Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Ms. Pretentia is bored. And she's toying with the idea of bringing back Assprat -- the site will have to be updated, of course, but this shouldn't take too long. For those readers who are wondering about the latest pot shot at the Right Honourable Lord, it was written almost two years ago, but blogger somehow ate it and then regurgitated it to "draft" status. It's not really funny, but Ms. Pretentia couldn't resist. She was going to parody the Lord's account of his travels to the land of Saint Francis, but couldn't stomach reading all the way through them -- and how can one parody what one has not read? Ms. Pretentia would like to apologise, however, if her previous post was insensitive to Fatass-Americans.

At any rate, Ms. Pretentia would feel remiss to not support the current Bill Napoli google-bombing campaign. And of course, what Assprat/Crescat post would be complete without an irrelevant quotation:

"I wish I knew how to quit you." -Ang Lee.

Friday, June 04, 2004

Dearest fans, stalkers, hangers-on and assorted persons who pilfer our undergarments for the purposes of titillating their olfactory nerves,

As the man once said (I don't know which man, but he may have been a member of the Beatles), all things must pass. So too must a not-uncertain, but here unnameable, online repository of wisdom (although we pass substances of quite a different nature). Yes, colleagues and panty-pilferers, it is time for our final thoughts before moving on to our next great adventures.

Sodeep Underwata: Yes, 'tis true that I have never blogged thee great blog. But 'tis nobler in the heart that I should pretentiously bid adieu to the confines of my Ass and my Prat on Assprat by saying where I'm going to be going to graduatory schooling in the noble study of life sciences this annum next. For the benefit of those of you too pretentious to understand English, I will graciously render the previous sententia in Latin: After receiving artium baccalaureus meus, I shall continue on to the noble study of life sciences at an institution whose acronym, when pronounced in the vernacular, rhymes with "spit." In fact, it rhymes with quite a few words in the plebeian tongue, including one particularly familiar to the small but devoted following of a certain online journal. At this unnamed institution, I shall drive a car, whose make ends in the letters "M" and "W", though it would be impolite to speculate further at this point. Additionally, I shall have ample opportunity to display my supremely developed intelligence quotient. Though it would most certainly be immodest to boast about my legendary IQ any more than is natural, I suppose it would not be impertinent to inform my loyal misreadership that said quotient is certainly not less than the number of pages in your average annotated edition of the complete works of Shakespeare. And in conclusion, gentle misreader, I should like to take a moment or two to commemerate my long, hard, wooden cricket bat that has given me so much pleasure over the years. In pure size and striking power, it easily outclassed those of my friends and fellow cricket-players, and measured nearly the length of my penis. And now I shall offer all interested parties an exclusive demonstration in cricket technique. Bill, please join me here on the blogofloor.

Bill Toad: Most certainly, my manly cohort.

Sodeep: Okay, Bill. First you take the cricket bat and some nice, unscented, hand lotion.

Bill: Right-o.

Sodeep: Now pour a little hand lotion into your throwing hand.

Bill: Yes.

Sodeep: Thoroughly coat your cricket bat with the lotion and rub it slowly and rhythmically.

Bill: Oh yes!

Sodeep: Ahhh.

Bill: Oh yeah!

Sodeep: I think we've "come" to the time where we must yield the floor to the lovely ladies of Assprat.

Blanda: Um, what's this sticky stuff? I've never seen anything like it before. It tastes just like that wonderful soufflée you used to feed me out of your "magic culinary tube", Bill. I will miss that tiny little thing when I head off to ... let's just say it's one of the -stans. I'll miss all of you when I'm wandering around in the bushes and licking the carpet, as is local custom. I only hope I won't have to eat the cats -- I realise that as the token liberal on this wonderful agglomeration of wit, I ought to stand up for the rights of minority food groups like cats. However, cats represent a major food-source in the back-woods in which I will piece my corpse over the next year, but I do so love the pussies. I shall therefore stick to sausages instead, although, as everyone knows, sausages are frequently made of cat. I leave the consequences as an exercise for the reader.

Bill: Wonderful, Blanda. Unfortunately, my immediate future shall not be anywhere near so exciting, as I shall be in Jail for the next three years. I shan't tell my readership what happens to boys like me in Jail, but I can assure them that it has little to do with cats and carpets and bushes and more to do with salad preparation. None of these doings, however, are quite as unsuitable for the virgin ears and eyes of my readers as the location of my penitentiary. My incarceration shall be spent in a charming village in a state whose moniker includes the phrase "ecticut" and is something of a nouveau "haven" for overgrown asses.

