Palindrome of the Day

Paris, I Rap

2007-10-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

A hip-hop artist was recently arrested for possession of a cache of firearms. His fellow rappers were a bit surprised when they heard that a judge denied the musician bail, even when his lawyer offered 2.2 million. But the judge knew something the hip-hop community did not: After hearing that France's new president had filed for divorce, the rapper, whose given name is Clifford Harris, and his posse (closet family values men, every one of them), were planning to assassinate the leader.

TI boyz OK rash Sarkozy obit.

"Nemo, We Love to Vote"—Vole Women

2007-10-17T20:16:00.000-07:00

A comedian runs for president. Why? Is he fed up with the current administration's endless reasons for keeping the war going? Does he feel that his personal hero, the author of Being and Nothingness, would reject everything spouted by every current candidate?

Rats re-push? Sartre blocks all? I will ask Colbert, rash superstar.

Whether or not the man is serious about running, he is apparently taking all the necessary steps to do so. In fact, in order to win the votes of his organic-food-eating fans, an institution he runs to support people with unusually long napes has decided to ban a certain frozen dessert.

It’s a task: Colbert Neck Centre blocks a Tasti.

Of course, in any campaign there's bound to be some scandal. An insider on the newcomer's campaign trail leaked this memo, which suggests that an institution which advocates the proper parking of bicycles, and shares the same building that houses the comedian's nape concern, should be allowed to veto the above mentioned initiative, and permit the frozen dessert on the premisises.

Let Rack Centre block Colbert Neck Cartel

Play That Phone-key Music

2007-10-17T19:15:00.000-07:00

No longer topping the charts with booty-shaking disco classics, the lead singer of The Sunshine Band has turned his attentions to that other American pursuit: gadgetry. Believe it or not, he was in line the day Apple released its latest wonder. And he was one of the first to hack its operating system. Of course, after he tried to install the newest version of the OS, he lost service completely. And, what's worse, the headphones seemed to be causing the formation of a lump in his ear. Never mind the fact that he was left unable to print out several songs he'd written as text messages to friends. In a fit of frustration, he thew the thing across the room. His bodyguard, a die hard Motorola fan, who witnessed the outburst, shrugged his shoulders and uttered the following:

KC, its an iPhone: no tone, no hp, in a stick.

An Aid Sees Diana

2007-10-13T13:25:00.000-07:00

An English jury has had a look at images of the dying Princess Spencer. The rest of us will see no such thing, but at least we heard about it. Another, stranger piece of evidence has been kept entirely secret from the press and all others. Lucky for you, we here at Palindrome of the Day have our deep sources. Apparently an audio tape was wrestled from the heavens and played in court. On it Ms. Spencer's driver, Henri Paul, can be heard waking in the afterlife, and asking the Princess about his whereabouts:

Di, did I die? I did, I did.

As the tape rolled, the jurors heard an angel-like voice respond to Paul and explain that he was not the only one to have perished in the crash:

Di did, odd Dodi did.

Snug Guns

2007-10-12T17:47:00.001-07:00

A republican representative from Ohio says he's going to retire from politics to pursue "several goals." Sure he's 82, but it sounds suspicious. Perhaps the real reason has something to do with his years in the U.S. Navy. Perhaps certain errors he made then resulted in the disappearance of a few sailors. Perhaps one of those sailors has come back to haunt him, forcing him, at gun point, to end his career.

Regula's MIA aims a luger.

Frayed Knot

2007-10-10T21:07:00.000-07:00

A rash of hangman's knots have proven that indeed racism can still come in the pre-corporate, old-school, cracker form. Once such configuration of rope was recently found in a Columbia professor's office. Upon hearing of the incident, the president of the university muttered an ambiguous statement. Did he mean that such troubles were worse than being hanged or that he hoped the deliverer of the knot would try slipping him one so could have a chance at nabbing him?

Noose me soon.

Sex at Noon Taxes

2007-10-09T19:14:00.000-07:00

Some militant prudes have smashed up a photo exhibit called "The History of Sex" in Sweden's Kulturen Gallery. Most of them got away, but one overzealous vandal went on to attack a few other works. The Chief of Police, a great appreciator of the arts, and a big sex guy to boot, found him standing atop a giant canvas entitled "Mark of the Beast," hacking away at the devil's numerals with his crowbar. The Chief ordered his men to take action at once with these words:

Sex is not art? Serrano’s on, arrest rat on sixes!

Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall . . . er, is Falling

2007-10-07T09:38:00.001-07:00

A typhoon lashes China's eastern coast (they're always lashing, these typhoons), damaging property and bringing people to what you might call a genuflecting position. Some wise men there think that greater powers are punishing the proud and the greedy. Only those willing to immediately repent and pray will be passed over, they say. One such philosopher was moved to write these thoughts in the sand before both sand and man were washed away. Forgive the translation:

Seen Krosa? Esteem, meet seas or knees.

Race Car

2007-10-05T10:58:00.000-07:00

Explanation coming soon . . . or add your own as a comment.

Stressed? Sell a sale, taxi sane Al, LA’s Jena six ate LaSalle’s desserts.

More Pricks than Knicks

2007-10-02T18:59:00.000-07:00

A jury has decided that the coach of the Nicks is indeed a bad man. Or at least that he discriminated against Anucha Browne Sanders. Whether he harasses Sarah is another question. Regardless, the jury deliberated long and hard before coming to their conclusion. In fact, it all came down to a single religious juror who could not decide if Thomas was evil or not. He finally let his Russian wife make the decision for him. The case was closed as soon as he asked her this question:

Natasha, is Isiah Satan?

Merchan-dicing, Merchan-dicing

2007-09-30T09:25:00.000-07:00

Business columnists have been wondering what made Bain Capital and Huawei buy a profitless computer networking company. But the folks at Bain and Huawei took the gamble because they think they've figured out something that other corporations have yet to pick up on. Sesame Street and Star Wars characters, it turns out, can sell anything, not just toys. The VP of Bain recently sent this memo down the line:

Put Elmo, C3PO tag atop 3COM letup.

Madam, I'm Treasonous

2007-09-08T22:38:00.000-07:00

When a certain CIA officer revealed the author of bin Laden's latest video-taped speech, he blew his cover. He had wormed his way into the upper echelons of al-Qaeda but felt that this discovery was of such import that he had to give up what turned out to have been the good life. He lamented his loss to a colleague:

Ned, I, a man, had a GM, a dam, "Azzam" Adam Gadahn, a maiden.

Before he informed the world, he sent this note to his mother about the American terrorist's own collection of vehicles and condiments:

Ma, just a 'hi.' Adam Gadahn had a GM, a Daihatsu, jam.

Spin Snips

2007-09-08T19:12:00.000-07:00

The commander of Multi-National Forces in Iraq is soon to tell congress how things are going in that far off land. Opponents of the war expect to hear nothing unusual from the Bush appointee. In fact, a rough draft of the report has recently surfaced in certain circles. The general's primary concern is not loss of life, infrastructure, hope, etc., but a missing sword collection from the national museum.

See Petraeus's issue: art epees.

Extradite! Extradite! Read All About It!

2007-08-28T12:13:00.000-07:00

Noriega's a man. A plan, if final: Panama's age iron.*

* I don't see why age iron can't be Panamanian slang for the big house.

Gonzales Goes Down

2007-08-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

DEM: Alberto Got Re-Blamed

Atlas Shrugged

2007-08-18T05:54:00.000-07:00

Grab a bomb, real or prop, board a Turkish plane and demand to be taken to Iran. Sounds like a good plan for getting a little international attention and possibly killing a few people on the way. Not, however, if the pilots are smart enough (and you're dumb enough) for them to pretend to land in Iran, but actually touch down in another Turkish city. And if the passengers themselves are all hardened criminals with a mystic or two on board, your plans are oft to go awry. When a recent AtlasJet flight was diverted in this manner the hijackers decided to let the women and children leave while holding back what they thought were a few manageable persons for further negotiation. One of the released women, before stepping out the door and sliding down the emergency chute, turned to the remaining captives and offered this sound advice:

I go, yes. Use gats, oh hostages, use yogi.

