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Rosenbush Café

“West and Wewaxation at Wast” — Elmer Fudd

by on Feb.03, 2016, under eXisTenTiaLNihLisT

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.

Isolation as Art: New Mexico

A Rosenbush Pix. Isolation as Art: New Mexico


Another Rosenbush Pix Moonlighting

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.

With Apologies to John Steinbeck, Rocky, Bullwinkle and Lenny

None of this would have been possible had an unpublished post, started in September, 2015, to display some western photography from my trip to Nevada in 2011, remained dormant.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.

Bugs Bunny – (Ep. 12) – Wabbit Trouble 2015 by serijedomace04

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

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Coming Soon: Non Sequiturs and unfocused Ghosts

by on Jan.31, 2016, under Café, eXisTenTiaLNihLisT

“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.

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Goose: 1930s Style

by on Sep.13, 2015, under Café

Edwin Rosenbush was not only a restaurateur but a chef who took pride in offering customers fresh, locally grown vegetables, beef, fowl and fish. There was a lady living in Sumter County who delivered fresh eggs daily. This once meant that the poached egg you’re eating for breakfast at 8 o’clock in the morning was inside a chicken before you were awake!

That was Livingston, in West Alabama, during the epoch before big businesses and their technological fetishes began destroying the food chain with preservatives; are we not already embalming ourselves, whilst alive, with the introduction of synthetic toxins? I grew up in the 1950s when milk was delivered to your back door in bottles (and farmers hand milked their cows; love that personal touch), soft drinks and beers required openers (and that spritz sound followed by the smell of Dr. Pepper before it was de-flavored at 10, 2 and 4) and few were paranoid about too much or too little salt, sugar, eggs or red meat. Shopping in the neighborhood grocery store (Smith Brothers on The Strip) was a pleasurable experience where the butcher knew your eating habits, likes and dislikes, or in my family’s instance, Jewish in the Deep-Fried South of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, by not offering pork chops during the High Holy Days.

L’shana tova!

What follows, is an authentic recipe from the era of home cooking in the cafe. Imagine how the chefs of the late 19th and early 20th Century would view our cooking culture in the early Twenty First? Doubtful they’ed be impressed. This recipe is offered exactly as written over eighty years ago. Sadly, most of his recipes were stolen or lost eons ago. In a future post, I’ll share an authentic menu; guaranteed to make you wish you’d been born before we began contaminating and mutating cattle, chickens, feed, corn, water….


Is much tougher than chicken or turkey and takes longer to cook. Is also a dry meat and needs a little water added and frequent basting.

Never scald off feathers. Hand pick and singe. Clean and season; pour water over and roast as you would a turkey allowing 25 minutes per pound for it to cook. Giblet sauce, currant jelly or apple sauce is good with it.

1 cup mashed potatoes
4 apples peeled and cored
4 onions
Sage, thyme, pepper, sale to taste

Places apples, onions and herbs in sauce pan, add water and cook till soft. Rub though a sieve and add potatoes. Season and stuff goose, sew up and put into roasting pan. Rub 1/2 tablespoon of lard over goose and pour over 1/2 cup boiling water. Put in oven and baste every ten minutes.

(Serve with apple sauce).

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Hypnagogique: Physiognomy of Zero Point Field

by on Feb.28, 2013, under Laughing Ricochet

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's enviousness; 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.

Far fetched

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