For the past ten years, the ABA Journal has run a “peeps in law” contest in anticipation of Easter. It’s cute. It involves a diorama made of icky candy, making it absolutely perfect for any third grade classroom. But one submission has been deemed too provocative, too controversial, year after year to be allowed: the Peeps of B. McLeod. And so his 2018 Peeps appears here instead.
No, I can’t tell which one is Stormy Daniels either.
Has he not captured the mood, if not the carpeting, of Trump’s Atlantic City resort?
Well, there you go, Bruce. A winner, if only here. I leave it to McLeod to discuss his marshmallow artistry, but at least this expression of the stranger things sees the light of day.
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In a Trump casino, I think there would be more than one mooncalf. The epic poem that explains the scene follows (music can be found at the B. McLeod SoundCloud page).
The Mooncalf and the Wheel
Once a mooncalf bent on learning,
Off to law school he did go,
Heeding never words of warning,
Cried by those who most would know,
To the school he came, a debtor,
From it, more the debtor went,
All he had (and even better),
Ever might have, he had spent,
Low among his class he rated,
First nor second quartile, he,
With the final final graded,
Ranked one-hundred, sixty-three,
Still with hope unduly founded,
To the law firms he had gone,
Fierce upon the gates he pounded,
But, for answer, he had none,
So he turned to contract action,
Scanning documents for hire,
Never gaining any traction,
Fame nor fortune did acquire,
Years of servitude rolled past,
As mounting debts he could not pay,
Too poor, even, at the last,
To send his dues to ABA,
And then it fell upon a day,
The mooncalf he thought long,
Law practice might not be the way,
Perhaps, indeed, he had been wrong,
And so he sold his books and pen,
His ties and legal pad,
The car he had been living in,
And all the suits he had,
How little did his Mama think,
When she rode that prison train,
That he would grow so drunk with drink,
As to sell that truck for gain,
Then, springing for one decent meal,
The balance he put back,
And took it to a roulette wheel,
And put it all on “black,”
With fervent prayer to all his gods,
As the wheel began to spin,
(Although, compared to law school odds,
This was a sure-fire win),
‘Round and ‘round that wheel spun,
Where mooncalf had invested,
And when it stopped, he found he’d won,
Because on “black” it rested,
Then six times more he made the play,
And six times more succeeded,
His winnings (net of tax) that day,
Were all the mooncalf needed,
A house he bought, and debts did pay,
And opened a small store,
And put his law degree away,
And never saw it more,
For those who ask, “What’s here to gain”?
Or, “Is it worth a quarter”?
I think the moral should be plain,
“A mooncalf can get smarter,”
How many schools will now reveal,
In their recruiting ads,
“A mooncalf at a roulette wheel,
Did better than our grads”?
Yet, ‘tis a point that law school staves,
Most wisely should attend,
Lest over-hunting mooncalves,
Bring them to an ugly end,
For them I offer up this piece,
No matter how you spin it,
“A mooncalf you may often fleece,
But you only once can skin it.”
That song needed a trigger warning.
I haven’t heard “mooncalf” since I heard W.C. Fields ask grady Sutton (his soon-to-be son-in-law) “‘Don’t be a luddy-duddy! Don’t be a mooncalf! Don’t be a jabbernowl! You’re not those, are you?”
I find that I sometimes need to explain the term “mooncalf” to those of the less seasoned generations.
We used to have regular food art contests back in college – better than eating the slop they served*. This peeps thing is news to me, but one clear advantage is that you can put the entries in the microwave after the contest is over.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkBwIAVecgQ
* Back then the food at Harvey Mudd sucked but now it’s great. One thing the 10X increase in tuition has accomplished, I guess.
From what I hear, it’s entirely different. When I went to college, it was three colors of APM. Today, it’s name-brand food. Maybe it’s the competition for student loan bucks. Maybe it’s the students-as-consumers concern. Either way, there was no excuse for the slop they served us years ago.
It’s not Tuesday, but please tell me you are going to insert a Picard double face-palm for this
Nope. I offered to post what the ABA Journal would not, and now I will suck it up.
