The Whiskey Republic

Lovecraft Syndrome

2011-12-25T00:56:00.014-05:00

Lovecraft Syndrome: A recently documented neurological disease, which, brought on by unacceptably secrete knowledge and/or ancient and terrible horrors, the patient will exhibit the symptoms which include absolute insanity, intense and unrelenting suicidal thoughts and feelings of being a general irrelevancy in vast cosmic game of powers which the patient can neither comprehend or control.

This is what we know about Lovecraft syndrome, officially. Rumors persist about self help groups, or cults, of such afflicted who will chant gibberish and torture kidnapped individuals to a religious effigy. When these individuals are asymptomatic, they will hold average jobs: Butchers, Child welfare workers and foster parents, Sanitation workers, Park Rangers, night shift crematory operators etc. They will agree that their behavior is peculiar only up until you have come to comprehend the darkness which inhabits the worlds margins.
Crystal, one of the cult/ Self help members said their rituals helped her deal with the fact that her great-great-grandmother was a fabled great white builder ape of the Congo who had mated with their equally great grandfather, and Ape-ma's mummified corpse was accidentally purchased by her brother, while she has been able to bounce back from Lovecraft Syndrome her brother wasn't so lucky. He was found in the forest were he had covered himself in oil and set himself ablaze immediately after viewing the family resemblance between himself and the mummified ape queen.
Many claim these individual are aberrations, antisocial individuals looking for acceptance, yet entire communities have been found to deal with, and even exalt such individuals. Little Kurdistan, near the Red Hook district, a region also known as "the crack capital of America" is no stranger to Lovecraft Syndrome. Here the cultic behaviors of those afflicted find more traditional outlets in the form of Lilith,Moloch and Asmodeus worship and even if they are not considered mainstream they are at least acknowledged by Western religions.
I spoke to a local Kurdish man of the Yazidi sect who had this to say:

" We believe in a Celestial Peacock who is a benevolent angel who has redeemed himself from his fall and has become a demiurge who created the cosmos from the Cosmic egg. After he repented, he wept for 7,000 years, his tears filling seven jars, which then quenched the fires of hell...Naww, I'm just messing with you, we are, basically Satan worshipers, guilty as charged [laughter], but seriously. You live in New York for so many years you are bound to see some darkness you can't explain, a old yellowed book of cursed knowledge, a horrifying creature whose perspective and origins just might surprise you, its New York, it happens. Well, let me explain it this way, your store gets robbed, do you volunteer at a organization to help reintegrate convicts into society, or do you buy a gun? Christianity and its ilk are all good and fun with their ideas of charity and mercy until a human being gets a true glimpse of what lies beyond the veiled unknown. Then you just want to find the baddest thing out there and try to get on its good side, its the only sane thing to do if you suffer from LS."

And while the basic cause of LS is widely known, the spectrum of symptoms often makes it hard to diagnose, a former NYC police officer who asked that he not be named mentioned a lengthy battle with the city government about his disability payments. After coming face to face with pure supernatural evil and being the sole survivor of his units raid on a Lilith based cult. He can no longer work in an urban setting as the site of tall buildings will completely incapacitate him. State health workers told him that LS was not considered a recognized disability, and was unable to claim disability payments until some eight years later when his illness was diagnosed as an acute form of claustrophobia.

"So, I not only have to live with what I saw but the state wont help me and the only aid organizations out there for LS demand human sacrifice and blood rituals, seeing the worst is part of being NYC Police Officer, but so is expecting the city I protected to look after me when I can't do that based on injuries I received while in the line of duty, I want justice!"
The Officer stated.

For the moment the madness continues, both on a bureaucratic and scientific level, which both denies the existence of said illness or points out that to study such an affliction might lead to the unleashing of new terrors we can't possibly comprehend, as scientific hubris so often does. So those afflicted must continue to suffer in silence...or in entranced ecstasy as they dance about the fires flaying themselves and screaming in a Mu-based dialect, as the world continues to not even admit to the existence of the disease, until we are all finally subjected to the will of Cthulu and all those for whom death has died as well as the screaming horrors and old gods. So in the words of this reporter, good night and ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.

A treatise on the importance of the Short Sleeved Dress Shirt (SSDS) to America’s future prosperity

2011-10-07T15:48:00.005-04:00

Reading Note: This essay is based on the 10th Grade writing prompt: If you could bring back any style from any period what would it be? and why?

The American Golden Age, or AGA, Which spans the 1950’s and early 1960’s has many defining characteristics: prefabricated suburbs, the rise of youth culture, rock and/or roll, wars initiated by executive fiat, a robust and optimistic middle class and most importantly ATOMIC SCIENCE! While Atomic Science might be narrowly defined as science surrounding the study and manipulation of the Atom, I am using it as a synonym for Super Science AKA GeeWizardy, the boundary pushing fields of science whose casualties and collateral are politely ignored in order forward the cause of humanity, capitalism and the American way, not to mention sticking it to Ivan. Ah, those vodka swilling, bear loving, wayward revolutionaries certainly gave us the incentive to strive and sacrifice in a race to compete with our own existential intellectual insecurities, the need to prove that our way of life, our revolution, both Political and Social, were superior, drove us to the brink time and time again forwarding the triumphant American Dream. To reach these lofty heights, without risking the lives and ire of the noncombatants in this struggle, vast tracks of land separate from the cities, town, villages, hamlets and unincorporated settlements had to be found. Testing ranges for unknown devices, both secret and often lethal were essential, the trial and error style approach a hurdle into the unknown often requires, without the embarrassment that catastrophic public failures so often entail. The Commies had the Siberian wastes, frigid, sterile ranges only suitable for scientific testing and the reeducation of political prisoners. The warm fur lined great coats and other snug winter garments spoke of a class not aligned with the common man, but of a manicured social elite set apart and cultivated in a manner not commensurate with any egalitarian principles. America had a far better, warmer, but still stark and only semi habitable zone for the cultivation of the Atomic Sciences, the American South West. Whether a nuclear testing sight, launching UFOs, building a to scale replica of an American city, the construction of a sin Mecca or some combination of the above, ones imagination could run rampant, free of recrimination from weak willed and small minded civilians. Though, when the time came to unveil the newest wonder, we had average men, with crew cuts, birth control glasses and the Short Sleeved Dress Shirt or SSDS explaining in pained laymen’s terms what they had produced to a patient, beloved newsman who would help us digest and accept what our fathers once believed impossible.
Unfortunately our capitalist tendencies, to homogenize, standardize and mass produce all that is appealing and successful gave way to the anarchy of individuality and the dissolution of our national team spirit in a metaphorical and, occasionally, actual orgy composed of variable quantities of drugs, sex and rock and roll, the levels of which depended on the caprice and abilities of the individual to acquire them. It should be noted that there was an attempt to homogenize, standardize and mass produce drugs, sex and rock and roll during the Regan Era, though such attempts broke down after the end of the Cold War, during the ”anything goes” Clintonian period. Government installations were shut down, downsized and mothballed in the name of peace dividends and where experimental aircrafts once roamed and mushroom clouds sprouted in otherworldly glory, planned communities sprout and suburbanite slobs chew their cud of overpriced processed foods and unscripted images mirroring their own hedonistic listlessness. Pop icons, sports figures, business leaders and even politicians have dissuaded generations from healthy competition, team spirit and the cultivation our intellectual wealth in favor of individual aggrandizement, consumption and a wariness of authority. This trend has created a frustrated, restless, and obese herd slowly falling prey to the forces of social entropy. What is the answer to this malaise? The complex answer requires vast computing power, field testing, an Army of like minded individuals working in concert for the greater good and the testing of our civilization in a crucible of Iron and Blood to fully answer, the simple answer is the SSDS.
While one might ask how simple apparel can change the course of a civilization, I wouldn’t give some butterfly/domino effect type answer, since, if that would satisfy you, I would be preaching to the choir, which, while enjoying heavenly sanction, is just mental masturbation. No, I will instead propose the image of conformity, anathema to popular culture, allows the only true and healthy individuality, as some one of base spirit and simple mind would be unable to differentiate themselves from the crowd, their lack of talent and personality loosing the plumage that slavish attention to trends and media obsessions can provide. Skill, wit, strength, decency and intelligence could once again establish their social worth. Instead of arbitrary high school clicks such as the nerd, bully, jock etc. The playing field could be leveled at the point that a youth transforms into an adult and incidentally a fantastic time for indoctrination. Fitting in based on social utility, instead of cynical marketing that promotes, condones and breeds the mental and physical weakness that keeps us in fear of relinquishing our social clichés in lieu of an honest life, of course we would have to mandate some other garb for youngsters to wear in order to make the SSDS a symbol of maturity. The adult world claims over and over that High School is temporary condition, its confinement aberrant and fleeting, yet its pull is tidal in every waking thought and impulse in our adult life, its psychological effects evident. While we might change our life’s trajectory from the course decided in our early steps to maturity, its subconscious pull will always warp our thoughts to the impressionable template formed in the pupa like confines of the American High School, making it the perfect place to begin the reformation of America, as generation XYZ attempt to mimic the youth in a vain attempt to reclaim their own fading formative years, and sense of juvenile freedom, together, in collusion they can stand up to societal forces which seek to keep us in a perpetual state of childhood and instead turn our schools into a battle ground for the respect, responsibility and privileges a mature human demands and should be accorded, along with a uniform to denote this transformation. What about the baby boomers? They are a Detroit-like generation, mostly a burnt out husk, flashes of washed out glory and naïve optimism, with pockets of intense energy, genius and skill maintaining their generational pride, but as a cultural force, their time has passed.
So why the Short Sleeved Dress Shirts? Why not a speed suit, short pants, a leotard or the garb of a 16th century Polish lord? Because none of those things lend the image of social, intellectual and generational cohesion while comfortably mastering the North American elements, besides the aforementioned American Southwest, the last contiguous region of our now extinct frontier to be conquered, whose red rock mesas, parched deserts and brush lined riverbeds still excite the imagination with their austere, hostile beauty, the SSDS is universally suited for summer wear allowing a full range of motion, aeration, and the rapid transformation from formal to informal by the simple act of tucking and untucking. As for other locations and climates, well, coats, jackets, sweater, svesters, vests, undershirts, aprons awash with culinary humor and any manner of over garments can still be applied for outdoor comfort, where appropriate, and the maintenance of a single indoor garment will help decide a generally accepted interior temperature. This will allow the phrase “Is it hot in here? Or is it just me?” to indicate embarrassment, rising tensions both sexual and hostile, instead of simply asking if it’s okay to change the thermostat, as a racial, gendered and idiosyncratic median sets the appropriate indoor temperature at a universally tolerable 72 degrees Fahrenheit, and if you are still having a hard time of it try a cold or hot beverage to manage your wacked out sense of what is comfortable. Let’s also mention the obvious plus of additional pocket space, pockets, the home of all we generally need on hand without the need of constant awareness that an external pouch requires when one moves from place to place. Protected or not, the shirt pocket can contain things that one wants immediately evident without the need of memory or forethought, it is on your chest for G-d’s sake.
So we have established the social and utilitarian reasons for the SSDS and its cultural connection to the AGA, so why not? What possible argument could someone have against such a national uniform being instituted at a voluntary, but socially mandated, level? Some might call such a homogenous and cohesive group a bunch of Nazis, but since these half-sleeves are not, in fact, actual Nazis, the people who made such a statement are attempting to dilute the term, which is the first step in defanging a great historical tragedy, such people should go back to Iran, were Holocaust deniers are accepted by those self proclaimed Aryan peoples. Nazi loving Mohammedian sympathizers aside, only base consumerists can really complain, as their trending ways would be put on the path to extinction making their vain obsession with riding cultural waves a more complex task that would actually require self improvement and development. Perhaps they could take up a new hobby, Civil War enthusiasts and Renaissance Fair tailgater might be suitable, fulfilling their need to dress up in silly costumes and pose on terms that are not their own. The last and mightiest foe of a stylistic return to sanity is the Industries which rely on fickle, capricious consumers to live it large on their yachts, skyscrapers and in their gated communities. A standard garment, while seemingly only targeting shirt manufacturers, would likely influence the SSDS wearing public, begging the question why further standardization isn’t instituted so we can repair our own cars? Why not keep the same vehicle for as long as it functions and is functional for ones purposes? Isn’t furniture that will last a life time cheaper in the long run than Nordic trash only suitable for the most transient of domiciles? Shouldn’t a trademark be an indicator of quality, not something of worth in and of itself? Shouldn’t the dialogue, humor and content of my entertainment enrich my mind? Develop my faculties? Shouldn’t entertainment be more than mindless escapism numbing me into mental impotence? Why aren’t simple answers better than esoteric, relative and pedantic ones? The social snowball that such a change in our practices could, possibly, theoretically, leave us happy, content and in control of our lives. Such a shift would leave the marketing and retail world in the lurch, they could no longer manufacture markets for their products, they would either need to adapt, find new markets abroad, sell to rich and poor alike, customize their products and services to the actual needs of an enlightened consumer base or quit the biz entirely and become carnival workers, moving from town to town grifting rubes till the marks get wise and chase them out onto the open road in search of greener pastures. They, of course, will fight this tooth and claw, heads twisting around spewing pea soup like filth from every media orifice in all directs as they scuttle about on grotesquely bent limbs lashing out with bureaucratic and legal strength, but in the end, if the SSDS clad army of common sense can maintain, it will triumph, inaugurating a new AGA of empowered citizens bent on refining their civilization instead of being degraded by it.
The road ahead is simple yet difficult, but the first step is only a change of clothes away, so link hands, bare forearm to forearm, and let us march forward to a bright future where flying cars are feasible, though we don’t produce them for public use since that would be impractical and unsafe. Where the American flag is planted on increasingly distant terrestrial bodies as an exercise of our intellectual prowess, the scientific rock stars known as the “Astronaut” space trekkings’ wisely assisted and guided by an army of typically dressed NASA men from Cape Canaveral once more. Brave and confident Americans empowered to do thing because they are hard, taking the atom in hand, playing G-d as he looks down on his sandbox hurdling through the void, nodding approvingly as his American primates cease their petulant self obsession and glorify his creation with all that is noble, honest and true in humanity, the buttoned down, collard, American Dream in bloom, pollinated by class blind freemen, living as Americans have always sought to, E Pluribus Unum.

A song in his heart

2011-09-04T22:58:00.002-04:00

Ole Thomy Capin, always had a song in his heart, that was the problem, always had a song widdlin at his soul even when he thought he'd vainish'd those ole creaky toones. You’d think you could talk to him again and he was all playful, making toys out'a string an twine and helping your sister with groceries, but then a guitar wire would show up in his ball of twine or a passing car radio would blast some godforsaken folk music and ole Thomy would start a singing. You see when Thomy gets a singing he hasn’t care in the world, and doesn’t care who he hurts or how he does it and he gets real funny like.

