The March of Progress: February 2005


Jeremy Rosen
Jeremy Rosen is an investigative reporter who, in 1995, won the Pulitzer Prize for his work “HO: Not the Way to Go” in which he first publicized the failures of the HO Scale for model train hobbyists. To this day, he remains an advocate of the N Gage system of model trains.

Like most of the members of the public, I have always been told that the United States of America sent spaconauts to the surface of the moon where they first landed at the Sea of Tranquility in July of 1969. Until recently, I believed this like a stupid blind-folded sheep. Until recently, that is.

As many of our usual readers know, my grandfather worked for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration from 1964-1972. Last year he succumbed to his battle with Legionnaires’ Disease and I came to see him as he lay dying on his deathbed. Withered and frail, he lacked the robustidy of his former years, yet in his eyes I could see a tenacity of conviction I had ne’re seen before.

There he gave me apiece of proof that America faked the moon landings for the purpose of stealing victory in the Space Race. It, and other proof, will be analyzed below. Did men actually walk on the surface of the moon, or was it all a big lie? Only you can decide to be the judge.

Entrail Ice Cream

The Moon Landing Was Fake

Above is the now-famous evidence of the moon landing hoax, first procured by my Grand-pappy from top-secret NASA archives which were buried in tin boxes on the island of Corregidor, forever hidden from the innocently prying eyes of the public and the world. This image was taken from a roll of photographic negatives, before the developed pictures were printed and doctored by special photographical doctoring technicians at NASA. This is the original picture and if studied carefully, it reveals a plethora of information. Also it reveals of wealth of proof of the duplicitous NASA conspiracy.

The first bit of proof we will explore is the most obvious. Note that there are no stars in the background of this picture. On an atmosphereless moon, the stars would be clearly visible. Obviously NASA knew that skilled observers would be able to tell that stars in the pictures were not correctly located as they would be seen from the lunar surface, so the stars were omitted, replaced by what is clearly a black painted backdrop.

Now, remember that there is only one light source on the moon; the sun. Yet the astronaut, the lander, and even the rocks all have multiple shadows, no doubt emanating from the various lighting rigs used on the sound stage where this photograph was taken. Another curious lighting feature is the fact that the American flag and the “USA” emblem on the lander are both lit perfectly while the rest of the lander is in shadow. Clearly, these effected were created with well-directed spot lights.

The “lunar surface” in this photograph shows lines of erosion, as one would find in a terrestrial environment. Where there is neither wind nor water there can be no erosion. Yet the dirt on the floor of the soundstage definitely shows signs of erosion.

Notice also the image of the Earth which hangs in space, or so we are led to believe. This is, without an iota of doubt, a painting. Plus you can see the camera crew reflected in the visor of the astronaut’s helmet, a rock has writing on it which reads “Place in Grid C,” most likely a note for the set preparers, and plus an object sticks down into the frame and resembles a boom mike.

This is no doubt damning proof of NASA’s lies to the world. Write your congress-persons and tell them that you want the truth to be heard.

Simple Concepts Made Known

Our Guide to Understanding Things Everyone Should Already Know

Fire is when burning happens.

You can find alcohol in bars.

Video games are so called because they involve looking.

North, south, east and west are four directions.

Although “chip” and “ship” may sound alike, these words describe widely different concepts.

Signs indicate things.

Lettuce is really just leaves. Really.

Mountains are tall. Valleys are tall the other way.

Candles are not cans with handles.

Ink is the means by which a man may turn a collection of papers into literature.

Just as Sir Edmund Hillary has stated, Mount Everest is there.

Red is one of the colors.

Wake Island is surrounded entirely by water. Except on top.

Homework may be completed almost anywhere.

Mirrors should be made with a reflective surface.

A car’s horn serves a different function than that of a rhinoceros.

Shirts come in a variety of styles.

Flying Men

The Death of Mr. Pickle

An Illuminating Tale By the Master of Poetronomy, H. G. Peterson

H.G. Peterson

H.G. Peterson is most well known for his portrayl of “Chippie” on the 1980s sitcom “Robo-Dad.”

The death of Mr. Pickle came early in June, late in the afternoon and late in his life: He was ninety-one. Neither the life nor the death of Mr. Pickle perturbed Trepassey, an outport of six hundred souls at the edge of the Avalon, two hours south of St. John’s, in Newfoundland.

Once a week, Clarence Malloy, carrier and courier of people and things, stopped by the old man’s place to deliver, free-of-charge, smokes and a pint of Rhums’ Whiskey. He did this as an obligation he took upon himself. Clarence was honest but not known for his generosity. Few knew about his weekly visits in those last years of Mr. Pickle.

And Clarence knew about Bill Hayward, his wife and his son, neither of whom the people of Trepassey had seen in ten years. Though once gregarious, Bill’s wife one day disappeared into their house by the sea, an unseen woman thereafter. The boy, teased and taunted by his high school classmates for being shy and slow, went into that house one day and never came out. The house became an unfrequented, Gothic place. Gaunt and unpainted, it stood against the seashore and against the sea, holding the tragedy until the very end, against nearly everything.

Years. Years and years and years, passing under her heightened vision and hearing like a lunatic parade, continually calling attention to itself. Some good. Mostly bad.
Though the consequences didn’t always work, and though she worked long at the feet of spineless men who were held up by their egos and cigar smoke, everything she did was right. Numerous closings and opening of doors—death, life. Everything: in her hands.
Granted, she might have married better and she did get into trouble, but she usually managed to turn whatever happened to her advantage, if not to the advantage of humankind.

