November 2, 2003
Stag Nation
Went to a stag on Sunday night. Dressed as a nun. Again. Cause Halloween's over when I say it's over. And not before. So there was no one else on the Ave in costume. So fucking what?

The action was hot, the drinks were cold, and the photos tell the story better than Mingus can after sixteen gin caesars. Thanks to Digidod for the photos of the evening. Enjoy them. Not very often that nunt readers get photos.

Now, after the stag was over, Mingus realized that he was dressed to kill and drunk enough to flip over a school bus all by himself. He decided that he wasn't done, and that he wouldn't be done until he was goddamn good and ready to be done. So he wandered outside, hit up a bemused bum for a cigarette and wandered down the street to the local cowboy bar. The bouncer was not impressed with Mingus' attire, but allowed him in after some good natured ribbing about keeping a nun out in the cold.

The music slowed as Mingus walked up to the bar. He thought he was inconspicuous because he was wearing a sombrero, but cow people were staring at him strangely. He ordered a triple jack and coke, turned and faced an inquisitive cowboy who was standing too close to him and said, 'A nun walks into a cowboy bar. Orders a drink. Redneck sees the nun, walks over and looks at her stupidly. He is attracted to her, but unsure how to proceed. Nun looks him in the eye and says 'Get the fuck out of my way, shit heel, I gots me a bull to ride''.

The cowboy was unsure if he could punch Mingus, because although Mingus was obviously a man, he was wearing a dress and he had tits. Mingus smiled beatifically, slugged back the triple Jack, gave the cowboy's belt buckle a little twist and walked over to the DJ.

He said, "I need you to play me some Johnny Motherfucking Cash before I start bringing the wrath of god down on you. I want you to play ' Ring of Fire'. And I want you to play it for me now."

The DJ, expressing the same confusion as the cowboy, reached back, pulled out the Johnny Cash CD and put it in the stereo. The country song that had been playing was beginning to end. Mingus walked across the dance floor, sliding between two-stepping couples and approached the mechanical bull. The man who was attending to it stared at Mingus. He was afraid. Mingus mounted the bull without saying a word. Johnny Cash started to play. Mingus looked down at the attendant.

"I want to ride," said Mingus.
"You've got to pay," said the attendant.
"Nuns ride for free," said Mingus.

The attendant was confused. Johnny Cash began to sing.

"Love is a burning thing, and it makes a fiery ring..."

The attendant's hand hovered on the switch. Mingus looked down from the giant plastic bull.

"The nun wants to ride," said Mingus. "And if she don't, she's going to bring down the wrath of god on you, and no man wants to have his ass kicked by a nun."
"You're not a nun," said the attendant, bravely.
"Maybe not in your eyes," said Mingus. "But I am in the eyes of God. And you'll still get your balls kicked in either way.
"The bouncers will stop you," said the Attendant.
"Not before you get your nuts handed to you by a man wearing a dress," said Mingus. "NOW MAKE THIS BULL BUCK BEFORE I BUTTFUCK YOUR ASS, COCKSUCKER!"

The attendant hit the button. The bull began to roll and buck under Mingus' habitted ass. Mingus took his sombrero in his right hand and waved it around his head as the bull spun faster and faster and he sang, as loudly as he could.

"I fell into a burning ring of fire
I went down down down
And the flames went higher
And it burns burns burns
The ring of fire
The ring of fire"

And when the song was finished, Mingus dismounted, tipped his hat to the Attendant, gestured grandly to the assembled host and strode out the door into the blowing winter wind. Somewhere there was cheering, and Johnny Cash played on.

November 1, 2003
The Last Issues
I got my nun on last night, and it was great, but boy is it cold walking home in nylons. I empathize with women a little more today. Just a little.

In local news, Ed magazine editor Shawn Ohler has stepped up to become the Entertainment editor for the Edmonton Journal. His departure from Ed is a sad day for Ed readers, but we're very pleased for him. The management at nunt.com would like to wish him all the best, and publicly thank him for having the big nuts to be the first to publish a front page article on Mr. Tourette. And for continuing to mention Mingus in his editorials (see quote below). And for putting out an interesting, thoughtful weekly magazine with neat articles about unique locals that would actually be read by Mingus and Chloe on Saturday afternoons. And for giving columns to a few good writers, like that lovable Todd Babiak and the lovely Misty Harris. And for trying to bring something new and different to this city. And for not ignoring an email that began with the words: "An entry for your postcard fiction contest. There's some swearing, but what the fuck. You got big balls."

We hope that Ed magazine will continue to be good. You did a very fine job.

So peace out and good luck on that big daily entertainment section thing. I would say that we will miss you, which we will, but we look forward to gracing your pages again. You may wish to clear off a couple of front pages for September 2004. The headline can read "Why Vote Bush when you can Vote Nunt?"™, and then you can stay in my basement while looking for another job.

In any case, check out Ohler's last column, and then pay some respects. The most important part went something like this, but we're biased:

"... I wanted to publish surprising, well-written, artfully illustrated stories by new writers that wouldn't otherwise find a happy home in the Journal, or anywhere else in this town, for that matter.

I wanted young subjects in the magazine who were worth writing about because they were incongruous and interesting and insane, not because they just happened to be in the demographic. "Young and boring doesn't get in the magazine," I told writers who'd pitch yet another yarn on an otherwise unremarkable 21-year-old club manager or socially inept 32-year-old Web head.

But if you authored a gonzo, Pope-baiting, expletive-ridden blog and arrived at your interview wielding a homemade shiv, wearing a gas mask and shirtless, with the words "Mingus is writing" scrawled in green ink on your torso, you were my kind of profile (Mingus Tourette, May 17).

