What is your cut?

Sexist crap?

Sell meat by showing beef cut counterparts on a naked girl?

This ad uses a naked woman’s body in order to depict the certain types of meat cuts you can find on a cow.

Do we assume that people are buying their meat because they can then actually connect this diagram of a woman to a cow?

Are we deciding what meat cut we want from the cow diagram? Does the round rump of the woman seem more delicious and quite sexy?

Does the round and the rump of the woman make men nod in approval?  Does it seem  delicious and quite sexy?

Does this show us how society thinks of women, or is that reading too much into it a clever advertising ploy?

Is this simply another reference to the feminine and masculine properties where even foods have masculine and feminine articles to identify them.

One thing noticeably missing here is the breast, always tasty, always a favorite.



Passing requires 4 correct answers

1) How long did the Hundred Years’ War last?
2) Which country makes Panama hats?
3) From which animal do we get catgut?
4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution?
5) What is a camel’s hair brush made of?
6) The Canary Islands in the Pacific are named after what animal?
7) What was King George VI’s first name?
8) What color is a purple finch?
9) Where are Chinese gooseberries from?
10) What is the color of the black box in a commercial airplane?

How much easier could this be?


Passing requires 4 correct answers
1) How long did the Hundred Years War last? 116 years
2) Which country makes Panama hats? Ecuador
3) From which animal do we get cat gut? Sheep and Horses
4) In which month do Russians celebrate the October Revolution? November
5) What is a camel’s hair brush made of? Squirrel fur
6) The Canary Islands in the Pacific are named after what animal? Dogs
7) What was King George VI’s first name? Albert
8) What color is a purple finch? Crimson
9) Where are Chinese gooseberries from? New Zealand
10) What is the color of the black box in a commercial airplane? Orange, of course.

How did you do?


by Kenneth Harper Finton ©2014


My old grandpappy used say that “learnin’ is bad for a body. The more a body knows, the unhappier a body gets.”

Unfortunately, I did not take his advice, but I have yet to see any proof that he is wrong.

That is why I founded The Foundation for the Furthering of Global Ignorance.

Reading Ruins the Eyes

Reading is hellish on the eyeballs. We may not notice it for a while, but the words become increasingly out of focus and lines soon begin to dance before our eyes. The eyes will then begin to water and demand a good rubbing.

Reading Strengthens the Brain.

The natural state of the brain is mushy. The more we use it, the stronger it grows. We do not want to overburden or tax the brain, so we should replace reading and writing with movies and phone conversations.

Overworked brains need bigger heads and our heads are fixed in size and volume. We should not fill it the our brains with useless culture and relics from past thoughts. If these classic thoughts from the past had any value at all, these thoughts would reoccur to us, would they not?

Had I only paid attention to the old man, I could revel in even more ignorance than I already possess. Lucky for the present, most schools are not really teaching classic reading skills. They teach enough writing to sign your name and pass a driver’s license test.

images-1They don’t teach geography, so no one under 25 has any idea of where they are going. They no longer teach cursive, as it can be had in the fonts folder if one really needs it.

Reading Can Expand Your World

For those of us who like things exactly as they are, there is no worse threat that seeing what is on the other side of the hill. With new communications tools the universe is at our fingertips. We can make friends in Patagonia and buy stocks in Australia. We can be inspired by ideas from across the ages and the seas. The Internet may kill everything we have worked for thousands of years to achieve. Ignorance and class. I was once told Al Gore invented the Internet. I believe that he should be drawn and quartered.


It_pays_to_be_ignorant_1949-showReading May Accidentally Change Your Station in Life

This reading of history and novels must be held in check. Through reading one is able to transcend their own station in life. They are emboldened to dream of other worlds and experience other lives. This, of course, is disruptive to the homogeneous society we seek to build. When the average person learns too much about how the world really works, they tend to either revolt or become integrated in the power structure. Stability is built by the ignorance of the masses.

Once one embraces ignorance, the world is a much simpler place.







by Kenneth Harper Finton ©2014


Santa Claus


Claus checked his ledgers in Quickbooks. It was not a task he enjoyed.

