MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA'S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE NUMBER 86

MODERN WISDOM: AMERICA'S ONLY HUMOR MAGAZINE
NUMBER 86
FEBRUARY 2006
Copyright 2006 Francis DiMenno
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
http://www.dimenno.gather.com
http://www.dimenno.blog-city<wbr>.com

BROUGHT TO YOU BY.... SCOPALAMINE MOUTHWASH: "THE TRUTH HURTS!" …and
by……PICTURE ID , THE CREDIT CARD FOR THE EGO… and by TAPPIWAWA BRAND
BOTTLED WATER

RESULTS OF COMPETITION NUMBER 85:
Suggested by Richard Smoley. SPURIOUS PROVERBS. Those wise old sayings
which are implanted in our cortexes at such an early age that we take
them for granted. Stuff like: "A stitch in time saves nine." It's time
we came up with some equally relevant proverbs. Say, "Even a dog can
have worms". Or "If God were not blind, all of us could see."

The Winner:
"If the elephant had hands, he would be a Democrat."—DMM, Newton, MA

COMPETITION NUMBER 86.UNLIKELY HIT RECORDS. From "Mr. Bass Man"
to "Who Let the Dogs Out" to "Hey Ya." Not just novelty songs; we're
also looking for unusually high-quality stuff that inexplicably made
for a big hit in the mass market; stuff along the lines of "She's Not
the Little Girl I Once Knew" by The Beach Boys, or "Strawberry
Fields/Penny Lane" by The Fab Four. Please send your entries by 27
March.

AND NOW...MODERN WISDOM PRESENTS...

1. GASBAG CITADEL
or
2. THE SUBTITLE
or
3. THE BIBLE OF STUPIDITY
4. EVERYBODY'S NOVEL
5. IF YOU REMEMBER THESE SONGS YOU MUST DIE
6. SHITADE
7. HOW TO READ THIS BOOK
8. A THOUSAND ACTS OF HEROISM
9. ATTENTION
10. LICENTIOUS CONFEDERATES
11. TWO FISTS TO THE WIND
12. IMPERIAL AMERICA
13. DECAYED SPLENDOR
14. LIES TOLD TO CHILDREN
15. TEARS AT THE HEART OF THINGS
16. DEAD UTOPIA
17. THE MASK OF COMMAND
18. HUCK FINN, INC.
19. A BETTER IDIOT
20. ANTI-BEHAVIOR
21. TOO FRIGHTENED TO BE FEARLESS
22. FALSE FRIENDS, BAD DRUGS, FAKE SEX
23. POSITIVE THINKING RULES OK
24. THE AWKWARD SQUAD
25. THE BOOK OF HATE
26. HUMOR OF IMPERIALISM
27. GILT-EDGED SCURRILITIES
28. SONGS ABOUT YOU
29. MAGIC DOG
30. THE PERSONALITIES OF ROADS
31. A FRIVOLOUS SOCIETY
32. REMINISCENT OF BABY VOMIT
33. GIRLY FUN
34. SECOND-RATE AMERICAN FILTH
35. ATTENTIONAL RUBBERNECKING
36. PLEISTOCENE RE-WILDING
37. RAISED STRUCTURES
38. THIS STATEMENT FEATURES TWO LIES
39. DREAMS OF INTERESTING PEOPLE
40. THE VALENTINE GROUP
41. WELCOM
42. WHAT WOULD JOSEPH AND MARY DO?
43. MR. WHO
44. SUNDAY POISON
45. WHY DOGS LIKE TO EAT THEIR OWN TOENAILS
46. DRAMA KING
47. FROM THE WINDBAG
48. JERKWATER AMERICA
49. STAR BOUT OF IDOLS
50. PLAYING LUCIFER
51. A TEMPTEMPTUOUS CAD
52. SOVIET INGRATITUDE
53. SAGE NEGRO
54. REX MOBILE
55. NAT MIDGE
56. ANTHEAP MORALITY
57. SYNTHETIC SIGNAL MARKINGS
58. ETHICS CLOUDS
59. HASBEEN.COM
60. BEAUTY BY MISTAKE
61. ALL AGONISTS ARE LIGANDS
62. THE SHORT FALL
63. MR. M
64. KILLIN' UP SHIT
65. THE PHANTOM PAIN OF LOST EMPIRE
66. CAPSLAM
67. THANK YOU FOR THE ARTICLE
68. WHEN BELOWNESS STORMS
69. BE FRUITLESS AND SUBTRACT
70. THE HIDDEN HONOR OF THE PARIAH PEOPLE
71. MICKEY MOUSE'S INFERNO
72. ADDICTED TO FAILURE
73. THE SOUR GRAPES OF A DEFORMED CULTURE
74. OUTLIERS
75. TRUE TO FACT

76. 5-10-15-20-25-30-35 YEARS AGO IN MODERN WISDOM

From MODERN WISDOM V.1 #14 FEBRUARY 1971
I like to have man-to-man chats with my Dad, where I share with him
the things I've learned. I remember, during one of these talks,
confiding to him: "Dad—you cough like a dog."

From MODERN WISDOM V.1 #74 FEBRUARY  1976
Nothing's as good as it used to be, including this statement.

From MODERN WISDOM V.1 #134 FEBRUARY  1981
No bachelor ever said "I need more time to myself…."

From MODERN WISDOM V.1 #194 FEBRUARY 1986
Airlines prohibit overweight and oversized luggage. So I took a giant
mobius strip on board the flight, and since it only existed in two
dimensions, they had to let me bring it on. But where they drew the
line was when I took out the bowling ball made of anti-matter….

From MODERN WISDOM V.1 #254 FEBRUARY  1991
Hear about the Hooters for male Feminists? It's called Neuters.

From MODERN WISDOM V.1 #314 FEBRUARY 1996
Whenever I go to a slasher flick, I don't lose my cool. I just keep
telling myself—Hey, it's only a movie. It's only a stupid movie. It's
only the stupidest fucking movie I've ever seen….

From MODERN WISDOM V.2 #26 FEBRUARY 2001
THE FIFTY WORST BEST-LOVED WELL-KNOWN HIT SINGLES 1950-2000:
Here are my nominees, more-or-less in order of toxic loathsomeness.

PLAYGROUND IN MY MIND
Clint Holmes was never able to live this one down, and serves him
right, too. It is fortunate that the Mongol Hordes of Genghis Khan
were unable to monitor our radio transmissions 500 years ago, or else
they'd conclude, on the basis of this infantile hit single, that we
were utter degenerates, overripe for plunder, and we'd right now all
be living on yak butter and steak tartare.

SEASONS IN THE SUN
Rod McKuen strikes again. Is this guy supposed to be a poet? He
eschews the Moon/June rhyme, only to come up with the even ghastlier
"fun/sun" pairing. I always thought dead baby jokes were the ne plus
ultra of bad taste (see Casper the Friendly Ghost), but this song
offers a strong argument to the contrary.

MUSKRAT LOVE
Two rats, fucking--great idea for a hit single!

YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE
Her white-shoe-sporting old man took hits by Jerry Lee Lewis and
Little Richard and watered them down to mush. The Daughter takes mush
and makes it even mushier. Hmm...I guess the apple never DOES fall
very far from the tree.

TIN MAN
What's worse--the idea of a band called America, produced by George
Martin (!), who gleans their first big hit by ripping off Neil Young
(!!)--or the idea that all you have to do is MENTION "The Wizard of
Oz" in the lyrics of your song and the suckers will come running?

POPSICLE TOES
This really should be number one, but I saw Michael Franks open for
Miles Davis and he is capable of far better. And after all, a fella's
gotta eat.

FEELINGS
My sister can play this on the piano. Hell, my DOG could probably play
this on the piano. Replaces "Tiny Bubbles" in the repertoire of
songs-adults-like-to-get<wbr>-schoolchildren-to-perform-at<wbr>-public-assemblies.

THE CURLY SHUFFLE
Hey, I like the Three Stooges as much, and maybe just a little more
than the average guy, but it doesn't mean I want to drink their beer
and use their depilatories and dance to inane theme songs like this.
Proves H.L. Mencken's 1920 maxim that nobody ever lost money by
underestimating the intelligence of the American populace.

ACHY BREAKY HEART
I no longer remember the tune, but come eternity Billy Ray Cyrus will
have a lot to answer for on the basis of the title alone. Hopefully
the evil one will have his pitchfork glowing red-hot and at the ready.

MAGNET AND STEEL
In the field of tritely asinine metaphors, this beats the mere simile
about how "Love is like Oxygen" by a hair. Also, the woebegone tone of
this odious enterprise is so godawful smug it makes my teeth hurt.

WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL
Part of the ill-remembered and very short-lived 20s nostalgia boom of
the mid-to-late '60s. This pick-up-band novelty tune probably quashed
it for good and all. Very popular with drunks, as I recall.

PURPLE PEOPLE EATER
"Rock Around the Clock" reincarnated as a novelty tune. Actually
pretty amusing, but the image haunts me. Besides, David Seville's
"Witch Doctor" is better.

I'VE NEVER BEEN TO ME
Go there. I won't stop you.

ANGEL OF THE MORNING
Someday scientists will surely discover that a preoccupation with
unicorns, angels and dragons is the result of damage to the central
cerebral cortex. Mothers--NEVER leave your baby on a table unattended!

THE JOKER
Back when radical chic was the in thing, Steve Miller did hard-hitting
exposes like "Living in the USA," but when political activism was
replaced by degeneracy, Mr. Miller followed suit. This pied piper of
drug abuse has probably inspired millions of  teenaged
bong-a-thons--not necessarily a bad thing in and of itself, but does
he have to be so damn SMUG about it? By the way, I believe "Pompatus
of Love" is a quote from some fifties song--I think it was by Little
Anthony and the Imperials. And I feel a strong need to mention that
"Fly Like an Eagle" is also pretty lame.

WE HAD IT ALL (JUST LIKE BOGART AND BACALL)
Don't recall the exact title. Quick, Doc--the icepick! Scrape away the
rest of this dire tune from my frontal lobes--pronto!

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY TEENAGE SON
"Your Mom will continue to love you...for she is a woman. But if you
refuse to serve your country--I have no son." Vietnam War as oedipal
triangle? Wheww!

TEEN ANGEL
Pretty insipid tune all around. And what about the Teen Devil they
never talk about?

HAVING MY BABY
"Encouraging Pre-Industrial Teenage Pregnancies in a Post-Industrial
World" was the working title, but not as catchy. Keep 'em barefoot and
pregnant--they don't need a watch--there's a clock on the stove. An
answer song to Helen Reddy's (ultimately merely silly) "I Am Woman"?

WILDFLOWER
This is the sort of moony crap Punk Rock was invented to eradicate.
Too bad it failed.

I'M TOO SEXY
Another one of those tunes I would pay cash money to be able to
forget. Sorta like Bob Hope--OK the first time, unendurable after
about the tenth go-round.

SMOKIN' IN THE BOYS ROOM
The premier tune in a long line of pumped-up and utterly vapid
anti-intellectual rock and roll anthems. Having licked the
eighteen-year old vote and cured MS, the crusading solons of
Brownsville Station promptly tackled this pressing social issue.

RUN JOEY RUN
I no longer remember the tune, but this bizarre little novelty is
pretty noxious if you actually listen to the lyrics. Or so I have been
given to understand.

THE NIGHT CHICAGO DIED
This sort of meaningless bombast is stirring to the 14-year olds it
was designed to impress, but the fact that there was no follow-up to
this somewhat twisted take on American prohibition proved the time was
not yet ripe for yet another 20s revival. (Though Disco was to follow,
and what was Disco but the mindless hedonism of the twenties reduced
to its barest essentials?)

PLEASE COME TO BOSTON
Boston ain't your kind of town? Why? Because the average I.Q. exceeds three digits? Well, then that's where you'll find me, composing my tune "On the Other Hand, Stay the Hell Away From Boston, and That Goes For Providence, New Haven, and Worcester Too."

IN THE YEAR 2525 (EXORDIUM AND TERMINUS)
What WERE they putting in the dope that year? Some sort of
self-righteousness drug, I suspect.

ROCK AND ROLL PART TWO
Good thing I don't attend sports rallies or I'd probably hate this,
er, "song" even more than I already do.

ONE TIN SOLDIER (THE LEGEND OF BILLY JACK)
By The Coven. That should tell you something right there about their
agenda. Was Tom McLaughlin funded by Commies? Or the Devil? It would explain a lot.

BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY
I suppose some people favor this travesty on the principle of  "it's
an important part of the 70s Zeitgeist." or "So bad it's good" But the
70s Zeitgeist was the glorification of bombastic kitsch. And what
about "So good it's good"? There's plenty of that out there, if you
know where to look.

