Review: David S. Pumpkins – a Smashing Success

Finally something on SNL that wasn’t over-politicized crap 💩. See, the problem with blatant political humor, whether on the left or on the right, is that it often assumes that we are too stupid to get the message. That is SNL’s problem, it often becomes unfunny propaganda.

At any rate, for those of you who didn’t get the joke, it was very similar to Ren & Stimpy’s send up of stupid 1950s cartoons where cat chases mouse 🐁  and dog 🐕 chases cat 🐈  ad infinitum, in contrast to the rather sophisticated and humorous Warner Bros. cartoons that could be viewed on two levels: adult and child 👶.

The 1950´s cartoons were literally marketed to the lowest common denominator… or in other words: they were shitty.

Many of the traditional holiday 👶 children’s cartoon specials really were just intended to come up with some kind of a concept to get all the kids to tune in so that they could buy products marketed through the commercials.

Of course, it is a business and they have to pay 💰 their own freight 🚂 but the old holiday specials were just blatant merchandising with a sketchy cartoon premise.

I had the luxury of never seeing the previous David S Pumpkins skit, but I have since seen it. I didn’t even know that the skit or character existed. Thus, when I saw the special, on SNL, I figured I would give it a minute. It reminded me of the old SNL Smigel cartoons like Ace and Gary, the Ambiguously Gay Duo; and of course it was delightfully mindless and idiotic.

I got the joke regards David S Pumpkins 🎃 . In case you didn’t get the joke, you probably didn’t like the cartoon.

I thought it was pretty entertaining and I believe people will be talking about it for the next 30 years. Kids may even put their shitty sour raisins into pumpkins 🎃 in the hope that it will magically change into delicious 😋 candy 🍭.

The other thing I want to mention while I’m here, is what was up with all those Beatle albums which totally drowned out all of the vocals? It was some idiotic, failed attempt to make it work with quadraphonic stereo. We couldn’t hear 👂 shit. What were we paying for? Doo-doo?

A word to the wise – technologist 👩‍💻 s, whenever you try to be to clever or too tricky about your new technology, it invariably ends up being useless dog 🐕 crap 💩 . Lesson: don’t screw around and try to do stuff like Blu-ray.

Nobody wanted Blu-ray and nobody bought a Blu-ray, thank God. Were we really expected to examine every DVD label and every DVD player label to make sure it was compatible? Just no.

Blu-ray was one of the dumbest ideas of all time, just like the stupid drowned out Beatles vocals, just like New Coke,  just don’t do it, just do normal.

1950’s Albums

Bonus review. So the Danny Kaye album? I have no idea what this was. I knew of him more as an actor. Some kind of comedic songs. Mildly entertaining.

The Glen Miller LP was a collection of orchestral versions of Broadway 🎭 hits. I really hate Broadway 🎭  but this Album is easy to listen to while working out 🏋️.

The Sinatra 33 was actually excruciatingly boring. I’m not a fan of Sinatra, I’ll admit,  but this was really tortuously dull. The songs were all seemingly contrived for the sole purpose of writing a filler song.

P.S. Some record players can’t detect the size or speed of the record so you have to set 7-10-12 size for 45-78-33 speed.

”Hazelnut Latté?”

Peace be the Botendaddy


Jim Croce’s Greatest Hits and It’s Hard by The Who


I listen to LP’s while I work out 🏋️. I stack two or three and just let them play.

I forgot one ☝️ rule of Albums: there are several boring ‘concept’ songs or ‘C’ songs that didn’t even make it onto the 45.

The Croce Album had his three greatest hits: Operator, Leroy Brown and his breakout hit ‘You don’t mess around with Jim.’ Lots of slow kind of café ☕️ songs as well. Sadly, those were quite dull.

The Who Album started with ‘Athena’, their last great song. Lots of bizarre Townsend concept songs the best of which is ´Eminence Front’ which as we all know is a put on, it’s a put on! But no matter how bad a Who song is, if you play it loud, it’s better.

