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February 23 - 29, 2004
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?


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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