The People's Cube - Political Satire

Nagasaki 1945, after the atomic bomb

Nagasaki 2011, following earthquake and tsunami

Trillions of years into the future, as all the matter and space-time in the Universe collapse into a dimensionless singularity known as the Big Crunch, followed by another Big Bang

We need a government-funded program to send a team of people's scientists to Japan and find out what this arch is made of. Once we get hold of this miracle, Obama's investments in alternative technologies will be vindicated, helping him to defeat the knuckle-dragging troglodytes Romney and Ryan in the coming election.

Once Obama is reelected, nothing can stop us from using this new technology to accelerate progress exponentially to the speed of light, arriving at the Glorious Progressive World of Next Tuesday™ in no time - literally! And if that means collapsing the old conservative Universe into a black hole and starting from scratch with a Big Bang, so be it! The end justifies the means!

This, comrades, is exciting science!

Red Square,
They are called " torii "....... gateways to Japanese Shinto shrines.

( BTW: Did you know I had gas last night ? Oh man....... don't go into the tractor shed. )

REARDEN STEEL!

The arch is made of the invincible stupidity of Debbie Grundblitzman Schultz. When time has lapsed so that all the stars have burnt out, that all matter has deliquesced into photons, trillions of years into the future, you may be assured that Debbie Grundblitzman Schultz will be lying to Rachel Madcow, who will be dressed in a hoodie made entirely of photons as she moves salt shakers to illustrate nothing that she can figure out, as the two exist in a bubble: the Commune at the End of the Universe.

There they will have finally bred a capitalist which loves to be fleeced, just as at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe they'd bred a cow which wanted to be eaten.

You don't have to breed a cow which wants to be eaten to have the same thing, but wanting to eat it is a different thing.


A-1 or KY? Your choice.

Of course Snopes had to throw a wet blanket on our wet utopian dream and destroy everything.

Origins: The answer to the question posed above is that the arch in these pictures (a torii, a Japanese gate most commonly found at the entrance of a Shinto shrine) is traditionally made of wood or stone. The gist of the question is moot, however, because these photographs are of two different arches.

The first picture shows a torii still standing after the U.S. dropped an atomic bomb on the city of Nagasaki in August 1945. Nagasaki is on the western side of Kyushu, the southernmost of the Japanese main islands.

The second photograph is not from Nagasaki, but from the Kozuchi shrine in Otsuchi (Iwate prefecture) on the northeast coast of Honshu, after a tsunami struck that area in March 2011. Geographically, these two arches are on opposite sides and ends of Japan.

This doesn't explain, however, the origin of the arch floating over an exploding non-dimentional singularity in outer space. Just where in Japan was that photo taken??? Huh? Huh? That's right. Utopia lives!

Red, for shame. I would never have thought I'd have to remind YOU, of all people, that reality is what we pull out our asses.

As a matter of fact, that arch was until just last week safely inserted in the ass of Bonnie Fwank. And he misses it.

They had a double-arch ceremony. He arched his eyebrows.

Oh, this is why Bonnie sometimes sounds like he's talking out his ass.

He is.

Dear Lord, Komrade Father Prog Theocritus, I did NOT need to see that pic of Komrade Sister Rosie O'Donnell...after just eating lunch. My eyes, my eyes! Severe retina burn and, and nausea! That image is forever etched in my grey matter. Wretched, wretched...oh the agony...I must quickly find a clandestine copy of an old Playboy to try and overwrite that horrid memory image...

Moose, you ought to have been fortunate enough to hear Pinkie tell of Rosie's story. She said that she was in bed with Kelly, and she woke and was wet. She thought she'd wet the bed.

Undaunted, she rose, and stood, naked, on the balcony of their bedroom, letting the cool wind dry the sweat off her body, which also dripped down below.

The universe is a very strange thing, and her sweat did not produce Romeo, but Saddam Hussein.

Dr. W. S. Palimpsest wrote:
REARDEN STEEL!

I thought the exact same thing!