Point Counter Point

2007-08-17T06:21:00.000-07:00

Potential terrorists currently held behind bars have been debating for some time what best to plead when their cases come up. Having been caught before they had a chance to act, some hold that, like Zacarias Moussaoui, the best they can do for the old jihad is to keep to the faith and admit to the world exactly what they had planned and why. Another group thinks that pleading innocent, as a recent suspect did, gives them the chance, however slight, of someday regaining their freedom and thereby another opportunity to destroy other actually innocent people. The prison cells of your once potential terrorist are, of course, bugged and two such individuals were recently recorded hashing out their arguments. And so one obstinate suspect said to the other:

Now, a Jose Padilla's all I'd ape, so jaw on.

A Gunga Gnu Ga

2007-07-17T19:36:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, I was in Los Angeles, at the Ambassador Hotel, when Sirhan Sirhan shot Bobby Kennedy. In fact, I was one of the first to get to him after he'd been hit. I knelt there next to the man, on the cold kitchen floor, and, feeling the words of Kipling stirring in my soul, I thought I'd offer him some refreshment. He'd just had a glass of water before he went down, and, since a bowl of greens sat on a counter a few feet away (it was a kitchen, after all), I offered the injured candidate some of the leafy. He, however, had other desires on his mind, and was realizing they would never be fulfilled. For instance, now he would never lay his eyes on the wild architecture of Bukkitinggi. The conversation we had plays through my mind constantly to this day.

“Salad?” I ask. “Freest Sumatran art a must see,” RFK said, “alas.”

Audio File

2007-07-12T07:37:00.000-07:00

Yes, those tapes do indeed keep giving and giving. But archivists, transcribers, and the public are missing out on half of what the tapes have to offer—because they don't play them backward. If you listen to the latest batch in reverse you will discover that the nation's 37th president not only ordered the Watergate break in, but was actually there for the crime. You can hear him ask an aide if the growing file on the conspiracy contained any surreptitiously captured images of himself:

Ed, is Nixon image—e.g. "a Minox"—inside?

A Man, a Plan, a Taylor of Panama

2007-07-11T18:35:00.000-07:00

So, Sara Taylor, once the White House political director, seems to know something about who sent the order to fire eight U.S. prosecutors that weren't in line with the administration. But there's another mystery unsolved: Why is Taylor now a former White House political director? Exactly who decided to can her remains unclear, despite a recording of the responsible party speaking to a senator.

Ed, I axed ex-aide.

Incision

2007-07-10T19:25:00.000-07:00

When the president's own appointed Surgeon General worries about how the administration conducts its affairs, the whole nation worries too. Tell it to the prophet.

So, masterful Carmona—no "Mr. ACLU"—frets, Amos.

Rear Guard

2007-07-10T11:57:00.000-07:00

An important case for those citizens with buttocks has come up before Manhattan Judge Hartocollis. The question raised is simple enough: Can we show them or can't we? And does it matter why? The verdict on the few cheeks now displayed in Times Square will set the tone for callipygous individuals hoping for similar exposure in the future. As the judge put it, each pair currently viewable on 42nd Street is:

"An omen ass"—Anemona

Reminds me of a joke I got in trouble for telling in the sixth grade.

War D'oeuvres

2007-07-07T12:44:00.000-07:00

A few years ago a certain gangster visited his favorite Italian fast food restaurant in the hopes of picking up one of those appetizer plates of cheese and smoked meats. A regular, he was alarmed to find the menu altered and the dish he sought had a new title. This was back in the "freedom fries" days and the owner of the restaurant, a gangster turned pacifist epicurean, had retaliated in kind. The hostess explained:

O, Gotti, sir, a wit named 'em "anti-war." Is it to go?

Day Ad

2007-07-06T18:27:00.000-07:00

7/07/07

One Step Forward, One Step Backward

2007-07-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

The world is hoping that Turkmenistan's new leader will bring reform to this long suffering nation. But can so much be expected out of a henpecked carpet thief? His wife was recently overheard delivering orders while the couple was visiting Kazakhstan:

Gurbanguly, my lug, nab rug.

Commutnation

2007-07-03T09:56:00.001-07:00

Don't go thinking that Bush made his latest decision hastily. No, he had his mind made up long ago. In fact, Bush had been discussing what he planned to do with Mr. Libby with his mother, his children, his dog, and, finally, his shrink. All of them told him the same thing: Let justice be served. A recent transcript of a meeting with his psychiatrist reveals that this this recent move is anything but sudden.

