The Lost Blogs Read online

  Those who are not in agreement with such a change will have their internet connection killed, their accounts suspended, and they will be, for all intents and purposes—“dead to the digital world.” I suspect the alternative is better than the punishment.

  As part of the premiere of the new Soviet.com collective blog, I would like to direct you to just some of the wonderful pieces that are already available for your perusal:

  Russian Art. How Good It Is

  Stalin, the Extraordinarily Great Person

  My Farm, Your Farm… Our Farm

  Stalin, the Extraordinarily Great Person, Pt 2

  Poles and Kalmyks and Chechens, Oh My!

  From: http://www.almighty.com/~adam/

  Subject: Women!

  Today was not a good day.

  Before today, everything was going swimmingly. The lands were bountiful, filled with fruit and food and animals (which I got to name myself, btw) and populated by the lovely Eve. We’d been having some great times, just hanging out and talking until the wee hours of the morning. Seriously, we were in heaven.

  Then the you-know-what hit the you-know-what.

  Like I’ve said before, Eve has this thing about not listening to me or the Almighty. The guy tells us we can do whatever we want, whenever we want—full carte blanche. We just can’t touch the tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. That’s it. One tree. One little tiny tree that is off limits.

  Eve doesn’t like things being off limits. If it’s something she can’t have, you’d better believe she’s going to want it. Remember that day she wanted that fig and I had the last fig from the tree? And she threw that temper tantrum for the fig? Perfect example of her having to have exactly what she can’t have. ( Picture of Eve, eating my fig.)

  So I’m out walking around the back of our property today and I turn the corner past the giraffes and the hippos and I see Eve standing there under the tree. What does she have in her hand? An apple. What’s missing from that apple? A bite.

  “The most delicious apple ever,” she says.

  Then blah blah blah, she’s going on about how “see, nothing happened” and how “it’s so good, Adam, just try it” and “since I had a bite you should totally try it too or are you not really, truly a man” kind of thing and she’s batting her eyes at me and she’s, you know, all there to see.

  Women.

  About five seconds after taking a taste there’s this booming from the sky, the clouds rush in, and you-know-who catches us in the act.

  I don’t know when I’ll be able to write next—we’re sort of living in a world of pain now, if you know what I mean.

  From: http://www.brigham_young.com/blog/

  Subject: Oops!

  Mother’s Day is next Sunday.

  I don’t know, people—what’s a guy supposed to get for his wife? You don’t want to ask them what they want because, well, that would totally ruin the surprise—but you don’t want to just go get them something and then watch them open the gift and realize that no, they don’t want an apron. (Yes, I did this last year and was not pleased with the result!)

  I know that I’ll probably send flowers to Miriam, because she loves daisies and roses. I’ll probably get Mary that new iron she was eyeing last week at the store. But what about Lucy? She’s so tough to buy for. She says she doesn’t want anything but you know that if I don’t get her anything, I’ll never hear the end of it. Then there’s Harriet and Clarissa and the other Clarissa. They want clothing, but I have no idea what size clothing they wear and if I go and ask them what size they are, they’re going to know I’m getting them clothing and what kind of surprise is that?

  Louisa and Zina and Emily and Eliza and Elizabeth and Diana and Maria and Susannah and Olive and Mary and Margrette are way tough to buy for. They’re always finding fault in presents—which doesn’t make it much fun to buy them things. But here’s a question—sure, I have thirteen kids from these eleven women, but some have never given me a child. Perhaps, possibly, I don’t have to get them a present? Or a less expensive one? Right, men? Chime in.

  Thing is, last year I didn’t get presents for some of my wives who have never had children ( Rhoda, Mary, Mary Ann, Emily, Abigail, Mary E, and Amy C. immediately come to mind) and they totally felt out of place while Emmeline, Margaret Maria, Lucy and Harriet opened their gifts. Boy was that a rough night. You know who had to spend the night with the OTHER forty-three wives after being kicked to the curb by the first seven? Yes, you guessed it. Ol’ Brigham Young was getting the classic cold shoulder.

  Maybe tonight I’ll try to casually guess what Hannah, Lydia, Elizabeth J., Ann Eliza, Mary C. and Mary O. might want. I’ve got ten minutes with each of them tonight, so that should be just enough time to figure out what’s on their “extra special gift lists” this time of year! Maybe I’ll just ask. Oh, who knows!

  It’s just so darn hard trying to buy for Mother’s Day.

  If all else fails, I guess I can ask the kids. Between fifty-six of them, someone’s bound to come up with an idea, right?

  Gosh, I hope so.

  From: http://www.homer.gr/blog/

  Subject: Where Are Thou, O Muse?

  Here I sit, in silence, staring up at this stone—draped in white, without any words.

  The words, so quickly they came to my head and my hand before—the Iliad the result of such vivid apparitions. The siege on Ilium and the Trojan War played out in my mind, and in the minds of those who sat to hear the tale. O Muse, how we knew each other so well during those times, and all men they did rally behind the tale, speaking the words to others and those to others again. The Iliad, a success, had become.

  And now, with the pressure upon me, I cannot find the words for the second tale.