Who Where is John Galt?

Red Square.... I believe the second photo was taken in Rikuzentakata, NE Japan.

The U.S administration has determined that Bush and Romney were jointly responsible for the earthquake and tsunami. After this disaster, Obama's chief science adviser made a recommendation that billions upon billions of dollars are urgently needed for earthquake prevention.

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They made my spoon !

Oh, pffffft, Snopes, Shmopes - read further:

There is no such thing as "Rearden Steel." The Party did create Miracle Metal and that is what the arch is made of.

Red Square wrote:Of course Snopes had to throw a wet blanket on our wet utopian dream and destroy everything.

You may still be on to something, Red Square. Just because there are two that does not negate the fact that these glorious structures are able to withstand the crushing impact of an Atomic bomb and the massive ground movement of an earthquake. Something in the glorious design or in the material constructed has defied any and all logic, kinda like the architectural equivalent of Joe Biden's brain.

There are some things so heavy and so destructive that even the structure of this arch cannot withstand.

Damn !
When Obama was selling "green", this torii was used for eco photo-ops with Michelle.

The big question is where will she hang her laundry out to dry now ?

Fools! The arch is comprised of US government entitlement programs! Everyone knows those NEVER go away.

Joe Biden's brain. Let's see. That's a mythical creature like the hippogriff. Perhaps it's an extinct species, like the passenger pigeon, the dodo, or honest liberals. Don't get me wrong--I love lying, and that's why I'm a prog. I live to lie.

The Spaniards laugh that Americans live to work and they work to live. We progs live to lie.

Paul Greenberg said of the husband of our sainted Many Titted Empress that Bill Clinton would rather climb a tree to tell a lie than stay on the ground and tell the truth.

I'm a prog. I'd rather lie than switch.

Red Square wrote:Of course Snopes had to throw a wet blanket on our wet utopian dream and destroy everything.

Origins: The answer to the question posed above is that the arch in these pictures (a torii, a Japanese gate most commonly found at the entrance of a Shinto shrine) is traditionally made of wood or stone. The gist of the question is moot, however, because these photographs are of two different arches.

The first picture shows a torii still standing after the U.S. dropped an atomic bomb on the city of Nagasaki in August 1945. Nagasaki is on the western side of Kyushu, the southernmost of the Japanese main islands.

The second photograph is not from Nagasaki, but from the Kozuchi shrine in Otsuchi (Iwate prefecture) on the northeast coast of Honshu, after a tsunami struck that area in March 2011. Geographically, these two arches are on opposite sides and ends of Japan.

This doesn't explain, however, the origin of the arch floating over an exploding non-dimentional singularity in outer space. Just where in Japan was that photo taken??? Huh? Huh? That's right. Utopia lives!

It's the Obama Unreality Field. The Hope-n-Change field. We hope and things change. We slick our ruby-red, or these days, just red, slippers and we're off.

The economic laws of gravity don't apply; obviously. So why should the other laws?

How many times have I told you that we progs pull reality out our asses? So if the arch wants to fly, let it fly.

Along with pigs and fat dogs. And butch first bitches, er, ladies.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:It's the Obama Unreality Field. The Hope-n-Change field.
The economic laws of gravity don't apply; obviously. So why should the other laws?

Comrades, this is a "tesseract" ..... a hyper-cube.
The Cube that resides in the World of Next Tuesday !

This link visually demonstrates the behavior of a " Liberal Unreality Field ".
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CtSNStVW81M

Its ability to morph into something inconceivable is what makes leftist ideology possible.

Fhalkyn,Hyper-Cubes, like Dear Leader, may be present in all aspects of our reality.
Therefore you may have an encounter with one in the past or future, relatively speaking.

BTW: Who is this " Deja Vu " of which you speak ?
Does this person have strange senses that you experience an empathic connection towards ?

I get so confused........

Fhalkyn wrote:Someone correct me if I'm wrong- but didn't we already have this discussion earlier? I'm experiencing a strange sense of deja vu...