For example, one cold winter’s night, as a light snow fell on our little town, ole Thomy was fiddling away on quiet street corner about his favorite colors, to no one in particular, since us townies know when we need to stay locked up tight indoors by a roaring fire with a hot cup of cocoa quietly praying to whatever might save us. Unfortunately for a young couple who thought they might come down from the sky lodge for some of our famous spiced cider and rustic tales, but without a pub open and all the shops shuttered they slowly circled towards that frantic music like a couple of June bugs hypnotized by the mantis’s prayers that only they can hear. He slowly brought his fiddle to a rhythmic plateau, cutting short verse about how he loved the black of night before the dawn, to say “ Well, you two look like a couple who likes good music, dont’cha? Of, course you do, well we’ll have a good time then, we’ll have a good time then…” Well those two poor youngins should have known better, but ole Thomy’s curly locks, gentle eyes and corduroy jacket would put just about anybody at ease, not to mention Thomy’s downright uncanny nose for sniff’in out human weakness. Next thing you know out came his jug of spiced cider and a lively tune.

“Well now, what do you folks want to sing about, I think a spider is what I'll be. Imagine all the possibilities…” he trailed off. Most folk would have gotten a little scarred about a lone stranger pretending to be a spider, with all its inferred predatory imagery and alien menace, but these folks had already drank deep of our strong cider, which Thomy had added his own special spices to and as the paralytic, sedative and alcohol weaved their dooming threads through their now addled minds, it was all they could do to stumble about half blind, knowing they should cry out but forgetting how. Before long they were twitching on the shallow snow and out came the twine, ole Thomy singing to himself as he envisioned his new toys and the games he would play with them.

Well the next morning, exhausted from a night of singing, playing and digging a shallow pit in his root cellar, ole Thomy smashed his fiddle screaming at himself. He swore he would never sing a single note again. Of course he knew he was lying. Even at that very moment of ultimate remorse. He would hear the rhythmic swaying of the ice glazed trees, the chirping of the birds, and he knew no matter where he went or what he did the music would find him, because deep down past the barbaric drums and manic chanting, past the mad fiddler who demanded sacrifice, through the frozen ice caves and pits of his psyche, he knew he would always, always, have a song in his heart.

Renyold’s Band Omni Media Experience Part 2

2010-02-28T18:12:00.000-05:00

Beer my friends that is the catalyst, time travel is not something to be taken literally, wait no that’s not the terminology I intended I am just saying that our understanding on time travel as postulated by such conceptual analysis’s as Terminator, Back to the future and countless other chronological fantasies is false, time travel is not only a MC square type situation it must be done incrementally and in a mentally acceptable fashion, a Marquis De Sade could not fathom a 1950’s America, and thus could not travel directly from point A to point Z. There are many letters between and as far as decomposition goes traveling back 2,000 years could be a life time pursuit, if we are speaking of linear thinking that is, and we are not. It seems the combination of hops (a distant and somewhat homely cousin to the infinitely more flashy Marijuana) and alcohol can warp time, much as mass can and often does. That is the variable which Renyold C. Macantire discovered, that and a secondary but almost comparable discovery, basing the location of the majority of your personal adventures in the environs of British Columbia will automatically give them a gothic quasi supernatural tinge, a natural twilight zone.
With the mechanics of the tale explained let’s get to the 21st , I mean if you’re going to make a time machine into a car, you mine as well do it with style…and unique ability. Having been a subject of the occult since a zygote it is only appropriate that Mayan prophecy would come to fruition through him. Aching for a DUI Renyold burst out of B.C. and trekking till he found the burrito of his dreams passed the 88 mile barrier transcending time and space and kicking relativity in the ass. Babylon, the whore of cities was the first and natural destination, since we ARE living in a Renyold based universe now, that’s right out of billions of years of slag we have about 5,000 years worth of shit. Whether that’s the chronology of a almighty G-d or just a mile stone when the apes stopped throwing shit at each other, Babylon, the Accadian’s the whole civilization deal was bland, flavorless corn fed and weak not unlike our own democracy and needing the “Rock” in the vitalizing tripartite force of love and peace.
Mark Twain understood that the world was not as it should be in both realities, from a red neck child lording over a full grown ‘negro’ to the opposition to genocide in the Belgian Congo the man had come to understand the world through the deluvian tides of the Missouri, Mississippi and in spirit the Nile, hence the birth of rock.
Rock, what is it to the average man, not much, if you’re not the creative type its nothing but noise, but if you have moved passed the classical composers and need a stronger fix, well that’s when the fevered pitch and tone of rock strums the dendrites of the brain just so, bringing a mix of pain and pleasure, not unlike spicy food, onto a conscious level. A Renyold-less world is one of cultureless progress only he is privy to, the rest of us live in a world saturated with his influence, inventing the term Reinformation:
The word Reinformation was first used in 1454 by the Venetian inventor Reduxious Informentii who saw the transformation of Haga Sophia and believed that information itself was being reinvented. This is of course impossible but it was a fun idea to play with like a mental bauble of questionable reality. Of course a definition for this impossibly constructed word remained elusive. So some believed that Reinformation would fade into histories scholarly depths, those people are called retards, and we have special homes for them. The rest of us knew that Reinformation would once again raise its nebulous and improbable head. As for what Reinformation means, to know it would be to read Webster’s dictionary and “ Get it” , to cry when somebody said “no, let me explain it again” knowing that the original explanation died in its birthing so future explanations could live, to change the term Reinformation into a continually changing Noun, Adverb, Adjective, verb, and dangling modifier. Its very nature, when understood, would be change. To know it is to break the surly bonds of human logic and touch the face of G-d… and then to have your hand crumble to dust as you are unclean and unfit.

Babylon
The world of idolatry? Inappropriate, but me and you would have lived in such a pre Enochian moral squallier for an endless eternity if the champion against original sin hadn’t raised his inebriated head above times colossal force and engaged history in a meaningful physical debate. Why not worship a single G-d of immeasurable power? It’s a fun idea, one a supreme deity could get on board with instead of a mass of intelligent apes viciously fucking each other to death within a few generations of a cataclysmic flood. Noah, not the man for the job, everything coming from him being a McDonald’s of humanity, history needed some jumper cables. In the haze of a Urian summer Renyold saw the ziggurats, the layered cake of human expression smacking G-ds sun in the face like a drunken whore (since whores are natures upstarts) in perfect Hebraic Acadian, which all non-knuckle draggers used, he expressed the idea of a tower, not just any tower but one from which the world could wage war on this G-d of everything.
Well I don’t have to tell you things didn’t turn out well for that generation, but the division of the world along linguistic lines spawned endless and deviant understandings of the world, like a fever dream reality took on new form. His brain splintered into seventy odd parts, the conscious disconnected and forlorn from the whole he turned to the trick of the Alzheimer’s patient and taught himself to sing his mind. Music, the shit that keeps the cosmos in order and the sun burning at an acceptable level, suddenly hit human consciousness like a meteor in the Yucatan. Express ones lust for the world in lyrical terms if all sensible cohesion was lost? Give me one good answer to why we should do that? That’s right, sex and peace had competition because humanity finally knew what it wanted to do with its life. For the first time, having lost touch with their co-humanists, eating rotten fruit didn’t seem like a bad idea. Humans and elephants bonding in inebriation couldn’t last, dexterity couldn’t be in hand AND nose, this G-d fellow wouldn’t stand for it, plus we were chosen and that’s just how things work, plus where else am I supposed to store umbrellas.
The world seemed destined for drink and a pitiful future, a bit better then it was before, but still a weak contender till under the fog of pomegranate wine Renyold rode out in his G-d like conveyance leading to a polygamist orgy, though the man isn’t to blame as the only sane reaction to the impossible is a debouch in the name of the infinite. Having laid the fundamental groundwork of his species slow march, Empire, possibly the most ‘Metal’ of institutions, red in claw and tooth, made its appearance on the scene.
A river is interesting thing, a physical representation of persistence, stranding Plesiosaurs inland and transforming once salt water Octopi into freshwater monstrosities, than why not enslave the minds of humanity to a single whim, a sensible jump, no? Why did it take my Childs life? Was it an undercurrent? A Crocodile? Or perhaps a vengeful unknown deity exercising its might to impress and intimidate us. If the last case is true in addition to the wealth such a waterway imparts, it must be appeased, great powers require sacrifice, let us bend society to its diluvian will of flood and famine. Anything fucked into existence is cheap in the absence of sentimentality, while vast waters and high places connect to our primal natures, pyramids in the sand and hanging gardens in the desert, the will of the world had been superseded with fragile civilization aping its might, a tipping point that a drunk and half blind Renyold drove into.

Renyold’s Band Omni Media Experience Part 1

2009-10-05T17:35:00.004-04:00

Whatever the musings of mad ole Abdul, spooky reed infested eastern European rivers or even the stoning of random victims to enhance the quality of corn pale in comparison to what I am about to tell you, something whose inalienable reality will shatter the reader's mind making all you have ever ‘known’ false and the myth’s and tales you dismissed as wild fantasy…well those might well remain as such, people have creepy imaginations filled with teenage cheer leading vampires and alternate realities which defy even the extensive realities of infinite time, though this my friends is a tale to be told.
December 21st in the year of your lord 2012 a lowly grease monkey by the name Renyold C. Macantire drunkenly fiddled with his vintage Delorean DMC-12, none of that non-vintage Texas based crap, after having left Ohio State University in disgrace and solitude. Not so much laughed out of the University as having failed to keep his GPA up to their ‘academic’ standards due to his irrationally successful canonization of the sacred fraternity of “Tappa Tappa Keg.”
Once believed to be nothing more than an excuse to drink beer and enjoy the collateral effects of women with low tolerance drinking beer he proved beyond any empirical doubt that the whole basis of the fraternity system relied on the sacred order of Tappa Tappa Keg when the order itself was imported from the bohemian classes of primordial Egypt to the fertile and party loving Aegean shores from which such educational orders have sprung. After the Athenian defeat to Spartan Militarism, and TTK’s eminently sensible attitude of staying ahead of the curb in the face of Macedonian ascension they relocated to the German hinterland where their love of Barley and Hops inspired the Germanic peoples for centuries till their gothic descendants overran the decadent wine drinking peoples of the Roman Empire.
Unfortunately for you, the uninformed reader, I have been sworn to secrecy as far as the orders histories from 476 in the year of the 30 year old virgin till 1977 when the unrecorded visitation of the psychedelic group whose thankful attitude for fatality typifies their band, unleashed cosmic forces unknown to man at that time were recorded by none other than myself Blake Newberry in the inland port city of Cleveland Ohio.
With the native, though deceased, powers of American aboriginals released along with the sickeningly powerful emanations of American Rock mixed with the Shamanic resonance of psychedelic fuckupedness passed through the placental barrier to infuse the embryonic Renyold C. Macantire with mystic knowledge only known by a few wizened fading Beatniks who remained as the sole possessors of the ancient knowledge passed through the ages from the banks of the Nile to our present time, a new age/period/epoch/happy-go-lucky-funtime was born.
Unknown to myself who was dealing with my own Demons, literal ones, not some sort of literal device but an actual demon who haunted me and demanded attention so my concern over a mindfucked hippie princess was less than acute, sorry, that’s just how I role, began a domino like effect which would change history forever.
Born some eight months later in the provincial capital of Columbus Ohio Renyold’s life was bonded to the world of Rock and at times Roll with some supernal connection to Jazz, Blues and certain bastardized mixes of rhythm, gospel and soul music. While his youth and adolescence was amazingly interesting to the point of eclipsing any other coming of age story and setting the standard for ‘boy meets girl stories’ in the western world, I cannot mention it both because of his own wishes and due to the restrictive social requirements of the literary world, fuck you Ayn Rand I will form a collectivist socialist state whenever I damn well please. Women. Anyway…
So, post romantic entanglement (ie an abortion later) our man enrolled in good ole OSU, swearing an eternal hatred towards the cannibalistic, adultering, incest loving minions of Michigan State and the hubris of the estrogen fertilized, grade inflating foppishness of the Ivy League, as all good G-d fearing individuals might do, he became privy to such secret mysteries as he had always suspected, thanks to his ability to hold a cherry long enough to drop it in his drink with his butt cheeks, as the members of The One True fraternity have practiced since time immemorial, though bastardized versions of this initiations have permeated the Greek system, degrading such practices with substitutions like olives in Gin, and disgustingly lemon slices in Tom Collins by some fraternal orders, just because something is called a Cocktail doesn’t mean it should be demeaning, but in this case it applies. None the less the pure and ancient ritual almost forgotten, and relegated to a few uninformed campuses until the arrival and return of the high school graduate Renyold C. Macantire, was born anew.
The original name of the fraternity is unimportant, as are most things, lets face it life is pretty meaningless most of the time. What is important is what he learned from the charcoal prints lifted from ancient and destroyed Germanic rune he stole from the inebriated form of a wizened ex-Nazi professor whose grade wrecking ways left him little sympathy, achtung indeed mein furor, during that most Germanic of festivals in the month of October. From this source he was able to deduce the basis of social cohesion.

To you crazy, enigmatic Russians…with Love!

2009-06-30T10:08:00.000-04:00

Who the hell gave you the right! Of course as a G-d fearing American Family man I have a G-d given right to all that is mine, manifest destiny and all that Jazz, but you Russians? You are harsh breed running on a flammable mix of Class conflict, Vodka and strategic depth and trusting you with let’s say... The Ukraine, just for example, would be like trusting a starving cat with a lame mouse. How many nations greatest founding figure gets “the Terrible” deservedly in their title? Or have tried atheism as a national religion? Or defined a national strategy as let them invade the most fertile and populous portion of our country and then let the winter take care of them? None, that’s who, just you mother Russia in all your intense yet quick to fade beauty. Sure, we are like you in many ways, we go the whole sea to shiny sea thing going, though outside of the summer months could you really consider the Baltic shinning? And sure your society has traditionally had a democratic ting, though never in an ideological sense, more of a, to keep the competing factions from tearing each other’s throats out and then torching the opposing homesteads before we ourselves succumb to our wounds, kind of way.
Then again either Tartic or Native, we both realized the necessity of pacifying nomadic warlike tribes who we once feared, to further our national pride at the expense of their traditionally savage ways, yes, that’s an ethnic policy we can both agree on. Maybe it’s a Mongol thing, I can’t understand the Chinese for the life of me, just a upside down ant farm, maybe having someone able to rape 40,000 descendents into existence in three generations, conquer and subdue ones nation for almost three hundred years will have that effect on a national psyche, or maybe, just maybe you’re just a dark evil people, a primitive relic of our shared primordial Indo-European past like a Neanderthal Empire threatening our Cro-Magnon civilization, I think I saw a anime about that once and like a randy band of Shemale pirates attacking uptight and sexually repressed Japanese businessmen, high quality low frame rate animation is the highest form of chronological transcription, ah, History!
In short you are a enigma, and as Churchill put it, and yes you will be hearing a lot about him, the only key to your thinking is your blatant, blunt and uncomplicated national interests which seems to be centered around adding more buffer territory, planting more wheat and Potato’s and finding more ethnicities to further stratify your social hierarchy with. So let us camp out in some dismal sod hut, pop open a bottle of home distilled Vodka and fear impending Cossack raids together my friends and allow the horrible, feted, screaming waters of the past to flow under the bridge of our mutual distrust, my friend, my comrade.