PARADISE BY THE DASHBOARD LIGHT
Another ponderous anthem. The sports-as-fucking motif really puts the
icing on the cake. Ultimately the message is hateful--men are such
horny geeks they'll shackle themselves for life to the nearest beehive
hairdo just to get their rocks off. And women, for their part, are
clinging man-traps without an ounce of sense other than to scheme for
new ways to snag their man. O...K?

BABY FACE
Disco version of fifty-year old standard more or less proves my thesis
that Disco was the long-awaited second coming of Roaring Twenties.

EPIC
OK, so maybe it's true that it's a dirty job but someone's gotta do
it....Just leave me out of it.

OH BABE, WHAT WOULD YOU SAY?
I'd say that this crypto-vaudeville stack of wind is kinda nauseating.

I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR LOVE (BUT I WON'T DO THAT)
As if one eight-minute epic by Meat Loaf weren't enough.

FLY ROBIN FLY
Aldous Huxley himself couldn't have come up with a more convincing
proof that Soma was eroding the morals and intellect of the nation's
youth.

OPEN UP YOUR HEART (AND LET THE SUNSHINE IN)
The first song I ever parodied, age 10: "Open up your mouth and Let
the Booze Pour in/OH let the booze pour in/ Chase it with some
gin...."

I'M STICKIN' WITH YOU
Hokey faux-Western tune beloved by hicks too stupid to tie their
bootlaces. You deserve each other.

LOVING YOU
I'm sorry--Minnie Riperton is a talented singer, but this crosses the
line of mere virtuosity to become showboating stupidity.

MACARTHUR PARK
The original version, of course, the one where Richard Harris
portentously recites nonsense lyrics which make "Jabberwocky" come
across as a model of coherence.

AFTERNOON DELIGHT
A song about fucking in the forenoon. I guess it was a tough sell at
first, but sooner or later America's youth adjusted to this utterly
alien idea and embraced it with the sort of wholehearted enthusiasm
which makes this country great.

CHIRPY CHIRPY CHEEP CHEEP
A big hit in the mid-west. I think Michael Jackson covered this one.
Almost as infantile as "Playground In My Mind," though not quite as
utterly cloying.

ON TOP OF SPAGHETTI
Kiddie classic awakens in my gut not nostalgia, but only revulsion.
Why anyone would buy this inane parody of the already inane "On Top of Old Smoky" is beyond me.

WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN
The sort of tune any self-respecting lounge singer would turn down as
being too bathetic by half.

IN THE SUMMERTIME
The seventies were also a time when bands with names like "Mungo
Jerry" could have a hit with idiotic skiffle music, based on
vaudeville tunes--tunes which could have been written in the 1920s,
except that The Evil One was not quite ready to inflict them on us at
that time.

DANCIN' IN THE MOONLIGHT
Another example of a seventies band with a funny name--"King Harvest." What is this, some sort of Mythic bacchanal presided over by the Goddess of Corn? Er, actually, now that I think of it, yes!

HOW DO YOU DO?
The Dutch were later to grace us with Golden Earring, but before they
chose to inflict Focus on us, they paved the way for the short-lived
Dutch Invasion with this simplistic ditty which makes "Hello Goodbye"
by the Fab Four sound like the friggin' Brandenburg Concertos!

AMERICANS (A CANADIAN'S OPINION)
A five-minute rant in which a frosthead sucks up to the American Empire.

PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC
Not really all that bad, except my neighbors down the hall played it
to excess one fine summer and I have been traumatized by it ever since
because they were black and I was the only white boy in the vicinity.

UNDERCOVER ANGEL
An incomprehensible melange which, during the period of its greatest
inexplicable popularity I didn't even have the patience to listen to
in its entirety, or else I would have rated it higher.

THE RAPPER
A sentimental favorite because The Jaggerz are, to this day, the most
successful rock band ever to come out of my home town, which happens
to be Pittsburgh, and this song is by Donnie Iris, allegedly my cousin
by marriage (though not at the time it came out). I've heard this song
about 1,000 times, and I still can't really tell you what it's
supposed to be about or why I should care. Paved the way for "The
Joker" by Steve Miller.

