<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330</id><updated>2011-07-07T19:01:57.742-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Whirled Headquarters</title><subtitle type='html'>news &amp;amp; photos &amp;amp; poetry &amp;amp; unclassifiable stuff</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>115</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-8386027323166409969</id><published>2011-01-22T22:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-22T22:31:43.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What happens when the moon explodes?

I step on the front porch
and innocently look up
at the full moon
there is a slight tremor
in my eyes? or is it out there?
suddenly the moon fractures
erupts, explodes
in real time 
but it looks slow motion
I’m watching live
the full moon, stark orb, dark black sky
hanging , a fusillade of  blue flames
swirling like a holy ghost
around the cratered circle

</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/8386027323166409969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/8386027323166409969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2011_01_16_archive.html#8386027323166409969' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-7548296511712036757</id><published>2011-01-22T22:24:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-22T22:30:03.062-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>        Cut the Chuckles

hey
you there, 
yeah you
you know who you are
there in the back
yes, you
you, the one who's chuckling back there
do you want to tell us 
exactly
what is so funny?

(long pause)
you know, that's funnynot what you saidbecause you didn't say anythingwhat's funny isthere are two types of people in the worldone is the type that divides everything into two typesand the other </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/7548296511712036757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/7548296511712036757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2011_01_16_archive.html#7548296511712036757' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-8561196501377384656</id><published>2011-01-22T22:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-01-22T22:23:28.228-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
thong soap
just add waterand apply liberallyright there
enjoy the festive feelingenjoy the special sensation
rinse at your leisure     or the day after tomorrow

is it soap?
or is it a thong? 
put it on in the morning
it's gone in the afternoon
 by nightfall you know one thing- - -
your ass is sooo clean</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/8561196501377384656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/8561196501377384656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2011_01_16_archive.html#8561196501377384656' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-6043883527282749917</id><published>2010-03-18T22:33:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T22:34:00.977-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Bijou and the Borrowed Timebijou the cat skis a slippery slopemortal coil nigh shuffled past hopebijou was dying, running out of ropedialed 911 and asked for the cat popebijou, bijou, you had a kick-ass lifeserenely dedicated to lack of strifeI hate seeing you go out like thisme too she said I'll missmaking you scratch my spinebut I have a favor if you don't mindon thursday, if I'm still </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/6043883527282749917'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/6043883527282749917'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2010_03_14_archive.html#6043883527282749917' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-4885405748012778793</id><published>2010-03-18T22:23:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T22:31:00.964-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>  manifest destiny   one day we're getting lost ripping along the freeway of desirespeeding west towards a new region  a new place to ramble  day two we're still winging west  across the wide flat bellyof southern Oklahomain perfect time for the annual rodeoin the city of boswell, state of OK.   just in  time to watch the bruising ropey river bull flip and gore his okie cowboy  and a six year old</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4885405748012778793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4885405748012778793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2010_03_14_archive.html#4885405748012778793' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-3565633042836523689</id><published>2009-12-10T01:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T01:42:25.500-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'></summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/3565633042836523689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/3565633042836523689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2009_12_06_archive.html#3565633042836523689' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-2523211246612654903</id><published>2009-07-28T20:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T20:46:48.455-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>it’s not like we’re strangersit’s not like we’re strangers, it’s not like you are a  shattered shell of a galoot,it’s not like we don't have a web site  on the world wide interweb,twelve years in the making since the last millenniumi knew you before you ever met herall you had to say was “she’s outa town”but when i saw you on thursdayyou said i don’t know if she’ll be here tomorrowthen, the next </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/2523211246612654903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/2523211246612654903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2009_07_26_archive.html#2523211246612654903' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-7970437473378174586</id><published>2009-07-23T17:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T17:02:24.047-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Downtown Atlanta, Summer 2009. After shooting in the sun for a while Penny decided it was a good time to dance in the streets. It was pretty good.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/7970437473378174586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/7970437473378174586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2009_07_19_archive.html#7970437473378174586' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mi3DKVMOUcw/SmjP041WxvI/AAAAAAAAAkM/K62chdy3KS0/s72-c/DSCN0429.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-6046702442433407831</id><published>2009-07-21T23:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:24:24.441-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>O Turnberry You Tortured TurfO turnberry ye hardy hunk of tortured scottish turf  the wind and sea and weather pound thy earth  like fists of duffers flailing  O turnberry ye thirsty sponge for tears and blood  blood of fools, blood of kings, blood of bogeyed holes  blood seeped and supple in your dirtO turnberry your claws sunk deep in the shallows of the outer Firth of Clydeyou've your own moon</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/6046702442433407831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/6046702442433407831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2009_07_19_archive.html#6046702442433407831' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-9038275370075987074</id><published>2009-07-14T23:16:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T23:18:34.366-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>An Even Newer DealI loved the new dealthe old school new dealthe ballsy and brassy new dealthe fuck the depression new dealthe one that paid you to take photographsto make a damto tell storiesto lay some goddam pipeand now it's a new dayin a new millenniumand we neednay, we demand, a brand-new deal-of-a-deala succulent tax-free-fact-free-guilt-free-for-all doozy whopper of a  d e a la better </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/9038275370075987074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/9038275370075987074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2009_07_12_archive.html#9038275370075987074' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-6918432011850317994</id><published>2009-07-13T21:35:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T21:36:10.558-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Rick Wagoner Goes to Washington DChitch-hiking on the pennsylvania turnpike, a GM Chevron Algonquin Stevedore Hybrid Suplexflops to a stall right where my thumb stands tallthanks, I said, where ya' heading?as we silently merged into mad trafficwashington, d.c. he saidmeeting with some fuckheadsin a  giant roomwith some shitbirdsand a gaggle of dickwadsand you know the kicker? he saidno - what's </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/6918432011850317994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/6918432011850317994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2009_07_12_archive.html#6918432011850317994' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-4614080628420391194</id><published>2008-04-19T00:03:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-19T00:05:48.667-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Notes On Music                       bottom of the ninthone-run world series gametwo on, two out, two strikes           D minor risesfrom the bullpen and mother earthminor D fills the ballparkthe mystery and the painof the minor keyfocus my fingersunlocking the perfect