THIMBLEFUL of THORNS - "QUICK JABS AT DEATH & THE WHORES IT RIDES IN ON." : L'CHAIM! = TO LIFE! : JEREMIADS & JAPES : GALLOWS HUMOR : LAVISHLY ILLUSTRATED : BY AN AMERICAN IN TAIWAN : JINGOISM WITHOUT TEARS ... SUPPORT OUR TROOPS ... SUPPORT ISRAEL ... SUPPORT TAIWAN ... BOYCOTT FRENCH LETTERS, GERMAN SAUSAGE, BELGIAN STATUES OF BOYS PEEING, RUSSIAN ROULETTE (& TURKISH TAFFY!) ... READ ALOUD TO SOMEONE YOU LOVE ... ADOPT A STRAY CAT ... EAT MORE TOFU ... (Contents & Malcontents: © 2003 Thimbleful of Thorns) "When we reflect on this struggle, we may console ourselves with the full belief, that the war of nature is not incessant, that no fear is felt, that death is generally prompt, and that the vigorous, the healthy, and the happy survive and multiply." - DARWIN



Thursday, May 08, 2003

Ain't it just like Life to call you
To come on in and set a while
And then to pull that rockin' chair
From under you

But don't you let bad times appall you
Grit your teeth into a smile
'Cause there's Someone at another door
Who's callin', too

And in that room it's a lot more rough
And we all get carried in there ... soon enough

... soon enough

Wednesday, May 07, 2003
... to visitors from
Cold Fury!

Pull up one of those bramble armchairs (more comfy than they look!) and rest your frost-bitten tootsies on the old ottoman (made from an old Ottoman named Attaboy).

Here at Thimbleful of Thorns we assert our squatters' rights in Death's domain and defend this little plot of cyberland against the Reaper's mirthless marionettes with nothing more than laughter ... backed up, of course, by that most fearsome of weapons: a U.N. reprimand!

So, don't be afraid to scratch the surface. Take a moment to sample some of the Old Thorns vintage archives, blended from the sharpest thistles, briars and barbs. Smooooooth!

Tuesday, May 06, 2003
Ooze zere? ...

Merde in France - whose discerning readers often drop by for a quick thimbleful - has a revealing Chiraq-Bush joke.

Word to the wise: Keep beverages away from your keyboard!

Monday, May 05, 2003
A funeral procession-progression ...

I'll break it down fo' ya ...

A heck of a LOT of funerals pass down my street. Gods on stilts. Little blue renta-hearses. And musical assault units having sarcopho-cacophonous battles-of-the-brassed-off-bands ... like the finale of "The Music Man" as filmed by Fellini from a script by the Marquis de Sade.

Forget Mendelssohn's "Funeral March" ... this is P.D.Q. bacchanalia ... a la chinoise.

Imagine "St. James' Infirmary" transcribed as an atonal tone-poem, conducted by a one-armed traffic cop repeatedly struck by lightning ... played on steam-driven kazoos the size of tubas ... with rhythm provided by road signs randomly pelted with grape-shot ...and vocals by nine asthmatic snow leopards in heat, chain-smoking cigar-sized spliffs of cat-nip ... recorded in a ball-bearing testing room in Shanghai on a 45 RPM-sized piece of blackboard slate ... and piped into every single mercury-amalgam filling in your mouth.

That's INTER-tane-ment!

Sunday, May 04, 2003
(TEST ... twiddle ... ignore me and i will stow away ...)