Friday, December 31, 2010

Joyous Winter Dayz!

Well, it's that time of year again for celebrating miraculous births and enjoying a brunch of Mussels Vanderbilt with friends. During these final days of the calendar year, we can forget about the near universal garmonbozia plaguing our world and focus on the positive. Today's kartoon from Hadley Daughterson reminds us of the magic of this season and serves as a beacon of hope for the coming year. Abscond with:

Thursday, December 23, 2010

History Korner

There’s a great deal of history you should know about Kreationism. Inasmuch as that’s concerned, we put our trustworthy documentarian Gabe Gabriel up to the task of plumbing the depths of the latest academic literature on the subject and he generated this short-but-sweet research biography. Truth be known, Murdoch’s put a fire under us to kontribute more to the small-but-influential field of Kreation skolarship. It would appear kontributing to the field of Kreation itself isn’t enough. Just another way Chas likes to push our buttons. Rancor aside, we’d be nowhere without his largesse. Prepare to have your ass rubbed in the moonshine:

T. G. Kreationssen: The Man Behind The Korner
By Gabe Gabriel

Any discussion of Kreationism’s long, colorful and often mysterious history would be remiss without a detailed look at the movement’s founder, Kolonel Thor Gustav Kreationssen. Born in 1785 to a prominent forest products family in Piteå, Sweden, Kreationssen was drawn at an early age to such activities as bookbinding, playing the nyckelharpa and reciting improvised sonnets in the public square. This outlandish behavior quickly raised more than a few eyebrows around the small nordic town, resulting in his father’s decision to send the young Kreationssen to a now defunct military academy for boys on the Baltic island of Gotland (Kinnedy, 345).
Despite harsh conditions, poor sanitation and under-fermented Surströmming, Kreationssen's gumption persevered and quickly won the hearts and minds of his peers and eventually the commandant, a prickly fellow called Mr. Anckarström (Gomez-Thackeray, 214). It is a debate amongst scholars whether this was the first known instance in recorded history of minds being blown en mass. Kreationssen and his brothers in arms soon became restless in their insular confines and departed Gotland in 1806 for mainland Europe (Kinnedy, 353-354).
Although only carrying the rank of Sixth Lieutenant, Kreationssen was the de facto leader of his ragtag battalion and dauntlessly pledged his and the support of his men in the fight against the tyranny of Napoleon Bonaparte. Rather than lethal weapons however, the intrepid young Swede chose bayonets of broad-mindedness to impale ignorance rather than flesh (Thomason, 414). Kreationssen and his kompatriots arrived several days after the decisive French victory at the Battle of Jena, however, and found themselves dismayed and penniless in occupied Prussia.
But this didn’t crush the spirits of the ever forward-looking Kreationssen. It didn’t take long for word to spread amongst the Prussian peasantry and other classes that a strange man of mental-might hitherto unknown was in their midst, demolishing long-held conventions daily. The legend--and the man himself--of Thor Gustav Kreationssen gave hope to those looking for meaning in the wake of devastation (Kinnedy, 378). For the next ten years, Kreationssen and his followers--who quickly became known as Kreationists appropriately enough--walked from one end of Europe to the other, lifting thousands from mental incarceration through spontaneous acts of poetry, sound, street theatre and visual art.
In 1816, Kreationssen’s father passed away and bequeathed his vast timber products fortune to his sole progeny. The former Sixth Lieutenant--now 31 years of age--settled in Paris and quickly became the talk of the salon scene. Theories of why Kreationssen chose Paris very, but a prevailing one is that he wished to take down the beast of what he considered feebleminded intellectual movements by cutting off the head (Thomason, 422). It was during this time that he published the Kreationsim Manifesto, which firmly outlined his goal to blow the mind, body and soul--a core tenant of the Kreation movement to this day. No publisher in Paris would touch this scandalous tract, so the author was forced to publish it back in Piteå on one of the family-owned printing presses (Kinnedy, 412).
After the Manifesto’s release, Kreationssen earned the dubious distinction of Western Europe’s “bad boy,” hobnobbing with the cultural elite--and their wives (Kinnedy, 415)! This Casanovian lifestyle was soon cut short as some great personal tragedy befell Kreationssen. Shunning all forms of interpersonal interaction,--save for weekly visits from friend and konfidant Johawn von Steimaus, chairman of Kreationism's Alsace chapter--he never again kreated in his life and the jury is still out on why. Spekulation suggests it was the death of a secret lover or some great revelation us lesser are not privy to. Perhaps we will never know. Perhaps we are not meant to know. Noted Kreationism skolar Daniel A. Thomason suggests that Kreationssen during this period of vulnerability came under the influence of the Bricklayers, the Order of Strangefolk or some other sinister secret society (427). Evidence of such contact is spotty, but what is universally agreed upon by scholars is that Kreationism's founder was never the same.
Before succumbing to unknown causes in 1842, Thor Gustav Kreationssen lived out the rest of his life as a hermit at an abandoned sawmill near his birthplace. He left his fortune to a distant cousin, who happened to be an ancestor of Chas Murdoch. Though he receded into obscurity and may well have been manipulated by subversive elements, his spirit is carried on by Kreationists the world over who revere him posthumously as a Kolonel in the Kreation Kause (Thomason, 435). Although the mysterious circumstances surrounding the latter years of his life will likely remain as such, what is no mystery is his legacy. A legacy that assumes the form in this day and age as an undaunted commitment to being a beacon of hope, love and true cranial clarity in an otherwise cruel, indifferent world.

Works Cited

Gomez-Thackeray, Denise. “Young Kreationssen: School Daze.” In The Kreationism Reader edited by T. Blunt Halladay et al. (Atlanta, ID: Mountain Metropolis Press, 2009), 207-229.

Kinnedy, Dutch. Kreationism: A History. Boise, ID: C. Murdoch & Sons, 2008.

Thomason, Daniel A. “Kreationism: Guiding Light for Humanity or Krock of Shit?” Kreation Kwarterly 3 (2010): 411-437.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part XI:

Any concerns the foreman had of appearing remiss in his duties were dismissed as he and his equine companion arrived back at the rendering plant
It appeared a labor dispute had fomented in their absence and a seething picket line now obstructed the facility’s entrance
The donkey was taken aback, but the foreman had seen this storm a-brewing for several months

To Be Kontinued...

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Necessity Is the Mother of Kreation

The title of today's post is taken straight from the horse's mouth. But I bet this is the first horse you've ever seen throwing the paint of kreation indiscriminately against the canvas of the urban environment! That's right, we're here today to present an exclusive interview with our very own street kreationist, BLENKO. We could give a lengthy introduction to what is surely a breakthrough moment in the chronicling of human artistic expression -- but we think the guy can speak just as well for himself. ¡Mira!

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Poet's Korner

The contents of my
digestive tract ejected
onto the tabletop.
Like a bilious fire hose
of ignoble design.
My innards feel scooped
out and my ribs a bit
tender. I'm only human
after all--but isn't that
just a copout used to
forgo perseverance?
I welcome suffering as
an opportunity for
personal examination
and moral clarity.

