Due to popular demand, Red Bear Blue Bear is… dead.
Oh, the times we had. I wrote extensively about arts, religion, culture, politics and fear. You asked for more breasts, less words and my immediate suicide. Good times, kids. Good times.
We’ll turn this ship around! With new developments – http://www.liesmycenturytoldme.wordpress.com – It will be all the things you wanted, with NONE of the things you wanted! But really – more focused. Maybe.
Ciao.
Bear.
The arrogance of science is astounding. A few “educated” individuals petition the government for millions of dollars in research grants, poke a few rats with ice picks and electric sticks, then reemerge months later with a detailed survey on the density of bear scat. I’m not buying it. And while I won’t go so far as to say science is a myth, (yet,) I am well aware of a plot to undermine the intelligence of the human mind. That plot is called “outer space,” and it doesn’t exist.
Then what is the sun? And what are the stars? And what about the years of data collected that suggests an endless track of matter beyond the crumb of Earth? Cruel and heartless lies, my lovelies.
It is a widely known fact that Galileo was an acid fiend whose mind finally expanded to the point of collapse. He conjured up a story about the “sun” and the “planets” while six hours into a marathon of Syd Barrett’s “The Madcap Laughs,” sitting up in his Castle Dracula made of sandstone and shame, and you know what happened to him? He went to prison for that psychobabble bullshit. The Catholic Church may have its particular downfalls, but gullibility toward “outer space” is not one of them.
And Stephen Hawking? A drunk and reckless gambler, now suffering for his vices. Back in the mid-60s, Hawking had cheated his way through a series of Atlantic City casinos, accumulating some big wins, but even bigger suspicions. After he was discovered counting cards at the Shang Dios, he was taken out back and beaten within an inch of his life by the Mafioso-rumored Lenny “The Jewfox” Tortello. Feel free to look up his credentials – they are fabricated. A con man, even in paralysis, Hawking now claims to be a theoretical physicist and “cosmologist,” which last time I checked, has nothing to do with space. I’ve read Cosmo, Stephen. It’s all about makeup and thongs.
And even now that we know the greatest minds behind space were demented sociopaths, why are we still inclined to believe in it? Because we can see it? Again, the explanation behind the appearance of space is very simple.
In 1938, the Works Projects Administration, under the thumb of Franklin Roosevelt, commissioned a top-secret diorama to be placed above the earth. All workers were required to have no family ties or people skills. The majority of the applicants were Communistic artists. After four years, the project was completed, and while beautiful and complex in design, it has become the single largest collective governmental scam ever perpetrated. All participants were immediately killed upon completion. The rest of the globe soon followed suit in construction. (Note: The atomic bombs dropped over Hiroshima and Nagasaki were actually in response to their refusal to build the mythical sky-project. It took seven years longer for Japan to build and recognize “outer space,” though most studies now suggest they are among the firmest believers in the stars.)
But “outer space” has had an even larger significance in political structure. Following World War II, the American governmental theme was “anti-communism,” a fear instigated by Joseph Stalin’s infamous “mind-beam,” which projected pornographic images of Stalin with starfish or seahorses into the minds of Pentagon employees. Joseph McCarthy had a direct line to Stalin’s third chamber of mental ecstasy, which largely revolved around his own mustache. And while Dwight Eisenhower was busy dragging his dipstick across the Korean landscape, the Democrats were occupied with creating John F. Kennedy, a high-level artificial intelligence experiment with impeccable hair and “Hah-Vahd Chahhm.”
As witnessed during the FDR administration’s wildly successful “30 Years of Sodom,” the Democratic Party is one based in socialistic roots. These roots continue today, woven through the Kenyan frame of one Barack Obama, who was stolen from his bamboo cradle by Adlai Stevenson, circa ’64. But the Kennedy administration had ideals to become the greatest communistic entity in world history – if it weren’t for the Russian dynasty. And while the guise appeared to be an anti-Communist takeover of the Eastern-European landmass, the truth was far more indecent: Communist World Rule. What does this have to do with outer space?
NASA was created as a mere spectacle for U.S. imperial distraction. The “space race” was a mutual agreement between the American allegiance and the Russian cesspool to keep the true shit-stained banana-hammocks of war under wraps. “Look America,” Kennedy would often say, flashing binary codes to American submarines in the South Pacific. “Don’t you remember space? Isn’t it neat? There’s a moon and stars and everything!” And the American people would spend all of their time gazing into the sky as opposed to holding their socialistic God-hating government accountable for their sins.
The first moon landing was a hoax, plain and simple. Everyone knows that, and if you don’t, enlightenment is a Google search away. Neil Armstrong was a car salesman from Ohio, and Buzz Aldrin lived in a wooden cabin in Appalachia, never having completed a 2nd Grade education. The government paid them in Grade A brown eggs and Pabst Blue Ribbon for their injustices to humanity as part of the world’s largest sham. All subsequent space missions have likewise been manufactured and are noticeably more convincing due to advancements in entertainment technology, i.e. green screens, light sabers and the Death Star.
Aliens are also fictional, both intergalactic and foreign. The intergalactic aliens, obviously, are products of untamed childhood epilepsy. The foreign aliens are the key to the communistic takeover of Austin, Texas, the last fort of Republican optimism in the Southern United States. All reports of alien interaction are self-conscious lies, most likely in response to loss of elasticity to the human sphincter, undoubtedly through homosexual or immoral Sodom-based activities, (citation needed.) Senator Orin Hatch is not an alien. He is a Mormon, which is a very close relative in the helpless minds of epileptic toddlers.
