February 27, 2004
Time, Fucking With You
To follow up on the wedgie issue, as pulled by El
Presidente Bushica, Rosie O'Donnell married
her favourite piece of carpet in San Fran yesterday.
Congrats, girls. O'Donnell was quoted as saying,
"I think the actions of the president are,
in my opinion, the most vile and hateful words ever
spoken by a sitting president. I am stunned and
I’m horrified."
I'd like to see her and George fight to the death
in a cage match presided over by myself, Colin Powell,
and six shaved orangutans painted pink. The combatants
would each be allowed to dip their hands in nails,
to simulate the shenanigans perpetrated in the Passion
of Christ (no link, as I am banning this film),
and then attempt to crucify each other. My money,
personally, would be on the bull dyke. Bitch got
it going on.
Fascinating article on
IHT today, by a man who was on hand when Lyndon
Johnson started the Vietnam war, by ordering reciprocal
bombing against the Vietnamese who had led an 'unprovoked
attack' on American destroyers in the Tonkin Gulf.
In reality, it was a complete fabrication, and everyone
in the building knew it. This man harbours the guilt
of that entire war because he was in a position
that he knew the truth and could have spoken up
and possibly prevented that bombing run. It would
have come at the cost of his career, of course,
but he had access to documents that could have turned
the path of history and did nothing. Now, he encourages
others in his position, White House clerks, etc,
to do true patriotic duty, and speak up about what
has really happened with WMD and Iraq. A worthwhile
read.
Imagine having the power to avert a war, but at
the cost of being blackballed, called a traitor
and probably being personal destroyed by the press,
the government and even your friends. Would ya?
Speaking of dilemmas.
The Assman called me up and invited me out to an
art show this evening. I hesitated when it first
hit, but he described it as a fine place to 'drink
a couple of glasses of wine, look at paintings and
check out some art house ass'. Who knew he was such
a connoisseur? Five glasses of wine, a couple hundred
paintings, and the longing stares of three or four
deeply repressed near-virgins later, we got into
the real meat. He wasn't interested so much in the
art, as telling me about his latest x-rated developments
and seeking my advice.
Seems like he has an offer on the table to apply
for one of the 'boyfriend' positions in the freshly
renovated House of Porn. Which would mean that he
wouldn't be stuck behind the camera, but rather,
would be allowed to regularly drill one of the strippers
and get some quality on-air time.
He's conflicted. He's got a decent sized dick (as
he says), and he's in good enough shape, but wonders
what it would be like to have to pretend not to
notice that he's on camera (it's supposed to be
hidden cameras upstairs, and the boyfriends don't
know they're drilling for other voyeurs) everytime
he prepares to lay down the pipe. Not to mention
the strangeness of having to finish every love-making
session by busting a nut on his beloved. And the
fact that he actually has a bit of a crush on the
girl that he would be auditioning for. Cause it's
never that simple.
After last week's critical lambasting, I thought
deeply about what to say, even though it seemed
so clear to me. Eventually I said, 'Fuck it, dude.
Maybe that pinhead Rendrag is right, and maybe it
would be the soul-sucking job of a lifetime. But
maybe, if you can drill one of these girls on a
regular, amateur basis, and you love it and she
loves it, then you will have something that will
take your heart and nourish it, somewhere.'
So I recommended he give it a shot. If it rips him
to pieces in a few months, so be it. What else does
he have, before he gets old? And who really cares
about getting torn to shreds over a love affair?
I certainly don't. Tear my fucking heart out, Colette,
if you will, and then marry your foppish nancy.
The only care should be the fear that these things
will never occur. A lacerated heart always heals,
but regret nags, like a persistent harpie, moreso,
as one ages, until one bitters from the whole fiasco.