--Dr. Peebles

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Fiction Korner

Even in death, Mitt remained calm and collected. Stoic even. It was never his way to panic or to blame people. Were I him I’d’ve blamed my wife, my folks, my teachers--anybody to take the heat. But Mitt, always the wise half of the duo, knew excuses were like pancreases. Pancreases riddled with buck shot and hemorrhaging that precious life-giving liquid known as blood. Blood that spilled onto the artichokes, those spiny green treasures he’d fought so hard to obtain. Obtained in that fertile coastal plain--once a playground, now a sun-drenched tomb.
I tried my best to apply pressure to the wounds, but any effort to stop the bleeding was in vain. For a split second I even considered saying something to effect of, “sorry, Mitt. My efforts to stop your bleeding are in vein.” Mitt didn’t appreciate puns even when he wasn’t about to meet his maker, so I spared him. We just sat there, listening to the rapidly approaching baying of Sylvain’s Rottweilers.
Why had Sylvain double-crossed us? I ran through the last two months in my head, but couldn’t recall insulting his honor at any point. But he’d ambushed us just the same, and as we sat holed-up in that tool shed, I was baffled at how an innocent everyday agri-heist had gone so awry. All Mitt and I wanted  was to sate our love of both artichokes and stealing things. Plus pre-harvest ‘chokes fetched a pretty penny on the black market. But it was never about the money. We almost always broke even.
But there we were. In over our heads. In a way, I envied Mitt. He could die doing what he loved. Who knew what type of grisly, undignified end Sylvain and his men had in store for me? My train of thought was suddenly derailed by a loud raspy moan. I was quick to comfort Mitt, cradling his soil-flecked head in my arms.
“I don’t think I have much longer,” he said.
“It’s ok, pal. You’ll be marinating the big artichoke heart in the sky soon,” I replied.
“Hehe. Don’t know about that old friend,” he gasped. “I lived a life of stealin’ and fightin’ and drinkin’. I’ll be lucky to end up in hell!”
“From what I hear, hell’s a big vat of drawn butter.”
Mitt managed a weak smile, eyes glassy. The dogs were closing in. I could hear the shouts of men as well. Mitt was dead. But his demise would not be in vein. I took up his lucky artichoke bat, and poised myself for combat. I'd be joining my partner soon, but not without a fight.
--Jawn Steighmeaus

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Header Korner

Hello, you! On this, the day of ritual turkey massacre in the name of a national fiction, we bring you cutting political commentary in the only form that seems to sell these days -- gritty, high-contrast, faux-stencil, post-pop graphic art! It's true we couldn't get hold of the two most ubiquitous practitioners of the medium, Banksy and Shepard Fairey. Our plea to their publicists to "do us a solid" was roundly rejected. Typical left-wing conspiracy.

Luckily for you, however, "failure" isn't in the Kreationist playbook. ("Earth-shattering poetic prophecies in an abandoned paint factory," on the other hand...) But I digress. You may notice at the top that, against all odds, we have managed to create a statement that is both a visual treat and an incisive political thought-piece of devastating implications. There's even some reading involved! The pun might take a little while to grab you, but be patient. This piece is most rewarding after multiple viewings, kind of like a James Cameron film. Yes, I'm proudly drawing a comparison between our current header, and Titanic.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Prognostication Korner

Every great Kreationist from Huey Dood on down to Steed Stetson have asked at one point or another, are we alone? Is The Korner the sole bastion of the Kreation Kause in a turbulent, indifferent sea of woe? The answer is no. As much as we'd like to assume the aforementioned insular attitude, the fact is that kind of narrow-mindedness has come back to bite us all in the kollective ass. But this is not to say our small planet is teeming with kreationists. On the kontrary, signs of kreative life are few and far between and it is only through happenstance or the providence of a higher being that these elusive kounterparts are revealed to us. Today, we bring you one such sign. It is an article from a self-described muck-raking online newsletter. Although the author seems to be working under an unusual definition of kreationism, the piece eerily foretells our infamous Vision Kuest '08 nearly three years before it occurred. We're not sure how to interpret this mysterious tract, but we are evermore convinced of the mysteriousness and potency of kreationism and humbly suspect that we are mere pawns in an arcane chess game spanning untold ages of man. Take a look for yourself:

"Kreationism in Kansas" by Stan Cox

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part X:

The two ran for a few blocks, but then slowed to a brisk walk, so as to stave off upchuck
Had not the foreman been the highest ranking employee at the plant, he would’ve been worried that his tardiness would be grounds for reprimand
But, even so, he was a principled man and hated the precedent he set by taking advantage of his position of authority

To Be Kontinued...

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Poet's Korner

Found poetry, 11/2/2010, 10:53 am, SFSU Humanities Building, 3rd Floor Men's Lavatory

Tap your feet
Be discrete

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Fiction Korner

A friend of a friend's wife once told me all literature is about God, death and sex. Well, this story's an exception to that rule. It's about cookies. But as a writer, I'm not going to beat you over the head with cookies. Cookies will be subtly hinted at rather than explicitly referenced. You will have to mine layer after stratified layer of subtext to find the cookies. Be sure to bring your spelunker hat of unconventional thought--you're going to need it! This isn't your great aunty's cookie story. This is the big leagues! I'm going to show you cookies, not tell you cookies. So there you go. Fair warning. Don't come crying to me if your head explodes. --Jawn Steighmeaus

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Komik Korner

Good tidings Lee brings to you and your kin! That's right, Lee Watt is back -- and how! After a much-needed sabbatical devoted to the exploration of oil slicks as a veritable art medium, the Korner's enigmatic kartoonist is back at it with a series entitled, "Things aren't what they seem, even if they may look like it. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Don't judge a book by its cover?'" The first in the "TAWTSEITMLLIHYEHSDJBBC?" series is a heady combo of razor-sharp cultural critique and minima-expressionist illustrations that will leave you drink with somber meditation. Pump up the jam:

Monday, October 25, 2010

Korner Wisdom

No. 16: "Everything is exactly what it seems."
No. 17: "Cleopatra isn't the only queen of denial. The other is Hatshepsut."