And yet, here we sit, nearly completely unaware of the propaganda star-wall that has been stationed above us. There is a general assumption that the sun and sky have been there forever. This is fundamentally incorrect, and can be disproven with one term that should make everyone ashamed for not considering it: The Dark Ages. It was dark because FDR hadn’t installed the sun yet and hired all of those pinko-Commie artists to start the Renaissance under the New Deal. See how the puzzle comes together?
Space is not the final frontier. The bottom of the ocean is the final frontier, but the government is too afraid of giant squids and fish with lights on their heads to attack the Mariana Trench, (a reasonable explanation for why Atlantis has not yet been found, [citation needed.]) Even President Bush, well versed in the lies of the star-wall thanks to his father’s CIA history and sloppy organization of personal files, played the NASA card during the Iraq War. Unfortunately, his distraction tactic did not work, and ultimately backfired, leading to the inevitable election of a Muslim terrorist tea-bagging hacker clone abusive boyfriend single mother cocaine addict sexual deviant lawyer draft dodger gun waving maniacal body suit gimp in a cheap suit from Joseph A. Banks. And he was black, which is an eerily advanced step in the history of communism – (White Stalin to Hispanic Castro to Black Obama – where do we go from here? Hell. [citation needed.] – [contradictory footnote: intuition]
And what can we do about “outer space?” Can we destroy it? Absolutely not. The revolution against the evil star-wall would be ugly and futile, as it is protected by Chinese super computers and migrant field workers. No, we, the truly educated, must wait this one out. For when the diorama begins to crumble, and the chicken-faced Congressmen in Washington begin to squak about the falling sky, we will have our last laugh. A final hearty laugh before we crawl into Mt. St. Helens and await the Rapture. The scientists shall inherit the earth.
Donor Says He Got $20,000 For Kidney : Four years ago, cash-starved Nick Rosen answered a newspaper ad for a kidney donor. He says he lied to a hospital transplant team and got $20,000 for his kidney. – CNN
It’s a story like this that makes we wonder why I should ever be worried about money.
If someone like Nick Rosen, who CNN claims went as far as to make a documentary about the whole process, can sell his organs on the black market, where have I gone so wrong? And why am I bothering to show up to my geology classes?
Nevermind that this is completely illegal thanks to a 1994 U.S. Federal law. That is truly the fine print of a situation such as this. The matter in concern is the GALL. Not the gall bladder, specifically. I’m not sure how much those sell for on the market.
I wrote a play about a situation like this a few years back – not a published play, might I add, (thank God.) It was ridiculed for several reasons, including it’s absolute awfulness, but most distinctly because several of its critics didn’t believe people actually sold organs on the black market, nor did they believe there was a real “black market.”
Norman Fry, a history teacher at Southeastern Community College, claims to have visited the actual black market, somewhere in Thailand or Nepal or something, (I never paid very good attention in his class. He used the term “upshot” in places where it should never be used, i.e. “But the upshot is – 40,000 people died in the fire, including 3,000 children.” This, friends, is not an upshot.) Anyway, he claims that there is an actual neighborhood in some primitive country that is simply “the black market,” where not only can you arrange the sale of organs, children, or corpses, but also more mundane items that are not available in all countries – typewriters, baseballs, or Coca-Cola.
In some areas of herbal medicine, shamans believe that the adrenal glands of animals, if chewed, will help to increase the health, or power, of the consumer. Then someone got a bright idea: Why not eat human adrenal glands? Since then, the demand for human adrenal glands has been on the rise, and is one of the top black-market requests.
Furthermore – and granted, this comes at the hands of paranoid speculation – some claim that the adrenal gland has been used in Satanist rituals for some time now. The supposed method for obtaining the gland, or rather the pure adrenal fluid, is a gruesome task. After torturing the victim for several minutes, or even hours, and building up the adrenaline of the victim, the gland is cut out, or a needle is used to take the fluid directly out of the victim. Then – from what I understand – the fluid becomes one powerful drug.
“Never turn your back on a drug.”
And here I am, a 20 year old college student trying to muddle his way through journalism classes with a tuition of $30k per year, with so many unnecessary organs just taking up space in my frame.
Who needs two kidneys? When have I ever used both eyes? My liver isn’t doing anything but slowing down my piss-train, anyway. And when it comes to the adrenal gland, I don’t think I’ll need to be flipping cars over anytime soon. So why let all of this potential income go to waste?
Not to mention that this may be the most primitive but highly effective weight-loss program ever devised. So I can’t seem to get rid of the unsightly weight that is dominating my torso. Cut right to the heart of the problem, (no pun intended.) Get rid of the stomach for all I care – well…that would be silly. Half the stomach, then. And watch as the pounds simply melt away. Fool proof? I thought so.
I could also find a few typewriters for that black market in Sudan. And I’ll trade straight up for a couple Chinese sex slaves.
Apologetically,
Alex Denison
(9.1.09)
“To call a man an animal is to flatter him; he is a machine, a walking dildo.”
- Valerie Solanas
(You can believe that if you want. I tend to lean in a direction of that sort.)
You’d think that I would be in heaven right now. In the middle of a major university campus, with almost every imaginable possibility of freedom floating in my atmosphere, and a whole community – no, a whole smorgasbord – of attractive women from across the state of Missouri and beyond. It’s a college dream. But like my dreams of radioactive antelope, it’s growing tiresome and weak.
