Thursday, July 31, 2008

To Thee False, Do Not Entry

Quoth Trollpop:

And certainly many will try and steer me from the goal. What goal you say? The goal of jubilence! Infused with traces and pieces of both soccer balls, and numerous latinos.

Now I won't go there but if you will that's fine by me.

I won't retrace my steps toe the abode of the hispanic; though valiant and well-mannered in the ancients of quesadilla, it is thorouhgly and utterly devoid of the tact so common to a TrollPop. Accordingly, my fist will make do as something that I can't even see from here cause I mean wow this is long.



So a one two, a one two, a three four and BAM. You're off the map. I bet you are quite surprised at this turn of events. I understand there's much to take in but an adept mind and a discerning spirit will integrate and dissect the maps and quandries of success found scattered amongst this post.

And by George, do I have one large tack up the whammy.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

The Sink Also Draineth

Quoth Janglestein:

True to my word, as surely as the sun has risen a pair since I last wrote, I write now. :-)

I accept your burnt offerings of thanks, and in return dish out fatty lumps of welcomes.


Monday, July 28, 2008

A Hapless Vesicle

Quoth Janglestein:

Eves, afternoons, and goodwill to you all, gents and gentesses :-/ I am good and you are fine.

A summary of my weekend in two photographs:

As you can see, an enjoyable, if dully predictable weekend. "So it goes", sings the Bard. Perhaps next weekend new events will occur.

Prologue aside, I am filled to the bursting point with the labor pangs of curiosity. The question crowning within me is as follows: do all who read my Janglings comment, or do some wither away in silent anonymity? I have birthed this question out of empathy for my dearest Katestein, who comments in loneliness, with no others to accompany herself. Would that there were dozens, nay, bakers dozens of Kates to spring forth from this fertile land and fill my soul with joy innumerable :-D

;khanskruqoi;n m,djq;ruijhlk;43

Ack! Forgive me! I have spilled my mug of pork grease upon the keyboard! Speedily I go to clean it. Till the sun rises twice, happy trails and happier trials to you all.

Friday, July 25, 2008

Bi Viagral

Quoth Bagelstein:

Of community I speak! COMUNITY?

Dost I shouteth in slack tongue. Do you know slack tongue? The tongue I dare say slacks on the flexible skins of cow hide. Yet Digress I do, heartily.

When I was with the representative of Bombay, he took a flower from the ground, exclaiming, "JOVE!"

And I exclaimed.


Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Please Me Twice...

Quoth Janglestein:

...Shame on me.

Wonderful afternoon! :-( Today's will be a brief Jangle, as the sun tells me it is nearly time to slumber -- and my boils affirm this with gentle throbbing.

Today's joke comes from an old friend. "What do you do with an aging father? Drive a stake through his heart" :-D Oh Father, such a funny old man. Where do you get such preposterous janglings?

A thought has appeared to me just as I held the "SHIFT" and "/" key. All of us are, in fact, each other's fathers. And so, the same, are all of us one another's sons. Men, women, trollpop, Daisysteins; all a father to our sons, and sons to our fathers. For a small bits of me resides within all others, and from all others reside in me equally small bits. Bits of Kate, Morning Gruel, Sarah Bellum, and MyFuckingEye reside in my belly. And an equally important piece of myself lies within them.

This is truth. For we are all family. On Father's Day let us all give gifts of fleshy splendor. Let us bathe with one another, as a grown man bathes with his father.

Farewell my sons. Farewell my fathers. It's bath time, and the water is warm :-)

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Ahum hum ho diddly hum

Quoth Janglestein:

I come you to this morn with a metronome in my heart, band on my wrist, drum in my ear, soul in my feet, and a fist in my stomach.

All this to say, the mood which surrounds me is a pleasant one, filled with sound, some of it musical, some of it the sound of a fist in my stomach :-( I trust that you are the same?

This week has been a fruitful one. I will not tell you why, but trust me when I say this; it was likely far more fruitful than your own. I did many things, saw many people, spoke into many a phone, watched many a screen, ate many a food, et cetera, et cetera till the cows come marching home! Oh ho ho, I kid not.

And you, sir or mr.? 8-o

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Title :-\

Quoth Janglestein

Greetings children.