Now I understand why you are so hard on Bruce’s comments:
“Peeps Envy”
and you say the ABA journal is worthless!
Yeah, that must be it.
Clicking on the Admiral’s link to the ABA contest, it looked to me all but dead. Basically, those still faithful to and in favor with the regime had thirteen (13) entries accepted, all told (no way of knowing how many were excluded for nonconformity with the current dogma). What is killing ABA as a whole and ABA Journal as a whole is (naturally enough) killing their rigged “Peeps Contest” as well.
“What is killing ABA as a whole and ABA Journal as a whole is (naturally enough) killing their rigged ‘Peeps Contest’ as well”.
Rigged? Sounds a bit paranoid. Can you tell me the meaning of the phrase “don’t cry over spilt milk”?*
So Bruce (do you mind if I call you “Bruce”?), many of our ‘clients’ are encouraged to engage in arts and crafts. (We call it “Occupational Therapy”). During preparations for Easter, many also use Peeps as part of their artistic expression. We also encourage this, as it’s much safer than basket weaving materials and tools.
I’m sure the day-to-day grind of having clients’ fates in your hand can be very distressing. I’m surprised you had the free time to construct that diorama. Speaking of which, taken together with your above lyrics, I thought you might be in need of a weekend getaway, and should consider dropping by our ‘rest spa’ for a short visit. (*cough* 72-hour psych hold *cough*). Since you seem to have an artistic streak, while here, maybe you could give us your opinion on these
inkblotsmodern-art miniatures (*cough* Rorschach *cough*). You can just say the first thing that comes into your mind.By the way, just curious, do you have any known sensitivity or allergies to pharmaceuticals in the Phenothiazine family?
Regarding the ABA, if the AMA (or its journal, JAMA) or the APA** spent member dues the way the ABA does, there would likely be a member revolt (or, at least, a whole bunch of canceled subscriptions).
*The question is one part of a schizophrenia screen, using proverbs/parables to determine if someone is “concrete”. (i.e., cannot see beyond situational language based solely on reality, with no ability for broader, abstract thinking).
**Just to be clear, in this instance, the “P” in APA refers to “Psychiatric”. Not “Psychological” or “Pneumonia” or whatever…
I use “rigged” because it has no objective standards. The editors reject whatever entries they want, for whatever reasons they want (such entries being then never even seen by readers). Then, among the entries they do choose to display, the editors select those upon which the readers are allowed to vote (again, with no objective standards). So, it is really a misnomer to even call it a “contest,” except to the extent it is a contest in who can best suck up to the editors’ personal opinions by depicting themes the editors like and agree with (i.e., it is now like “comments” and everything else at ABA Journal).
PS – ABA Journal has now announced the official death of its politicized Peeps Contest. This year’s (predictably anti-Trump) “winner” sends it out on a pitiful note, yet another victim of the inflexible ABA site ideology.
Why do you promote harassment?
In the third picture, the redhead is clearly harassing the poor guy with the St. Anthony haircut. Jesus, look at that tongue! The guitarist on the left is clearly affected by what she’s seen–to the point she’s forgotten how to play! Then, you have blatant ass, just to make all marshmallows shamed.
The second picture shows effect. Long-tongue didn’t do it. The poor-fuck green guy, who is clearly dead, is the real harasser. Saint Anthony wants nothing to do with it because he’s the cuckold of Blue; he just doesn’t want to see that tongue. It must have really scared him because he’s in deep hiding. He’s gonna have him some nightmares, for sure. But he doesn’t give a fuck if the dead guy takes the rap, so long as no more tongue. It doesn’t matter that the tongue is really a bottle. To him, it was a tongue, and he wants no more.
Don’t you see what you’ve done? No shame?
Wait. Those are marshmallows?
Certainly an entertaining interpretation. I laughed so hard, and it made me wish I had actually thought of all that.
McLeod is down with the peeps
Depiction of girls in the heaps
Indecent exposure
And lack of compsure
Frame project as one for the creeps