strikefor a perfect strike                                          I get the third out            in a one-run world series game</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4614080628420391194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4614080628420391194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2008_04_13_archive.html#4614080628420391194' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-3495754837253024739</id><published>2008-04-04T00:36:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-04T00:39:19.149-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You Swing, You Ride, You Rest                                           you swing slowly in a cotton ropehammockunder the fulgent white barked lemon leafedsycamoreeyes mystifiedthe stars incomprehensibleemerging from the ocean, dripping brineand sandtickled by the tide and stung by ajellyfishyou are the flag of your nation,wavingriding your bike through thirty weight rainfallthick, viscous water </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/3495754837253024739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/3495754837253024739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2008_03_30_archive.html#3495754837253024739' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-4805654218617870117</id><published>2008-02-27T20:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T21:00:56.269-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the hawk and the squirrel        rakish young red tail hawkdapper and daring on a lofty branchall piss and vinegar and ignoranceopens his raptor beak to the sky and screechesyeah! i can do this predator shiti'm gonna pluck my protein from the larder of the living!like that first time i parked the car at neptune beachkilled the motor, made the movefrench kissed kathy mozenawith all the french </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4805654218617870117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4805654218617870117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2008_02_24_archive.html#4805654218617870117' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-1277553239673482489</id><published>2008-02-27T20:53:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T21:01:39.620-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>POETRY ADVERTISEMENTtired? bored? psoriasis overtaking your eczema?              out of three cent postage stamps?feel like you're on the ground floor of a USDA slaughterhouse?   perhaps just your usual grumpy horny miserable self?and the job sucks even though you were fired two weeks ago?    and the toilets overflow with the failed promise of your youth?Hmmmmmmm???  may we humbly suggestas a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/1277553239673482489'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/1277553239673482489'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2008_02_24_archive.html#1277553239673482489' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-2484060702815838944</id><published>2008-02-27T20:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T20:52:18.970-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Three Years of Spanish(whisper)welcome to the tour championshipwe're here at the east lake golf clubhigh in the grandstand overlooking the 17th holeas the drama unfolds             (from the grandstand)               Wahoo!! Go Tiger!!he is yelling it like it isfor himand for the girl sitting next to himand for everyone in a two block radius whether we like it or notthe hot sun and the cold </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/2484060702815838944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/2484060702815838944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2008_02_24_archive.html#2484060702815838944' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-4005345074464428604</id><published>2008-02-27T20:37:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T20:42:35.380-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>meniscus, meniscustan  dozing deep in a strange bright roomlaying on a metal antiseptic bedan hour passed like a brick in the headmy knee gets mugged on the sly     somebody stole my meniscusthe crucial buffer tween femur and tibiasomeone snuck in behind my patella and absconded with     meniscus, my meniscus      I wake still woozy from the scalpeled  theftof consciousness and connective tissue </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4005345074464428604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4005345074464428604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2008_02_24_archive.html#4005345074464428604' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-4776587438557115241</id><published>2007-11-14T23:12:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T23:13:14.007-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Free Gratis Thoughts for the Week   October 8, 2007: These are the Free Gratis Thoughts Lifted from my review of the Words. Not that we need more material right now . . .  but they're too good to ignore for later or sooner or whenever . . . - - - JM        Note to self: I was preparing something. I don't know what it was. I don't know what the fuck I've done.      We're sorry we just bombed your </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4776587438557115241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4776587438557115241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2007_11_11_archive.html#4776587438557115241' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-3503246045218833284</id><published>2007-11-08T21:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T21:21:00.904-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Relying on Impulsetheories of the human missionrise up like waves from a placid inscrutable many-fathomed oceanthey gather and curl elegantlyorganize syntacticallyand crash symphonicallyabsorbed mutelyon the slow sandy beachof what actually isBuzz Aldrin and Frank Zappaskipped our last cosmic canoe trip but showed up after dinner to talkwhen the campfire attained wisdomwe rose up with the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/3503246045218833284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/3503246045218833284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2007_11_04_archive.html#3503246045218833284' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_Mi3DKVMOUcw/RzPB2FjlHzI/AAAAAAAAABA/WNLmd2wZAQ0/s72-c/theory.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-4352611429370297559</id><published>2007-10-31T22:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-31T22:06:22.518-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>a r  t i  e artie would be so pleased that we scored some new materialat his funeral todaythe reverend reverend clay pheenspurgenlaying on the jesus maximushow he raised the dead and his own dead selfhealed the sick, freaked out the romansand just generally made a clean breakwith the laws of physics and biology and causalityartie could've perfectly impersonatedreverend clay pheenspurgenartie </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4352611429370297559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/4352611429370297559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2007_10_28_archive.html#4352611429370297559' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-116503579327785100</id><published>2006-12-02T00:03:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-02T00:08:49.993-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>        gag reflex            you'll thank god laterfor this effective reactionto gastrointestinal adversity   it's so easyto learn through heaving and hurlingblowing chunks has taught us morethan spinoza, descartes or larry the plumber  however, we should further studythe speed at which somefrom deep pleasure   learn   they seem so very eagerto learnand learnand learnsome more   the first </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/116503579327785100'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/116503579327785100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2006_11_26_archive.html#116503579327785100' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-116389040489332304</id><published>2006-11-18T17:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-18T17:53:24.903-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Got a Bullet in My Brain     </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/116389040489332304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/116389040489332304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2006_11_12_archive.html#116389040489332304' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-116370895605580805</id><published>2006-11-16T15:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-16T15:39:53.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>          Giant Women of Sandusky, Ohio         The horses are normal size12 hands highThe women are giants48 hands high, legs long and strongIt’s not a trick of the lens or the lightThe females grow LONG AND STRONG in ohio       THEY outfox men on a regular basisMAYBE IT HELPS THAT THEY TOWER OVER THE MENIN OH-HIGH-OH          Tall women Residents of sandusky ohioTend to their twelve </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/116370895605580805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/116370895605580805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2006_11_12_archive.html#116370895605580805' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-115866470995886364</id><published>2006-09-19T07:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-09-19T07:18:30.003-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Shunya at the Krog</title><summary type='text'> A series of still photographs put to music. In this one Shunya makes  a cup of tea that transports her to the Krog Tunnel and back.                </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/115866470995886364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/115866470995886364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2006_09_17_archive.html#115866470995886364' title='Shunya at the Krog'/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-115042782632103161</id><published>2006-06-15T23:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2006-06-15T23:17:06.333-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>continental breakfast is not real breakfastcontinental breakfast is supposed to be refined and culturedthe very best your continent has to offerin the form of a splendid breakfastlike if your breakfast was a car, it would bea 1948 double cowl phaeton lincoln continentalwith air-conditioned-deep-flow-rubber-leather seatsand an ultrabore hyper-tuned solid sandog v-16algonquin condor matador motorit</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/115042782632103161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/115042782632103161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2006_06_11_archive.html#115042782632103161' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112848126287876300</id><published>2005-10-04T22:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-04T23:02:26.353-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i have a great idea for a movieopening scene everybody would die exceptjust two or three would survive, to livegruesome scabby yet riveting livesthe survivors would have cleft chinsand perfect breasts that heave on commandor offand they, the stars, the beautiful starswould repopulate the earth in 90 minutesmake it a better place for kids and golden retrieversthe movie crests into naked euphoriain</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112848126287876300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112848126287876300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_10_02_archive.html#112848126287876300' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112675898649390809</id><published>2005-09-15T00:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-15T00:36:26.493-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>loose wordsSHAGGY, JUICY, GROOVYSHANGRI-LA AND SAN FRANCISCOMEDIUM, LATER, SWAMPFRENCH, JAZZ AND JERSEYBARBEQUE, CRAZY, NEATORIGHT-ON, MAYBE AND MONTANAFUNNY, SURE, SOONTHEM, THOSE AND TEXASANTS, PANTS AND FRANCESAUTEE, PARTAY, LANGUIDSQUID, BIDNESS AND SHAMPOOFULMINATE, SPARK AND ARMADALADY GODIVA, SALIVA AND UNCTIOUSSUMPTUOUS, BUMPKIN AND BUPKISSTREVOR, TREMOR AND TENNESSEESTYLE, SUAVE AND </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112675898649390809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112675898649390809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_09_11_archive.html#112675898649390809' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112675884503662962</id><published>2005-09-15T00:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-15T00:34:05.040-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Researchers from Cloyola University, in Huffakers, NV, divide themselves into control groups and found out that crankiness is no more than suppressed horniness. After months of constant pounding sexual gratification, one group of volunteer researchers found themselves engaged in dry yet disturbing discussions of profound intellectual and moral fetter. While able to disagree about the swampier </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112675884503662962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112675884503662962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_09_11_archive.html#112675884503662962' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112502247148994477</id><published>2005-08-25T22:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-25T22:21:24.410-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Eau Claire Defendant Cites Intelligent Design Judy Wanamaker, accused of first degree misdemeanor assault, claimed an Unseen Hand or Spirit Force or Something Weird was responsible for a major melee knockdown catfight with neighbor Judy “Moody” Huff.  "I knew  she wasn’t sleeping with my husband", explained Wanamaker, "but the combination of the love letter signed in Moody’s name, her lipstick on</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112502247148994477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112502247148994477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_08_21_archive.html#112502247148994477' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112424888367052434</id><published>2005-08-16T23:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T23:28:24.616-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>a red orange horizon sunball torches the cirrus cloudsin norway golf is played 24 hours a day from may til augusti read it in the ny times and saw pictures labeled “teeing off at 3 am”reminds me that i watched my dad play softball at midnightin the land of the midnight sun, sunny alaskajust past midnight the sun dip-punched the horizonand my whole being was saying…..duska few minutes later the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112424888367052434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112424888367052434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_08_14_archive.html#112424888367052434' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112424758874518533</id><published>2005-08-16T22:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-16T23:16:27.023-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>reverse-o-lution      spinning   the    beginning    never    explodes    like    spelling-bees    and    beer   hot motorcycles    with hot vibrating women   dogs barking naked    like you    barking at hot   city lights   two words   keep vibrating   centrioles in anaphase   mitotic tension    bristling    just two words   waiting to fill oceans    this poem is like open source softwareit’s </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112424758874518533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112424758874518533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_08_14_archive.html#112424758874518533' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112148624681264817</id><published>2005-07-15T23:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-25T21:22:40.443-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>rose against whiteasleepwrapped in white in the white atticlooking over the weekapaug salt pondlight, white, a  windowin a white roomin a wide worldthe only colorthe orange sunglow of her skina blue boat in the windowtwo blue men in blue waterraking the bottom of the oceanfor mollusks curled on the ocean floortwo men dreaming about a white roomwhere a rose lies wrapped in whitea shock of hair </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112148624681264817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112148624681264817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_07_10_archive.html#112148624681264817' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112136806774098057</id><published>2005-07-14T15:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-14T15:09:08.936-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Claim: Chiggers Attack Humans by Burrowing Under Their Skin - New York Times</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112136806774098057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112136806774098057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_07_10_archive.html#112136806774098057' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-112070873466547986</id><published>2005-07-06T23:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-13T10:06:26.503-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>just when you thinkjust when you thought you finally knew royhe leaves town without a wordyou find out from a buddythat he’s in boise workingworking like he never worked around hereliving in a yurt by the river andcooking catfish over an open fireit’s great in the summer he saysbut you know betterhe never said goodbyehe just left all of a suddenso all the filaments that bound ustear and twist in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112070873466547986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/112070873466547986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_07_03_archive.html#112070873466547986' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-111958206142347496</id><published>2005-06-23T22:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-23T23:30:07.573-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>your front view mirrori glanced in the rear view a moment too longfound myself off-road heading for a brick walli could have panicked but insteadi consulted my  trustyfront view mirrora future bent by the soft mercury curvatureall things appear closer than they aredon’t know why or how butsomething shifted, i sawtruth and fiction softly intersectwhat is and what could beand what should betime and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111958206142347496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111958206142347496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_06_19_archive.html#111958206142347496' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-111880658234678570</id><published>2005-06-14T23:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-14T23:36:22.353-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i