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So, this is the test, folks, not of a President's intentions, knowledge or survival skill, but the test that will show us where we stand today, whether we are still stuck in the mud or if we're learning how to walk again.

Ernest pauses to wipe his forehead with a big, checkered serviette.

2025, mark my words, is a remarkable year in human history, and it is remarkable for one reason only ... we finally allow the remarkably ugly truths to surface: The ridiculous greed and evil, the global cruelty, all the .... muck. The Award, you know which one, goes to Curt Weldon, and you understand why because you've seen him, millions of you have already seen him interviewed by Tucker. Let the half-truths out – to begin with! Then the whole truth. And then we'll see where that leads us. Let's see for how long King Charles's tutor will sit, yes literally sit, comfily in his grave! Nazi practises, Venetian practises, Varangian practises, “Ancient Greek” paederastic practises, all the way back to the f*cking Bronze age slave trading practises, all of it will surface once again, it'll surface in all its horrendous stupidity. And soon, all of the “fat, small men” still alive will at last, I don't know, dance into the abyss perhaps, and leave the billions of us alone. We're shooting down the cruel, smelly Gehlen Dienste, the blackmail orchestra in which ALL of the media have played an instrument. No more delays! No more silly 24-year delays. The truth is instantaneous, ever-present, and we are unafraid and ready for it.

Elegantly, Ernest gestures towards the brass section.

Fanfare. Drum roll. Splash cymbal.

May God continuosly bless all our countries! Tina's cheerful voice cuts through the applause, her sparkling eyes reflect the Pleiades, the fizzy drinks overflow and the annual Pft Party leaves the platform.

—

© 2025 Triple Entendre

Praise for text is an Award without a Prize, an honourary mention. Its value, if you can find any, lies entirely within the symbolic realm. The name of the “recipient” of the Pft award is announced on this website, and that's pretty much it. Nobody has to do anything. The “winner” doesn't even have to be alive! Because, this is only about bringing joy, to current and future generations.

Starting this year, the Pft will be “awarded” once a year, sometimes on Saint Greg's Feast (March 12, the TRUE date), in honour of the fictional Gregor Samsa, the unhappy Bug,* who so eloquently points out to the reader that misery awaits the human race unless we quit crawling through life without the self-respect that comes naturally to the discerning citizen.

Fanfare.

This year, we “award” the Pft to ...

Drum roll.

... Philip K Dick, smart guy, no presentation needed. And also to Epictetus, the stoic; a wonderful man, read him if you haven't—born a slave, or born free, that's pretty much a matter of insight.

Splash cymbal.

God keeps blessing us all, and our little countries, the same way that He blesses this amazing planet and the twinkling stars above us.

Snacks.

* Well, on this day we remember music's patron Saint as well, not only Kafka's bugly guy. Surely, saint Greg (“the great”) did a lot of bad things, even before becoming pope-in-command ... but at least fighting the Lombard invaders must have made sense to some Romans at the time.

—

© 2024 Triple Entendre—thetriple.co

[This announcement is published with a week's delay, as we've been away collecting Mesoamerican cigars.]
Praise for text is a semi-annual, non-prestigious thing, like an Award without a Prize, an honourary mention. Its value, if you can find any, lies entirely within the symbolic realm. The name of the “recipient” of the Pft award is announced on this website, and that's pretty much it. Nobody has to do anything. The “winner” doesn't even have to be alive! Because, this is only about bringing joy, to current and future generations.
Today, we've arrived in the year of our Lord 2023, and ... It is time. For the springtime. “Award”!
Fanfare.
The Pft-numero-uno of 2023 is hereby bestowed upon ... the anonymous author of the Popol Vuh, AND the very famous Thomas Pynchon.
Drum roll. Splash cymbal.
Not much needs to be said really, just go Aquaint yourself if you haven't already. These gentlemen describe the human condition better than almost anyone. May God bless their countries, etc!
Snacks.
—The Crew

Praise for text is a semi-annual, non-prestigious thing, like an Award without a Prize, an honourary mention. Its value, if you can find any, lies entirely within the symbolic realm. The name of the “recipient” of the Pft award is announced on this website, and that's pretty much it. Nobody has to do anything. The “winner” doesn't even have to be alive! Because, this is only about bringing joy, to current and future generations.
Anyway, it's time to announce the latest recipient of the Pft, in the year of our Lord 2022:
Fanfare.
The Autumnal Pft is hereby bestowed upon ...
Drum roll. Splash cymbal.
John R Boyd, who more deeply than most understood what it means to live in, and shape reality. He didn't write that much, and our hope is that aspiring authors will be inspired to hold back until they too have something important to share! John R Boyd has “left the building,” but his soul is indeed marching on. May God continuously bless his country, and all of the others!
Snacks.
—The Crew

This is what happens when you mix backstory and verse: A potent elixir, a wicked explosion of Springdale wit. The backstory, Part VI, has arrived.

E-mail to order. Or, become a Patron and send us a message from there.

Cheers, —The Crew

It's time. The winner(s?) of the non-prestigious, semi-annual “Pft” is (are?) announced at Patreon today. Send a message if you want to know all about it, and you'll be given access to the full report, starting off like this:

A fanfare, played on two trumpets. The setting sun shined through the Bistrôt windows, like a reddish spotlight in Ernest's face as he stood by the bar.

—The Crew

At this particular day of the year, it's not out of place to bring three gifts, am I right? Here you go: Three Patreon posts that y'all, dear NON-patrons, can read–free of charge:

Free Men

Big Paperclip

Math Lady

... Enjoy, and Godspeed.

—Ernest

Spinning. We're all spinning. Merry Christmas, and a Blessed Winter Season to y'all!

—Ernest & crew

Nature's brilliance, next to which we all are but farts in the Solar wind: Did you know that vultures piss on their feet to keep warm? And so will you, my friend, before this winter is over, I kid you not. But don't worry, as “climate change” will sort all that out. (Or perhaps some other threats will make us forget about everything: How many arrows are left in the quiver of the Globalist asshats?) I'm losing it, my apologies ... I was about to tell y'all that Part V of our Backstory is out before Christmas: It's titled Sin Duda, in honour of the fearless people who keep our common orb spinning, no matter what kind of sh-t is strewn in their path.

E-mail to order, and Tina will take care of it, as expediently as circumstances allow.

Have a Saintly Holiday, all ye Patrons and casual readers! ¡Feliz Navidad, sin duda!

—Ernest

9789180208765

Pray, let us live without being drawn by dogs, Esquimaux-fashion, tearing over hill and dale, and biting each other's ears. —H D Thoreau

Well, isn't this quote reflecting the kind of mindset upon which a civil civilization could be re-built? After we've allowed the Royal Asshats to tear it apart for at least a thousand years?

Yours truly, through this Yule-Tide and the next one! —Ernest