johnnie cochran, superstar: rest in peace

Horrible news, haiku fanatics! For the first time in more than a decade, I, The Haiku Master, am without legal representation -- superstar lawyer Johnnie Cochran has filed his last brief (link goes to The Guardian)!

The Best Goddamn Lawyer The World Ever Knew

If I had a nickel for every time the man pictured above pulled me out of an inexplicable legal jam, I'd be in jail, 'cause Johnnie charged a damn sight more than a nickel. But he was worth every penny! Now who is the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 supposed to turn to for a high-powered defense when the walls of this thin, cruel world come closing down?! Mark Geragos? Ha! Ask Scott Peterson for a recommendation on that fraud!

Ah, well. I suppose I'll give Shelton's attorney, Peter O'Neill, a try. He better know his stuff, for broken laws seem to go hand in hand with the noble puruits of spreading haiku and fighting crime.

Best,


----------------------
P.S. - Stop bitching, more installments of "Drunk in the Heart of Texas" are coming soon enough. For one, the Sultan of Syllables was deathly ill with a head cold for three or four days. For two, I may or may not have bought an addictive new video game on the cheap. Until I talk to a new attorney, I'm not admitting anything.

no more easters

Greetings, loyal readers. Looking for the next installment in "Drunk in the Heart of Texas?" Check back later, for I, The Haiku Master, am in no mood to entertain tonight.

For starters, my body is currently wracked by some kind of bizarre viral infection, leaving me lethargic and light-headed. It's probably the flu, but I'm a haikuist, dammit, not a doctor.

What really has the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 bothered, though, is this Easter phenomenon.

I mean, what gives? The free candy is all well and good, but isn't anyone else a little unnerved by the whole undead messiah thing? And how does the egg-laying rabbit factor into the mix? Is it supposed to be Zombie Jesus's sidekick or something? Why does it encourage humans to eat its children before they even hatch? Finally, why does it mate with human females, as indicated by this picture?

Is This Unidentified Woman The One Who Actually Lays The Easter Eggs?

I mean, shit -- the government massacred the Branch Davidians over less weirdness than this. What are my tax dollars paying for, anyway? Let's put these sinister Easter cultists behind bars and throw away the key, before someone gets hurt. So sayeth I -- The Haiku Master!

Best,

f for freedom

Most triumphant news, freedom lovers -- Chess Grandmaster Bobby Fischer has left his Japanese detention center and is on a plane to Iceland as I, The Haiku Master, type these words!!!

Ring The Bell -- Grandmaster Bobby Fischer Just Schooled The Tyrannical Bush Administration At International Chess!

Mark this day in your calendars, friends, for it is one your descendants will long sing songs about as they sit 'round the trashcan fires necessitated by the future devastation of the ever-deepening peak oil crisis!

Speaking of which, I wish I could tell you about the time I went to the future in a failed attempt to evade paying taxes, but certain legal entanglements prevent me from doing so.

Best,


----------------------
P.S. -- Not to worry, a complete Texas wrap-up is still on the way. Give a Haiku Master a couple of days to unwind, for Christ's sake!

P.P.S. -- For additional Haiku International coverage of the Grandmaster's legal problems, click here and here.

the familiar smell of despair

AUSTIN, TX -- Good morning, world citizens. It is I, The Haiku Master, filing one more report from Texas before returning to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

The weekend... the weekend did not go as planned. My dreams of world domination by way of mariachi are now forgotten, shattered by forces beyond my control. And excessive consumption of liquor, red meat, and fine Cuban tobacco, which technically was within my control. But let's not quibble over meaningless facts, shall we?

On the plus side, I finally met a woman worthy of the Pharaoh of 5-7-5: Miss Conduct, a lethal enforcer for the Texas Roller Derby's Holy Rollers. Ah, Miss Conduct! My heart may be clogged by pettiness and lard, but it shall always be yours for the stomping -- please reconsider my Slaveboy offer!

Okay for now, 'ku believers. A couple of undercover airport security agents are giving me the stink-eye, so it's time for me to wrap this up; the less attention drawn to my rancid body odor and suitcase full of smuggled Mexican fruit, the better.