Go read the rest....
And this is a test to see if one could raise one's Google ranking for something like Misty Harris. Misty Harris, are you egosurfing today? Nunt.com was #61 Nov 23. Lets see if it goes up. And for good measure, Misty Harris.

October 30, 2003
Milestones

It's official. There have been more American soldiers killed since President George Bush declared major combat operations in Iraq to be over on May 1st, 2003, than there were American soldiers killed during the war itself.

This may be the first time in history that a liberated country killed more of its liberators after its liberation than it did when it was being freed. But what do I know?

I do know that no matter how rosy a portrait Bush paints, he can't deny the figures. The Arab News reported 233 Attacks on US in Last Week Alone . If that doesn't seem fucked, read more good stuff pointing out the daily hypocrisy, by Paul Krugman.

It asks: If an empire crumbles in the desert, does anybody hear?

October 29, 2003
Samhain's A-Coming

Joy is a man who find's a cheap nun's habit in a city with no soul. It was a long and sordid search, but eventually Mingus found a bitch willing to take 30 pieces of silver for her holy cloth. Halloween promises to be ridiculous and amusing. Moreso because I have a stag party the following day and do not intend to change. What better than a loaded nun at a stag party?

More car bombs in Iraq, yesterday.

Read an article detailing how much the writer of the average Canadian bestselling novel makes for his or her work. The result, if the novel were written over two to five years, is less than most teenagers make working at Old Navy. Yet people continue to write and dream of being published. Mingus certainly does.

I am reading Nietzsche's 'Thus Spoke Zarathustra' again. I cannot recommend Nietzsche's work enough, although disregarding the idea of eternal recurrence is probably a good idea. It's like Groundhog Day on steroids and fucks with your head if you let it and Freddy was probably high on southern French truffles at the time it was written. The rest of it, though, is groundbreaking and paradigm shaking material.

I bring this up because Freddy often tried to find a reason for living whenever things looked bleak. Eternal recurrence, joy, will to power - they all helped him through the night. Whatever does it for you, there's got to be something to keep one warm.

Yep, everyone's got to have something. Fucking does it for me. I highly recommend it. A warm piece of pussy, an old book, or a lucid dream about an ex-wife. All things to live for when one is an aging degenerate of the soberist degree.

Yep. Thank god
for vulnerable virgins
willing to sell their panties.

Christ. I'm hallucinating.

October 28, 2003
Mingus Gets Older

The journal is short, because the night is long and I've got to get into Chloe's birthday suit. Peace and love and happiness to all who wished Mingus a wonderful 29th. To those who forgot, a pox on your house. Sweaty and Dick and K - you are wonderful people, no matter where you live.

And I am clearly drunk.

October 27, 2003
Terrorist Acts and other Subverted Terms (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Use the Word PARTISAN)

Poor Wolfowitz almost took one in the ass today.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, the rocket launcher missed spraying his testicles all over an Iraqi bedsheet. Instead, it killed an American colonel and caused unpleasant flesh wounds for assorted guests staying at the Al Rasheed Hotel.

What frightened me most about this attack was not that some unknown assailant had the ability to lob a rocket within spitting distance of Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz's bathroom. What frightened me was Wolfowitz's response to the attack.

He said "this terrorist act will not deter us from completing our mission."

The choice of wording is disturbing, for the attacks that are occuring in Iraq could easily be perceived as being largely guerrilla in nature, instead of being defined as terrorist acts. The choice to use the word 'terrorist' instead of 'guerrilla' is consistent and distinct on the part of Wolfowitz and the American right. The difference between the two words lie in their definitions:

terrorist
adj : characteristic of someone who employs terrorism (especially as a political weapon); "terrorist activity" n : a radical who employs terror as a political weapon

guerrilla
An irregular mode of carrying on war, by the constant attacks of independent bands, adopted in the north of Spain during the Peninsular war.adj : used of independent armed resistance forces; "guerrilla warfare"; "partisan forces" n : a member of an irregular armed force that fights a stronger force by sabotage and harassment

The assault on the Al Rasheed hotel nearly killed the deputy Defense Secretary who was one of the chief architects of the Iraqi war. The attack was not targetted at civilians. The attack killed a high ranking American military officer. The goal of the attack was very military in nature and was carried out by an independent band fighting an obviously stronger force.

Yet, Wolfowitz and cronies continue to label all people fighting in Iraq as terrorists, when some of the 'insurgents' should clearly be considered guerrillas. The body count is suggesting that despite what Bush declared on May 1, the United States remains at war in Iraq. If the United States and independent groups of Iraqis remain at war, the irregular armed forces Americans face are indeed engaged in guerrilla warfare, not terrorist activity.

There are occasions when terrorist activity occurs in Iraq, such as today's vicious attack on the Red Cross, but we have to recognize that all combat in Iraq is not terrorist in nature. Much of it is definitively guerrilla, or even partisan activity.

A partisan, for those keeping track, is defined as:

A member of an organized body of fighters who attack or harass an enemy, especially within occupied territory; a guerrilla.

Of course, we would never want to use the word partisans to describe the guerrilla fighters in Iraq, because World War Two gave that word to our brave Eastern European allies in the 1940s. However, I might start using it, because it's awfully fucking uncomfortable for everyone because of its aptness.

Guess who the Partisans fought?

That's right. The Partisans fought the Nazis back in the 40s. Or, one could say that the the Nazis fought the Partisans back in the forties.

And so it follows - who's fighting the Partisans now?

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