Today's will be a short post, as times are few, hunger rampant, and my bowels a-ready to plunder.

I have thought much this morn, during mine daily post-coital pre-breakfast pondering hour. Some ponderings were pleasant as the milky sun drips its rays upon our knees, some dreary as a wolverine descends his teeth into our loins, but all with a passion that rivals the two angriest of lovemakers. The whips cracked upon the bare backs of my mind, my collared necklace raging against the knowledge which I pursue.

Most ponderances are far, far to deep for such an internet as this to comprehend. But I leave you with one: In which nostril does the soul lie? Choose wisely, lest ye be chosen :-(

Till morrow comes with smiling bits of plendor, I take my leave swifter than a wingless bird takes his life.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Riddle Me Sideways

Quoth Janglestein:

Pork-filled blessings to you all :-\!

This morn, above all other morns, my spine has tingled with the warmth breath of summer upon my pelvis. With a cough of laugher, I awoke covered in the warm, salty dew of sweat. I nearly drowned :-)

Jokes aside, it was a happy weekend, few things considered. I spent many hours pouring over bowls of shrimp cocktail, with mornings of slumber, noons of intoxicating frivolity, and eves of liquor and toast as my mind performed vaudeville acts aplenty, G-rated and otherwise ;-). 

But enough about myself. How was your weekend? It was mediocre and wholly unremarkable. You lazed about the barnyard over the afternoons, and during night wandered through the city, meeting old acquaintances you rather not had met. You watched small amounts of television, drank a glass of wine or honeydew juice, and slumbered upon the couch.


Sunday, July 13, 2008

The Temporal Transom

Quoth Wafflestein:
Once in a great while there comes, in lieu of progress, a reconsidering of pre-existing ideology so radical that it permanently redefines the course of the discipline, shedding a new light on all subsequent additions and revealing meaning and importance that the original authors were entirely unaware of. It would appear, then, that the importance of time is greatly overstated: that in fields such as these, ideas exist beyond time. It is as though each day is given a single room, and those rooms subsequently line an infinite hallway, and each room has a receiving slot from the day before, and a drop box for the next, and information is transferred thusly. The doors to these rooms are permanently locked, but the transom above is open, and pieces of the grandiose ideas that fill the hallway drift through at random, where they are interpreted in accordance to the past, and passed on to the future. What great pieces of this puzzle have been lost in the past, and what revelations await us in the future? How will we be redefined?
- Haager, The Temporal Transom
To this work of genius, I have nothing to add. I can only suggest that you purchase a copy and read it in full: Haager's introduction only scratches the surface. May the blissful ear-dwellings of lore haunt you gently. Let your soul remain un-pierced by the modern hour.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

9 In. And It's Path To Divinity

Quoth Trollpop:

Forthcomingly, this paragon of a 24 hour period has perplexed me with the shining and the shimmering of it's light. The sun rises and falls and only the vast earthphiles that inhabit it can gaze on its bagel-shaped divinity. Oh what holy divinity! What might that soars from the rays of the great ball and how its fires strike us with the fury of 108 degrees celsius! What being so magnificent and rotund, quivering with the calories and fat of 5,000,000 ho-ho's, could render the lifeless into Juicemageddon(the juice only for children, albeit composed of the great peach nectar, as sir Master Arthur of the Public Broadcasting fame has taught us for many moons)?? The answer: We know this is how it is meant to be.

And now: the earthphile questions "why"?

Such a question is an engima in itself, a delightful nugget of dark chocolate pudding. Pudding that enraptures our spirits with life and <3, until we burst with the most fanciful of twirling. To undertake the role of spiritual master is difficult, and the way is hidden. To uncode the meanings and puzzles of a Trollpop is akin to removing the arms of a massive gorilla. This gorilla has been lashed 80 times by his cruel Lion-man, and has been force-fed a variety of hallucinogens and marijuana filled fudge cakes for days on end. And a man would dare attack this sadistisc BAMF(see: book) machine? Oh only the most n0ble and intoxicated of you fascinating lot would attempt such an idealistic manuever. But hear the words.....the sweetest of ribs and the whitest of Wonderbread awaits you masculine, six pack totin', runtmeisters. And my own title and eyelids have been staked on this bet.

