Bane Capital

Truly Creative Destruction

Bane Capital: Truly Creative Destruction

First, all copyrights in this parody image remain with their owners.

Second, I’m trying to be funny, not political. I have nothing against Mitt Romney and wish him well in the election (along with all the other candidates).

Come on, Bain Capital and “Creative Destruction” pretty well demanded this parody. Playing too much Batman: Arkham City guarantees this is what you think of when you listen to the news on the radio.

O Captain, My Captain++

By Albert, Lord Graspington
from source material by Walt Whitman

O Captain, my Captain!
My wicked, AWESOME Captain!
Our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack,
and we had a lot of fun!
Plus those aliens who came down from space,
we kicked their asses back!

Not only did we kick their butts,
the prize we sought is won;
though I am not sure what we should do
with a bunny, giant and plush, O.
Perhaps the tiger or the snake
would fit the ship’s decor, O.

The port is near, the bells I hear,
the people all exulting,
except that guy, on the left,
who seems to be convulsing.

While follow eyes the steady keel,
the vessel grim and daring;
But, O heart, heart, heart!
Heart, heart, heart, heart! O!
O the bleeding drops of red,
intestines draped about the rail,
brain spatters on my shoes, O!
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
fallen cold and dead.
Ask not my heart
how I know he’s dead,
when you can see the hole in his head, O!

O Captain, my Captain!
rise up and hear the bells;
you hate the bells,
this well I know,
but people like to ring them,
so I guess you’ll have to deal, O!

Rise up–for you the flag is flung–
you could just pick it up,
for you the bugle trills,
for you the circus thrills!
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths–
and nearly naked girls, O!
for you the shores a-crowding,
for you the whores are shouting,
For you they call, the strumpets all, their eager faces turning;
Though I must admit, when last we docked,
they left my loins a burning.

Here, Captain, dear father!
this arm beneath your head!
But not MY arm,
for it is too gross,
how the ichor leaks
from your perforated head, yo.

It is some dream that on the deck, you’ve fallen cold and dead.
Yet I pinch myself, and it does hurt,
so I guess it’s not a dream, O!

My Captain does not answer,
his lips are pale and still;
I poked him with a pencil,
but his reactions were just nil.

My Captain does not feel my arm,
or hand upon his wallet,
he has no pulse nor will;
For comfort’s sake I think one thought,
“At least he’s not a zombie.”

The ship is anchored safe and sound,
its voyage is closed and done;
I’ll miss my Captain, yes I will,
but that trip was still quite fun.

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! but I with mournful tread,
burdened by giant bunny plush
Walk the deck where my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead.

But at least he’s not a zombie.

O!

No Time

For a long time there was nothing, although it could have been
No time at all. Time may not have been, or it might not
Have been time but something
Else.
Then It happened.
Bang. Not just bang; BIG BANG.
Now there was time. Time for all things.
Things became things, and things pulled other things
To become BIG things until the big things were
Big enough to

FLAME ON

But not flame, could not be flame because NO O2
But HOT and BRIGHT and the BIG things made NEW things
And NEW things until they couldn’t make any new things
And when they stopped creating, they started dying
And the things they had made crushed down on them
And some made crazy new things and blew themselves
Apart, throwing their things away.

But some things kept things and pulled more things
Until they crushed things into no things.

But most things made things and things killed things
Until OUR thing was made and OUR thing made US.
We learned to make things and break things and smash things to see things,
But what ARE things and why why and why and WHEN? And why when?

But HOW WHEN?

We dance.

We dance in time to the beat we feel but cannot find.
Forward we dance and never re-dance but little things dance
And might not dance the way we dance but dance the other way.

And why? And how?

Could we dance the other way might we dance a different dance
And what would happen to all the things if we didn’t dance the same dance again?
Would they dance? Would we dance into ourselves and what then?
How long can we dance before the beat dies out and things

Spread out

And one more time

There is

No time.