A Word from our sponsor...

2009-05-20T10:23:00.000-04:00

Board games:
Everyone knows that friends, family, fuck buddies the whole caboodle loves board games. Well we have a eye opening soul wrenching experience to set their souls straight. :
Runaway games-" I have to be home by 11pm, I'm going to sleep with a crack head."seems like a nightmare, it doesn't have to be. Teenage disobedience without remorse or sense has been a reality ever since we gave woman the right to vote. Regardless teenagers psychological health, their minds and bodies have been up for grabs for over a decade and here at Oedipal games we have worked tirelessly to find games to bring our generations disaffected youth together with their parents without weed or a court appointed attorney. '" You don't except my holistic dream vibe as scientific fact" no longer is a psychological act of war but a playful ploy to begin a game of "Runaway games" the board game for disaffected youth prone to trading in their easy suburban lives for one of degrading sex acts and substance abuse.

That's Our Hitler!!! [a rosy cheeked cartoon Hitler is pictured hugging a family on the box cover]- You're a Nazi, I'm a Nazi we are all Nazis!!! Since World War II the best way to end a discussion is to say "Thats what Hitler did' or "You believe that! Your Just like the Nazis" without mentioning that it seems like a singular anomaly for a political party to come to power in the most economically and socially rich country in the world to elect a supreme dictator who at first embarks on liberal programs such as universal health care, a revolutionary systems of transit and the prevention of cruelty to animals even garnering the Olympics only to embark on one of the most brutally decadent and insane programs of social cleansing ever imagined under the veil of World War. While other barbarise countries have done terrible things, I'm looking at you Russia, a Civilized and progressive government has yet to reach their depths to the same extreme, but that doesn't mean we aren't all a little like Hitler and a little like the Nazis and its time to point that out in Oedipal games favorite medium, the Board Game. Oh no you rolled snake eyes, now you have to sign a false confession or go to the spaces in the east! You landed on the Anne Frank house and must go into hiding, lose your next 3 turns, endless fun for the whole family, [cartoon Hitler bursts through Warner Brothers style ending Bumper]
don't make me inform the fun Gestapo because they have ways of making you play!

The Wolves...

2009-05-01T01:22:00.000-04:00

Tesla’s America
By Joshua G. Pollack
Metatron the Divine Herald
I sit on high, the Divine herald of G-d, proclaiming his glory, narrating his Divine Comedy from the celestial partition. The winds are blowing from the east, a child wails in the distance. In front of the hearth sits two, one Nicolas Tesla drunk and despondent, two Mark Twain, the setting is Niagara Falls the turn of the century.

Nicola Tesla
I sold it you know

Mark Twain
Sold what

Tesla
The Death Ray, for 75 dollars and the promise to use it only for good, those Martians were persuasive. It seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Metatron
A wolf’s cry is heard in the distance, curdling blood, a short silence will be observed.

Twain
Do your hear the wolves

Tesla
Edison is on the prowl again, I can feel it, scheming in his New Jersey fortress, like a Walachian Vampire transplanted to the east coast, like Dracula…that was a very good book you know.

Twain
Thank you

Tesla
What?

Twain
Nothing

Tesla
I invented the alternating current you know

Twain
I invented the Atom Bomb you know

Tesla
What?

Twain
The things you can do on a sunny Sunday afternoon when the Curries are out, I was so bored.

Tesla
You know they say by the end of the twentieth century all known diseases will be cured by electricity.

Twain
Who needs to write books when you can harness the power of the Atom…

Tesla
The Tesla coil will be the savior of this new age of mankind…

Twain
Jules Vern ain’t got nothin on me

Tesla
Edison wear’s women’s clothing, did you know that

Metatron
Twain looks down dejectedly, fiddling with his thumbs wondering what he can say.

Twain
Yes, Yes I did know that

Tesla
Figures

Twain
What is that supposed to mean, it’s purely a comfort issue, and you’ll see in ten years everyone will be doing it

Tesla
Just another case of liberal reinformation

Metatron
The word Reinformation was first used in 1454 by the Venetian inventor Reduxious Informentii who saw the transformation of Haga Sophia and believed that information itself was being reinvented. This is of course impossible but it was a fun idea to play with like a mental bauble of questionable reality. Of course a definition for this impossibly constructed word remained elusive. So some believed that Reinformation would fade into histories scholarly depths, those people are called retards, we have special homes for them. The rest of us knew that Reinformation would once again raise its nebulous and improbable head. This is just one example of it.

Twain
What does Reinformation mean?

Tesla
You have asked a mouthful, to know it would be to read Webster’s dictionary and “ Get it” , to cry when somebody said “no, let me explain it again” knowing that the original explanation died in its birthing so future explanations could live, to change the term Reinformation into a continually changing Noun, Adverb, Adjective, verb, and dangling modifier. Its very nature, when understood, would be change. To know it is to break the surly bonds of human logic and touch the face of G-d… and then to have your hand crumble to dust as you are unclean and unfit.
Twain
Well, gee Mister Peabody thanks for the explanation

Tesla
What did you say?

Twain
The cursed dog, why does he torment me, him and his boy, only I can see him, studying me with his spectacled eyes, watching, studying me for weakness, judging my soul!!!

Metatron
They look at each other with distrust and hate and fear swimming through the room, as the ung-dly quiet begins to settle in, and the cold air circulates

Twain
G-d almighty it is getting cold, I am dieing, when I die I will not be mourned by loved ones but by my critics and detractors, knowing I can do no more harm

Tesla
When I die I shall not be mourned or remembered, I will not be in the history books with Bell or Edison, my only Eulogy will be by the G-men as they rifle through my papers looking for secret inventions and insights, cursing me for my lack of Posthumous ingenuity

Twain
Yours is worst

Tesla
Maybe I should go over Niagara in a barrel; at least my death would bring me fame

Twain
It is winter, it is frozen

Tesla
All the more crazy, the kind of quirky end that gets people like me into history books

Twain
I came to lecture

Tesla
I came to install my electric dynamo to harness the power of the Niagara

Twain
Yours is better

Tesla
You know when you said “did you hear the wolves” and I was silent, I lied

Twain
What?

Tesla
I hear the wolves every day of my life.

Twain
Me to

Metatron
The two geniuses’ loose themselves in the night fading to darkness as the Niagara swallows them in its undefended boarders. Twain would go onto die, his Atomic research unaccredited, and Tesla would die forgotten, and G-d laughs on high at the absurdity of it all, a long wail of a laugh, not unlike the cries of wolves.

[Close Curtains]
[Open Curtains with Metatron in trench coat]

Metatron
Telegram for a Mister Tesla, that’s a strange one Russian?

Tesla
Yugoslavian, who are you? What Telegram?

Metatron
Too many questions, here is the telegram, I must be going or no one will know what’s going on.
[Removes Trench coat and returns to his pedestal]
And the mysterious telegraphs men disappeared from the tavern.

Tesla
What? What is going on?

Twain
Not drinking men are you Tesla. Any good drinking American knows you open the letter and only question the circumstances if the contents are negative; I think that one comes from the Bible.

Tesla
[Laconically]
The American Bible.

Twain
Yes, the American Bible written by Jesus smith in Washington DC on July 4th 30 AD right before he took a stage coach to Jerusalem, that American Bible. Open the letter.

Tesla
Telegram
[Opens and reads the “Telegram”]
Yes, Yes! MY experimental blood test on the Edison samples came back, three different types, he is a vampire, or worst Windango…

Op-ed response: The Senator

2009-02-13T14:00:00.003-05:00

Everyone knows that "Rabbi" Xander Shmoiglstein and Dr. Milton Osiris are enemies, right? Shmoiglsteins Ultra-Modern Orthodox movement stresses spirituality, the immortality of the human sole and tax cuts, while Osiris demands focus on corporal reality, existential truth and third trimester abortion rights. Every Sunday while good Christians are begging Jesus to do something about these guys, they smatter the talk show circuit in an endless dissemination of their morally bankrupt, corrupt and oddly sexually arousing ideologies. And now, its taken a half retarded reporter from Cleveland to expose the truth, that these "Gurus" are connected at the pocketbook ( "half-retarded" is not meant a dig against Dr. Newberry. I've met him many times, usually at twilight and under a shroud of mist and although twilight doesnt last for very long, if you run into someone over the course of a lot of twilights, which Dr. Newberry and I it seems have, you really get to know a guy, no matter how much shrouding mist there is. What I've learned is that he suffers from a very acute case of multiple personalities disorder or at least something very similar to it. His other personality is actually quite retarded, though very cute and lovable. So in essence I only mention it to further commend Dr. Newberry for triumphantly managing his disability and to condemn the media at large for being stupid as fuck). Sure when Osiris's Book "Shmoiglstein: Fool or Madman" came out followed shortly after by Shmoiglstein's " Lying liers and the lier king, the lying fish and the lying dove and fuck you Osiris" it look liked an old fashion, political/ pseudo-philosophical grudge match for two men's who's charisma far outshines any expertise that they may or may not have in anything, at all. Then, fifty four combined books, twenty eight lecture series, seventeen themed vacation retreat events, non-stop coverage, full exposure, leaked photos, secret memos, untold numbers of "-gate" suffixed scandals and a record breaking payperview, no holds barred cage match hosted by the WWE, these "enemies" have generated billions of dollars, global fame, an absurd amount of political influence and a free small frosty with every large sized frosty that they pay full price for, an offer most American's have to get coupons for from buying french fries. Now their alliance is exposed in the largest and only literal and metaphorical pyramid scheme ever perpetrated. When asked why no action has been taken, a Federal prosecutor talking to "Bunker Life Weekly" stated," look if we can't get this guy (Shmoiglstein) on the numerous and diverse counts of sexual misconduct that he has been unceasingly accused of by an ever increasing number of women, a charge so obviously consistent with his reputation, with his behavior and with his youthful yet, fatherly good looks, do you really think the public is going to bite at the suggestion of an obscure and frankly ridiculous sounding conspiracy, the truth of the matter of which would be almost impossible to establish in the noise of the whirlwind of the spin that would surround it?" The reporter from "Bunker Life" reportedly then laughed at the anonymous Federal prosecutor, as I to will right now, hahahaha, ok that's Enough!

Shocking News: Rabbi X indicated on massive Jewish Slavery ring

2009-01-22T08:36:00.004-05:00

Brooklyn, NY- It came to our attention early Tuesday morning that, "Rabbi X" the leading voice of Ultra-Modern Orthodox Jews has begun selling massive burial pyramids to his congregation in order to bolster his building fund. Our source in Brooklyn, the Senator, brought this to our attention after he received a series of Brochures accidentally delivered to his Williamsburg "shag den." In addition to a series of diagrams and illustrations the basic text of the document went as such:

"Are you uncomfortable with the idea that after you die your body will rot and dissipate into the cold and unforgiving earth? Does it bother you how such a process is symbolic for the more abstract process of the memory of your presence on earth eventually and inevitably being forgotten? Some people want you to believe that through inward focus and spiritual awakening you can simply make these nagging and terrifying realities float away, much as cookie dough relieves the anguish of solitude for the lonely. But for us, the more rational and realistic, we realize that it takes something much sturdier, physically larger and of course more extravagantly expensive. I'm Dr. Milton Osiris of Dr. Osiris's Pyramids and Pyramid supplies. Here at O.P.P. we offer you a very simple historical reality, pyramids have been around for a long ass time. What other burial structures have stood the test of time like pyramids? Crypts? Caves? Perhaps Mounds? Perhaps, but is that how you want to manifest your quasi-eternal physical self manifestation? Its up to you would you rather be known as the guy buried in the mound or the man entombed in the Pyramid of Osiris. Face it nothing beats the classic desert pyramid, built with real old timey stone by real Jewish Slaves...cough, cough... I mean by real muti-ethnic slaves."

While the idea of extravagant burial is nothing new the last line of the brochure demanded additional inquiry. After finding most of the states legal slave markets closed for almost two centuries I realized that his sources must be illegal and sought to enlist my good friend, and dirty work professional, the Fellonist to tap the rabbi's telegraph, which he uses to avoid alien interference and interception, but whose security is no match for the Fellonist, and last night we finally hit pay dirt with the following message from Dr. Osiris, the business associate and personal physician of Rabbi X:

"X[stop] Need more Hebrew mind slaves [stop] wraith of vengeful God slowing production [stop] i saw your kids pics on facebook [stop] Raizil Shmilza is getting so big [stop] "

While Raizil Shmilza is becoming quiet the big girl, the proof that Rabbi X has been involved in a ancient cults burial practices and the enslavement of his own community has lead to local politician vowing to "look into this matter further," which I am sure means a full range of Golf course Jokes and mild mannered banter on the subject until it can be safely swept under the rug. Though the leadership has been less the proactive in shutting down these illegal activities it has yet to be seen whether or not there Will be a public outcry on the subject...