The chirping birds above me are whailing to remove the eggs from their hatches, so my way must continue in their direction. I will uncover the curtains from behind my eyes to dispel the darkest of felines that would steal my rightful snack. Through many fists to their eyeballs, the victory will be held in my knuckles until I rejoice and partake in an erotic eat-fest of the orgasmatrons known as blue jay eggs. Fine thee well 0 beautiful followers(Katestein is blessed above many and shall be made empress # 34 of the kingdom), my journey began 8 hours past. Or something. ( | )8p

Friday, July 11, 2008

Methinks a Cupid

Quoth Janglestein

Jovial salutations to my fellow trollpop!

Stuffed-jalapeño welcomes and a hearty round of "hello's" to other readers.

Today, as I lay in my loincloth amidst my bed of daffodils, I wondered to myself -- why am I here?

Of course, the answer came quickly, as vomit follows a gag or I follow a woman down an empty night alleyway. I trust you all know the answer; I will not bore you with the luscious details.

All this to say, I am wistfully craving the taste of cold beef stew in the morning. But alas, my cupboards are barren :-(.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Ding Dabbling

Quoth TrollPop:

Friend of nations, I bring you here today to witness me and this keyboard bring fruition to concepts. Bangin' concept?!?! Of course! what could be expected but the biggest bang of humdrumstrums?!

Nothing naturally. will see hair standing on end and risen up above the height of the individual, and rising high it will stand erect! (the word erect is finealicious) But the story must be told.

Frankler and Betty worked hard in the Island that Feldman had invested $3 million in. Feldman required a mere centimeter of earthly pleasure from the two, and the deal would be intact and in fact. Now though, Frankler was disturbed at this and wandered in the plains of forever with his celestial cat. Frankler road to and fro on Frankie J the cat and took Betty to his favorite resting spot: tree stumps. Betty and Frankler established their contract of love-making in the matter of minutes and seconds before Feldman was astonished at this sight!"

"CURSES ALMIGHTY! Such an elegant aroma of iced charged shots has not excited this bratwurst since the turn of the last centerfold!" , said President Feldman.

I too was offended. And thus, I concluded our tale. Frankler and Betty were found ejected in pieces from the rectal cavity of Frankie J the following morning. We mourn them to this day. :-( However, all is not lost children. I know you eyes weep scarlet beads of h20 but this is essential to the cause. It is unfortunate but true forthcoming. In another age, I would have purchased strawberry shortcake for you and any and all one eyed behemoths(Daisystein ranks as top priority in my list of Criminal Terrors), but my funds run low like the breasticles of woman 80 years in lifetime(Admittedly, Channel 52).

Piece of advice for you dingos; throw it in the oven. God. >:-\

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

What the F*CK is juice?

Quoth Bagelstein

What is juice? what are tomatoes filled with seeds beneath hobsobbery unlike the clitoral regions of our liking? Jewy fornication is apparent in the world driven by cars, hair, cars, hair, etc.

Jolly times and fagotry burn away lustly sticks into oblivion, while apery in the purest house, commences on morrow on the day. You just witness the grand chiasmus enter upon a dimmer hold of cavernous dungeony, like that place in france where all women are like monkeys. While Senior White Face is trimmed to fit a new tupe, I say no to Fornication on orange smoothie rubbish, why is fuel on the debate of cows?


Sing the Acute, Right, and Obtuse Angels, Joy Joy Joy

Quoth Janglestein

It is with joy a-plenty and asparagus a-few that I have found, this morn, that my internets have not been, nor likely will be, refused passage onto Sarah Nielson's refuge of Charms and Wits alike. As I gaze now upon the open expanse of land surrounding me, the vast soil upon which my comments, like potatoes, grow fertilely, I am struck with a large, beefy smile, and tears of fearsome pride.

I give passionate thanks to Sarah Bellum for granting me this privilege. May it go unpaid for centuries :-/!


Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Fearsome, Loathsome, Jetsam

Quoth Wafflestein
Know this: we trollpop are legion. And as passage of day cascades into duty-less and (dare I say) quintessential night, let the strength of our numbers guide you into a firm respite of tabulation. But let not this apparent victory get beyond our collective spirit and arise into a cadence of inter-jubilational thought; for this course of action is unwarranted, unremedied (and I dare say unremediable), and premature.