He fondly remembered the days when the smoke encircled his head like a wreath. He quit smoking a pipe a decade or two ago, but he still missed the pungent aroma of his tobacco. What he did not miss was the sore tongue and hacking cough he would often get.

When Christmas was taken over by the corporate gift manufacturers he had shaken his head and withdrawn in total disbelief.  “How could they corner the market on gifts so quickly,” Claus remembered saying.

He had long since had to retire much of his elf force. The elves just could not compete with the prices the corporations charged for general gifts of all shapes and sizes. Soon metal toys replaced his home-made-by-elfen-hands wooden toys.

As if that were not bad enough, the metal toys makers cut back on production and the plastic toy makers flooded the market with every size and shape of plastic toys that were conceivable. The oil cartel would not sell the oils for making plastics to the North Pole Charitable Organization, St. Nicholas, Proprietor.

For Claus, these were perilous times.

One day a group of corporate lawyers met with Claus to discuss the possibility of his contracting for delivery for their orders.

“We will allow you to charge a delivery fee,” they proposed. “It could be a very big deal for you. Remember, you are not getting any younger. Long term care is expensive and we can sell you insurance for that out of the money you charge for delivery of our goods.”

Claus had to think about that: a delivery fee for Santa. Extraordinary, to be sure, but in step with the times. Tradition breaking.  But these are times to try a person’s pocket book.

When he examined his ledger on Quickbooks, he could easily see that he had been running at a loss for almost five hundred years.  “Why, then,” he thought, “would I need long-term care insurance? These men must think me to be a sucker.”

“If they keep it up, the way it is going,” Claus thought, “then I may as well retire. They do not understand that the gifts were not what I delivered. I delivered the love that made the gifts, not the gifts themselves. It has always been so, as long as my spirit has been around. If love no longer makes the gifts, then my delivery is in vain.”

The corporate lawyers did not agree with Claus. “Love” they said, “was a personal thing and the corporations are personal, therefore what they made was made with love, as Clause has admitted that love is what he delivered to persons like the corporations.”

Clause could not quite follow their logic.

Of course, the debate ended up in court.

The parties were forced to define some kind of argument for a favorable judgment. Who had been injured? Who had been financially cheated? What was the duty, if any, for Claus?”

Claus argued that because he had been working gratis of his own free will, there was no loss at all.

The corporations argued that Claus could not have a monopoly on love giving, that they were entitled to give love as well and could do it better than an old white guy that does not appeal to the Muslim and the Buddhist nor the Hindu faiths, among many others. We, they claimed, have a far better market share in love giving that is good for the world economy as a whole.

The court ruled that corporations were better fitted to distribute love than The North Pole Charitable Organization, St. Nicholas, Proprietor.

Claus retired, forced out by world non-opinion and legal issues.

Due to his eternal nature, he still distributed his love where it is most needed.

Let us hope he is not ordered to cease and desist.





Originally published at

Ken at Scriggler:

See also:


by Kenneth Harper Finton ©2014




Shakespeare’s sonnets make me feel uncomfortable. It is clear that many people who claim to have impeccable taste really profess to love these sonnets. Since I cannot bring myself to love them, I have to admit that either my taste is not impeccable or I have truly missed something of great value. In other words, I am stupid.

A film maker in Denver has made all 154 of Shakespeare’s sonnets into short video movies starring local Denver actors.  Of course, it is a colossal bore. How could it not be so? William Shakespeare wrote some great plays, but his sonnets can put a Starbucks enthusiast to sleep in minutes.

It did not help that this Sonnet project used local actors that seemed to be unexperienced in Shakespearean theatre. I think, perchance, that nothing stands more amiss than a semi-talented actor spewing forth torrents of Shakespearean verbiage.

The first seventeen sonnets are brimming with advice to breed and propagate the species. Perhaps women liked this in Shakespeare’s day, but in a our crowded world with many women who choose to remain childless, these words cannot possibly fall on appreciable ears.