She had the gift of belief. Nothing was beyond her belief. Some called it faith—but each of those words becomes a riddle, for even nothing as—or could be—within the sphere of her ready belief and ever-widening faith: Was and is. She believed and did not believe in nothing. Everything (and faith in everything even when not dreaming and nothing).
Believing in her own gifts, she might have used her heightened vision and hearing on her self, but she gave more than she got. It was impossible while her hearing stayed sound within the sound of the sea, not to listen to everything she herself said and to understand on it all seven levels.


But seeing herself was another matter—especially when it came to seeing what was in store and who was coming. Half heartedly she tried once or twice (but half a heart with twice the vision is never enough).

Looking on at herself in her mirror, at age sixteen or sixty, she saw an undifferentiated beauty, save for her green eyes. And now she was ready to lay it all down—to retire, she said. Looking on at herself, she might as well have studied the summer pond behind her house or a blank and faultless wall of light by the sea.

But not the light of an aging winter sky.

At eleven, she knew she had special gifts and that she would have to be careful with them. That people would not understand. She had done everything, it seemed, since. And as a result she was fearless. Not afraid and without fear.

Trembling? No. Terrified, timid, full of dread (not necessarily with respect to any Danish thinker), frightened or alarmed or craven or cowering or shrinking from? Never.

Worried? Yes.

The way others lie on their backs painting chapel ceilings or build cathedrals, she did worry. But at fear? Dread? She only shook her head? Shaking that white head in a white corner.

The white flowers, dried-up long ago, stood against the white wall, reminding her of a white that was different and to which she could never return. She shook her head at those around her who were part of the parade. Who shook their heads wondering what to do with her, what to do with this force of nature: It was like trying to dispose of an ancient tidal wave, or pocket a spiral nebula or bury the wind under a column in Cordova.

Her name was Marya. They called her Mary. But she knew who she was and she was always Marya, an ancient soul from the itinerant camps of Avernus. Around her, now, like relative rabbits, they eat, they eat—oh my how they eat—with their moon faces shining youth and grease and all the strictured joys of reunion show it.

And who is that near her feet, tangled in the rhinoceros legs of a leaf-extended dinner table which is covered with a white table cloth as in a burial service, atop of which bones, crumbs, crusts and stains, the remains of a meal no one but children have enjoyed?
The adults had talked around the old woman as if she weren’t there, or as if she were.

The Impending Reptile Crisis


Lizard Doom

Katie Panzer
Katie Panzer (in her final story for this publication) is a universally recognized expert on lizard physiology, alligator habitats, terrapene economics, and boidaen fashion design and sexual habits. Ms. Panzer has recently left our staff to begin work on her new project; The Elizabethia Pan-Lemnian Foundation, a group devoted to helping ensure that Lithium Picnic doesn’t sue us for using their images without permission. We wish you much luck, Katie, our hearts go with you.

For years humanity has assumed an air of nonchalance towards the herpetological developments accumulating across the globe. An increase in nugatory laws permeating all manner of reptile life has served to exacerbate the nature of the coming disaster. Here we enumerate the Impending Reptile Crisis.

First, and foremost, one must take shelter against the effects of the Crisis. Implement a Stage II tertiary enhovelment practice at the earliest possible time. This will involve slight investment, but protect you from the aftereffects of Herpetolisis.

Next, it is a good idea to lobby Congress to pass the Federal Invasive Reptilian Movement Act of 2005 (FIRM). A list of Senators may be found at A listing of Representatives may be found at Find yours and contact him, or in some cases her, now. Several activists groups are planning a so-called “Phone Your Representative Day” in early April. Axes & Alleys will provide this information in the future. You may also wish to read the news media daily.

Picking an herpetological faction during the coming conflagration may prove difficult. It is not easy to understand any of the 43 reptilian languages and scientists have only decoded what they estimate to be 10% of the vocabulary and grammar of just one species, a rare New Caledonian gecko. Common sense should prevail. If you find a strange reptile, move away. Should a familiar reptile become threatening, move away. If you see signs of support from the scaled community, make sure to support it.


Keep abreast of current news reports for noted dangerous reptilians. While the vast majority of lizards, constrictors and turtles are not involved at this time, the watchword should be “open eyes!” It is known that certain pit vipers, tortoises and legless lizards maintain malicious intent towards humanity, but the general state of Herpo-Human relations is unknown.

In fact, the general causes, effects and coming actions involved in this crisis are completely absent from the cognizance of humanity. Experts are not even sure of the basic nature of the conflict, if any, but a general feeling of unwholesomeness has pervaded the world’s theme parks, nature preserves, alligator farms and zoos.


Also beware of herpetological allies. While the current global state of affairs only seems to involve class reptilia, recent observations of common green anoles congregating with the common salamander have raised fears in the scientific and political communities about the overall nature of the coming disaster.


Should the amphibians join the fight, we are unsure which grouping of species will complement the hordes next. Never before in human history has the time been right for mass xenophobia, but unfortunately that time is now. Consult your local Reptile Crisis Center and make sure you support FIRM in April. Also make sure to wear comfortable shoes, preferably leather boots. You’ll be safer and your arches will be in much better condition for the expected amount of running forecast for the future.