For one reason or another, I would like to take a gigantic step back from the “holla” establishment. That is, the section of college society that walk down the street and “holla” at girls in short skirts, and of course, the girls in short skirts that wear them for the lone purpose of attracting a “holla.” And then pretending like they don’t. And then pretending like they are above everyone else, (and not just literally on account of their 6 inch heels.) And then having sex with the aforementioned hollerer. And this is all before classes have ceased for the day.
And I used to have little fantasies about being able to snag a barstool at five for a beer – the cheers to another accomplished day. This, of course, is still over a year away from being possible. But any day of the week I can lounge around the Heidelberg or the Fugue and catch little blondes in see-through blouses taking shots at 3:15. In the afternoon. On a Tuesday. Amongst themselves. And naturally, I can watch the fellas trickle in behind them, scooping up the tabs and waiting for the fireworks. It’s enough to make someone a stay-at-home alcoholic.
It could be because I’ve been facedown in a biblical analysis for several weeks, (a book just over 300 pages that I was teased about for not finishing yet,) but I’ve lost a lot of pure lust-drive. I don’t ogle at the girls in miniskirts anymore. They’re a dime a dozen and easier to find than a Starbucks in a college town. Furthermore, it’s exactly what they’d like me to do, and then turn their noses when it happens. Mama didn’t raise no fool. She raised a red-blooded American cynic, an occasional hypocrite, and a feminist with hair on his chest.
The problem is, as I’ve said before, that feminism is no longer dying at the hands of disgusting men. We may buy the goods, fool around, muddy the waters and then skip town, but we aren’t creating these products from our own bare hands. I can’t make a girl wear a thong hiked well past her waistline. I can’t make a girl pose for Girls Gone Wild. And as much as some other men would like to believe that they can do these things, cause these sexy phenomenon, they can’t. Women’s choice is alive and well – and the bullet in the head of feminist America.
Because I guess I had some misconceptions: that feminism was more than the right to fuck. That feminism was more than defeating the sexual double standard. While important, I’m fairly sure that becoming walking advertisements for easy sex with no strings attached falls far from the traditional boundaries of the feminist agenda. Or am I – a lowly male – the only one still rooting for you?
And that last sentence alone is sillier than anything else I could say, because it points a finger at someone that will never notice. The same girls that clog my facebook feed with photo album after photo album of themselves in bikinis in hotel bathrooms and drunken riverbeds. The same girls that leave their tits hanging out of their tops and then complain that the profs are gawking at them. The same girls that will want to be professionals some day and will instead be mute and subordinate housewives. Because they have never stood for anything.
It’s sad that I have to be one of the crotchety old men of this Generation Y. I’m an awful example of decency or restraint, class or sound judgment. But I would like nothing more than to see the female gender succeed in my lifetime, perhaps even past the male, but certainly to his equal. 75 cents to every dollar remains a relevant statistic, but majoring in psychology and then becoming a housewife seems like a waste of time to me.
Maybe I’m wrong again. I’d like to hear what you think about the status of the feminist dream.
“[Now that I'm in college] boys seem to be more interested in friending hot girls than me.” – Friend.
Welcome to the machine — the walking dildo.
(8.25.09)
Welfare Zombies
Here’s a few quick real life Q and A’s to begin:
Q: What is the problem with affirmative action?
A: “Affirmative action is to give the minorities power and push white people back in line. And it doesn’t help that these people come from welfare families that have never worked a day in their lives.”
Q. What is the problem with the Cash for Clunkers program?
A. “Cash for Clunkers is a failure. All of the cars sold are going to end up being repossessed anyway, because the only people turning in these quality used cars are people on welfare who can’t afford the monthly payments for a new one. So they get these new cars for 2 months, and then put the burden back on the car dealerships.”
Q: What is the problem with socialized medicine?
A: “I work hard for a living, and doctors do, too. There’s no reason why my tax dollars should go to providing health care for people who are too lazy to get out and get a job. So you can’t get health insurance? Get a job. Your job doesn’t provide health insurance? Get a better job. Health insurance isn’t necessary, anyway. This is America, and anyone that needs treatment gets it. “
Now, for a quick dissection of the previous dialogues:
1. If you employ minorities, wouldn’t that be helping to keep them from welfare? Or is it preferable to have minorities collecting welfare as opposed to “decent and hardworking” white people? While blacks and women still make a quarter less per dollar than white men, maybe they should all just give up and collect the “free” welfare, huh?
2. During this economic recession, a recession partially caused by easy credit and auto-loans, it has become increasingly difficult for people to grab affordable loans, and especially car loans. A person with perfect credit has a hard enough time getting a loan for a new vehicle, let alone a person with limited or horrible credit. And considering that these Clunker offenders are “all on welfare,” we can make the assumption that their credit is absolutely awful. So either, A. These are not the people taking advantage of Cash for Clunkers, or B. The banks and dealerships have not learned their lesson.
3. 46 million Americans are uninsured. 7.2 million Americans collect welfare. 5.1 million of the people who collect welfare are CHILDREN. And along with the unfortunate circumstance of welfare, these 7.2 million people and 5.1 million children are just a small sliver of the overall amount of uninsured Americans. That’s merely 1/6 of the uninsured. Furthermore, you can’t expect people to get jobs that aren’t available, or upgrade at the drop of a hat. Even more, you can’t expect people to NOT GET SICK so they won’t lose their coverage, (catastrophic coverage, my ass.) And if you believe that people in America will always be treated, no matter what, you are perhaps even more naïve than just ignorant.