All if you who are under the age of say 35, listen up. Go buy a turntable. Get speakers 🔊 with some bass. Go buy a few random LP’s at your local music 🎶 exchange store. You know the one with all the hipster, Millenial, Seattle-ish Trainspotter Sk8te kids who look 👀 like Tychy.

Stack the LP’s and do something while the record (pronounced wreck-hoards) spin in the background.

The LP has a mystical, authentic, rhythmic, scratchy quality to it. It has the beauty of mechanical imperfection instead of soulless Shit-covered ‘downloads’.

Get rid of your goddamned phone and get a record player! I command thee O Yon readers! Peace be the Botendaddy

All music has a story: Mendelssohn’s Rondo Cappriccioso Opus Quattorze

It was on the 8-Track.

I never knew the name of the piece of music 🎶 until yesterday.

After all those years. I did not know what it was called.

Then I was listening 👂 to public radio 📻.

The music 🎶 was on. I waited until they announced it. ‘Mendelssohn’s Rondo Capriccioso Opus XIV’.

An ancient mystery was solved. I remembered being in the car 🚗 with my dad. I would shove the 8-track in and listen 👂 to my parents’ classical music 🎶.

They also had Bizet and a few I don’t remember now. I’ve been playing their old LP’s while I work out 🏋. Three albums at a time.

A few albums

We had a good 😊 family while it lasted.

Then it all went to hell. Empires Fall. The Magnificent Ambersons. The Fall of the House of Usher.

As the poet Frost said:

‘Nothing gold can stay.’

Peace be the Botendaddy

Therapeutic Calming Meditation in Frightening Times for My Readers: Weimar Cabaret Expressionist Nihilism


[Botendaddy bow 🙇 s low with a wave of his top hat 🎩.]

“Damen und Herren, Wilkommen und Gruß Gött, many of my readers are frightened and filled with great angst by events we read in the news.

Herr Doktor 👨‍⚕️ Doktor 👨‍⚕️ Sigmund Freüd

Allow me to provide you with a therapeutic calming form of meditation. It is called Weimar Cabaret Existential Expressionist Deontological Nihilism.

The great German 🇩🇪 Expressionist Painter 👩‍🎨 Ludwig Meidner would paint 🎨 apocalyptic scenes of upheaval in destroyed, burning cities while Top Hat 🎩 ted Kapitalists, shrill jingoistic Imperialists, shrieking rigid doctrinaire Marxists and Pickelhauben Generälen fought in the swirling skies above a naked, passive, groveling depiction of the artist 👨‍🎤 on the streets below being deliciously man-penetrated by the spermatozöische Gemeinschaftlichen Apokalyptische Szene.

Hoxter Portrait – work of Meidner

I beseech you to reject all forms of news media and embrace apathetic 😐 hopeless 😩 post-apocalyptic, detached, passive deontological, existentielle, Hegelianischeren nihilism and merely writhe naked as society devolves into utter chaos from which we shall create einere neuen Kunst 🎭! Einen neue Ausdrückkunst für den Neues Jahrhundert! (Shrieking like a Valkyrie – pronounced ‘while-kai-rhee’.)

You see my dear friends, a new detached, apathetic, nihilist, post-apocalyptic art is the bridge (der Brücke) from man to the higher man which is exposed in my neue play with a tri-alectic discourse of deontological expressionism in Gas ⛽️ III based on the Werken of Georg Kaiser and Berthold Brecht.

Herr Admiral von Reuter Herö of Apathetik Deontologikalischer Nihilismus  😐

In this emotionless three-act play we find in a German First World War trench line amidst a stack of smoldering corpses, sharing and roaking a pack of Zigaretu (a delightfully healthy Täbäk grown at exceptionally high altitudes in the Bayernisches Alpen and Hand-rolled by neo-proto Neänderthals), none other than future Bavarian Marxist State Komissar Eugen Leviné, espousing the position of total Kommunist Revolutionary Marxist Principles, Herr Leutnant Hugo Güttmänn a Jew! Eineren Jüden! presenting the cause of order through Imperialism theough the beloved silly 😜 Hohenzölleren Kaiser and finally the shrieking, demonic future Fuhrer himself, Korporale A. Hitler dispassionately arguing the position of National Socialism.