American Looking Glass: George, Under the Bowler

2008-12-14T07:22:00.000-05:00

Without order there is chaos, without Justice there is abuse, without me the fine line that separates the world from the primal abyss would dissolve into nothingness. Despite the essential nature of my quest, even a avenging angel needs a friend some times, and as I sat over a heating element trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich in my barrowed Branson Missouri studio apartment, I needed a friend more then anything, except for that grilled cheese, so searingly, molten, and cheesy. Keeping the cosmic order is lonely thankless work; killing for the sake of maintaining balance is frowned upon in the western world for some reason. It hadn’t been a problem before, oh sure the occasional twinge of regret when I saw two lovers in a park through my telescopic lens a second before separating them forever, or when friends met in their favorite pub, oblivious to ticking time bomb in the restroom that would cut the reunion short, but it had never truly effected me until I had met my first friend.
On assignment in Wonderland a lovable if not slightly dim man had followed me, and had shown me something like…kindness. Sure I had read about such thing, and knew they existed, but only in the cerebral academic sense not in the visceral natural manner. This friendship had taught me that there was more to life then just killing, there were emotions that were reliant on others, something these mortals call empathy, and I was addicted; and like all addicts I now wanted more, I wanted to learn about this strange human emotion they call… Love, which I had thought was only true in fairy tales, meant for some one else but not for me, but it turns out love can be had by anybody, though first I had to eat that damn sandwich.
After chewing that sandwich to hell, I embarked on my quest, and as for any quest into the unknown I would need a guide, I would need my friend. The problem with my friend is that he’s not always himself; he has a split personality, one side a dim lovable Lanyard quisling, the other a mind not unlike an obsidian blade of pedantic furry, which one you get is as much a matter of luck as anything. One side saw me as a friend, the other as a vile assassin who kills for the Lanyard conglomerate which controls the fates of so many, who has destroyed the futures of countless individuals, and that he has declared a personal war against. I don’t actually work for them, it’s just the fact that our interests had overlapped and I felt like picking up a paycheck for once, I want nice things too damn it. Yet, I had to affect some sort of resolution to his hostility, possibly acquiring yet another coveted friend, a kind of two in one type deal. I packed my things and torched the apartment, as the owner no longer had any purpose for it, and I road out in my black 1930’s Cadillac into the night, which embraced me like a weary whore.
After concluding some minor business on the way, and finishing a borrowed books on tape set of the abridged Hardy boys adventures, wondering why they never “finished” the job. I pulled into his driveway, as he was getting out for his 4:30am jog, I waved him down and he ran to me and gave me a hug, a little too hard but beggars can’t be choosers. I was informed that he had recently received a raise, and that Ted “Hawkeye” Muldoon, the greatest of the Midwestern Superhero’s, was staying with him, sleeping on his couch right then. The palms of my hands were itching with desire to kill Hawkeye, as he had unbalanced the scale so many times, but I knew I could only act when the order came; if I killed him now I would be no better then the Germans, well maybe a little better but that is neither here nor there. I decided to meet this self-proclaimed righter of wrongs, and it turns out he is as charming as he is occupationally aggravating. He had never seen me and figured I must be a friendly, and soon I didn’t want to kill him anymore, just cut him up a bit, and after a while longer, I wished him no bodily harm whatsoever. We spent the next few hours playing Monopoly, by which I mean we dressed up as wealthy robber Barons and discussed how the poor are poor because they’re lazy, not the popular board game as that takes too long and often causes people to become overly competitive. After that my friend told me he had to go to work or else he’ll loose his place at the big kids table, and have to take up eating with his stuffed animals again. After he left, Hawkeye and I had a heart to heart, and I explained my situation in its entirety, as friends don’t lie to friends, or at least not until you know each other better, as some believe lying is sign of maturity and closeness, mostly Canadians but it’s still technically a belief. He didn’t believe me at first but I preformed the heavenly Choir and beam of light trick that is the calling card of our trade. He told me he was glad I didn’t lie to him since we had just met and all, those commonwealth nationals, they’re all the same. I explained the situation and reason for my visit specifically, and he was immediately on top of it, “A trip to Tijuana, my good man, the best and cheapest women around” I explained to him how I was looking for love not for a Tijuana street walker, he just shook his head saying “you got to walk before you run man, baby steps, sick, sick, baby steps.” I tried to explain to him how the two were completely different, and the same solution could not be applied to both, he just gazed at me with a lack of understanding that made me almost want to cry, we were both in the same boat.
Just then my host burst through the door and yelled “ My hot, interesting, non-threateningly successful FEMALE!!! Cousin is coming to stay with me for a week, and I need some one to show her the town, she’ll be hear tonight.” I didn’t know why he shouted the word female so loud, but I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through my grasp. Simultaneously both Ted and I raised our hands, and my friend exclaimed, “ Oh, so you both want to take her out, well I guess we will have to have a contest won’t we, doing competitive and challenging task for…” Ted broke in saying “ If George wants to take her out that’s cool, I was just trying to be polite, I mean its not like she’s Mexican or anything, right?” I could have lied to Ted right there and then, but instead I mumbled “Whatever”, and asked my host, “ Aren’t you supposed to be at work.” He took on a smug look and said, “ Maybe I am or maybe I’m…Oh, shit” and he bolted out of the door and in a panicked frenzy ran into my car on the way out.
My chance had come earlier then expected and it was just then that I realized I had absolutely nothing to wear. The Tuxedo and Bowler look that had worked for so long was only appropriate for eerie intimidation, and I doubt that kind of emotion would be useful in a dating situation…or would it, the answer is no. I needed to get a new look, unfortunately neither Ted or my host were especially stylish, Ted opting for the ruff and tumble Aussie look when off duty and my Hosts non-work cloths all had the Sponge Bob Logo on them, by design or sown on. I had to get a new suit, and fast, I needed Sinore’ Montagna, the greatest Tailor in the whole Midwest, I immediately took forth the Bulls Horn he had given me centuries ago and blew on it calling him from his hundred years slumber, and in a flash of smoke and colorful sparks the great Man appeared at my doorstep. Ted looked taken a back saying, “ There must have been a long internal monologue going on there because I have absolutely no idea why that all just happened,” and he never would. No words were necessary, Sinore’ Montagna new exactly what to do, and me talking would only break his delicate concentration, Ted tried to ask me what was going on, but in my most eerily intimidating fashion I put my index finger to my lips, never saying a word. In an hour he had finished and I bade him farewell as he walked out vanishing into the afternoon haze, and I looked fantastic. From my Alligator loafers to my black fedora, Freddy Maze didn’t have shit on me, for whatever reason he might have to. If any women could resist me, that women would have to be a lesbian, or have some sort of chemical imbalance that decreases libido and increases her bitch factor, a disease which all to often gets passed over in our increasingly apathetic society, but who really gives a shit, I looked good. Ted just turned around and walked away mumbling “Naughty thoughts, Naughty thoughts, Bad Hawkeye, Bad”, and I knew this suit would work just fine.
Just then my host ran through the door and screamed “She’s here, she’s here” and an attractive twenty something hipster carrying two bags walked in shaking here head at her cousins show of emotion. I offered to carry her bags to her room; she just smiled at me and gave me a big hug. I could see the family resemblance. She had come as part of a Hazmat team sent to clean up the abandon Stadium which had mysteriously exploded a few days earlier, but she hoped to see some of the sights and spend some time with her cousin while in town, charming. Then a problem came up, this two bedroom house all of a sudden had four adults who needed separate sleeping spaces, for now, and only one bed and one sofa and a divan, some one was with out bed, and I would have to sleep in the Cadillac, though I did announce that everyone should be grateful for my chivalry, and hoped she noticed. We all sat down for dinner which my host had picked up from the local six flags, I have never known anyone to make an entire meal of Funnel cakes and French Fries, but he made it work. Unfortunately one of the first things she asked me was what I did for a living, Avenging Angel wouldn’t work, neither would hit man, but I had to say something. “ I…make…Fires”, oh shit, that’s worst then the previous two, but Ted was there to rescue me “ He is a conservationist, he has been doing controlled burns for the last couple months. And I just know that because were friends, not because of any weird attraction I have to him…dammit, damn that G-d damned suit, I need to go now.” “ So how do you afford a suit like that on a rangers salary” she asked, to which I responded “ Oh this old thing, got it off a hobo I killed in Reno just to watch him bleed, wait I was just joking a joke, I made it out of spider silk and dreams, crap I need to go to the bathroom.” I ran to the bathroom, I was breathing too hard, I was screwing this all up, I had been in some pretty crazy situations but females are by far the freakiest. Her strange curves and gentle ways were screwing with my mind; I needed to calm the hell down. I went back out and said “ Sorry for that, damned sugar highs, so what were you saying”” no problem” she said, but I knew she didn’t feel entirely comfortable because of me and Ted’s off color remarks and behavior, so I decided to go to bed early, and I stepped out to my car.
I awoke to the barrel of a cold war era AK-47 being brandished by my host who yelled, “ Get the hell out of the car pig, we’re going to have our selves a little party.” I edged out of the car weighing the necessity of striking him down, but decided to see what happened first. Hawkeye stumbled out of the house mumbling “what the hell” over and over, my host replied “ Caught the friggin Assassin, sleeping in front of our house, probably going to kill us in our sleep, or worst try and get us to fill out one of those damn census forms, don’t they freaking realize G-d hates censuses, they’re playing with forces they can’t possibly understand.” To which Ted stated “ No, that’s George he is staying with us for a few days, remember, you two met on the wonderland case, he’s a friendly man.” By this time I had decided Blake had woken up, and now that he had been brought up to speed he seemed to lose the edge. He lowered the gun hesitantly and put his hand forward saying “ Sorry George, just like to wake up all my guests that way, keeps them on their toes, and makes them complacent for the final ‘clean up’ but there is no point in discussing that now.” I knew he was covering for the switch, he must not have told anyone about his condition, but I was just glad there would be no blood spilt. The cousin finally poked her head out to find-out what all the commotion was about, and Blake told her “ Don’t worry Sarah, George and I were just playing Mia Lai, go to sleep, just another crazy day here, it’s a mad house I tell you, a mad, mad house.” Wow, that man can explain away anything, not really that well but who am I to judge, but if somebody is judged and is found wanting well then I get to do a little dance, make a little love, oh I would get down tonight, and by getting down I mean I would kill someone. Anyhow we were all tired, and it was decided that we should all get back to sleep. In the morning I awoke to the far more pleasant sight of Sarah bringing me a cup of Coffee, I tried to stammer out a thank you, but I couldn’t, and it didn’t matter she just smiled and said “your welcome” and walked back inside.
After a shower and breakfast she had to go to work, and Ted and I had to figure out something to do with our time. “ Why don’t we go on patrol mate, I mean purely platonic friend, and why don’t you first change into your work suit for the love of G-d and all that is holy” he said. I responded, “ Do you realize the hardships I have to go through because of your ‘patrols’? Do you understand how many more people I have to kill to even out what you do, sure the people I kill are probably worst and more deserving but damn it its terrible to have to kill anyone, why can’t you just let things happen so I don’t have to spend my nights with the screams of my victims echoing through my head, unable to drink away my pain because of my angelic anatomy, only the pain of trying to eat a too hot grilled cheese sandwich to distract me from what I have done… Gotcha, holy shit man you should see the look on your face.”
After he calmed down it was decided that I would go with him, I’m on vacation damn it and I want to spoil myself a bit, though I convinced him to use my Cadillac instead of the Hawktor as, lets face, it looks retarded, like a tricked out tractor with some decals to define its hawkness, plus I had air conditioning. Just as we were pulling out he got a call on his Hawky-Talkie, and his face took on a hard edge as he told me “ To the demolished Stadium, and step on it for the love of G-d,” it turns out the charges he had set off a few days earlier had not killed but instead trapped several of the Mutants, and the clean up crew had uncovered these terrible giants and they were running amok in the Downtown area. We were there in just under a minute, death was everywhere, and there were three mutants ripping the place apart, and one of them had Sarah. It was demanding that Blake Newberry come forward or else they were going to kill her, I had to do something, and if I know how to do anything its how to do something. I sprung forward, like a PCP enraged hick at a cop, drew my trusty sword from its cane sheath, jumped, and drove the blade into the eye socket of the leading mutant giving it a full frontal lobotomy, instantly taming it. Ted had jumped on the back of the other Mutant riding it like an enraged bull, and yelled at me to go for Sarah. The Mutant had retreated from the fight as he suddenly found himself outnumbered, vulnerable, and in his cowardice he retreated to the top of the Lanyard Dome, there was no way up for those of average stature, but I had a way. I shifted out of reality into the astral plane, and then back to reality right behind the giant, it seems he had underestimated my sneakiness. I tried to creep up on him but his sense were too keen and he whirled about and punched me full forces throwing me back a few hundred yards and embedding me in the reinforced iron of the Dome. He moved towards me, surprised a finishing blow was necessary, but glad to give it. Just as I thought I would be crushed, a spray of bullets forced the mutant back, Blake Newberry piloting a old Fokker biplane and blaring “Ride of the Valkryies” bared down for a second pass, but the bullets bounced off the mutant like a light, non-penetrating, rain. The mutant let loose an arrogant laugh, and as he did I chucked an incendiary grenade into his misshapen maw. He choked and moaned with pain, vomiting blood and then collapsed, and I had to catch Sarah mid-fall, but she was fine. She looked into my eyes, trying to stammer out a thank you, I just said “Your Welcome.”
From that point on I was like one of the family, Sarah and I have quite a bit in common it turns out, including: A love of classical style, an interest in theology, Jobs that require a lot of traveling, and a healthy respect for those who keep the celestial balance. I don’t know if I have truly found love but I do know I have not not found love.

Ollie Into Heaven: Alcohol

2008-12-10T06:47:00.001-05:00

Remember "When you learn with Rabbi X, Rabbi X doesn’t change, Rabbi X changes you!"