Monday, October 18, 2010

Komedy Korner

Buenos day to you! Before we unveil the latest installment in Svetlana Mendoza's groundbreaking episodic joke, we present you with a bonus feature: the komedienne's much awaited kontributor bio! Peruse:

Little is known about Svetlana Mendoza. This kharismatic comedienne keeps much of her early life close to the bodice. What we do know is that she is a missile crisis baby--perhaps the only one. Born to a Cuban father and Russian mother, she grew up on the wrong side of Smolensk raised almost exclusively by an ex-KGB nanny who had ice water for blood. Our best guess is that she arrived in the US sometime around 3:47 pm on July 15, 1996--but that’s just a rough estimate. Legend has it that Svetlana--dreaming of better opportunities in America--smuggled herself into the country in a box of streamers belonging to Russia’s Olympic rhythmic gymnastics team. Once stateside, Mendoza began hitchhiking across this great land--after allegedly watching a few of the minor field events. From then on it was a life on the road, relying on the charity of strangers for a meal and a place to sleep. It was during this itinerate phase of Svetlana’s life that she saw her first Sinbad VHS, a revelatory experience that set her on her present career path. “The energy, the passion, the clothing,” Mendoza recalled. “It was then that I knew my calling in life.” Starting with an open mic at Knock 'Em Dead Comedy Club and Crematorium in Gastonia, NC, Svetlana cut her teeth at dive bars, laundromats and street corners from the South Atlantic Seaboard to the Great Basin. Her unorthodox, uncanny, untamed style earned her a reputation as one of the least funny traveling acts. Shows how much the kritics know! When Mendoza isn't causing her fellow kontributors to writhe around on the floor of the HQ in laughter, she is an outspoken activist against the rampant portrayal of Russians in film and television as sociopathic arms dealers. The Kreation Korner is truly lucky to have a kreationist of such kaliber on staff.

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part IX:

When their food arrived, the donkey in a top hat and the foreman ate pollo con mole faster than either ever had
The foreman even burned his wrist the plate, despite the server’s explicit warning of its hotness
Rather than waiting to deal with the foreman’s debit card, the man and beast just laid cash on the table (including a less-than-generous tip) before hitting the pavement

To Be Kontinued...

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Poet's Korner

"Complementary Floss"

What gives you the right?

What gives you the right?

I see you over there trying
to hide your face.
You must think I can’t see
you but I can.
And I’m asking you:
what gives you the right??

What gives you the right
to treat me as inferior?
You can’t make me feel
inferior unless I give
you permission.
Eleanor Rigby said that.

You think just because
you’re a dentist you can
prod and poke at my molars?
And incisors?

DDS--those are just letters.
Two the same, one different,
like the chambers of my
amphibian heart--a heart
which you have broken into
countless pieces.

Like a shattered mirror in
the corridor of discontent.

--Chris Peebles

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Kommentary Korner

Where would we be without dissenting voices? If you ask Peter Doe, we’d be observing a government-mandated curfew somewhere in Red China. But such konjecture is kounterproductive. The fact is, we at The Korner don’t know all the answers. We know most of them, but not all. To think we are perfect would be the height of arrogance and would kompromise our kreative kredibility. As the old saying goes, “humility is the mother of invention.” To that end, here’s some konstructive kriticism from our own Nash Stillwater. Konsider:

Not to sound like a suck-up, but our benefactor Chas Murdoch is right to raise an eyebrow at our prodigious use of elicit substances. I know the prevailing stance of TKK is that said substances are necessary, nay required, for the kreative process to occur. Those more radical among us would go as far to fancy themselves as shamans, selflessly losing themselves in the embrace of hallucinogenic oblivion so as to lead their fellow man to higher states of kreative konsciousness. But what nobody seems to consider are the negative effects of our excess. Remember the time a mescaline-addled Stankowski thought Snappy Tom’s derringer was his inhaler? Thank Odin it wasn’t loaded! Or the time GRECH had an acid flashback whilst performing an emergency tracheotomy on maljohn? And let’s not forget the countless gastric algal blooms we’ve all suffered as a result of those fertilizer confections we ingest regularly in the name of Kreation. What I’m getting at here is that we can be just as kreative without the copious use of mind-altering chemicals. I’ve been on the wagon for three weeks now, and I tell you, it’s a trip! The other day I saw a sunset. A real sunset. Not just the paisley hippo undulating in the sky I’ve become so accustomed to seeing. And you know what--I got the same kreative jolt out of it as I would’ve from four short-stacks of phosphate-laced flapjacks. To conclude, I just want to encourage us all to put aside the psilocybin mushroom and take up the shiitake of unaided sensory experience. Our physical health, well-being and--most importantly--our kreativity depend on it.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Lately, The Korner has been inundated with korrespondences in every imaginable format. Our mailboxes are full--both electronic and snail, our pigeon holes are bottlenecked and the telegraph machine literally blew up. What does everyone want to know (other than what Howard Fork smells like)? They want to see the face of the workaday life of professional Kreationists. For our loyal followers who live in parts afar, we've learned that it's difficult for them to visualize and relate to the kreative life here in Boise's Little Novgorod district. Try as we might to push the limits of written language, one thousand words isn't worth a picture. As such, we bring you today the first in what we hope will be a series of photo essays vividly illustrating the places we live and work in the ongoing effort to deliver our brand of kutting edge Kreationistic kontent. Feast your eyes:

This image is of the now infamous Kreation Korner HQ. Akwired in late 2007, the HQ has served as the nerve center of the Kreationism movement ever since and is a class B office space. Although many of our kreative kapacities of have relocated to the kommune, the HQ retains all administrative functions.

Home sweet home! This handsome structure is the new kommune that has been causing quite the stir amongst our readers as of late. Since settling the property in July, we've been attaining new benchmarks in kreativity daily. Think of it as a barracks for soldiers in the Kreation Kause.

Here's an extra treat. This is Union Credit, the credit union where The Korner does virtually all of its banking. UC's responsive, down-to-earth staff belies the mysteriousness of the building's outlandish design. It is the only structure of its kind on General Westmoreland Blvd and one of very few planet-wide.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part VIII:

The two arrived at the eatery, and seated themselves as was the policy
They sat for a whole 20 minutes before the server took their order
This severely limited their eating time as the lunch break was nearly over

To Be Kontinued...

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Letting The Days Go By...

It's been three earth years since The Kreation Kause first voyaged into the uncharted waters of the world wide web. That's over 94 million seconds ago! But enough algebra. The fact is, we've exceeded even our own wildest expectations--though some would suggest otherwise. Time and time again, The Kreation Korner has found itself teetering on the abyss of kultural konsciousness. Critics say, "does Kreationism matter? Is it relevant?" Some seem to think we've gone the way of the salad shooter. Well then let this third anniversary prove otherwise! In the next year to come, The Korner will prove that the world needs Kreationism now more than ever. The problems plaguing this planet have only gotten worse: the hungry have become hungrier, the disillusioned have become more so and pop music award shows continue to suck. We here at TKK are ready to reverse this disturbing trend with a blowing of the mind, body and soul the likes of which mankind has never witnessed before. To prove we're not bluffing, here's a frontal assault by none other than Chris Peebles:

"The Four Elements, Part Two"

drip, drip, drip

My faucet's broke.
My facets choke
my throat.
The varied elements
of my life conspire
to evoke unseemly

drip, drip, drip

Who cares what
life is?
I sure don't.
The plumber who nailed
me to this floor
was only doing his job.
The unpopular approach
is also necessary.

drip, drip, drip

His forlorn face said it
all, he was fettered by
his past.
No redemption.
Move on with previous mis-
deeds as a constant reminder
to improve one's self and
seek better tomorrows.

drip, drap, drep, drop, drup
and, on occasion, dryp

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Poet's Korner

"Contemplations on Pink Man"
You great pink bastard.
Why do you mock me so?
You are there to bring me down,
Flitting about like a wad of overripe bubble gum.
Get out of my life, I say!
Quit the flitting, or I shall quit thee of thy life!
Do you understand now the stakes, man?
You are the wind beneath my wings?
You are the gum beneath my shoes.

