Reminds me of chickelit's chirbit humor and ChipA's Gifs. And it heartened me to see and hear this happen. Human Creativity vs the Hive Mind.
I'd add the word "robotic"after flaming, as the prompt was canned theater, right down to the pink stick; and the Rep's response rang out as appropriately theatrical yet authentic, befitting the moment. Even if he planned it out ahead of time, it was a skill he "held in his hand". He knew what he was doing, and it worked.
Now that was truly funny! Thanks for the laugh, Chip.
On a more depressing note, that voice reminded me of the last auction I went to 40 years ago. I recalled it: here (I even tried to capture that cadence in his speech).
I grew up going to auctions. They were a fact of life out in the country. There was a nearby auction house that held weekly auctions and that is how I furnished my first marital home. Giant floor model Zenith radio with a 10" speaker - $4.00. Upright pianos for $3.00, you move 'em. Aluminum and formica art-deco table, $2.00. Sears and Roebuck oak chairs with designs pressed into the crest rail - $5.00 for a set of 4. Since the auction house agglomerated detritus from many sources you were just buying stuff, the memories were not attached.
My current goal is to minimize the tonnage that goes to auction when I die. That task alone may speed my demise.
This shows that the South is the only part of he country that's resisted being buttoned-down and up-tight. Although I'm not sure if Missourians are all in agreement that they're Southerners.
Aw, what's the fun in it all if I don't become a burden to my heirs? Don't mention that charity thing to them. Plus, no charity wants what I have hoarded, just sayin'.
Why wouldn't the audience crack up? It was well done, fun and to the point, providing a counter to the absurdity and tedium of the canned performances beleaguering them.
Plus, no charity wants what I have hoarded, just sayin'.
For finished and partially completed work that falls somewhere on the continuum of fine craftmanship leading to Objec d'art, along with a supply of collected material and useful tools, an auction or bulk sale to an auction house is the way to go.
Not that it matters, I suppose, but I'd prefer there not be two separate embalmings for my head and heart. I'd also rather not have those nearest to me or attending to my care enraged with me. Thankfully, love endures, while the work of one's hands gets parted out to be valued, destroyed or serve as testimony to the energy put into something that at one time mattered.
In February 1778, Voltaire returned for the first time in over 25 years to Paris, among other reasons to see the opening of his latest tragedy, Irene. The five-day journey was too much for the 83-year-old, and he believed he was about to die on 28 February, writing "I die adoring God, loving my friends, not hating my enemies, and detesting superstition." However, he recovered, and in March saw a performance of Irene, where he was treated by the audience as a returning hero.
He soon became ill again and died on 30 May 1778. The accounts of his deathbed have been numerous and varying, and it has not been possible to establish the details of what precisely occurred. His enemies related that he repented and accepted the last rites given by a Catholic priest, or that he died under great torment, while his adherents told how he was defiant to his last breath. According to one story of his last words, his response to a priest at his deathbed urging him to renounce Satan was "Now is not the time for making new enemies." However, this appears to have originated from a joke first published in a Massachusetts newspaper in 1856, and was only attributed to Voltaire in the 1970s.
Because of his well-known criticism of the Church, which he had refused to retract before his death, Voltaire was denied a Christian burial in Paris, but friends and relations managed to bury his body secretly at the Abbey of Scellières in Champagne, where Marie Louise's brother was abbé. His heart and brain were embalmed separately.
The Catholic Church may have wrestled Voltaire for his soul on his deathbed, and that's supposed to make the Church the villain. But what it means is that the Church VALUED his soul. Now we're all soulless. At least as society sees it. Some progress, huh?
After checking out the 2 minute version I happened on clue as to why a desire for cannas might be cropping up this late in the season:
At the opening of the novel, its eponymous hero, the young and naive Candide, schooled in this optimistic philosophy by his tutor Pangloss, who claims that "all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds," is ejected from the magnificent castle in which he is raised. The rest of the novel details the multiple hardships and disasters that Candide and his various companions meet in their travels. These include war, rape, theft, hanging, shipwrecks, earthquakes, cannibalism, and slavery. Although these experiences gradually erode Candide’s optimistic belief, he and his companions display an instinct for survival that gives them hope in an otherwise sombre setting. When they all retire together to a simple life on a small farm, they discover that the secret of happiness is "to cultivate one’s garden," a practical philosophy that excludes excessive idealism and nebulous metaphysics.
20 comments:
Now that there is levity.
I wouldn't go over 25 cents for that flaming retard. He started the bidding way too high.
Reminds me of chickelit's chirbit humor and ChipA's Gifs. And it heartened me to see and hear this happen. Human Creativity vs the Hive Mind.
