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Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Flaming Towers of Poo

Hey, it's been a while since the monkey got to write anything! What can I say, I have been busy.
So, while sitting around the house and thinking about cute monkey chicks I occasionally boot up the ol' internet and search for snotty yet brilliant articles about architecture.

2 Comments:

  • At 2:52 PM, December 13, 2006, Anonymous Peter said…

    So Harry,
    14 of us gatghered at an Indian restaurant last night to celebrate the birthday of the illustrious JB. I have pasted a celebratory Ode created by PK and ML commemorating the occassion:
    To Jonathan @ 60


    ‘Twas the eve of the hearing, and all through the town
    The OSHA elites, in their tuxes and gowns,
    Those backslapping, nose thumbing goblins of greed
    Who for eight Bushy years helped the workers to bleed
    Were gathered to toast with their Grey Goose held high
    The slim two percent who’s net profits were neigh.

    The workers were huddled together for heat
    No healthcare nor safety net there at their feet.
    And those injured through greed were resigned to their plight
    When a tap tap of keyboard was heard in the night.

    From 116 John Street, Suite six zero four
    Though the hallways were dark, one light shown through one door.
    Surrounded by boxes piled high to the sky
    FOIA secrets where-in truth it did lie.

    A tall lanky form at computer did toil
    The OSHA festivities plotting to foil
    By his passion and outrage it was clear to me
    That this sleepless crusader was the famous JB.

    “Eureka, the bastards, we’ll nail ‘em” he vowed
    On the shoulders of these greats we’ll never be cowed
    “On Big Bill , on Selikoff , on Fredrick, on Karl”
    “They’ll shake in their Pradas” our hero did snarl.

    One last click of the mouse, and off he doth fly
    To enlighten the masses on bold BAI.
    Where ever you look there is grist for his mill
    Our toxic environment sure gives him a thrill.

    Meanwhile at the hearing OSHA heads sitting pretty
    Having whitewashed our air, and shafting our city
    When in strolls JB in the old “nick of time”
    Arms full of evidence and Cole Porter rhymes.

    His eyes how they twinkled with wicked delight
    His silver streaked hair and his sweater just right.
    The hearing room hushed, all eyes turned about
    They knew that their slamdunk was thrown into doubt

    JB spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
    Distributed data, then turned with a jerk
    And pointing his finger he says with a frown
    “We won’t have you bastards grinding us down!”

    The bosses, the bureaucrats, pols and CNN too
    Are now eating crow, while we have vindaloo
    To Grace in St. Louis , Puget Sound , Rocketdyne
    JB serves up the facts ‘til the CEOs whine.

    He sprang to the F train, for Brooklyn’s his borough
    “Duty calls,” were his last words, “I’ve got to walk Zorro. ”
    And we all do proclaim as he strolls out of sight
    Happy Birthday JB, and keep up the good fight!

    Written and performed by Mary & Peter – December 12, 2006

     
  • At 7:01 PM, December 15, 2006, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    i hope you and the monkey have a great hanukkah!

     

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