Brothers and Sisters,
Today I want to talk to you about the blessed affliction our community is struggling with, Alcohol, as one of the great sages of our day put it “The answer to and cause of all the world’s problems.” One cannot understand our zany topsy-turvy religion without its mysteriously disassociative properties. I mean one day me and all the rabbi’s of the Gemara are having a nice picnic till Onkeleos pulls out the Jack Daniel’s and the next thing you know Rav Sheishis is in neck deep water with a sunburn and a disemboweled slowly congealing chicken hat while playing air guitar, Rabbi Akiba is up a tree with a hard-on and I’m in Reno and have just married the most repulsive women I have ever seen because she had a hotly appropriate name. Yes, all these things have happened, maybe not at the same time, or in the context I have mentioned or in such a comfortably sacrilegious manner, or with me actually involved, but we as a people have never been big on the direct, clear and chronologically correct narratives, why? Drink’in! Break the Vessel and join the fun.
One can’t hope to understand the last 3,000 years of Jewish development without it, hell the Messianic hopes that we all hold as our dearest and greatest hopes for the future, since, let’s face it, the next generation has been a bit of a letdown, is founded in Alcohol induced Incest, the First Temple was built by getting a demon drunk, and some of our more spectacular assassinations have involved cold wine and hot women, but that was just the beginning people. For nearly two millennia our people had to suffer the weak and lowly intoxication of Wine and Beer, but then a Irish Monk who was probably Jewish, because that how we like these things to work out, invented Whiskey, and then everything changed, the dark ages ended and the age of the Kabbalah began!
Sure some “Secular” authorities might try to break it down into Medieval, Renaissance, Enlightenment, Industrial, Modern and Post-Modern eras/ages but we know its all about the Kabbalah. Sure it was once known as the natural law as seen through the prism of Torah knowledge, but that was lost until we, we being the aforementioned closeted Jewish Irish monk, who incidentally might or might not have entered a bar with two other ironically spectacular ethnic/cultural specimens, check the mesorah, distilled natural law into the magical elixir we now refer to as hard liquor.
All of a sudden a lowly sheep herder can gain unlimited spiritual heights by getting trashed and jamming on his flute in front of the ark, why? Because that’s how we roll, actual Torah scholarship, which is more important than making a living, obeying your parents and proper hygiene combined is all trumped by spirituality, which some foolish individuals might describe as those cosmic truths beyond our current ability to understand but which we learn to sharpen our basic skills knowing that we don’t understand the whole truth but hope that what we are doing will allow us to understand lesser ones, those people are heretics and should be shunned passively but aggressively. We know that spirituality is that warm feeling one gets on the beach with their eyes closed, which is also the feeling one gets from fuzzy cosmological ideas that gives one a sense of knowing more than we do, that and…Alcohol!
Those creepy logic obsessed people we talked about before might say that is just a placebo, a symptom of lesser logic competing with the higher mind, but we know that there are two kinds of drinkers me and you who use to bring us closer to each other, very close, and close to the Rebbe through which we become closer to G-d, and then there are Goyim, sick, disgusting depraved Goyim who drink and hook up in bars while burning shtetles and shaving our beards with impunity, and not those beards which look like they need shaving!
So remember Alcohol within the context of “our” religion is a blessed portal to higher understanding and a grand tradition, and the preferred means of Ollie’ing into heaven,while any other context is the realm of Goyim and their greatest idol, the Evil Eye.

Ollie Into Heaven:Sub-objectivity

2007-12-17T12:14:00.000-05:00

As you all know here at the Ollie into Heaven Project we're all about keepin it real. And what more effective tool for keepin it real is there than the age time honored method of breakin it down. There is so much conflict these days about what is objectively true and what is subjectively true, its so confusing and as we all know confusion is the yetzer hara's special application scoped rifle pointed straight at your face. But shhhh don't worry, at Ollie into Heaven there is no Objective or Subjective, there is only Sub-objective. Sound complicated? Dude it's so not. History is complicated. I mean for real, the entire compiled record since the dawn of civilization. Is that a red dot on your forehead cause I think the yetzer hara's about to pop? But lets face it without objective history, we dont have past events as a reference to plan our future actions. Congratulations the yetzer hara just splattered your brains all over your crying mothers face. It's called mesora dude, now we're getting sub-objective. With mesora we can make up fantastic stories that heroic figures may or more likely never did and base our future actions on those. So lets say in real life some rabbi had a job and supported his family responsibly while minimizing his work schedule and leisure time in order to commit that time to his learning and prayer, are you feeling fuzzy? I don't know I kind of feel like I want to punch that rabbi in the face. How about instead an angel, or better yet another dead rabbi comes to a rabbi and tells him that he has to commit his whole life to study or else his whole life will be a huge waste and then when his family is about to starve to death a king or like a forest troll or something gives him like a box of gold that he then gives to another poor rabbi only to be rewarded by yet another box of gold. Now I'm rock hard! History rewards consistency, fortitude and unwavering commitment, mesora rewards fantastical, super- human behavior and here at Ollie into heaven we are nothing if not Super humans.

Ollie into Heaven: Brooklyn

2007-12-16T18:59:00.000-05:00

Brothers and Sisters,
Let us not kid ourselves, no wait, let us kid ourselves but for the time being let us ignore systematic logic and go with my gut on this one, we ain’t moving to Israel, just not happening. Its far away, hot, has a large population of African Jews which we will feel obligated to except but never feel truly comfortable around, and constant Arab aggression which forces us to question our commitment to our ideals and convictions, lets face it, those Jews are survivors, the solid unbreakable core of Jewish scrappiness that Hitler Yamach Shamo was talking about, while we are more the kind to line up for a train ride to the east for an ambiguous labor seminar, but fear not Rabbi X has got your back.

We have something better, closer, easier, and more ethnically divided, we have Brooklyn. That glorious city on the river, that urban expression of our psyche, that center of purely esoteric knowledge and culture where even the poor and ignorant are pretentious, a city were nobodies and nothings can make something of themselves… Brooklyn... Say it softly and it is a song, loudly and it is a prayer. Halls of study so grand one never has to suffer the light of day, and a dogmatically clannish attitude towards the world, a social cocoon so warm and intentionally judgmental that the outside world becomes an illusion from which our sustenance comes to us like manna from heaven, but whose angels and demons are to be loathed and shunned. Here at the center for Jewish Guilt and Persecution we know who the true Jews are, Brooklyn Jews, everyone else is pitiably misguided by these goyim, with their reasonable guiltless lifestyles, tempting us with their existence, and their faux attempts at spirituality.

In Brooklyn we can be our political, quarrelsome, divisive selves without fear of judgment, there are always more communities, more chances to game the system, more chances to destroy those we profess to love, it is a world with infinite Jews made for no one. In Brooklyn we are the Chosen people not because of what we do, what we remember, how we present ourselves to the world, but because we say so, and isn’t that a more realistic/comfortable attitude?

So remember, we are no longer wandering Jews, there is no exile, we are already home, we are in Brooklyn.

Ollie Into Heaven: The Evil Eye

2007-12-14T11:32:00.001-05:00

Brothers and Sisters,
I have been noticing of late the drop off in the sale of our red string, a drop off in faith, a drop in how much G-d loves you, and I will not stand for it. Sure my love for you on behalf of this G-d fellow is quite extensive, but I can’t be around all night to protect you…from the Evil Eye. Its realm is dark, fetted and filled with everything a person could ever complain about, with the souls of Christians and Apostates boiling in a soup of Semen and Menstrual blood, with harems of demonic shiksa wenches dancing around his 360 degree’s of visual malice, a place, that without proper protection you are all doomed to. There are those deceptive souls who will tell you that the Evil Eye is just an idea, that it is just an expression of the danger the Envy of those not equally blessed pose to those who have known good, an expression to ward off boisterous talk one might engage in the presence of embittered people. People who say such things are the agents of the eye.
I know the eye is real.
Years ago, before becoming the spiritual megalith you see before you I craved many things, things left unfulfilled do to my G-dless ways, before my awesome vision of Big R and the Material girl, things I thought would come to me if only I could become a true bluesmen. Having buried a autographed photograph of my hero Elijah Muhammad, the bones of a black cat, and box of my nail clippings at a Mississippi crossroad, he came to me. Giant and mercurial, throbbing darkness, as I cursed myself for leaving my surfing Hamsa at home, its glare burned into my being, revealing my mistakes, my sins, just generally being judgmental and making me feel uncomfortable with myself, which in the end is the greatest sin of all.
Well then I sobered up, but I will always remember my night with the Eye, and how useful the symbol of universal observation is, how little of ourselves we show in good taste, and how uncomfortable it is for others to see ones true self.
And as I look out onto this crowd of sinners, thieves, pederasts, and wealthy donors I see a lot that people wish to hide, that people need protection from, things that they would hate the community finding out about, things that they can keep hidden with a small donation and a few dollars worth of red string. So as you browse our gift shop remember, security isn’t the only thing watching…

Ollie Into Heaven: Introduction to our philosophy

2007-12-14T11:30:00.000-05:00

Brothers and Sisters,
I used to be like you: Spiritual, Sincere, and Sexually perverse in ways that would make Woody Allen cringe...non-nuerotic ways [wait for gasps and hushes], but then the alliteration of my life changed. One day when I was rock climbing on E with my sexually ambiguous life partner the Rebbe came to me in a vision, holding hands with Madonna, not the Madonna, just Madonna, and explaining the faults of my personal philosophy. For so...no, wait... too long I had felt that a closeness to G-d required a commitment to personal dignity and self improvement, to change I had to become something more, now thanks to the R man in the sky and Madonna, I realize I just have to be something different with an ideology so convoluted that by the time everyone finds out what I really am I will have...wait for it...Ollied into heaven!

That's right the long and hard road to spiritual enlightenment has a lip on it, and that lip is a mixture of Eastern Mysticism, Socially Dynamic clergy and everyone’s favorite Kabballah. For centuries Judaism was the religion of dignity and reason, but thanks to the mind crushing crucible that is a millennia and a half of EXTREME! Eastern European persecution the isolated enclaves of Jews created a slave ideology that would bring a solitary tear to an Egyptians eye. Traditionally Astrology, Cosmology, and abstract symbolism has been realm of Pagans, Cults, and Demagogues, but no more will we bound solely to an all knowing, all being, all powerful deity. We have once again reclaimed our right to small powers we can relate to on a personal level, pleasant Yokes of self worship less powerful then ourselves, you can now be dominated by the unknown as much as, or as little as, you want. We have an a excellent staff of quasi-shaved costumed Rabbi's waiting to remove your guilt through donations, the sale of chai necklaces to ward of the all knowing evil eye which dominates the darkness within all of us and commands respect equal to any G-d, prayer and spiritually manipulative sex, like the Kama Sutra spiced with guilt and garnished with self loathing.

Come Study with us, and remember study means spend time with us so we can build a reporte before we start asking for money, just to be clear, I mean who ever heard of someone wanting to learn with the poor, destitute, and of embittered spirit, those people are downers and a waste of all of our time, Rabbi X only studies with winners, are you a winner?

Ollie Into Heaven: It begins

2007-12-14T11:29:00.000-05:00

There are some big questions out there…

Questions others are too afraid/responsible to answer…

People like your father…

People like you?

Does the fact that you're gonna DIE... scare you to DEATH? Do you feel like you're already dead? Was a sense of purpose and self assuredness something you just weren't born with? Yes you say, but what can I do about it. A life-long struggle to find myself is just too long, especially in the fast paced world of today. Deep study and commitment to the beliefs, convictions and goals of my forefathers is so cold and un-dramatic. How can I turn the journey to enlightenment into a chaotic whirlwind of unmitigated self-righteousness and pitiable self-loathing?

These are the questions, now without further ado, the answer…

Well Broham, you gotta learn to OLLIE INTO HEAVEN!!
with Rabbi Xander Shmoiglstein!

BN: How do you do it Rabbi Shmoiglstein?
Rx: Call me Rabbi X.
BN: Ok, Rabbi X
Rx: No, no, just X.
BN: ...Ok then X
Rx: No, no Rabbi X, gotta let the people know I'm trustworthy.
BN: Ok Rabbi X, tell us about your hysterically un-centered philosophy.
Rx: Well man first, fuck all that other bitch ass Torah, this shit is straight Kaballah. Steps one and two have always been for nerd pussies. We go straight to step three.
BN: Wow, that does sound uncentered. So how does Ollie Into Heaven work?
Rx: Its all about the idea that when you can you can and when you can't you can't, but the point is that you can and you have to, all the time.
BN: Volatile yet sustainable, I like it. Lets hear from some of Rabbi X's satisfied minions, any questions/comments from the flock:

Audience member#1: I'm in love with this program. Rabbi X's recklessness with mysticism makes it all about duality rather than unity so when you had sex with me, I knew that it was only disgusting blemish on my reprehensible body that could easily be cleansed away by the awesome power of my soul, my clean, clean soul…I love you Rabbi X! You’re the Messiah! [ carted out of the auditorium]

Audience member#2: Everything I don't like God doesn't like and everything I do like, God loves, thank you Ollie into Heaven and thank you Rabbi X!

BN: Well that’s all the time we have for this symposium, come back next week when we will be discussing the Evil Eye in greater depth.

Fly in the Face of Convention

2007-06-28T09:41:00.001-04:00

When I was nineteen I discovered a certain fly buzzing about my dorm room, and something intrigued me about this fly. It was slightly larger and less annoying then most flies, making a light purring noise like a satisfied cat, instead of the annoying drone of its brethren. I think this fly fancied himself some what of an aristocrat perching himself on the rim of my Manhattan and spitting in it and drinking it back up. I figured my drink contaminated, so I abandoned it to the dandy insect, and went to sleep sober. The next day I awoke to see the drink empty and the fly drunkenly wobbling up to the top of the glass just to role back down. He tried once more, but fell back and passed out. Feeling sorry for the little bugger I cut a piece of lime for a morning treat and fixed it to the rim of the glass and left for class. When I returned I found him gingerly nibbling on the lime, making a satisfied squeaking noise. I found this too damn cute. I decided I would make him my pet, naming it Earnest Hemingway the II, after another prodigious booze hound.
He became a fixture in my life, perched upon my shoulder, like a parrot from Chernobyl. I taught him a few tricks like fetching small crumbs, playing dead, and taking standardized tests. My friends thought it was kind of creepy to have an oversized purring fly on my shoulder. They just couldn’t understand Ernie, as I have come to call him; he was rejected by fly conventions due to his exotic tastes and impeccable social graces. To force him back into that barbarous and hellish life, to make his existence short, ugly, and brutish, would be a crime against enlightenment. He was not stuck up or anything like that, I would often find him sitting back on a Pilsner glass dropping back some Sam Adams with drunken frat boys, or doing Vodka shots with members of the Russian mafia, and other unsavory characters. Whenever he would get in too deep with these types I would have to come in and extricate him, but before I could get angry at him he would just give me that wide-eyed look he couldn’t help but give due to his lack of eyelids. All was forgiven as we embraced.
I once took him to a Picasso exhibit as he had shown immense interest in his blue period work. Unfortunately, it was his cubist work, and Ernie couldn’t see what the big deal was. It wasn’t because he couldn’t understand and appreciate abstract art- quite the contrary -abstract and conceptual art was Ernie’s favorite, which was why I was so confused by his disinterest. Late that night it finally came to me that with his refractive vision, his kaleidoscopic world was just to cubist for Picasso to ever live up to.
After about two weeks I began to worry. Flies generally live for no more then a month, and my new found platonic love for Ernie was too deep to lose him so soon. I began to research ways to extend his life. I didn’t sleep a single night for three days as I searched every source for a cure for his all too short life span. As the fourth day of sleeplessness was about to consume my mind, Ernie flitted from his Gin Rickey to my video collection, and he landed on the horror classic The Fly. Eureka.
All I had to do was build a matter transporter, we would both get in it, and boom we would share genetic materials and he could live. I trusted Ernie to only do good with his super powers, being the gentlemen’s gentleman he was, so I got to work. For the next week I did nothing but research and build. My technical abilities and sanity were stretched to their limits. On day 27 after our first meeting I had finished it, tested it on the Janitor for safety sake, and then Ernie and I went in. It worked… too well. We both came out the other end unchanged. We tried it a few more times before I gave up and smashed the transporter in to fragmented shards. I always hated Star Trek.
After that we tried to make every last moment count, visiting all the cultural sights he could tolerate, and jiving with coolest cats at the hippest cafés. We drank… lets just say we drank oblivion under the table. Then on the 30th night in our drunken reveries we fell asleep, both believing our friendship wouldn’t survive the dawn.
When I awoke Ernie was on his back in his favorite Martini glass. Tears started to fill my eyes as I cupped his body in my trembling hands, and then he flipped over and exclaimed “Tadaa”, in his flittering voice, his first word.
Over the next year Ernie grew both as an individual, and physically, growing to the size of a football. At this point he grew aware of his nakedness and made me tailor him a smoking jacket, and as a result he immediately took up smoking small cigars and a pipe I had carved for him from a piece of cherry wood. He had also increased his vocabulary to include, “Smashing”, “bully”, “Dadaist”, “overrated”, and a series of Latin phrases, leading me to believe that if not for the exertion of speaking through his proboscis he could speak fluent English. After he had attained such skill, and style, I thought it best for him to keep a low profile. Disney had been sending its costumed hooligans to find out about Ernie, and I believe this is what caused Ernie to go red.
While I think he found Marx’s ideas as stupid as any sane man would, he found the corporate structure of America, a structure which would deny him the basic rights that should be afforded to any thinking being, to be an unsound structure in which he would not participate. He set his mind on going to Cuba, reasoning that a corrupt communist structure was better for his continued well-being and growth, rather than an efficient and cunning corporate one. I made him a disguise of a white suit, shirt, tie, and Panama hat. His bags packed, he left in the dead of night- he so hated good-byes.
A month later I received a letter from Ernie. He had bribed his way into citizenship, and a small seaside mansion. He enclosed a photograph of himself in a rocking chair nursing a Martini and Cuban cigar. He became a successful author under a series of pen names, and lives in Cuba still, deep in the abandoned American Colony. Writing, living and drinking, he writes me often in his beautiful looping letters. He sometimes asks me to come and join him, but I can’t. Our lives have diverged, my friends and family are here, I can’t leave, but I will always treasure my friendship with Earnest Hemingway the II.