Best,

grandmaster update: iceland's knight to king bobby's bacon

Mahalo, loyal readers. It's me, The Haiku Master, surfacing from my current adventures in Texas with an exciting chess update: Iceland has agreed to grant full citizenship to Chess Grandmaster Bobby Fischer, thereby enabling him to avoid U.S. "justice" (link goes to the Philadelphia Enquirer).

Thanks To Iceland, The Deadly Gamesman May Be Free By The End Of Next Week

I wish I had more time to expound on this victorious news, but Masters of Mariachi is due at Hyde Park's Fresh-Plus in 20 minutes, so I've got to go.

Best,


----------------------
P.S. Please ignore the post Paulo made prior to this one. I'd delete it if I could, but my area of wizardry lies in the twin realms of haiku and crimefighting, not computering. Suffice it to say Paulo is lying scum, and will be dealt with shortly after MoM takes top prize at SXSW.

stupid cabbage man es muy muy malo

hola mi nombre es paulo and you might no me from such haiku adventures as "journey into mexico" and "free paulo"

here is picture of me me am one tough hombre no?

This Is Me Paulo

ok so me not here to chew the barbacoa de cabeza with you señoras y caballeros mostly because me hate the taste of cow face it is muy muy malo

no me am here because el hombre muy extraño -- eh el haiku master me think you call him -- drank too much and now he take long siesta so me use his whirly-boom-gig-gig thing to talk to you about BIG warning

ok here it is get ready for the big surprise

el haiku master? madre dios he muy muy muy muy hombre muy extraño and very dangerous

oh and he poop in his pants last night

please for paulo stop reading this electronic book thing because it only makes him do more and then me wind up in jail and me no like jail

ok me go now so me can kick hombre muy extraño in the head more before he wakes up it will be okay because he will think it is his hangover that hurts but ha ha me will no the truth

Bendiciones de Jesús

Paulo

whiskey, blood, meat, groupies

AUSTIN, TX -- Courage, 'ku believers. I think it's me, The Haiku Master, though I can't be sure due to the extreme levels of pounding currently taking place in the rubberized, George Dickel-soaked lump of human waste that's passing itself off as my brain this morning.

No time nor ability to give complete details as to mine and Masters of Mariachi's SXSW success so far, but here's a few highlights:

• Broken whiskey bottles and McDonald's sandwich wrappers littering the floor of our hotel room;

• Groupies from an all-girl academy for the mentally challenged tearing our van asunder in a lust-fueled frenzy;

• Texas Kelly's extreme alcohol poisoning, causing him to vomit geysers of Lay's potato chips on a passing police cruiser;

• Meat -- tons and tons and tons of red meat;

• The Muffin Man's violent ways.

Hopefully I'll be able to make better sense of these notes when I get back to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs. In the meantime, once more into the breach!

Best,

are you ready to mariachi?

Great news, haiku fanatics -- Masters of Mariachi have been confirmed for this weekend's SXSW festivities in Austin, TX!!!

Who of What, you ask? And I, The Haiku Master, say again -- Masters of Mariachi! Don't make me tell you a third time or I'm liable to beat you senseless in an adrenaline-fueled frenzy!

Masters Of Mariachi Are A Shoo-In To Take Top Prize At SXSW This Weekend (From Left: Rudy, Paulo, Sanchez, Jesus, And The Haiku Master)

Okay, okay, I suppose I do owe you some more details. As fate would have it, my trusted Mexican agent, Paulo, isn't just a champion cockfighter -- he's also a highly skilled mariachi trumpeter! After our plans for an American cockfighting league fell through, we decided to devote our energies to putting together the rootinest, tootinest mariachi band the world has ever seen... and in just a few short days, Masters of Mariachi was formed! Or MoM, as the hepsters call us.

Besides Paulo, this mariachi superband includes guitarist Sanchez, fiddler Rudy, ukuleleist Jesus, and the one true Sultan of Syllables on lead vocals. Needless to say, each of us possesses oodles of world-class talent. But what really sets us apart from the competition is a playlist comprised exclusively of classic heavy metal covers. Can you say, "Rock on?" MoM sure can!

We never expected to have our big debut at SXSW, though -- talk about a lucky break! I'm tempted to give the credit to my newly acquired St. Matthew's Churches Prayer Rug, but that wouldn't be fair to MoM's manager, Texas Kelly. He may be addicted to Lay's potato chips, but damn if that guy can't book a show.

