"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing" - Edmund Burke
I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw. -- Hamlet, Act II, Scene II
"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." -- H.L. Mencken
"How do you tell a communist? Well, it's someone who reads Marx and Lenin. And how do you tell an anti-Communist? It's someone who understands Marx and Lenin." -- Ronald Reagan
And how 'Simon' came to be...
When Mike started writing poetry I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted to publish it! Shows how thoroughly humanity corrupted this innocent machine that he shold wish to see his name in print.
I said, "Mike, for Bog's sake! Blown all circuits? Or planning to give us away?"
Before he could sulk Prof said, "Hold on, Manuel; I see possibilities. Mike, would it suit you to take a pen name?"
That's how "Simon Jester" was born. Mike picked it apparently by tossing random numbers. But he used another name for serious verse, his Party name, Adam Selene.
"Simon's" verse was doggerel, subversive, ranging from poking fun at vips to savage attacks on Warden, system, Peace Dragoons, finks. You found it on walls of public W.C.s, or on scraps of paper left in tube capsules. Or in taprooms. Wherever they were, they were signed "Simon Jester" and with a matchstick drawing of a little horned devil with big grin and forked tail. Sometimes he was stabbing a fat man with a pitchfork. Sometimes just his face would appear, big grin and horns, until shortly even horns and grin meant "Simon was here".
Mike, by the way, is the Mycroft Holmes IV supercomputer, running all functions of the Lunar Colony in the abovementioned book. He's smart, loves bad jokes and loves his friends dearly. And only a few people know that he is 'alive'.
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Former Autoworker who made cars by day and dreams of writing by night. Computer repair specialist. Political idealist. Herder of cats. An appreciator of music and art, a reader of books and an observer of life. That, and a sense of humor that would make Bobcat Goldthwait wince.
Slow to anger, slow to cool down. If I'm yelling, you still have a chance to live. Run if I get quiet while angry.
I love the dirtiest sort of humor; puns. Don't hate me for it.
I was asked once how to tell when I was telling a joke. My face is straight. I was asked once how to tell when I was being serious. My face is smiling.