 80s, 90s alternative, and the "nu rock" of today with a little 60s and 70s mixed in. For the most part, I hate country and R&B with few exceptions.]

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I'm a Texan and am not fond of country for it's formulaic and nasal. Excepting Texas Swing, such as Asleep at the Wheel. Very nice, that. But then it is popular music. Think of the rage of years and people and talents of classical and what has risen to the top. Even the second-rate are better than first-rate nearly anything else.

Mozart, Bach, Beethoven--composers with tremendous ideas. You never know where Mozart is going to go but you know it's going to be a good trip. His most evanescent music, by almost by definition the divertimenti, is still better than most of Vivaldi. Superlative taste. Bach and Beethoven have stunning brain power. I heard Bernstein talk about the Eroica, where Beethoven had three things going on at once when a lesser composer, such as Haydn, or Vivaldi, could have made a perfectly good symphony with just one. Some years ago I listened enough to Bach's "Goldberg Varations" to get to love it, but it's complicated and it's work. In 2006, August 2, when I decided that I was tired of lying and came out to the world I drove to El Paso for car repair.

The journey was neither long nor short; I heard the Variations again, as for the first time, but with the vocabulary. As with Mozart's 20th piano concerto (K466). Just wonderful. All the anger was gone.

But something like that didn't happen with Vivaldi, or Telemann, or Haydn. All perfectly decent composers. And who can forget the Four Seasons (Vivaldi's, not Haydn's, which are forgettable)? Winter sticks in your mind like "Voulez Vous."

These are perfectly serviceable composers. Their work is good and listenable. But you will not sit, mouth-open, or trembling, as you can with Mozart, Bach or Beethoven. Listen sometime to Mozart's "Requiem." His last, and unfinished work. Haydn's masses are good, quite good, but <i>nothing</i> like that. Marriner's version is quite good.

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Bach is my favorite, his harpsichord concertos in particular. As for Vivaldi, I pretty much just stick to The Four Seasons. I like Mozart fine and Beethoven less. And, as I always say, if it's not baroque, well then don't fix it! (Old, yes, but funnier the more times I say it.)

I'm also rather fond of traditional Asian stringed instruments of the "harp" variety, such as the Korean gayageum andgeomungo. The traditional music is the best, but a modern composer named Byungki Hwang is excellent.

And to mix it all up, here you go:


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Doctor, that Korean thing is pure evil. It's like a sandwich made of cancerous MTE brain. The break-dancing, a lip-artist, I suppose, in a baseball cap and jersey, and the most hackneyed music on earth next to "Happy Birthday." I will never forgive <i>Ordinary People</i>

Yes, the harpsichord concerti are fine. It took me a while to come to Mozart for he seemed simple, but as James Hilton had the high lama in <i>Lost Horizon</i> say, "Mozart builds a small house and furnishes it in exquisite taste." He has this thing in the piano concerti, the finest oeuvre on earth, to my mind, of repeating a theme, repeating it down an octave in minor, down in major and then before you can sigh at its completion go ahead to something else. Or course Bach repeats it down a minor third, and again, and then the broken chords in the background change and build tension and ...

If you like Baroque, Handel is underrated although he did so many operas, and I'm not overly fond of opera. There's almost unknown composer Jan Dimus Zelenka, a Bohemian, who did some fine chamber music. <a href=" is pleasant.</a>

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I love Handel. He provided my wedding music; I wanted something different than that tired old "Here Comes the Bride."

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Knew a woman, Bonnie Hellums, a counselor at Rice, who used "Jesu." Well, it's in 9/8, the most seductive of rhythms, triplets of triplets, but why not. She by the way was the first moonbat of my acquaintance. I'd been assigned a roommate who was neurotic, spoiled, first time away from home, and so pro-Zionist that he called everyone a Nazi collaborator. That got old. I divided the room in two with two curtains, one felt; he slept with a ski mask on backward and his head under the covers; I made no noise whatsoever; and he'd screech at me.

I went to see Hellums, who said, "Talk...listen...talk..." and it did no good. Finally Wenkert screamed at me poking me in the chest. He was a stick. I'm nor and could easily have been a fullback. I threw him against the wall, grabbed his collars and got in his face, "Wenkert, if you don't STFU, I'm going to knock the shit out of you" and I'm told I'm menacing when angry.

I had to do it every two weeks. And his father won a Nobel. This explains a lot about the Nobels, or some of them.

Two years later I saw Hellums in the cloister and remembered she asked me to tell her how it came out. "He wouldn't listen so every two weeks I threw him against the wall and threatened to knock the shit out of him. He reformed."

This was <i>Rice</i> where this just isn't done.

She turned white. I was no longer a moonbat virgin.

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Yes, I like Handel's Water Music and The Messiah.

You didn't like that Korean hodgepodge?! What about this?