This "Vu" of which you speak is because The People's Cube is actually, in fact, a tesseract.

Father Prog, yet another terrifying image foisted upon my unsuspecting grey matter, a naked Rosie drying herself on a windy balcony. Is there no justice, no relief?! Wait...that may be a viable replacement for water boarding of counter insurgents! Forced mind imaging of a naked Rosie! That's even worse than forced listening of Justin Bieber CDs....talk about agony! You may be on to something!

THUS SPAKE RED SQUARE...


Now I know what our ever-sharp shovels are made of... Further proof that it was The Peoples Cube which brought about our evolution to the ultimate apex of perfection (though equal perfection)... This must also be the 'secret' ingredient in our tinfoil hats...

The Cube* giveth, and the Cube giveth (and giveth and giveth)... Maybe we should hand in our Goreman cards now... if we still have them...

* and therefore Red Square, as they are one and the same...

Sister, I'm beginning to go into a psychological fugue. I looked up at Moonwatcher above, and all of the sudden My People's Tasty Screen flickered before my eyes and I saw Bruno. Notice how his left hand is limp at the wrist. That's Bruno.

Then it flickered back to Moonwatcher.

This shows obviously that proggery is inherent in the human spirit. We were progs when we first learned to use tools. Using tools was the first step of proggery.

The second step was to organize politics to use to force other people to use the tools, while we watched and then took as much of what they did as we could.

After all, everyone knows that they didn't build that.

We did because we let them keep a bit of it.

Moose, you must be made of sterner stuff if you want to be a Made Prog, and I'm the maddest, er, made-est of Made Progs.

If you can't stand the idea of a naked Rosie on a balcony, how will you stand it when our Many Titted Empress is elevated to the Imperial Presidency, and all her commissarkas-in-waiting are doing her hooves while she holds court?

It's a tough job, Moose, to do our MTE's hooves. I know. Or rather I've watched Bruno try to do it, and he manages with his size 14 EEE dogs. Hell he once made two canoes into something which Bruno Mali could have sold. But the MTE? No.

And that's not even considering exfoliating her tail. That barb keeps swinging about. One day when she was with Comrade Bill at 1600, someone came in to tell her that she couldn't have Type AB negative rich, white virgin's blood in her Bloody Mary, and her tail lashed out, killing half the cabinet.

There is a movement that every one of her personal groomers will automatically be paid for combat pay. All will receive the bronze star and it's amazing how many collect at least two purple hearts.

They're given to the survivors at the funeral, and the coffin is draped not with an American flag, but with Bill's old $2/pair underwear donated to the Salvation Army.

What could be sweeter than to die for your country by the lashing of the tail of our MTE and to be buried under a blanket of Bill's old underwear?

Even Paul Jones didn't have that privilege.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Sister, I'm beginning to go into a psychological fugue. I looked up at Moonwatcher above, and all of the sudden My People's Tasty Screen flickered before my eyes and I saw Bruno. Notice how his left hand is limp at the wrist. That's Bruno.

Then it flickered back to Moonwatcher.

That's no fugue state... That's Bruno substituting sugar pills for your anti-seizure meds again, and dancing, Salome-like, to try to get you to black out. Just take your eyes off his flickering sequined pasties and focus on your Cube... It will bring you back to the present, where you can flog him for trying to weasel your PIN number out of you again. He's clearly broken a heal on his favourite pair of Manolos... again, and want to go shoe and accessory shopping and frankly, he has enough tutti-fruity hats already!

Sister, I think you're right. I have been having lots of anxiety these days, as though I didn't have the mind-fucking, er, psychoactive drugs. That's it. That's it. Psychoactive.

I don't know why Bruno did this but then Ricky Ricardo--Ricardo Ricardo--never asked why Lucy did things either. She just did them. Personally I think that his behavior depends on Brownian motion. You know, all those little atoms bouncing around on the inside of his skull.