I want to know where this primal fear of the welfare class comes from. It seems like most conservatives I know are deathly afraid of these “freeloaders”. Little do they know about individual state requirements for welfare eligibility, and the ongoing struggle involved with keeping a welfare status – even in the most dire of circumstances. And if I do my profiling correctly, (which I usually do,) I’d venture to say that most of them don’t know a single person on welfare. Where are these welfare zombies looking to suck our skulls (and bank accounts) dry? Because with 5/7 of welfare recipients being children, it’s hard for me to join the fear-based cavalcade. After all, child zombies are much easier to kill than adults.
As of this very moment of writing, there have been 4,318 American casualties in Iraq since the initial occupation of the country. There have been an estimated 1,320,110 Iraqi deaths. There have been 712 U.S. military deaths in Afghanistan since the invasion. There are 138 international journalists dead from participation in military reporting. And perhaps most shockingly, 1,306 contractor employee deaths in Iraq – almost a third of the military death total – and rising. They are all still rising. Why?
“God.”
This is, of course, the usual response from our last president, George W. Bush. This was a selling point for all the action, pushed daily through Christianity-based fliers distributed by Donald Rumsfeld himself. Whenever a tough military decision was made, or more lives were put at risk, the justification was always that God had made some kind of declaration, and since the 2004 election was a mandate for President Bush’s power, there would be no reason to second guess not only God, but our very own citizens. And it’s not to say that God is a poor thing to die for, or an ultimately ridiculous guiding force. But when we look at the concept of God, (or for some, the absolute power of God,) we have to realize that your God isn’t my God. Or at least not right now.
A recent study has shown that 15% of Americans consider themselves atheists, and some even suggest that the rates for teenage atheists could be double or triple that amount. This comes dangerously close to toping the number of people who actually approved of Bush’s job as President. However, this group receives almost no consideration when it comes to public policy, and has only one representative in the United States Senate: Barry Sanders from Vermont, (who perhaps by no coincidence, is also a socialist.) But is our concern really an atheist stronghold in American politics, or rather the unreasonable focus on Christianity in America?
Four names should appear familiar from recent encounters with the media: David Vitter, Larry Craig, John Ensign, and Mark Sanford. All are successful Republican politicians. All have been considered leaders in their religious communities. And all have been involved in extramarital affairs. Furthermore, they were instrumental in the outcry against Bill Clinton and his off-color dalliances, scandals, and lies. Obviously, Clinton’s actions are inexcusable, but his position of power was not achieved on the basis of “family values,” “morality voting,” or “the power of Christ.” Again, it is God who is found to be a uniting force of evil – a gigantic trust of misused emotion.
God is being denounced by his very own followers, not atheists. The same people that claim him as their guiding force, their all powerful light of truth, are using Him for their own well being. To win elections. To avoid prosecution. To justify actions that by all means are unjustifiable. Are all Christians abusing their faith? Not at all. But shouldn’t we, as an oft-described “Christian Nation,” be more upset with those who are using God as a means for criminality? As a means for destruction? As a means for deplorable behavior? The anger should never be directed toward atheists. They have their beliefs, (and far better records when it comes to criminal behavior,) and you have yours. But if you want a worthy fight, abandoning party lines or partisan action, why not fight against those who are cheapening the word of God? Is your God an advertisement?
(Written 6.19.09)
61 Points of Loathing
Why 61? It’s the number of home runs Roger Maris hit in the magical upside-down year 1961 to break the single season record, only to be ridiculed by fans and neglected by the Hall of Fame. But dammit, he looked like a ballplayer.
1. The worse your haircut is, the more attractive you seem to become. I don’t know if it takes away from the God-awful pucker faces these emo kids have, but their swish-top haircuts are always the rave.
2. There is no such thing as an athletic role model anymore. Even if you aren’t on the juice, cheating on your spouse, yelling at officials, or fathering illegitimate children…you might tomorrow.
3. “Politics is Hollywood for ugly people.” (Truth.)
4. I have a 2004 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar on my wall. Not only have I outgrown the need to plaster my surroundings with half naked women, but I can’t even keep up with a normal schedule. Obsolete.
5. Men: Is it possible to watch a female eat a banana without thinking something dirty?
6. Women: With that being said, there are other sources of potassium, you know…
7. Women again: …and protein…
8. Women for the third time: I’m sorry.
9. In 1970, Dock Ellis pitched a complete game no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
10. In 2008, Alex Denison had a near-death experience after 2 energy drinks and a flight of stairs.
11. I was asked at dinner last night whether men would be needed at all if women could asexually reproduce. After years of training as a red-blooded chauvinistic pig, I still couldn’t come up with one reason we would ever be kept around…
12. The lead singer of Slayer is a practicing Catholic. I weep for all the braindead metalheads who think that they are hearing the words of Satan’s henchmen.
13. Before there was Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch”, there was Leonard Cohen’s 1974 ballad “Chelsea Hotel #2”. “I remember you well at the Chelsea Hotel. You were talking so brave and so sweet. Giving me head on the unmade bed, while limousines wait in the street.”
14. The preceding was the first time Buckcherry and Leonard Cohen have ever been used in the same area code, let alone sentence.
15. A friend tried to tell me that all of the 9/11 hijackers are still alive. I don’t have a punchline. I think this speaks for itself.
