Every time I see Land O’ Lakes box I remember a time way back in high school where someone cut the knees off the picture of the Land O’ Lakes girl and glued them on her chest… well it was high school funny.
Country mouseMarch 15, 2018, 1:57 PM
I thought of the same thing. And it’s still funny! But what we did was cut the bottom and sides of the box she’s holding to make a flap, and then tape another set of knees behind the flap. So you had to lift the flap to get a peek. Surprisingly convincing!
Ralph Kinney BennettMarch 15, 2018, 6:34 PM
You are absolutely right about that DNA test. Lies-As-She-Walks has suddenly become Spit-And-Shut Up.
ghostsniperMarch 15, 2018, 6:50 PM
I saw the same thing in jr high.
You cut out the butter box she’s holding.
Then you cut the sides of her knees the same width as the butter box hole.
Fold it in such a way that the knees become the titties.
Yung dooz got a kik outta that shit.
PunditarianMarch 16, 2018, 12:27 PM
Still get a kick out of that juvenile trick. I think it works better if you use a second panel for the knees, and tape that piece behind the butter box, cut out on only three sides to form a flap. They used to have a box with the label “Tasty Butter Tips” that was ideal for the purpose.
The Fauxcahontas box design is hilarious, too. Now if we can only get President Trump to realize that her nickname is Fauxcahontas instead of Pocahontas . . . .
The DNA ethnicity tests are far from perfect, and I am not sure I would trust the results from any of the usual vendors. However, the results of very detailed genealogies are indisputable.
No matter, Fauxcahontas did not meet the federally-approved standard for being entitled for advancement as a Native American, in that she has zero-zilch-nada history of any involvement in any cultural or community activity whatsoever with any Native American group. I think it is only too clear that she claimed Cherokee ancestry to get a leg up at Harvard, and stopped claiming it when it was no longer necessary to further her career. That’s just despicable.
The matter of her family folklore is interesting but unsubstantiated. A similar example is the Hildebeast’s comment that she was named after Sir Edmund P Hillary – something that is manifestly impossible since Sir Edmund was an unknown New Zealand beekeeper when HRC was born, and did not become famous until some 7 years later. However, I think it is plausible that Hillary’s parents told her, when she was 7 or 8, that she had been named after Sir Edmund, and that she never thought that through and naively believed it all her life. So too, Fauxcahontas might have been told about Cherokee ancestry – but I think there is no evidence that anyone else in her family ever believed it.
twolaneflashMarch 18, 2018, 6:08 PM
My family is one that never claimed their Cherokee heritage. My great grandmother, a Cherokee, married my great grandfather who was a physician in Oklahoma. She would not allow her family to register when the government started establishing the native database because blacks were registering to avoid being labeled Negro. One of my aunts claimed her status, was involved for years in native American ceremonies and politics, and became close friends with Billy Mills, the Indian activist and 10K Olympic gold medalist in 1964. Tracing my mother’s family back 15 generations, my grandfather was a Major General at Jamestown, Virginia and survived the massacre by Indians on March 22, 1622 that killed some one-third of the colonists.
Lay down these words
Before your mind like rocks.
placed solid, by hands
In choice of place, set
Before the body of the mind
in space and time:
Solidity of bark, leaf, or wall
riprap of things:
Cobble of milky way.
straying planets,
These poems, people,
lost ponies with
Dragging saddles –
and rocky sure-foot trails.
The worlds like an endless
four-dimensional
Game of Go.
ants and pebbles
In the thin loam, each rock a word
a creek-washed stone
Granite: ingrained
with torment of fire and weight
Crystal and sediment linked hot
all change, in thoughts,
As well as things.
Gary Snyder
The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
from Preludes
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
ARTIST: CASEY KLAHN
Song of Myself
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
“From a student radical/hippie/leftist of the Free Speech Movement/Vietnam Day Commitee era and a full-on Democratic Liberal in the decades after, I think I’ve evolved a politics that is neither right nor left but is, in its elemental nature, draconian. In the last 20 years, I’ve taken apart my beliefs with a sledgehammer. Now I’ve got to put the surviving parts back together with tweezers and other ‘shabby equipment, always deteriorating’.”
Real World Address for Donations, Mash Notes and Hate Mail
Gerard Van der Leun
1692 MANGROVE AVE
APT 379
Chico, Ca 95926
Gerard Van der Leun
Lay down these words
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
The scientists are in terror
Comments on this entry are closed.
Every time I see Land O’ Lakes box I remember a time way back in high school where someone cut the knees off the picture of the Land O’ Lakes girl and glued them on her chest… well it was high school funny.
I thought of the same thing. And it’s still funny! But what we did was cut the bottom and sides of the box she’s holding to make a flap, and then tape another set of knees behind the flap. So you had to lift the flap to get a peek. Surprisingly convincing!
You are absolutely right about that DNA test. Lies-As-She-Walks has suddenly become Spit-And-Shut Up.
I saw the same thing in jr high.
You cut out the butter box she’s holding.
Then you cut the sides of her knees the same width as the butter box hole.
Fold it in such a way that the knees become the titties.
Yung dooz got a kik outta that shit.
Still get a kick out of that juvenile trick. I think it works better if you use a second panel for the knees, and tape that piece behind the butter box, cut out on only three sides to form a flap. They used to have a box with the label “Tasty Butter Tips” that was ideal for the purpose.
The Fauxcahontas box design is hilarious, too. Now if we can only get President Trump to realize that her nickname is Fauxcahontas instead of Pocahontas . . . .
The DNA ethnicity tests are far from perfect, and I am not sure I would trust the results from any of the usual vendors. However, the results of very detailed genealogies are indisputable.
No matter, Fauxcahontas did not meet the federally-approved standard for being entitled for advancement as a Native American, in that she has zero-zilch-nada history of any involvement in any cultural or community activity whatsoever with any Native American group. I think it is only too clear that she claimed Cherokee ancestry to get a leg up at Harvard, and stopped claiming it when it was no longer necessary to further her career. That’s just despicable.
The matter of her family folklore is interesting but unsubstantiated. A similar example is the Hildebeast’s comment that she was named after Sir Edmund P Hillary – something that is manifestly impossible since Sir Edmund was an unknown New Zealand beekeeper when HRC was born, and did not become famous until some 7 years later. However, I think it is plausible that Hillary’s parents told her, when she was 7 or 8, that she had been named after Sir Edmund, and that she never thought that through and naively believed it all her life. So too, Fauxcahontas might have been told about Cherokee ancestry – but I think there is no evidence that anyone else in her family ever believed it.
My family is one that never claimed their Cherokee heritage. My great grandmother, a Cherokee, married my great grandfather who was a physician in Oklahoma. She would not allow her family to register when the government started establishing the native database because blacks were registering to avoid being labeled Negro. One of my aunts claimed her status, was involved for years in native American ceremonies and politics, and became close friends with Billy Mills, the Indian activist and 10K Olympic gold medalist in 1964. Tracing my mother’s family back 15 generations, my grandfather was a Major General at Jamestown, Virginia and survived the massacre by Indians on March 22, 1622 that killed some one-third of the colonists.
Fauxcahontas…*spit*