(Nuclear Photo-Disintegration, by J. S. Levinger.  Oxford University Press.  1960.)

This book contains discussions of methods of calculation for atomic and nuclear photo-effects; the deuteron photo-effect; sum-rule calculations for nuclear photo-disintegration; and a bunch of other stuff a little bit over the heads of some of you.  Nevertheless, we can assume it’s important.  And if any parts of the book are obsolete because of the passage of time, that’s okay.  Ideas sometimes go out of favor and then come back, so you never know.

Chapter One is “Interactions Between Charged Particles and Radiation.”  There are three ways to measure this sort of thing: the Heisenberg approach; the perturbation-theoretic approach in which the electromagnetic field is treated classically; and the approach of quantum electrodynamics.  The author likes the second approach best, and I agree with him.  You have some nice classical music going in the background, you’re going to do a better job.

There are a lot of equations of oscillator strength, but they’re mainly a waste of time.  If you’ve got an oscilloscope, you can see with your own eyes what the strength is.  It doesn’t have to be exact.

The author points out that from the orthogonality of spherical harmonics, the final state must be a P state in agreement with the well-known selection rule Delta l = plus or minus 1.  The Clebach-Gordon coefficients explain this, as you probably know.

Siegert’s theorem is a good thing to learn, but I can’t write it out here.  You can look it up somewhere and carry it in your wallet, because you never know when it might come in handy.

Early workers on photo-disintegration measured the partial cross sections for production of one radioactive nucleus or another, mainly to keep themselves employed.

Chapter Two is “Photo-Disintegration of the Deuteron.”  You can’t even buy deuterons anywhere, so I don’t see the point, really.  The author points out that “measurements using continuous bremsstrahlung spectra do not have to be treated by the photon-difference method.”  Okay, big deal.  I think the author is showing off a bit with this bloated German terminology.  I never even heard of bremsstrahlung spectra (although the amazing thing is that the spell-check on this page isn’t even flagging it!).

On page 38 there is a graph about the deuteron photo-effect.  It goes up, then slides down, and then it recovers a bit and then drops off.  But what happens after that?  I mean, the universe doesn’t come to a stop just because a graph does.  We’re dealing with huge power here, people.  This could be dangerous.  These scientists have to watch everything going on in their labs.  Any distraction — especially female — could result in an explosion.  On page 47 there’s another graph that’s heading toward the upper right at a sharp angle.  Where’s that going to?  Jupiter?  This one is based on the calculation of deSwart and Marshak.  We don’t know those guys.  They could have been Commies.  Hey, it’s no joke.  This was during the Cold War.  Science labs were crawling with spies and traitors passing stuff to the Russkies.  Now, of course, it’s the slitty-eyed Chink bastards we have to worry about.

There’s a section on Mesonic effects, which may be related to Freemasonry, so I recommend that you just skip over it.

Chapter Three is “Sum-Rule Calculations.”  Now bear in mind that when this book was written, pocket calculators hadn’t even been invented yet.  We all used slide rules.  So this is sort of a nostalgia chapter.  The author says, “While Migdal’s calculation was stated in terms of a collective model of protonic and neutronic fluids, it applies equally well to the ‘shell model’ of two perfect Fermi gases.”  Yeah, the Fermi gases were cool in those days.  I remember this prof in atomic physics who was so into Fermi gases that everyone knew that’s what his exams would be on, so we all got A’s.  This prof also had this novelty necktie with four different designs, and he could put it on so as to show any one of the four designs.

There’s another real threatening chart on page 55, and I know that if I had the time, I could use it to make some kind of energy weapon and I could zap all the ugly wogs on Sherbourne Street (and all the obnoxious gamers here in the lounge with me right now).  I’m sure the U.S. government has some exotic weapons they’re not telling us about.

There’s a long discussion on the shell model, which nobody really uses any more, but it brings back memories of the good, old days.

Chapter Four is “Discrete Transitions.”  The author refers to a lot of other people who supposedly agree on this stuff.  When everyone agrees on something, that’s when you should be suspicious.  I didn’t like this chapter too much.