-Boo Merengue

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Korner Wisdom

No. 14: "Tread lightly on Mother Earth's paper-thin epidermis. She is very old."
No. 15: "There's no polite way to say 'go fuck yourself'."

Friday, August 13, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part VII:

The donkey and the foreman stepped out of the rendering plant into the street
It was an unusually cold day--55 degrees was rare in August
El Genérico was ten blocks away, so the man and beast headed toward their destination at a considerable clip

To Be Kontinued...

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Kommune Update

Today we sit down with chief designer of the new Kreation Korner Kommune, Steve Adore.

KK: So Steve, how’d you land this gig?

SA: Well, a few months ago I was walking through Downtown Boise when out of nowhere I was hit by a flying spoonful of oatmeal. Boy, was I steamed! But I soon learned it was part of a performance piece by GRECH, and, true patron of the arts that I am, I decided to take part. In between hurling assorted breakfast foodstuffs at passersby just begging for kreative enlightenment, GRECH and I got to talking about the sorry state of the KKHQ. When she mentioned that they were looking to relocate, I jumped at the chance to aid in any way that I could.

KK: The Kreation Korner is practically in the business of mind-, body-, and soul-blowing. Naturally, such tendencies must have a space in which to be brought to fruition. What special challenges did you find in designing the new Kommune?

SA: I went into it with mindset that I was designing this place basically for children – lots of soft padding on corners, safety glass, etc. So, erm, yes, what I did before laying out my floor plan was to imagine a group of large, potentially overweight toddlers on a constant collision course with kreativity. And while kreativity can certainly be enlightening, it also poses the very real risk of bodily injury.

As for seating, lots of bean bags. This way, during the next feast of fertilizer pancakes or whatever, the Krew has nothing to do but sit their asses down and focus on the matter at hand, whatever that might be.

And, of course, to keep one’s mind and soul limber and sufficiently blown, one must also attend to one’s body. So naturally, there’s a toilet.

KK: Now that the work is all wrapped up, will you be sticking around the Kommune or moving onto other projects?

SA: I don’t expect this place to last long without my ongoing supervision. Did you see what they did to the last place?

Friday, July 30, 2010

Kommune Korner

We apologize for the konspicuous lack of new kontent as of late. As we quickly discovered during the past several weeks, it's awfully difficult to kreate when you're up to your adam's apple in moving boxes. That's right, the Korner Krew has put a down payment on new communal lodgings! Our new kreationist's loft is situated a stone's throw and several hundred feet from the HQ--easily within walking or penny-farthing distance. From what we can tell, our domicile is some sort of former light industrial space. It's a fixer-upper for sure, but we've managed to partition the two forward loading bays into well-appointed kwarters and repurpose the defunct break room into a makeshift kitchen. All in all, it's the perfect rough-n-tumble, derelict setting to inspire kreativity. Plus, it has access to a railroad siding for all of our shipping and receiving needs--so no complaints there. As the new saying goes: "a family that lives together and works together, kreates together."

Photos not yet available. Turns out you have to develop film before exposing it to direct sunlight. Live and learn. Stay tuned!

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Poet's Korner

Pig death.

Double rainbow.

What does it mean?

What does it mean?

-Nathan Rhombus

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Poet's Korner

With rubble and wars abroad and oily water and joblessness at home, distress seems more or less universal. But fret not. As always, Chris Peebles has taken it upon himself to lift us all from the depths of despondency. We present you his innovative new Peeblesian sonnet entitled "Winged Infiltration." Sip:

Why have the birds built their nest in my house?
My house has small windows that are rarely open.
The door, too, stays shut most the time--unless
someone is coming or going.
How, then, did these avian interlopers gain entry
to my abode?
Somebody let them in.
But who?
And when?
And why?
Do they think my Formica needs a veneer of white excreta?
Or my carpet more downy feathers than it already has?
I like birds just as much as the next homeowner,
but this is an outrage.
Excuse me if I don't like robins in my home, or eagles,
or whatever they are.
I'm no ornithologist--I took my training in botany.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part VI:

The foreman was in utter shock: how was it already his lunch break?
"Look," he said, "this is a lot to lay on a guy. Let's talk about this over enchiladas. My treat."
"Fine," replied the donkey. "It's loud and stinky in here anyways."

To Be Kontinued...

Friday, July 2, 2010

Header Korner

Hello, good mutants and mutettes. If you had noticed the new manifestation of divine Kreation atop this blog and were wondering, What's the story with this?, you're in luck! Our latest header comes by way of longtime Korner affiliate and notorious street artist, Blenko. While some have construed his nom-de-plume as a reference to the anonymity of street art, or perhaps to the blank canvas that is the urban metropolis, the true origin of his/her name is much more humble. "BlendCo was actually just this brand of microwaveable chicken pot pies when I was growing up. I remember loving those things and thinking, 'One day, I too will have a name as famous as Blendco.' Guess it had a bigger impact on me than I thought."
The piece on display for you now is exemplary of Blenko's style, with a deft combination of political and social commentary, pressing the viewer to consider the political as personal and vice-versa, as well as sharks, which are fun to draw. Blenko's work has so been appreciated by the Korner enklave that the higher-ups decided to feature the 'Red Scare' character as a balloon in our inaugural Kreation Korner Thanksgiving Day parade, which will be staged at and around Central Park in New York, barring any prior reservations made my other entities. For now, take this two-dimensional rendering as a primer course in Steez.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Korner Wisdom

No. 12: "Don't fear an earthquake. It's just the planet settling."
No. 13: "In the future, everyone will eat toast."