16. BABA-BOOEY. Do people still do that?
17. Text message sent to friend: “Yeah, we’re going to see Bruno tonight at the theaters.”
18. Text message received in reply: “Oh yeah – You going to get a BJ from a 16 year old?”
19. The same friend once said he would have sex with an Arby’s roast beef sandwich. I think he may still be my friend because he makes me feel better about myself.
20. I don’t believe most of the items on Post Secret. If you give people the opportunity to send you an anonymous confession on a postcard, you had better expect them to be dramatic and hyperbolic. This may come back to haunt me, but I don’t think this many people genuinely despise their immediate family.
21. Thank goodness for a text clarification from previous friend: “You know. In the theater.”
22. 61 is an extremely ambitious number for something only I will ever read.
23. I knew a girl that used to write about me in her diary, and with each passing day, I more deeply consider breaking into her home and stealing it. And then lighting her home on fire. The two incidents are not related.
24. Too much concentration is put into erectile dysfunction medication. I understand that it is awful to be old and impotent, but for the love of God, there must be a reason why it doesn’t work anymore. Take a hint, raisin-sack.
25. I never want to have daughters. I would never let them leave the house and consequently would go insane from the menstruation typhoon that would drown me in middle-age.
26. The top three songs of the past decade: 3. “Grace Kelly” by Mika. 2. “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley. 1. “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse. Reason being? None of them sound like they were made anytime in the last decade.
27. I want to hate John Mayer but I can’t.
28. Will.I.Am wants to be relevant, but isn’t. (Does anyone remember on election night when they beamed him in on CNN via Star Wars hologram? Moments like this lead me to believe that the Dark Ages couldn’t have been this bad.)
29. The number one fear of all Americans is public speaking.
30. The number one reason we don’t have more doctors is a college pre-calculus requirement.
31. (I’m fine with that. I’m not sure I want a doctor who isn’t confident with his pre-calculus abilities. Trigonometry and anatomy are eerily similar.)
32. Whoever it was that sat down and figured out all of the theorems, formulas, and statistical boundaries of mathematics is simply an asshole. An asshole.
33. Whatever happened to Spain? Not to sound ignorant, but are they even a country anymore?
34. The further you go in advanced education, the more likely you are to be a liberal. Liberal response: “The enlightenment of the mind.” The right-wing response: “Liberal brainwashing!”
35. No one likes the Beatles as much as they say they do.
36. The current rate of American drug consumption has fueled gang-related terrorism near our southern border, resulting in numerous innocent deaths and a continuing threat of violence, which leads me back to what I’ve been saying this entire time: Down with whitey.
37. It is impossible to lead a cow upstairs, but not downstairs. So never build your slaughter house in the attic.
38. More than half of American families with teenagers use internet filters to limit access to adult material. The rest have fathers looking for the perfect bonding opportunity.
39. Who the hell is Kim Kardashian?
40. There is virtually no use for bird-baths. Unless you fill them with sulfuric acid.
41. Why do the mentally handicapped make such great dishwashers?
42. 50 Bibles are sold every minute in the world. The Bible is also the world’s most shoplifted book. In unrelated news, I hate Republicans.
43. The most recent lyric to come through my stereo system: “All the fluids of your mother, I can barely stand in your lake of juices. And the doctor asked me, where do all your parts go?” (Art: An excuse to say anything.)
44. “Go.” That is an entire sentence. And it is aesthetically disgusting.
45. I wish there really were monsters under children’s beds. Monsters that threatened bodily harm if kids didn’t put down their video games and study. Monsters: the perfect cure for ADHD.
46. It’s impossible to sneeze with your eyes open, but it is too easy to shit your pants while sneezing.
47. A fetus develops fingerprints at just 17 weeks in the womb. THIS IS WHY WE HAVE TO ACT FAST, LIBERAL BABY-KILLERS.
48. Previously mentioned friend text update: “Whatever, nigga.”
49. I’ve been having awful dreams about John McCain’s daughter Meghan. To make a long story short, yes she is naked, and no, I don’t get to enjoy any of the alcohol from the bottle that is smashed over my head.
50. My mom has a thing for broken noses and mustaches. I’ve been trying to hook her up with Rollie Fingers for years. ( http://i578.photobucket.com/albums/ss226/picturesforworknothingelse/250_rollie_fingers.jpg )
51. In 1899, someone told President McKinley that, “everything that can be invented has already been invented.” If only that were true. Without the fleshlight, we would be a much more productive society.
52. The Fleshlight, if you were unaware, is the best selling adult item in the world. If you don’t know what it is, think about it for a second, and you’ll probably be right.
53. Surprisingly, inflatable sheep do not make the top 10.
54. I know more attractive Sara(h)’s than any other name. This could be because it is a popular name, or because I assume all attractive strangers are named Sarah.
55. The ocean is scarier than space. There might be aliens in space, but there are definitely icky fish things with lights on their heads in the ocean.
http://oddplaza.blogspot.com/2008/02/1.html – Find me anything like that in space, and I’ll gladly pitch a tent in the desert forever.
56. My friend David Conway writes about sports. He writes well. And unlike myself, he doesn’t have to talk about tranny hookers for anyone’s attention. What the hell, I’ll plug him up as well: http://www.chicagosportssuck.wordpress.com
57. If you’re small and headed to prison, you should lube yourself in advance. I mean, what’s it going to hurt? (No pun intended.)
58. TRANNY HOOKERS. Are they real? Find out at 10.
59. It’s only 8:13, and one google search assured me that yes, indeed, tranny hookers are not only real, but incredibly available. Anyone want to split one? (Again, no pun intended.)