There are several characters who visit the trench, such as Ernst 😒 Ludwig Kirchner, Franz Marc, Guillaume Apollinaire, Ernest Hemingway and the eminent Philosopher, Wält Disney.

As always, the terrifying spectre of ghastly, hideous demonic racist Woodrow Wilson rises above the set laughing satanically uttering horrific incantations to the fabulous Yog Sothoth!

Shrieking head of Demonic racist Wilson with genocidal Versailles Treaty

I ask members of the audience to now completely disrobe, and writhe passively, apathetically and resignedly in the aisles as our drama commences.

Vielen Dank 😊 meinerem Geehrteren Herren und Dämen

Botendaddy Graduates: Receives Laurel of Oak Leaves, Wears Toga with Regalia

In the end only the Boten-Daughter was there. Everyone else went home or on vacation. In the ancient hall of the University where many great Scholars of yore once stood, going back to the year of the risen Christ being 1797, now stood the wise ingenious Botendaddy. Only Latin and Ancient Greek were thus quod and the laurel of oak leaves 🍃 was placed upon his hoary head.


The great hall of scientists and scholars

The rest of the scholars received their various PhD’s and Masters in their various weird science 🔬. AH THE SMELL OF SCIENCE! INDUSTRY PARENT OF LIBERTY AND SCIENCE! E PLURIBUS UNUM! ANNUIT COEPTIS NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM!

‘Nice work dad.” Said the Boten-Daughter as she took pictures with her Quapple qPhone.

The administration were there, a few 👨‍🏫 professores.


I took the ancient parchment. And we walked out the door 🚪 me, the Botendaddy and the stately, melancholy Boten-Daughter, who is a great beauty, because she is adopted and thank Lord Khufu does not have my ghastly looks.

The storm approaches

“Iced Almond Latte?”


1. Start your dissertation or thesis two terms early

2. Have a thesis and hypotheses early

3. Define your data points early

4. Define precisely how you will apply statistical analysis to each and every data point early.

5. Define your statistical model early.

6. Obtain data collection tools early,

7. Define your expirement early.

8. Read your related research papers early.

9. Start writing your summary earlier.

10. Understand all of your copyright and intellectual property issues early.

11. Set your own schedule for each milestone and activity early.

12. Work relentlessly.

13. Edit your horrible shit.

14. Get friends or colleagues to review your horribly written shit, bad research and shitty experimental design early.

15. Get all approvals for your ghastly experiments on live human subjects.

16. Change your stupid unscientific fucktarded thesis statement and moronic stupid hypothesis as often as you need to in order to add something useful to science.


18. Good luck 👍🍀 If I can do it, you can do it.

Note to Crystal: scientists and engineers are awful at business, they are in desperate need of freelance MBA help when they try to start a venture and talk to business people and facilities and apply for finance and government grants and loans. So never regret getting an MBA. Business is a totally different skill and one that we do not possess.

Peace be the Botendaddy


You only Fail if you stop Writing: It’s almost all over at the University

“It’s official, August 16th is the last day of the Writer’s Workshop. As soon as you receive your diploma for your bizarre advanced degree in god-knows-what, we are all being kicked off campus. Hell I’m retiring, so I don’t give a f*&k.” Said the Professor.

Sunset of the Writer’s Workshop

“Yeah, no matter how much money my Kingdom donates, you can’t have a workshop without a Professor and a Graduate Student sponsor. Without the Professor, who’s going back to North Dakota and that shit-covered Botendaddy who is going back to his ancient, mysterious Utonic Manor to count his riches, we are screwed.” Stated Gryzwacz-Eek-Opp-Ork-Ah-Ah the alien. “We even petitioned the King Garbage Bolean himself and he told to me to take a flying f*&k at a rolling doughnut. He gives a lot of money to Pitt anyway, but he f*&king hates Penn State. Every alien in the universe hates Penn State, because they suck.”