Or as I said to Ronnie, quoting from one of everybody's
favourite contemporary novelists:
See the young kissing,
and run it by your heart. If your heart rejects
it, retreats from it, then that's age, that's time,
fucking with you. - Martin Amis
February 26, 2004
Wedge Issues
It seems like I wasn't the only one who saw through
Bush's attempt to create a 'wedge issue' in order
to draw attention away from the real issues. Nor
was I the only upset about his idea to suppress
the rights of homosexuals. Just about every politician,
including Kerry,
weighed in with some heavy criticism. A comprehensive
reaction list lies
here.
Of interest, one of the best articles I saw on
the announcement belonged to the one and only
Wil
Wheaton, often recognized as Wesley Crusher
from Star Trek, or the kid from Stand by Me. Even
though he's got a
book coming out in two weeks, and he realizes
speaking out on such a thing might be a bad idea,
business wise, he still took the time and used
his valuable soapbox to explain a bit of the 'Southern
Strategy' that the Republicans have used to win
elections since old Dick Nixon bulldogged his
way into the White House. Consider buying his
book for friend or fellow geek,
and hope that Wil keeps on crushing ass!
Besides that, my favourite article was a somewhat
satirical jab about
gay penguins. Seriously.
On the homefront, I got my final final book
proof from the
publisher before we send it to press. I'll
get to take a look at the proofs from the printer,
but changing any words at that point will be a
royal, and expensive, pain in the ass. So this
weekend is it. I've read it again, for the final
time, and it seems to be without mistakes, but
I know that I'll be reading it a few more final
times, just to be sure. Cause I'm fucking psychotic
and obsessive about this sort of thing. And nothing
else. Really.
Earlier this week, I sent Colette a letter filled
with entreaties for another drink, and maybe some
more conversation, and let her know that I had
a wonderful time squeezing her beneath the table,
but without so many words. Today she said yes,
she would love to meet again this weekend.
Interesting enough, there is no mention of poetry
being exchanged at this point, and no haiku or
cinquain are included in these letters. Just a
talk of drinks and conversation and the unspoken
references to stolen caresses. Like this.
slippery hands
wet with condensation
slide over each other
February 25, 2004
Bush Pricks Married GayLords
Abstract: Bush attacks rights
of gays for political diversionary tactic. Mingus
advises that any queer, straight man or coke-snorting
Episcopalian who wants to lock his or herself
into a lifetime commitment with another Homo
sapien should be given free reign to do so.
When they get back from the honeymoon, they can
paint his fence.
Thesis: Ever the master of the
diversionary tactic, Bush and cronies have decided
that in an election year where the administration
faces heavy, relevant criticism for lying to the
public, leading them into an extremely expensive
war of choice, pissing off the international community
and racking up the highest deficit in modern history,
they are going to engage in a little RedNeck Christian
grandstanding. That's right, George et al are
aiming to amend the constitution so that men can't
marry men, and women can't marry women.
I highly recommend a little reading on this: MSNBC
or IHT.
It's a masterful stroke on his part. If people
start talking about the first American constitutional
amendment since 1992, and start yacking about
gay marriage, they'll forget all about the woes
of the economy or the 545 dead American soldiers
who fought for oil and Halliburton. Were I American,
I would be distraught, because this issue is nothing
but a distraction, much like Bush's big Mars plans,
which seem to have come and gone. Hopefully, this
dies on the floor.
The diversion element is my major problem with
this latest issue. The issue itself seems entirely
irrelevant, but that could just be Mingus. Personally,
Mingus would love to see all restrictions lifted
on marriage, everywhere. The whole thing seems
silly to me. If a man and a man would like to
waltz down the aisle hand in hand, trade rings,
and go on honeymoon to Mazatlan, so be it. I would
be proud to give one of the blushing grooms away.
If a woman and woman would like to elope after
an eighteen hour midnight run to Vegas, call me
your stickman, ladies. I'll drive the limo. Hell,
if a midget wants to marry his pet rabbit, I'll
shake his hand, pet Thumper on the head and wish
them the best of luck, cause really, it should
be like this:
Anyone willing and crazy enough to request a marriage
license should be granted one with a grin and
slap on the ass. I was. And I shouldn't have been.