Really, I got the idea for Jiffy-Lobo™ from Bruno. In the olden days, I'd help him put in his earrings, before he had the flesh tunnels installed. You can see right through his head, except when the flies are buzzing about.

I don't know what to do about Bruno; as you may remember, I drove him to Wyoming and left him on the side of the road, and he beat me back. He's a homing queen.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Sister, I think you're right. I have been having lots of anxiety these days, as though I didn't have the mind-fucking, er, psychoactive drugs. That's it. That's it. Psychoactive.

Yes... he's definitely been messing with your meds, so that not only is he nice a calm and 'put together' but he has the presence of mind to use this all-too-rare state of equilibrium to devote his seemingly boundless manic-yet-generally-undirected energy in an all-too-directed way... frighteningly directed in fact. Consider the facts...

1) He has substituted your anxiety medication with sugar pills, leaving you anxiety-ridden and befuddled, instead of exhibiting your usually outwardly calm and organized demeanor...

2) He has done this purposefully... that is to say, he has shown planning and forethought. This in itself, is a terrifying development.

Indeed! What The Fluke Is This Arch Made Of?

3) His purpose has been to leave you anxiety-ridden and incapable of clear-thinking, while he himself, in bogarting your meds, has managed to suppress his natural tendencies toward hysteria and its resultant inability for him to focus on anything longer than to issue a piercing shriek of fright, before all meaningful thought flees his brain, and he collapses in a blubbering pile of Bruno.

4) Having reversed your natural roles, he has even managed to bring himself under enough control to not only conceive of a plan, but carry it out, viz. he has prepared a costume that includes sequined pasties, chosen appropriate music, as well as the rest of the costume in the form of Salome-like veils, and then played the music while dancing in such a manner as to hypnotize you with the flickering light coming off the sequins (which means he also arranged appropriate lighting), and even after all that, has retained the wherewithal to bring his plan to fruition by extracting your credit card PIN from you.

... Or These Arches?

5) Even after ALL THIS HERETOFORE UNHEARD OF LEVEL OF PLANNING AND EXECUTION he has managed to keep his ultimate goal in mind... to order a new pair of Manolo's with which to replace the pair with the broken stiletto heel.

6) Given this frightening new level of ability to plan, and the fact that it involved a Salome-like dance, if he retains this terrifying new ability, against all odds, could he then ask for your head on a platter, a la John the Baptist, as a present for 'Daddy' (forgive the anathema reference... it is only that it seems to be of a theme)... I can even hear his feminine lilt, speaking to... well... we'll get to that... ... "Bring me the head of Father Prog Theocritus... Pretty Pleeease with belly wubs, my big floppy eared sugar daddy-kins!" (I shudder). And so the question becomes, who is 'Daddy'... the puppet-master, since we all know that Bruno, is at heart, a complete tool.

7) Prior to this event, his natural tendency would simply be to melt into a puddle on the floor, holding his broken-heeled shoe, while uttering a piercing shriek of fright, before all meaningful thought flees his brain... Which can mean only one of two things... Either he's learned to write and made a list, which he has also managed to remember that he's written, and then remembered to refer back to (a notion almost too terrible to conceive of), or he has help... or both... which can only mean a conspiracy is afoot... Do I detect the heavy musk and gooey puddle of slobber of Saint Bernard? (I name no names... )


... and yet, a certain St. Bernard IS the Czar of Guilt... Receiver of Penance of the Masses (or father of the Masses... father... Prog)... Commissar of Eco-Prostitution (and if this isn't prostitution, I don't know what IS!), and... GUARDIAN OF SANITY PREVENTION!!!!! Hmmmm...

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:I don't know why Bruno did this but then Ricky Ricardo--Ricardo Ricardo--never asked why Lucy did things either. She just did them. Personally I think that his behavior depends on Brownian motion. You know, all those little atoms bouncing around on the inside of his skull.