Masters Of Mariachi Manager Texas Kelly Always Has A Giant Bag Of Lay's Potato Chips On Hand To Feed His Addiction

Took him three days, but he finally got us a gig at a place that's sure to draw lots of crowds -- the Austin Wal-Mart! So if you live in that area, be sure to come by and see us; we'll be on a special stage in the middle of the parking lot... and we will be mari-rockin'!!

Okay for now, loyal readers -- time for this mariachi madman to hit the road! Field reports will be sporadic and unintelligible at best, but I'll be sure to give you a full accounting upon my return!

Best,

a pox on your regulations, mr. adsense

Hello, 'ku believers. It's me, The Haiku Master, and the control freaks at Google AdSense have shut down my latest moneymaking scheme!

Remember the ads that were running on the site? The ones I repeatedly asked you to click? Yeah, turns out that's in direct violation of the AdSense rules and regulations. As was my "content matter," whatever that means.

Stupid rules and regulations.

So, goodbye to that source of easy, easy money. Fortunately, my in-house endorsement deals with such world-beloved manufacturers as Vans, The Official Sneaker Of The Haiku Master, shall continue unabated.

Vans: The Only Sneaker Endorsed By The Haiku Master

Plus, my across-the-street neighbor Mr. Pinkerton tipped me off to a hot lead vis-a-vis Egyptian cotton. So don't worry -- the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 won't be going hungry. No thanks to the villains at Google AdSense.

Best,

god save bobby fischer

Raise the roof, gentle readers, for the deal went down earlier today: those bastards in Japan proved just how long America's money leash is by agreeing to deport Chess Grandmaster Bobby Fischer to the U.S. for prosecution (link goes to BBC News)!

And I, The Haiku Master, do hereby call "bullshit" on that spineless decision.

Hero To Hunted: Bobby Fischer, Then And Now

First and foremost, the Grandmaster's only crime (outside of his vicious, self-loathing anti-Semitism, which I can't endorse, and overall craziness, which I'll gladly endorse) is playing a game of chess. That's right -- Uncle Sam wants to put a Chess Grandmaster in prison for playing chess. The historic '92 Fischer-Spassky Match, no less. What made the match criminal in the eyes of The Man is the fact that it was played in Yugoslavia to the tune of $3 million... thereby technically breaking a then-U.S. trade embargo against a country that doesn't even exist anymore.

For this, Fischer faces a $250,000 fine and/or 10 years in prison. At the age of 62, mind you.

Seems pretty silly, no? Some gratitude for a man who was his own 1980 U.S. Olympic Hockey Team when he whipped the living shit out of Boris Spassky during their first first meeting in '72, bringing the World Championship Title in Chess back to the U.S. after decades of Soviet control. Chess still meant something back then, and Fischer was rightly hailed as a national hero. Thirty years later, against the same opponent, in the same general part of the world, and he's labeled a blackguard of the worst sort.

Fischer (Right) Was Hailed As A National Hero For Beating The Weirdly Bouffanted Spassky (Left) In 1972

What makes the plot even thicker is that George H.W. Bush was President at the time of Fischer's alleged transgression. For the next eight years, the Justice Department gave exactly two turds as to the location of the Grandmaster. Fast forward to 2001 -- the year George "Dubya" Bush stepped into office -- and "Searching for Bobby Fischer" suddenly becomes a top priority.

Because, you know, with corporate crime all but wiped out in America, might as well shift resources towards putting a 62-year-old man in prison. For playing chess.

Could it be the '92 match embarrassed the elder Bush? Did he take it as a personal slight? Did Dubya's administration go after Fischer to avenge his daddy's honor, the way he did with Saddam Hussein, Tommy Chong, and Johnny Carson?

Hmm? Hmmmmm? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?

Is Some Kind Of Twisted G.W.B. Daddy-Revenge Fantasy Driving The Federal Government's Zeal To Put Fischer In Jail?

Honestly, I wouldn't know, as I'm more of a crimefighter and haiku writer than political expert. But I do know bullshit when I smell it. Write your congressmen, 'ku believers; this situation must not stand!

