CROW-A-TREE POETRY,

BECAWSE I CAN

Every so often I feel the urge to express the magic of the Dinosaursian descendents, the Birds.
Okay Okay, so I've done it twice,
here Wholly Crow and here Bird Droppins.


This morning a caw-cawphony overhead really cawght my attention.

I witnessed an amazing scene.
A solitary Owl, beset by dozens, a "murder", of Crows, flew a few feet overhead and sought refuge from it's tormentors in a tree across the street.

I ran into the house to retrieve my camera but ultimately failed to procure a decent shot of the beleaguered, yet wise, old bird.


I was startled yet thankful that this metCAWphorical imagery didn't just "go over-my-head".






















DEEP eh!?

Despite my "pun"ishing style, once-in-a-while it's fun to put the TRY in Poetry...innit?

HIDE IN YOUR SH'HELL

If I've learned anything from Diana Ross, and her influence is immeasurable, it's that "You can't hurry love," or blogging.

If you've ever had the opportunity to witness Tortoises perform the act of frightfulness, you'll recognise that blogging can also feel like an excruciatingly awkward, repetitive, thankless, job!

Oh sure, preparation, perserverence and plodding can pay off, but in our world of instant gratification, who has enough time to do it right?

pffft!

It becomes self evident to even the casual observer, that when Totoisii are engaged in the throngs of reptilian rapture, slow and steady wins the race.

Most of us awaken each morning with an unsolicited psychological boner.

We all desperately desire to be loved and come out of our own personal sh'hell. When we post we can stretch our imaginations and stick our necks out a little further that we did the day before.

It behooves me to draw attention to the fact that the four stages of posting are inescapably similar to those of tortoisii making whoopee.

Stage 1

AROUSAL:

Your resolve is stiffening but you are also painfully aware that even a long priapismic post will only get you so far.

Ignore the Hare pulling ahead of you...get into it.

It's not the desperation, it's the journey.

Stage 2

PLATEAU: It is on!

Your tappin' that keypad for all your worth and posting with all your might.

Your Blog is a well lubricated machine at this stage of the game so take your time and enjoy the ride.

You don't want to prematurely articulate?

Stage 3

BLOGASM:

Shaz-zam!

Selfless persistant pounding out posting after posting will override your slavish, natural, inclination towards instant gratification and produce multiple comments!

Stage 4

RESOLUTION

Sweet.

Resolution is sweet yet bittersweet and fleeting because your Blog is an insatiable taskmasteress.

Eventually the commentorphens drain from the cerebral area.

Your psychological boner returns to it's flaccid exile and gradually your battered, fragile, ego will schlep a path back to it's pathetic homeostasis of helplessness and shame.

Soon you find yourself circling the drain of self loathing in a shallow sea of doubt, cynicism, failure, and guilt. This vicious cycle is much like the fate of the ubiquitous Post Turtle that doesn't know how it got in this situation or how it will ever get off unless someone lends it a helping hand.

RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF YOUR RIGHTS
or whatev?













As a public service I have created this very special award for you to dedicate to whatever or whomever thou dost thinketh is deserving.

Curse them now and bless me with your fierce tears.
Do not go gentle...

THAT'S MY THANG...

My compliments to the writers of "ModernFamily"

for that sweet line.

TXTS FRM LST NIGHT

"(404): i hope kanye doesn't show up to patrick swayze's funeral.
' i'll let you get back to your funeral in a minute...but michael jackson had the best death of the year. just sayinnn '."

Are these faux or fo' real?

STRRESSSS IS GONNA MAKE A MONKEY OUTTA YA!

Did any of you view the National Geographic televisual feast on Stress?

Stanford University neurobiologist and author Robert Sapolsky, did an awesome job of "dumbing down" how Baboons, like Humans, are their own worst enemy.

He stated that Baboons only need about 3 hours to meet their nutritional requirements and spend the other 9 terrorising each other!

Sapolsky said, "In the beginning the stress response saved our lives, making us run from predators and enabling us to take down prey.

