by henry b.rosenbush, under the influence of the eXisTenTiaLNihLisT; adult themes, graphic language, graphic violence (of the animated variety)
i wanted to sit at the top of this beauty but the closer i got the further away she seemed and after snapping the windmill shot i realized there were cows in the background all urging me to get back in my Jeep Liberty and moo-off from New Mexico. Moo-You, Too.
I was looking back over older posts trying to decipher my mojo at given moments and found the 2010 John Steinbeck riff and realized that sometimes my humor is derived from the least funniest literary material. After I did my spoof I later saw Robot Chicken’s (my favorite animated Adult Swim program for the black humorists’ fix) “Of Moose and Squirrel.” Rather than describe either satire I have linked to my earlier post and RC’s which is worthy of seeing even if the reader is not familiar with the original source.
None of this would have been possible had an unpublished post, started in September, 2015, to display some western photography from my trip to Nevada in 2011, remained dormant. The “west and wewaxation” from Warner Brother’s great Bugs Bunny – Elmer Fudd cartoon, Wabbit Twouble (1941) has always made me laugh, especially when Bug’s tricks Elmer into walking off a cliff where the magnificent line is uttered:
“What a gwand view of the canyon from up here!”
One my favorite leitmotifs in cartoons is that Sir Issac Newton’s laws of gravity only exist once participants acknowledge they are violating physical laws, i.e. Wile E. Coyote is not much of a “super genius” when the Road Runner’s supersonic speed constantly lead to his pursuer’s undignified leaps off cliffs. WEC is safe until he realizes he is too far off into space to return to terra firma without a parachute, which even if he had one by Ajax, would not open properly anyway; however, at least he has enough time to display tiny signs proclaiming…
…before waving good bye.
WB’s quintessential maladroit “wascally rabbit hunter” may be a bad aim when trying to eradicate Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck under the broadcast standards and practices censorship but that doesn’t mean he never gets opportunities now that televised dark humor is the genuine standard practices.
Below are three times Elmer is allowed to “be all he can be.” With thanks to Wobut Cwickwin.
Since I inundated dear reader with my dark matter humor I felt compelled to close with Seth McFarlane’s hysterically gruesome and outrageous Road Runner comeuppance.
Much graphic violence and profanity ahead.
Aw, what the fuck, here’s RC’s version
“It is not enough to be busy; so are the ants. The question is: What are we busy about?”
Henry David Thoreau
HDT you magnificent anteater.
obstreperous, yours truly unruly
oi, mate. the eXisTenTiaLNihLisT has been busy recapturing life after drinking tears like rainwater and as learned over the past year end: should odd acquaintances be forgotten then so be it. cor blimey me must have been insane or perhaps just foolhardy. fool hearty, well, key word: FooL.
unfocused ghosts resurrected and searching for success d’estime. existence quickly evaporated in their lubriciousness. and one would think my humor has abandoned me.
Non Sequiturs written at noon.
Noon Sequiturs and penury orange the color of rainbows.
Welcome to the Café – scientifically designed for a slimmer fit inside the hypnagogic phonic key of kaleidoscopic amorphousness.
Doused in fiery quasar auras and the charcoaled fragrance of the eleventh dimension brings solace to the paradigm shifting chaos embedded in the sentient intellect.
Former upright being returns to all fours and tracks mind prints of insouciance and transcendental facial features of faceless fastidious, facetious fiends.
Expressionless freedom is still a chimera, costumed in creatures creaking through cracked idyllic idiom periodically priceless idiotically tasteless.
Lumbar spinal spiral galactic arms enshroud magnetic resonance imagining; properly externalized forces crush spirited platinum consciousness resources into finite dark matter replacing gray with white noiseless typewritten thesis of gregarious upper level pain management, quintillion cycle.
Eclipsed and stripped of garments flesh made sinuous parabola desperately ravenous to taste madness over one iced cube of wisdom, melting in decay as string theory unravels mysteries no longer interesting to brain fried freedom fed furiously from fracases forced friendless finality.
If it cannot score it isn’t their game; deep fat frizzed lest it cannot be digested.
Protozoon to soon Saracen moon in the insane prism lane betwixt, between.
Existentially imprisoned interstitially and in the interspatial netherworld tormented dreamer of musical poetry of the absurd wormholes frozen in time, in space, in cosmic walkabout.
Yay, as astral projector through the washbasin of hallucinogenic marenights, devoid of fear for sacrificing the illogic in favor of empowering anarchism, beard anointed in special perfumes as eyes melt from sockets to sliver down fateful faces of distorted noir, taking comfort in nonconformity defying deifying demagogues. At the precipice lemmings refuse to retreat rather risking rivers of rationality below.
Cool deep waters warm and salty. Refreshing, revitalizing, resilient.
Creative, not destructive, alas, man takes control again unleashing masculine profundity; darkest humor for his sake named mayhem. Hu man, hu man ity, humus.
Mayhem, like humanity embraces the selfish male interloper, barely concealing
it'senviousness; disquieting feminine outrage, discontent hem sic him.
Maelstroms convergence soon arrives on the wings of ravens; lost in fogs of colourless pallets, once rainbows of bee honey now crust, dust, dusk rusted and muskrat sallied.