Best,


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UPDATE: Here's a couple of swell sites where you can learn more about the rise and fall of Grandmaster Fischer: his Wikipedia listing, and BobbyFischer.net -- a privately maintained forum devoted to all things Fischer, up to and including detailed diagrams of his matches.

won't get fooled again

Sigh. Hello, readers. It's me, The Haiku Master, and a deep, deep, deep, deep vein of disappointment runs through my river tonight... for I am once more alone in a world I never made!!!

Those of you who don't watch MTV or The Simple Life will have no problem recalling my hope that this man and I might be related:

Unfortunately, my dreams were for naught. Earlier today, one of my agents tracked down the other Homo Cabbagien's true identity, and it turns out he's just a plain old Homo Sapien -- Canadian actor Bruce McCulloch, a.k.a. Mr. Big Fat Fraud!!

Canadian Actor Bruce McCulloch Pulled A Fast One On The Haiku Master

As you can see, he doesn't actually have cabbage hair. The cabbage he's wearing in the first picture is just a wig for a character named (har, har) "Cabbage Head" on some hick comedy show out of Canada called Kids in the Hall. Which leads me to doubt the authenticity of his cigar and smoking jacket, as well.

Furthermore, this character is clearly based on me, The Haiku Master. As a result, my attorney Johnnie Cochran is already examining the many ways in which we will wring every Canadian penny out of McCulloch -- if that is his real name! -- for this flagrant copyright and trademark infringement. Turning me, the Pharaoh of 5-7-5, into some kind of sketch comedy material! How dare he?! Now I know how Hunter S. Thompson felt when he flipped open the paper one morning and saw Doonesbury's Honey staring up at him!

Far worse than the financial aspect, however, is the emotional toll this episode has waged on yours truly. After years of searching, I thought I'd finally found another of my kind, someone who could explain my true origin... only to discover it was all some sick joke for McCulloch's amusement. Shame on you and you cheap cabbage wig, McCulloch! Shame on you both!

I suppose that's it for now. In the meantime, if you see McCulloch, please give him a swift kick in the ass.

Best,

farewell cccp-us, we hardly knew ye

You might as well stand up, adventure lovers, 'cause you'll no doubt be jumping out of your seats in shock when you hear this: I, The Haiku Master, do hereby regretfully announce the dissolution of the Confederation of Championship Cockfighting Professionals - United States!

End Of A Dream: Goodbye, CCCP-US

Despite the difficulties encountered by CCCP-US Commissioner Paulo and myself upon our first attempted expansion beyond the cockfighting-friendly states of Louisiana and New Mexico, we remained committed to our dream. Unfortunately, the grim realities of this thin, cruel world have made it financially and legally unfeasible for us to continue.

I mean, just look at all the cockfighting busts over the past week:

• 13 Cockfighters Arrested In Arizona

• 6 Cockfighters Arrested In Georgia

• 3 Cockfighters Arrested In California

• Cockfighter Arrested In New York

• Cock Raising Ban Considered In South Carolina

Clearly, cockfighting is something our society just isn't ready for. Much like gay marriage. So, rather than risk any further legal action against Paulo or myself, I'm getting out while the getting's good.

Oh, and those of you still holding CCCP-US season tickets? They are firmly non-refundable. Sorry about that.

Best,

world of the dogs, pt. III

***
CHAPTER III

Heh. Hi gang. Man, am I ever embarrassed.

Remember how I ended our last chapter? No? Then go back and read it; it's only like three lines up, for christ's sake.

Okay, now that we're all on the same page, it turns out that, yes, I was suffering from alcohol poisoning and, yes, I needed medical attention. Which I fortunately received, courtesy of Johns Hopkins in beautiful downtown Baltimore. Now that I've recovered somewhat, I realize that the whole thing with the talking dogs was naught more than a combination of my overly alcohol-saturated system and a fine print of Coolidge's "A Friend In Need" that hangs in the Sultan of Syllable's parlor.

And like a fool, I mixed them.

Ah, well. I suppose the lesson here is, stay away from Coolidge prints when you're really, really drunk -- they'll freak you right out. So sayeth I...The Haiku Master!

world of the dogs, pt. II

***
CHAPTER II

"I said 'get,' ape!" the last dog repeated, waving his paws at me. "Am-scray!"

"All right, that's just about enough of...," I started.

"Sweet mother of Marmaduke!" another dog barked, clearly shocked. "It spoke! The hairless ape spoke!"