Today, human beings are turning on the same life-saving physical reaction to cope with 30-year mortgages, $4 a gallon gasoline, final exams, difficult bosses and even traffic jams —

we can't seem to turn it off.

So, we're constantly marinating in corrosive hormones triggered by the stress response."

I did a post on Baboons, MAN APES MONKEY , in which I reflected upon the inescapable glaring similarities between our two societies.

I found this pathetic truth to be self evident;

The system is dominated by self-absorbed bullies who dish it out to the subordinate males who in turn take it out on juveniles, females, and infants.

What Sapolsky discovered over his 30 years of studying the hormone levels of Baboons is that the Alpha males have the least amount of stress and their arteries are free of cloggery...

bastards!

Like Baboons, he says that, "our social standing (our place in various hierarchies) can make us more or less susceptible to the damaging effects of stress."

A comparison was made using the Class-ridden British Civil Service.

The BCS is a byzantine-stratafied-kafkaesque-labyrinth wherein every single job is systematically rated on some imaginary hierarchical "food chain".

Like the alpha males in the Baboon troop, the managerial staff at the top of the BCS had much lower levels of stress..

bastards!

When I think of how unfair that is it makes me so mad.

Those snootty slackards remind me of P.J. O'Rourke's generalization of the "ANGLYSCHE".

Racial Characteristics:

"Cold-blooded queers with nasty complexions and terrible teeth who once conquered half the world but still haven't figured out central heating.

They warm their beers and chill their baths and boil all their food, including bread.

An intensely snobbish group, but who exactly they're snubbing is an international mystery.

Lately they've been getting their comeuppance world power-wise, as their shabby, antiquated, and bankrupt little back alley of a country slowly winds down like the ill-crafted clockwork playthings of which their undersized children are so fond.

They all have large collections of something useless like lamp finials or toad eggs, and they would have lost both world wars if it were not for us.

They like to be spanked with canes and that's just what they deserve".

Is your position on the societal food chain affecting your stress levels?

IS IT JUST ME?

Does anyone else detect a subliminal message in this poster?

The Wiggles are coming out to Whateverpeg. I noticed this peculiar advert in the paper..hmm?

The WIGGLES are "the world's biggest preschool band" and also Australyer's top-earning entertainers?

Most of you are no doubt surprised that Austraylyer would have children's entertainers..afterall, back in May 0f 1976 I learned all about Australians from P.J. O'Rourke's brilliant Foreigners Around The World article in National Lampoon magazine.

Bear in mind this was written in the halcyon days of Satire years before Political Correctness ruined everything.

Racial Characteristics:

"Violently loud alcoholic roughnecks whose idea of fun is to throw up on your car.

The national sport is breaking furniture and the average daily consumption of beer in Sydney is ten and three quarters Imperial gallons for children under the age of nine.

"Making a Shambles" is required study in the primary schools and all Australians are bilingual, speaking both English and Sheep.

Possibly as a result of their country's being upside down, the local dialect has over 400 terms for vomit.

Some of the peculiar forms of native wildlife have up to nine assholes.

The recent destruction of Darwin by a hurricane was actually a cover story for the regrettable coincidence of paydays on three separate sheep stations."

Now to be fair O'Rourke was equally critical of us.

Racial Characteristics:

"Hard to tell a Canadian from an extremely boring regular white person unless he's dressed to go outdoors.

Very little is known of the Canadian country since it is rarely visited by anyone but the Queen and illiterate sport fishermen. It is thought to resemble a sort of arctic Nebraska.

It's reported that Canadians keep pet French people. If true, this is their only interesting trait.

At any rate, they are apparently able to train Frenchmen to play hockey, which is more than any European has ever been able to do."

After reading that analysis, aren't you a bit surprised that Australyer even has children's entertainers?

Does that poster make you wonder what wiggling is?

I'M DYING TO KNOW
HOW LONG I'LL LIVE








“One can survive everything nowadays,
except death,
and live down anything,
except a good reputation."
Oscar Wilde

How often do you think about DYING..
or assisting in the premature demise of somebody else?

