THE INFERNAL REGIONS Sound Reproducing Company has kindly provided us with this list of well-known sound recordings in which backwards satanic messages have been found.

Eddie Cantor’s first recording of “If You Knew Susie” includes this whispered line, audible when the very end of the recording is played backwards: “Satan, paint my toenails pink.” When played forwards, the incantation is indistinguishable from surface noise.

The Vaudeville team of Gallagher & Shean made several recordings of their signature number, “Mister Gallagher and Mister Shean.” On the 1922 Victor version, the end of the second chorus, when played backwards, reveals two lines of spoken dialogue: “Positively, Mister Gallagher?”—“Spawn of Satan, Mister Shean!”

Luis Russel’s recording of “Ol’ Man River” includes a trumpet solo by Henry “Red” Allen that is remarkably devilish played either forwards or backwards.

The famous “Ode to Joy” by Schiller, so admirably set to music by Beethoven in his Ninth Symphony, reveals the following line when played backwards: “Muisyle sua Rethcot, Neknufretteog reneohcs Eduerf.” The mysterious message passed unnoticed until after the invention of sound recording, and scholars still do not agree on the meaning.

The coda to Jeremy Freakout’s notorious 1971 single “I Pledge My Immortal Soul to the Dark Lord,” played backwards at half speed, reveals the words “I like strawberry ice cream” intoned in a kind of maniacal growl.

Dear Dr. Boli: I was trying to duplicate some of the type fonts I saw in the display advertisements in your magazine, but I was not able to find equivalents from any of the type foundries I visited. Where do you get those exceptionally distinguished types, and how can I obtain the same? —Sincerely, Geo. Bruce, Chambers-Street, New York.

Dear Sir: From the beginning, it has been Dr. Boli’s policy never to print anything in a type he did not design himself. Thus Dr. Boli, unique among editors of popular magazines, was able to control not only every word, but even the individual letters that appeared in his publications. Many were the nights when the whole press-room staff stayed into the small hours, idle and grumbling, while Dr. Boli carefully engraved the only possible initial that would perfectly introduce an article about improvements in the gravel industry, or painstakingly imitated the sinuous curves of the lower-case s in the celebrated Granjon cursive in order to provide the proper emphasis in an advertisement for bottled sarsaparilla. Doubtless Dr. Boli could have satisfied his readers by printing with another man’s letters, but he could never have satisfied himself. He would as soon have used another man’s toothbrush.

Moving his magazine to the World-Wide Web necessitated a certain amount of compromise to accommodate the still-primitive state of hypertext technology, which does not realistically permit the use of type fonts not found on the great majority of computers. Reluctantly, Dr. Boli has allowed his writings, such as the article you are reading now, to be spelled by letters he did not design and approve himself. Dr. Boli has nevertheless made no compromise with his display advertisements. One of the chief enticements Dr. Boli can offer his advertisers is the ability to set their messages in attractive and unusual types not available anywhere else on the Web. That is the reason why you may not have them.

No. 8.—Isosceles of Carthage: De Orbe Quadrata (On the Squaring of the Circle).

ISOSCELES OF CARTHAGE was apparently a third-century geometer, to judge by certain internal evidence in his writing. The sole work of his that remains to us in any form is his De Orbe Quadrata, a Greek treatise that we know only from a fourth-century Latin epitome by an unknown hand. In a short preface, this anonymous epitomist describes how he found a number of scrolls by Isosceles in the library of Alexandria that purported to contain a solution to the ancient problem of squaring the circle; and, having been intrigued by the possibility of finding a solution to that puzzle, he prepared a summary of the argument in the books as he read them.

Book 1, our epitomist informs us, introduced the notion of squaring the circle, summarizing the failures of past geometers who studied the problem, and containing many personal animadversions which the epitomist did not think it proper to repeat.

Book 2 explained how to construct a circle. Forsaking the usual Euclidean method, Isosceles eschewed compasses and other tools (which he called decadent) in favor of laying a bowl in the sand and tracing the outline of it.

Book 3 similarly explained how to construct a square, for which Isosceles followed the same method as in the case of the circle, except that for the bowl he substituted what he described as some sort of square thing.

Book 4 compared the square to the circle, showing by means of diagrams how they differed. Our epitomist skips lightly over this book, devoting only two lines to it, although he remarks that it was the longest among the original scrolls.

Book 5 introduced the diameter, which Isosceles, alone among geometers, appears to have considered a property of the square rather than of the circle.

Book 6 invoked the aid of the Muses, and was cast in hexameters of very indifferent quality, according to our epitomist, who admits, however, that he is not as competent a critic of poetry as he would like to be.