"Of course I spoke. Speak. You know -- talk. But look, that's not even the point! What the hell do you dogs think you're doing in my--!"

"Get him, boys!," the biggest of the dogs shouted. "Doctor Poindexter'll pay through the snout for a freak of nature like this!"

In an instant, the pack was on me! I'd be lying if I said I didn't put up a good fight -- Cobra Kai Haikung Fu is nothing to sneeze at, after all -- but in the end their sheer numbers won the day. And as if being bested in battle wasn't bad enough, their teeth and claws made short order of my fine crimefighter garb, leaving me in naught but my socks, Ziggy boxer shorts, and Vans: The Official Sneaker Of The Haiku Master!

Vans: The Only Sneaker Endorsed By The Haiku Master

After tying a leash -- a leash!! -- 'round my neck, my attackers hussled me out to a dog-sized jalopy parked on the street outside. Me, the one true Sultan of Syllables! Can you believe it?!

"You'll never get away with this!" I said. "If nothing else, my attorney Johnnie Cochran will sue you for everything you're worth!"

"Shut yer meat hole, freak," my leash-handler growled back, "or we'll muzzle it!"

"De-yuh, where we gonna put him, Rover?" asked one of the smaller dogs. "He's too big to fit inside the car."

"Catland, I don't know," Rover replied as he opened the driver's side door and slid behind the wheel. "Throw it in the trunk."

In the trunk I went, and we were soon headed towards whatever mind-bending situation awaited me next. One thing was clear -- I was either suffering from a serious case of alcohol poisoning, or had somehow wound up on some bizarre parallel universe that had truly gone to the dogs!!!

If it's the former, I will of course need immediate medical attention.

---CLICK HERE FOR 'WORLD OF THE DOGS' PT. III---

world of the dogs, pt. I

Click For Larger Image

***
CHAPTER I

Greetings, 'ku believers. It's me, The Haiku Master...but I'm not sure where I am or if this message will even reach you!

Last night, after helping local police take down a west-Baltimore clown smuggling operation, I decided to celebrate at my favorite tavern, The Ritz Cabaret, with a nice, stiff glass of George Dickel: The Official Whisky of The Haiku Master.

George Dickel No's. 8 & 12: The Only Whisky Endorsed By The Haiku Master

As fate would have it, Old Man Winter was also at the Ritz, and rushed over after I took my usual spot at the bar.

"Haiku Master!" he shouted, waving his Manhattan glass wildly. "Hey Haiku Master! It's me, Old Man Winter!"

As longtime fans will recall, O.M.W. is somewhat of a reformed criminal, having recently gone back on his "meds" after months of threatening the good people of Baltimore with his bipolar behavior. Luckily, it appeared he was still beating his disability instead of letting it beat him.

"Hey," he said, "lemme buy you a drink. C'mon, I wanna buy you a drink. C'mon, huh? Drinky-poo? C'mon, whaddya say?"

Naturally, I said "yes," and we proceeded to have a swell time. Mass quantities of sweet, sweet liquor were consumed, my friends, without a drop being wasted. My dearly departed sensei, former Haiku Master Charles Bukowski, would have been proud.

Front Row, From Left: Old Man Winter And The Haiku Master Had A Great Time At Baltimore's Ritz Cabaret

Unfortunately, the carousing caused me to enter my infamous Drunken Haiku Master state of being, and reality became a blur. When I finally came to, I was stumbling back to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

I unlocked the front door, and heard the distinct sound of voices coming from my parlor.

"All right, Schmitty," one of them said. "I'll see your bones and raise you two more."

"That's five to you, Rover," said another.

"I know, I know," said a third. "Grrrr...forget it. I'm out."

"Cat," sneered a fourth.

What in the hell? What kind of strange action was taking place in the Pharaoh of 5-7-5's sanctum sanctorum without his consent? Lunging forward, I burst into the parlor...only to walk right into the mind of master painter C.M. Coolidge! For there, sitting 'round my poker table, were seven dogs -- and with Dickel as my witness, they were playing cards, drinking whiskey, and smoking cigars!

A Motley Scene Similar To This One Awaited The Haiku Master At What He Thought Was His Top Secret Base Of Operations

"What in the catland?" one of them barked in surprise. "How'd that hairless ape get in here? And why does it have cabbage for hair?"

"For that matter," said another, "what's with the strange fur it's got on?"