Now I ain't sayin'
he a hype-digga!




Is he a marketing genius or just some self absorbed asshat?
Did you see his mama-mea culpa on Leno?

check out this UPDATE!

See, I can do short..nyeh!

NOOFIE SEAL SWIMS TO BRITISH COLUMBIA ATTACKS GIRL!

NOOFIE SEAL HUNT VINDICATED

Recently a young, Canadian, girl was dragged off the dock by a Harbour Seal. Luckily she somehow survived the attack...

you can read all aboot it here .

Most people are unaware that Harbour Seals are savage, heartless, bastards.

Only Newfoundland has properly controlled this menace and their efforts have been so successful that Noowfie Seals are now travelling to the other coast in search of prey.

If you search YouTube there are plenty of Seal Attacks to view and that is why there is and always will be, a Seal "Hant " in Noowfunland AND Labbador...

Canadian politicians must always remember to say Noowfunland and Labbador together and not make Labbador sound like an afterthought...

because the deadly Arbor Seals still haunt Labbador, but not-so-much in Noowfinlan.

Thousands of years ago Noowfinland was initially inhabited by the First Asians who took a wrong turn and wandered across the Ice Age landbridge.

Next came the Vikings who gave up because they were constantly being eaten by Seals and the Giant Killer Cod or Cad.

In 1497 John Cabotinni arrived with a fresh load of Screech fueled Irish Prisoners and Whores from England. England had yet to discover Australia, which became the perfect spot to unload undesirables and the British Prisons were overflowing.

It was said that the waters of the Grand Banks were so fertile, and da Cadfish was so tick, that his ship came to a sudden, violent, stoppage..now known as Screetching to a Halt because Cabotinni had been drinking Screech on the bow when this happened and the impact knocked him right off the ship.

A few of the Irish prisoners escaped by running on top of the Cadfish..most were eaten. These prisoners went on to populate Noowfinland...

AND Labbador!

On his way down Cabotinni exclaimed,

"Mama-mia, dis a-place-a she's a-no fun!"

So the name No-funland was born but because it was only overheard by escaping Irish prisoners, it was and is to this day, pronounced Noowfinlan.

This should help to explain why Noowfinlanders tak funny and cannot be understood by any other Canadians.

It occurred to me that due to this recent, unprovoked, attack on the little girl, that the rest-of-the-world now knows the awful truth about Seals.
Seals are savage monsters and for Centuries Noowfunlanders have been merely protecting themselves and their loved ones from the killer seals.

"Noowfies" have long been tired of being thought of as Screetch-fueled, heartless bastards who callously whack the sh*t out of tousands of those fuzzy, hapless, doe-eyed, creatures we see in those gruesome Peta adverts.

Noowfunland has a rich history of protecting themselves from Killer Seals and the savage Giant Killer Codfish which, thanks to their tireless efforts, are now just aboot extinct.

For Centuries the Giant Killer Cadfish had consumed Noowfies with such disturbing regularity that drastic measures had to be taken.

In order to protect the wymyn & chalran, the men of Noowfunland bravely went out and started culling aff all da Cadfish.

You may be unaware that Noowfunland did not join Canada until 194-fack'n-9.

That was the year that the Preemyer o' da Pravince, Joey Smallwood, went on a Screetch fueled rampage with udder mambers o' da Noowfie Lajesslaytchurr,

and killed the last Giant Killer Cadfish wid 'iz bar hans and a sharp object!

Nature abhors a vacuum and with the Cadfish now extinct, the 'Arbrr blood-thirsty Seals soon rose to the top o' da food chain.

'Arbrr Seals began attacking the Noofies at will.

Defeated, drunk, and exhausted from eliminating the Cad, the menfolk of Nooffunland AND Labbador vowed to beat the livin' crap out of every Seal..no matter how dangerous that might be. The idea was to kill them all when they're young, but it was still extremely dangerous because it is very cold out on the iceflows.