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Fiction Korner

Greetings! Today The Korner is honored to present the next step in the evolution of Jawn Steighmeaus. We've all heard that the sky is the limit. But our favorite fictioneer isn't afraid to prove this wrong. He's lifting a middle finger to the literary establishment and treading were few if any writers have before--the vast unexplored expanse beyond our tiny planet. It's as if Steighmeaus has embarked on an odyssey into space. Bogart:

"If you think about it, every person alive is an expert on something."
Cranford's words stuck in my brain like a re-entry grade adhesive. Easy for him to say, being the solar system's preeminent authority on re-entry grade adhesives. My own superlative insight was far more difficult to categorize.
When I arrived at the symposium I felt out of my league. There was Brintson--celebrated leader in the field of Cepheian megafauna, Chaltsworth--he literally and figuratively wrote the book on zero-gravity maxillofacial surgery, and countless others. It was actually a bit crowded for my taste, and I'm not even afraid of claustro. Leave it up to the Kritz Institute to host an encyclopedia-of-everything drafting event on a cramped space station without even the most barebones of conference facilities or amenities. I'm glad one of the illustrious attendees wasn't the Procyon Sector Fire Marshal, otherwise the final product would have been a pretty thin volume.
On the positive side, though, our hosts did hire General's Hors D'oeuvres to cater the event, which was a treat. But there wasn't a platter of prosciutto-wrapped Centaurian melon in the quadrant big enough to quash the insecurity boiling up inside of me. I felt like a fraud. As I squeezed through the sweaty throngs of those more accomplished than I, it was as if I had stepped into a Star Mart with counterfeit galactic monetary units.
But then, as if in a stroke of space-luck, a small-framed retrorocket expert who couldn't have been more than seventy-two collapsed, twitching on the glass floor. Without thinking, I snatched a snifter of Martian brandy from a nearby cocktail waitressbot and splashed the contents onto the man's face. He suddenly snapped out of his nervous fit and rose to his feet, joining the other distinguished guests in applause. I had found my niche. I could relax now. A load had been lifted from my shoulders, but not as big a one as it would've been at Earth gravity.
But the laudatory atmosphere was suddenly interrupted as the actual atmosphere began rushing out of a hull breach. What did we all expect? Just because it's cheap to rent out a condemned space station doesn't mean it's safe. As the cabin pressure rapidly decreased, the scene was a frenzy of tweed jackets and canapés. As the oddly erotic effects of asphyxia set in, I cursed Cranford. Why had he made me his plus one? --Jawn Steighmeaus

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Meet the Kontributors: Percy Stankowski

You see a sharply-dressed young man, a dead ringer for that guy who wrote "Juno." Suddenly, he's running bits of newspaper through a 16mm projector while simultaneously lighting the machine on fire, all while projecting the great teeming mess onto the facade of a T(sar)-Mobile retail store. No, silly, that's not Mo Rocca -- it's Percy Stankowski. Percy's filmmaking expertise and reputation as a chronic envelope-pusher has made him a staple here at the Korner, and it's time we took a look at the origin of such a fascinating Kreationist.

Percy was born in Caldwell, ID, to Curtis and Mabel, whose love for primetime public-access television would serve as the inadvertent spark for young Percy's forays into image-making. It was not long before Percy had commandeered the family's Hi-8 videocamera, deftly experimenting with the limits of the seventh art. At one point Percy poured water into the cassette chamber in what, despite his parents' statements otherwise, was no doubt a pointed commentary on the inherent contradiction between film's perceived fluidity and actual stasis.

In his teenage years, Percy linked up with fellow Kreationist visionary, Chris Peebles, and that, he says, was when "shit really began to pop off." The two teamed up for several groundbreaking happenings, combining spoken word, moving image, and the occasional wayward chicken in ways that stunned audiences and quickly garnered the attention of the larger Kreation movement.

Though he may be three months short of twenty-four, Percy Stankowski has managed in his short life to pack quite the Kreationist wallop, and it is this honesty that he seeks to bring to all current and future endeavors. When asked how Percy manages such a seemingly hectic life, Percy replies succinctly, "the dude abides. Meaning me. When I say 'dude,' I mean me. Did you get that reference?"

Still from "March of the Pagans," Percy Stankowski

Monday, June 7, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part V:

"Thirdly, it's me, Peppers. You didn't even recognize your own former pet."
The foreman's mouth was agape. "But I did recognize you! You said I was mistaken!"
"I was testing you, Charlie, and you failed. Miserably."

To Be Kontinued...

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Monetization Korner

Well, as we all know, times are tough. To persevere, we must tighten our boot straps and pull ourselves up by our belts, as the saying goes. Anyways, try as he might, our financier Chas Murdoch just can't keep our budget at a proper operating level--although he somehow found the scratch to chip in on that lunar drilling joint-stock expedition. Bitterness aside, the reality is we need money to kreate. As much as we shudder at the prospect of bobbing for apples in the capitalist wash basin, it's a necessary evil to continue producing kontent and furthering the Kreation Kause. As such, we are unveiling an advertisement today for a local retailer. Sure it's a blemish, critics, but it's better than no Korner at all. Glance fleetingly at:

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Sorry, Chris!

Well, the publicity posters for Chris Peebles' poetry tour finally arrived--over four months late we might add. We won't be recommending Reputable Commercial Printing and Scuba Gear Repair to our friends anytime soon. Ultimately it's The Korner's fault. We usually do our own printing in-house but were unable to as GRECH jammed our equipment attempting to print on Hershey's chocolate syrup. In spite of all this nonsense the Truth, Beauty, Decapitation Tour was still a success thanks to word-of-mouth, but we can look back at this handsome poster and dream of how things might have been. Revel:

Friday, May 28, 2010

Korner Wisdom

No. 11: "Alcohol is the perfect remedy after a night of heavy menudo consumption."

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Poet's Korner

What do you mean you’ve
never heard of baklava?
You’re shitting me, right?
Where have you been
the past 25 years?

Hiding your head in the sand
like a culturally unaware

You say you’re from the countryside,
but I know you’re from Youngstown.
Sure it’s no Columbus, but it’s
certainly on the beaten

Look, you better bone up on your
Mediterranean cuisine. Not for
my sake but for your own.
You blew it with Kostas and he’s
the kind of guy you only get
three chances with.


Thursday, May 13, 2010

Poet's Korner

And just what do you think you're doing? Pouring
hot coffee on that poor dog's head?
Listen, I'm no prude
But there are some lines you just don't
That canine did nothing to you, sir.
It looks to be weeping tears of coffee and cream now.
In a buddy-movie-type-of-context, perhaps this would strike me as
But now, in the cold harsh light of reality,
I find nothing to laugh at.
So stop it at once.
I had thought we could be friends, but now you make me wonder.
-Nathan Rhombus

Monday, May 10, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part IV:

"First of all, this facility is not up to code," the donkey began. "That wobbly hopper of cow heads yonder is an accident waiting to happen."
"Secondly, I don't appreciate the way you look down your nose at me. Just because I'm not a human doesn't mean I don't have rights."
The foreman was taken aback by the donkey's candor. But he was downright shocked by what the animal had to say next:

To Be Kontinued...

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Check your kalendar...

It's the 1st of May! As is our charge here at Headkwarters, we the kore Kreationists have been engaged in a fierce drum circle for the past two-and-three-quarters days, gleaning from hydes of nauga the many-splendored wonders of this world. As with all things, a balance must be struck and so in harmonic contrast with our own rowdy celebration, we leave you with the stark beauty of our most recent header, kreated by Korneophyte (Korner neophyte) Heinrich Zübner. Pontificate:

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Korner Wisdom

No. 10: "If you're nervous about delivering a speech at a nudist colony, just imagine the audience is clothed."

Monday, April 5, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part III:

The donkey suddenly looked offended, probably because he was, in fact, quite the little bookworm.
The foreman, a perceptive man, immediately detected this and said, "Look, we got off on the wrong hoof. Say your piece."
The donkey was reluctant at first, but then, like a breached vat of molten tallow, he spouted off the following laundry list of grievances:

To Be Kontinued...