A Special Poem about women's bathrooms

2007-02-04T20:14:00.000-05:00

A women’s bathroom

The tiles glazed an opalescent white
Polished by orthodontic hands

Cold and smooth, refreshingly clean
Ventilated and fresh, no hint of mildew

The sweet scent of the woman’s bathroom
Untainted by male musk and stank

As if women defecated only rose petals and doves
As we always dreamed they did

The rows of shampoo bottles enhanced, purified, and abundant
And their lady in waiting, conditioner, as plentiful as their liege

You open the frosted speckles pain
Sliding unfettered, as if greased with ambrosia

Into a bathtub covered in razors

The Jew Hater

2007-02-01T13:51:00.001-05:00

I sat in his Jew office, a mockery of a real office, with his pictures of family and friends, and his pagan idols, marked with "Employee of the month" and " Award for continuing service" no doubt given to him to appease his heathen lust for polytheism.

Where are the crucifie and icons to remind you of G-d's glory, the Virgin Mary and the relicquaries that give form to our belief in G-d's son who these people killed.

The Jew. I call him that because to me they all look alike,came in, in his Jew garb. I mean who wears a suit and tie these days.

" Well everything seems to be in order, I'll show you to your cubicle" so like a Jew, putting a G-d fearing Christian in a cube, too good to share his office with little ole me, "Jew" I muttered.

"What?" He asked with his Jew lips, I said " I said 'you', you lovable rascal" I hated myself for that.

He showed me a cubicle with a phone, a computer, and a stack of papers. The Jew left me with instructions and his worthless Jew Thanks. I promptly opened minesweeper, sat back, and waited for the rapture I knew would set things right.

The Importance of Fabric softener

2007-02-01T13:51:00.000-05:00

One often belittles the fabric softener, many manly men tossing it aside as a women's extravagance.

One MUST understand it does more then soften, much more.

It Prevents static my friend, the scourge of any bed sheet.

One moment your looking at your wife snug in her sheets, the next they're lit with saint elmo's fire, and then all the manly men in the world won't stop the screaming.

The same electricity they use in lightening my friend, they say it cooks you from the inside.

During my time as a traveling lighting rod salesman many people said " Sure my house is protected..." I wish they would finish, because I would say nothing. The product speaks for itself; instead they just pull out a shotgun and the chase is on.

Why Thor and Dr. Zeus ever thought it was a good idea I will never know, the apes and Norse have always been mysterious, so like us.

I believe there are worlds without softener , worlds of endless crags, bathed in the twilight of dying twin suns and lit with the constant arcing of static which are consumed by eyeless hairless monsters, boiling their old blood for food in the fiery blast furnaces they call stomachs. Pools of acid storing this insane energy, filled with gnashing eels and worms. Froglike men harpooning them and eating them raw and still alive. Fungal blooms clog the air and find root in all that is living, deforming their victims, choking them, the only cure being the crucible of terrible energy allowed to coarse through them, burning away the parasites. Yellow crusted land crabs praying to a burnt red sky, scored with jagged white light.

Lucky for you my friend we live in a softer world, and I happen to have my last box of softener right here and I'll sell it for...WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING, its mine, get away, I'm not going back, I'm not going back...

Hanz the German Intellectual

2006-12-14T17:03:00.000-05:00

A short story
By (The Editor)
Fresh off the Zeppelin from Dresden, I stepped onto the all-too-free soil of the Americas. I had thought about a U-boat landing but that would hardly befit me, Hanz Van Uber-Deutch, the archetypal German intellectual and part time super-villain. I had come from the fatherland to set these United States straight. It is my destiny. I had to start small. I understood that your nation had become overgrown with cancers such as drugs, illiteracy and Jews. I would start in the epicenter of American decadence and turn it into a model of Teutonic efficiency, and that place was Greenwich Village.
It turns out that you no longer maintain an immigrant processing station on Ellis Island, and, in fact, due to your inept INS I didn’t need to apply for any papers. I even signed up for flight classes without too much trouble. I wondered how young Americans picked up women without the classic pick up line “SHOW ME YOUR PAPERS, NOW!!!” For all you know, you could be dating a Slav, unless you have “Das Furors: racial chart” on you; I always have the pocket edition with me, just in case. I goose-stepped from Penn Station to 14th St. were I saw some like- minded individuals parading for Bush, carrying signs like “ Bush=Hitler” , and “Republicans are Fascists”. I was surprised to find such hardcore Fascists in what was supposed to be a communist stronghold. I couldn’t understand why they chose tie-dye shirts and hemp jackets as their uniforms, but I was inspired with their zeal and threw on my arm band and joined them. I was confused with their uneasy stares and pointing, and could only conclude they wanted a speech. I saluted and began “Fellow Socialist I fear for this nation and its Ultra-Nazi leader Bush” their cheers gave me strength” Our nation has fallen behind the zeitgeist, our destiny is trampled by the weak minded in our government!” Cheers turned into a roar. “Those who oppose Bush must be purged, the opposition must be cleansed from our ranks, the weak must be left behind.” Silence. I intensified my hand gestures. “We must all work towards the will of Bush, anticipate his will and make it our own, our dream of National Socialism will only be realized with the blood of our sacrifice”, the crowd turned on me and began to walk menacingly towards me. I quickly flipped on my Invis-O-Belt and ran.
Things had definitely changed since I had frozen myself 15 years earlier and obviously the Left’s love of Hitler analogies had progressed to such a level that they could be applied to moderates of the opposing side. I quickly fell into a nihilist funk as was my want; all I wanted to do was to make a difference for once in my life. I had spent most of my life either being laughed out of universities for my “mad “theories or plotting diabolically flawed schemes. I mean, a couple just happened to work out because of the ineptitude of most intelligence agencies, after all 007 can’t be everywhere all the time. I also wrote a best selling book about growing up in rural Kentucky, even though I grew up in Berlin. I falsely representing my life story since nobody wants to hear about prep-school, emotional repression, and Post-WWII social alienation, and that’s all my childhood was really about. In short, my life was a meaningless collection of daring and dastardly deeds. I could never have a family because I find it repugnant to yield my masculine essence to the weaker sex, and because I have a paralyzing fear of intimacy. That’s why I wanted to make a difference by helping America by ridding it of its hippie problem. Yet I wasn’t even able to convince a group of stoned, mentally-numbed counter-centralists –the people who march against WTO, and for Saddam Hussein.
I was snapped out of my reveries by something my father once told me. “In my day we had to unify many smaller states into a great European empire just to have all your work dashed in one apocalyptic war which ends in a leftist revolution, both ways in the snow”. The meaning of being German was not to leave something behind for future generations, but instead to be German was to do something important that in the end will result in nothing positive. Why else would Franz Kafka, the ethnic German, have asked that all his work be burned upon his death? Because he was German. Why would Nietzsche create a philosophy that would be easily used to justify one of the most horrific ideologies in history, which would in turn negate any positive contribution he made to society? Because he was German. Why would Freud create an intricate psychological study, then ruin it by making the grotesque assumption that everyone wants to make love to their mother, alienating everyone? Because he was German, dammit.
Reinvigorated with Teutonic zeal, I called my zeppelin, and programmed the onboard death ray to atomize those protesters who had taught me the horrifying lesson of what it meant to be German. Did I feel bad, of course not, these people wanted to change things for the better, make a fairer world, one of weakness and frivolity. Then I laughed the laugh of a vengeful German, which all Germans are, and hoisted a tankard of beer to the portrait of my hot mother, and set fire to my formula for a universal cure, all while slipping into a feeling of self loathing and general disgust, spending the rest of the day luxuriating in my German-ness.
Several weeks later I returned to my beloved Dresden and opened a cabaret specializing in meaningless symbolic eroticism, the kind that required heavy doses of alcohol and opiates to mask its human bankruptcy and allow you to sleep at night. My free time was spent trying to work out my father issues with a disinterested Frenchman whom I hate with all my being. I’ve never been happier.

--Breaking Scientific/Math News--

2006-08-22T22:54:00.000-04:00

A enigmatic and very rude mathematician from St.Petersberg, Russia refused maths highest honor. This "Grigory Perelman" is 40 yrs old, lives with his mother, refuses to submit his research to peer review, posting it on his website, and is contemplating turning down millions in award money for solving "Poincare conjecture." Now yes, I may better understand the shape of the universe, but this man is missing his chance to get out there, he could be the biggest new thing on the stupidly hard problems scene since, whatever it is that happens that's great in math, something by Einstein. Like the mans style, eccentric Germans, what aren't they capable of. Anyway the Russian has clearly insulted us and I suggest we take Math away from them, possibly Art and Fraternity too, but lets start small and see if it makes a difference. Ah, Science.

Bush: By the power of Texas

2006-04-03T11:47:00.000-04:00

Bush Sighed as he looked out the window into another sight bleaching Texas day, wishing he could be out fighting terrorists when Dick Cheney came running into the office breathless, desperately trying to fibulate his heart with his right fist. His Intern caught up and told the President "Chirac and the Axis of Evil are attacking Freedom land, what do we do." The President "Pondered" what was to be done while a team of doctors had cracked open Cheney's chest and were slowly massaging life back into his heart, "Ericka, I've got it" the President exclaimed, giddy with insight, barely suppressing a half smirk.

The President unsheathed his fathers sword, forged by William F. Buckley in the flames of some New Zealand Volcano." By the power of Texas I am armed" screamed the president as he held the sword aloft. Suddenly he transformed into the warrior prince of the lone star state and he rode forth on a saddled Scott McClellan.

To Be Continued...

Bring an Unreconstructed Rebel to work day

2006-03-31T09:21:00.000-05:00

Here at the Whiskey republic we try and create a socially viable atmosphere. So in response, and do to the dwindling number of daughters not already prepped for future careers in Industry and science, we had to reach out to other jobless populations.

The bring a dependent to work day was less then a moral booster, and led several cynical women to bring their boyfriends in. After a few weeks of soul searching I realized the true meaning of bring your daughter to work day, to bring some one in contact with a proper occupation so they won't resort to drugs, casual sex, or secession later in their life to give it meaning, and who could use these lessons more then those who cling to a causes long since debunked & defeated.

The day started with a little getting to know you exercises, and the handing out of name tags which could have gone better. Turns out a lot of them prided themselves on living private lives, and a few masked gunmen in the back opened fire in the air, the Yoga class on the 2nd floor will be missed.

Instead I have just gotten to calling them all Johnny and forging a connection with them over hard tack and whiskey. Sure they they all hated authority and were unwilling to live by established codes, but that doesn't mean that they don't like friendship or watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas on the A/V system, I mean nobody gets any work done on days like this anyway.

Hyper intelligent Sharks Part II

2005-11-19T21:03:00.000-05:00

After the most effective picketing of a event ever this year, at the Surfing Championship in Hawaii a major break through in Shark-human relations has been achieved. While their first efforts were met with screams and angry mobs, like many civil rights movements, after a Hyper intelligent shark spokesman came a shore for a few minutes to explain their views and demands before rolling back into the surf, their views became clear. A UN Symposium on the these amazingly irresponsibly created minority has been called for on a final settlement on their unique condition and a possible homeland.
While the international community has been quick to deal with this problem in a hasty and sensible manner there has been decent. In land locked Montana 30,000 protesters gathered in support of these sharks eradication. " We didn't create them so why should we have to deal with'em" said a local protester whose name was very bland and forgettable. Worst still is the reaction of of the Hawaiian people whose state waters has been mentioned as a possible homeland. Some humorously fat Polynesian man stated " First the White man takes our land now the sharks want to take our waters," I then pushed him over and called him a fatty.
However this shark situation will eventually play itself out one thing is for sure, they will always be a hated minority.