Finally, when the Screetch and Cadfish was all gone and Seal population safely under control, the Noowfies felt that it was safe enough to paddle over to the Pravinss 'o H'alberta and gat some jabs.

For decades Noowfie men had to go to Alberta to find jabs in the Oil Fields..

until they found huge reserves gurgling off their own shores.

Now Noowfunland is destined to be the richest Pravince in the country and they could tell the rest of Canada to "fack rite aff".

Noofies have long felt that the way we Landlubbers operate Factory Farms and protected ourselves from the Bison is just the same as Sealin! I tend to agree.

That being said, Noofies, however I spell it, are the friendliest, most forgiving people in Canada. Despite decades of being the brunt of jokes they are taking the high road and willing to let bygones be bygones. So udder Canadians, especially H'albertans, should bear this in mind when they go aff ta Noofinland AND Labbador leckin' for jabs.

BEAU TIES?

It's not easy to stand out in a world populated with over 6 billion homo escapeons. We're stuck with our given name throughout our lives and most of us were at the mercy of our parents when that happened.

I was born in the 50s when everybody named their kids Debbie, Ricky, Johnny, Cindy, Davey, Kathy, Marky, Billy, Mary and Donny.

My Mom actually spelled it Donnie.

When I was in college I had the bright idea to drop the "ie". Having grown up alongside Donny Osmond I was sick of it. To make matters worse my surname, Coppens, rhymed with Poppins!

So from that day forth, I would just be Donn.
Nowadays $ellebrities or human "brands" demand instant recognition by having an uber-unimoniker like Cher, Madonna, or Donn.

Anyone notice my apparent predilection for these?

Now there are only a handful of people with my surname on this side of the pond. I've been busy collecting other Coppens on Facebook and most of them are still in Europe. They all have cool "euro" names.

So when I google mons nom, I still expect to see something related to moi.

Imagine my surprise when I did a quick check yesterday...OOPS

*Don't forget the presumption of innocence until proven guilty in a court of Law thingamabob..

Bear in mind that I'm much younger and prolly look completely different than the other Donn Coppens.

This sort of thing is bound to happen to all of us as the Interwebs eventually connect all the dots. I also thought that my blog title was quite original until I found this clever fellow .

Have any of you ever encountered a similar incident and proceeded to add another consonant or change your name completely?

YOUBIQUITOUS $ELLEBRITIE$

Many of you have probably been wondering why our world is in such dissarray.

I have tried to ascertain the primary source of our present discombobulation.

You see, up until the introduction of the interwebs, the "world" was organised so that only a few Earthlings were allowed to be famous. You are no doubt nodding in agreement.

Perhaps you can recall a simpler time when there were but a handful of celebrities; movie stars, politicians, athletes and the like. Now that the "great unwashed" have access to "the show" via Youtube, Blogs, Facebook and Twitter, and all hell is breaking loose.

Most of you are painfully aware that we have a limited capacity to store information..there is a reason that phone numbers have 7 digits. Now it is all but impossible to keep track of the seemingly endless array of pseudo-celebrities cluttering every form of communication.

When Andy Warhol suggested that in the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes he had no idea how awful that would be...and due to time constraints that figure may need to be compressed to 15 seconds.

We can't all be famous!

The lines on what constitutes being famous are getting blurry. When I was a lad the meritocracy of our culture was still in effect. Individuals became well known based on some form of achievement. Now $ellebrities are famous for being famous.

Why? Corporations and their advertising agents see the opportunity to sell something to you and they will reward anyone who attracts eyeballs. It doesn't matter whether or not they are an asshat or a genius.

We are a visual creature so IMAGE rules..recognisable people have become brands..what I call $ellebrities.

The human face and written ideas, are the two most powerful forces on Earth.

Many Icons such as Monroe, Hitler, and Elvis have sustained a measure of ubiquity that entices Joe Schmo. We see the opportunity to become Youbiquitous without actually accomplishing anything worthy of note.