77. A REFUTATION OF THE ALPHABET

A is an Asshole.
B is his Bee-yotch.
C is a Cunning linguist.
D is a Dirtbag.
E is an Ecdysiast.
F is a Frotteur.
G is a Groutnoul.
H is a Helot.
I is an Ignoramus.
J is a Jackass.
K is a Knavechild.
L is a Lightheel.
M is a Mongrel.
N is a Nughead.
O is an Overscutched huswife.
P is Pure-finder.
Q is Quean.
R is a Ragman.
S is a Skrytche-heule.
T is a Tartar.
U is an Upright-Man.
V is a Vovoide.
W is a Whappet.
X is a Xowyner.
Y is a Yarmer.
Z is Zowuly Zowyng Zungthe.

78. PAP
Chapter Nine

Last week said Pap, I was telling you of the men and their
girlfriends, but forgot to mention the disturbing dream which I had
had the night before. Oh well, it is better forgotten.

I was telling you what took place on the momentous day of my eleventh
birthday. Looking back on it after all these years, I see that it was
an ill-omened day. I do not recall whether I knew this on that day,
but perhaps I did. How did I know? Perhaps it was the cornbread my
brother  Primo had made for our supper. Primo was stubborn, and did
not want to admit that he had forgotten to purchase all the necessary
ingredients, so what he did was this. He rubbed some fatback in a pan—

I said, Pap, what's fatback?

Fatback is like bacon, but with very little meat. Primo rubbed some
fatback in a pan and mixed together some corn meal and water and set
it to cook. The whole white he was cooking it I recall asking him
childish questions which made him frown with impatience, as he tersely
answered me, not in his usual broken English, but in Italian..
"Don't you use baking soda?"
"We have none."
"Can't you get some?"
"We have no need of it."
"Don't you use salt?"
"We have no salt."
"Can't you get some?"
"Next time."
This concession I regarded as a small victory, and so I pressed on
with my impertinent questions. I did not know then that it simply does
not do to ask questions of people who are older and wiser than
oneself.
"Don't you use milk and butter?"
"We are out of it."
"Don't you use eggs?"
"The eggs are no good here."
"Don't you—"
I was going to say something about maybe a little sugar, knowing in
advance what he would say. But he cut me off with an impatient shrug
and said, "Little brother, you no like, you no have to eat." My other
two older brothers, Giacomo and Salvatore, were seated nearby, mending their nets in the dim light of a smoky lamp. Salvatore, in a tone of voice which indicated that this was as close to telling a joke as he
was likely to get, said "He who does not work does not eat." I took
him seriously, or perhaps I only pretended to; I do not recall. "I
work," I said. Giacomo said, "You no disrespect your brother, primo!
He head of the house!" He then switched to Italian and excitedly told
me, in no uncertain terms, listing his points on his fingers more and
more vociferously, that, one, I was lazy, just like my father; two, I
would come to a bad end; three, that I was weak and dreamy, just like
a woman; four, that I would never amount to anything because all I
ever did was sit around and listen to the foolish chatter of old drunk
devil-worshippers; and, five, that someday the police would come and
arrest me (for what crime, exactly, he did not bother to say). And
then he bit his thumb. In reply, I put my thumb between my third and
fourth fingers.

He demonstrated.

This is what we call a fig.

Why do you call it that?

Questions, always questions from the little one. Because it looks like a fig.

What's a fig?

It's a fruit which comes from a tree. Like in the cookie.

Can I have a cookie?

Later. When I made the fig at Giacomo, he came lunging for me and
Primo dropped the pan in which he was making his terrible cornbread
and had to place himself between us before we came to blows.

"You are brothers," Primo said in Italian. "Brotehrs must never come
to blows. He then related to us the story in the Bible about Jacob and
Esau, and how one had sold his birthright for a mess of pottage.

Pap, I said, what is pottage.

It is like a stew.

Can I have some?

Pap laughed. Would you sell your birthright if I gave you some?

Sure, I said. What's a birthright?

It is something you must never sell.

Then why did he do it?

He was hungry.

Did this really happen?

Pap looked at me with surprise. "It is in the Bible."

After a few moments had passed he resumed. When Primo told us that
story, we sat down and ate our salmon and potatoes and cornbread mush by the flickering light of the oil lamp in the fresh breeze of a river
night with the clatter of our wooden spoons on the rims of our wooden
bowls and the noises we made as we chewed the only sound.

EXECRATIONS & ENCONIUMS: LETTERS TO THE EDITOR