  O Muse, where are thou? A title, you have not given me—although a story of an odyssey I suspect might be nice. The story of Odysseus, King of Ithaca, after the war which raged upon Troy. But what of his actions? His adventures to come? The influence of the gods? My mind is a blank, and there is nothing for me to tell.

  I am at a loss for words, O Muse, and the people they grow more impatient by the day. Where is thou Odyssey they pose. When shall we hear the tale they say. Why has there not been a second story with so much time passing since the first?

  Perhaps, O Muse, one is all there ever was inside of me? So says me, writer and poet. One perhaps is all there is. For what else explanation can there be for a man so prolific yet so completely absent of ideas?

  For who can fault a man for writing once with greatness and allowing that to mark him for life? No man can fault another for such. But when greatness falls, replaced by mediocrity (with another story that does not inspire)—then the mark darkens, and failure overshadows.

  Perhaps this odyssey will never occur. Perhaps Odysseus’ journey ends in the Iliad. Perhaps my Muse has decided for me—that a second project is not my destiny.

  But that must not be true. Yet I have nothing to give. But the first, such a rousing success. Where are my thoughts? Why to me, does this occur?

  I have nothing to give. I cannot. No. I cannot. I cannot.

  But they ask for more. And more. And more!

  A meal. Perhaps a meal will help spark the hidden tale of Odysseus. Entertainment of some kind. A meal and entertainment and a well-needed break. Yes! This is my destiny.

  When I have returned, then I shall try again.

  From: http://www.pope_john_paul_II.it/papal-blog/

  Subject: The Raddest Day Ever

  Are you ready for this!? Totally crazy. Seriously. Out of control.

  So I’m sleeping in my quarters, right? It’s like five in the morning or something, pretty early, tryin’ to get my rest after a night of blessing a bunch of people here at the Vatican. Anyway—I open my eyes for a split second to flip over and get to the cold side of the bed when I spot like twenty cardinals… get this… Wait for it… IN MY ROOM!

  I almost freaked out! I mean, usually we’ll all meet up downstairs but never have t
hey all come like that and stood so freakishly quiet in the corner of my room. I was like, “Yo, what’s going on. Cardinals?” and they were like, “Holy Father… we have something to show you that you might want to see” and blah blah blah blah blah… More of that for a while and I was like, “Well, you woke me up already, I ain’t goin’ back to sleep so let’s go see what you have to show me.”

  So I get on a robe and shorts and I’m following the cardinals downstairs, and yeah my stomach is rumbling and stuff (I had like nothing to eat the night before, I totally spaced) and they gently urge me to walk into the courtyard and you… will … not… believe… what was there.

  The most raddest, most awesomest, most amazing thing ever. A brand-new car, with a huge red ribbon around it. The cardinals hand me the keys. It was crazy!

  I’m like, “You guys got me a brand-new Pope Mobile!” I’m shaking and stuff, running around this bulletproof beauty. I mean, this thing is sweet. And then one of the cardinals leans in and he’s like, “It’s a modified Range Rover, Holy Father…”

  Okay. If you could have seen my eyes right then you would have FREAKED OUT. A Range Rover? A Range Rover. So not only is this baby bulletproof and I can stand up in this thing and wave to everyone and if someone shoots at me there’s no way that bullet’s gonna touch my skin like last time… But it’s also a Range Rover. It’s like, too cool. Functional, secure, and a pretty nice car. And you know what else? The Vatican pays for the insurance. And the gas. I felt like I was on The Price Is Right—here I am, in my bathrobe staring at my brand-new ride.

  So I get inside and start this baby up and I’m doing 360s around the courtyard there and the cardinals are lookin’ on and stuff and I’m just peeling out. It was really the most awesome present ever, and I can’t wait to do some exploring in it later today.

  ’Course, they keep wanting to call this thing the “Papal Limousine” but I put down my foot and told these guys it has to be called the Pope Mobile. That’s just a sweet, hip name for it. None of this stuffy, Papal Limousine stuff. Pope Mobile.

  Yeaaaah. You gotta love it!

  From: http://www.nixon.com/checkersblog/

  My fellow Americans—my inbox has been overwhelmed with correspondence since last week’s appearance on national TV. Pat, Tricia, Julie, and I are so thankful that you embraced our adorable little black and white spotted cocker spaniel dog—who we call Checkers.

  The above picture is me and Checkers just outside on the White House lawn. Checkers was absolutely tired after a day of fetch and playing ball. If you’d like to see Checkers jumping up on his hind legs and walking on two feet, click here.

  Little Jason Babsiewski ( [email protected]) from Olympia, Washington, sent this amazing artistic re-creation of Checkers to me the other day. I think you’ll agree that it’s quite a resemblance! Checkers looks just as regal and thoughtful as he does when he’s sitting next to me on the carpet in the Oval Office.

  Remember when I mentioned about the man in Texas who heard Pat on the radio when she said that our daughters would like to have a dog? Well. I must tell you that the crate he sent Checkers in to us was well padded and comfortable for the little guy. Here’s a picture of him at ten months old.

  There are even more pictures for your viewing pleasure of Checkers eating, playing, sleeping and chewing his favorite toy.