have a great idea for a movieopening scene everybody would die exceptjust two or three would survive, to livegruesome scabby yet riveting livesthe survivors would have cleft chinsand perfect breasts that heave on commandor offand they, the stars, the beautiful starswould repopulate the earth in 90 minutesmake it a better place for kids and golden retrieversthe movie crests into naked euphoriain</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111880658234678570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111880658234678570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_06_12_archive.html#111880658234678570' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-111880592327028816</id><published>2005-06-14T23:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-14T23:25:23.276-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>we didn’t do what we wanted tonightwe wanted to ride marta without stoppingscreaming all the way down the lineto the west end terminus and beyondblaze new tracks for the good of the communitybut the goddam train broke down at MLKleft our boots twitchingus murmuring incantationsover copper tokens—what good’re they now?we didn’t ride where we wanted tonightwe listened to the same four songs over </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111880592327028816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111880592327028816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_06_12_archive.html#111880592327028816' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-111851829453130157</id><published>2005-06-11T15:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-11T15:31:34.533-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I Cracked Up at City Hall Todayi needed five signaturesso i could sell the housethe house we just finished buildingfive quick little scrawlsfrom the bureaucratic mazeand i could sell the housei got one signature from zoningand another from the lady around the corner from zoningthe third from the lady with nine diamond rings at site developmentand the next from the guy who drooled on the formi </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111851829453130157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111851829453130157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_06_05_archive.html#111851829453130157' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-111851789487785604</id><published>2005-06-11T15:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-11T15:24:54.886-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Sheriff’s WifeThe sheriff’s kids race around at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to a darkened hallway. They’re playing cops and robbers and shout bang bang you’re dead as they pile into the kitchen where their mother places battered bits of chicken into a pot of boiling grease. A tow headed boy squeals to a stop against the back of her legs and sets off a chain reaction: first, the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111851789487785604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111851789487785604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_06_05_archive.html#111851789487785604' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-111819787810154007</id><published>2005-06-07T22:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-07T22:35:03.253-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>News Item:Neighborhood sheetrock finisher spills fancy drink all over formica countertop. Miles “Smiley” Flemister, native of the downstate hamlet of Blodona, Alabama, watched the iced shaker slip from his lime-tinged fingers and quickly considered all his options while the expensive ingredients of a “Bahama Schooner” burst forth and sadly spilled in slow motion, like the Wild Bunch in their </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111819787810154007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/111819787810154007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_06_05_archive.html#111819787810154007' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-110972761807056750</id><published>2005-03-01T20:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-06-11T15:34:18.993-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The State of DisunionThe enthusiasm is electric to sell your social security. All of us are privileged to be placed in office by the voters we serve in a free and sovereign Irag. I returned you to the guiding light of liverty around the world. It is strong and it is free, so free, with hidden costs. I might have farted but I’m not sure.They will get their due and their grandchildren in Wyoming, I</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/110972761807056750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/110972761807056750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_02_27_archive.html#110972761807056750' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-110852338464293176</id><published>2005-02-15T22:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-19T01:51:43.483-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Green Light Green it’s so great i made the green light or at least the last part of the yellow thick jazzy molasses horsepower joy washes over meits so great the motor hums freely as my very excellent coachjust tenderly tuned, sweetly serviced rises once on the gentle camber of the intersection, under the light and falls once as I accelerate smoothly onward hoping that this limitless green light </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/110852338464293176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/110852338464293176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_02_13_archive.html#110852338464293176' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-110852002635140073</id><published>2005-02-15T21:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-02-19T01:59:15.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Staging Area&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o /&gt;what's missing in your life - if I may be so bold - is a good and proper staging areadon't just take clothes out of the dryerfold 'em and put 'em away in their proper placethat's for losersthey belong in a good and proper staging areaan interim area, so to speak, where they layundefined and free for a whilewaiting for a drawer or closet or body </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/110852002635140073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/110852002635140073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2005_02_13_archive.html#110852002635140073' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-108018067502653008</id><published>2004-03-24T21:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-24T22:33:42.793-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The UnderGodI pledge allegianceto the mags at the checkout counterCarmen Electra in a red white and blue thongpulled down as low as you can shavewhat a cultureit makes me want to be a better personwhatever is offered upI want to fuck itor buy itkill it or eat itand lately, salute itit all makes me thinkbriefly, with commercial interruptionsand that's a good thingI'm americanI </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/108018067502653008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/108018067502653008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2004_03_21_archive.html#108018067502653008' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-108017877521215342</id><published>2004-03-24T20:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-24T20:42:58.326-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A Day in the Life of a Mountain Lion and a California GirlShe wakes in the morning, brushes her teeth and does her yogaHe rouses himself from sleep, opens his mouth and shrugs into a lazy catstretch, canines extendedShe slips on her Nikes and walks to Starbucks with little barbells in her handsHe strolls to the creek for a drink and chews on the wheatgrass that grows on the bankShe </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/108017877521215342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/108017877521215342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2004_03_21_archive.html#108017877521215342' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95495745</id><published>2003-06-10T02:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-10T03:10:05.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the fifth secondnormally in five secondsyou can’t get the job donebut here at the rodeo five seconds means you’re losin’ice cubes and elizabeth taylordon’t care about the rodeobut they care about the kind of five secondsa rodeo takes in that kind of five secondsice cubes could get too warmand elizabeth taylor could get too hotif i were the bullrideri’d spend the first second </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95495745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95495745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_06_08_archive.html#95495745' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95494852</id><published>2003-06-10T02:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-12T19:01:59.