 A stipulation of our key assets yields the dire truth: though much is to be celebrated, for the day is indeed a glorious one, and every second reeks upon the eyes a sight so heavenly, celebratorial, so positively incandescent, so transcendent of our sullen and tear-stricken abode that we so graciously choose to call "home," though all these things must hold key place in our hearts and minds as wonderful, perhaps even magical, we must not lose sight of our future, of the trials we have yet to face, of the glory we have not yet surpassed.

Fellow trollpops, gentle steins, dear readers of questionable origin and unquestionable taste, indigenous mountain peoples, generational fishermen of the Greater Antilles, purveyors of modern fashion, this is for you. Veterinarians, soulless slaves to corporate America, humble handsome cab drivers, belligerent school teachers, this is for you. Coin-operated laundry machine repairmen, I'm sorry, but your time has not yet come. But to the rest I say, rise, and join in the liberation of our noble dogma, join and excel in the exhortations, in the exultations, in the exacerbations of our ex-communicated and extraneous expatriates. Give rise to hollers that would shake mountains, crumble castles, and pulverize the very core of our society's finely hand-crafted pillars of oppressive anti-restitutional inflammatory condemnation. As it is written:
The Day is anon
And the hour is night
The noble, with rapiers
Thrust to the sky

In pillars of darkness
In chariots of night
The cold and the listless
The champions of light

Against every treason
Each angular foe
Shall hasten the season
and truncate the woe

The cries of the vanquished will cease
And peace will come gently
With the evening breeze

- Sturmond, Visions VI-XII
As hopelessly romantic as Sturmond's poetic utterances may be, there is truth in them that bears innumerable repeating: we have not lost. Our hope is not unfounded. There is room in the great ocular contrivance that is modern society for our kind.

Or one could read them as the deranged ramblings of a near-dead and surely near-demented bartender-cum-prophet. No interpretation is incorrect, except perhaps your perception of what, exactly, "deranged" entails. Strip the language of our own prejudices and connotations, and you may find more truth there than you had expected.

Now isn't that something to think about. :-/
"The only words I've ever regretted were these. Without them, I would be eternally content."
- Culver, Of Age and Amnesty

Monday, July 7, 2008


Quoth Janglestein

Missy Snielson and his gang of piratey followers have mistaken my wiseacre janglings as threats and insults, and many are now calling for the immediate blockage of my internets from gracing her fair site.

I pray this does not happen. The hearty wink of Mr. Captain Daisy, tales of wit and charm, hermaphroditic man-lady action movies, and glorious daily revelries never cease to fill my soul with sweet buttery joy, and a hint of cinnamony sorrow.

I will gravely miss them all if deed be done, and pray that Mr. Bellum will see the error of her ways and hold no sword to my vocal chords.

:-( Happy days no more.

:-) Or are they?

Beyond Geodudes and the Graveler Within

At long last children, the jinglestein makes his first appearance. Be not filled with trepidation, but rather feel the warm tidings carried within my loins spout onto your face, and be merry. This is a kind and gentle liquid, embrace it and become one. Is your heart not squeezed within a glass alcove in your chest so as to feel the flit of butterfly wings and the sour graze of first love in the fields of abundance? Is not the glistening pool of radiance enough to clip the toenail of God? And what a glorious clipper it is! Evolving from a mere sapling (or pupa if you will) into a fawning fledgling with the nectar of life sitting in his stomach and pervading his nubile body. Unto you I say, the sick and soulless, those without specks of future children in their eyes, wrap star anise pods about your bosom and kick the hoary old door of life ajar! What lies between the wax and wan is key, the mooning night sky flushes red with the blood of embarrassment and lights up the firmament in a blaze of menstrual glory. For this I deserve perdition? For this I am sent to rot amongst the nogoodnicks in some long forgotten gallows, to have my once lustrous tresses turn grey and my skin turn pallid and ghostly? It is all you who should be damned! You who suckle at your mothers teat with no regard for those lying in a gutter aching for a drop of the milk of human kindness to grace their tongues before retiring to the fecal chamber from whence they came!