Bill Toad's Ass: Spiffing. Absolutely spiffing. I shall have the opportunity to relieve myself in appropriately pretentious confines.

Bill Toad: Quite. I am ever so happy that my conviction for Annoyingly Prolific Bloggery and Indecent Public Exposure netted me three years in Yale Law Sch ... ahem ... "jail". My apologies. I nearly forgot myself. It would be quite tart to tell you of my acceptance to this prestigious institution of higher bullshit ... um, burning, or yearning ... or something like that. Now what could I possibly spend three years on in New Haven? I've got it! Dropping out of the culinary programme at Albertus Magnus College, right across the way from Yale Law School.

Samey: I've already moved on. In keeping with the cryptic nature of my illustrious predecessors, I'm not going to tell you where I'm begging for food, but I can say that it's a big fruit of a city. Not that any of you care because I've always been the insignificant one.

Beefy Schmaltz: How true. How wonderfully true. I too shall wander confusingly down to the big fruity and pursue the fruits ... of my labour at a certain prestigious journal of opinion.

Dr. Ignatius Hat: For my part, I have recently been offered a tenured position (and a few other "positions" besides). I would have liked to offer my encouragement to all you young, tender pretentiate novices in your apprenticeships to others like me, but, as we all know, such encouragement would not only be insincere but anti-capitalist as well. And, as has been amply demonstrated in a recent paper (Hat, 2004), I am a staunch supporter of the free market, particularly in respect to the utility functions for plebecites and how they should be grateful to transport large, bloated asses on litters.

Lady Lauren Pretentia: On this wonderous occasion of commencement, it delights me to inform my ever loyal unreadership that I have accepted the post of Headmistress at St. Madonna's Strict Disciplinary Institute for Wayward Catholic Schoolgirls in Bumfuck, Oklahoma. With tears in my eyes and wetness in my drawers, I shall leave you with our final irrelevant quotation. I bid you adieu.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

Giving Oneself a Pillar of Knowledge

Bill Toad (from his new book of villanelles entitled "On Herbs"): Pesto and hats are one and the same. Both remind me of my old friends.

Blanda: Am I one of those old friends?

Bill: No. You are like ravioli, if you know what I mean.

Blanda: I don't know what you mean.

Mlle Pretentia (whispering): Moi, je comprends tres bien ce qu'il veut dire.

Bill: Well, Blanda, for a FULL explanation, you'll have to stop by for pesto and mayonnaise later this afternoon at the Baude-laire, otherwise known as my abaude. That's it for now, more at every hour, ten to the hour, here from a USITE near you.

Ms. Pretentia: God knows, spicy mayonnaise is always tasty. And quite efficacious as a lubricant.

Sue Johanson, Canadian sexpert: That could give you a yeast infection!

Ms. Pretentia: Thanks for the advice! And now, we conclude this installment of our crescatological musings with our obligatory irrelevant quotation:

-Adam Leeds, Chicago [Un]Scholarly Review

Friday, April 30, 2004

Welcome back, gentle readers, to the lovely portentiousness of Assprat Pretentia (yes, we know, we said "portentious", instead of pretentious, but we're special -- we manage to be both).

Bill Toad: You will all be glad to know that I got into Jail. I am currently free on $20,000 bond, courtesy of the lovely Blanda.

Blanda: Actually, Bill, you got into Yale.

Bill Toad: I got into Jail too. Apparently there is some new law in Chicago against being an annoying prolific blogger.

Bill Toad: And now, gentle readers, I have writer's block. How unfortunate for you. I shall now leave you with an irrelevant quotation from La Rochefoucauld:

Sunday, April 18, 2004

We have been advised by several sources that Assprat has been going down ... on your mother -- um, downhill. Needless to say, we find these less-than-enthusiastic reports of our "performance" rather sad. Ms. Pretentia is an artist, but she resents being lumped in with the crowd still struggling to find their creative energy. However, Ms. Pretentia will be the first to admit that she has been spending most of her time in the unproductive, though most assuredly delightful, pursuit of slandering The Right Honourable Lord William Baude instead of actual parody. In fact, one might argue that Crescat Sententia has become a better parody of itself than Ms. Pretentia ever was. This is not a baseless claim -- there is evidence to back us up (yes, I realise that we just ended a sentence with a preposition but we really do not a shit give).