60. I have a Rafael Palmeiro bobble-head doll with eyes that follow me everywhere I go. And I like it.
61. The song that just rolled across my iTunes shuffle is about a sad transsexual. And his/her partner “swallowed the evidence.” (Art.)
Despite his miraculous 1961 season, Maris truly did not deserve to be a Hall of Famer. He didn’t drink enough booze or harass enough women to ever be a legend.
Alex Denison.
Could it all be a dream? A silly, demented, self-important dream that could never possibly be reality? A hidden little corner of the human mind that has somehow clawed it’s way to consciousness, like a badger from back of the cerebellum, piercing through all the mundane transactions of give and take and straight through the forehead. Yes – straight through my forehead hangs the zombified fist of the Republican Party, taking it’s last breaths before wilting away like a forgotten rose: a truly beautiful piece of earth that bloomed many years ago and has been deteriorating ever since. With Nixon came a blustery winter. And with Reagan a rejuvenated spring. Bush II was the faded lifeless fall. And where do we go from here?
“And where do we go from here? And which is the way that’s clear? Still looking for that blue jean, baby queen. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. See her shake on the movie screen …Jimmy Dean…”
And it is this blue jean, baby queen that comes as the final nail in a proverbial coffin this evening, the coffin of an entire party filled with vampires and street preachers, degenerates and crusaders – all going down in a fireball of pompous certainty, untamed bigotry, and the most hypocritical positioning imaginable. Pure apocalyptic beauty, a Shakespearean tragedy, all rolled into the guise of a value-oriented organization. The gorgeous siren of backwoods intolerance has left her post, and with her goes the last bit of elected confidence left on the right wing scale.
If Palin is indeed the paradoxical baby queen, then Mark Sanford can be none other than Jimmy Dean – the rebel without a cause. The romantic bad-boy with a bigger picture than the restraints of his career and the scorn of his community. His press conferences are like watching a mid-life crisis in action, filled with long-faced absences of thought – pure delusion at times – before awakening to find the dumbfounded mob of reporters and supporters alike, sharing the same thoughts of confusion. His Argentine princess, a news reporter herself, and a beautiful specimen of adultery if one has ever been created, seems to be his true desire. Not the sympathy of a nation, nor the forgiveness of his constituency. No – just the love of his self-described “soul mate,” the women of his garbled dreams, and wispy little cloud that he tends to stare at through misty lenses.
Yes, where do we go from here? Do I dance on the graves of the fallen? Do I drag John Ensign back into the picture for reference, or David Vitter for good measure, and create a Christmas card mugshot for the liberal friends and family? Can I even relish in the fact that these elected men and women have all gutted their own chances of political fortune, or do I sweat at the reality that they have already been a considerable success? With every scandal that seeps it’s way through the wire, I question my own political desires and regret all my off-the-cuff remarks. If only life were like an internet history file – another subject worthy of fret – which could be deleted after abuse. Have I really won at all? Or have I been contributing to the larger target of sin! And have my efforts been in vain, and have my dreams already been extinguished by the reality of behavior? Is my party next? Are my heroes soon to be destroyed?
But I rest easy for now, with the zombie fist dangling from my mind. The entire party drooling all over themselves, trying to come up with a solution for their demise. There aren’t enough sandbags in the Sahara to keep the water from flooding the sadistic visions of the GOP, and the people know it all! Drippy little grins have turned into horrified slobbering confessions and the world can see it all! Ronald Reagan is spinning in his grave, a bone-dry skeleton with a perfect haircut still meticulously preserved. (I often wonder, merely wonder, how Russia can display the body of Lenin as a hero to a nation, and how the Republicans have allowed Reagan’s body to rot underground. The savior to our country! The messiah of the spoken word! A Christ-like figure for all the praise, the greatest leader of all time! Underground. In a modest hole. No Rushmore. No mummified presentation. Just a pile of radioactive perfection with the flag wrapped round and round.)
And here we are – the Democrats (dirty words) with all the glory of piety behind us, and almost nothing to show for it. The hopeful 60 member Senate has been achieved, and will be squandered without thought. Health care will be tarnished, the gay agenda left to drown, and all of the hopes that floated us through the finish line will fall to the ground like an ominous fog over Washington – the last reminder of a dream deferred. The last reminder of the slugs that truly run our country on both sides of the aisle, slowly sucking the optimism from the atmosphere and leaving nothing but a slimy trail of waste. Literal waste. From the Senate floor to your front door, with no end in sight. The promises left unfulfilled from years of apathy and greed – and these are the good guys. The ones to appreciate. Because they’re merely wasting our time, but taking advantage for themselves.
It’s the ones that lose both – our trust and their own kingdoms – that are really the ones to revile. The ones to look at with upturned noses and simply thoughts: You wasted everything we gave you. An entire nation of people that accept the lizards of civil service and never think twice of reelection. As long as we aren’t too burdened with the tremendous price of fuel, or the loss of cable television, or the bacon on our tables, we will vote again and again for the same disgusting tyrants of brain-washed, filthy bloodlust. Nixon, if nothing else, was a winner. But Jimmy Carter was a shame.
And the shames are who we should be looking for to drive this country away from public policy, and instead into the fields of self-reliance, peace, and contribution. Outer-Washington leadership that doesn’t have to answer to the angry taxpayer, the ambitious lobbyist, or the pile of dogshit in a suit. Where are the dreamers that don’t need the power? Where are the ones satisfied with pure change – for the better – for the people – for the elegant romance of life?