With user friendly "impression management" tools like Facebook and Blogs, we can easily assemble a charm offensive designed to bloviate and gain recognition from people all over the world.

Isn't that awesome? I for one am delerious that I can flaunt my encyclopedic ignorance upon the world. The price of admission is an internet connection.

It is troubling that I have keep so much crap in my cerebral RAM. Why do I retain the awareness of the Numa Numa Guy

in the same files as Plato, Darwin, and Hiltons Paris and Perez?

UGH! Do you see what I mean?

I've read that our brains evolved to manage about 150 relationships because most of our journey has been spent in clans. Since the dawn of Civilization most people were forced to squeeze in a working knowledge of their Rulers and the accompanying Gods that arrived to support their claim of superiority.

Now we are faced with the millenial multitask of juggling useless data on hundreds, even thousands, of faces and bits of information. This gives me a brainrash because this is all bullsh*t!

My Grandparent's generation had encyclopedias. They didn't need to "know" that N'Djamena was the capitol of Chad or who Pete Best was. I feel like an idiot because I don't need to store so much useless information in my head because I have the Internet.

I don't need to remember which movie won the Best Picture Oscar in 1974, or what Cognitive Dissonance means, because the answer to almost any imaginable question is a few keyboard strokes away.

"Knowing" is virtually possible.

I should have 90% of my mental files scrubbed because I should only be using enough RAM to run my basic program. Hel-LO!

Those of you who graciously encourage my egregious display of impression management, and tolerate my shameless self promoting (yet hopefully deprecating) antics and diatribes, can appreciate that I am actually quite comfortable just being "some guy".

My cyberbluster and iconoclastic bombast may be well intentioned, a cry for help, and heartfelt but

A: who gives a f*ck what "i" think and

B:"i" have no illusions about persuading others.

You can make your own fun @ GlassGiant

What I love about each and every one of you (*nice touch eh?) is that you folks represent the miniscule percentage of the human population which bothers to ask questions.

Plus you want to have fun, you're eager to share your own trivia, schadenfreude, and fanciful notions.

So, yes, I have finally and mercifully exhausted the thought forming in me 'ead.

Will we ever be allowed to return to a simpler time when ordinary people become famous for actually accomplishing something extraordinary?

JACK ATTACK!

Today was my last day at Grand Beach this summer,

but it was almost my last day at the Beach EVER!

I may be an adrenaline-junky and thrillseeking S.O.B whackjob,

but I don't take crazy-ass risks!


I have all sorts of surveillance gizmos and crap that I bought from an ex-C.I.A. guy on Kijiji..

pretty cool eh?

woah


The coast was clear so I ran out and grabbed LIFE by the balls!

After surfin' I went for a swim,

but almost immediately,

I sensed that danger lurked beneath the waves.

I felt something very large moving between my legs..

no it wasn't that,

the water was pretty cold.
I kept hoping that whatever it was,

was vegetarian!

Then I saw a flash of green lightning!

Noooooooo!

Not a Northern Pike (fo' real click & see)

The Northern Pike..we call them Jack, is a million times more dangerous than a shark.

I was dead-certain that I was going to be tomorrow's lead story.

All I could think of was...

(( I WANT MY M O M M Y ))

I knew that statistically speaking the odds of me surviving this attack were really really really low.

Being a vasectomy survivor,

I thought that I knew what real pain was..

but this was unlike any pain that I had ever experienced..

except for the vasectomy.

The monster chomped my right hand off!
I bit off my other hand and threw it at the bastard hoping that it would give me a few extra seconds to swim to shore...

which turned out to be a lot harder without my hands...

but I made it!

Okay ya got me :)

Other people at the beach were starting to stand on the shoreline and gawk but more importantly, my assistants on this blog-shoot were kvetching and ready to quit.

My good-lady-wife was embarrassed and #2 son had had enough and wanted to go off and catch minnows..

so I guess this is where I'll end my Fishy story...

and how could I have thrown over my other hand?

Did I mention that we have sharks too?