“Penn State does suck.” Said the Park Ranger.

“Hail to Pitt.” Said the Caribbean Queen

“Go Panthers.” Said Hiroyuki


“What the f*&k are we supposed to do now, fatty? I have no external life. The Writer’s Workshop and fat-hate were all I had. My life is sh&t.” Said the Voat Fat People Hate Verified Shitlady.

“Botendaddy, you got us into all this. If I don’t se you every week, my Spanish Patagonian soul will wither and die.” Said Ramon

“Botendaddy is an 455h013 at any rate.” Added the Stalker.

“I am going to start a poet’s group.” Offered Devon. “But this group doesn’t know sh&% about poetry, or verse or rhyme.”

I am a part of all I have met, though much is taken, much abides, that which we are, we are… one equal temper of heroic heart, to strive, to seek, to find and not to yield. –Aeschylus….” Quod, I dramatically.

“This is sad.” Whispered the Librarian. “My life is also equally meaningless. I know this is a group of mis-shapen, freakish runners, writers and preparers of haut cuisine, but we were like a weird sort of family with the Professor as the matriarch and Botendaddy as the perverted Jim Jones slash David Koresh like cult reader. I mean he f*&ked everyone here.”

“He literally drowned them in 5p3rm.” Said Guyasuta wistfully. “Drowned, inundated with his precious bodily fluids.”

“An equal opportunity pervert.” Added the Weird Foreign Doctor Chick. “I can never go back to Nepal now. He has sullied me with his 5p3rm4t0z04. Every single orifice defiled and some other 53x acts that I never even heard of. Ah the taste of it! Now I have to like, go to work and pretend that I care what I’m doing. I have no other friends. Because I’m weird, I’m foreign. I’m a doctor and I’m a chick. But mostly because I’m weird.”

“He made me feel so dirty. He allowed me to truly hate myself to depths I never imagined. He is old, disgusting, ugly. I wanted to chew my arm off to get away from him. I am madly in love with him. He should marry me and not you stupid cvnt5! Plus we’re both from New York.” Said the Punker Model Writer Chick.

“I’m sitting back here, I am in the room.” I added helpfully.

“I DOWNVOTE YOU!” Shrilled the Angry Online Social Justice Warrior guy. “I YEARN FOR YOU TRAGICALLY! SEIZE MY ORIFICES! I LGBTQ+ABCDE LOVE YOU!” He neckbearded.

“No-one cares about any of you.” Said the No-one cares lady. “You’re all a bunch of useless anuses (anii) a bunch of talentless, stupid cock-bombs.”

The Chancellor

“Hey yunz (not yinz)  f*&kin’ sh^theads need to clear out of here. I got to clean this f*&king room.” Said fat, hairy, unionized physical plant guy. FHUPPG “A new group is coming in here. A bunch of, whaddya call, real writers.”

“I got in all my free weight workouts this year! I ran a 7:58 mile! I ran a 27:42 5k. It was a great workout year. By the way, the only way to fail as a writer is to stop writing. So write on, my beloved disciples, write on.”

“Let’s all get in Botendaddy’s party van, get wasted enroute go to Utonic Manor and 94n9 84n9.” Said the CEO.

“Honey Mocha with Nutmeg?”

The writer’s workshop filed out of the Cathedral into the waiting party van.

The FHUPPG swept up the room. He picked up a pile of the manuscripts produced by the group and threw them into a filthy shit-covered trash bin. Then he turned off the lights.

Peace be the Botendaddy


Review: The Best of Joan Baez – Squire Records 1963 LP

I was working out in the basement, when I saw the stack of records that I retrieved from my mother’s apartment after she had died.