“From fairest creatures we desire increase

That thereby beauty’s Rose might never die

But as the riper should be time decease

His tender heir might bear his memory.”

Further, Shakespeare is obsessed with his own immortality. Even in one of the best of his sonnets, he holds himself and his verse up as immortal, bigger than nature itself,  more enduring that stone. Yes, his work has lasted for centuries, but I doubt seriously it will outlast stone.


Shall I compare thee to a Summers day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough windes do shake the darling buds of Maie,

And Sommers lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d,

And every faire from faire some-time declines,

By chance, or natures changing course untrim’d:

But thy eternall Sommer shall not fade,

Nor loose possession of that faire thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wandr’st in his shade,

When in eternall lines to time thou grow’st,

So long as men can breath or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

I read this and intuitively feel the wonderful play of words, but close examination destroys my capricious mood. What, I ask myself, is more lovely and more temperate than a summer’s day? I can think of nothing at all more lovely.  Maybe a cold beer with a pizza when you are very hungry. Surely, a summer’s day must be more lovely than this fantasy woman of whom he writes.

Yes, I agree, sometimes summer is too cursedly hot and these rough winds that shake these so-called darling buds of May also make me shiver in my shoes. But if I were to tell a girl that she was bound to decline as she ages, she would likely slap my ignominious face. And if I told her that her best chance at immortality lies in the fact that she was recorded in the lines of my poems, I would not be surprised if she hit me in the head with a lamp. I would deserve it, lout that I am.

We all struggle to decipher old Will’s bombastic style. The archaic English, quaint as it might be, hides a dude that spends a lot of time writing sappy verse about his relationship issues.


When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Modernized and un-sonneted, it might read:

Here I am, disgraced and poverty stricken, invisible to all.

Am I the only one to hear my cry, my outcast misery?

Even God will not listen to my loud complaints,

My shoeless feet propel me on a cursed path

And I can only dream about a richer life

With bosom friends and hopes of silver linings.

So I am left forlorn, devoid of art, bereft of talent.

I find myself despising what I am

Until I think these happy thoughts of you,

That lift me like the song of a lark that rises at sunrise

From this barren earth of mine to sing a hymn at heaven’s gate.

The sweet and gentle love that we once shared

Comes back into my memory again and brings such rebirth

That I would not trade this feeling for a crown.

I becomes apparent that Shakespeare was basically a lonely dreamer with not enough self esteem. Only his illusory fantasies about a perfect love brought him out of his depression and into a manic universe of his own making. Today they would say he had a bi-polar personality.

To me, Shakespeare was a greater play writer than he was a poet. His plays are filled with quotable quips that have peppered our speech for centuries.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend. -Hamlet

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.  


Yet, even the plays speak in a language that we do not speak. The urge to make them modern has been the fall of many a lame producer. They peel away the age of the setting and substitute the near present, but they leave the stilted words alone as though the Great Almighty made these utterances.

But Shakespeare – bless his pea-pickin’ little heart – gave good advice and this is where he transcends the ages and sparkles like a jewel.

“Better three hours too soon, than a minute too late.” (Many a dead man has made that discovery.)

“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow.” (Though I struggle to find the sweetness in this pain.)

“There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”  (You tell ‘em, Will. These fools think they’re cool.)

“A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.” (Thinking makes this so as well.)

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” (Aye, said the Scotsman. And they are English to boot.)

“Cowards die many times before their death; the valiant never taste death but once.”  (Many an old soldier loathes that statement.)

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players:” (Timothy Leary thought so.) But then he goes on: “They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”

(This started out great, but leaves me counting ages. Try as I may, I cannot get to seven ages. 1. Infancy, 2. Childhood, 3.Adolescence, 4. Maturity, 5. Middle-aged, and 6. Old.

That is the best I can do. Perhaps the seventh is Infirmity.








by Natasha DeSilva ©2014


Originally posted on Cup of Whimsy:

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Last night I said these words to my girl: “You’re driving me insane.”