Canon in D Major (Two Gayageums sans B-boys)


Byungki Hwang: Sanjo (Gayageum) - He's a modern composer, but this is a very traditional piece, which is what "sanjo" means.



Snowflake (Gayageum)



Or try some Korn. It's good for you!


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Arafat and Gore won Nobels! Need we say more?

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So did Rigoberto Menchu, was was in fact ghosted by a true Progressive.

That arch Rethuglican/Libertarian Milton Friedman said that he cared more for the opinion of his colleagues than Swedish socialists.

The Swedes built, for the Sandinistas, the Olaf Palme media center or something like that. Palme was murdered, quite amateurishly, and the Swedish cops just stumbled, decades later, on his killer.

Muslims are flooding Malmo and turning it into a ghetto outside the rule of law.

But we have Ikea! And Volvo. A Ferrari looks fast standing still. A Volvo looks smug standing still. In fact the only way that a Volvo doesn't look smug is under an 18-wheeler, which is a consummation devoutly to be desired.

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Or a train:
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Of course, what could be more smug than a Volvo 18-wheeler?
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Notice the arrogance--the sash. On the grill. At the auto show, can a Volvo go is the invitation doesn't say, "Decorations"?

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Dear Comrade Vlad,

I was reminiscing about times at Rancho del Rio Grande while looking through my video archives, and I came across a wonderful moment. Do you remember the time you had those Swedish hotties the Sahara Hotnights over as entertainment? OK, so I was the one who invited them. Still, you have to admit in retrospect that it was rather funny to entertain the proles before dinner, especially since they didn't realize that they were "what's for dinner!" Didn't ma ever teach ya not t'play with yer food?! Ha-ha! Those were some good stakes, but I digress. Anyway, here's the video:

Good times...

Later,
Dr. S.

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Ah yes, Dr., ah yes. Do you recall me asking, "How do you like your stake?" And they didn't get the point.

Then.

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Commissar Theocritus wrote:Well, it's in 9/8, the most seductive of rhythms, triplets of triplets, but why not.

In the true spirit of "no child left behind" and operating under the assumption that most public school band students cannot count to 9, it's often expanded/simplified into 3/4. Very sad.

-OV

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Commissar Theocritus wrote:Ah yes, Dr., ah yes. Do you recall me asking, "How do you like your stake?" And they didn't get the point.

Then.

Yes, that was the height of hilarity, although a close second that nearly made me pee my pants was when Bruno put that stuffed armadillo on his head and pranced around to the screams of its previous owner "enjoying" his bloody juicy stake! Such humor is rare.

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Vodkavich, as I recall some of the parts were written in 3/4--such as the trombone parts--and some in 9/8, such as the woodwinds. Of course I am the last person to like such frippery. I am so serious that I think that The Internationale is rather silly. The song of the Volga Boatmen is my choice for digging beets, and what higher calling is there than that?

Dr. Strangelove, I too remember with joy the stuffed armadillo. We have a great number of them here in Texas, as you know. But that was before the armadillo became the signifier of Keep Austin Weird. Have you seen that book? Picture and pictures and then gobbets of progressive thought, which are ladled out on your head with the presumption that we're all naked together in the room and so therefore will not mind it a bit. Ibsen said that politics in art is like a gunshot in the theater. I love guns.

I have since sent my armadillos from the Rancho down to the Zocalo in Mexico D.F. where the artisans there scoop them out and make purses of them. I consider them Ur-Democrats.

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Commissar Theocritus wrote:Vodkavich, as I recall some of the parts were written in 3/4--such as the trombone parts--and some in 9/8, such as the woodwinds. Of course I am the last person to like such frippery. I am so serious that I think that The Internationale is rather silly. The song of the Volga Boatmen is my choice for digging beets, and what higher calling is there than that?

That's because brass players are the shit and can't be bothered with frivolities like complex time signatures. Furthermore, my People's Product(RED) iPod is always set to March Slav while I'm digging beets to provide rhythm and remind me of the glory of The Party.

-OV

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Vodkavich, by all means listen to "March Slav." But on festive occasions, such as May Day, Party members in good standing may listen to Vasily Kalinnikov's first symphony.

And when you are hoeing your row of beets, one day you will look up and see the flashing eyes of the right Ms. Prole, the one just for you. Look closely to make sure that she is not the sack of beets or potatoes which she hoes. If she smiles at you and becomes yours, so you have a hoe and a ho, you may then listen to "Dark Eyes."

But under no circumstances listen to Tchaikovsky. His music is too pretty; he loved Mozart, and, this is between us, he was a poofter. It might be contagious and we need all the little Commissars we can get. I tried to do it another way and got...Bruno.

So no Tchaikovsky. Get it?

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Comrade Commissar-

I have bad news. Tchaikovsky wrote March Slav. However, this is not a problem for The Party. We'll cross out the T word on all copies and scores to say The One, as well as rewrite some of the more floral sections to prevent the conjuring of any pole-smoking imagery.