No, Dr. A prison? No, sir. Pardon!

Terror and Tease on the Campaign Trail

2007-07-02T07:55:00.000-07:00

O consonant A consonant A.

Coincidence? Or are Al-Qaeda cells (cubic ones) controlling certain presidential hopefuls with age old tactics in certain locations?

Osama boxes let Omaha motel sex Obama. So?

News Hound

2007-06-26T10:19:00.000-07:00

When you go around buying up every newspaper you can get your hands on, sooner or later one of them is going to protest. Recently, when news got out that a certain media mogul wanted to buy The Wall Street Journal, editors there called friends and reporters at The New York Times and begged them to do something about it. How else to stop a fishy move made possible only by the power of money and sought out only in the interests of greed? One such editor was recently overheard:

Go help! Murdoch's a cash cod rumple hog.

No Mitt, I'm On

2007-06-21T13:19:00.000-07:00

If you're campaigning for the presidency as a republican supporting "strong families" you've got to do your best to keep some of your personal interests from the public eye. Recently a reporter managed to sneak a peak at a certain candidate's CD collection and even heard him say how he wished he could buy more of his favorite genre but knew his every purchase was being watched. The reporter's resulting article about the ex-governor of Massachusetts's musical tastes was slated to run on the front page but his conservative editor-in-chief killed it with this order:

Spare Romney's yen, more raps.

Space Caps

2007-05-07T20:59:00.000-07:00

Ah, those makeup saleswomen. Wherever there's a party going on they worm their way into the the festivities and start selling their goods. Hell, a star can blow up 240 million light years away and they'll find an alien to sell lipstick too. So the headlines say:

Avon Rep Uses a Base: Supernova

Backward Nation?

2006-10-07T18:03:00.000-07:00

To celebrate their 40th year of independence, a certain African kingdom has wheeled out a brand new flag. That's the official version, anyway. My guess is that King Letsie (surely pronounced "let's see") the Third is sprucing up the country's image before attempting to unload it on the highest bidder (the country that is, not its image). Insiders have heard him mumbling:

"Oh, to sell Lesotho . . ."

Whatever the reason for the new flag, it features a traditional hat worn by the land's indigenous people. Old Letsie III often sacrifices western celebrities to this violent group in an effort to appease them. Lately he's had his eye on a certain star scheduled to perform there soon.

"Oh, to sabotage Vega to Basotho."

Why stop? If you travel there you will hear the native tongue, with it's excellent capacity for expressing irritation. Unfortunately, it's incredibly tough to learn—but you're sure to end up longing to speak it when confronted with the boulder filled roads, stone beds, and spleen sandwiches.

Oh, to snip in Sotho.

Gubernatorial Air, O Tan Re-Bug

2006-09-29T06:25:00.000-07:00

I don't drive to work, so I've never actually used one of those nifty little cards that let people zip through toll booths without stopping. But the Attorney General's promise to re-vamp the system so drivers can get stock market advice as they enter the Lincoln Tunnel has earned him my support this election.

Spitzer E-Z Tips

His rival is not so daring. And I'm hoping that credit card companies, who stand to profit from the Democratic candidate's plan, will follow my lead:

As I vote, vote. Faso's so safe to veto, Visa.

Blank Generation

2006-08-28T22:27:00.000-07:00

If you're like me, when you see a pile of jewel boxes (hard to use that phrase with a straight face, but there it is—the italics don't do much to soften the blow) that someone has discarded after realizing that their apartment was stuffed with the things and all they actually needed were the discs, you pick them up and take them home. The things cost as much as blank discs and they come in handy when sending music or data through the mail. Of course you can't know what the previous owner was doing with (or to) the boxes, so it's best to fumigate them once you're back in your crib. Certain albums tend to collect more cooties than others. Swab a Laurie Anderson box and it'll always come out sterile. But if you find a GG Allin booklet still in the plastic, best to drop that one directly in a bucket of bleach.

Natural enough, right? But who would have thought that Bambi would have a similar fear of germs, as one local paper reported yesterday? A cub reporter followed a horned beast into the woods and found it sterilizing a small pile of jewel boxes. His editor baulked at the headline. How could he be sure of the species? Eventually, though, he gave in.