And it ended fucking tragic-like. But since I
was old enough to vote and drink and I passed
some religious marriage counselling and I was
marrying a woman named Nat who was properly knocked
up, they smiled at us widely and joined us before
the eyes of God. And they shouldn't have. 'Cause
what did it mean?
Nothing.
Fuck. And I thought I was done talking about that.
February 24, 2004
The Mingus Comanche
Speaking of American military spending, it looks
like the Pentagon
axed the 39 Billion dollar Comanche helicopter
program. So far, the program has spent $6.9 billion
dollars, and has produced two (2) helicopters.
According to Zygote
accountants, this is equivalent to $3.45 Billion
per helicopter. Guess I shouldn't have mocked
the poor Canadian military and its Sea Kings.
Personally, I'd rather save that seven bill and
go without the two helicopters. How does one spend
$3 450 000 000.00 on one helicopter? I mean, I
know how I would approach it:
$200 Mill: Titanic Replica Hull
(w/ Celine Dion and Leonardo DiCaprio Dolls)
$50 Mill: Oversized Razor Sharp
Adamantium Rotor Blades (for fighting mutants!)
$600 Mill: Six Nukleear Wearpons
w/ launch system
$539 000: 120 Green Segways to
transport crew around oversized Titanic hull
$100 Mill: 60' General Patton
Robot mounted on the front of the helicopter.
Throws real rocks and other things (see above
Nukleear wearpons)!
$6 Mill: 120*32 Gold teeth for
Crew
$719 400: 120 Real
Dolls for Crew (don't open at a real job!)
$6 and a Handful of Cod: 1 George
Bush Doll to sit in Emporer's Chair (pilot suit
and incomplete service records not included)
Total So Far: $957 258 406.
That leaves 2.49 Billion dollars
to buy two-hundred-forty-nine (249) Apache
AH-64 Assault Helicopters (with grappling
hooks) to Lift the Titanic Replica Hull Comanche
w/ the Segway transport system, nuclear weapons
and 60 Foot General Patton Robot and fly it valiantly
into battle. Watch out, Wolverine! And watch out,
Ron
Jeremy!!
February 23, 2004
Interstellar War
Interesting
article discusses the State's plan for war
in space. My question is: who the hell are they
going to fight? Us Canadian's don't even have
helicopters that work, and the Iraqi's aren't
building space shuttles, although rumours persist
that the CIA was sure they were involved in manufacturing
some sort of space rockets at one point. Or at
least they shure looked like space rockets from
the air. Nukleearr space rockets.
So why spend so much fucking money on preparing
for war in space, I wondered? I shook my head
as I read the article, and suddenly felt my bowels
clench . I stood up, walked over to the washroom
and sat down to take a shit. I realized that I
had left my copy of Writer's
Digest near the computer. All that I had to
read was
Ulysses, my steadfast bathroom companion for
four and a half years, and a pile of the Economist
magazine that the folks handed me a couple of
months ago. Unwilling to tackle bloomsday, I leafed
through the pile of magazines and pulled one out
that had a photo of Mars, and the title "George
Bush's grand but costly vision". Suddenly,
the entire American war plan came into context.
The Bushes are going to invade Mars.
It will start with George, who carries the States
to 2008, and continues with Jeb, who can take
them to 2016. By then, there will be a new generation
of American royalty, Bush the IVth, to take over
and crush some martian ass. And if there isn't,
I know that Arnold already has a long
record of crushing Martian ass and has already
intimated that he might be interested in running
the States. But before that happens, George
and Jeb got to make sure that they spend enough
money to establish the martians, crank up the
propaganda, paint them as traitors, get the interstellar
war machine rolling and then get ready to invade!
It's going to be fucking awesome!!!
Unearthly revelations. Such is the nature of a
eerily silent shit on a Sunday afternoon.
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