Dead. All dead. And mostly forgotten. The ones that got away.
We can never win – Democrats, Republicans, non-partisan babes of middle-ground. We are all in this together. And the dying party gives the chance for the thriving party to ruin all the gleaming ideas they once held. The element of power will take over, the wasteful shake of power-rabies finally tearing through the world. And we, again, are losers. The same ones that fought so hard for liberties and life will be the casualties of victory. The casualties of our own fight. The same fight that we “won.”
“The buck stops here,” Truman said. But the muck keeps rolling on.
If asked to punish the opposition to my political dreams, the very soul that wishes to crush me and leave me for dead inside a trash compactor outside of Louisville, there are truly only two considerable options that rush blindly through my mind. The first, of course, is to hate them with every fiber of my being and to spend the rest of my life committing a whole overflowing cornucopia of sins in order to extinguish their flame. Or I could date them – considering the female gender specifically – and put them through all of the lukewarm Applebee’s dinners they can swallow before sucking them dry through the torment of marriage.
Ah, sweet sadistic fantasies – will you ever leave my mind?
God forbid they ever crawl from my ears like tarantulas of virtue. A tarantula of virtue that keeps reminding me (in the sacred language of the arachnids, very tricky – very tricky!) that I find the conservative breed the most alluring. And after years of dating soppy liberals with sloughs of social problems and an overwhelming lack of foresight, I am ready to admit that the liberal end of the political spectrum is the weakest of possible options. Feminists eating feminists and spike-haired teetotalers are damn attractive – damn attractive! – but lack the little twist that I so much enjoy. It’s amazing how conventional and expected the life of a drug addict is. Waking up and going to “work”, at different times of course, but always maintaining a similar routine that seems mundane for the subject at hand.
If you’re going to lead a life of hard drugs, abuse, or simple excess… you better stand out every once in a while. You’ll be forgotten – (And the corpse will rot without notice.)
And the beauty of the conservative female is as follows: Passionate structure. It no longer matters that your views are incorrect, (or misguided, or ignorant, or perhaps just obsolete,) but instead that you believe in something at all. You believe that the lives of coulda-beens and shoulda-beens are more important than our society of ares – maybe you’re right! Perhaps my eyes have been blinded by the stinging sweat of nervous do-gooders. And damn! I’ve invested so much! But that’s why I have my soft spot for you, righty foxes, and even your mothers, as well.
Two champagne glasses filled with gorgeous certainty and unrivaled confidence create the legs of the ideal conservative woman. Perfectly tanned – spoiled even – by a sun that has shone just for them. And in turn, they shine for me. For you. For everyone, some would insist. It was Winston Churchill who once said, “The perfect set of legs could make me a Nazi in seconds.” Don’t look that up, it’s speculative at best, but a valid point all the same. (Churchill thought it, I’m sure, and isn’t that good enough?) And I say in complete seriousness, with a hastily mixed concoction of shame and pleasure smeared across my face, that a sincere Republican woman is more attractive than her counterpart.
But Christ! Have I gone soft? Have I lost all sense of convictions? Have I been snagged by the evil glue that seeped from the pores of Richard Nixon? The same disgusting paste that some life-long Republicans can’t seem to pry themselves away from? Have I lost my mind to the extent that I would chance my entire life in the hands of a right-wing nutjob in high heels?
Yes – and it’s a beautiful downfall that tastes sweeter with each passing day.
And I’d fill an entire newspaper with personal ads suggesting the very same treacherous thought that I’ve been hinting at for so long: The young Republican woman, (much like the ideal young Republican male,) has class. A shine. A dare I say blissful quality that has no competition, and unsurpassed brilliance in moments of defense. When they argue, they make me smile. And when they win, in those rare and bittersweet moments, I get butterflies as though I were performing “Stairway to Heaven” on an ivory kazoo at Wembley Stadium. A certain wonderfully nervous moment I can’t suppress with distain for neo-con rhetoric. Five spoonfuls of liberal sugar get all lumped up in my throat. It’s a tremendous, awful experience I always treasure behind closed doors.
Doors I have used to hide shrines of Republican idols, both named Mike. Wallace and Ditka, respectively, make me grit my teeth with anxious frustration. And doors that hide file cabinets of complaints about immigration, and concessions to faith-based ideologies, and certain sympathies for Nixon. He thought he was right! Go figure. And I’ve come to accept such pitiful excuses from lizards of California politics.
And the hope – the subtle dream – is that behind a closed door lies a beautiful right-wing fanatic who can agree to disagree. Or at least is willing to fight dirty – the only way to fight – with chairs, or lamps, or the overturned urn of my Libertarian father smashed across both our skulls, leaving us in a swirling pile of blood and filth and rhetoric. And love. Perhaps not the same dream that Dr. King shared with the masses, but a vision of perfection nonetheless.
And a wonderful realization of insanity.
Harry Potter Sucks, And You Might, Too.
Posted in Commentary, Uncategorized on July 16, 2009 by redbearbluebearAs far as I know, the latest Harry Potter movie opened last night to roaring crowds and sidewalks filled with pimply-faced do-gooders dressed like broomstick riding bums. I am not a fan. Here’s 4 simple reasons why.