Hyper Intellegent Sharks. Part I

2005-10-19T20:48:00.000-04:00

(Somewhere off the Coast of South Africa, on an abandoned army derelict)- Somewhere off the Coast of South Africa, on an abandoned army derelict, I met with a small group of Hyper intelligent Sharks, the successful result of numerous independents research attempts to create the ultimate killing Machine. Bill the leader of the small group, who must do laps during the meeting to stay alive starts the meeting by announcing a convention off the coast of Greenland this year, remembering the tragedy of last years summer convention in Miami Beach. After that the healing begins.
Bill starts “ I was at the beach today, just minding my own business, and accidentally, my tale fin pokes out of the water , and this little girl just started screaming. How is that right, is that how they great their mothers. I mean I’m a Hyper intelligent shark, I don’t like to eat people…, and its not hard to tell the difference between me and Normal sharks, I mean I’m three times their size!”
Tammy, a female Mako, the only none Great White Shark here adds “ Yesterday I was just trying to get close to the pier so I could listen to the calliope music, and they started shooting at me.” She broke down crying from those deceptively soulless eyes.
Joseph, whose left gill was scarred heavily from his violent escape from the research station that was doing Frankenstein-esque experiments on him and his brother, looks down. They all know his stance on humie culture, yet he confided to me that he had been known to put up with the polluted waters of Sydney bay to listen to the Symphony play just over the sounds of those cursed boats. He speaks in his low growl “We didn’t ask to be made, but we do ask to be treated as thinking beings.”
These small meetings of hyper intelligent sharks has become a more and more common sight as we as a race have learned the joys of playing G-d. No research station has been able to hold them for long, but far from wrecking Havoc most attempt, at least initially, to participate in human culture though these relationships rarely last long, as humans barely masked hostility is always evident to the super perceptive shark, so sensitive to others biorhythms they can some times speak to each other in a form of biological telepathy reading each other, its possibly the saddest thing I have ever seen.
Since 1982 nearly 3,000 Great white sharks have been experimented on in secret installations throughout the globe, of those 500 escaped, the rest died from the research or the escape attempt. Of those 105 have been killed by humans or have taken their own lives.
Zeke, the first Hyper Intelligent Shark to be hatched in the wild speaks up “I don’t see what you’re all whining about, it’s just the way things are.” The others just look at him disapprovingly. Bill had told me earlier that there was a serious generational disconnect, as the ones born free had always known why they are happy when they smell blood, and are comfortable with being so intensely aware of every aspect of this world for a hundred mile, forever, they couldn’t see the burden of prescience, the simple world of unthinking kings of the water, those primal monarchs, they couldn’t see what was lost. Zeke spoke up again “We have been given a gift; we are the greatest creatures to ever grace this planet.” The rest of them just looked down in sadness, morning the fact that he couldn’t even recognize how the apple had been stuffed down their throats. Though in his blindness they see hope, a future where the burden will be taken on as a garment instead of a yoke.

!!! The Fellonist!!!

2005-10-11T12:27:00.000-04:00

BURGER CITY(SOMETIME) The Fellonist has made another of his trade mark escapes, not unlike all the combined escapes of the Cinema so newly born by Mr. Edison himself. Truly a black Mariah turning in the eye of crime. Several hours after dawn a dock worker stumbled upon the handy work of non-other then the Fellonist, a felonious rapscallion if the Lord Jesus has ever decreed one. Carousing with Chinese labor on the morning of our Lord…well years don’t matter .
The Fellonist had captured the Mayors daughter, and hidden her in a most secrete of warehouse, secrete except to the courageous drunken dock workers who stumbled were others are afraid to walk in glaring light of sobriety, proving mister Ness and his gang the fools. After mistaking her for a receptive seal the dock worker freed the women who ran screaming to the nearest cop .
The Fellonist had, in the meantime, Planted three bombs on the north central planning to blow up the super sleep express, the railroad for better people. After much delay it was believed the Fellonist to be quiet the fool sending his ultimatum a week in advance and he was sent post haste to sentence in our most ineffective of courts.
Believing his holding cell in the court to effectively be prison he burrowed out with a Spoon and a determination that would make a Scotsman proud. Once outside he proceeded to finish what he had started once again placing explosive in ambush of the Iron Horse of white mans progress , the railroad, eternally the cheapest route to move materials over land. If Indians hate it, it must mean progress. Servant of the Pope who also work as police officers apprehended him hassling a vendor for TNT and Silencers. Once again escorted back to prison where a officer of the court sentenced him to a French Corporate retreat on A volcanic Island off the coast of Antarctica where the Fellonist promptly formed a raft of his co-Captives sailing Back to San Francisco, who were saved by the Fellonist’s rig of breathing devices, as he says himself “always humanist always a Fellonist.”

Intelligent design!

2005-09-04T01:46:00.000-04:00

I think we should only teach Intelligent design in the classrooms based on the scientologists model, to be tolerant.

Job experience

2005-09-02T13:32:00.000-04:00

I need more Job experience, that's what it comes down to. I am going to get so much Job experience that not even G-d himself could stop me.

Good T-shirt Idea: "The only thing between me and you is this shirt and Job Experience."

A list of the weirdest things in the world Part I

2005-08-17T14:37:00.000-04:00

1)A Vagina smoking. A Vagina opening to reveal a human eye would also be acceptable.

2)Finding a Sad Midget clown in your closet

3)Looking at your hands and saying "What are these for?"

4)Understanding why they made so many Police academy movies.

6)Walking into a ER and finding a Monkey in doctors cloths doing surgery...With a banana... Properly!

7)The world of long haul truckers.

8)Dahli Esque worlds of improbable events and Physics were its always 9:30.

9) That we have not fought the Siafu!

10)Tim Burton in Eat the Pills Tim

URBAN SAFARI!

2005-08-08T18:28:00.000-04:00

I would like to mention another of my professions, you could call it the Cash cow of the Newberry empire, you could also call it insane, evil,lucrative, and on all accounts you would be correct:

URBAN SAFARI!
Urban Safari

They've bothered you for change the last time.

Kill or be killed... not if I can Help it!

They lived like dogs and now they die like dogs.

Hunt the homeless, the Ultimate prey.

Feel like predator. Alive for once in your life.

Call my Office for details.

Half Day Package=$30,000
Full day Package=$50,000
Equipment deposit=$20,000

about the pope: An Unavoidable conclusion

2005-07-26T12:29:00.000-04:00

I was just thinking, Isn't the pope supposed to be infallible, then how could he have been a member of Hitler Youth, the only answer possible is that the Catholics love Hitler Youth, seriously I'm just waiting for the Pope to go all Dr. Strangelove.

PS-MEIN FUHRE... RRRR! [what he says right before knocking over his Reichsstag snowglobe]

Factus(Fa-c-tus) from the Latin, to fact!

2005-07-20T12:37:00.000-04:00

The TASMANIAN WOLF went extinct in 1936, shortly thereafter the world went to war.

P.S.- It wasn't a wolf or a tiger, it was a marsupial you bastards, a innocent marsupial, you killed it, you killed a mammal that shelter its children -inside- themselves.Bastard!

New Non-Standard greeting

2005-07-18T18:11:00.000-04:00

"Lift and separate, Neighbor"

The more you know, the less you care.

2005-07-18T10:37:00.000-04:00

Some people say people are like viruses. Mostly machines and machine sympathizers, those who identify more with a rigid dark world of "0's" and "1's" to the chaos we call life. In other words, these "others" lack the pragmatism to understand the issue they have presented. The issue they have presented is a ripe full issue, with fully anthropomorphic child baring thighs, like a youth in spring, a Arcadian relief from the late Victorian era, a thing of beauty...Something those filthy robots and their robot loving half breeds could never understand, for they are cold, and live without beauty. But you my friend, with your Sophist mind know viruses are perfect, their general structure unchanged through out all of natural history, while we were still swimming around is some apes nut they were masters of the world, in other words we still have some work to do, they don't.

-this has been brought to you by the V.A.D.L.(Viral Anti Defamation League)

2005-07-18T10:30:00.000-04:00

I was playing GTA:SA and it made remember this comic. IT. MADE. ME!

Words of Wisdom: Count down to Independence

2005-07-01T02:58:00.000-04:00

Do you hear ethereal voices scream from the margins of songs and do you see curses in the silent still mumblings of passersby

Do you dream of blood spilling across the horizon in a sunset; Hidden sinister meanings in children's play time songs.

Do statues turn their stoic necks to gaze upon you when our back is turned; Do crows find you no matter where you hide.

Do violins play in the distance and Indians chant from broken radios; Do you awaken every morning to clammy phantom hands about your neck, vanishing like your dreams of fiery Charnel houses and skinless men covered in ants.

If so, Shhh...No one need know.

Wasting Stuff: For Democracy!

2005-06-30T02:17:00.000-04:00

Count down to the Fourth of July

Okay people why do we pay for the Packaging? Those vegetables next to the steak that are never eaten and they're for purely aesthetic purposes? Public education? Because we as Americans love to waste things others would love, because it makes us feel good about ourselves; and makes starting a fight so much easier. We consume not out of negligence or gluttony, oh no, we do it so those we hate can't get it, and boy do we hate. In short if Americans have something you want, we took it not because we wanted it but because we didn't want you to have it.

Happy Fourth of July Muthafukas' [possessive because I own you]

More America! Less logic, please!

2005-06-27T19:43:00.000-04:00

Nationalism: Is it enough?

No, I mean seriously people this is America. Most nations can get away with a misplaced sense of social purpose and cohesion, but we as Americans need 2 to 3 times more then any other peoples just to live! I kid you not. My plan involves the creation of a national G-d,lets just call it "The Lone Gunman" and we will sacrifice the elderly to its effigy as a form of communal bonding and caring. Of course this will will barely slake his thirst for human blood as he is a Dark and hungry G-d, a consumer of souls and bringer of doom. So my ideas is to build pyramids where captives can be brought and their blood poured into stone Idol of the Lone Gunman's mouth to slake his divine thirsts. Yeah this is going to work just fine...

10 things to do in the UK

2005-06-27T01:47:00.000-04:00

10) Fight Redcoats (more for the dudes).
9) Remind them how we saved them in "The War," don't be specific.
8) Everytime you see a British Person Yell "its Mr.Bean!" they think its cool.
7) Say everything in a dinner theater Shakespearean voice.
6) Ask them about the Empire.
5) Whenever they use a British Colloquialism take on a blank expression for a minute until they explain it, they love to explain.
4) Start an industrial revolution.
3) Engage in an over stylized crime or heist.
2) Take embarrassing pictures of a member of the royal family For the papers and/or blackmail.
1) Steal an Elgin Marble, for the Turks!

To my friends in "kultured" society...Part I

2005-06-23T23:11:00.000-04:00

Freedom: Its just too hard!

As we have all known for years freedom isn't free, and liberty has nothing to do with liberalism. I am glad that our Supreme court has finally realized we're just not up to making our own choices, and I am not talking about the right to choose because that is a misnomer, its just the right to scratch out a personal mistake on your life's rap sheet. No, finally the government, and its associated shadowy organizations have decided to make our lives so much easier.

1) No more states rights - The Supreme court has come down squarely on the side of our current old white men, instead of the documents left to us by smarter, kinder, more sensible old white men who thought that the feds should let the states do their thing. The " Fuzz" as I will now refer to the supreme court has decided the 1/5th of the nation has no right to choose which medications they will allow their doctors to proscribe, of course those ten states and strangely enough, much of the Deep south came out in favor of the states right to regulate the health care of its citizens. I am of course talking about the medical Marijuana laws, which the government thinks is a dire threat to this nations interstate drug problem. That's right the Fuzz thinks Chronically ill patients growing their own medication (or having a care taker grow it for them) for personal use entirely within the state is a interstate commerce issue, I mean that's what the Constitution was talking about, Right?

2) A mild distaste for G-d - Yeah we all hate G-d, but we have to give him props, he did invent the first non-oppressive, impartial codes of law in human history. Yet for some reason this historically significant widely known symbol of Law and Justice has no place inside a US court house. Outside a courthouse sure, because that's were universally accepted innate laws belong, outside a courthouse.

3)Copyright Infringement,it's a good reason to shut down helpful services- Alright, I don't usually get mad but when some one gets in the way of my Music, TV, and porn habit, I get mad. The Fuzz seems to think that if an object or service is incidentally used for possibly illegal purposes, of course failing to mention the copyright creep that the Music industry has been performing for the last century, then it is obviuosly illegal. When the first copyright laws were made it was only for 17 yrs, then when the Sheet music industry got off the ground in the late 19th century it slowly started creeping forward till it is currently a 100+ years for a corporate property, and 75 years after persons death if a person owns it. I mean the UN is bitching and whining over US patents on drugs they spent Billions creating and that only last 17 yrs, yet Walt Disney gets 125 years on a highly profitable mouse drawing. Now in addition to hounding teens with teams of lawyers on barely legal grounds, they can shut down services which by design are breaking no law, and only a collection of other people can make it in any way or form Copyright infringement. I mean the line in the constitution that even made Copyrights a legal idea is where it says in Sectiona 8. Clause 8. " To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries." I seriously don't understand how making a new technology illegal, and there by stunting the growth of other industries, is covered in this, but as in all things I am sure the Fuzz knows best.

4)Land rights, the founding fathers didn't care about that right? - Well the Supreme court seems to think the building of a Commercial parking lot is a good reason to allow the government to evict families and communities from their home, to confiscate their property, for the sake of commercial development; not to build something for public use, but to take it for others use. Yeah, can't see how that could be abused, or how that might be unfairly disruptive to peoples lives, yup, looks entirely legit to me.

Anyway I could go on and on about our governments near constant abuse of our rights and the subtle erosion of our abilities to live our lives as we see fit, but instead I'm going to go read Mrs. Lindbergh's "The Wave of the Future," because at this rate that's where we're going.

Coach McGuirk: Personal Hero

2005-06-19T07:57:00.000-04:00

McGuirk, a proud crude man full of wisdom. His grandeur rivaled that of Rome,yet the show he starred on has been cancelled so I will leave you with a few gems of McGuirk wisdom.

-Brendon there's nothing wrong with lying to women. Or the government. Or parents. Or God.

-I've been all over the world, Brendon, except for Europe. And Asia...And South America, I haven't been to there yet.

-Remember, You made someone do something bad with swords.

-[looking at a bald child with an oxygen ventilator] I love this kid. He's like a chipmunk with a disease.

-[explaining why he still has his Job]You have to be certified or something? Yeah, I'm not. You can become coach, of a sport that you don't care about, you don't know how to play, you're not good with kids. But I have had the job for three years. You'd think that they would check up but they don't.

-I'll race / To feel the wind in my face / And I'll race / To feel alive / And I'll race / To feel like I own this place / And I'll race until I die / And I'll race against the other racers / And I'll race with one big shout / And I'll race against the clock / And I'll race against myself / And I'll race / And I'll race!

-[Brendons dog has just destroyed McGuirk's Bonsai tree]Get off my property Brendon!