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Kommentary Korner

I'm the kind of guy who enjoys the finer things in life: clothing, shelter, water, etc. But what I really get my kicks out of is food. I can't live without the stuff! But in these uncertain times, it's tough to find victuals that are equally easy on the taste buds as they are on the pocketbook. That's why I reach for a frozen pizza whenever I'm within the rectangular confines of the Tsar Mart. Price-to-quality ratio is an important consideration whenever I'm in the market for provisions and 'za delivers the most bang for one's buck--or any unit of currency for that matter. Anyways, I was doing my monthly grocery shopping earlier today, and I had to make a most vexing decision of whether to choose Tombstone, Red Baron, or Tony's brand pizza. Whoever said "variety is the spice of life" must not have had to pick between three equally affordable pizza options. With each pie tied in terms of cheapness, I found the only way to reach a culinary conclusion was to roll up my sleeves and evaluate each product's marketing scheme. First off, Tombstone. This name conjured two motifs: the Old West and embalming--neither of which pertain directly to pizza or are particularly appetizing or even sanitary. I wasn't convinced. Next, Red Baron. When I looked at the triumphant, aviator cap-wearing aviator on the box, I wondered, what does Manfred von Richthofen have to do with pizza? Sure, this Prussian ace had 80+ confirmed kills, a feat impressive even by modern dogfighting standards, but does this make him a credible mascot for largely Italianate cuisine? Nein! Finally, Tony's. Now this is what I call authentic. A stocky, grinning chef complete with olive complexion, bushy mustache and tomato hat--is anything more Italian than that? Ok, maybe Galileo gesturing wildly with his hands as he models the latest from the Milan runway while floating down a chianti canal in a gondola made of penne--but I defy you to find a frozen pizza with that on the box. Thanks to Tony's and its tastes of Tuscany as portended by the packaging, I don't have to sacrifice my refined dining habits during these lean times we live in.
--Peter Doe

Friday, March 19, 2010


In case you hadn't noticed, the radio portion of our enklave of kreativity has posted an enlightening interview with none other than Chris Peebles. Drink up!

Chris Peebles Interview

Guess Who's Back In Town!

If you said "the boys" you're wrong, and you also need to get that dial off the classic rock station. We're speaking of Chris Peebles, goofball! Recently, our prodigal poet completed a much-publicized tour, promoting the Kreation Kause across the West and several parts of Texas. In his wake, he left legions of mortals enlightened to within inches of their lives. To wrap up the "Truth-Beauty-Decapitation Tour '10" as it was dubbed, Dr. Peebles returned to The College of Idaho for an unparalleled feat of Kreative kraftsmanship. Let's just say that small liberal arts college will need a new stage, because Chris tore theirs up! Freebase:

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Komedy Korner

I left my heart in San Francisco. My liver's in St. Louis...

-Boo Merengue

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Korner Wisdom

Home is where the cardiac muscle whose purpose is to circulate blood through the body is.

-Tuner Jazzman

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Snappy Tom Knows

Dear Snappy, I can't seem to find my keys. When you lose something, how do you go about reclaiming it?

Sincerely, Lost Without You

Hello, Lost. Well, when I lose something, first thing I do is try to retrace my steps. This is always the hardest part of the process, because it means I have to walk backward for upwards of a day or two. And you try talking a bus driver into reversing their route through downtown Atlanta, ID! But, if the stars align in the heavens above, I'm like as not led back to the very spot where I left my missing belonging. After that, ain't nothing left but to celebrate with a handle of moonshine and a fistful of congealed bacon grease.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Komedy Korner

The old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit as told by Svetlana Mendoza, Part II:

"I don't think so," said the foreman, "I gotta memory like a steel trap. I know you."
The donkey let out a long sigh and then began to thoughtfully munch on a carrot.
"You can't eat in here! Read the sign," said the foreman, "Or are you illiterate like all those other animals I know?"

To Be Kontinued...

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Korner Wisdom

No. 7: "A knife isn't a weapon. It's a killing tool."
No. 8: "Being an optimist means seeing the glass half full--unless you're trapped in a vat slowly filling with water. Then you should see it half empty."

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Retraction Korner

We are writing today to withdraw incendiary allegations we posted yesterday about the nefarious engravings of a shadowy kreation konspiracy. To put it vulgarly, we fucked up. Information from the HQ's own janitor has shed light on what has turned out to be far less grave a situation with almost no implications of smoke-filled rooms and impending global doom. Although we here at The Korner strive for perfection, try as we might, we just can't bat better than .900. But there's a tangy pimento lesson to be learned in this brown, shriveled olive of a misstep: we must always be vigilant, especially in light of what some of the more radical elements of us view as the imminent Kreation day of reckoning. Thanks for your patience and understanding and please read the following personal statement to bring closure to our faux pas:

I was in the cement game back in the 80s. Boy, I tell ya, that was a wild time for sidewalks--the blow, the Member's Only jackets, the grunge music--maybe that was the 90s. It all blurs together. Anyways, the year's 1987. I'm in Caldwell, I.D. The Dirty C. It was the hottest summer that year, and I was with I, P, T, O, L, C & B Construction. Damn, we must've laid 3 miles of sidewalk in a day. As such, I saw it fit to commemorate a job well done, so I traced my initials--"EW"--into the wet concrete. Above it, I inscribed "KK" in honor of my favorite recording artist, Kris Kristofferson. His duets with Rita Coolidge got me through a tough time after the rest of my crew perished in the Wilder Overpass Disaster of '81. So there ya have it, folks. You should see what I carved on the Barrier Reef during my underwater welding days. But that's another story for another time.

Errick Walsh
Kreation Kustodian

PS: To whoever stole my mop--April Fool's day was like 11 months ago. Give it back! The floor's only getting filthier, so joke's on you.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Konspiracy Korner!

Well, komrades, the day we've been dreading for nearly a year has finally come. Unfortunately, we've discovered a troubling thumbprint of ostensibly the same shadowy syndicate we reported on last winter. But this time, we don't have the buffer of most of a continent and one of our larger oceans insulating us from this terrifying apparition. Prepare to gasp in horror: it was discovered on a sidewalk in Caldwell--not 30 miles from The Kreation Korner HQ's front door. And it's as vague, elusive and frightening as the imprecise hand that inscribed it:

If you blur your eyes and move your head slowly toward and away from your monitor for a while, you should be able to compensate for this crappy photo and see the letters "KK" and "EW" carved into the cement. To say this is chilling is just the tip of the intrigue iceberg. "KK"? Hmm, those initials smack of a certain Korner we all know and love. The implications are alarming. What does "EW" stand for? Who left this mark? Why are they pulling our strings? What's their endgame? Is it a private organization or a limited liability corporation? These questions and more have been bandied about in and around the HQ and the answers are few and far between. When and where will the next calling card of this subversive brotherhood appear? We're of the mind that dwelling on it will only make us vulnerable. If we stand tall and undaunted, there's no question we'll be sorted with the sheep when the inevitable final showdown between pure, righteous Kreationism and wicked, perverse Kreationism occurs.