Chapter Five is “The Total Cross Section For Photon Absorption.”  There’s a real scary chart on page 81, which I will not even attempt to describe.  It’s about the energy peak due to photon absorption by the “valence neutron”, and a high energy “giant dipole resonance” due to excitation of the core nucleons.  This actually explains global warming and a lot of other things, like why your audio cassettes get snagged in cheap cassette players and also why certain races commit more crime.  The author doesn’t mention any of this, but you can take it from me that it’s for real.  I’ve done my own research.

There’s a spectacular graph on page 89, and you have to turn the page sideways to view it.  The Neutron number goes from 20 to 150.  That’s as much as they could fit on the page.  (Over 150, I don’t even want to know what happens!)  The graph is taken from Okamoto, who I think did special effects for some of those Japanese monster movies.

Chapter Six is “Products of Nuclear Photo-Disintegration.”  Well, we know what they are, don’t we?  It’s mainly photons.  They get spun off in all directions and make pretty colors.  The author gives us some equations, but you don’t have to use them.  All they mean is that the protons fill up the closed shells to the quantum number N.  Another product is neutrons.  The lower energy ones have an isotropic angular distribution, so you don’t have to worry about them.  The higher energy ones can do some damage, like if they come out of a bomb or something, so you have to wear a lead suit or be ten miles away.  Other products only show up on rare occasions, and you won’t have to deal with them in everyday life.

There’s a long Bibliography and Author Index, and also a Subject Index.  They’re both good, and the alphabetical order is correct.

At the time Oxford University Press published this book, they had a lot of foreign offices, including Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras in India; Karachi, Pakistan; Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia; Accra, Ghana; Ibadan, Nigeria; and Nairobi, Kenya.  This shows a lot of confidence by the publisher in these inferior people, who apparently have not benefited too much from this book.

Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

Reminder: my French book, Villes Bigrement Exotiques, is still in print.  Published by Le Dilettante (Paris).  


Tara Reid, the star of Sharknado, was surfing off Huntington Beach, California, when she was attacked and eaten by a mako shark.  Later, the shark was caught by fishermen and ended up in King’s Fish House, in Huntington Beach.  Several friends of Tara Reid — Cassie Scerbo, Jaason Simmons, Ian Ziering, and Karen O’Hara — ate shark for dinner at King’s Fish House, not realizing that they were eating the very same shark that had eaten Tara.

Within a month, all four of the friends were also killed and eaten by sharks, and those sharks were caught and ended up on the dinner plates of friends of theirs at various King’s Fish House restaurants, of which there are several in California.

This is not a coincidence.  There is actually some sort of universal cosmic law that governs these things, although I forget what it’s called.  (“Recurrence” or “transference” or something.)  Anyway, it’s a real law that exists, so don’t complain to me about these tragedies.  The shark attacks are probably still going on, but I haven’t been keeping up with the news, and it’s not my problem anyway.

State Assemblyman Travis Allen, who represents Huntington Beach, asked me to work him into this story, and he even said he’d reward me.  However, as you can see, the action is over, and there’s no way I can work him in without, you know, like, upsetting the style or craftsmanship or whatever.  All I can say in his behalf is that I totally don’t believe in that alleged video of him smoking crack with some drug dealers.  The newspaper in question (which I won’t even name, but you know which one I mean) has been getting a lot of mileage out of this bogus story, but they have yet to show this alleged video on their website.  They claim they’ve seen it and they’re negotiating with the owner to buy it, but I think it’s a fake.  This paper has always been against Travis Allen, so that explains it.  Travis is a good guy.  He laughed when I said, “A lot of Californians are no deeper than their tans.”  He said it was true but he could never say that publicly.

David Michael Latt and Anthony C. Ferrante may or may not have been eaten by sharks yet.  If anyone has any information that they have, I would be happy to know.

Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

Reminder: my French book, Villes Bigrement Exotiques, is still in print.  Published by Le Dilettante (Paris).

(Beyond Aesthetics: Confrontations With Poststructuralism and Postmodernism, by Stuart Sim.  University of Toronto Press.  1992.)

All you people with short attention spans who can’t read more than the first sentence of anything can fuck off and die.  I curse you.  This is the first of a series of Brainiac Book Reviews, which will be like beacons of brilliance in a brain-dead world.  Sometimes I’ll be in a good mood, and sometimes not.