I will indeed partake in Kalinnikov, however, and look forward to finding Mrs. Left. In the meanwhile, that sack of beets might do just fine. And if she looks like one, fine. If she's unwashed, all the better. I like my oatmeal lumpy.

-OV

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Vodkavich, you are so right that Tchaikovsky did Marche Slav, but he based it on a Russian tune. The original tune was, "Ludmilla, my little beet." What is not generally known is that it is based on a tune from Hope, Arkansas in about 1850, which was named, "If I divorce my wife, is she still my sister?"

So you like your oatmeal lumpy? Boy do I have an offer for you. You have a standing invitation to the Rancho del Rio Grande the next time Our Many Titted Empress is here. One time I had two #100 bags of pinto beans in burlap delivered to the Rancho for a little barbecue I was having, to try out some new impaling poles. Meow came in and genuflected toward them, "Empress! Turn around so I may see your smiling face!"

And he wasn't even drunk.

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However, in fairness to the Chairman, you did have the sacks of beans covered in a black tarp and the wind was blowing in from the neighboring stockyard that day. It's a mistake that any comrade could have made.

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Yes, and the smell of the decaying carcasses on the impaling poles.

But, Dr., you ought to have been here when Hanoi Jane was here. Dear Jane. She really ramped up our Many Titted Empress into getting into shape.

"I don't mind looking like Jabba the Hutt," growled our MTE, as her grey tongue licked a bit of prole flesh off her left tusk, "as long as they fear me."

"But Hill, dear," said Hanoi Jane as her eyes popped out even more than usual and they looked in different directions, as usual, "if you were a little but, er, more svelte it might help. See? I jump on the book, and jump off the book. On the book, off the book. Then we make it two books. Then three. And next thing you know you're jumping on the small of people's backs!"

"Teach me, Hanoi, teach me!"

And with that Our MTE went into the other room and appeared in leopard-print Spandex. It was industrial-grade Spandex, made for Comanche County, Oklahoma, and was strong and versatile with decades of DuPont's secrets built in. Nonetheless as our MTE walked we could see the stippled cellulite flesh of our MTE between the weave of the Spandex.

"Up on the book! Down off the book!" And repeat.

Then Bruno came in, and shrieked, "My God, Theocritus! It's <i>Fantasia</i>! Where are the crocodiles?"

In came Chuck Schumer and Chris Dodd and answered his question.

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If only Comrade Teddy would have shown up, he and Dodd could have made a "gator" sandwich.

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Have you seen Comrade Teddy's belly lately? It would have been a muffaletta for Barney the Dinosaur. I'm told that Henry VIII had a special chair made for sex, owing to his belly. I suspect that these days Teddy could get DuPont or someone else to make a sex truss for him.

Perhaps a Calvin Klein creation: a singlet: underwear, and a belly truss supported with Tyvek, with holes for those all-important Kennedy parts. Which might give some much-needed aeration and cut down on the toadstools.

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Commissar Theocritus wrote:Have you seen Comrade Teddy's belly lately? It would have been a muffaletta for Barney the Dinosaur. I'm told that Henry VIII had a special chair made for sex, owing to his belly. I suspect that these days Teddy could get DuPont or someone else to make a sex truss for him.

Perhaps a Calvin Klein creation: a singlet: underwear, and a belly truss supported with Tyvek, with holes for those all-important Kennedy parts. Which might give some much-needed aeration and cut down on the toadstools.

Since Betty has been away on duty, I'll have to say this for him:

Image "EEEWWWW!!!!!"

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Dr., I can only think that your life with things as innocuous as atom bombs has rendered you into a soft bourgeois. You simply must come to the Rancho when Nanners and the Hildebeest are having a party.

After that, anything is easy.

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I'm told that Henry VIII had a special chair made for sex, owing to his belly.

You...uh...ahem...whouldn't happen to have...er...a picture of that chair would you? I ask only out historical curiosity, of course. I certainly wouldn't be interested in it for any kind of personal use.

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Betinov, I have only read of the chair. In the same book that gave us the contraption that supposedly Catherine the Great had intercourse with a horse.

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She had the Orlov Brothers (three brothers who between them had five eyes, four arms and five legs, but fully functional in the essential area). She didn't need a horse.

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And Dick Morris didn't need that skanky whore either. Who knows? She may have found the first Mr. Ed.

I assume the Orlovs lost their bits in war? It would be most interesting if they were born that way.

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That is why one should never engage in unbridled sex...

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The rumor is that the apparatus collapsed on Catherine the Great. Perhaps because her putative paramour was indeed unbridled.

But that's what you get with all those Germans running the imperial Russian houses.

As the Russian general said, "A German. May be a splendid fellow. But it is better to kill him."

As someone with a good dollop of German blood myself I find that Germans make superlative Texans--see Fredericksberg. Polite, intelligent, kind, disciplined. But not in Germany.


 
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