I played the Simon and Garfunkel, The Moonlight Sonata, The Herb Alpert Whipped Cream and other Delights (On my list of the top 10 American albums of all time).

I love the grainy sound, the rhythmic, repeating, scratching of the vinyl LP.

I love to start sentences with ‘I’ because I don’t follow anyone else’s rules of style. I’m not a writer, I’m a critic. I can do whatever I want.

I pick up ‘The Best of Joan Baez Album’ from 1963 and I take it out of the Album. I place it on the spindle with great care. Then I go to ‘auto’ so I don’t scratch it.

The Best of Joan Baez Squire Records 1963

I don’t talk about my mother often. She was a feminist, old school New Deal, JFK, Gene McCarthy, liberal, Unitarian. She sat in the lunch counter protests in North Carolina back in the late 50’s. But, she came by her beliefs sincerely.

I remember my mother and dad putting on these great dinner parties for the other professors at the University. My dad was chairman of his department. He was a WWII Veteran. They all revered him. He started out as an Archeologist/Paleontologist before he drifted into Anthro and Sociology. My mom was an Anthropologist. Sure Soc. and Anthro. were irrelevant until we started screwing around with other cultures we couldn’t comprehend, then Soc. and Anthro were suddenly relevant again. Oh Well.

I say, at any rate, we had a great family, like the Magnificent Ambersons, The House of Usher, Rosebud, you get the picture, Empires Fall. And when my dad died, we fell. The entire extended family imploded along with it. We were cast into the world on many dark passages and bright days, but that Joan Baez album survived:

I remember my mother singing ‘On the Banks of the Ohio’ when I was a little boy in Cooperstown, Oneonta, Ithaca. Joan Baez has such a crystal-clear, haunting, brilliant voice in this rendition. She’s much better than you can ever imagine if you have not yet heard her music.

I remember listening to this very same album ‘Oh! What a Beautiful City’. I hadn’t heard the song since forever. It brought me back to those idyllic days when we were a respected united family with a great upstate New York house.

I must mention finally, ‘So Soon in the Morning’ with Bill Wood. It brings away all the despair and hopelessness we have from time to time. I wish I had listened to it more often and I wish I had remembered my mother more fondly before it became too late.

I wonder, will my daughter have some memento of me many years in the future? Will she remember me fondly? I don’t know.

I sit here in my musty basement gym, listening to the final grainy rhythmic scratching as the Album comes to an end.

Peace be the Botendaddy

‘Hack’ and ‘Rep’ are Stupid, Misused Terms

“Sorry, hack has only one meaning in the sense of finding a unique way to solve a problem. It is only applicable in Software Engineering and nowhere else. Ooh try this ‘Life Hack’ try this ‘health hack’ STFU! Stop it! WRONG!

‘TED Talks’ suck miles of monster c@ck. I hate them. I don’t want to be forced to listen to them. When I listen to a TED Talk I feel like my life is wasting away and my soul is dying. Just stop it already. I hate everything about them.

‘Rep’ applies only in one meaning: performing a repetition of a weightlifting exercise AND NOTHING ELSE! Ooh the quarterback got in reps at practice. No he did not. Only if he was bench pressing. End of story.”

Example: our new Quarterback did this new United Airlines hack and he had the shit beaten out of him, because United sucks goat anus, then he listened to a TED Talk about how great the United Ticket Transfer Fee was and he was so shocked that he defecated on hisself. Then he got in a few reps of having more shit beaten out of him as he was dragged off the plane.”

The professor stood up slowly in front of the entire Writers Workshop clapping slowly. Soon the entire Writers Workshop joined in.

Drink the Tranja! … Captain!

“You are a true sexual genius, Botendaddy”, said the CEO. “United truly does suck goat anus and they must ‘change their policies'”

“Yes we need more reps of your literary critiques because they suck like United.” Said Ramon.

“I have a good hack for you, Yon Botendaddy, don’t f@&king fly United.” Said Devon.

“Mocha Java?”

Peace be the Botendaddy