Everyone who’s left, we’re going to talk about this book.  Or rather, I’ll talk and you shut up till I’m finished.  You’re the reader, so you read my text.  My text is also reading you, because I have super powers as a writer and intellectual.  My words could kill a sheep under the right circumstances.

If you opened this book randomly and read a bit of it, you’d probably go, “What the fuck is this bullshit?”  That’s why you need me to explain it to you in simple terms.

Let’s start with the front cover.  It’s got a chair, a glass of wine on the floor, and either a window with a tree outside or a picture of a tree.  Very tricky.  But I figured it out.  It’s a picture, not a window, because there’s no part of it you can open and close.  Ha!  What’s it all mean?  Beats me.

You should always read the back cover because it tells you something about the book and the author.  The book is about the philosophy of Jacques Derrida, Jean-Francois Lyotard, Jean Baudrillard, and somebody who isn’t French.  It’s good to see the French getting into heavy egghead stuff, and probably they’re competing with the Germans.  The Germans are pretty heavy, and you should read my series “Roots of German Philosophy”, elsewhere on this blog page.  Personally, I think the French can duke it out with anyone, except in war.  The back cover says, “Stuart Sim treats poststructuralism and postmodernism as forms of anti-aesthetics and contextualizes the movements within a longer-running tradition of anti-foundationalism and radical scepticism in Western philosophy.”  I guess that’s okay.  We’ll give it a try.  Stuart Sim teaches English at the University of Sunderland, which is one of those small and not-very-good universities that they have a lot of in England.

Okay, so these Frenchmen are going to take us beyond aesthetics.  And where will we end up, exactly?  We’ll be looking around and saying, “Hey, what the fuck!  We don’t got no fucking aesthetics!  How are we supposed to make value judgments?”  Is that good or bad?  I don’t know.  But you have to be brave to go there.  Steve, who works in the warehouse, would say that it’s all shit, but he’s illiterate, so what are his value judgments worth anyway?  We should at least try to go beyond aesthetics, just to show we made the effort.  If it doesn’t work out, okay, whatever.  We can come back.  But you don’t know unless you try, right?  This is what separates real people from unreal people.

The first chapter is called “The Limit of Philosophy?”  It’s short, which helps.  Lyotard is quoted as saying “I don’t give a damn.”  I find that encouraging.  The author, Stuart Sim, says, “The aim of this study is to maintain a sense of tension between the negative and positive readings of the two projects (poststructuralism/postmodernism and socialist/materialist critical theory).”  I guess that’s the only way to find out which one is more fucked.  This makes me think of those beggars who hold the door open for you at Burger King.  They just want your money, and they’ll say anything socialist/materialist to get it.  So I maintain the tension by doing the poststructuralist/postmodernist thing and telling them they don’t need money or food because it’s all in their mind.

Now let me say something about this Jacques Derrida fellow.  He might be all right, although it’s hard to tell what the fuck he’s talking about, but everybody I ever met who is into him is a total wanker, and I wouldn’t trust their cooking either.  Never eat food that has been prepared by a follower of Derrida.  He might think that salmonella only happens to materialists and that if you deconstruct it, it can’t make you sick.  As for Derrida himself, his main thing is “not quite philosophy on a path to nowhere.”  So don’t pack a suitcase.  You’re not going very far geographically, just beyond aesthetics.  Professor Irwin Corey summed it up best, I think, when he said, “I feel more like I do now.”

In Chapter 2, we learn that poststructuralism is a philosophy of resistance.  Down with totality!  Derrida is edging toward Marxism of the Althusserian-structuralist variety, which is the worst kind because they never come right out and say they’re fucking Commies.  “Any approval from that quarter for his oppositional, almost guerilla-like stance would be swiftly undercut, however, by recognition of the manifestly Nietzschean ‘eternal recurrence’, overtones of ‘interminability’.”  I figured as much.  So if you can use a bus transfer twice, do it, and fuck the Transit Commission.  The bus isn’t worth $3 with all the rabble you get jammed in with who stink of garlic, and the drivers are way overpaid.  The guys in the warehouse agree with me on this, but the foundationalist bosses don’t.  Well, just wait till a fucking asteroid crashes into the earth and then see what good your foundationalist philosophy does you.  The whole world will get deconstructed, and it’ll be postmodern, poststructural, post-industrial, and post-everything-else.  Build an underground shelter and stock it with food.  And have a gun.  So I think maybe Derrida and his gang might be on the right track, even if the track stops at a station where the toilets don’t work.  “The postmodernist philosopher’s task, as Lyotard sees it, is one of disruption.”  Just don’t do that in court or you’ll get in trouble.