I might point out that he did often say, "Loot-sy... You got some 'splainin' to doo.... " Methinks, p'rhaps, Bruno has some 'splainin' to do, Dearest Father Prog (I'd waggle eyebrows here, if I did, indeed, have eyebrows...)... as for his behaviour being dependent on the Brownian motion of all those little atoms bouncing around inside his skull, it's elementary (no pun intended), My Dear Watson! Your meds have slowed the jingling and jangling of those atoms to the point that they have congealed into some semblance of rational thought... again, a terrifying notion...

I believe the more important question is what was the initiating incident which set this entire series of unfortunate events in motion, and I can think of one thing, and one thing only... Considering our recent discussion of the Arch and what it is made of, someone must have given Bruno access to your Cube™. Since we have deduced that the Arch is made of the same material as the Cube, thus granting it its indestructible qualities, and we know that both the Cube and by extension, the Arch, have the ability to drive evolution... and given the primal forces that heretofore held Bruno in their sway, there can be only one thing that could possibly have initiated his rapid evolution from vapid queen, incapable of either coherent thought or intelligible speech, let alone literacy... the ability to both write and read a list...

But to think that he went from vapid, incoherent queen to someone able to plan something on par with this... from substituting your medication to foreseeing the results and planning... He must have undergone a near (pardon the term) miraculous evolution... something that could only have been driven by the civilizing power of the Cube™ while being directed by some Prime Mover... a Prime Mover with a particular motivation... YOUR... UTTER... DESTRUCTION... And who could possibly have both access to Bruno and wish such a thing upon one of our most venerated (but equal) Leaders?... someone second only to Noble Hero Dog Laika and our Glorious Peoples' Direktor Himself, Red Square?

Which among us is scrabbling, back-stabbing, and devious enough to attempt such a putsch?... I would say Meow, but the entire plan requires too much energy. Dr. P is already in precisely the position best suited to his wants and desires... Frankly, there is only one that comes to mind who continues to agitate and complain on a regular basis about his lot within the Party structure... and I believe he is in the process of blowing his coat, not to mention leaving large puddles of drool scattered about... But without proof, what is the word of Bruno? Certainly not reliable... Unless your hidden surveillance equipment is intact to verify his testimony... Torture is out of the question. Torture, for Bruno, is not letting him keep his privates 'man-scaped'. (Oh, stop squealing Bruno!)... See... Torturing him is so ridiculously easy, he crumbles before you can get a cogent response from him, no matter how stable his psyche seems to be at present.

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:Really, I got the idea for Jiffy-Lobo™ from Bruno. In the olden days, I'd help him put in his earrings, before he had the flesh tunnels installed. You can see right through his head, except when the flies are buzzing about.

And weren't you altogether much more altogether, "in the olden days..." before he stole your meds, replacing them with candied violets, thereby taking both your sanity and your rock-solid blood-sugar levels from you, and replacing them with his particular form of manic hysteria?... And for what? WHAT?!? A pair of stilettos that he will only break the heel on in less than a week, leading to a bout of piercing shrieks of... well... whatever emotion it is (if it actually IS an emotion, rather than just his way of communicating normally, which is just as likely) before all meaningful thought flees his brain, EVERY... TIME... he CATCHES... SIGHT... of the DAMNED... BROKEN... HEEL!! And it's not like he's even capable of breaking the left heel... It's always the right... ALWAYS!... So he's left with an entire walk-in closet full of perfectly good Manolos which are all only left shoes... and to make it that much worse, as screwed-up as he is, he's never had two actual left feet! If this is not dealt with, you will slowly be overrun, your home overtaken week by week, with a growing collection of perfectly whole left-footed Manolo stilettos, while he carelessly tosses out the right-footed shoes until your home is literally bleeding... defenestrating right-handed footwear, stilettos tumbling from every window and doorway... littering the portico... THE PORTICO! EVERYWHERE... ALL OF THEM HEELLESS RIGHT-FOOTED SHOES. You will both go mad. Which is clearly what the architect of this doggedly subtle yet evil plan wants. He wants to take over your position... Your power. YOU MUST NOT LET HIM! For the love of all that is RED and SQUARE and THREE DIMENSIONAL. Do not give in to this madness. Papa Theo! I beg you!