Rubik’s Cube Vs. Dyson Sphere

galacticbeaconcomic17

NOTE TO SPAMMERS: Looks like this page is on a list somewhere, but you are wasting your time commenting because I only allow comments I approve. Not filtering software. Me. I am pretty good at recognizing gibberish. You might say I’m fluent in gibberish. The only way you can get past me is to write a comment so authentic that it is essentially an authentic comment. In other words, you’re not getting a link back from me.

Now back to our regularly scheduled inanity

OK, so few people know what a Dyson Sphere is, I need to explain…

Here is the WikiPedia article.

Basically a structure around a star. Big. Really big.

See one has “sphere” in the name and one has “cube”. Scale. Way different scale.

Nope. You can’t explain a joke into being funny.

What Is Real?

Ever since man was no more than a glob of snot floating in a primordial ocean of ooze, he has pondered the nature of reality. Perhaps this inquiry came later in his evolutionary journey. He may have even been a glob of snot with legs by the time he began questioning the universe around him, but snot he was and snot he would remain for billions of years.

One clarification to avoid labels of sexism; the current English male pronoun is used to describe our primordial progenitor for the simple sake of convenience. In fact our gelatinous little ancestor had no gender. Like many fans of science fiction he would have no sex at all for much of his existence.

So there floated our wee ancestral phlegm pondering existence. He wondered if there might be a world above the water. He wondered what IS real? Is this watery world in which I find myself floating real and if so, am I keeping it real? But more than anything else, he pondered what a little protoplasmic ball of goo has to do to evolve into a species with gender and therefore sexual reproduction.

Eventually groups of snot-wads clumped together and formed The Protoplasmic Ponderers. Initially intended to be a philosophical society, they soon devolved into a primitive Doo-Wop band. This delayed further advancements in philosophy for 3 billion years, but resulted in a lucrative recording deal. The Ponderers considered that fair. Philosophically speaking, that is.

Eventually man moved out of what scientists refer to as the “Mucoceous Period” or colloquially amongst themselves after a few rounds of beer as “The Age Of Snot”. It is generally accepted as fact among scientists who do not smell of sulfur and methane that dinosaurs did not ponder the question of what is real until they saw a giant ball of fire in the sky, at which point they universally asked, “Is that thing for real?” In fact that sight sparked an evolutionary leap in thinking that would have flowered into the greatest civilization ever known on planet earth had it not been followed 12 seconds later by an earth-shattering impact that may or may not have led to the extinction of the dinosaurs, but sure as hell put a stop to all that high-toned thinking they had just started.

Next we leap forward to the age of Homo Erectus. We shall move on lest we consider too deeply what he was thinking.

Now we enter the Stone Age. Suddenly man found leisure-time in which to think thanks to his many inventions. Inventions such as the “Giant Pelican-Like-Bird-Thing Washing Machine”, the “Pig-Beast Garbage Disposal” and of course, “Mastadon Plumbing”. That and the stone spear. That was quite popular as well.

Another leap in thought occurred during this period, when Auaagghuurraagh The Mighty Hunter was struck dead by lightning in the very instant before he would have achieved the greatest kill of his life by plunging his stone spear into the raging beast known to the tribe’s elders as “Pooky”.

Two great discoveries came from this chance happening:

  1. The tribe decided that the universe doesn’t like over-achievers and
  2. BBQ.

In fact Auaagghuurraagh was blasted inside Pooky (along with a small pigeon) and the world’s first “Turducken” was created.

The story of Auaagghuurraagh was handed down over many generations through the iron, tin, aluminum, pyrite and eventually the bronze age when the Greeks explored the concept of hubris through the plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Perhaps Socrates said it best when he questioned, “That wasn’t really hemlock was it?” Through his death Socrates proved that as the universe selects against over-achievers, so do our fellow humans. Especially if we annoy them with questions.

And now in our mighty space-age, we who have hurled our spears to the very edge of our solar system and stamped our heavy boots right in the eye of the once feared Moon goddess, find ourselves asking: “What is real?” and “Are we keeping it real?”