Chapter 3 is “Foundationalism and Antifoundationalism.”  I’m going to be on the side of antifoundationalism for the time being because it has more syllables and sounds better.  And I like to be against things, like high taxes on tobacco and alcohol, as well as all three levels of government.  The author brings in Hume and Hegel.  I wrote about Hegel in my series “Roots of German Philosophy”, so you know how I feel about him.  I have no opinion whatsoever about Hume, although he’s probably a wimp, because I knew somebody else named Hume who was a wimp.  The author tells us, “If radical scepticism almost inexorably moves down an antifoundational path, its negative critique leaving us with no fixed points of reference by which to construct systems of thought with any real sense of confidence, then dialectics and phenomenology, initially at least, seem to provide a resolution of the foundationalist dilemma.”  But that’s if  it moves that way.  If it doesn’t, then what?  Then I guess the foundationalists either have to resolve their dilemma another way or else just forget about it.  If there’s no dilemma, they should be glad they got off easy this time.  They just better not rely all the time on dialectics and phenomenology to bail them out, because I can say from experience that most of the time they’re useless.  Take the Leafs, for instance.  How far have they gotten in recent years with dialectics and phenomenology?  Nowhere near a Stanley Cup, that’s for sure.  They’re lucky if they make the playoffs.  And they usually get beaten by the Bruins.  This year they might do better, but we’ll just have to wait and see.  (I don’t want to get e-mail on this.  Don’t bother me.)

Chapter 4 is not too interesting.  You can skip it.  It’s called “Derrida and the Deconstruction of Metaphysics.”  Now, as I said, I have nothing against Derrida personally.  If he wants to deconstruct metaphysics, that’s his business, although I don’t see how that helps the world much.  I’d rather go out on the street and deconstruct the heads of stupid Filipino boys who are always spitting.  Do we really want to deconstruct metaphysics?  How do you think the metaphysicians feel about that?  They’d say it’s not very nice.  Suppose somebody decided to deconstruct plumbing.  What would happen?  All the plumbers would be out of work, and there’d be so toilets or sinks.  I’d rather see Derrida go after those OPSEU bastards — the Ontario Public Service Employees Union, which is controlled by a cabal of militant lesbian bitches.  They have their offices on Wellesley Street, and the door is always locked, and there’s a sign that says, “This is a scent-free building.”  In other words, they don’t want men smelling like men and women smelling like women.  They want to obliterate gender distinctions to maintain their power.  One time I went to their front door and blew cigar smoke through the crack.  That was cool!  Anyway, at the end of the chapter we find out that “metaphysics shakes but does not fall,” which is good news for those who have to make a living from it.

Chapter 5 is better as it has violence.  It’s called “Derrida as Critic.”  The author quotes from Harold Bloom, who refers to “the violent truth of reading.”  So reading should be violent.  Just make sure you’ve paid for the book.  And don’t get into a fight with an obnoxious tranny nigger in the library, or you’ll get thrown out like I did.  Later we are told that, according to Derrida, this violence is the act of displacement, whereby we are wrenched away from contemplation of the text and its particular narrative sequence.  So somebody tears the book out of your hands while you’re reading.  But that hardly ever happens.  Derrida should’ve watched NHL hocky.  Then he’d know something about violence.  People love it.  On the other hand, they wouldn’t understand somebody taking a book away from somebody else.  So this chapter is a bit weird.

Chapter 6 is called “Hartman, the Pun and Deconstructive Criticism.”  This is supposed to be funny.  Take this, for example: “Staying within the bounds of syntax may be a tacit admission by deconstructionists of an inescapable binary relationship within discourse — determinacy/indeterminacy.”  I’m not sure which word is the pun (maybe “syntax” as “sin tax”), but it’s kind of funny, maybe slightly.  Not as funny as this one, though: What’s a paradox?  Answer: two doctors.  Ha!