The Kreation Krew

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Hymnal Korner

A while back, we found the remnants of a Bangladeshi folk song translated into broken English that nonetheless spoke loud and clear to us Kreationists. Well, people, we've done it again. This is part of what we believe to be a Siberian hymnal, and its subject matter is strikingly similar to Kreationism. We have discerned that the pushing in question refers to pushing one's children into a trash-can lid filled with lard, as was the ritual custom of Siberia for many years. The lard was felt to fatten the souls of the children as they passed into adulthood, thereby... Ah hell, just Listen!

Ah, push the Ah, push it

Get up on this!

Ow! Baby! Salt and of Pepa the here!

(Watch now a minute, These dance ain' t for everybody Only the sexy men So you all fly mothers, get on from there and dance Dance, said I)!

Salt and of Pepa the for this reason and we become in result
Urge you it, child
Coolin to push' on to build against day then' s nights a sweat girls, rent us go
show the fellows that we know
How number an in a hot party show Now push it

Ah, push the - push the good
Ah, push the - push the real good
Ah, push the - push the good
Ah, push the - pen-push it really good

Pile-driver! Ow! Push the good!

Push the good Push the real good Ah, push the Ah, push it

Yo, yo, yo, yo, baby-bang
Yes, come you here, gimme a kiss
Better makes the fasting or otherwise I became gonna gepist
Cannot you hear the pumpin of the music'
fast as I wish that you will?
Push now it

Ah, push it Gets up on this!

Boy, you got not goes got know do really me that YOU me so I what I

Ah, push it

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Fiction Korner

"Great sauce, Larry!" I said, licking my lips. "What's your secret?"
Larry's cheery demeanor suddenly became surly and accusatory.
"You wanna know my secret, do you? Well that would require me to betray certain confidences I've spent half a lifetime building and that..." he said, prodding my chest with a piping-hot, sauce-covered wooden spoon, "I cannot and therefore will not do."
"I see," I said humbly, wiping the savory, burnt sienna concoction-in-question from my blouse.
"With all due respect, I don't think you understand," Larry continued, his voice now gradually increasing decibel-wise. "You wanna know where my loyalties lie? Well, I'll tell you:
"First and foremost, I'm a human inhabitant of the planet Earth. Second, I'm an American. Third, I'm a citizen of the great state of New Mexico. Fourthly, I'm the father of six children--four average, two exceptional. Fifth, I'm a widower. Sixth, I'm a god-fearing parishioner of the Atheist Reform Church. Seventh, I'm a card-carrying member of the International Projectionists Guild. Eighth, I serve as social chair for a local adults curling club. Ninth, I'm a collector of rare hobbyist periodicals and catalogs. Tenth, I play the vibes at the annual Founders Day mixer. And eleventh, but certainly not least, I'm an aspiring sauce magnate."
After that, Larry just nodded a quick, curt nod and hobbled out of the grounded hot air balloon basket. I sympathized with his perspective, and accepted that I, his son's oncologist, had no more right than anyone else to breach the tasty barriers of his gastronomic charisma. I couldn't help but smile as I licked from my forearm a molassescent globule of the very condiment responsible for my ultimately unpleasant encounter with Larry Van Hanssen.
--Jawn Steighmeaus

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Recovery Korner

This is indeed a jubilant week at The Korner. In addition to clearing a most kontentious air with KSW, we are elated to announce the return of a beloved komrade who was until recently rather near death. That's right, the Kreation News Wire Service announced this morning that kommentator Peter Doe has been released from the hospital and is on the mend. Thanks to an impromptu trip down to Mexico for a coffee enema and 'round-the-clock attention from a plucky medical professional known simply as Nurse Jason, Doe has made a full recovery--save for being temporarily konfined to an oxygen tank-outfitted wheel chair. We were worried about Doe's spirits, but those koncerns were kwelled when he was overheard at the hospital pharmacy shouting, "Who's a guy gotta have relations with to get some Percocet around this dump?" It's good to know that behind all the surgical tubing and IV scars the real Peter Doe is back. To celebrate his return, we bring you a poem Doe dictated during his cardio-pulmonary episode. Admit:

Hospitals are venerable
establishments. Stalwart bastions
combating an all too real
threat of pestilence.

But I’d never want to have a
surprise birthday party at one.

You show up for important
test results. Your friends
pop out of the soiled
utility closet.

Wear a pointy hat. Eat some cake.
It’s hard to celebrate when you’re
terminally ill.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Cease-Fire Korner

Hello, faithful Kreationists. If you have been paying attention these last few months, you will no doubt notice that the Header section of our (in)glourious blog(sterd) has seen a drastic change from its previous message of defiance and outrage. Yes, in the past we took umbrage at Kreation Systems Worldwide's attempts to control and (we felt) stifle our kreativity, and we thus called upon our resident dog-in-sunglasses-art-kollective-mascot, Salvador, to voice our own frustrations. But now, we find solace in the fact that time heals all wounds. It is in this spirit of familydom that we offer the olive branch of peace to Chas Murdoch. You're a true human among humen, Chas, and we're lucky to have you. So, for now, enjoy the visual pleasures of our latest Header Kreation, manipulated by none other than Lee Watt.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Poet's Korner

Stop. Drop. Roll.
Don’t tell me what
to do when I’m on fire.
I’m not listening to you.
You only wish to deceive.
How much did they pay you?
It had better be worth my life,
or else you got ripped off, pal.
Now fan the flames before
this conflagrant maelstrom
sends me to an early grave.

--Dr. Cristobal D. Peebles II

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Komedy Korner

Once again, our own Svetlana Mendoza has made komedic history. With her daring retelling of the old "Donkey in a Top Hat" bit, Ms. Mendoza will be delivering the world's first ever serial joke. We've all grown up being beaten over the head with "brevity is the soul of wit". But Svetlana isn't about to listen to the "wise words" of George Washington or whoever. Her utter distain for all things konventional has led her to the ardent belief that waiting weeks, months, even years to hear a punch line will make a gag exponentially funnier. Much like the aging process crucial to fine wines or botulitic sardines. We support her in this ballsy, paradigm-shifting endeavor and intend to stand stalwartly by her for the inevitable public outrage, rioting and police inquiries. But enough with all that ado. Here's an exclusive sneak peak at the first of a yet-to-be-disclosed number of monthly installments. Mainline:

A donkey in a top hat walks into a rendering plant.
The foreman says, "Hey, Donkey. Don't I know you?"
"You must have me confused for someone else," replies the donkey.

To Be Continued...