"Bad ape!" shouted a third, rising from the table. "Get!"

Needless to say, someone had a lot of explaining to do.

---CLICK HERE FOR 'WORLD OF THE DOGS' PT. II---

thank you, loyal readers

Mahalo, haiku fanatics! It's me, The Haiku Master, popping in with the best news since Thomas Edison called Ma Bell to tell her about the electric guitar!!!

As reported a few days back, I recently turned Haiku International into a moneymaking juggernaut with the addition of advertisements from Google AdSense. Now, I'm reeling from the discovery that I've earned not $5, not $10, not even $15 from your uncanny clicking abilities, but a whopping $17.84! That's right -- enough to buy a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon: The Official Beer Of The Haiku Master!

Pabst Blue Ribbon: The Only Beer Endorsed By The Haiku Master

So, many thanks from the one true Sultan of Syllables -- Haiku Island will be mine in no time at this rate! "World of the Dogs" will continue soon enough; in the meantime, keep the clicks coming!

Best,


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* Just so there's no confusion, the ads can always be found at the bottom of Haiku International's "sidebar." Oh, and have I mentioned my profound interest in Home Improvement, Discount Tickets, Electronics Equipment, Sports Memorabilia, and/or Vacation Packages lately? If not, there you go.

super exciting advertising update

Hi kids! It's me, The Haiku Master, back with an update on my new get-rich-quick scheme, a.k.a. Google AdSense!

Two days ago, I installed a two-ad model to this site's masthead, and have quickly realized a windfall of fourteen cents -- nothing to be sneezed at, friends! Which is why I've decided to double my productivity by upgrading to a four-ad version, effective immediately.

But don't worry, loyal readers; this doesn't mean the one true Sultan of Syllables is selling out to The Man! You have my solemn pledge I'll never bow to any advertiser demands, no matter how large or small they may be. Nor will you catch me using phony "big money" ad words like, ahem, Home Improvement, Pilates, Satellite Radio, Atlanta Wedding Photographer, Omaha Italian Restaurants, Healthy Caucasian Black Market Babies, Pinot Noir, and the like.

Plus, I had Shelton move the ads down to the bottom of what we pros call the "sidebar," so they're no longer hitting you in the face with their tawdry come-ons as soon as you walk in the door.

Guess that's it for now -- get to clicking, people! That private island I want isn't going to buy itself!

Best,

now with ads

Please secure your socks, 'ku believers, or I, The Haiku Master, will knock them right the #@%$ off with this intestine-rupturing update!!

Are you ready? Are you sure you're ready? Okay, here it comes: I have a surefire moneymaking scheme that's going to put me on Easy Street forever, and I owe it all to the two little Google ads now running in what we pros refer to as the "masthead!"

(For you laypersons, that's the top part of this website.)

That's right! Every time you, my loyal fans, click either of those links, the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 clocks many Gs! I don't like to brag, but after just one day I've netted a cool seven cents...which means I should be able to buy this beautiful private island in no time:

Help The Haiku Master Relocate To This Private Island By Clicking The Ad Links At The Top Of This Page

Plus, Haiku International seems to get the coolest ads! In the past day alone, I've noticed solicitations for suicide prevention centers, a Christians-only suicide prevention center, a help center for troubled teen girls (to which I'm considering volunteering my services), another for troubled teens in general, and a swell course in self-confidence. And don't worry about being led to any criminal websites -- they're all Google-approved, and they pay me C-A-S-H!!

Believe you me, the Sultan of Syllables is a connoisseur of easy money, and this is by far the easiest I've ever come across. So click early and click often! Everyone who does is guaranteed a spot at my swank housewarming party once Haiku Island is finally mine; hope to see you there!

Best,

sleep well, good cap'n

Greetings, saints and sinners. It's me, The Haiku Master, and I'm regretfully serving up a piping cold plate of bad news tonight: legendary adventurer Cap'n Bosworth J. Shrimpstain has sailed his last sea.

R.I.P. Cap'n Shrimpstain

Details are still sketchy, though the Cap'n's fellow Silver Age crimefighter and longtime confidante, Captain Walrus of the Cosmos, is reporting that Shrimpstain was found dead of an apparent suicide earlier today. I suppose it's no surprise -- he did leave a pre-act suicide note on his "blog," after all -- but believe you me, knowing a blow is coming doesn't weaken its impact in the least.