All of this to say, don't trade away your Graveler, for he shall become a Golem and gain an unsavory temperament :-/.

Leik neo peost

Shit, a geodude! that was hunger who dingo said.

Nine times has the cola gone down the uterus of despair only to end up in the presence of then grenat cactus. Uteri have many despairs with thm colas which have so many times ended in wonders and joyfulnesses. Sometiems the golems comes out of the geodudes when they get put into the other despair after gravels. This has happened.

But otherwise noted that the plate is now dirty with tomatoes because all the other things have been eaten away and the napkin also now has tomatoes and is really a paper towel.

This has been great dingocactus and sorrows,
Trollpop Kriegstein. <3

Sunday, July 6, 2008

A Clean and Hearty Meal

Quoth Janglestein:

Greetings, brethren and sistren, to a beautiful Sunday morn. I awoke with the ejaculations of the great yellow Orb dribbling down mine face through the window above, and in its warm slimey splendor, I pondered -- "What breakfast cereal does the sun's gooey warmth taste like?"

The answer should be obvious. 1 part Kashi, 1 part Fruit Loop, and 3 parts avocado.

Alas! I have set loose a flood of blasphemies lurking beneath the implications of this noticing.

At the risk of death by stake, I will leave the Great Truth unsaid, and for your own male, female, Snielson, commadore Luke Perry, janitorial, Winky-Faced Pug, immaculate dragon eyes to piece together.

It is a long, fruitful ride, teaming with leeches. But the rewards are terrible :-(

Friday, July 4, 2008

Independence, Frenchies, and other Apery

I was at zoo, and the world was restless! how not i know not, for I am a knowing of nothing! Since my days in Europe I have asked many a monkey, of french descent, whom I know not the knowing of not the now knowing. AhA! what am I Irish?

Since this morning what I have to offer in this world other than thoughts, candied with anticipation. I CAN NOT EAT MY THOUGHTS! I drown in despair, frenchy and thorough with letters not needed.

Though the morning air was not pleasant, the 4th of Independence ruled my day. Shall I rue it in anticipation of the tyranny at hand? I am not a jew of choice, but a Jew of contradictorily independence, my words unconformable to my jewness.

Monkeys are flatulent... can you?

Pass gassy bills of dependence on independence please! They are restless and simian!

Oh happy day!

Quoth Janglestein

As I awoke this fourth of January morn, my heart sank with glee.

I speak, of course, of freedom.

FREEDOM -- свобода in the Russian tongue,. Tis the feeling that musters within my loins whenever I perchance a gander at mine nation. Tis the liquid that flows forth from my belly week after week, tis the digestive fluid of mine soul, eating away at the bars of establishment which I have swallowed.

FREEDOM. O! All negro slaves and busdriving cattle rejoice! Have you heard the news? The sky lights up with flames of jubilation, and my own intestines groan with a crescendoing pleasure just the same, as if each work of fire were combusting within my liquidy belly. With each series of blue and red lines painted in the night sky, joy bursts from every hole in my body like a geyser.

I am speaking, of course, of Pecan pie.


Wednesday, July 2, 2008

The Tremor Cometh

And so, incidentally, are the ravaged angels. You see, a purveyor of truth, knowledge, justice, peace, prosperity, hope, restfulness, hope (both unexpressed and otherwise), loyalty, and decay, such as myself, can not hope but pause and take brief notice of the tragedy that has befallen, not only our lovely (if not desolate) homeland but, in a manner of speaking, the entirety of the great race of noble savages which embodies the modernist spirit. By tragedy, of course, I am referring the the regrettable incident in which our own metaphorically gymnastic Cambrianites (though to call them such to their face would warrant much opposition, and rightly so I might add, but that is surely the fruit of another discussion at another time) have systematically opposed and oppressed (and hitherto driven a damn sight near annihilation) not only our own sight (for we see strongly in number, and stronger in isolation) but the very foundations of truth upon which we have founded ourselves. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Perhaps a backstory would be fitting.