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>getting readyglad you’re coming to townbut a day early? what would jesus doif god popped in ahead of time?maybe the messiah's dining room table disappeared under three feetof last week’s siltwhat if his garden looked likea weed testing stationand what if his refrigeratorlooked like mine did in college?would he try to misdirectthe lord of all creationthe ubiquitous omniopunchibus</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95494852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95494852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_06_08_archive.html#95494852' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95272331</id><published>2003-06-04T02:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-08T01:27:00.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>waitress from heavenyes! i’ll have the grapes and wine specialwith some sleep and a cool pillowsome aloe and a sunburn aperitiffor dessert i’ll have an islandwith some palm trees and sandfor my entrée please give me a linethat’ll work on youand i’ll take that line to goto go with you after workyes everything is divineno i don’t want the billjust give me some wingsand a ride on the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95272331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95272331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95272331' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95268044</id><published>2003-06-03T23:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-05T00:33:15.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>oh! the web of lifethe tourists go to africapay big bucks to watch lions slay gazellessnap pictures of jackals and buzzardswheeling over the remainsthey speed through dung piles packing exotic sporesthat in two months will bloom briefly from the treadmarksinto interesting incandescencethe tourists will dine on imported salmonon a boat the crocodiles disregardand they (the humans!) </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95268044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95268044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95268044' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95174388</id><published>2003-06-01T22:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-10T02:20:52.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I would like to wrap my mind around my mind, but I can't. It's either too big, too slippery, or too fucked up. . .  . . . one of the two.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95174388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95174388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95174388' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95110815</id><published>2003-05-31T01:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-08T01:29:00.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>looking ahead with your favorite vegetablelooking ahead with your favorite vegetableif the people who never liked youdon’t show upat your funeralyour funeral willbe a total dragit'll be no fun at allwe couldn’t argueabout your lifeand its myriad flaming failuresi made a wonderfultape about the peoplewho don’t like youthey were so chattyit’s got a tonof painstaking crap about </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95110815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95110815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#95110815' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95110604</id><published>2003-05-31T01:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-13T09:09:03.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>without thiswithout the space between our ears, we would have no • motorcycleswithout a larynx, we would have no • taxeswithout a medulla oblongata, we would have no • argumentswithout cheez whiz, we would have no • crackerswithout a bunch of arcadians in a swamp, we would have no• new orleanswithout new orleans, we would never • sweat confetti without mexico, we would have no</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95110604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95110604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#95110604' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95109842</id><published>2003-05-31T00:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-04T23:32:52.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>we ran out of cantaloupethe cantaloupewhat a boring subjectit’s giving me a headacheit’s the last thingi want to talk abouti really hate itif we didn’t have cantalouspeswe wouldn’t haftafigure all this crap outthen we could justhave fun all the timeuntil we ranout of money</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95109842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95109842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#95109842' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-95108222</id><published>2003-05-31T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-31T02:29:07.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>multiple choice poemthe japanese have a word, hanamiwe who get by on ingrishwe have no single word to fit hanamiwhat does it mean?     1.	a mexican word that means “lodestar bodestar”     2.	when a bee gets pollen on its ass     3.	that which can’t be said in one word     4.	I want to hold your egg mcmuffin     5.	none of the aboveOK, number five, “none of the above”happens to correct</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95108222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/95108222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#95108222' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-94925982</id><published>2003-05-27T00:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-27T00:44:02.990-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Erratadati Roy stared down his catcher and shook off the sign for a curveball. Sure the world was going to hell, but noway was he going to throw this meatball a junk pitch. He was in Rome, Georgia, two weeks out of the Inter-Asia Development League (.025 era for the Bombay Bombers), and here he was in the class A promised land (temporary resident alien work visa) facing a burger fed tobacco </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94925982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94925982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_25_archive.html#94925982' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-94527526</id><published>2003-05-18T02:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-22T00:03:57.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>target practicewe shot a film in philosophical black we shot it full of philosophical holes we shot gnostic smoke in the lens	it smoldered frame by framewe shot film chock-full of stars and pop-up targetswe shot film as if film and philosophy were freewe shot clocks like there’s no tomorrowand spent the time shooting the night away	we shot clint eastwood bit players and slim </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94527526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94527526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_18_archive.html#94527526' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-94526144</id><published>2003-05-18T01:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-21T23:02:07.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>fat gobs of moneymy bitter mood suddenly mitigated by the unexpected receipt of 59 million dollars i paid my neighbor 2 million in quarterswith instructions to disappearby lunchtime and told him lunchtime is when i say it is enough money to do whatever the fuck I wantedlike buy a printing pressand the treasury secretaryand make more moneyfat gooey dripping gobs of it so i didI </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94526144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94526144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_18_archive.html#94526144' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-94524961</id><published>2003-05-18T01:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-21T23:04:17.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>english poem made with words we know in español    mi salsa es su  salsa aqui está una tortillacon queso, baybeewe mango a tortilla con salsa rhumba meringuewe drink cerveza and mas tortilla con tango now more beer, more beer now we do this every day, it is good this table, this mesa, is very strong many beers and many tortillas and you and I are tu y yoon this table, this mesa, baybee</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94524961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94524961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_18_archive.html#94524961' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-94367290</id><published>2003-05-14T23:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-18T01:05:23.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>we just figured out why human beings are so content to waste time1.) Because it saves them from the horror of doing something useful.2.) Because they think they're god, so what's the rush?3.) Time is so utterly priceless! And it's irreplaceable!4.) Time wastes them.5.) Who cares?6.) The good news is – you don’t have to be this way.7.) The bad news is – you areDon't worry, it's only 11:11</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94367290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94367290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_11_archive.html#94367290' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-94366549</id><published>2003-05-14T23:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-14T23:11:33.