As the loyal reader well knows, Miss Pretentia has previously blogged about ketchup. Miss Pretentia would like to draw her gentle readers' attention to this fact -- notwithstanding the small detail that it is not true. Miss Pretentia has not blogged about ketchup; however, her Honourable Colleague has shared his thoughts on the matter -- er, substance -- with such eloquence that Miss Pretentia was a trifle confused, and thought -- briefly -- that she had somehow logged into the wrong blog. Upon closer inspection, however, she breathed a sigh of relief: the Honourable Colleague was too pretentious to blog about ketchup, but blogged instead about how he is too pretentious to like liking ketchup (as it is not only plebeian, but also dangerously related to the current Democratic nominee). Ms. Pretentia, for her part, is too pretentious to blog about being too pretentious to like liking ketchup; so she has saved these thoughts until a proper opportunity presented itself, namely, until an occasion where she could blog about being too pretentious to blog about being too pretentious to like liking ketchup, as well as the philosophical offshoot of this conundrum, namely, that she is too pretentious to like blogging about being too pretentious to like liking ketchup. So, for those gentle readers who got lost in this web of pretension: Ms. Pretentia is pretentious enough to not like to like blogging about being too pretentious to like liking ketchup. Noam Chomsky would surely be proud of her.

In other news, a conference of bloggers, competently named "BloggerCon" by some clever individual, has recently taken place. Ms. Pretentia assures her gentle readers that this was not an idea which originated with her. The astute reader might find this downright curious, given that the consensus at the aforementioned BloggerCon was that blogs are first and foremost a great new way to make money, and are an absolutely fabulous way to disseminate great and momentous ideas that would otherwise go unremarked. And Miss Pretentia must reluctantly admit that they have a point -- the momentous contents of Bill Toad's ass would never have been disseminated, were it not for the blogosphere.

Now, gentle readers, we leave you with an article taken from Assprat's own official newspaper, The Chicago Pill:

Monday, April 05, 2004

Welcome back, patient readers, to Assprat Pretentia! Whilst we do not have time to spend upwards of five hours per day blogging, we do like to come out of hiding every now and then to give the Right Honourable Lord William Baude a proper thrashing (which given the size of the area to be thrashed, takes quite a bit of energy).

We were going to continue our 20 -- ahem, 3.1415926535 -- questions with Bill Toad's ass. However, we find this line of inquiry rather dull. There is little of interest within Bill Toad's ass: the usual plugs, masturbatory devices, and (scandalously!) even the odd detached male anatomical bits from time to time. We trust that those readers who feel a titillating need to delve further into this have already taken matters into their own capably lubricated hands. Instead, we will focus our Inquisition (with all appropriate implements) on Ms. Pretentia's far more interesting personality, the delectable Miss Blanda.

Bill Toad: Yes. It is I, Bill Toad, and I am taking over chief question asking responsibility from our dearly mathematically-challenged friend, Peter No-Thrust. Now for question 1 of 3.1415926535:

1. Why did you decide to start b****ing and why did you decide to do a group b***?

Well, you know, my friends did it. So I thought I might try, too. I began quietly, on my own, but then somehow the monster under my bed made my toys disappear. Then Bill Toad asked me over to play with his toys. At first I was apprehensive, because Bill Toad was always so much bigger than me. But I found myself with some really nice people, and discovered my true calling: public b****ing on my lovely new b****ing site. I'm so happy now. I've discovered myself.

2. What do you look for in a man?

I look for many things. My tastes are sophisticated and highly discriminating. I require a minimum of a 52 inch belt size, a DD cup size and, of course, my ideal man would be a really obnoxious ass.

Bill Toad's Ass (interjecting): I knew it!

Blanda: Indeed! A girl needs someone to emulate, who drives her to improve herself. I'm already working on the contents of my brassiere; however, I still have a long way to go before I could hope to match the dimensions of the illustrious Ass.

Bill Toad's Ass: Why, thank you!

Blanda: But most of all, my ideal man must be sensitive and caring.

3. What gaping holes are there in your knowledge of things every moderately competent person should know?

Well, actually, I'm an idiot. I don't read anything. I just know a lot of book titles that I can throw around in order to seem somewhat erudite.

3.1415926535. What do you

Wait, where's the rest of the question?

Bill Toad: I'm sorry, but I'm only allowed to ask 0.1415926535 of it.

Blanda: Quite frankly, my dear, that sucks a big cock.