Naturally, the one true Sultan of Syllables is devasted by this loss. The Cap'n was one of my boyhood heroes, and in later years I had the good fortune to know him as both friend and mentor. He shall be deeply, deeply, deeply, deeply missed.

Sleep well, good Cap'n -- I'm sure you're taking command of Valhalla's finest vessel as I type these words. Sa-lute!

Best,



P.S. On the plus side, this gives me an ironclad excuse for getting drunk tonight...and all day tomorrow! Thank you, Cap'n Shrimpstain!

o brother who art thou?

Hi there, loyal readers! It's me, The Haiku Master, and in the words of my dearly departed Uncle Castor... "Holy Shit!"

Want to know the source of my excitement? Look no further than this picture, which my Minister of Information says he found at a German fetish site. Whatever that means (question marks added by Shelton...who's still on thin ice!):

Who Is This Cabbage-Headed Man And What Relation Does He Bear To The Haiku Master?

I mean, look! Look!! That man has cabbage for hair -- just like me, The Haiku Master!!! Sweet baby Jesus on an atom-powered pogo stick, don't you know what this means?!?

It means I, the Pharaoh of 5-7-5, am not alone in this crazy, mixed-up world! There are other cabbage-headed people amongst us! Well, amongst you...'cause I'm one of them! Homo Cabbagien uber alles!

Plus, given that he's wearing a smoking jacket and puffing a stogie -- two of my favorite pastimes -- he and I may very well be related!

Whew! All right, I've got to start working the phones to see what I can track down on this character. I just hope he's not a dick!

Best,

thank you, st. matthew's churches

Shalom, 'ku believers! It's me, The Haiku Master...and I've been doubly blessed by Jesus and the good folks at Tulsa, OK's St. Matthew's Churches!

It all started earlier today. I was going through my mail after returning from Florida, and there, amidst the usual fan letters and bills, was this singular envelope:

This Envelope Brought A Wealth Of Good Fortune To The Haiku Master

As you can imagine, I was one excited Haiku Master! Panting, I tore the envelope asunder...and found a veritable treasure trove waiting inside!

Tulsa, OK's St. Matthew's Churches Sent These Religious Artifacts To The Haiku Master...For Free!

The first document I looked at was a double-sided flyer detailing the many fantastic prizes won by previous recipients of St. Matthew's Churches' Jesus voodoo, including this woman, who was "blessed with $46,000.00 after using prayer rug...":

This Lady Netted A Cool $46K During Her Brief Association With The St. Matthew's Churches Prayer Rug

...and this spry old broad, who was healed of "severe pains" in her left leg simply by placing the Church Prayer Rug over her legs for "a while!":

The St. Matthew's Churches Prayer Rug Isn't Just A Potential Cash Machine -- It Also Gives Its Wielder Strange Healing Powers

Clearly, this St. Matthew's Church Prayer Rug was an artifact of great religious power, not unlike the Shroud of Turin or Marx Brothers Yarmulkes! But I needed to know more before putting it to use.

Reaching back into the pile of goodies, I retrieved a long, rambling letter highlighted with lots of bold text and red underlines -- my kind of writing! This paragraph leapt out at me immediately:

What the-?! Holy Shit! Tell Me More!

Can you believe it? If I was reading this right, St. Matthew's Churches was loaning me, the Sultan of Syllables, the most holy object they possessed! How fantastic is that?! Here's a picture of it; Satan-worshippers should probably avert their eyes:

This Anointed Prayer Rug Is Loaded With God's Holy Blessing Power

Surprisingly, the St. Matthew's Churches Prayer Rug was made of thin paper...but any doubts raised by its earthly vessel were laid to rest when I read the text printed on the back, which assured me: "'This Prayer Rug is soaked with the Power of Prayer for you. Use it immediately, then please return it with your Prayer Needs Checked on our letter to you.' It must be mailed to a second home that needs a blessing after you use it. Prayer works. Expect God's blessing."

At that point, my jaw dropped open in shock. Not only had St. Matthew's Churches used quotes around the first block of text with none around the second, but they also sent their sacred Prayer Rug -- soaked with the Power of Prayer, no less -- to a complete stranger, and trusted said stranger to send it back to them! Was this some kind of sick joke? What kind of naively idiotic organization was I dealing with???