For those unenlightened, it is important here to note that the Encyclopedian Uprising of the latter part of Tumultuous Decade (it is with much chagrin that I succumb to such troglodytic phrasing, but I feel that the most fitting terminology is that which our own counter-axial-culture has adopted) did not end with an assassination of enlightenment, though such an incident did undoubtedly take place on the infamous December morning, but continued throughout the annals of history and time in an unfitting and begrudgingly egalitarian manner until the present day. As such, our own values of truth and justice, which I unabashedly champion, have been under a three-pronged attack for the better part of this post-indentational period.

And so the present stand-still, where on one side you have the unequivocally masculine Higher Order, and on the other side you have the unbeknownst modern serfs, swarming in a sea of their own ignorance and destruction, which would undoubtedly lead to their own demise if unchecked but which they, as a genuinely misguided breed of antagonist, have failed to see.

But to state these things in such absolutist terms is a fallacy and a travesty on my behalf. I believe that with a clearer lens of truth we can melt through all forms of overlying conflict and see the heart of the matter: the golden olive branch of chastity has been rejected in exchange for the superficially analogous onion of celibacy, which has in turn become an idol of unexpected proportions and elevated to the status of oracle. To view the conflict from this perspective, it becomes a battle between Baruchianism and Post-Manicheanistic Duality, and is not so much a recent development as it is a vicious battle that has raged for centuries under the guise of civilization-building, conquest, and fine art. That every member of the general public is caught on one side or another, completely unaware of the odds they are at with half of the population, is tragic, and can only be fixed by modern enlightenment.

A proper deconstruction of recently lauded texts (even those disguised as fiction, for what is fiction but a level of abstraction separating the meat and bones of the author from ourselves?) reveals that the balance has hardly shifted, and this is to be expected: that such an ancient and ominous battle should meet its end in the present day is laughable on the surface and reaches in its core to pure temporal fallacy. The new is not new.

Gird yourselves.

Look henceforth towards the starry drawl
Such ignorance of Hamathel
and in a lost and battered maw
such hope is strewn towards blissful hell

- Moore, From Iron Night Stirred

A Gift for Daisy Nielson

Upon speaking with Nielstein and his lavish reptile Daisy, it is my grave duty to inform him that his picture was destroyed upon posting, and my gift rendered useless.

So I recreate it, in the off chance that his Pugnicity herself will enter into our midsts, see my humble offering, and wag his cloister in jubilation.

......daisy..........................|..... _............. _........~....~.....|
~~~--------( :o) )............._|.....|_)..| . |....|_......O.....O.....|

A Den Of Moles

I bear greetings of the lovings here to all of you. I am terrific and I know you are too.

I thank so much to you for visiting this humble and highly androgynous den of freedom. Here is the freedom. Now...consciously, many will ask whether this "here' is the blog. I will leave this to open air. I do not like impacting others with hubble-lubbery that ruins a reader's imagination! Your brain will decide on its own 10 minute break whether this is so!

Concordantly, I will discuss so many things that I do hope your brain will not be rattled outside of it's skull. But this has happened before so I won't talk about it. :-\

First and foremost, I will speak of plums and pears. They are.........


I mean, what deity could dream of this magnificence so much to where, it's, it just pours delicious into your nostrils and tongue and you just explode with ecstasy. I would trade every limb on me for 5 human-sized pears and plums and those limbs would be donated to the african children in countries beyond europe, eurasia, and constantinople.

Now Constantine was a fascinating man. He ruled with his Christianity like a thumb pricked by needles and flying creatures. Much like flying creatures, there are indeed fair-skinned folk who contain beetle wings in their hive backs. These beetle wings are angelic in nature, and excrete fine silk webbing that traps preys before they attack. Their fluttering wings carry them into the clouds, the most beautiful of clouds. And into amusement parks. Which you say? Ah, I love telling you. ;-) They are are follows: Disneyworld, Coney Island, Claim Jumper.

Claim Jumper is a slippery slope for these fine moore-ish buglings. Since the rides are coated with A1 and BBQ sauce, their footing becomes erratic and unstable, at times causing many to leave to a much less formidable steakhouse. But the strong survive and carry to withstand the torrent of the sweet tang of Barbeeq. Those who triumph find themselves laughing and giggling uncontrollably at the delight of beef smells and burgers and potatoe coasters unknown to the wing-less vermin that consists of most humanphiles.

But now. I have said too much and you must sleep. Goodnight planet. I will see you again shortly.