Father Prog Theocritus wrote:I don't know what to do about Bruno; as you may remember, I drove him to Wyoming and left him on the side of the road, and he beat me back. He's a homing queen.

Oh!... But Daddy Theo... Leave it to Housekeeping... Please.... It would be our pleasure to give your Bruno, and whatever accomplice he might have had in this pernicious coup d'chaussures et santé d'esprit, a very special limo ride and new home in the N-P lockers. We will finish the tunneling process and even stuff them with excelsior for aesthetic purposes... dress him... coif him... even make certain he is appropriately shod... re-enfranchise him, and programme him to vote... We'll even store him for you, or you can have him back to put on display until we need him again in another two years. Where he resides is entirely up to you, and since you will once again be restored to sanity and the pre-approved Factory Party™ settings, you will undoubtedly make the most appropriate choice for Bruno's disposition... which will also be calm, quiet, and sedate, to the point of furniture.

We Live to Serve, Dear Comrade Father Prog Theocritus... We Live to Serve...
SMO

Oh, Sister, what you divined avant le letter. I am truly amazed.

The situation is this: I am just recently returned to the Rancho. Over the weekend I took my usual nightcap--Mumbai Non-Conflict-Sapphire Gin and white virgin's blood--and it hit me. Really hard. Bruno has always fixed the cocktail for me, you know--I had to pay to put him through barkeep school four times, and even bar-back school was difficult for him. So hard to round up glasses when there are all the mirrors to preen in, but of course one problem could have been the floor-length mirrors which showed off the Manolos. I swear he wore out the terrazzo in front of each one of them. Divots. Ever see a divot in terrazzo? Well, a 6'3" #230 queen can put one there, and the terrazzo knows it.

As I said, I went out like a light. When I woke up, I was not in my bedroom. I was instead inside one of the old mining caves at Shafter, on the Rio Grande. My head was pounding; a Mickey Finn is not good for the gulliver. Fortunately I knew the cave; it was one that I had used myself for the disposal, er, better accommodation of a few of the Party Faithful who had outstayed their welcome at the Rancho, and once when I was making sure that their luggage wasn't too heavy to carry, by going through it to liberate my things which they'd liberated, and to further liberate anything which they had which might prefer to be owned by me, I found all of my Hummels.

Really. I ask you. Just what kind of guest would steal a Made Prog's Hummels? Now that I've had the Hummels for a year, the provenance makes them mine and I don't care what Meow says.

So I had to take that prog to a mine shaft in Shafter. And Bruno helped me with it.

(He did take umbrage though, because I made him change out of spike heels. "Theocritus! I am not going to wear these steel-toed drillers' boots! What do you think I am? A Lesbian? And I don't have an arc welder! I can't be a Lesbian!")

So your plan about a scheming, calculating Bruno is partially true. He did screw with my head meds, but then as soon as I was passed out, all planning and thought left his mind, other than to dump me in the mine.

Sister, I'm afraid that Bruno, even though he was showing signs of maturing into a decent, cut-throat, envious, vicious, self-righteous, elitist prog, say like Diane Sawyer or Chris Matthews or Ed Schultz, just doesn't have the mental ability to carry out anything with more than two steps in it.

He may need a more elevated model of proggery. But the problem is that Sawyer and Matthews and Schultz and Juliane Malveaux are just about the top of the prog heap and I know they don't have the sense that god promises a goose, but still they are what we've got.

And, Sister, I do not in fact need a reset. Why do you think that I invented Jiffy-Lobo™? We do not need psychoactive drugs when properly JLed. There's nothing left in the cranium. Now it's impossible to scrape out the flux of greed, meanness and viciousness that is the hallmark of the true prog, for that's embedded into the inside of the cranium, like strong fluoride in a sensitive tooth. You can't brush that away either.

So Jiffy-Lobo is my insurance policy against the predatory pricing of Merck, Lily and others.