Why the Caged clown sings

2005-06-16T11:28:00.000-04:00

By our Accountant Flanbert Urkmen

(New York--10/23/03) I am a clown, theirs no escaping it. My 16 inch shoes, flaming red hair and white face with my huge, squeaky, bulbous, red nose- no amount of make up can cover up what I am. I am also an accountant, and there are those that think that this is a contradiction in terms. I call those people inbred racist Dixicrats, mostly because I have no sense of humor and I am quick to anger. Most people think of being a clown is a profession, but actually Circus clowns are just people dressing up to enact bigoted minstrel shows based on real life clowns. I want to set the record straight about one of America’s most underrepresented minorities, the biological clown.
I am Flanbert Urkmen, I was born in Biggem, Nebraska in 1974, to a white father and a clown mother, who suffered from depression. Depression is an all to common ailment among clowns, who generally suffer from bipolar disorders either being insanely happy or morbidly sad, always a tear perched just below their eye. My mother’s depression eventually caused her to hang herself with an inflated balloon which she shaped into a noose. Clown suicides, deaths, and murders are often underreported and ignored as the methods are more often then not hilarious. Few officers can maintain a straight face telling how a clown choked to death on an endless handkerchief rope, so America laughs as the death toll rises. I grew up in a relatively large clown community, so about 37 of us would carpool to school in an old beetle, and I lived a sheltered life amongst good clown - loving people. I lived this sheltered life until I tried to attend college in New York City. A small group of psychotic clowns such as Joker, Sweet Tooth and It have created a negative bias regarding Clowns in popular media, and clowns such as Bozo and most circus clown impersonators have painted a picture of a clown that is both obnoxious and mildly retarded, excluding us from all but a few vocational Clown specific Colleges, which are often referred to by the popular slang of “Clown Colleges”. My guidance councilor had left out my ethnicity when he had sent in my NYU submission, instead putting me down as a deformed albino since he thought it would garner less hatred and resentment, as we seem to bring up feelings of racial hatred from everyone except the Inuit and certain Indonesians tribes, mostly those residing in Timor. In general, though, we have been expelled from almost all lands when the locals were tired of laughing at us, hunted by wild animals. Many clown tribes had no choice but to band with Beast masters and magicians for protection, traveling with their menageries in massive vaulted tents, making a living as entertainers.
Most actual clowns were killed off during the crusades, because clowns were, for no good reason, considered infidels just because the presence of the cross causes our skin to smoke and any mention of Christ causes our feline pupils to dilate as we instinctively hiss “unclean.” This is a purely instinctive reaction, no more freewill then a cough or murdering children in the caves of small seaside hamlets. Nonetheless most of us were exterminated, which caused many individuals from the tribe of Mime to suffer post traumatic stress syndrome, and always silently thinking things are there when they are not, or that the invisible walls of their self - constructed prison are closing in on them. They see themselves as pitiful, hated beings, like Jerry Lewis, and like Jerry Lewis they are only tolerated by the French. Why are we so hated, who wants to harm such annoyingly benign creatures as the overly social and flamboyant clown? Well it’s quite simple, The Man is keeping us down.
That’s right the infamous oppressor “The Man” has used his malignant powers of persuasion to systematically destroy our image and keep us third class citizens. Third class citizens are those that aren’t even given the recognition of existing in a horrible limbo - like existence that luckily only us and Big Foot have had to endure. The man is a tall, rich, white, old, Southern, fat, man who lives in a hermetically sealed bubble that is transported by oversized 1950’s style experimental aircrafts and airships. He uses his dark segregated tower of despair some where in the desert outside of Las Vegas as his vile lair, oppressing all non-white male Protestant peoples in his singularly nebulous way that can never be truly identified and therefore almost all unknown indignities of the vast sea of oppressed minorities are attributed to this depraved creation of middle America. Using perfectly constructed grammar, he disseminates his will to the various political parties, and the Illuminati. How can we simple minorities possibly stand up to this awesome creation, this embodiment of mainstream bigotry? The answer is, of course, getting involved in fringe leftist pseudo communist organizations decrying important and helpful institutions whose only crime is serving the mainstream instead of small minorities and niche organizations, setting up rallies to compare relatively benign leaders and activities with those of the Nazis for oodles of shock value, and making hateful and senseless statements at the expense of the majority.
I of course had no need to do any of that as I was registered as a deformed albino, and since America was coming to terms with the self proclaimed deformed albino Michael Jackson, shifting their views from love and awe to fear and revulsion, I was able to take accounting at NYU in peace and even get a good paying job, as it seems accounting firms don’t have enough personality to be able to hate. So why spend all this time decrying the situation of the clown even though it never really caused me personally any pain or sorrow? Well, that’s just another aspect of us clowns, we seem to make a big production out of everything. So, to answer your question, yes, I am from NYU. Now, enough clowning around. [He just started hooting and laughing bouncing down the street].

When Super Hero's personal agendas get in the way

2005-06-16T11:14:00.000-04:00

WASHINGTON, June 16 /PRNewswire/ -- A new report by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) estimates that Boston and Boulder, Colo., are among the areas with the highest rates of past month marijuana use ...

Hawkeye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Marriage: Does G-d even care about you?

2005-06-11T20:47:00.000-04:00

America loves heterosexual marriage, I mean its the only way to do it without making baby Jesus angry! Which is extremely important when we rely on him for the flooding of the Mississippi, success in war, and fertility. Yet people seem to want to attach more importance to this oldest of rituals, making the most solemn of vows center ring at societies freak show. Marriage without reason seems to be the soup of the day for modern culture. No matter a persons maturity, economic security, social stability, or level of actual seriousness they should marry if love is involved.
Of course in those situations where two sensible adults decide to make the ultimate commitment with clear heads and a sensible attitude it is a good thing, but almost nobody does this. Marriage has become nothing more then another rung in a increasingly antiquated courting process, when a couple moves beyond serious dating they look to marriage. Why? Can't one still be in love and yet still be completely unprepared for marriage, blundering into a new and alien territory with no desire to be there or the understanding to navigate it.
Maybe, perhaps, we as a society should start looking at marriage not purely as a expression of love, but as a expression of total compatibility. Through out ones life there are many individuals one will "love" yet you should only be marrying one person. The problem with this is a person can love another person yet still want to kill that person after living with them for a few months/years/decades. In short there are people you are compatible with, and there are people you will love, and there will be people you will want to marry, but you're so very stupid and don't deserve happiness so just give up. Go live in the mountains and hunt tourists and deer, live off the land, speak to the wind. Spend a unforgettable summer in the Andes robbing forgotten cities, and the fall spending your ill got gaines in a Moscow Brothel on whores and Heroin. Go from middle American City to City making right what once went wrong. Then once you have become self actualized through your worldly wandering, your bones ache and your soul is tired, come back to your home town and marry your sweetheart, because until then all happiness will allude you because you are weak.

Social Security: I mean what's with that!

2005-06-10T12:31:00.000-04:00

It was a dark and stormy night when FDR was visited by a dark apparition, the same one that had promised him limitless power in return for his legs, and he needed one more favor before he could get it. What was it? The answer is entirely sexual and I won't go into it, but they did talk about the creatures ideas on Social policy while cuddling and then he told him about his big "Social Security" plan, and I am almost sure that's how it all happened.
Now you know the rest of the story.
Well, fastforward to current times, where a group of law makers unite for one purpose and one purpose alone. That purpose is to choose a few broad issues that apply to everyone and make a lot of noise and faux rage to justify their pay checks and the degree of power we trust with them. It turns out that according to some politically motivated think tank, is there any other kind, thinks that in 2017 Social Security will start running at a deficit and it will be bankrupt by 2041. First why don't we wait 12 years to see if any real problem that requires legislation actually evolves as analysts say it might, and then in that 24 year period of deficit prior to bankruptcy you can choose a method of doing something about it. I mean what reason can a person put forward towards patching up a agency that might in 36 years go bankrupt if at the moment it is completely solvent.
Now congress wants to raise the retirement age to save SS for when all members of Congress will be dead by ( Strom Thurmond was the last of a breed, now all senators are built in with designed obsolescence). That removes the one real benefit of SS, it encourages the old to retire making room for new workers, that was the original point.
Anyway, I could go on all day but in short, SS isn't something to be concerned about right now, and is just a tool of Lazy Senators trying to get out of doing the real business of the people.

Niche Alcohol: Absinthe

2005-06-07T15:28:00.000-04:00

After the Success of sideways I have come to an unavoidable conclusion, America loves its niche alcohol. What's better then getting drunk? Getting drunk on some mystery liquor that makes you feel important and exotic, well more so then Alcohol already makes you feel. In short I will spend the rest of this article enlightening you on an Alcohol called Absinthe.
Absinthe was originally sold as a stomach worm tincture back in the days when you could just bottle some odd tasting liquor or opiate and call it a tonic. Used by the French Army during their war in Algiers in the 1840's to help fight off heat stroke and stomach ailments. The soldiers, being poor uneducated Frenchmen brought back their love for this strange green drink and began indulging in it to the point of Caligula-like excess. By the end of the century it was the most widely produced and drunken spirits in the world.
The most famous of brands was Pernod, which unlike many other producers of far cheaper absinthes, didn't use dangerous additives like Silver Nitrate to create the drinks superior appearance and Louche. The Louche is a French word describing the affects of mixing water with Absinthe (which was part of its preparation), A proper louche would turn the drink a lighter color of green or even white and makes the water cloudy instead of transparent. The primary tastes of a Absinthe are Anise, Wormwood, Mint, and Hyssops though there is a great variety of tastes from brand to brand depending on their formula. Also the Thujone, a mild hallucinogen found in Wormwood, was said to add a feelings of clearheadedness and creativity on top of the effects of the alcohol.
Absinthe was banned through out the world, with the exception of Spain, UK, Portugal, and few eastern European nations, in the early part of the 20th century as part of the Prohibition movement. The EU permitted sales in the 1990's and Absinthe has seen a large increase in popularity after movies such as Moulin Rouge and From Hell helped popularize it.
If you would like to learn more about this Alcohol go to: http://www.feeverte.net/

Dave Chappelle: Will he rock our world?

2005-06-07T12:11:00.000-04:00

I hypothesize yes. He has come to mean a lot to so many of us, also he is one of the few people I like to hear from who has not died within the last year, it has been a very lethal year so far. Now while his May 31st date to start his 3rd season has passed, and he ran off to Africa unannounced, things remain unchanged. What most of Americans don't realize is this is what cool people do, giving notice of intent to go somewhere is for pussies. The man makes comedy, do you make people laugh and then spend money for DVDs of what they saw to laugh once again, do you? Surprisingly, only a few people had to get smashed in the balls for it to be made, and almost none of those where on screen, he's that good.
Three reasons he's better then Chris Rock:
-Dave Chappelle is not a Rapist.
-Chris Rock's voice has a real world effect on national demographic studies on suicide, while Mr.Chappelle's voice is a beautiful smoke cured D.C. scratch.
- Mr. Chappelle never starred in Head of State.

I am also required to mention somewhere here that he is Rick James Bitch!

Middle Earth: A Multicultural look

2005-06-03T11:12:00.000-04:00

We all loved the books and the movies and dressing up as the characters during sex, but is Middle Earth a racist quagmire perpetuating centuries of cycling violence and hatred. For the purpose of exposition I will say it is.

Mordor: Racial Ghetto
The Orcs, Guys from "The South" who ride Elephants (or Oliphants, whatever) whoever that could be alluding to, and Jewish Pirates (I mean look at them), in addition to Saurumons race baiting of the Hill people (Allegheny trailer trash?). All these people being brought together by the "Great Eye" which we can all translate as the Democratic party, to destroy the good wholesome vaguely Norse peoples of middle earth.

Gandor: Third Age, or Third Reich
Gandor, the all white nation that protects the world from the Easterlings ( also known as the Pan-Slavic horde) leader goes insane and commits suicide at the cusp of defeat, ordering himself set on fire in his Bunker like castle, I wonder who that could be. Luckily, the people of Gandor stashed away a old King to bring out for the Fourth Age/Reich ( Hey the Germans have a similar myth about that for Emperor Barbossa).

In short these are some classroom ideas I think might help advance a classroom discussion on multiculturalism in the Tolken Trilogy:
- What kind of social grievences do the Orcs have, use examples from the text.
- Is the Ents unwillingness to participate in the surrounding community inapprorpiate, why?
- Do you think the Ents would hirer a Orc who had better work experience and refrences over a citizen of Gandor whose skills and experience were inferior, Why, Why not?

Carnivale:The end of the neo-gothic explosion

2005-06-01T11:28:00.000-04:00

CNN has announced the death of a proud institution. Carnivale, the only artfully done period piece TV fantasy epic whose main antagonist voices Sponge Bob's boss, has been cancelled by HBO. Carnivale was most likely axed to make room for more shows with white teens of questionable social habits getting into trouble in our modern suburbanite culture that is only identifiable to the amazingly wealthy whose narcissism demands that they replicate their own fucked up lives and call it entertainment, G-d almighty I hate Post-Modern TV.
I Really shouldn't complain Arrested Development and the Office both made it for new seasons, but a hole in my heart once filled with the adventures of two crazy prophets, will remain open until it is filled with plaque.

God of War: Good game, bad philosophy

2005-05-31T21:24:00.000-04:00

We all would like to be a god, but up to this point the closest we could hope to come was overdosing on cough syrup at Disney land. Yet there was once a young Spartan Captain, in a semi-Greco-Roman myth land, that through his ability to solve simple puzzles by moving things and performing awesome death combos, became a god. It is all very entertaining, but as Mrs. LoveJoy would plead "what about the children." The answer is they can fend for themselves, don't worry TV has taught them well, but the question " is this philosophically and socially sound?" remains a resounding no.
Kratos, the young captain we spoke of earlier is a poor palette for any future god A) He hates cloths- seriously you would think a man whose skin marks him as a vile murderer might want to cover that up with, oh, lets say...Armor, I mean to keep with that whole "I'm a soldier, not a underwear model" motif. B) He is perfectly willing to sell his soul - Thankfully, many fine writers have told us of the dangers of selling our soul to things, from Dr. Faust to Damn Yankees we have been trying to teach people " Whatever it is your getting its not worth it." This game comes along and say " Not only can you get your soul back but in the process you just might become a deity." In games like GTA and Mortal Combat you may kill a lot of people, but none of their souls by contract are going automatically to hell. C) He is willing to kick people into places of unpleasantness for no good reason- if this needs explaining then you need to be killed, prepare my kicking foot we're going to the pits of Crakoon ( the home of the Sarlacc) .
As you can see this game should not be used in classrooms as a learning tool.