  I will say it again—no matter what people say, we are keeping Checkers. He is a wonderful new addition to the family and my daughters would absolutely be heartbroken without him. Pat loves him too.

  CHECKERS’S DAILY UPDATE:

  Checkers went for three walks today with his official White House dog walker. He went pee three times, making sure to mark his territory, then went poop once by the back veranda behind the Oval Office and on the hallway carpet in the family wing of the White House. There was a moment when one of my aides had to grab a piece of you-know-what that was hanging by a single strand of hair and Checkers was extremely confused. But he was calm, cool and collected and all ended up perfect in the end! Good job, Checkers!

  LINKS:

  AKC Cocker Spaniel Information

  My Cocker Spaniel, Toopsey (Our friends’)

  Cocker Spaniel Tips and Training

  Cocker Spaniel Sweaters & Hoodies

  My Doggy. Checkers—Essay by Tricia Nixon

  From: http://www.rembrandt.com/blog/

  Subject: My Stalker, Helmut, Returns…

  Perhaps it may be time to refrain from publishing this blog.

  Saskia and I moved into the Jodenbreestraat in the Jewish Quarter to get away from the chaos that had followed us previously. You may recall the entry about my fan, Helmut, who sent me over 100 messages in one day in an attempt to gain my attention, as he was ‘my most dedicated and supportive fan.’

  You may also remember how I disregarded such messages as I was advised to, not knowing the seriousness of the situation and preferring to leave well enough alone. When I found Helmut in our downstairs crawlspace under the stairs (where he had been living for thirteen days without food or water) we decided the move (which we had previously talked about doing) was the smartest thing to do.

  The last few days have been less than tranquil.

  Even without listing our new address or contact information, Helmut has found us again. Three days ago Saskia and I awoke to find Helmut sitting at the edge of our bed, dressed in a full coat of armor—looking exactly like a figure I painted in The Blinding of Sampson. Saskia and I stared blankly as he rattled off my entire body of work, asking questions as to why I used this color or what the allegory of certain pieces related to or if he could live with us forever. I cautiously told Helmut that this harassment must stop.

  Helmet was noticeably upset, resulting in him ripping apart various portions of the room while Saskia slipped out to call for help. Eventually, local authorities carted him away (again), resulting in another statement being given by yours truly.

  It seems that we will have to stand against Helmut in a court, in an attempt to legally force him to stay away from our new home. It seems Helmut was able to track our location from certain payment slips used by me to fund this online service.

  Thus is the reason for my possible decision in removing this site from the public eye. I have had no luck getting any new pieces done since this harassment has begun, and I choose to nip it as quickly as I can.

  I will, however, keep you up to date on the current case against this man.

  Questions or comments to [email protected].

  From: http://www.ansel_adams.com/photoblog/

  Subject: School’s Out… Forever!

  Mother and Father let me quit school last week.

  The other thirteen-year-olds were so jealous that I don’t have to go anymore, that I can just learn what I want to learn at home with my parents. Frederick says that if you don’t go to school you’ll never succeed in life, but I don’t care what he has to say about that. I never liked going there, and whether or not it was because I was bored or because people made fun of the fact that I was color-blind … Well, I don’t care!

  Now I can concentrate on learning and practicing piano. Mother has arranged for my lessons to continue and my hope is that I may someday be a well-regarded pianist who can travel the landscapes of the world—bringing music everywhere.

  It is a little boring around the house with no one but adults to talk to.

  I told mother that I wished there was something else I could do besides practice and study and she responded by giving me a gift—a photographic camera. A camera. How can a color-blind person use a camera?

  Mother said that I didn’t have to always tell people I was color-blind—it could be a secret among the close family. That people didn’t have to know. That just because I couldn’t see colors didn’t mean that I couldn’t use a camera. I told her I wanted to play piano instead and so she put away the camera and didn’t mention another thing about it.

  In a few months, the family will be going to Yosemi
te National Park—we’re going camping! That helps to think about when I’m sitting here at home trying to study and trying to practice. That will be so much fun.

  From: http://www.winston_churchill.co.uk/speech-blog/

  Subject: Never Give In… Never Give Up…

  “Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in…”

  Do you know which soldier and journalist spoke those words? Do you know who wrote that speech? Would you be surprised to know that it was ME? Sir Winston Churchill? Yes. It was ME. I wouldn’t kid with you. On my honor. These words are mine!

  “We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!”

  Do you know which author and politician spoke those words and WROTE that speech? Would you be surprised that, once again, such superior oratory skills can be directly linked to ME? Sir Winston Churchill? You’re saying to yourself right now, “I can’t believe Sir Winston Churchill is so astute, intelligent, and inspiring!”

  But I am.

  Would you be surprised to know that you, too, can benefit from my well-respected, well-regarded, well-honed speechwriting skills and know-how?

  From weddings to funerals to college graduation ceremonies, Churchill Speaks is a new service I am launching today that will craft unique and personal prose for you, the not-so-good-at-writing-speeches individual. And for a competitively low price, we will craft, perfect and deliver to you on note cards (included in the price) the kind of speech people will be talking about for years after. Just read what some of our satisfied customers are already saying: