The Duh Vinci Code Vs. The Bible : Both Sides are Wrong

It is with a heavy heart that I delve into the fetid miasma of 'Da Vinci Code Controversy'. I had hoped this miserable plague would remain here in the States but the stench emanating from this re-flaggellated horse's carcass crosses all oceans, befouls all nations. It's a stink with a mission.

Obviously, the movie's mission is to exploit people's religious insanity in order to seperate individuals from their money.
This is news?
The Vatican has been doing this for centuries- I think they're upset that Hollywood is better at selling bullshit than they are. It's not really a fair fight- Hollywood has computer graphics and FX and sexy people and the Church isn't really big on explosions and sex - I mean , really, it's still using smoke signals to announce leadership changes. That's not a real winner with the ADD IPod crowd, and nothing-not even a childhood enthusiasm for Nazism- can make Pope Ratzo sexy.
Maybe they could get Mel Gibson to do Passion 2: Beyond Revelation- that would help even things out, I think. It'd make a better video game than Passion 1, that's for sure. That game sucked- I kept getting killed at the end.

Anyway, the Leonardo thing...

When my then-girlfriend first picked up the book she thought I'd love it- me being a long-time conspiracy geek and such- but she was wrong.
I lost interest almost immediately.
"Here we go again with the Grail as Womb and wotnot" , I thought. I'm not sure where I first encountered the idea of JC and Magdelene spawning , but it sure as hell wasn't a Dan Brown novel. Garth Ennis wrote about it in a comic book- Preacher, I think it was called, but it was wasn't new then...it's an old idea- it's almost as worn-out as the Rosicrucians, Knights Templar and assorted Bavarian Illuminati theories. Like those old conspiracies, it might be true it it might not be- but so what? It doesn't matter one whit either way- you buy a ticket and go to the cinema, you pay a tithe and purchase salvation- it's all about the money.

Why the uproar? People are trying to pass laws against showing the movie. This is clearly insane- is there a law requiring one to see this movie? Just don't go.

The novel and the Bible are both fiction loosely based on historical record. I doubt if any serious, rational theologians hold the Bible to be 100% literal truth as told, just as only the most naive reader of fiction will take all of Brown's recycled nonsense as fact.

Stories is stories, is all.

Wouldn't a truly faithful Christian just give a tolerant shrug and move on to better causes-like helping the poor and teaching the kids and other Jesus-y things? I don't believe in all that Messiah hooplah, but when I think of Jesus the Man, I have a positive image of a guy who really enjoyed helping people and accepting the differences of others and stuff. It just makes sense that he'd be sleeping with Magdalene- they spent a lot of time together and that sort of thing tends to happen, you know...


But no, say the God Nuts. Heresy!

Huh? You can accept that the Guy could walk on water but not the concept of a Holy Boner?
It's pretty well established that there is a historical figure named Jesus and that he was a man.

Perhaps you know some men- you may even be a man yourself. In any case , you know that men do gross , offensive stuff.
All men.
Even Jesus. Why is this so difficult to understand?

Da Vinci vs. The Bible?

That's like Star Wars vs. Star Trek- they are both OK if you like that sort of thing, but it's really dumb and dorky to argue about.

A Rolling Total

For the last few months I've been dreaming of naked women.

What's so unusual about that, you ask?

It's unusual because the dream situations aren't sexual at all. Sometimes there's an atmosphere of intimacy and calm that suggests a relationship involving sex, but one not based solely on the act. A very comfortable feeling, really.

Usually the naked woman is explaining something to me, sometimes I remember the message when I awake, sometimes not. It's alway's important and meaningful, though. Really , it is.
(We would all do better to listen to our dreams, but later for that rant)


Sadly, when I think about naked women explaining things I cannot help but think of automobile insurance. I realize this is not an association most people would make, so allow me to digress:

I met my last lover while I was doing temp work for Big Insurance. She worked in Auto Claims,
an auburn haired Scorpio who could match me drink for drink, pun for pun.
Smart and crazy. An Allan magnet.
In this blog I used to refer to her as Lenore, due to her habit of tapping on my chamber door- or rather tapping on my window at midnight or later. She actually got the reference without me having to explain it.
Sigh.

She never let me into her life- she was divorced, then she wasn't- just separated- no, divorced...the answer changed every time I asked, so I stopped asking. I really liked her, but it didn't work out...no ill will, just some sadness.
Besides, she's part of my Big Chief Ten Beers days- I still care about her but ...well, but. That's that.
Anyway-
I had someone to drink and fuck with, so I was pretty happy, even if she never-not once- let me stay with her at her home. Always my place or a motel. Like I said- don't ask.

It was at one of these motels that Lenore explained something to me.
She had pulled the curtain slightly apart and was looking out of the window, a strange habit of hers that I somehow managed to overlook at the time.
(Note to sober self: If your girlfriend is always looking out of drawn curtains after sex, you do not have a girlfriend. You are having an affair)
Lenore started giggling as she peered out at the parking lot. This wasn't unusual- she was a very funny ha-ha woman and often saw things through a warped lens. Our trysts were drunken giggling wrestling stupidity matches- great goofy fun, really. No regrets there.



Me: What's so funny outside?

L: Your car.

My car? Are you mocking my penis, woman?

No, silly- I'm mocking your car. It's a 'rolling total'.

A what?


Lenore returns to bed , straddles me, looks down and explains what a 'rolling total' is.
She's doing other, really interesting stuff, but she's smiling and talking about auto insurance while she does these other things.
(It's things like this that made me stop questioning the sanity of my lovers. I now take it as a given that any woman I'm involved with is nuts)

A 'rolling total' is a car with no real book value.

Oh. Oh.

But it still runs, you see...

Oh, yes. It does.

So if you have any kind of damage...

...damage...

We'll write a check and call it totalled and part it out..

T-oh -totalled...

but for a few bucks you can buy the car back ...

Back. Back up.

And drive it if it's still running..

Oh god, it is like so totally still running.

So keep that in mind if you have an accident...

I just had an accident.



And then she giggled again and kissed me.
Afterwards "rolling total" became our code-phrase for "let's ditch work and go fuck".
It's funny the things lovers call "it".

I've completly forgotten what I was writing about, so let me end with a question:

What's the funniest term for a sexual act that you've ever heard?
No photos, please. I've learned my lesson about that.

Imagine

This is scary good. (Speakers/Headphones needed)


(thanks to my old pal Jerky for the link!)

Tusker Woe

TUESDAY: Would you like to have dinner this weekend? I 've got tickets to a great concert if you'd like to go.

Really? Very good!

THURSDAY: 7 pm OK? Looking forward to it!

MONDAY: I waited until 8 pm for you.
You forgot?
Oh.
That makes me feel terrible.

Who Do You Curse?

Rosy Iraqi Scenario:

-Saddam cuts out your tongue in 1989 because you cursed his name.

-Bush 41 kills your sons in 1991. You (silently) curse his name.

-Bush 43 kills your grandkids in 2003. Again with the silent curse.

-Your neighbor kidnaps your daughter in 2004. You pay the ransom and curse your neighbor.

-A Blackwater mercenary blows off your legs in 2005. You curse all the white devils.

-Tomorrow you lose both hands when the bomb you
are building at home accidently
detonates.

Who do you curse?

The World Sure Is Safer Now

Amnesty International has a new report out. Here's a quote:

In its annual report of human rights conditions around the world, Amnesty
included the US alongside China, Russia, Columbia, Uzbekistan and others as
states that claim anti-terrorism to justify gross violations.

The BushCo response?
"Why isn't Amnesty helping to prosecute Saddam?"

Why?

Because it's a done deal. The guy is in prison and he's never getting out, we hope.
Personally, I wouldn't be upset if his sorry ass was dragged into the desert and fed to giant radioactive scorpions on pay-per view TV, but then again I feel that way about petty tyrants in general. Roll over, Mussolini.


If our case against Saddam is so weak that it cannot be prosecuted without help from AI, then maybe we shouldn't have invaded in the first place.
AI is concerned with exposing and ending current human rights violations- they are not in the kangaroo court business.

So the next time someone says " the world is better without Saddam in power", ask them HOW it's better.

Is it better for you?

It's better for Halliburton shareholders, including Dick Cheney.

It's way better for Exxon/Mobile.

It's better for Blackwater and others in the mercenary industry- many of the "contractors" you hear about are , in fact, heavily armed combat personnel and bodyguards.
The proper term for soldiers who fight for the highest bidder is MERCENARY.
It's not an honorable profession- it's a step up from assassin, but just barely.


Is it better for the Iraqi people?
Ask the dead ones first. We don't how many have died since we invaded because we don't care enough to count them.
Then ask the maimed. If they can talk.


Then ask the survivors.
Their answers will depend on who's listening and how many weapons the asker carries.
That much hasn't changed - it was like that under Saddam, the only difference being that the civilians used to know who they were supposed to be afraid of.
Now they are free to be afraid of everyone all the time because death can come from anywhere, anytime.
Hooray for freedom.

It's way better for the Iranian theocracy.
They can pretty much do as they please and we can't do shit about it because our military is in the toilet after 5 years of BushCo abuse. Iran would be very difficult to beat in a traditional ground war at this point- and nukes?
Using nukes is so insane and horrible I'm truly surprised BushCo hasn't dropped them already.

It's better for North Korea for the same reason. What exactly are we going to do to stop 'lil Kim?
Attack him with the National Guard?

China?
Man, China is like so totally digging the fact that we've squandered our power and treasure on a lousy bet like Iraqi freedom. There's a strong probability of a future, open conflict with China-limited and mutually coveted resources such as oil dictate this to be nearly inevitable- and the Chinese are not going to have a demoralized, strung-out and exhausted military.

We will.
We have lost our status as the global "Good Guys", which is such a grievous loss that we may never recover from it. Having the world on one's side is good thing.
We are going to regret losing that goodwill.
I mean , it's great to have the support of freedom-loving dictatorships like Uzbekistan, but is Uzbekistan going to help us defend Taiwan when that shit hits the windmill?

This catastrophic loss of international goodwill and repute is one of the worst things BushCo has done to us, but that's such a long list it's hard to say exactly where it falls.

Here's a list of all the GOOD things BushCo has done for America and the world:

There's...um...well...
er
um...
hmmm...
..er...and , well...
He caught a fish.


Clinton had billions of dollars in budget surpluses and ended the Kosovo conflict without losing a single American life in combat. It was pretty rough on the Balkan civilians, but it was successful from a military standpoint- unlike Iraq, which has fucked up everyone and everything except the war profiteers mentioned above.

Bush caught a fucking fish. Ya-Hoo.

Isn't it great having foreign policy dictated by a President who couldn't beat an autistic 5th grader in a game of Risk?

Susannity!

Mexican Immigration

I just picked up "Tortilla Curtain" by TC Boyle and plan to start that tonight. It's for a book club next week. I have been reading everything I can find on the Internet about the Mexican immigration topic.

My parents live near Palm Springs, CA and I was down there for a few weeks in April. The locals will talk your ear off about Mexican immigration. Driving around San Diego, LA, and Palm Springs, I feel pretty much like I'm in Mexico, but with nicer housing.

I'm curious as to what others feel on this topic.
Should we build a patrolled wall? Should we give 'amnesty'? Should we continue on status quo?

Here are a couple of interesting facts that I had not known before either:

The current population of Los Angeles is now 50% Hispanic.

Mexico is the 5th largest producer of oil in the world, and the largest producer of silver in the world.

Data from the 2002 census and other govt data indicates:











-Susanne

3/5 of a Life in 10 Seconds

I am buried by memories today.
Not buried
Obsessed.
Not buried.
Consumed.
Both of the three.
Seventy-five thoughts in two-franc pieces.

My 'Blast From The Past' is no mere explosion- it's a super-nova , expanding to hundreds of times it's former size and consuming the present as it does so. It's so bright and intense that it arouses curiosity from astronomers in distant reaches of the galaxy- then it suddenly contracts into infinite density and I am trapped, crushed by the weight of my own light. The horizon is lost to darkness and I am sustained only by my own fear.
As it fades, so do I.

I can't remember ten years in ten seconds.
It doesn't compute. My systems shut down and emergency automation takes over.
I sit and do nothing until it's too late to go to work.
My automaton takes over and calls in sick.
Good Robot. I've trained it well.

It's overload-my circuits are shorted, I'm caught in a feed-back loop and it's beautiful , cathartic and quite possibly one of the most painful things I've ever felt.

It isn't exactly ten years, and it didn't all come back in ten seconds; it feels that way, but it really started this weekend...


I was talking to a blogpal on the phone the other day and they told me about some troubles that a teenaged relative had brought upon himself, and how certain permissive parenting techniques are unwise at best ; catastrophic at worst.

This conversation created a fissure in one of my well-constructed emotional memory dams, before long I was telling my friend things that I'd never told anyone, including myself. It just started coming out.
Chaos words.
This was a terribly unfair thing for me to do to them. Who wants to listen to someone meltdown on the phone? Not me.
But I can't stop the purge- I need to get this shit out of my head - convert the mad energy into something else- communicate somehow- and there isn't any one person who can deal with it.

I used the guitar first and that was good for a while, but now my neighbor is home. She's nice enough, but she's a cop and works odd shifts, and I am inhibited and afraid to play loudly when she's home. Playing softly is not what I need now.

That's why I have a blog. It's quiet and doesn't bother anyone unless they choose to read it. I know somebody eventually will read this, so it makes the expression worth the time.
To me anyway, and right now that's what's important.
That might sound selfish, but to me it's self- preservation.

Note to self: I read back and I am dumbstruck by how many words I've managed to place between my intended subject- childhood memories- and this note. This is telling.

OK. I'm not ready for the details yet. It's all very jumbled to me anyway, but the gist is this:

When I was growing up I never had a steady home. I was pretty much allowed to do anything I wanted to as a teen - I spent most of my 10th-11th grade years living unsupervised- this meant a lot of drugs, booze, sex and all the adult problems that come with such things.

At the time I thought that it was great fun- I was so much wiser and experienced than my peers, surely I would conquer the world one day and they would be sorry for picking on me...

Well, I was clearly wrong about this. I look back and I know that I am somehow lacking some essential foundation that can only be built during childhood- some quality that needs the help and guidance of a loving but disciplined adult hand.

Someone to say No. Someone to tell me when I'm fucking up.

I'm figuring this out on my own but it's twenty-five years too late.

Race and Justice

Has anyone ever told you that racism is no longer a major problem in America ; that it's still around in some rare, isolated cases but is more the exception than the rule , etc. etc.?
That institutionalized racism is either in serious decline or dead altogether?

Did that person provide numerous examples from their own personal experience of how purple people and orange people and striped folk are all getting along together?

Perhaps they even mentioned that they have really good friends who are purple or orange, as in :
" some of my best friends are purple", although their own exposition is unlikely to be so succinct.
Sure, they admit, some people, somewhere are active and overt racists, but they themselves are not, nor are most of the people that they know.

Did they add, quite unnecessarily , that they are white?

No shit.

Only a white person would say that race isn't a major issue in the U.S.

I don't say that as a condemnation- the people who say such things are usually intelligent and compassionate individuals who have made a conscientious attempt to avoid racist actions and thoughts on a personal level. That is a good thing and is to be encouraged, but it seems that the effort involved sometimes makes it easy to overlook the fact that race is still a major factor in all parts of our society.

Let me attempt to better explain this by putting it in terms that I can understand. For example:

I used to drink a lot. I have managed to remove alcohol from my life and as a result I don't go many places where I see liqour.
I seldom encounter drunk people.
I avoid bars and clubs, I don't attend AA meetings and I don't go to many parties, so to me it appears that alcoholism is a dead issue, something to be discussed in the past tense- "I used to drink a lot".

Yesterday I saw an old drinking buddy at the local market. He was stinking drunk at noon. Stinking of beer sweat, unwashed feet and human urine. He's lost weight and his eyes are markedly jaundiced.
It broke my heart to see this.

It also jarred me back to reality.
Just because I have been lucky enough to defeat my demons doesn't mean that those demons are dead.
It doesn't mean they don't still poison and destroy people I know and love.
The demons live on, and anything that can hurt someone I love can also hurt me. If I choose to ignore this, I do so at my own peril.

(Substitute racism for drinking and you get the idea)

Racism is one motherfuck of a demon. I applaud every tiny step taken in the struggle against this monster-on every level- but make no mistake; racism is alive and well in America, it
permeates our social fabric, it's held in place by our institutions, our schools, and churches*, our entertainments, even our prisons.
Especially our prisons.

Our justice system favors the white- and the wealthy. If this isn't common knowledge, it should be.
If Justice is unbalanced regarding race , how can racism be waning?

I once faced sentencing in Federal Court. My lawyer said, " If you were black, you'd be looking at five to fifteen, but you'll be OK."
I got eighteen months- probation.

Did I stand up and make a speech about the inequity of our correctional system?
I did not.
I promised I'd be good, thanked the Judge, apologised to the State, paid my attorney, exhaled deeply and went home.

I used race to my advantage in order to receive a lesser sentence. I did this knowingly and deliberately and it worked.
This was undoubtably a racist action, but does it make me a racist?
I don't know. I hope not, but I also realize that if I were in the same situation again, I would do it exactly the same way- play the game and stay out of prison.

Would you?

*(To be fair , most churches do not advocate racism , but all prisons do)

Radio Alert

Yet another chance to hear me play weird 1980's music live on the FM airwaves - or on the internet.

3- 5 pm Eastern USA time.

Scratchy old LP's from my own collection played on the airwaves -and on the freekin' Internet for the whole world!
Every show is like a childhood dream come true!

Geez, when I was a kid, 1980 was the future and no one knew what an Internet was...

Mark Fail

Clicken Embiggens

Religion Is Bad For Kids V1.1

I used to live in Utah and I have never liked Mormons.
I don't care if that statement offends anyone.
Mormons ruin everything they touch, especially women , children and the environment.

I used to chase the Mormons off my porch with a baseball bat- they'd come back a week later pretending they'd never been by before.
Maybe they hadn't- all Mormons look alike, you know.

My roomate once dumped a bucket of dishwater from the second story window onto a pair of LDS door-knockers - this was especially funny because the outdoor temperature was 12 degrees below zero at the time.

Maybe you don't hate Mormons. Maybe you are a Mormon.

Have you heard of the Enclave in Arizona? I thought they shut this place down years ago- but no, it's still there. The Mormon Church has known about it for fifty years or more, yet nothing gets done, even though their own attorney acknowledges underage "marriages" taking place:

However, Rodney Parker, an attorney who has represented the church and some of its leaders since 1990, said he had seen little evidence of questionable conduct. "They are idealistic, very religious, community-oriented people," he said. "I never saw any evidence of what is being claimed. I'm not saying there are not underage marriages. I have found no evidence that people are forced into these relationships."

What the loathsome Mr. Parker is saying is that it's OK to molest kids if it's consensual- not forced- that if a 45 year-old man can convince an 11-yr old girl to have sex with him it's OK as long as she isn't forced. As if an 11-yr old is capable of making rational decisions about sexuality and marriage-with or without the advice of a pedophile.
An 11-yr old bride isn't a wife, she's a victim.

In a just world, Mr. Parker would be castrated with a chainsaw.

Read about the Enclave and then leave your sputtering, mamby-pamby "all religions should be respected" comment.

Freedom Fencing

----------------------------------


Here's a photo of brown-skinned people and barbed wire. They are in a desert.

Q: Where are they?

Could be almost anywhere.

One thing's certain- that barbed wire is of U.S. design, if not manufacture.
We

invented the stuff. We perfected it. Barbed wire has passed Jazz as America's leading cultural export.
Hooray!

Screw that hoary old " Nation of Laws " crap. That's backward.
Law.
Wal.
Let's be a Nation of Wall (Mart) s and Really Sharp Fences. To show how serious we are let's melt down the Statue of Liberty and use it to make more barbed wire.

There's a sort of precedent for this- the steel from the World Trade Center remains was sold to scrap metal vendors in China and India- chances are that some of the girders, beams and wreckage from Ground Zero were converted to barbed wire, Chinese tanks and thirty-dollar DVD players.

Just imagine what the Qin dynasty could've done if they had some good old American barbed wire:
Sure would have saved a lot of trouble. Bought a little extra time.
That's all , though. Just a little time.
This wall is still standing, but today it is useful only as a tourist attraction or subject for calendar photographs.

Here's a wall that's not around anymore:


Hmmm... maybe walls don't work so well after all.
Maybe the social, environmental and economic forces that move millions of people to act in desperation are greater than can be contained by walls and buttressed by nationalistic rhetoric.
Just. Maybe.


Let's not consider this. Let's just build more walls. It'll buy a little time.

Congratulations!

Congratulations to my pal Blee on his succesful vasectomy.
His doctor advised him to keep a package of frozen peas in his shorts until the swelling goes down.
(Make your own jokes here)
He told me all about the procedure- he was awake for it. It doesn't sound that bad except for the swelling afterwards, but I'll spare the details.
Good job, Blee! That took balls.
--------------------------

Three Cheers ! We have a winner in the Gub! Contest.
The winner will soon be notified via electronic means.
Actually, I've changed my mind.
Leave a comment and ask about it. I'll let you know if you won.

This should give me a little more 'stalling time' while I finish the prize.
Thanks to all...three...of our entrants for taking the time to participate - a stern admonishment to 'Abby' for thinking she could simply call me and request to be the winner without so much as venturing a Gub guess.
Hmph.
Such gall.
Would that the world were so easy, 'Abby'!

Anyway, Gub! is from the Gregory comic by Mark Hempel
It used to have a different meaning, but these days it's a good word.


----------------------------------

A Special Huzzah for Sir Alexander Fleming for doing the best mouldy canteloupe research ever ; setting in motion the events that would eventually lead to my current supply of Cephlax, which I hope will soon clear my sinus infection.

You'd think that Sir Alexander would have named his discovery flemicillin but he didn't.
What was he thinking of?

Fill In The Blanks

__ _ _ _ '_ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ !

New Training Ground

Bush said the federal government will pay for up to 6,000 National Guard troops to be deployed to the southern border. They will serve in two-week rotations, meaning that over the course of a year a total of 156,000 troops could be involved. He said Guard units will not be involved in direct law enforcement activities; that duty will be performed by the Border Patrol. Guard units will work in support positions.

I can't see this deployment of Guard personnel doing the slightest bit of good on the Mexican border- the whole idea seems like a hopelessly stupid compromise guaranteed to please no one. Until you consider the fact that the arid Mexican desert makes a decent training ground for combat in places like Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan.
Then it makes sense.
Two weeks along the Rio Grande and then , whoosh , off to Baghdad.

It's scary that the Guard is just being sent 'temporarily' until the Border Patrol is increased and trained enough to stand on it's own.

Where have we heard language like that before?

Maybe from this propaganda article?

"Now I was training myself to take nothing seriously. A man's allowed to make lots of small mistakes, and there's nothing wrong with that. But if the mistakes are big ones and they weigh him down, his only solution is to stop taking himself seriously. It's the only way to avoid suffering- suffering, prolonged, can be fatal."

-Pedro Juan Gutierrez,
Marooned in No-Man's Land

I Didn't Get Fired

I'm in the breakroom today and I'm listening to a gaggle of Office Cabbages talk about the party and the parade. Perky Cabbage asks me if I'm going.
------------

What party? What parade?

For Elliot! The parade for Elliot! Elliot (some last name i immediately forget)

Who? The room goes silent for a moment

Cabbages giggle uncomfortably - Don't you watch American Idol?

No. Never have.

SILENCE -I've denied the existence of God. Time passes with the urgent discomfort of a kidney stone.

(Cabbages in unison) BUT HE'S FROM FALLENTOWN! There's a big party outside this afternoon, and then a parade and then he's throwing out the first pitch at the ballgame...blah... blah...blah...but he's not singing the National Anthem.
He's singing some famous current hit I've never heard of.
The Cabbages want Elliot to sing the Anthem.

---------------------------------------------
It does seem odd that a local guy who is famous for 'singing' would appear at a baseball game and NOT sing the Star Spangled Banner.
On second thought it's not odd at all. I KNOW why Elliot is not singing the SSB. I pass this knowledge along to the Cabbages.
----------------------------------------------

He's not singing the National Anthem because the SSB is a really, really hard song to sing. No backing music, no light show, no dancers- just you, a microphone and a song with a remarkably uncatchy melody for such an enduring piece. He probably can't sing it, I add silently.

Call me Pontius.

But Elliot is in 3rd place! He's a great singer!
There is much Cabbaging in defense of Elliot.
Well, he's getting a parade so he must be great! Yeah! Yeah!
Besides it's good for Fallentown to have a hero. Yeah! Yeah!
We love a parade! Yeah Yeah! ( We get out of work early and you dont, n'yahhh!!)

Uh oh. It's suddenly me vs. Cabbages. Not a fair fight. I feel sorry for the Cabbages.
----------------
Let me back up a little bit at this point.

Last week a box appeared in the breakroom. It's covered in Red White and Blue contact paper.
There's a note attached to it.
The note informs us that the Gulf War (I&II) Veterans at the local VA hospital are in dire need of such items as combs, nail clippers, soap, reading materials and clothing.
Please place these items in the box and help our veterans.
This has been pissing me off for days.
This is how our war-horny nation of blind aggressors repay the soldiers who risked their lives in a war that no one can justify?
Doesn't the VA have the budget to supply our soldiers with combs and soap?
I hate the war, no mistake there, but I don't hate the soldiers. I want them to be taken care of.
This box infuriates me. It should not exist.

I am so sick of war and stupidity. Tired. Angry.
All of this anger coalesces into a white-phosphorus explosion-no- an implosion really, as the inside of my skull absorbs the brunt of the blast and everything shrinks into a blazing point of rage.
I walk over to the box and I start making mistakes.

--------------------------------------------

Look at this. (I rattle the motley assortment of toiletries. )
This is how we honor our soldiers.
We force them to beg for scraps of soap in the breakrooms of corporations that profit from the trade in war.

Welcome home!
Here's your first hot shower in weeks- sorry, we are out of soap, but I guess you are used to that.
After all we sent you into war without the equipment , numbers or planning you needed.

Why should we give a shit about you when you get home?
You won't need a comb- all that depleted uranium you've been exposed to is going to make you lose all your hair anyway.
And your teeth.
Your children will be deformed and diseased. So will their children.
This war is so evil it even destroys your DNA. Your Future.
---------------------------------
I've got this crazy image of myself as Martin Luther with a hydraulic nailgun, but to the Cabbages I'm a Centurion with a mallet and stakes.
Bam!
Right through the palms of Christ!

I can't stop it . I keep freaking out.
I see fear. Confusion. Anger. I don't see any understanding.
I'm being very clear and precise with my words because I want to see that understanding.
I realize that it's not there.
I can't stop. I wish I could , but I'm gone.
I slam the box down and keep talking.
--------------------------------------
I thrust a spear into Jesus and twist it savagely. He's too far gone to forgive me.

Does it strike any of you as strange that we have a series of celebrations for some guy that has done nothing more than be really good at Karaoke, yet we can't provide basic neccesities for the soldiers who've been getting shot at while you watch American Idol?

We have homecoming parades for a Karaoke King but our troops come home unannounced, the dead return under a curtain of media secrecy and the living aren't provided with so much as a lousy toothbrush.

Do you see that this is wrong?
Do you?
DO YOU?

They don't understand what I'm saying. Why? It's so clear. It's so clear!
-------------------------------------
Now I've really gone too far. The Cabbages attempt to disperse. I stand by the doorway and don't move. They are going to have to pass very close to the crazy man if they want to leave.
They squeeze past me.
Blond Cabbage gives me a look- it's not quite understanding, but I think she trying to think- she's struggling with something.
I look her in the eyes.
She averts her gaze and pushes past. Something is mumbled but I don't catch it.

I bet I get fired on Monday.

Doggie Day

Today's theme is 'Doggie' .
Dogs are a lot like seahorses.


At the pet store they have signs so that you can tell the difference between the two but this one was at the Hood Aquarium so I knew right away it wasn't a doggie. There aren't any dogs in aquariums.

It wasn't a possum either. There'a a rabid possum that lives in the trash cans behind my building.



I call him Gillette because when he gets excited it looks like he's got shaving foam all over his face. This is his 'Spring' look.
I like to give Gillette red wine. He goes nuts and really freaks out the neighbors, tearing holes in their screen doors , giving the kids 'love nibbles'- that sort of thing. I think it's rather cute, but the guy from Animal Control told me a drunken rabid possum could be dangerous and he would have to trap it and kill it.

No Way!

So I scooped Gillette up and hid him where he'd be safe. In the trunk of my car.
I left him a tire to eat and poured some fresh water into the pan I use to drain my oil.
He'll be OK.
I read on the internet that possums eat tires; how auto tires are considered to be second only to a Cheetos/cigarette butt casserole among possum epicurians.

I think I'll take him to work tomorrow.

Contest # 99

A new CamelsbackandForth Contest:

I sometimes use the exclamation "gub!" in my posts and emails- who can tell me the specific origin and context of this utterance?

The winner gets...something.
Something really cool.
What that is depends on who-if anyone- wins.

This contest is not open to anyone who has seen me naked. Gub!

Hurry! The deadline for entries is sometime.

Open With Care

Not long ago my grandmother gave me a large sheaf of papers from my senior year of High School -1984. Report cards, letters , schoolwork and memo pads full of notes I don't remember taking. Photos and drawings. I used to kid myself that I could draw. Sometimes I still do.

So I took these papers and I placed them into a box I unearthed in my closet- this box was another treasure- I thought it was full of useless junk , but instead it contained cassettes and photos from my 1980's "rock star" days.
Here's one of me playing on a stage somewhere- I can't tell where. In it , I have very long hair a a top hat and a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a popular local Psychiatric Hospital. I look wide-eyed and weirded-out, like I was just released from the asylum moments before hitting the stage.
Strange, since stage fright was never a big deal for me.
Oh wow.
What a rush those days were.

I remember throwing painted eggs into the audience during an Easter weekend gig. Some were not boiled. Hah! That's punk rock!

I still have the top hat.

Bear with me- I can't go five minutes without having some long-lost memory resurface and claim my attention. I think my mind is waking up after being in a drunken coma for twenty years and all the black-outs are starting to black -in . I'm enjoying this, but it's making it difficult to focus on any one thing. Looking into this box of memories doesn't help calm down the noise but I'm compelled to sift through it anyway.

I see a folded letter. I can hear every sound that it makes. Loud. Rhythmic.

Do not unfold that letter even if it screams.Pleads. Begs.

It wants to help me. I know this to be true but I am too scared to move. Stuck. Frozen.
I don't know what I'm afraid of.

That's a lie. I know exactly what I'm afraid of.
I'm very aware of what I'm hiding from myself.
It's not a dark secret.
It's not a misdeed.
Nothing of the sort.
It's not something that would seem the least bit odd to anyone but me.

So there's a box. In the box is an envelope. In the envelope is a letter I really should read.

I don't think I'm quite ready yet.

Soon though. Very soon.

I should put this box down before I hurt myself.

-----------LATER, BUT NOT MUCH-----------

Eye opened letter and it is unred. That is not a typo.

The Past Sure Is Tense

The past is done with for now.

(with apologies to the Captain)

Petra Dishes Out The News

I wasn't a participating member of my first long-distance relationship-I was a captive audience.

It started back in 199? when I was trying to put a band together- I tacked up some fliers at the music shops asking for a singer and a drummer. This was standard practice back then, but not very effective.

Usually.

After a day or so I got a call from a girl named Petra. She was a singer and wanted to be in a band.
Petra...hmm...sounds exotic. Having a girl singer for your band can be a plus, attendance-wise.
Sexist but true.
Sure, Petra, c'mon over and let me play you my demo tapes...heh heh..

Nah, it wasn't like that. I actually had an honest-to gosh human girlfriend at the time, so it really was all business. For me ,anyway. At the time I ran a guerilla recording studio out of the basement of my apartment building so she decided to come over and check me out. She was bringing a CD of some chick I had never heard of -P.J. Harvey- maybe I'd like it, she said. (I did)

An hour later there's a beautiful young redhaired Goth babe sitting in my living room and she's turning me onto P.J. Harvey's first album- which was new at the time. Alabaster skin and a red velvet dress... I didn't know it until then, but I have a real weakness for redhead Goth chicks named Petra who like PJH.
Can she sing?
She starts singing along with Rid Of Me. She's amazing. I am agog.
Hey, I bet I can play that song - let's hit the studio.

I figure out the chords and set up a decent beat on the drum machine- off we go!
It's musical love at first jam.
She's available.
She tells me this in a very matter-of-fact way.

I'm not available, I tell her.
I'm dating someone that I secretly fear will kill me in my sleep.
Lucky me.
Bad timing, but we can still do the band thing, right?

Yeah! Let's! We pick out some songs from my vast archives...I'll arrange them so we can practice and record until we find a drummer and bassist- maybe we'll just use the machine.
We start getting a cool 4AD sorta sound. I'm pretty excited. It's slow but steady progress.

Then the excuses start.

Petra gets sick.
Sore throat.
Allergies.
Mom is sick.
Her boyfriend is sick. What boyfriend? She'll tell me later...
Cat is sick.
Dog is sick
Boyfriend's cat and dog are both sick. ?
Sore throat again.
Mom still sick


Finally she comes over.
She looks different. I realize she's not wearing any makeup. Very odd for her.
She needs to tell me something.
She's moving to California to be with some guy she met on the Internet. I don't even know what an 'internet' is, so she explains it to me.
How they 'chat' all day and night.
Soulmates, they are.
Sound like bullshit to me.
No, really- here's his picture. Isn't he gorgeous?

She hands me a photo of some Surfer Pretty Boy. He looks like the kind of guy that sells pot by the gram out of his dorm room . Blond curly mop of carefully disheveled hair and a salesman's smile. I hate him on sight.

See? Look at him, she implores.
She sounds weird. Acid? I don't think so... i

She's staring over my shoulder at his picture. Breathing audibly. She's hanging tight on my arm, squeezing and releasing it nearly imperceptibly - she's so horny that I can smell it. I'm tempted to forget about my looney girlfriend and just fuck Petra on the kitchen table but I'm afraid she'll call out Surfer Boy's name and I don't think I could stand that.

Uh, Petra, I don't think you should do this. This guy is probably full of shit. Have you talked to your folks? Have you thought about this at all?
Why don't you go visit before you move or something? Besides, we've got a drummer auditioning next week...

Sorry, but she's dropped her classes, sold all her stuff and bought a ticket already.

She gives me the third-best kiss I've ever had.
I will write you as soon as I get settled is her promise to me. Bye.

Nice knowing you. Write if you find work. Bye.
This all takes a while to sink in.
Poof! Here she is .
Poof! Gone.

For a couple weeks I half-expected her Dad to call me up and ask me if I knew where the hell his daughter ran off to. He never did.

Petra never wrote. She never called.

I wonder whatever happened to her?

About a month later my girlfriend tried to kill me.
It's been downhill ever since.

Cellphonemania

Guest Post by Susanne

My youngest brother, age 24, is flying out to Maryland at the end of May to meet a girl that he ‘met’ while playing Everquest 2. I guess it’s the new form of online dating. Putting that aside, they are connected via cell phone 24x7. They wear hands-free headsets and literally are connected ALL THE TIME. They are both T-Mobile customers and have unlimited minutes, and let me tell you, they use them. Seeing people on their cell phones all the time drives me a bit bonkers already, but this has taken it to a whole new level. I love people strolling down the aisles at the grocery store chatting away. I can’t tell anymore if they have a mental illness or are on a cell phone. I also love two people in a car sitting next to each other but not speaking with each other – they’re on cell phones instead.

How sick is that?

Anyway, I can be having a conversation with my brother and a virtual one too with this girl on the other side of the country. She chimes in all the time as if there are actually three people in the room rather than the two I can see. I can’t really begin to explain how weird it is. It’s almost like being on interactive reality TV, with someone not in the room listening in on everything that goes on, voicing their opinion, asking for details, etc.

My family is in our own Truman show.

My husband and I have discussed how the concept of a ‘long distance relationship’ that is hard to maintain is really different in their case. Normally it’s because all of the subtle goings on that happen during your day aren’t shared with the other person. In their case, it is almost like they are joined at the hip all day long. She’s in college, he works, and yet they really are only disconnected for short durations.

They’ve probably even ‘slept together’ haha.

The other thing that is interesting is when I’m on the phone with someone, I actually feel the need to talk. You know, have a conversation. But these two are quite content to hear each other eat, tell each other what they’re watching on tv, or just be silent. I know they say that the ability to have a comfortable silence is a cornerstone of a relationship, but c’mon! I guess I’m becoming a fuddy duddy at only 36. We don't have any cell phones and my husband works in high tech where everyone has uber gadgets. I consider cell phones, pagers, etc just electronic leashes.

And have you seen some of the long-term studies they've done concerning brain tumors?
Scary.
Apparently if you hold the cell phone just right against your head, you are exposed to approved levels of radiation. Tilt it slightly, and you have your own private radiation therapy. Sure there are a few times per year when having a cell phone would be really handy, but we're somehow managing to survive anyway.

Ode to Dude

Dude.
Shut up about your wife already. Everything is her fault. Blah dee dah.
If she's such a bitch why don't you just divorce her and move on?

Dude.
I barely know you but I already hate you. Are you trying to break the ice by looking for some shared misogynistic common ground?
Look somewhere else for that validation.

Dude.
Seriously man. When I told you that some of my best friends are women so can you cool it with the cunt talk? - I wasn't kidding. You should be happy that you met a woman who hates herself enough to let you fuck her.

Dude.
Every time you start with the bitch talk I am going to pick a random subject from Google news and rant about it. In great detail.
Hmmm... current trouble in Afghanistan... Heroin production is way up. You can't really understand Afghanistan without some basic historical knowledge. Let's go back to 1979 and start with the former USSR's invasion- what? You never heard about that? So I guess you know nothing about this at all...sigh...
Well, a long time ago-way before 1979- there used to be this thing called the British Empire and the British East India Company, which was sort of like a Halliburton for Ye Olde Times and they traded a lot of this' opium' stuff that was a great way for government to exploit and destroy their poorest constituents before we had petrol, television and crack cocaine. The Chinese liked it so much they pawned Hong Kong to the English as a result of their habit.

Let me explain it to you in an extremely inaccurate and biased fashion.
For an hour.
Fun to listen to , huh?

Dude.
Even I get tired of listening to me rant about global politics for an hour. If you insist on disparaging your wife you leave me no choice but to turn the subject towards adultery. Let me tell you about all the married girlfriends I've had. There's only two, but I'm going to lie to you and tell you there's been dozens. You may be married to one. Imagine your wife fucking another guy. Every time I mention adultery I know that's what's flashing in your dimly-lit corridor of thought. I'm a sadistic bastard sometimes.

Dude.
During my recent six-year booze binge the only women I "dated" were married women. Most of the time I didn't know about the husband until , um, after it was too late, ya know? Those women didn't complain about their husbands to me- they usually never even mentioned they had a husband.
I have sometimes wondered what these poor cuckolds were like- how wretched they must be that they drive their women to seek solace in a Motel 8 with someone as utterly fucked-up and undesirable as myself.
Who are these men that made me look so good in comparision?

Dude.
Thanks for the perspective on that.


...and the rest of the afternoon passed in silence, broken only by the occasional staccato outburst of typing...

Good

We raised $22,000 for our little non-profit last week. Pledge drive madness!
Proud?
You bet!

My Advice

I'm at the station this morning and there's this young kid in the kitchen telling several people about this girl he's in love with and how he plans on approaching her- I'm nosy, so I listen in.

Holy Bloody Valentine!
There's someone alive who knows less about the whole modern mating ritual than I do. A lot less.
He's asking the older folks for advice.
I'm one of the older folks.

Things must be bad for the kid, because asking me for relationship advice is like asking an anchor for swimming lessons. I am not the counsel of last resort but I really should be.

Anyway, the kid's on Ritalin or something so he's not making much sense, but it seems he's been seeing this chick around campus for a year and finally approached her and told her -he is totally sincere-he's young and dumb enough to actually believe in shit like this- so get this: he tells her that "his soul knows her soul" and that they are meant to be together.

Mind you, they've never spoken before.

This approach frightens off his love interest. Funny thing, huh?
Go figure.

Some advice is given by us Old Folks

Old Guy: Maybe next time you should ask her out first.

Kid: Out? Like to what? Dinner?

Me: Dinner is always good.

Old Girl: Yeah. Dinner is better than movies.

Kid: Eat? But I eat all the time. Eating isn't special.

Us Old Folks all look at each other. Oh, the folly of youth.

Old Girl: You have to make it special.

Me: Nothing's better, man. It's a ritual for a reason.

Old Guy: Don't tell her how you feel about her before you go on a date.

Old Girl: No offense, but if some guy said that to me I'd probably smack him. Or are you intentionally trying to date really stupid girls?

OUCH!

Old Guy and Me: Dude, just get in a band. Make them want you.

Kid: But I want someone who likes me for more than my music.

Old Guy and I are both passionate guitarists. We look at each other like- there's more? We are our music. This kid is daft.


Hours later I have another conversation- the bulk of which is no one's business, but it does make me wonder just what the hell my fellow men are thinking when they talk to women. They make me sound sane by comparision.

The gist of it was this:

This guy is telling his girlfriend-on the phone- that their love will last forever and all that eternal stuff- I don't know the guy, but he may really mean it, i dunno- but the point is - while he's telling her about the eternal love , she is having an IM conversation with some other guy about an unrelated subject.

So dude, you are spilling your guts to the woman you claim to love and even that doesn't hold her full attention? Sorry guy, but I don't think it's gonna work out.

I think about these guys for a while and I make a decision. The next time I meet someone I get along with and isn't attached , I will ask them if they'd like to have coffee or dinner depending on the circumstance.

How radical.

Three Lives

I've been living three discrete lives and it's starting to wear me out. I don't think it's unusual for one to have multiple lives, but I do think that I'm becoming unusually unsuited for it. Perhaps that's not unusual either?
Maybe everyone has three, four, five, a dozen separate lives - I don't know how you'd measure such a thing - and it's not the sort of topic that comes up in conversation.
In normal conversation anyway.
I seem to be incapable of having normal conversations.

At my day job, the less I say, the better. I'm already pissed today because HR Guy has just told me that the on-line classes I signed up for- at my Boss' recommendation- are only available for management. I am not management, so my request has been rejected.
I ask HR Guy to go over my resume with me. You add this to that and that and I've got 15 years of management experience- I got a freekin' letter from President Clinton about my good work fer chrissakes!

We discuss this:

I could be very useful to the Company as a manager.

But you don't have the training we require of our managers.

That's why I signed up for the classes.

Those classes are only available to managers.
-I'm exasperated at this-

This is a Major Major problem.

I'm sorry you feel that way.

I mean it's a Major Major problem like Heller. Yossarian's nemesis. Catch-22.

Excuse me?
He stands up, red. Holy fuck! He thinks I'm cussing him out- he has no idea what I'm talking about. I give him a grimace/grin. I am in the mood to smash furniture. Smile!


Sorry, I was just reminded of one of our clients- they've got a case with the Heller Group and it's a Major problem- but it's on Legal's end , not a Documents issue.

Oh, OK . I'll see if I can find a way for you to enroll and get back to you on it.

I'm not aware of anything called the Heller Group, but HR Guy acts like I've actually said something that makes sense, which proves he's a fraud since I'm totally talking out of my ass. Is there a medal for bullshit?
I want one. I earned that fucker.
Gold? Nah. Platinumize that thang.


Later I'm training the New Guy and what I want to tell him is :

"We don't really serve any purpose at all. The only reason we are even here is so that the Company can bill the Firm for our presence- not our services, which are minimal- but for our presence. If your pay is similar to mine, you now know what it feels like to told be that you are worthless.
If the Firm used common sense instead of Lawyer Thought, they'd realize it would be much cheaper to fire the Company and just hire one person to do what They claim takes three people to do. If you care about the things you do, this job will make you insane- because nothing you do here matters. Just being here and looking awake is enough- and even that is negotiable. You can be bad enough to get fired, but you can never excell or acheive anything. No matter how hard you try , it comes down to getting fired or not getting fired.
That's all.
The trick is to not care."

That might sound easy, but the reality is that not caring about what I do breaks my heart. That is not the Real Me.

I barely make it until 5 pm without crying at the sheer hopeless stupidity of my job.

Then I go to me favorite place, the Radio Station. I can be myself there, I can talk all the crazy shit I want and nobody gets scared- they just join in. I talk with our Music Director, but we talk about real human things and how we really feel - for a moment we are both sort of mystified that we are part of something as amazingly cool as our tiny little against-all-odds FM station. She tells me that there really is no place she'd rather be than where we are right now.
I agree.
I am inspired , so I take a little bit of that happiness and I send it where it might do some good. This simple human act makes me feel better. I explain to my friend what I'm doing and she assures me that I am doing the right thing and that I'm really quite silly to be so embarrassed.
It's OK to be nice just because you want to.
Why wouldn't it be?
I am told that I am silly. That is true. I am silly.

Maybe it's not such a Fallen World after all.

Life should have more of these simple moments and easy feelings.
I like this.
I like you.
I like sharing this with you.
Simple and easy.

Is it unreasonable to feel like that? It shouldn't be.
It should be normal but for me it's new and kinda exciting.


The station really helped save my life , you know. I can tell her that. It's OK, because she knows me and she knows what I'm about and what it all means to me and oh my, all of this is so good I can barely remember that I was on the edge of suicide a mere hour ago.
So I muddle about for a while and arrangements are made for me to sit-in tomorrow ( tune in 5 ish USA east time if ya want) and there's some recording to do Monday and that's good too, because I like doing that.

Much of what I do at the station is technically impossible, yet I pull it off without sweating. Nobody worries about shit going wrong when I'm around because they know I can fix it.
For me , it's easy.
The secret is caring. I very much care about what I do and my friends know it.
This is the Real Me.
Radio me.
Guitar me.
Even lil' ol' Blogger Me. Those selves are rolled together and that is who I am.

So that's two Mes. Who is #3?

That's the Old Me.
Big Chief Ten Beers.
Ender of Things
Breaker of Promises
Betrayer of Self
Bringer of Storms
Murderer of Feeling

Big Chief didn't worry about anything- he just did stuff. Whatever he wanted, as long as it involved getting lethally wasted.
Good things, bad things, indifferent shit- he didn't care. If things went well, Drink To Celebrate. If things turned out poorly, Drown the Sorrows.
How very,very easy that was for him.

He doesn't come out anymore, which is good. If he returns, I will die- so I sort of hope he is dead- but I'm not quite ready to let my guard down yet. Maybe in fifty years.

Life is strange and wonderful though and I intend on seeing it through, come Heller high water.

Here's picture of our radio station. We are on the 2nd floor. Directly below us a local cool guy is opening a cafe/gallery/coffeeshop- kinda Beat in concept, I believe.



What is he naming his shoppe?
It is to be simply called "Camel".
His name is Alan (sp).
He is not me.

How weird is that?

Aha!

I wish I had some better words today- my PC at home seems to be on it's last gasp and this may be my last chance to post for a while- although I can check email at the coffeeshop next to my house ( a love/hate relationship, that) and at the station- I just can't write very well in those places.

Aaaarggh! Gub! All I have is noise.

I want some words to call my own- but not my own-
or at least a conversation
That's what I tell myself
just talking it over is enough
isn't it?
isn't it?
But that is not what I need

For the first time in seven months I am afraid that I might drink again.
I don't know why I have this fear- I know that I shall die if I do- and I don't think I want to die.
So why this feeling of dread?
Because it's better than no feeling at all? Horseshit to that rubbish...
I doubt that it's better to be numb, but I suspect I'll never know...I doubt my ability to be unfeeling - unless I'm really drunk.

Aha!

On The Way

On nice days I walk down to the canal nearby my place of work. The arched stonework tunnel dates back to shortly before the Civil War - the corrugated cement ridgesin the upper foreground are more recent - the floor of a Reynolds Metals foil plant which is built above this very spot. I'm not kidding.

There was quite a row between the company and local citizens about the location of the plant when it was built- long before my time- apparently there were quite a few persons who wanted to preserve the canal, bridges and tunnels.

During the American Civil War , Fallentown was the capital city of the losing side- pretty much everything that could get burned down was torched by the winners towards the War's end.
They were thorough about this, the goal being to leave nothing standing save rocks, bricks and the odd metal railing- so perhaps the inherited memory of this vast destruction contributed to the fervent protest at Reynold's original plan to destroy it all during construction. Or maybe it was just cheaaper this way.
Whatever the cause, a fair portion remains intact to this day


This piano-shaped chunk of stone means a great deal to me. Many years ago I used to sneak down here with someone I never should have been in love with. We'd get high and fool around and laugh about everything, including the fact that we were doing it all whilst on the clock.

Today, the trees hiding it have been cut down and the path to it has been allowed to overgrow.
There's now a parking lot directly behind me as I take this pic. This used to be a private place, but no more.
Some good times we had, this rock and I.

Conspiracy Isn't Fun Anymore, Pt. 2

You know what's funny? When I was a teen, I had a goofy hobby of following and distorting conspiracy theories, faux cryptozoology (Nessie, baby!), Bavarian Illiuminati claims ,UFOology, Masons,Templars, JFK, etc..you know the type- but this was before the internet and besides, it was really just stuff to giggle about with chums- not to be taken seriously.
I never really believed that the Illuminati assassinated George Washington and replaced him with Adam Weishaupt or anything like that.

Then, in the mid-late 1980's the whole sordid Iran/ Contra affair and our support of murderous death squads and narco-traffickers in Central America (-largely under the watch of CURRENT Bushco cronies, John Negroponte being a prime example- ) came to light. It was all laid out in no uncertain terms- a young Senator named John Kerry connected a lot of the dots. Wow- we had a whole secret gov't that was willing to use the lives of American citizens and soldiers as bargaining tools in their negotiations with America's enemies? Importing cocaine into the USA, dealing poison gas to Saddam, even raping nuns in Honduras- there were some seriously amoral bastards lurking behind the curtains.

Intense, man. Wow.

They were selling cocaine in order to raise money , which was laundered in places like Dubai and Saudi Arabia and used to buy weapons for the enemies of our enemies, who are most certainly not our friends?
Dude.
Like, heavy, ya know.

Damn. After Viet Nam and Watergate, you'd think the people would've risen up and thrown out the whole rotten "system".

Guess what happened?

Not much.
The Clash recorded Sandinista, which was OK.

Oliver North got a TV show, which sucked.

Bush Sr., one of the ringleaders in what was-at that point in time- the most egregious betrayal of America as a Nation,ever, was actually elected President, which is STILL a disaster.
The public yawned.

War was declared on the drugs that the CIA introduced to the American street.

The USSR imploded and Reagan was beatified for it, although the same thing would've happened in Russia if Carter (or anyone else) was in office at that time. In hindsight, the Cold War and it's looming but improbable spectre of nuclear annihilation was keeping us safe in a way that we couldn't have known at that time.

Some years go by and there's another Presidential Election. Hey- one of the guys is the same John Kerry who helped expose the Iran/Contra affair! Cool! That guy had balls. He oughta be able to mop the floor with his opponent.

But it's not the same Kerry. It's some other guy who just looks like him and the imposter seems intent on being anything but President of the United States. Almost everything said about him is false, distorted or misleading, but his campaign doesn't bother to refute any of it. I started wondering if Karl Rove had pictures of Kerry pissing on the Viet Nam War memorial or some other means of extortion-what else could explain such an impotent campaign? It's impossible to say. God knows the man made plenty of enemies in both parties with all that "follow the money" talk.

One thing stands out as true however- and it hit me as I watched one of the 'debates'.
Both candidates were members of the same secret society at the same college.
Sounds odd...

I was of the notion that most collegiate 'secret societies' were just a way for the privileged to indulge their latent homoerotic whims, yet here they were -two of them- arguing about who should be the Boss of America and they both were members of the same weird guys-only club?
Coincidence?

Geez, I thought. Can you vote for the guy who isn't a member of Skull & Bones?
And also isn't Ralph Nader?

Well, no. You can't.

At that moment I understood. All those elaborate and nonsensical fantasy conspiracies of my youth were nothing in comparision to what was really happening.
If the biggest secret our gov't had was the capture of an alien spacecraft at Roswell , well, that would be abso-fucking-lutely comforting in comparision to the real truth.

Whatever that is.

From the Editor's Desk

Our readers may have noticed a change in our publication's content lately. This is part of a deliberate attempt to quell raging criticism that this blog predominately supports and endorses persons and ideas of a "libberul" nature-- to date, our efforts to provide a more fair and balanced viewpoint have led us to :

- Publish an Editorial by a gun-toting Chimpanzee who claimed to be our Publisher. Even our staff of drug-addled guitarists and Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans realize that Blogger is free and has no real Publisher, but who's gonna argue with a pistol-wielding ape? Not us.

- Post nude photos of famous Democratic leaders. This is offensive and counter-productive. For instance, we already knew Joe Lieberman has no balls- but did we really need to prove it? Yuck. Please accept our apologies.

- Hire a well-known right-wing blogger to refute the "libberul" commentary. Two days later, he's advocating the invasion of Mexico and Australia. We feel that this is the sort of behavior that gives America a bad name overseas and sincerly wish that our Prez would just stop it and stop it now.

Again, we are sorry. Be assured that we are quite ashamed.

Let's Spread Some Freedom on Mexico

Last night I was trying to watch the Mexico City Roller Derby Championship on my satellitte dish TV system and all I got were these stories about noisy Mexicans wanting to move to America or something. I dunno- it was on Spanish Language TV ( which is the best place for Roller Derby) so I couldn't really understand the newcast or what the fuss was about.

Since my favorite sport had been pre-empted I decided to do a little research into why all this moving about of Mexicans was such a to-do.
What I learned was shocking.

First, Mexicans do not move to America -they immigrate.
What's the difference?

The diff : Mexico is whole other country than America! They have their own language and a President and everything!
Who knew?
I always thought it was part of Texas or something, but it's actually a foreign country that used to be a part of Texas-or something. I did learn that the "Alamo" is an actual place and not just the beer they drink on the 'King of the Hill' cartoon, but I'm fuzzy on what it's famous for or where exactly it is.

Anyway, since it's a foreign country, we might as well invade them, make them a State and spread some freedom around. It'll be liberating! We already have a New Mexico state, so I guess we'll have to name it New New Mexico, which is kinda sucky as names go. Maybe we could have a contest for a better name. Like 'New Iraq'.