True, the immediate stranger in question was the irreproachable Pharaoh of 5-7-5, but who knew what kind of savage fiend it might go to next?! Possibly even my arch-foe, Haikunestro!

Needless to say, that gruesome possibility must be avoided at all costs, loyal readers. So for the safety of St. Matthew's Churches and the world, I've decided to keep their Prayer Rug here at my top secret base of operations, where it will be far more secure than with potentially villainous strangers.

Besides, I'm sure it'll come in handy on my adventures. God's holy blessing power is one heck of an ace to have up one's sleeve when you're a professional crimefighter like yours truly.

My course of action decided, I went ahead and filled out the form...

The Haiku Master Put In A Request For An Even Newer Car, A Money Blessing, $10 Gazillion Dollars, And Prayers For Bush & Cheney

...and packed it into the postage-paid return envelope. Sans the St. Matthew's Churches Prayer Rug, of course. I'm sure they'll understand once they hear my reasons.

Thanks To This Postage-Paid Return Envelope, It Didn't Cost The Haiku Master A Dime To Take Advantage Of St. Matthews Churches' Fantastic Offer

That's it for now, friends -- time for me to take the Power of Prayer out for a test spin.

Best,

sorry mr. disney

***
‘FREE PAULO,’ CHAPTER VI

Greetings, friends. It's me, The Haiku Master, feeling a little sheepish about a rather embarrassing series of events that occurred today.

It all started innocuously enough. After announcing victory in our legal case against the State of Florida, Paulo, Johnnie Cochran, and I decided to celebrate by taking a V.I.P. Tour of Disney World.

The Press Conference Done, H.M., Johnnie, And Paulo Took A V.I.P. Tour Of Disney World

If you've never been on a Disney V.I.P. Tour, I highly recommend doing so at your earliest convenience. Not only do you get a staff of slackjawed peons to see to your every need, but they also let you drink liquor -- a strict "no-no" for the little people!

At any rate, with the free drinks flowing like wine, it wasn't long before Paulo and I were pretty damn wasted...despite having "gobbled" down six turkey legs each in Frontier Land! Feeling no pain nor common sense, we found ourselves in front of the World's Greatest Theme Park Ride -- Pirates of the Caribbean -- and that's when everything starts to get kind of hazy.

Johnnie Cochran Decided To Wait Outside While Paulo And The Haiku Master Enjoyed The Greatest Theme Park Ride On Earth

"Yesh!!" I cried, startling a picture-taking Korean family. "Thash mah dawg! Thash -- HIC! -- mah dawg! C'mon, you scurvy bilge monkeys! Allferoneanoneferall!!"

I don't really remember what happened after that point, but I do know that Johnnie waited outside to sign autographs while Paulo and I went in. I also recall going through the ride multiple times, perhaps as many as 12. Then...

Climbing out of our boat...

Dismantling a couple of animatronic pirates, taking their clothes...

Not knowing all the words to the song, ride patrons noticing...

Violently boarding one boat, setting fire to another...

Paulo vomiting into a lady's purse, me asking for her number...

Scuffling with security guards, Johnnie cursing at us...

H.M. And Paulo Mistakenly Thought They Could Mingle With The Animatronic Pirates Without Being Noticed By Disney Security

Next thing I know, Paulo and I were being shoved out of a slow-moving Lincoln Town Car by a rubbery fat man with a preposterous handlebar mustache.

"Never disrespect The Mouse, híbrido!" he shouted as the car pulled away. I looked around, and saw we were in front of the Orlando International Greyhound Station. Moreover, we each had a bus ticket in our back pocket -- mine for Baltimore, and Paulo's for Mexico.

"Well, I guess this is it for now, 'com-pad-ray,'" I said, shaking Paulo's hand. "Give me a call once you get back home, and we'll go over some new expansion strategies for the CCCP-US...Commissioner Paulo!!"

"Sí, Hombre muy Extraño," Paulo said sagely. "Adíos."

So remember, kids: remain inside your ride vehicle at all times while at Disney World. Otherwise, you might find yourself being thrown out of a slow-moving Lincoln Town Car by a rubbery fat man with a preposterous handlebar mustache.

I assure you, this is not something you want.

Best,