1. Wizardry is For Kids, Not Aspiring Doctors
If you are anywhere between the ages of 7 and 14 and have not read any of the Harry Potter books, I would be glad to give you the 3 that I own: The Sorcerer’s Stone, The Chamber of Secrets, and The Prisoner of Azkaban. At this fragile age where poop jokes are still fresh and pubic hair is still a dream, I see no harm in Potter and his stories of witchcraft. As a matter of fact, I encourage it. But when you get past that high school plateau, or even worse yet, well into your 20’s or 30’s, it’s time to realize what you are reading about: Teens and pre-teens fighting beasts and warlocks. Beasts and warlocks. Past a certain age limit, I might even consider the fascination with Harry Potter pornographic. In any other circumstance, if a man in his mid-twenties were to follow the every day happenings of a fourteen year old British boy, we would be hearing about it on Nancy Grace. It’s strange. It’s not kosher. And it’s certainly not encouraging for your future as a heterosexual male. There comes a time when your dreams should evolve past the simple concepts of childish magic and into the proper fantasies of the mature American mind: breasts and hard liquor.
2. It Is Not A Good Enough Series To Consider Your Entire Literary Canon
If Facebook is any indication, (and to be honest, Facebook is EVERY indication,) the majority of young Americans haven’t ventured very far into literature. With the exception of required readings, I’d be willing to say that most people between the ages of 14 and 25 have not read more than 1 book for pleasure in their life. Page after page showcase a very similar collection when it comes to ‘Favorite Books’: “I don’t read.” And although this is obviously a shameful admission, I almost find it equally disgusting when the only books listed are Harry Potter or the Bible. It’s like a straight-faced confession that you haven’t even tried to look for something with some literary depth – nothing with the bite that could create some mental stimulation. No. It’s Harry Potter, the Bible, or nothing. And it’s a damn shame, because there are so many books that young adults would find so much more interesting: hard-boiled drug anecdotes, middle-class tear jerkers, and plenty of worthwhile tales of dramatic excellence. You all seem to love Fight Club, but how many of you have read it? The Wizard of Oz? Oh – I apologize. I forgot that we are the same generation that has fallen in love with Donnie Darko, a movie so hollow that Keanu Reeves could have crawled inside of it and died, and so blindly appealing to the ADHD culture of Generation Y that it makes Johnny Knoxville puke. But you can sit through 700 pages of a kid fighting puberty with a magic wand. It’s incredible.
The Harry Potter craze is the closest thing to a virginity spell that the world will ever see.
3. Do You Know What An Archetype Is? You Would If You Read More Than Harry Potter
An archetype is very simple: a prototype has been created, only to be copied, patterned, and furthered through more works. You know them by heart. Good vs. Evil. Dark vs. light. The tragic fall. The mentor figure. The geeky hero. Every piece of literature uses them. Every 80s movie was drowning in them. But my problem with Harry Potter is that it uses ALL of them. For a lot of the reasons that I find Star Wars to be an overrated franchise, I find Harry Potter to be a mere continuation of the same plotline simplicity. How much character depth does Harry Potter really have? I’d say he is about as deep as the puddle of drool I leave after falling asleep from the first 4 pages of The Goblet of Fire. He is a shiny glaze over the same prototypical hero that we have seen for years. There are no real twists to his character. You’re never forced to fret over whether Harry will do the right thing. Of course he will! Because you are supposed to be 10 when you are reading these damn things, and the encouragement of honesty and integrity should be pivotal in your development as a human being! But by the time you’re 34, a lonely woman in a studio apartment eating Fig Newtons by the sleeve and hoping Prince Charming will storm right through the door and into your Hello Kitty bedspread, it should be strikingly apparent that the traits of honesty and integrity have passed you over: You’ve been lying to yourself for years. It’s not that you are too smart for every one else, it’s that every one else realizes you can’t bathe yourself with a magic wand, stinky. Now THIS kind of character would be a break from archetypal sludge! Perhaps I’ve underestimated your true motives!… Naw. You disgust me.
4. Harry Potter is a Cult, and Not Even the Good Kind Where All of the Morons End Up Killing Themselves
It’s as simple as that. For some reason, every Harry Potter fan thinks they are special for understanding the complex and uplifting tale of this teenage wizard, but if 30 million people are rushing out to grab this piece of melodramatic slime every time a new one is published, you can’t be that special. Part of the allure of a cult phenomenon , (Rocky Horror Picture Show or The Residents, for instance,) is that you share this treasure with a very small group of people who truly understand how amazing the feature is. Not every one gets it, man, and that is what is cool. It’s an exclusive club of people that figured it out. But Harry Potter is all inclusive, and therefore, a braindead flock of sheep that couldn’t dare stray away from the rest of the world, but somehow convince themselves that they have broken away from the hustle and bustle of reality. When Jim Jones led nearly 1,000 of his followers into the jungle of Guyana, they followed because they thought Jones was offering them a secret paradise that everyone else had failed to grasp. And as the government filed in to take control of the situation, the followers were forced to kill themselves. As devastating as this was, the loss of nearly a thousand brainwashed UFO Christians, I find it even more devastating to know that there’s no way the same feat can be accomplished with the Harry Potter maniacs. There’s just far too many of them to huddle into an isolated South American country. And as a true humanitarian, I can’t encourage you to hurt or kill the Harry Potter elitists, but I can insist that you refuse any medical assistance they should need in times of emergency. It’s the least you can do for your country and the betterment of mankind. And if they know so much about magic, they can save themselves.
Enjoy your movies. I can honestly say I enjoy those. And I can’t wait until Daniel Radcliffe winds up a drug-addled Hollywood mess and Emma Watson becomes a softcore porn actress.
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