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>random notes, annual national night workers’ appreciation dayshouldn’t we appreciate national night workers 	tonight ?let’s write a poemin the daytimewhile nightworkers sleep in the sunthat’s nice that’s special special enoughfor a national nightworkers appreciation dayherbert kornfeld is sleeping after his graveyard shiftdown at world hq’s import export wholesale conversation </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94366549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/94366549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_05_11_archive.html#94366549' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-92699378</id><published>2003-04-16T01:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-04-16T01:58:50.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the cape at the end of firstwe fought our way onto skull beachwrestled a hermit crabinto the muckdamn you wet sea!I dare you dampen me againhablamos españolcon la cerveza y el solwe read what’s forbidden in the duneswe take a picture of the signwe take pictures of the dunes and how we got therewe take pictures of the sky and how we look under itwe take pictures of shells and the road</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92699378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92699378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_04_13_archive.html#92699378' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-92698875</id><published>2003-04-16T01:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-04-16T01:39:12.373-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This just in from our science department: the air around here is filled with invisible smoke. We're working hard to clear this up. Maybe we shouldn't have told you. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92698875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92698875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_04_13_archive.html#92698875' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-92268201</id><published>2003-04-09T00:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-04-09T19:28:12.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Kayaker falls off dock while explaining how he fell off dock. Cape Ah San, Florida. Clavin Urgam, the unpredictable Irish sportsman, was explaining to kayak repair shop assistant Gator Bean exactly how he fell off the dock and landed head first in the shit-colored bog. “You see I didn’t have the best angle on it, so to pull the kayak onto the dock I threw all my weight against the tow rope and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92268201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92268201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_04_06_archive.html#92268201' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-92026341</id><published>2003-04-05T00:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-04-09T02:09:49.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Didn’t know it had an “h” in it. The administration was embarrassed to admit that despite his decade-long obsession with The Cradle of Civilization, culminating in a trillion dollar war, Maximum Leader W. Bush did not know that “Baghdad” has an “h” in it. Spokesmodel Ari Fleischer defended, “No, he did not think of it as 'Dad's Bag' and Yes of course he knows it has a “B” and a “D" and an “A.” </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92026341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/92026341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_30_archive.html#92026341' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-91756179</id><published>2003-03-31T23:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-04-02T20:29:06.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sheetrock finisher experiences moment of intense "somethingness". “You know where you always see a seam? But now there ain't no seam? lt's like the mud and the gypsum and the paper and the ambient vibe and the whole throbbing universe had done become one endless single smooth wall and you just want to run your fingertips down the wall straight to infinity . . .  the one, seamless  wall . . .  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91756179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91756179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_30_archive.html#91756179' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-91528370</id><published>2003-03-28T00:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-28T00:35:58.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the point is a funnelso what’s the point ?we were born to livelet no scholarship get in the way of thatbut heck let no gluttony laziness industrymorality or the absence of moralityoligarchy or experience itselfget in the way of livingwhat’s the point?the point isa funnel </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91528370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91528370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_23_archive.html#91528370' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-91521497</id><published>2003-03-27T22:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-27T23:29:17.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Cape San Blas, FloridaMarch 22-23, 2003World HQ took a trip to the gulf to gather raw material for our ongoing top secret research project.We had cameras, video, audio, pencils, four wheels under a V6 and 40 hours to get to the bottom of things. Here's a partial log of our observations. Twigs included.We left Atlanta heading south looking for a cuppa joe at 6:23 A.M. Here's howWe got</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91521497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91521497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_23_archive.html#91521497' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-91459958</id><published>2003-03-27T00:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-28T06:58:58.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Helen Thomas embedded in Infantry Platoon. By presidential fiat, White House Senior Correspondent Helen Thomas has been embedded with the "Screamin' Shockenawequanawks" 901 Infantry Squadroon, heading overseas in a stripped down C-130 transport along with 312 recent graduates of the Mohawk Nation Community College and Casino Management ROTC program to reinforce the seige of Baghdad. Said Ms. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91459958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/91459958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_23_archive.html#91459958' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90974290</id><published>2003-03-19T00:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-20T20:32:25.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Construction superintendent fucks up idiot-proof timesheet. According to Buzz Sawyer, owner of Quando Quando Condo Inc., “We made it so any idiot could do it. On the left side of the goddam time sheet is the day of the week, and across the goddam top is the address of the job. All you gotta do is take two perpendicular fingers and run’em down the row and across the column till they meet up in a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90974290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90974290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_16_archive.html#90974290' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90785628</id><published>2003-03-15T21:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-16T21:10:06.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>people don’t call so often any moremy answering machine blew a head gasket	its steering wheel fell, spinning on the floor		plus it reeks, smell wafting through the houseat the telephone answering machine repair shopin gothic downtown Helmer, Georgiaspare telephone answering machine parts,plastic ribbons, rubber pulleys, micro tiny shiny metal barrels, thin aluminum rings piling  to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90785628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90785628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90785628' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90759961</id><published>2003-03-15T07:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-15T07:58:14.966-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Rumsfeld, Cheney caught blowing chunks in White House Rose Garden. Yes, even two of the president's most trusted and powerful advisors have panic attacks, dark feelings of remorse, wild eyed heart stopping fear and irritable bowel syndrome. Just yesterday, whirled headquarters dot com's intrepid field reporter, Sdji Hvartic, was cruising the White House area looking for personal interest stories </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90759961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90759961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90759961' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90593365</id><published>2003-03-12T11:27:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:27:45.763-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>President’s daughter caught masticating in public. Jenna Bush, who could have gone anywhere in the world on her spring break from Yale, chose to stay on campus, drink beer and chew with her mouth open. Observers, who wish to remain unnamed because Jenna’s daddy is dictator of the free world, indicated that the younger Bush particularly resembled the President when stuffing her face with French </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90593365' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90593330</id><published>2003-03-12T11:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:27:08.873-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Free electrons thing of past. Physical physicists, as opposed to mere theoretical physicists, have determined that what’s "fucking everything up" is that we have enslaved too many electrons. “Before Edison, electrons could zip around from atom to atom, according to their supernal preferences,” propounded Clik Munderheim of Cal Tech. “But now, quizillions of electrons are stuck in chip circuits, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90593330' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90593202</id><published>2003-03-12T11:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:24:47.373-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Small things have a disproportionately large effect, according to government study. “Small things affect big things a lot more than big things affect the small. Or is that effect?” inquired Dr. Bruno Yasski of NASA. “For example, mountain ranges,” gesticulated the nervous Yasski. “Mountain ranges, which are pretty damn big, rarely shut down the international banking system, but computer chips </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90593202' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90593022</id><published>2003-03-12T11:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:21:10.