You’re being insignificant.

And today, every scumbag and shameless opportunist from the president on down is claiming that thousands of five-year old corpses justify their vile perfidies. Such unbelievably grotesque behavior makes conspiracy theorists’ claims that the government itself was behind the atrocities seem relatively plausible.

I wonder why Building Seven did collapse?

Dick’s very generous with his bourbon, and I’m grateful. Whenever I hear him announce, “I think I’ll pour myself a drink,” I know there’s fun to be had. I suppose there are lots of stories, as well, but I can’t seem to remember any of them.

And so, I think I’ll pour myself another drink.

According to the Beijing News, striptease artists at a farmer’s 16 August funeral were arrested after their performance. It’s like Ronal Reagan observed early in his senility, “When strippers are outlawed at funerals, only outlaws will disrobe in front of the dead.”

Of well, no one ever said it was easy being Chinese; I wonder what new strategy the citizens of Donghai county will use to draw an impressive number of mourners? I’d advise free corn whisky and Hunan popcorn.

A pox on dreck!

Fortunately, there’s one good mural in San Francisco; it’s at the Ace Junkyard. The mural on the corrugated-steel wall depicts no serfs, barnyards, or new-age nasties. Instead, the image features a head of a stupid dog and the tail of a cat(?) in front of a patchwork of paint swatches. Any mural featuring a worthless mongrel that’s not execrable to view is, if only by default, a good mural.

That’s why I’m grateful to Giorgio Agamben for answering the question without acknowledging it, which is perhaps the only way to address such an incorporeal query.

“Only because art has left the sphere of interest to become merely interesting,” Agamben observed, “do we welcome it so warmly.”

“Do you have to dispute everything I say?” I asked.

“Don’t take it personally,” Gerrit replied, “I’m just playing devil’s avocado.”

Gerrit became visibly frustrated when I refused to acknowledge his malapropism; I was surprised that my gambit worked. I hope Gerrit learned his lesson, and won’t try again to see if he can be even more irritating than me.

I’d guess he might have referred to such a miniscule garment as, “heaven’s gate.” (That was not a reference to the Heaven’s Gate cult of suicidal idiots.) If I ever meet someone from the LSD church, I shall inquire.