In Chapter 7 we get into “Lyotard and the Politics of Postmodernism.”  Lyotard says, “Philosophy is the West’s madness,” which is the smartest thing anyone has said so far.  This guy predicted that those slitty-eyed Chinese Commie bastards would be stealing our secrets by computer hacking.  He also says, “The little narrative remains the quintessential form of imaginative invention.”  He treats it as a subversive tactic in the war against the totalitarianism of metanarrative.  Just like me!  Like for instance, all this bullshit about native Indians being the victims of the white man is a typical bogus metanarrative.  The little narratives (like mine) tell us about the drunken Indians you meet on the street.  Lyotard would’ve loved my books, especially Excrement and Putrid Scum.  Also, he was not a Commie, and he favored unionization of prostitutes.  The author only seems to like Lyotard a little bit.  I wish he would like him more.  And I wish he would send me $100 for reviewing his book.

Chapter 8 is about “The Differend and Genres of Discourse.”  It’s boring but short.  Sim accuses Lyotard of having dark motives and not getting us past aesthetics, but I disagree because by this point I am way beyond aesthetics.  And what dark motives?  Sim doesn’t say.  It think he’s jealous because Lyotard’s writing has “zing” and his doesn’t.  Derrida has no “zing” either.  I’ve got more than all of them put together.  I’ve even gotten death threats.  (Check out “Why It Is Okay To Kill Baby Seals”, elsewhere on this blog page.)

Chapter 9 is about “Svelteness and the War on Totality.”  Okay, so you have to be in good shape so you can put on a skin-tight anti-foundationalist hero suit.  Sim says, “Svelteness lies at the heart of Lyotard’s theory of agonistics.”  Which reminds me: why are there no bondage magazines with extremely skinny models?  Somebody should do something about that.

Chapter 10 is about “Baudrillard and the Politics of Simulation and Hyperreality.”  Baudrillard has a lot to say about American culture.  He thinks breakdancing is a form of useless self-absorption.  But in a footnote he says, “Breakdancing can spur the postmodern consciousness to some of its wilder flights of fancy in the search for models of svelte behavior.”  I don’t know about that.  I always thought of it as something else the ghetto darkies could do with their bodies that didn’t involve work.  Baudrillard is way more interesting than Derrida. He asks, “How far can we go in the extermination of meaning, how far can we go in the non-referential desert form without cracking up and, of course, still keep alive the esoteric charm of disappearance?”  That makes me think of those two Parks Department workers in Winnipeg who were photographed sleeping on the grass.  Did they think no one would notice or care?  The union, of course, would protect them from being fired.  I think Baudrillard is being ironic and that he would agree with me that the thing to do is grab the top people in the union and just kill them.  He also thinks no one has a reason to live in New York because it’s so fucked up with people doing stupid, pointless things and taking them seriously.  Now, he’s making value judgments here, but I’ll let him, just this once.  “Everything he sees only confirms his belief in the death of aesthetics.”  But was that before or after they cleaned up 42nd Street?  I liked it better before, with all the porn shops I used to patronize.  The street had a special smell.  Not a nice smell, but special.  And aesthetic.  On the other hand, Baudrillard says that the really important realities are to be found in Manhattan and the Pacific coast.  They’re fucked, of course, but in a postmodern way, and Baudrillard acknowledges this without making any value judgments because you can’t do that if you’re beyond aesthetics.  Or else he sort of likes all the rottenness, the same way degenerate Goths like to drink blood.  The concept is getting fuzzy here, but you should just roll with it.

Meanwhile, Lyotard says, “Nostalgia born of the immensity of the Texan hills and the sierras of New Mexico: gliding down the freeway, smash hits on the Chrysler stereo, heat wave.”  Yeah, that’s nostalgia, all right.  Now get ready for a real shocker: “Post-aesthetics is born in a catastrophic and violent break with authority, and it describes a world where art is dead, not only because its critical transcendence is gone, but because reality itself, entirely impregnated by an aesthetic which is inseparable from its own structure, has been confused with its own image.”  I couldn’t have said it any better.  For instance, look at live theatre in Toronto.  What are the big shows?  I Love Lucy, Cats, Les Miserables, The Wizard of Oz.  Hey, get with it!  This is 2013.  Doesn’t anyone have any fresh ideas?  Hell, no.  Just play it safe with corny, old shows.  Don’t even consider something daring like “Shakespeare For White Trash”, my brilliant series of Shakespeare rewrites.  (Search the blog page.)  On the other hand, there are some old shows that they should bring back on TV, but they’re afraid to — like Amos and Andy.  Now there was a great show.  Political correctness is the one big metanarrative that should be destroyed, and all the poststructuralists should attack it, and if a few innocent people get killed by mistake, I’m willing to look the other way.  In this chapter we also learn that jogging is postmodern, but I think that’s only true if the joggers are wearing headphones.