Book 7 was a historico-mythological treatise explaining how the moon had once been square until the time of Jason of Argonautica fame; our epitome does not tell us what Jason did to make it round, or indeed whether its change of shape was merely a coincidence having nothing to do with Jason himself.

Book 8 explained how, by the inspiration of the god Dionysius, Isosceles had discovered that other round objects, such as bowls and marbles, could be seen as square if the observer’s head was tilted at precisely the right angle: an assertion which he proved in what he described as an elegant diagram, although our epitomist, reproducing it, reckons it for a lewd caricature of the emperor Pupienus Maximus.

Book 9 was an examination of the properties of the small hippopotamus which Isosceles said followed him everywhere, and which he described as bright red in color, wearing a crown of gold studded with lapis and carbuncles, and no more than two spans tall at the shoulder. He apologized for the apparent digression, but explained that the information would prove relevant to the argument when we reached Book 863.

Book 10, though written in Greek characters, did not appear to be in Greek, and our epitomist candidly admits his inability to construe the language of the scroll.

So ended the magnum opus of Isosceles; for the epitomist informs us that there were no more scrolls to be found in Alexandria, and that his correspondents in Carthage wrote back to inform him that the name of Isosceles was unknown there. Whether there were at one time 853 more books, or some larger number, we do not know; and the apparently unique manuscript perished when the library in Alexandria was stormed by a mob of violent fundamentalist geometers, who had vowed to purge it of all heresy contrary to the received text of Euclid.

Distromachia. An epic poem in twenty-four books, describing in allegorical terms the battle between the various distributions of the Linux operating system. The triumphs, tragedies, humor, and pathos of open-source programming are thrown into sharp relief by casting the story in the Homeric mold. 8vo, 2 vol.

“Demonstrates an almost alarming level of erudition.” —Saturday Evening Hacker.

“The want of an English epic poem worthy to stand with Homer and Virgil has long been remarked. With this work, we see at last that the problem was not any lack of native genius in the English language, but merely a question of the proper choice of subject.” —Dawes’ Monthly Review of Digests.

“The character of Mentha is especially well drawn.” —Dispatch Literary & Real-Estate Supplement.

“Exceeds all similar works in both scope and feeling.” —Open-Source Poetry News.

From: The Producer
To: Mr. Ernest Drudge, Screenwriter
Subject: First Draft

Dear Mr. Drudge:

I have read over the first draft of your screenplay for our new live-action adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, and I have but one question to ask you.

Where, Mr. Drudge, are the jokes about flatulence?

Having read your draft once through, I feared that I might simply have missed them. With greater diligence, therefore, I applied myself to a second reading, and still I was not able to detect a single instance of flatulence-based humor.

Perhaps you were not aware that we were attempting to produce a film for children, Mr. Drudge. Perhaps you had forgotten that our endeavor, as we set out upon this enterprise, is to bring joy to the hearts of youth.

I am not in this business solely to make money, Mr. Drudge. Other men in my position have grown cynical, but I have not. I still wake up in the morning with a song in my soul, knowing that my job—my duty—my inestimable privilege is to spread happiness across the angelic faces of little children, through the medium of flatulence in motion pictures.

I look back on each day and judge myself, Mr. Drudge. Have I brought a smile to the face of a child? Have I mined the rich vein of humor that runs through the human digestive tract? These are the questions I ask myself. If I cannot answer them in the affirmative, I count that day as a failure.

Flatulence is a glorious tradition in our literature that goes all the way back to Chaucer and before. Many beloved characters in children’s films are defined by their flatulence. Have you considered, for example, the possibility of having every disappearance of the Cheshire Cat accompanied by the sound of passing gas? The merchandising possibilities are staggering.

But I should not have to come up with these ideas: that is the purpose for which I have hired you.

You come to us with a good reputation. Your three Golden Globes, two Oscars, and one Nobel Prize suggest that you are capable of better work than what I see in this draft. It is, after all, an early stage in the writing; perhaps your early drafts are always unpolished in this fashion. If so, I respect your methods, and I assume that I shall be much better pleased by your next draft.

But do not forget the children. Their innocent laughter is, in the end, the only thing that makes our business worthwhile—that sets it apart from digging ditches or selling insurance. I could never forgive myself if I thought I had failed, through my inaction, to bring the same joy to  the little hearts of the boys and girls that they expect from every De Novo film.

I have enclosed a whoopee cushion as a gift from me to you, and it is my sincere hope that this small token will serve as a source of inspiration as you commence your revisions.

Sincerely,
Maximilian De Novo
Producer
De Novo Productions, LLC

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General Secretary of the Cabal of the Twelve
Secret Society of the Onyx Persimmon