Thanks for listening to French Robot Radio from January 1, 2011 to May 1, 2012. Enjoy these highlights from our bilingual robot radio programs...Bilingual Segments
Bilingual Burp
Bilingual Hypnotist
Chez (the new) Laurette)
Dial F for French
Digital Zodiac
Fay Dodo Twitter Shout Out
Gordon Ramsay Bot 2000
Ground Hog Day interview
Happy New Year!
Houston, We Have a Budget Shortfall
Interview with Picasso
Let's Play Jeopardieu !
Parler au Pirate
Premier Pique-Nique des Robots
Virtual Valentines
Wild Wild West
Robot Biographies
Binary Bob Bottley
Fay Dodo
Merry Android
Other
Blue Binary Christmas
Occupy Amazon.com
What's New
Station Promos
Bloomers
Incredible Fat Woman
Night Shift
Spartans, Tonight We Dine at Golden Corral
The Old Ones
Wicked Witch of the World Wide Web
You Are Needed
Program Manager Brian here saying it's been fun -- but one gets tired of failing at the same old thing all the time day after day, so I've decided to move along now and fail at something completely different for a while: namely writing -- in English, no less -- avec mes excuses à mes amis français.
Of course, I'm being a trifle disingenuous with you here. I am not, after all, entirely unknown in the world of letters. One remembers one's Ode to a Seahorse, which, I confess, caused something of a stir when it appeared in the very first issue of the Yorktown Crier back in 1976.
Shades of John Keats, I believe. (John Keats at age 4, perhaps, but John Keats all the same. We're considering latent talent here, afterall, not realtime razzle dazzle.)
My idea is to go back to some of the admittedly rather charming satires that I published online 10 years ago and flesh them out with related material with a view toward getting them to actually appear in relevant search results for a change. Wouldn't that be somethin'? Only imagine.
Anywho... that seahorse business may not be Paradise Lost, exactly, but if you extrapolate my current probable talent based on the tantalizing (if perhaps somewhat sparse) output from my tender years, never forgetting my subsequent death-struggles with the Muse that have forged lesser men than I into literary gods....
Or would that be lesser men than me? Or maybe lesser people than myself? Be that as it may, I still stand by the "death-struggles with the Muse" bit. Are you kidding me: The Muse is a stern Goddess and no mistake! And I've got doctors bills to prove it, too. (though, admittedly, the precise connection between metaphorical entities and scientifically defined illnesses remains controversial).
What's that? You want a link to follow my further effusions online? Oh, don't tease me now, folks. You want nothing of the kind!
Well, okay, if you say so. You wouldn't be teasing me now, though, would ya? Okay, then, look, join me at quass.com and root for me as I jump back into the ring to take on the goddess with my bare fists. Take that, and that, and THAT! (Well, she started it! Fancy, leaving me all those nights to stare at a blank piece of paper, never giving me so much as one good literary idea to get my writing started. Truth be told, she should actually be ashamed of herself -- though I suppose that goddesses are inherently incapable of any kind of honest self-appraisal. Still, this is one author who won't hesitate to "call her out" on this notorious stinginess of hers: For shame, Calliope, for shame!)
Of course, I'm being a trifle disingenuous with you here. I am not, after all, entirely unknown in the world of letters. One remembers one's Ode to a Seahorse, which, I confess, caused something of a stir when it appeared in the very first issue of the Yorktown Crier back in 1976.
"A tail that's prehensile
A head like a horse,
Do you shy from observance
As a matter of course?"
A head like a horse,
Do you shy from observance
As a matter of course?"
Shades of John Keats, I believe. (John Keats at age 4, perhaps, but John Keats all the same. We're considering latent talent here, afterall, not realtime razzle dazzle.)
My idea is to go back to some of the admittedly rather charming satires that I published online 10 years ago and flesh them out with related material with a view toward getting them to actually appear in relevant search results for a change. Wouldn't that be somethin'? Only imagine.
Anywho... that seahorse business may not be Paradise Lost, exactly, but if you extrapolate my current probable talent based on the tantalizing (if perhaps somewhat sparse) output from my tender years, never forgetting my subsequent death-struggles with the Muse that have forged lesser men than I into literary gods....
Or would that be lesser men than me? Or maybe lesser people than myself? Be that as it may, I still stand by the "death-struggles with the Muse" bit. Are you kidding me: The Muse is a stern Goddess and no mistake! And I've got doctors bills to prove it, too. (though, admittedly, the precise connection between metaphorical entities and scientifically defined illnesses remains controversial).
What's that? You want a link to follow my further effusions online? Oh, don't tease me now, folks. You want nothing of the kind!
Well, okay, if you say so. You wouldn't be teasing me now, though, would ya? Okay, then, look, join me at quass.com and root for me as I jump back into the ring to take on the goddess with my bare fists. Take that, and that, and THAT! (Well, she started it! Fancy, leaving me all those nights to stare at a blank piece of paper, never giving me so much as one good literary idea to get my writing started. Truth be told, she should actually be ashamed of herself -- though I suppose that goddesses are inherently incapable of any kind of honest self-appraisal. Still, this is one author who won't hesitate to "call her out" on this notorious stinginess of hers: For shame, Calliope, for shame!)