There's like , I dunno , 100 million Mexicans. Mexico has cities, roads, bridges, schools, oil, cheap weed and a punk-ass compulsory service military. It's kinda like America except with Mexicans, different sort of Army and better pot. Why would they have a real army when the US has their back?

Look at Canada- who's gonna invade Canada?
We are!
Jokes on them when we invade!
Canada also has better pot than the USA. This is a clear sign of conspiracy between Mexico and Canada, so we must liberate Canada too- at least the hydroponic parts.

There's some cool stuff in Mexico and it would be a lot easier to invade it than Iran.
Let's pass a law granting citizenship to anyone who wants it, and then pass another law conscripting all the fightworthy new citizens into military service at standard GI pay, which is equal to about eight zillion pesos a week according to my estimate.

We can then use our new army to invade Mexico, where they will build permanent military bases and settle into roles as international peace-keepers and translators.
We can save lots of money by hiring private companies like Halliburton and Exxon to handle the personnel logistics and oilfield work. Finding a labor force shouldn't be a problem.

Hey- I just got an email from my pal Rush Limbaugh- he told me that it's now OK to use drugs in Mexico. I think he's moving there. I've never been tempted to use drugs, but if Rush says it's no big deal, then I guess it's OK. On my next vacation I suppose I'll go to Mexicali and see if heroin is as much fun as it looks like in the movies.


Well, gotta go check the perimeter...

- Red America

Why I Hate FWD:

Is there some way to program the Internets so that Fwd: doesn't work anymore? There's already enough bullshit to sift without this crap (below) - this sort of thing is such useless dreck that you'd think it would die the death of a thousand deletes , but noooooo...we just can't get enough of dis information and dat mis-information.

Here's an email (subject:immigration ) that was sent to my blog email- I haven't posted anything about immigration- I'm using it as an example of how stupid thinking spreads- and if it stops just one idiotic FWD from happening, then I will have served my purpose and I can die happy.

My commentary is in red , the rest is unedited verbatim C&P from an email:

From:Bob <mailto:republicanguy1996@yahoo.com>
Date:Monday, May 01, 2006 5:25 PM
To: (me)
Subject: Re: Immigration

Who the hell are you? The only Republican guy named 'Bob' that I know is Bob Dole and he doesn't use yahoo email. 1996 is a meaningful year for Bob D, though. Hmmm...

can't guarantee the veracity of this, but someone just forwarded it to me. It sounds very plausible, considering how Bush and crew have basically betrayed America

You fucking idiot! You "can't guarantee the veracity" but since someone forwarded it you feel compelled to repeat their mistake? Did you read it or even check the link?
No.
You didn't.
You are too stupid to read or to write so you merely forward. Forward anything you receive - not even a cursory thought given to what it is you forward- why do you do this?

You don't even know what "it" is, so how the hell can it be "plausible?"
So you receive (below) and you FWD (above ) even though you don't know if it's true or even what it is.
As far as Bush goes, you are screaming at the choir in my case , but the statement " It sounds very plausible, considering how Bush and crew have basically betrayed America" is not going to do much to sway an impartial reader- unless your intent is to sound inarticulate, uninformed and mildly hysterical- which it may well be- that being standard disinformation P&P and all...

Fwd:
---------- *** wrote: --------------
Forward this email to everyone you know. Post it on your blog.

I'm forwarding it exactly once. Yeah, I'll post it. How else can I publicly ridicule you?

Radio Station (UNAM AM) in Mexico City just released some very interesting information.
Former attaché to Andres Manuel Lopez released information on government documents leaked last week, showing that G.W. Bush, Condoleezza Rice, and John McCain have taken bribes from Vicente Fox, President of Mexico.
Vicente Fox, who for a long time has exported Mexico's problems to the U.S., has been lobbying the US hard to continue to accept Mexico's unwanted citizens. Now, according to Mexican officials, he has also bribed U.S. politicians.

This allegation is surely true in the indirect sense- through support of third-parties with a shared agenda or introduction of self-enriching , mutually profitable policies, for example - but in the context of this mail who can know that? There's no detail given- it reads as if Fox were personally handing out cash-stuffed envelopes- but I'm certain there's more to it than that... it's also not hard to tell that the writer of this article is less than objective, which seriously undermines any truth there may be in these charges- again, this is by-the-book disinformation P&P.

The fact that Bush, Rice, and McCain have been taking bribes from Vicente Fox helps put the immigration debate in context.

As much as I loathe all of those named villians, I have to take exception to the
usage of the word "fact" when the proper word would be "allegation".
How exactly does it help put the debate in context? This, like the bribery charge itself , is not explained.
You can't make a point by merely stating "I have made a point" and then clarify it by saying "I have now cleared that up".

If you know Spanish, listen to the broadcast at: http://www.multilingualbooks.com/online-radio-spanish.html

I don't know Spanish, but I do know that if they had shocking proof that Fox was secretly forking the Benjamins over to BushCo , then there would be some easily recognizable banner ads and an English translation. Or maybe Mexican journalists are not so willing to do the jobs that the American press won't do?

Deal Between Devils Goes Bad, Stuff Happens

This deal -between Texas-based oil company Unocal and the (then) rulers of Afghanistan, otherwise known as the Taliban-to build an oil pipeline across Afghanistan and, with the aid of Turkmenistan and the Uzebeks, to the Caspian- eventually fell apart. There were horrible consequences.

Back in Houston, the Taliban was learning how the "other half lives," and according to The Telegraph, "stayed in a five-star hotel and were chauffeured in a company minibus." The Taliban representatives "...were amazed by the luxurious homes of Texan oil barons. Invited to dinner at the palatial home of Martin Miller, a vice-president of Unocal, they marveled at his swimming pool, views of the golf course and six bathrooms." Mr. Miller, said he hoped that UNOCAL had clinched the deal.

So you know what happened after that Deal went south.

It's always somebody's fucked-up Deal that gets children killed.

It's not about God or Allah or Freedom or Democracy anything else- it's about the goddamned Deal- and no matter what happens someone is bound to throw a motherfuck tantrum when it doesn't go how they'd wished.
Always.
Always.

Do you remember the Dubai Ports World 'scandal' and how that deal was supposedly quashed?
What a pile of crap.
Deals that large do not simply "go away."
Instead they change form and scurry for dark corners- as seen in the NYT.
Catch it now before it vanishes again.

Somebody here owes somebody at DubaiCo.- and they owe bigtime.
It sure looks like Dubai intends on cashing in their IOU.

One way or another.

At Least My Guitars Are Real

I just saw an ad for a video game that allows you to pretend to play guitar.
Hmmm... my favorite thing-to-do is playing a real guitar -and I also enjoy video games- but this product seems stupidly useless-and it's a sequel- showing that a pop culture artifact's merit is often inversely proportionate to the number of spin-offs and sequels it produces.

As someone who plays both guitar and video games, I can assure you that most video games are more difficult to play than a three-chord rock song- so why not just learn a few songs on a real guitar instead of buying a game? You can also attract mates with real guitar playing -obsessively playing video games will not get you laid- or if it does, you will probably wish that it hadn't. (Don't make me explain this)

Does the game simulate getting ripped off by asshole club owners, having your van break down on the way to a gig or living for over a week on a diet of free beer, cheese sandwiches and instant coffee? The conspicuous absence of toilet paper? Does it account for the fact that if one member of a regional-to-mid-level touring band has crabs , then it's nearly certain that all the members (and entourage, if applicable)
also have crabs? I shouldn't have to explain this.

If you play the game really well do you score groupies that also feed you and wash your clothes?
I only toured once and the highlight of the entire six-week ordeal was getting clean clothes, a shower and fresh food- all in the same day!

If you do badly do you get booted over to a game of The Sims and get a virtual day job?

I can understand games that let you do things you cannot ( or shouldn't ) do in real-life: shoot a;iens, stab dragons, fly spaceships etc. , but anyone with nine or ten working fingers can play guitar. I don't understand why'd you'd learn to play this game when you could learn to play the real thing instead.

What's next?
A video game that allows one to simulate the experience of blogging?

I am going to be very sorry I didn't patent that idea.