The last chapter is “Limits, Beyonds, and Surface Radicalism.”  The author seems to be saying that all this poststructuralism is okay to talk about, but it isn’t likely to change anything.  But it will certainly continue to provide employment for academics who are either for it, against it, or are unwilling to say as long as they don’t have tenure yet.

In the back of the book is a very long list of books that the author has apparently read.  Hey, man, if you have actually read 140 books on poststructuralism, I fear for your sanity.  I think it’s okay to read a couple, but people should read a variety of things.  A reading diet like this is bad for you.  But there are a lot of academics like this author.  I wish they’d get abducted by aliens, and then when the aliens did their mind-scan thing and absorbed all that stuff, they’d be so fucking confused they’d go back to Tau Ceti-4 and leave us alone.

    Beyond Aesthetics was not the best book or the worst book I ever read, and I neither recommend it nor not-recommend it, as I’m afraid that either way I’d be in an argument that would go nowhere with some jerk I’d rather smack with a wet fish.

Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

Reminder: my French book, Villes Bigrement Exotiques, is still in print.  Published by Le Dilettante (Paris).  Destined to be a collector’s item, like all my other books.

    Dr. Joseph M. Sharpe looked through his office window at the street outside.  He had just opened his practice as the only psychiatrist in Murfreesboro, Tennessee.  So far, he had not received a single patient.  He had not even gotten a phone call.  Damn it, what’s wrong with these people?  Doesn’t anyone need a psychiatrist?  he fumed.

    He sent his receptionist home early and locked his office in disgust.  Walking down the street, he decided he would step into the first bar he came to and get drunk.

    Meanwhile, further down the street, Rev. John A. Hinkle, Jr., stood on the sidewalk in front of the New Church of Christ, which had just opened.  So far, not one person had set foot in it.  He was annoyed.  Damn it, what’s wrong with these people?  Doesn’t anyone want to be saved?  he fumed.

    As Dr. Sharpe approached, Rev. Hinkle called out hopefully, “You, sir!  Wouldn’t you like Jesus to wash away all your sins?”

    “Fuck off, you lunatic!” replied Dr. Sharpe, walking away quickly.

    “Rot in hell, you sinner!” yelled Rev. Hinkle.  

    Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

    Seaman Bunny and Seaman Benjie sat in front of the sonar detection equipment at the Alki Point U.S. Coast Guard Light Station in Puget Sound in Washington State.  They were supposed to be observing closely for any sign of the monster Golonda, which had been terrorizing residents around Puget Sound for weeks.  There were, like, a lot of fucked-up things happening, you know, like people getting ripped to pieces and boaters disappearing.  But almost none of this was reported in the news media, because the government censors all that kind of thing.  Seriously.  Like, when do the newspapers ever tell you about people being abducted by UFO’s?  Never.  Okay, so this is the same kind of thing.

    “This is boring.  I’m hungry,” said Bunny.

    “Me, too,” said Benjie.

    They unwrapped their egg salad sandwiches and began eating lunch.

    “It’s a waste of time, if you ask me,” said Bunny.  “That monster probably slipped out of the sound and it’s in the Pacific by now.”

    “Well, we don’t know that.”

    “There’s been nothing on the scope for three days.”

    Benjie shrugged.

    “Did you make this sandwich?  It tastes funny,” said Bunny.

    “Mine’s okay.”

    “Are you sure?”


    “Taste mine and tell me if it tastes okay.”

    So Benjie took a bit of Bunny’s sandwich.  “It tastes exactly the same as mine.  It’s okay.”

    “Do you know how to tell if an egg has gone bad?”

    “No.  How?”