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the laws of thermodynamics, applied:first law: energy can’t sit stillsecond law: free time is somebody else's work third law: it’s cool to make heatobjective conclusion: energy can’t be lost or foundsubjective conclusion: yes it cancorollary: it stings a littlehot stuff becomes cold stuff quicklyinside space there is a molten chamber	and a one timeone wordone pass word to enterit is</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90593022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90593022' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90592991</id><published>2003-03-12T11:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:20:26.873-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This just in from our literary criticism department: The good thing about fiction is it's a lot more believeable than the alternative. Plus the fact that there's no such thing as non-fiction.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90592991' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90592808</id><published>2003-03-12T11:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:18:52.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Accountant disturbed by inflating universe. No other details available at press time other than the general advice of "don't hold your breath".  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90592808' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90592651</id><published>2003-03-12T11:13:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:13:41.936-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>High Alert: Department of Homeland Security declares that most people employed by the US government are "High".  States Tom Ridge, Secretary of the Dept of Homeland Security, "About 12 people in the CDC in Atlanta ( CDC employee, Chief of Toxicology, Biff Glenn, in photo on left uses beaker-bong to get "High" ) lit a sizable "bong" in the beaker washer room and that was enough to put the total </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90592651' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90592631</id><published>2003-03-12T11:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T11:13:17.606-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Cat claims ninth area of man's home exclusively hers for napping. Bijou, a prominent Atlanta, Georgia cat, in the home she shares with Moe Nuffy, a human being, today laid claim to the green wool blanket atop the northernmost cushion on the living room sofa. Bijou staked out the area at 6:13 P.M. today and remained ensconced there throughout the eveing, impervious to the carefully reasoned </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90592631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90592631' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90566990</id><published>2003-03-11T23:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T21:23:33.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>New government study describes ideal roommate. According to an extremely thorough and timely government examination of "roommates" as we know them, the ideal roommate is super-depressed and feels really bad about it. That way, the roomate is usually all crapped out so you can do whatever you want without asking the roomate if it's "all right", and the roommate really doesn't care when all the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90566990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90566990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90566990' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90565430</id><published>2003-03-11T23:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T21:11:50.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Tom Ridge identifies next terrorist target: Tom Ridge ordered the Decatur regiment of the Sons of Daughters of Confederate Veterans onto 24 hour and a half guard at the Cyclorama (a bunch of dummies in a circle) in Atlanta, Georgia. The chintzy and dearly held painting of Sherman's march through Atlanta was under a code "triple deep red" threat level. Tom Ridge also urged Atlanta residents to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90565430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90565430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90565430' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90565347</id><published>2003-03-11T23:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-11T23:41:46.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Baby Jewish girl named Jesus gets solid chocolate Bible at naming ceremony. Our reporters said the chocolate was really, really good. And it was very long. Because after all, it's a Bible. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90565347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90565347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90565347' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90565057</id><published>2003-03-11T22:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T01:14:10.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Middle manager seeks salvation through cloning.  Guy Mann, Middle Manager at Lefty's You Can Em, You Eat Em and Shoe Repair, has chosen to "straighten out my bass ackwards karma by raising my cloned self. That's right, what I got here," pointing to mass of protoplasm in a kleenex, “is me all over again." Guy Mann Sr. has adopted Guy Mann Jr., a not-yet-human being on whom Guy Mann Sr. pins his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90565057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90565057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_09_archive.html#90565057' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90251746</id><published>2003-03-06T13:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-06T13:47:19.686-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Man fabricates diary. In a tortured rush of quasi-coherent prose, Herman Thurman  of Thick Thistle, New York, lost his firm grip on what is commonly accepted as the "Truthful Diary Principles," in which the diarist limits entries to stuff that actually happened: not a difficult concept to comprehend. "I got over-excited because I was so close to the end of volume 5," stammered Thurman, "but </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90251746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90251746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90251746' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90251693</id><published>2003-03-06T13:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-06T13:46:10.610-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Daily Forecast South of the 40th parallel, from noon to nine: propitious if not downright encouraging  for outdoor oboe concerts. Fortunately, one  was scheduled because of the snappy forecast and on a lawn somewhere in  the region citizens were regaled -- the “interesting” sounds of a single oboe’s plaintive and haunting cry deeply stirring the memory centers of the brain and causing, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90251693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90251693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90251693' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90251631</id><published>2003-03-06T13:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-06T13:45:12.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>John Asscroft, General Attorney of NUSA (New United States of Amurica), unilaterally deploys revered early American anti-terrorism methodology. "I am going to revive the The Witch Trial," announced the murder-loving Kompletely Kracked Khristian flourishing a rare grin and a fistful of extra-long old-fashioned lamplighter style matches from the 1943 Sears catalogue. "I believe in the power of hot </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90251631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90251631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90251631' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90247037</id><published>2003-03-06T12:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-06T12:17:51.