A man greater than myself, and I realize that does very little to thin out the herd of possible candidates, once told me that the title was the single most important part of a literary work: “It reaches out your potential readers waving its arms wildly crying ‘read me, read me!’ Even though at the time, I thought it, and still do think it gay how he said it, I’ll accept it just this once for a test drive.
No, I don’t think I’m the best writer on this site, but much like being in Delta, every dog has its day, or the way I used to describe it: ‘One time you, one time me’ suggesting that there was such an even playing field that there was never just one genetically superior entity that was constantly cleaning house in training competition; one day you beat me, the next day maybe I beat you. Competition was tight.
The actual BK Actual in a post beer moment of clarity; say pal… you gotta light?
BK Actual, Brian “Don’t Get Me Started” Kimber
I remember the day, I am pretty sure it was a Sunday if not mistaken, the trophy went to Burger King Actual, as I like to affectionately title him… the extant Brian Kimber (and a great hush fell upon the audience).
“How come Brian Kimber gets to use profanity in his writing and we don’t—is that fair?” I asked one day to the imaginary Jack McMurph sitting in front of me, only because Brandon Webb was gone Southbound on a intended Northerly azimuth somewhere over the Bermuda Triangle, in a Chinese-built single-engine piper cub. I don’t know about you, but the Triangle is a really really (no kidding really) great place to bring the logistics aphorism: “Two equals one, one equals none” into play. Brandon was rumored to be out on an airborne search for an allusive tribe of Pygmy indig known as the Bermuda Shorts.
Jack didn’t answer. Well, because he was just imaginary, so I drew my own well-thought-out conclusion. After many hours of painstaking laboratory analysis involving painstaking and complex differential calculus invocations, the answer just slapped me hard, square in the face. Of course… a child could have figured it out. Ray Charles could see that it is simply because that is how BK rolls when he writes, dawg.
Yep, BK gets away with it because BK can pull it off. The analogy that springs to mind is, and I deliver this somewhat in the style of the great BK, “Guys, it’s like this: at the beach the fat chick wears the one piece bathing suit, while the skinny chick wears the skimpy bikini. Why, you might ask… because the skinny chick CAN, that’s why.” So Brian does it because he can. The rest of us ash and trash continue to get our pee-pees whacked, and our potty mouths edited heavily by his excellency the Copy Editor Revieweur/euse.
The Odyssean may come to mind as an intermittent exception, having read one of his latest posts on the media exploitation of young Omran of Syria. The expletives in that essay made blood seep from my eyes. The fact is, the Odyssean had a pass from BK to use the profanity that he did, in the way that he did. It was a full-blown legal instrument drawn up and ratified by SOFREP’s general legal council, signed by both parties and their witnesses. How the Odyssean pulled that hail Mary off, we’ll never be sure, but I have it on good faith with Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost that a pretty fine penny made a one-way transfer… wink-wink, nod-nod.
A man greater than myself, and I realize that does very little to thin out the herd of possible candidates, once told me that the title was the single most important part of a literary work: “It reaches out your potential readers waving its arms wildly crying ‘read me, read me!’ Even though at the time, I thought it, and still do think it gay how he said it, I’ll accept it just this once for a test drive.
No, I don’t think I’m the best writer on this site, but much like being in Delta, every dog has its day, or the way I used to describe it: ‘One time you, one time me’ suggesting that there was such an even playing field that there was never just one genetically superior entity that was constantly cleaning house in training competition; one day you beat me, the next day maybe I beat you. Competition was tight.
The actual BK Actual in a post beer moment of clarity; say pal… you gotta light?
BK Actual, Brian “Don’t Get Me Started” Kimber
I remember the day, I am pretty sure it was a Sunday if not mistaken, the trophy went to Burger King Actual, as I like to affectionately title him… the extant Brian Kimber (and a great hush fell upon the audience).
“How come Brian Kimber gets to use profanity in his writing and we don’t—is that fair?” I asked one day to the imaginary Jack McMurph sitting in front of me, only because Brandon Webb was gone Southbound on a intended Northerly azimuth somewhere over the Bermuda Triangle, in a Chinese-built single-engine piper cub. I don’t know about you, but the Triangle is a really really (no kidding really) great place to bring the logistics aphorism: “Two equals one, one equals none” into play. Brandon was rumored to be out on an airborne search for an allusive tribe of Pygmy indig known as the Bermuda Shorts.
Jack didn’t answer. Well, because he was just imaginary, so I drew my own well-thought-out conclusion. After many hours of painstaking laboratory analysis involving painstaking and complex differential calculus invocations, the answer just slapped me hard, square in the face. Of course… a child could have figured it out. Ray Charles could see that it is simply because that is how BK rolls when he writes, dawg.
Yep, BK gets away with it because BK can pull it off. The analogy that springs to mind is, and I deliver this somewhat in the style of the great BK, “Guys, it’s like this: at the beach the fat chick wears the one piece bathing suit, while the skinny chick wears the skimpy bikini. Why, you might ask… because the skinny chick CAN, that’s why.” So Brian does it because he can. The rest of us ash and trash continue to get our pee-pees whacked, and our potty mouths edited heavily by his excellency the Copy Editor Revieweur/euse.