"Deer Gases AC/DC CD Cases," agreed?

If You Can't Beat 'Em, Enjoin 'Em

2006-08-25T20:47:00.000-07:00

Some people have a hard time ridding themselves of parasites. Hook worms are notoriously hard to purge from the body. But with enough time and money they can be taught to dance, swim through hoops, play pinochle, and perform other sea monkey like tricks. However, just because a microscopic creature can be trained, doesn't mean it can be taken anywhere. Recently a certain printer magnate went to the beach and was appalled to find out what his hook worm was wearing. He chastised him thusly:

"No Speedo, tame nematode." —Epson.

Those readers who happen to know the true etymology of Epson, please shut up.

Pistol Whipped

2006-08-23T20:20:00.000-07:00

Don't get me wrong. Editors are wonderful human beings who clarify ideas, cut excess verbiage, and make dull prose shine. But when it comes to poetry, sometimes they just don't get it. I, for instance, had once written a brilliant little piece about my days as a vigilante, blowing away thieves who periodically ransacked a neighbor's home after a hurricane. There was a scene in which, overcome with bloodlust and a sense of triumph after nailing one bandit, I place a foot on his dead body and wave my pistol at the sky. But I'm not one to glorify violence so plainly: while taking this victorious stance I am filled with sudden remorse—worry, really—that perhaps I have been seen by disapproving eyes. So I included the watchful gaze of an eagle from above. My editor, of course, didn't understand a thing, and, misunderstanding the symbolism altogether, replaced the bird with a plane.

Retool an ode? Yes, a wing is a sign I was eyed on a looter.

2006-08-22T17:04:00.000-07:00

Having learned that cartoons can be used as powerful political tools, the Bush administration has started a new program to discredit their rivals. The plan? Send spies, disguised as artsy caricaturists, into areas heavily populated by liberals, then have them set up easels and sketch various leaders involved with what they consider dangerous ideas. Residents, according to their forecast, will finally turn with disgust away from rival candidates and welcome republicans with open arms and flowers. One recent order to a high level agent, was recently decoded:

Go bandanaed, draw, oh, Howard Dean, a DNA bog.

2006-08-21T20:49:00.000-07:00

Ever come across one of these proselytizing citrus drinkers of the medical profession? They happen to believe that everyone should eat a grapefruit, or squeeze a tangerine and have a swig, every last day of their lives—to ward off dysentery, cancer, rickets, tennis elbow, you name it. They never tell you that the acid will rot your teeth and probably your stomach too, to say nothing of the brain. Anyway, if you haven’t met one it’s because you probably don’t live in Iceland. There’s not a lot of citrus-fruit-bearing trees in that far off land and the derth attracts the seed preachers. So most of the citrus-a-day conferences happen there, usually in a giant glass structure that sits a atop a cliff—one with water flowing out of its base from two hairy cavernous holes. Well, I’m sure you know what happens at these conferences. Exchanging ideas about nectarine extractions is not what they come for.

Dr. OJ flirts on a nostril fjord

2006-08-19T08:50:00.000-07:00

Ok, I admit it: I haven't actually seen any of the Snakes on a Nose sequels (though I'm sure they're out there, somewhere, somewhere). But there are what you might call prequels already in existence, and they happen to be ever so ripe for palindroming. You'll see for yourself if you're not afraid of clicking on the link below. As it's my job to police YouTube clips for "graphic content," I'm afraid I must report that the film mentioned contains nothing more titillating than several omnivorous canids attacking attractive women. Still, we take what we can get.

Ref: "Foxes on a Kayak? A no sex offer."

2006-08-16T07:28:00.000-07:00

When movies become cult classics before they’ve even been released, you can be sure that there are many spin-offs and sequels to come. In some cases sequels of sequels are already in the works. But an unnamed source was quoted in the news today saying that one of the sequels, which was to take place on the Space Shuttle as it flew over the midwest, has been cancelled :

No "NASA Snakes on a Nose: Kansas" —Anon.

But believe it or not, this film already has at least four episodes in the can, one of which features a group of slithery bureaucratic fellows trying to prevent foreigners from entering the country through the usually legal path:

Visa Snakes on a Nose: Kansas—IV

2006-08-15T17:32:00.000-07:00

The rich and the famous think they can get away with all kinds of vulgarities and offences these days. Mel Gibson's rants—and films—are just the most obnoxiously visible slice of celebrity bigotry. There are slightly subtler forms. The other day I was strolling down the sidewalk when I passed the home of an actress who appeared in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, and Adaptation, among other movies. And what do you think I saw in her yard? A wooden figurine, of Ariel Sharon. Perhaps she thought it funny, but I found it as vile as those little statues of black servants people used to use as lawn art (and still do, surely—somewhere). In fact, I decided to check it out for myself, maybe smash it if I had the chance. So yes, I touched it. But as soon as my finger grazed the figurine, the actress popped out of a shrub, cell phone in hand, and called the cops on me. Trespassing, she said, though I'm sure that you'll agree that her display was the greater offence. In court I felt as put upon as a certain Shakespearean king, but owned up to my "crime" when the judge asked me for the truth.

I, Lear, sir . . . I felt Tilda's sad little fir Israeli.

2006-08-14T15:35:00.000-07:00

Who knew that computer news would provide the world with so many meaningful palindromes? Furthermore, who knew that one of the largest companies in the business was using a soda made from a West Indian shrub with mildly acid cherrylike fruits to power its laptops? And really, who knew that such juice was so highly inflammable?

Dell Acerola Cola Recalled

2006-08-14T07:12:00.000-07:00

When Polish ex-presidents denounce Nobel Prize winners for their suddenly revealed Nazi past the press can be a bit hasty with its headlines. Walesa never actually called for the author to be jailed, as one reporter nearly reported. Luckily, an editor caught the misquote and marked the poofs so that it would be removed.

Del "Lech: 'Grass's SS? Argh! Celled!'"

2006-08-08T15:23:00.000-07:00

There are certain dead presidents that somehow keep up with the latest in computer technology. So whenever I have a techy question, instead of calling up IT, I just break out the Ouija board. As you may know, Apple just came out with its latest and it's put me in a bit of a quandary. I hate to reveal secrets, but here at the POD we rely on a vast army of microbes to help us keep churning out the 'dromes. Many of them use Windows, though, and I have no way of knowing how they would weather the change to the new OS. So I dimmed the lights, slid the puck over the zodiacy symbols and asked old number 16 just what to do.

Abe: Mac Pro for PC ameba?

2006-08-03T19:57:00.000-07:00

It wasn't long ago that I was a mere swab. A lowly status, I know, but compared to the shoddy job performed by my cousins, the brooms, I felt I was really something. I mean, brooms can't clean up anything unless it's dry and loose, and the world just isn't made that way. Mud, spit, spilled cola, blood, vomit . . . need I go on? Sure, you might say I was just a sponge on stick, dunked in bilge and shoved over a surface coated with other people's filth. But I was proud of what I could do: I could change things, decrust the encrusted, bring shimmer and shine to what was once putrid. The point is that I was fairly well full of myself and eventually I came to think I could clean anything, no matter how vile. I didn't realize that vilness is not the only challange for tools of my trade. I had never come up against a purposeful mess. When a group of pranksters, using hair gel, blocked off an entire wing of a building that was under my watch, I realized I had met my match.

Pomade wall awed a mop.

2006-08-01T20:36:00.000-07:00

Everything's been done, they say. But they don't say just how embarrassing it is when you think you've dreamt up something new, then acted it out for millions, only to find out it's entirely old hat. Happened to a friend of mine back in the seventies. She went on one of these old TV talent shows sometime around Christmas and had her pets projectile vomit holiday brew onto the panel of judges. They were not amused—not because they were covered in feline stomach acid, but because they had seen the tired act many times before. In fact, one of them had once performed the routine with his own pets. His recommendation: Go back to that Star Trek reenactment thing you used to do.

Gong! Geek up, Stacy—my cats puke egg nog.

2006-06-06T22:02:00.000-07:00

6/6/06?

Sir, is one more omen Osiris?

2006-06-05T22:16:00.000-07:00

Fundamentalists tend to be a speedy bunch and they have often challenged God's creatures to contests of velocity. Can you imagine the humiliation of being turned down for a competition when lowly beasts are allowed to pit their strength against these religious minded folk?

Deer raced Islamists? I'm Al "Side-car" Reed!

2006-06-03T16:42:00.000-07:00

We all have our ways of digesting the bible. Some of us swallow the whole thing in one gulp, others take it in piece by piece. But however you consume your dose of religion, certain sections are bound to give indigestion—Revelations, say. Sometimes, though, it's a specific edition that goes down wrong, after which it comes right back up.

No, Ed, I gasp. Ruby burps a Gideon.

2006-05-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

When the god of light runs out of batteries he's reduced to using a torch. Sad business, as I'm sure you can imagine. Zeus, however, has some advice: Those cans we stopped using because of that hole in the ozone? Well, they burn good. Real good. Or were those flames the unquenchable spirit of the new typographers? If so, maybe it's time you quit with the Bembo and tried a little Gill Sans for a change.

Fires, Apollo? So, reassess aerosol, lop a serif.

2006-05-28T19:40:00.000-07:00

Is nonsense about nonsense going too far? Is it even impossible? These questions may or may not concern us, but one thing I'm certain of is this: any cobbled together robot outfitted with artificial intelligence has got to be able to spout a steady stream of blather if it wants to be taken for a human. I worry that today's AI programmers, hard at work to make their software understand reason, have forgotten to include the ability to speak without it. Rudimentary programs might work like this.

Start folderol: "I ate tailored loft rats."

2006-05-27T20:15:00.000-07:00

I hate to spoil the ending of the Wooster and Jeeves story I just finished, so I'll try to keep it cryptic. Shortly after the denouement, the butler sums up the day's events in his diary thusly:

Repaid smart rebel, bagged egg-able Bertram's diaper.

2006-05-26T20:14:00.000-07:00

Nobody has solved the first Palindrome of the Day, which was really not all that tough. What do I got to do, give a prize or something? Ok, I will offer a copy of my book and a free t-shirt, of my choice, to whoever solves it first. Shipping and handling included!

There are many strange things in the world, but few are stranger than the mind of the palindromist:

Red dominos, sir . . . Fez, a male Lamaze frisson: I'm odder.

2006-05-25T20:10:00.000-07:00

Have you ever sat down to lunch and thought "How did these Italian sandwiches get here?" I mean, many of the things we eat—chickens, cows, oryx—come about from a little interaction between members of the opposite sex. And yet, I've never seen two sandwiches make love. Perhaps, like humans, they do their thing in private. But where, exactly, is private for a sandwich?

Do paninis sin in a pod?

How I wish that Toyota had named the Prius just a little differently, so the answer could be "Sure, paninis sin in a Perus."

If you are one of those who feel that panini is already a plural (of panino—L.A. rots a panino's son in a pastoral), just take out the ess—it'll still work.

Regardless of where they do it, afterwards they take one of these:

Panini Nap.

2006-05-24T20:48:00.000-07:00

Bear with me. Thars meanin' what can be dug from these words. Say you're hiking up a big mountain and you come across a stray dog accompanied by a small, wandering, type guy with a white beard and a white hat. The journeyman suggests that if you give his pup a moniker you may get lucky in your hunt for a nice home on the hillside (a local superstition). But as it happens, you've already passed the structure he refers to, and you weren't alone at the time either—for days, a devotee of Bacchus, covered in flies, had been following you. Luckily, while gazing upon the house one of its gutters broke, soaking the bacchanalian below. He had to spend some time trying to get dry, allowing you to hurry off. But the event revealed just how rickety and overpriced the house was. And if you're not interested in buying, why would you try to increase your luck in acquiring it by christening the dog? See what I'm saying? Get it? Here's what ya say to the old fool:

Name mongrel? Everest estate wet a tsetse reveler, gnome man.

2006-05-23T15:51:00.000-07:00

". . . or I'll eat my hat" is the usual expression following a pronouncement of certainty. Others, though, proclaim that, if their statments are proven false, they will eat the nearest artist. I, for instance, was certain that no truly wise prisoner held at Guantanamo would ever be shown to the public. I was wrong, it turns out. Behold the consequences:

Sage detainees seen. I ate Degas.

2006-05-22T13:27:00.000-07:00

As always, the betting was fierce. Yet certain spectators were distracted by the splendidly decorated bosoms of their fellow audience members. Their fathers asked them to make a choice between the two spectacles.

Yo! Barbaro or a bra, boy?

2006-05-21T21:20:00.000-07:00

Ah, when little republics claim their independence—what rich material, all that turmoil, for the novelist. Especially the French novelist. Too bad the author of Querelle isn't around to take advantage of the chaos.

Poor Genet, no Montenegro op.

2006-05-20T10:09:00.000-07:00

It's finally happened: In an attempt to gain legitimacy in the eyes of the world, Palestinian leaders have thrown down their arms and taken up lotion instead. They've even gone so far as to name one of their new salves after an old political enemy. Gotta give them credit for that:

Tops to Hamas lab's "Abbas Balsam"—a hot spot.

2006-05-19T18:23:00.000-07:00

Worst Intel Mac scam let nits row.

Let me explain. As you know, there was a lot of yammering and controversy when Apple switched to the new chips. But the real scandal, untold elsewhere, is that the new computers use slave labor. You think it's electricity powering that processor? Nope. Insects. Not even insects—insect eggs. And each one has an oar, pulling for all it's worth, so you can sit at home, surf the web and stumble across—need I say it?—inane blogs like this one.

2006-05-18T11:05:00.000-07:00

Don't follow leaders, watch the parkin' meters.

Set a bad role model: C. Rice sacks Iraq after fret FAQ—a risk-case circle-dome lord abates.

2006-05-17T12:02:00.001-07:00

More penetrating insights on the state of the media today:

Sex at "No spin" Fox is a "six of nips" on taxes.

2006-05-15T23:42:00.000-07:00

A possible explanation for the renewed relations with Gaddafi:

Nike tile? Say, bill Libya's elite kin.

2006-05-15T21:43:00.000-07:00

Not we! NSA ices a case: CIA's Newton.

2006-05-15T08:46:00.000-07:00

Red robots to border!

Bush's new plan to keep out illegal immigrants.

Or construe your own meaning:

Red robots axe Texas: to border!

2006-05-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

Ever heard anyone complain that the government was taking too much of our money? First it was a percentage of everything we bought, they say, then it was a percentage of our hard earned money. Where will it end? Will they penalize us for having overly large body parts?

For some, these worries become obsessions.

Rae fixates on a nose tax, I fear.

2006-05-10T10:52:00.000-07:00

Several members of the house, named and annonymous, are ordered to help with Russia's recent demands (news hounds will understand, anyway).

Ed, Art, Rep: aid Putin's snit: up diaper trade.

2006-05-08T16:21:00.000-07:00

I never thought I'd be chiming in about Tom Cruise's publicity, but . . . if Cruise started to notice that everyone was making fun of him he might just give up and send this note to, say, David Letterman:

To host: on M:i:III, I'm not so hot.

This one would have made a good puzzle, but till someone solves the first one (which ain't that hard), I'm just tossing them on the blog whole.

2006-05-07T20:29:00.000-07:00

More topical palindromes to delight! These of a volcano ("on a clove" and all that, yes) that I once saw erupt with my very own eyes.

No, set, O Merapi lava. Join in, Io, Java. Lip a remote son.
Red 'n' I, Merapi lava, join in. I, O Java, lip a reminder.
Cash? say, Merapi's so "lava Java loss." I pare my ash sac.

2006-05-07T10:49:00.000-07:00

Today's message from Iran to Rice and others:

Ms, I lob meek U.N. nuke embolism.

2006-05-05T15:04:00.000-07:00

An attempt to be topical:

Dude! Porter Goss: I miss ogre trope dud.

2006-05-01T08:20:00.000-07:00

2006-04-27T14:37:00.000-07:00

A woman notices what seems to be a strange growth on her arm. Hypochondriac that she is, she runs off to her dermatologist before the day is over. The doctor takes a graft from her arm and gives it a look under a microscope. The results are a relief: what she thought was cancerous turns out to have been her lunch. As the doctor put it (each dash is a letter):

"-- --------. --- -- - -----."

If you've got the answer, do post it in a comment.