I'd add the word "robotic"after flaming, as the prompt was canned theater, right down to the pink stick; and the Rep's response rang out as appropriately theatrical yet authentic, befitting the moment. Even if he planned it out ahead of time, it was a skill he "held in his hand". He knew what he was doing, and it worked.
Long was the owner of Billy Long Auctions for decades before joining Congress
Now that was truly funny! Thanks for the laugh, Chip.
On a more depressing note, that voice reminded me of the last auction I went to 40 years ago. I recalled it: here (I even tried to capture that cadence in his speech).
I grew up going to auctions. They were a fact of life out in the country. There was a nearby auction house that held weekly auctions and that is how I furnished my first marital home. Giant floor model Zenith radio with a 10" speaker - $4.00. Upright pianos for $3.00, you move 'em. Aluminum and formica art-deco table, $2.00. Sears and Roebuck oak chairs with designs pressed into the crest rail - $5.00 for a set of 4. Since the auction house agglomerated detritus from many sources you were just buying stuff, the memories were not attached.
My current goal is to minimize the tonnage that goes to auction when I die. That task alone may speed my demise.
I'll bet Billy Long grew up listening to his Missouri homeboy sing The Auctioneer.
Chip, Great find!
This shows that the South is the only part of he country that's resisted being buttoned-down and up-tight. Although I'm not sure if Missourians are all in agreement that they're Southerners.
Hang in there, Sixty. Some charities will pick up stuff.
Hilarious moment. So funny how the audience is cracking up.
Aw, what's the fun in it all if I don't become a burden to my heirs? Don't mention that charity thing to them. Plus, no charity wants what I have hoarded, just sayin'.
Why wouldn't the audience crack up? It was well done, fun and to the point, providing a counter to the absurdity and tedium of the canned performances beleaguering them.
Plus, no charity wants what I have hoarded, just sayin'.
For finished and partially completed work that falls somewhere on the continuum of fine craftmanship leading to Objec d'art, along with a supply of collected material and useful tools, an auction or bulk sale to an auction house is the way to go.
I advise you to go on living solely to enrage those who are paying your annuities. It is the only pleasure I have left.
-Voltaire
Not that it matters, I suppose, but I'd prefer there not be two separate embalmings for my head and heart. I'd also rather not have those nearest to me or attending to my care enraged with me. Thankfully, love endures, while the work of one's hands gets parted out to be valued, destroyed or serve as testimony to the energy put into something that at one time mattered.
In February 1778, Voltaire returned for the first time in over 25 years to Paris, among other reasons to see the opening of his latest tragedy, Irene. The five-day journey was too much for the 83-year-old, and he believed he was about to die on 28 February, writing "I die adoring God, loving my friends, not hating my enemies, and detesting superstition." However, he recovered, and in March saw a performance of Irene, where he was treated by the audience as a returning hero.
He soon became ill again and died on 30 May 1778. The accounts of his deathbed have been numerous and varying, and it has not been possible to establish the details of what precisely occurred. His enemies related that he repented and accepted the last rites given by a Catholic priest, or that he died under great torment, while his adherents told how he was defiant to his last breath. According to one story of his last words, his response to a priest at his deathbed urging him to renounce Satan was "Now is not the time for making new enemies." However, this appears to have originated from a joke first published in a Massachusetts newspaper in 1856, and was only attributed to Voltaire in the 1970s.
Because of his well-known criticism of the Church, which he had refused to retract before his death, Voltaire was denied a Christian burial in Paris, but friends and relations managed to bury his body secretly at the Abbey of Scellières in Champagne, where Marie Louise's brother was abbé. His heart and brain were embalmed separately.
I read Voltaire's Candide not long ago. Marvelous book. Boy cut to the chase, I'm gonna tell you what!
The Catholic Church may have wrestled Voltaire for his soul on his deathbed, and that's supposed to make the Church the villain. But what it means is that the Church VALUED his soul. Now we're all soulless. At least as society sees it. Some progress, huh?
After checking out the 2 minute version I happened on clue as to why a desire for cannas might be cropping up this late in the season:
At the opening of the novel, its eponymous hero, the young and naive Candide, schooled in this optimistic philosophy by his tutor Pangloss, who claims that "all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds," is ejected from the magnificent castle in which he is raised. The rest of the novel details the multiple hardships and disasters that Candide and his various companions meet in their travels. These include war, rape, theft, hanging, shipwrecks, earthquakes, cannibalism, and slavery. Although these experiences gradually erode Candide’s optimistic belief, he and his companions display an instinct for survival that gives them hope in an otherwise sombre setting. When they all retire together to a simple life on a small farm, they discover that the secret of happiness is "to cultivate one’s garden," a practical philosophy that excludes excessive idealism and nebulous metaphysics.
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