    “You put it in water.  If it floats, it’s bad.”

    “I didn’t know that.”

    “I read it in Martha Stewart’s magazine.”

    “You’re always reading.”

    “I read because I want to get ahead in the world,” said Bunny.

    “Oh!  Then I should ask you.  What does ‘anticlimactic’ mean?”

    “That’s like when you’re trying to come and the other person does something to ruin it.”

    “Ha.  That never happened to me,” said Benjie.

    “Bullshit.  You liar.”

    “How would you know?”

    “Leonard told me.”

    “Leonard!  That asshole!  He’s a liar!”

    “No, you’re the liar.”

    And the two of them began slapping each other and chasing each other playfully around the room and were ignoring the sonar.  During that interval of inattention, the monster Golonda slipped past Alki Point, going south.

    During the following two weeks, Golonda attacked people along the four miles of beach between Alki Point and Williams Point.  The victims, all residents of Seattle, were found half-eaten but were still identifiable:

    Luke Burbank
    Manda Factor
    Nancy Barrick
    Corwin Haeck
    Tom Hutyler
    Sally Bagshaw
    Nick Licata
    Tom Rasmussen
    Kevin Wynkoop
    Suki Dardarian
    Leon Espinoza
    James Neff
    Matt Kreamer
    Danny Westneat
    Darren Gertz
    London Agrawal
    Marta Cano-Hinz

    The government clamped a lid of secrecy on the whole thing, but now you know.

    The U.S. Coast Guard does not discriminate against gays, and that is a good thing.

    Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

    Satan, begone!  Now I expose you!  You and your most evil, most foul donut shop — Tim Hortons!

    Every day countless thousands of people go into Tim Hortons, not realizing that they are becoming slaves to Satan.  They assume — as you probably do — that it’s just another donut shop.  After all, everyone knows Tim Hortons.  Or do they?

    Prepare yourselves for the shock of your lives.  The evidence is overwhelming.  Tim Hortons is the devil’s donut shop!

    What is the most common type of donut in every donut shop, the kind you’ve been eating all your life?  You guessed it: the jelly donut.  What could be more traditional?  Yet — incredibly — you will not find the jelly donut in Tim Hortons!  And why is that?  Because the jelly donut symbolizes the Holy Trinity.  The cake is God, the jelly is the blood of Christ, and the powdered sugar is the Holy Spirit.  Satan fears them all!

    What else won’t you find in Tim Hortons that is an American favorite?  The corn muffin.  And why?  Because corn is the holiest of grains.  “I will send you corn and wine, and oil, and ye shall be satisfied therewith.”  (Joel 2:19).  “And the sons of Israel came to buy corn among those that came: for the famine was in the land of Canaan.”  (Genesis 42:5).  “The fountain of Jacob shall be upon a land of corn and wine.”  (Deuteronomy 33:28).  “And they did eat of the old corn of the land on the morrow after the passover, unleavened cakes, and parched corn on the selfsame day.”  (Joshua 5:11).  “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.”  (1 Timothy 5:18).

    Oh, sure, Tim’s has other kinds of muffins — strange kinds that are supposedly healthy and “organic.”  But what’s really in them?  The staff won’t tell you because they themselves don’t know.  But those muffins contain certain ingredients that are used in witchcraft and satanic rituals.  You can hardly taste them, but they’re there.

    Tim’s does sell the Hawaiian donut, of course.  You know that one.  It’s got all those multi-colored sprinkles.  What’s that all about, eh?  PAGANISM!  The colors represent the blood and guts of the slaughtered victims of cannibals and devil-worshippers, and you’re eating them, too!

    How about sandwiches?  What is the most normal kind of sandwich that you’d expect to find in any normal Christian donut shop?  The egg salad sandwich.  Think of Easter eggs.  Good for you — but bad for Satan!  In fact, every world religion respects the egg salad sandwich.  But Tim’s doesn’t sell the egg salad sandwich!  Now you know why.

    The evidence is just beginning.  There’s more — much more.