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Int'l Korner

Every so often under the auspices of the Kreation God(s), we are blessed with the presence of a truly exemplary kreationist. We are speaking this week of Krebvn Gyergözt, a man from another place. He recently arrived in this country from some former soviet bloc state--we're not sure which one or if it even still exists. He claims to subscribe to the 1880s French Aesthetic School of Kreative thought, whose motto was "kréation pour l'kréation"--or at least we think that's what he said. But whatever strain he hails from, what's clear is that Mr. Gyergözt bleeds the kolors of kreation. We present to you today a poem he wrote in ginger ale on a cocktail napkin during the long plane ride to the States. Ruminate:

Man of village make
dog bite face of child
I wear hat of father and
talk to old woman
at market who make soup
to feed beast of forest
Sharp teeth make injury
mind of adolescent
Blood in borscht
make pestilence
of stomach

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Komik Korner

From the desk of Hadley Daughterson

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Don't Get Snappy with Me...

Today we check in with a selection from the Octogenarian Acid King himself, Snappy Tom. Truthfully, we can't be sure of his age, but through the emerging Kreationist science of Guesswork, we'd place it around 83. The optimal setting and circumstances for this reading have been included. Unfortunately, we can't guarantee your comprehension of the story without these steps.

1. Combine milkweed with cinnamon and hot glue in a Chinese cymbal. Heat for three hours.
2. Select a vision quest guide to read the passage to you.
3. After ingesting the ayahuasca-like substance you brewed earlier, play BTO's hard-rock classic "Takin' Care of Business" in reverse.
4. Instruct your guide to read the following text once and only once:

Pink Floyd kicked ass.

By this point, if you have followed the necessary steps, you will have been enveloped by all the wonder and glory of inner and outer space, and this text will be of no use to you. Expect violent purging within the hour.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Peebles Comes Alive!

Recently, our golden boy Chris Peebles popped into The College of Idaho unannounced. Departing from his customary visceral, trance-like delivery, Peebles regaled the unsuspecting students with a modest, conversational rendition of some old Steighmeaus standbys. Peebles later expressed distaste with the audience's intermittent laughter at such serious prose, but was glad he "elicited at least some sign of life from those kreative invalids." The C of I may be the most reputable institution of higher learning on the 200 block of Cleveland Boulevard in Caldwell, ID, but Peebles' turn of phrase no doubt made this esteemed bastion of academia look more like an encampment of mental infants. Bask in:

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Korner Wisdom

No. 5: "Save money. It is in great peril."
No. 6: "Don't do cocaine. It's like a drug."

Monday, January 11, 2010

Ask Peter

It's been a little over a week since the Doe/Stillwater now infamous "Tumult on the Tundra" drew to a sudden, sensational and all together unexpected end. But we find that the title of Kommentator Laureate remains unbestowed. Who, pray tell, was victorious? If you ask Captain Gooding, Peter Doe's severe tobacco-induced angina delivered the knockout blow. But wise-kracking aside, only time will tell if we can finally file the Doe/Stillwater hash under "s" for settled. Our koncern now is with the still ill Doe. Recently extradited from Our Lady of the ICBM Silo Regional Medical Center to a slightly better hospital here in the states, Peterskeeter's kondition has stabilized slightly, but he'll most likely remain convalescent for the better part of a month. But why despair at Mr. Doe's unfortunate situation? We at The Korner see it as an opportunity to reprise an old recurring feature. Peter himself would agree that all the best expressions of Kreativity are churned out during times of pain and hardship. Also, we figure if he's in bed all day he might as well get some work done. So, channel your positive thoughts towards a speedy recovery for Peter Doe, and, in the meantime, allow him to dispense some wisdom upon you. Endure:

Dear Peter,
I have this friend--call him Clint--who always borrows my belongings and doesn't return them. I'll ask him politely to give me my property back, but he always changes the subject. Like the other week, for example, I loaned him my bichon frise Trent. A few days back, I asked him--in a civil manner mind you--to restore my canine counterpart to my company. He just avoided my request and said, "They got these dogs in Europe that carry brandy kegs around their necks to avalanche victims. Gotta get me a few of those..." etc. I'm stumped. I would like to get back my thousands of dollars worth of possessions--some of them crucial necessities--but I don't want to destroy my friendship with Clint in the process. Help me out, Peter. What should I do?
Distressed in Dishman, WA

Dear Distressed,
You think you got problems?? Shee-it! They got me handcuffed to a Hill-Rom! They I say it'll prevent me from escaping the hospital. I tried walking out twice before, which I guess is not allowed. These so-called "medical professionals" say I got a bum ticker and need to stay in bed. What do these college boys know? I've never felt better in my life, but now I'm basically incarcerated in a dimly lit room with naught but a curtain separating me from a third-degree burn victim. Plus the channel changer only goes up! This is no way to live. But what really deveins my prawns is this diet they got me on. I never knew there were so many flavors of Jello! Hell, I should be eating Texas toast. Now that's brain food. Except they won't give me any since--they claim--my strict regiment of it contributed to my alleged heart failure. And what's all this I hear about me caving to that punk Stillwater? Our apparent chummery at the birthday bash was nothing more than phosphorus-phueled delirium. I ain't soft!! When I get out of this dump I'm giving that kid a what-for, then I'm gonna give him another what-for when he's unkonscious. That'll teach him to challenge my kommenticular authority! Until then, I'll just watch this channel that looks like CCTV footage of a tropical fish tank.
Your Friend,

Unfortunately, Mr. Doe is uninsured. He needs all the help he can get. We are accepting your donations and your prayers—but preferably your donations. Please provide said gifts in the form of unmarked big bills in a nondescript envelope. Slide them under the front door of the HQ. Thanks!

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Battle of the (Kommentary) Titans

The new year is a time for reflection. Sometimes that reflection comes in the form of a heartfelt discussion among friends, other times in steadfast resolutions to create a better life for oneself. And then there are the times that reflection comes in the form of an avant-garde beef-settling boxing match between kreationist kolleagues. Such is the case with our latest post. Having answered the call of Peter Doe's challenge in May 2009, Peter Doe announced to the press that he would meet Stillwater toe-to-toe in the Russian ring for a bout that promised to be harder than any Skittles-vodka concoction that one could imagine. Taking place on the Kamchatka Peninsula, the match would effectively end all further dispute between Doe and Stillwater. So, without further ado, enjoy our coverage of Doe vs. Stillwater: The Reckoning.

Peter Doe (right) was all fire and brimstone at the pre-fight press conference, threatening that at the end of the match, Stillwater's face "will make Picasso's 'Girl in Chair' look like the goddamn Mona Lisa!"

Nash Stillwater, the younger of the two, in his korner. Stillwater spent several months training under the tutelage of Maljohn, komik artist and seasoned street fighter.

Peter Doe opted for a different approach to training, spending the few months leading up to the match locked in a dark room with a palette of Parliament Ultra Lights and VHS tapes of predatory attacks in the Sarangeti. He collapsed approximately 30 seconds before the start of the first round.

Doe being carted from the scene. Despite his collapse, Doe later claimed that a "moral victory" had been won. Stillwater declined to comment.