Censorship Rules
I enjoy censoring things. The first time I censored anything I was in kindergarden. I remember it like it was yesterday, because it was. I was sitting next to my best friend Edmonde, and the teacher was all, "Can anyone tell me what four plus seven is?" I couldn't take it. "You can't use words like that in an educational facility," I screamed. The other five year olds joined in. By the end of the day a television crew recorded our teacher being taken away in chains to a federal detention center under the cover of darkness. It was that day that I began to realize that censorship was more than just a good idea; it's a way of life.
I set out at age eighteen with nothing but hopes, dreams, and red tape. I went from city to city, invading the libraries and crossing out parts of books that I didn't like. A few years later I progressed to movies. Remember in Bambi, how his mother died? No she didn't. At least, not in any of the version that I released to the public. The industry tried to stop me on numerous occasions, but failed every time because I have a constitutional right to censor. The children also backed me on this, adding to my credibility as a character witness. That would come in very handy during the intervening trial, in which I was forced to testify against myself. "But your honor," I cried to the judge. "I don't even know who I am! So how could a persona non grata knowingly break the law?" This threw him for a loop. "You don't know who or what you are, you unfortunate creature."
That was when I became a carnie. The jails were all full, so they sent me to carnie camp, where I began my lifelong association with clowns. I love clowns. Not in the classical way, where you'd just sit and laugh at the misfortune of a pathetic fool as he scrambled around in an ice hockey rink looking for his glass eye. No, this was something much more insidious. Something that Abe Lincoln would look down on. I began my descent into the bowels of carnie society with nothing but the highest expectations. But by the time carnie camp had ended, I had no idea what color was up. So then I logged into an instant messenger under someone else's name and messed up their reputation. The fool. I think it was someone named Kevin or Rob or maybe Lumley. Is Lumley even a real name? I have no idea. I'm just the Taker. The Taker of Gist.
I set out at age eighteen with nothing but hopes, dreams, and red tape. I went from city to city, invading the libraries and crossing out parts of books that I didn't like. A few years later I progressed to movies. Remember in Bambi, how his mother died? No she didn't. At least, not in any of the version that I released to the public. The industry tried to stop me on numerous occasions, but failed every time because I have a constitutional right to censor. The children also backed me on this, adding to my credibility as a character witness. That would come in very handy during the intervening trial, in which I was forced to testify against myself. "But your honor," I cried to the judge. "I don't even know who I am! So how could a persona non grata knowingly break the law?" This threw him for a loop. "You don't know who or what you are, you unfortunate creature."
That was when I became a carnie. The jails were all full, so they sent me to carnie camp, where I began my lifelong association with clowns. I love clowns. Not in the classical way, where you'd just sit and laugh at the misfortune of a pathetic fool as he scrambled around in an ice hockey rink looking for his glass eye. No, this was something much more insidious. Something that Abe Lincoln would look down on. I began my descent into the bowels of carnie society with nothing but the highest expectations. But by the time carnie camp had ended, I had no idea what color was up. So then I logged into an instant messenger under someone else's name and messed up their reputation. The fool. I think it was someone named Kevin or Rob or maybe Lumley. Is Lumley even a real name? I have no idea. I'm just the Taker. The Taker of Gist.
--The Taker of Gist | 1:03 PM
7 broke it down:
I remember watching Bambi and calling the FCC. They shot Bambi's mom and took the tape....or so the story goes...
How I miss the Gist of it.
If I give you the password, will you censor my blog?
Venison, like revenge, is a dish best served cold...good to see you again.
I've censored a thousand things in your primitive "space time."
In what I refered to in my new novel as "Lancaster Siding," all forms of music should be censored as the differences in language across international boundaries aren't as firm as one would think.
Oh deary me Gisty. When did you break out in pink spots? surely you should be more concerned about them than Bambi? they clash with your orange complexion...
I have always had spots, as per my doctor's instructions.
Is your doctor in a secret pact with skin cream manufacturers??
That's the leading theory.
Post a Comment
<< Give More Gist