Bill Toad: Well, so do I for that matter, but we really must be moving on -- be sure to check out our new website.

Dr. Ignatius Hat: And now, gentle readers, the obligatory irrelevant quotation:
-Natalia Antonova

Sunday, February 22, 2004

GAZING INWARD into a dark and particularly malodorous orifice.

And now: the conclusion to our last post that was so rudely interrupted by the time-restraints at USITE. Since many have asked us to post more information about ourselves, and since we do so enjoy being self-reflective, we have decided to turn our 3.1415926535 Questions feature (which shall consist of 20 questions, as our much-beloved and arithmetically challenged Peter No-Thrust is asking the questions) on one of our own: Bill Toad's Ass.

1. Why did you decide to start blogging?

Well, you see, I felt constrained by my ordinary real-life environment. What is a poor rump to do, when seats on planes and desks in classrooms are so criminally designed for scrawny, anorexic individuals with nothing to display? Nevermore, I said, nevermore. Blogging provides a medium in which the crispy, flaky, tender morsels of dehydrated feces that adorn my voluptuous flesh could finally taste the air of freedom. Much to the delight, I am given to understand, of legions of fans. I also like to inform people that they are wrong -- especially when they aren't. Blogging provides the perfect medium for this as I can place the whole world's inferiority on display and pretend that everyone thanks me for it.

2. Does the fact that you are, well, an ass effect the way you blog?

Really, it's hard to know. I've never blogged without being an ass. I do find it particularly perplexing that asses, such as myself, have very little external authority with which to cloak themselves. This misses the obvious point, of course, that asses should not be cloaked at all. Sadly though, my uncloaked ass is much less likely to be cited than a professor's ass. However, at least I am more likely to be sighted .

3. As the proprietor of a brothel, how do you make decisions about the welfare of your girls? Decisions such as who to hire, how to dress them, or how much to charge? Also, how do you agree on commission?

Actually, the rumours are not true. To all of you reading this, I declare once and for all: Assprat Pretentia is not a brothel (although we do sell our souls for monetary remuneration). For those of you interested in such services, or in a grasp of the English language superior to much of the drivel out there, we heartily recommend a lady of the night.

4. You are such a wonderful and magnificent paragon of asininity. Tell us about why you are so well-educated and so infallibly correct in all your opinions.

To this I must credit my long, pendulous and cheeky education, which has spanned many hours and many places. While I have absorbed much in the way of asinine courses, I have recently come to the conclusion that in fact nobody has anything to teach me at all. Why? you ask. Well, gentle reader: a nice thing about having most of your views based on principled logic and not just contested empirical fact is that it makes it impossible for anyone, ass or otherwise, to ever change your mind.

5. You're in favor of school voucher programs as one way to help America's schools. What else do you support to help them?

Let's face it. Poor people are inherently stupid. So are blacks, hispanics and, in general, people who are not corpulent, pale and named "Toad". These people are obviously destined to lives of manual labour, such as hauling my bloated behind (wait, I am a bloated behind) around on a litter. Therefore, I support a system of gulags in which these inferior proletarian beasts may be trained in the arts that will service them in later life -- specifically, litter-bearing. Similarly, I find that as asininity is genetic, and flourishes in certain corpulent individuals with no external help, it is only morally right, from an economic perspective (for there are no other morals), to let these individuals frolic with no impediments, constraints, tights or belts. Voucher programs, while not the perfect solution of freeing all people from the pernicious state influences that threaten to educate them, at the very least make it possible for my tax dollars to support little Jihad al-Mohammed in his studies at the Madrassah for World Domination.

6. What is your opinion on the appropriate legal position of children? How much control should parents be able to exert over their children's lives?

I am a libertarian. Ergo, there should be no laws or legal system at all. The law is only useful as a bucket into which I may void the excrement of my genius. Consequently, if there should be no laws, then there should be no legal position for anyone, children included. I could, and usually would, add a lengthy and utterly meaningless monograph upon the subject, but am a little too tired at the moment (how I get the energy to post so many pages of meaningless literary dung each day is truly beyond me).

Peter No-Thrust: And that concludes this section of 20 Questions with Bill Toad's Ass.

Blanda: That's 3.1415926535 Questions!

Peter: Whatever. Tune in next time for questions 7-13.

Dr. Ignatius Hat: And now, gentle reader, we shall leave you with another irrelevant quotation of Robert Burns -- this time from his classic "To a Louse":
O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
An’ ev’n devotion!

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