She looked at me, taken by surprise. “If there’s something I have said or done, tell me what and I’ll apologize.”

Giving me the same old line. She’s got the devil in her heart.

I said, “You’re making me feel like I’ve never been born.” Should I fix myself a drink? I’ve hada drink or two. “I should have realized a lot of things before. You treat me badly. My independence seems to vanish… I have had enough.”

“I’ve just…Every now and then, I feel so insecure. Try to see it my way…”

Sigh. She’s old enough to know better. “Martha, my dear. I can’t help my feelings.”

She said, “You don’t understand what I said.”

“No, you’re wrong. I know that I’m ready to leave.”

“Honey…don’t.” She will turn to me and start to cry. “We can work it out.” My baby’s got me locked up in chains.

No reply. I nearly broke down and cried. And I’m the kind of guy who never used to cry.

“You’ll never leave me.” And in her eyes…no sign of love behind the tears. Cried for no one.

“I think I’ll take a walk.” I couldn’t stand the pain.

Summer night: The floating sky is shimmering. Bright are the stars; big and black the clouds. Tomorrow may rain .

I’ve been wandering around. Flowers of yellow and green, tangerine trees, strawberry fields. Blackbird singing in the dead of night. On the corner is a banker with a motorcar.

Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, relax and float downstream.

I should be sleeping like a log. I may be asleep. But you know, I know when it’s a dream.

Now it’s time to say good night. I turn around.

Once there was a way to get back home.

“Mister city policeman, can you take me back where I came from?”

*   *   *

When I awoke, I was alone. This bird had flown, leaving the note that she hoped would say more. My life has changed.

I’ll remember all the little things we’ve done…but one thing I can tell you is you got to be free. Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

Fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup.

“The sun is up. The sky is blue.” I just had to laugh. I need to laugh, and when the sun is out, I’ve got something I can laugh about. I feel the ice is slowly melting.

I took a ride. I’ll follow the sun. I didn’t know what I would find there.

Lovely Rita. Sitting in an English garden.


“Hello, hello!” She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere.

She said she’d always been a dancer. She never stops; she’s a go-getter.

“I’m happy just to dance with you. Just let me hear some of that rock n roll music!”

She was a girl in a million. Just a smile would lighten everything.

My head is filled with things to say. And though it’s only a whim, I’ve got a feeling, a feeling deep inside: She will always be my friend.

Two of us riding nowhere. Not arriving…On our way back home. We’re on our way home.






Cup of Whimsy

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my story composed completely of Beatles lyrics? It took me a while to write, will you take a look? Haha…I’m a big Beatles fan, and I felt inspired by this fun yet daunting challenge. Being limited to certain words and phrases was a struggle, but at least the Beatles had a lot of songs to choose from. I am not sure how successful the story turned out, but I would love to hear your thoughts!


Last night I said these words to my girl: “You’re driving me insane.”

She looked at me, taken by surprise. “If there’s something I have said or done, tell me what and I’ll apologize.”

Giving me the same old line. She’s got the devil in her heart.

I said, “You’re making me feel like I’ve never been born.” Should I fix myself a drink? I’ve had a…

View original post 549 more words



If I were a fly, I’d land on the dung like all of my friends had already done.

If I were a fly, I’d crawl up a wall and carefully gather the secrets of all,

then publish my finds on an Internet site

– like my brothers and sisters that crawl through the night.




I lost my penis today. Somewhere in Penisylvania, I think.

I must have bent over and it fell out.

Frankly, I am lost without it.

I am a writer and I use it all the time.

It was a very special penis or I would simply go replace it.

I have tried using a peniscil instead, but I can’t keep it sharp like my fountain penis.

What to do? I could write on my laptop, I guess, but something is wrong with my spell check.
Every time I press a ‘p’, then an ‘e’, then an ‘n’ it adds an ‘is’.
This will not do. It is especially disconcerting when writing to my penis pal.
If I write much more, I might be sent to a penisal colony of a penisitentiary.
Further words from me will be penisding on solving this problem.

Thanks for reading.
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