    Have you ever noticed the long lines in Tim Hortons?  It’s typical: a long line of customers waiting very passively to be served in a shop that is always understaffed.  (More profits for Satan, doncha know!)  In any other store, people would walk out.  But not in Tim’s.  Why?  Because as soon as they walk in, they are under the control of the Brain Control Machine hidden in the ceiling.  It paralyzes the human will and turns people into zombies, while simultaneously transmitting subconscious messages to worship Satan.  These Brain Control Machines were first introduced in the Canadian stores in the late 90’s and proved so successful that they are now being installed in all the American stores.

    There is no starker example of the Brain Control Machine at work than the store at the corner of Bloor and Sherbourne in Toronto.  Customers are utterly oblivious to the passage of time.  They wait forever, and the line goes all the way to the door.  Outside, a “beggar” stands with a cup, pretending to open the door for people.  Incredibly, he is allowed to stand there.  And why?  Because he is really a demonic agent “marking” customers as future slaves for Satan.

    Now let’s consider the name TIM HORTONS and look for its hidden meanings.  The anagrams are extraordinary:

    MOON THIRST — Pure pagan lust!  You can just visualize crazed satanists shrieking and dancing beneath a full moon.

    MOIST THORN — Blood sacrifice!  It’s so obvious.

    ORTON SMITH — This satanic cult leader was the scourge of the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the 1600’s.  He was alleged to have a gang of over two hundred witches.

    Now let’s take a look at the people behind Tim Hortons:

    Paul D. House, Chairman — He ran a gas station in Hamilton, Ontario, in 1970.  At that time all Hamilton gas stations were controlled by the highly secret Promethean Society, which claimed to receive power and knowledge directly from Satan himself.

    Marc Caira, President and CEO — Formerly with Nestle.  There is a secret relationship between Tim Hortons, Nestle, and the Bilderbergs, whose true agenda is to prepare the way for the Antichrist.

    Keith Conklin, Director — Another one of the Nestle cabal.  He was once handed a Bible and dropped it as if it burned his hands.

    William Moir, Director — Has a tattoo virtually identical to the old Lever Brothers logo, which that company was forced to drop after it was identified as satanic by an American Christian organization.

    Mike Harris, Director — Former Premier of Ontario.  He has always been deeply into occultism and knows everyone important in the world of devil worship.

    Dave Newnham, Director — Has said publicly that he was against the burning of witches.  Favorite movie: The Exorcist.

    Gary O’Neill, Director — Manages a company called Corey Craig Enterprises, which sells ouija boards all over Europe.

    Michele Allison, Director — This woman can kill animals by staring at them.

    Donald B. Schroeder, Director and former President and CEO — Travels frequently to Transylvania, where he claims to have property interests.  Also reputed to have access to the three secret entrances in the earth that lead to the subterranean caves of the Deroes, a race created by Satan.

    Frank Slavik, Director — A.k.a. “The Slavic Devil.”  Virtually all documentation about this man’s personal history has been destroyed.  Not one of his former landlords is still alive.

    Nick Javor, Director — Is said to be immune to poison ivy and to have the ability to pass through locked doors.  Has an immense library devoted to the occult.  Roots for the Duke University Blue Devils.

    Not one of the above-mentioned individuals has ever been seen in church.  Not one has ever been seen wearing a cross.

    Still not convinced?  Okay.  I’ve saved the clincher for last.  Before writing this article, I e-mailed the corporate office of Tim Hortons and asked very politely if any of their executives or directors accepted Jesus Christ as their lord and savior and would be willing to say so openly.  And what sort of reply did I get?  No reply at all.  Dead silence.  (Hey, are they ashamed to say?)  Make of that what you will.

    I won’t go into Tim Hortons.  I don’t want to be a slave to Satan.  Do you?

    Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com

    Professor Lawrence Jost of the University of Cincinnati’s Department of Philosophy was walking along W. 9th St. near Elm St. when he saw a young lady walking an invisible dog.  Or so it appeared.  In fact, it was a novelty purchased at a novelty store — a stiff leash with a stiff collar attached, giving the suggestion of an invisible dog.  But Professor Jost did not know this because it was the first time that he had ever ventured off campus.  Convinced that he had lost his mind and was of no further use in academia, he ran home, distraught, swallowed a bottle of pills, and died.

    Soon thereafter, the university held a memorial for him and praised him for his contributions to philosophy.

    Copyright@ 2013 by Crad Kilodney.  E-mail: crad166@yahoo.com