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Powell Declares Vial of Simulated Sperm to be "Evil": Holding the opaque milky substance aloft in front of an eagerly revulsed world, Colin Powell explained archly, "We got it from swabbing down the insides of those shiny spent aluminum tubes we found outside Baghdad. I mean, just use your imagination...you gettin' it?...you see now?...that's right. That's just evil. Pure axis o' evil." When </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90247037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90247037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90247037' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90246838</id><published>2003-03-06T12:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-06T12:14:08.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The world report today. A synopsis: Cheese, a slight chalky taste in my mouth, terror, fizz, hubris, the dali llama, felching (or is it phelching?), leotards, crunchy stuff, Brigadoon, bad haberdashery, the word "puff", the Clovis site, meatballs, rattatooie.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90246838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90246838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90246838' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90146809</id><published>2003-03-04T20:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-04T20:37:10.200-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The world report today. A synopsis: Fire, death, weather, sex, remorse, futility, rue, smig hupness, denial, appreciation, beauty, giddiness, Cape Horn, sleaze, markets barking, puffed upedness.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90146809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90146809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90146809' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90146787</id><published>2003-03-04T20:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-04T20:36:35.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I just walked headfirst into an asstral projection. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90146787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90146787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90146787' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90146099</id><published>2003-03-04T20:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-04T20:23:46.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I just walked assfirst into headstral projectile.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90146099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90146099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90146099' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-90145813</id><published>2003-03-04T20:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-04T20:37:05.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Notes From Mulligan’s Bar The Night Jason Left Us For DisneyWorld don’t go there the whole idea is way too goofy they make you wear the big Mickey head, don't they? four in the corner pocket off the seven ball yes its an impossible shot a fantasy are we stripes or solids? never mind we’re all stripes, all solids we can talk about the Magic Kingdom and the weather in central </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90145813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/90145813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_03_02_archive.html#90145813' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89740684</id><published>2003-02-25T18:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-03T16:38:20.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Greenland Gets Pre-emptive Strike from U.S. Forces. According to General Dick Viktor of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, “This is an opportunity we can’t afford to miss. If we don’t go in now while nobody's living there, soon this unspoiled arctic wasteland will be teeming with terrorists. We gotta go in and lock it up now, or the terrorists will have already won. Retroactively in the future, I mean.” </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89740684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89740684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_23_archive.html#89740684' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89602197</id><published>2003-02-23T11:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-03T16:59:26.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Smallest state now officially claims slightly larger name: Rhode Estuary. “This has been festering ever since George Washington lost a platoon trying to outflank the enemy by circumnavigating the state in a war dinghy,” lamented Troy Lake who lives in one of formerly-Rhode-Island’s four squatty, narrow counties. Added Cranberryville Mayor Wiley Rivers, “Visitors ask, ‘Where’s the other side of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89602197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89602197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_23_archive.html#89602197' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89333274</id><published>2003-02-18T18:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-18T20:22:05.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Drop-dead gorgeous weather kills 12 in Polenta, Paraguay. In the southern hemisphere today, beyond the purview of major news organizations, utterly perfect weather conditions conspired to infuse the masses with “energy bursts, blinding giddiness, and total loss of life preserving cognition,” according to El Jefe de Generalissimo grande Raul "el guapo" Zorroto of Paraguay. “The mild temperature, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89333274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89333274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_16_archive.html#89333274' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89301259</id><published>2003-02-18T07:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-18T07:30:40.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Google Buys Web Publishing Tool Blogger. New name to be either Boogle, Glogger, GerGlo, GleBoo or Snot.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89301259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89301259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_16_archive.html#89301259' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89297168</id><published>2003-02-18T05:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-18T07:32:35.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Delmar Schwartz attempts to find word in dictionary.  Doesn’t know what it is. Fails miserably. “It's why I hate the dictionary,” Schwartz bitched. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89297168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89297168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_16_archive.html#89297168' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89167625</id><published>2003-02-15T21:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-18T20:46:44.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Rich people have spaghetti-o's for dinner while pet pugs lick each other's asses. According the baby sitter, Babs Knox, Horace and Delores Rockefeller could have had anything in the world for dinner: fresh lobster flown in from lobsterland; caviar from caviarland or some really good smelly cheese from France. But no, Horace and Delores just opened up a can of crap that their babysitter wouldn't </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89167625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89167625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#89167625' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89150469</id><published>2003-02-15T13:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-18T20:56:17.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Free electrons thing of past. Physical physicists, as opposed to mere theoretical physicists, have determined that what’s "fucking everything up" is that we have enslaved too many electrons. “Before Edison, electrons could zip around from atom to atom, according to their supernal preferences,” propounded Clik Munderheim of Cal Tech. “But now, quizillions of electrons are stuck in chip circuits, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89150469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89150469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#89150469' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021330.post-89149567</id><published>2003-02-15T12:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-18T20:35:45.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>President’s daughter caught masticating in public. Jenna Bush, who could have gone anywhere in the world on her spring break from Yale, chose to stay on campus, drink beer and chew with her mouth open. Observers, who wish to remain unnamed because Jenna’s daddy is dictator of the free world, indicated that the younger Bush particularly resembled the President when stuffing her face with French </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89149567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5021330/posts/default/89149567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://whirledheadquarters.blogspot.com/2003_02_09_archive.html#89149567' title=''/><author><name>hq</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12637922110470388909</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