The Odyssean may come to mind as an intermittent exception, having read one of his latest posts on the media exploitation of young Omran of Syria. The expletives in that essay made blood seep from my eyes. The fact is, the Odyssean had a pass from BK to use the profanity that he did, in the way that he did. It was a full-blown legal instrument drawn up and ratified by SOFREP’s general legal council, signed by both parties and their witnesses. How the Odyssean pulled that hail Mary off, we’ll never be sure, but I have it on good faith with Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost that a pretty fine penny made a one-way transfer… wink-wink, nod-nod.
That’s another mystery, if I may rudely interject, the mysterious “Copy Editor”… who is this person? Has anybody ever seen this person? I mean he sits behind a curtain and talks to you over a monitor that shows a really scary robot face that moves its mouth in conjunction with the editor’s voice. Is it really Buck Clay? Me, I think it’s really Buck Clay— riddle me this, Joker: has anyone ever seen the Copy Editor and Buck Clay in the same room together? ‘ka-click’ goes the light bulb.
Ok I don’t want to start any conspiracies, so back to BK Actual. The guy is a one-man wrecking machine. I wish I had this brother’s clout, I mean it’s a nice gig if you can get it: he climbs out of a rat hole once a week, usually on Friday evenings, executes a mad minute with every online news channel/periodical available. Then he squeezes all the content through his cerebral strainer to separate the cogent content from anything having even to do with Hollywood or the standing libtard states, adds water and POOF… you’ve got yourself Brian Kimber’s Weekly News Roundup. Frankly my friends, I would rather hand out towels in a gay bathhouse than miss the Roundup. (note to editor: I have explicit permission from BK to use the word ‘gay’, so get off me, Buck.)
The venerable Buck Clay, Known as the ‘Reaper’ in the high desert region of the Midwest cluster of states: NM, NV, AZ, and TX.
Jumpin’-Jack Mac-Daddy McMurph
First of all, by sheer virtue of being one of the bosses, I am by legal default not at liberty to disclose what a reprehensible person he (maybe) is. I accept that. I can grovel as well as the next yes-man, perhaps even more so, or so I fancy. But en serio, I don’t need to pander. My position on the man is already declared in the closing part of my last essay on PTSD; feel free to read it this Sunday instead of that News Roundup rag.
In the beginning it took me awhile before it sunk in just how absurdly busy Jack was with everyone and everything that was SOFREP. I was a sucker to the fact that every time I sent Jack a FB IM he fired right back, and not in grunts, but full-up expounded sentences. Once the reality set in that he really didn’t have time from my stupid silly-assed questions, I stopped sending him stuff like. “Fuck (we good BK?) me runnin’… Jack I thought today was trash day here in my hood, but it was yesterday, and we had Chinese food last night. Now we are stuck with smelly Chinese food boxes with red pagodas on them, am I a sad-sack or what… Jack… JACK??” I entered into listening silence with Jack, lest he assign me to passing out towels at the club.
I tried to deprive others too, of an education by deferring some of my (BK Endorsed) bullshit (BK Endorsed) to Brandon, but got an auto response saying: “Brandon Web is temporarily unreachable this week, as he is attempting to retrace Charles Lindberg’s nonstop transatlantic flight to France, in the original Spirit of St. Louis aircraft donated by the National Air and Space Museum, surviving on a single bottle of Cpt. Morgan’s Spiced Rum.
I recall the day I ginned up some 150 likes/comments on an article I wrote. I decided to go ahead and break listening silence with Jack to gloat my accomplishment… until I eye-caught Jack’s article:
with something over 10,000 like/comments—WHAT?? “Hey Jack, Geo here… just wanted to let you know I missed cock-a-doody trash day—AGAIN; is there no God?
Frumentarious
Some of the guys use pen names for their articles on SOFREP. I didn’t actually realize we could do that until it was really too late, or I would surely have elected that less-travelled path. I would have gone with the name Race Bannon, always writing about Hadji… in fact on a more serious note it may have precluded Delta from calling me once a month: “We just keep getting angrier and angrier, and you wouldn’t want us to omit your invitation to the yearly Unit Formal, would you?” Well I guess since I haven’t been to a Unit Formal since the millisecond I left there, I could see past that potential devastation.
The Social Security Administration has on record that the legal birth name of the brother is in fact Frumentarious. Don’t fight it. The man accepts just the one truncated hip-hop form of his name, “Fru.” Not Fru-Man, Fru-Train, Fru-Money, Ice-Fru, the Fru-meister, or Fru-asaurus Rex… just Fru. Love the bruthah’z writing style. My favorite article by Frumentarious is this one:
I am NOT A SEAL, and the Progressive Universal Life Church of Sacramento California does offer Certified Ordained Minister’s Licenses, they do not dole out honorary SEAL certificates (with raised seal… YSWIDT?). How do I know this? People, I implore you to try and stay focused on Frumentarious, not my alleged association with the Cloth!
Fru writes by and large on subjects of SEAL matters and affairs. I rather suspect that is what SOFREP expected of Fru when they hired him. I resign to the comfort that when I hear a blurb about NSW in the news, I need go no further than SOFREP within the following day, to get the common sense version of the story. I was hired because I’m from Delta. SOFREP expects some Delta stories from me now and then. The didn’t hire me just because I’m white, expecting to read Hollywood antics about Pat Boone and Perry Como…
Fru is in no way bound by the SEAL subject. I see a well-rounded pen that can makes sense of any subject. For Frumentarious to slouch back and just write about his hobbies, well… that would just be… fruvolous, right? you see what I did there?
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