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April 18th - April 24th, 2005
April 22nd, 2005
Sanctioned Hippie Holiday

It's Earth Day. As a day of celebration, I think that most people would agree that Earth Day ranks below St. Patty's Day, Halloween, Martin Luther King Day, and even Robbie Burns Day. Things are bad indeed when you're beaten by a poet in a popularity contest. The only less popular holiday is Hanukkah in Mecca.

In honour of the much-maligned holiday, I would point this article out, released three weeks ago. The coverage and public furor over the report it addresses was essentially nonexistent. Britney's bun in the oven and a dead Catholic virgin seemed to have stolen the spotlight.

Earth has suffered irreversible damage: study
March 31, 2005 -

Humans are damaging the Earth at such an unprecedented rate that the strain on the planet may destroy about two-thirds of its ecosystem services, according to a landmark international study.

The consequences of humans' activities are severe and include: new diseases, sudden changes in water quality, creation of "dead zones" along the coasts, the collapse of fisheries, and shifts in regional climate, according to the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment Synthesis Report.

"At the heart of this assessment is a stark warning," said the 45-member board.

"Human activity is putting such strain on the natural functions of Earth that the ability of the planet's ecosystems to sustain future generations can no longer be taken for granted," it said.

The four-year, 2,500-page assessment was drawn up by 1,300 researchers from 95 nations in an effort to inform global policy initiatives.

Scientists warn that about 60 per cent of the ecosystem services that support life on Earth, such as fresh water, air and water regulation and natural hazards, are being destroyed.
more article at

Ah, what can you do but hold on for the ride as Homo sapiens ignore all warnings and drive themselves into the ground. My publisher calls this behaviour the Cassandra Syndrome. Cassandra was the mythical Greek who could see into the future, but was cursed by Apollo so that no one would believe her. My publisher puts the scientists into the role of Cassandra - they can bark as loud as they want, but until we have a crisis situation, few people are going to listen.

Why? The majority of the people out there are stupid. This may sound cruel, but as one recent article explained, "70 percent of Americans still do not understand the scientific process, defined in the study as comprehending probability, the experimental method and hypothesis testing." Simply put, most people have no concept of how science works. Thus, it is easy to ignore the warnings of the scientists prophesying environmental apocalypse trucking down the road.

I mean, why bother about that when there's a salt stain in Chicago that looks sort of like the mother of god.

Oy. Vey. Happy Earth Day.

April 21st, 2005
Salty Miracle

Though John Paul II has only been dead a few weeks, the miracles are already rolling in. If he can rack up three miracles in the next few months, he may be on the short track to canonization. Such a fate would be fitting for a man responsible for naming more Saints than any previous Pope in Church history.

For those unfamiliar with the miracle, Mary, Mother of God, has appeared on the concrete wall of an underpass in Chicago. In addition, the likeness has appeared NEAR AN ARTIST'S RENDITION of Mary welcoming JP2 to heaven. Yes, right above it. Near a crack in the wall. A very holy crack.

'Scientists' and 'engineers' have said that the image of the Virgin Uberqueen is "a stain, likely a result of salt runoff". Of course, similar pagan experts once declared the Grilled Cheese sandwich with the likeness of the Virgin to be "probably burnt margarine". However, their analysis didn't prevent someone from purchasing the sandwich for $28 000. Did it?

(Editor's Note - True fact. $28 000 for a ten year old Grilled Cheese sandwich. With a bite out of it. )

However, hundreds of Christian onlookers were confident that the 'salt stain' was really the completely inexplicable likeness of a woman who died over 2000 years ago and had never been to Chicago. Though she had given birth without ever having sex. To a white fellah with long hair, even though she was brown. And she popped him out in a manger after a party with some Iranians.

“We believe it’s a miracle,” said Elbia Tello, 42. “We have faith, and we can see her face.”

Mingus Tourette, still on assignment for MSNBC in Rome, was ashamed to admit that he would need to drink at least fifteen shots of Jagermeister to say something more ridiculous than Elbia.

However, he did announce that he was considering taking up ballet instead of returning to Thai Boxing, because "ballet is like exercise for the artist, or rather, expression for the athelete". Tests on his blood alcohol levels were inconclusive, mostly because Mr. Tourette smashed the breathalyzer with a goalie stick.

Though it was not confirmed, it can be presumed that Tourette was upset that the new pope, Benedict 16, had chosen to endorse the Chodacomb instead of a personalized line of Popa Mingus Il Duce double pronged love tornadoes. Further details will probably not be forthcoming on this...

Click for the full Salt Stain / Virgin Mary story. Sigh.

April 20th, 2005
Pope Chodacomb

After a rather predictable conclave, the new Pope, Benedict 16, began his papacy with a surprise - endorsing Sweaty Charles' Post-Incarceration Chodacomb™ in a six-figure deal.

The product, which is not due to be released until next year, is designed for all-natural Choda grooming.

Sweaty Charles, who could not be reached for comment at the Bowden Penal Insitution, was reportedly 'exalted'.

High-ranking liberal Catholics pointed to the endorsement with a sense of vindication. Many modern-thinking Catholics had been fearful that the election of Joseph 'The Enforcer' Ratzinger would drag the Catholic Church back to the days of the Inquisition. Ratzinger is well known for his hard-line stance on moral issues and emphasis on the theology. Fortunately, his dislike of homosexuals, birth control, abortion, women's rights and non-Catholic Christians has not impeded his apparent love for good pubic hair etiquette.

Though nothing could be confirmed, rumours have hinted that the new Pope may visit Canada to promote the Chodacomb when Sweaty Charles is released in 2006. Early reports indicate that a new tagline may be added in honour of the Pope's endorsement. Possibilities include: Untangling the Mystery, Englightening the Puff, or God Loves a Clean Choda. More on this exciting story as it develops...

April 19th, 2005
Mo Poetry - Not That Anyone in This Country Gives a Fuck

If you should see a man
walking down a crowded
for he is a
you have NOTHING to
Ted Joans - "The Truth"

* And by that, I mean, you should go to the Raving Poets on Tuesday nights. Like today's Tuesday night.

April 18th, 2005
Roast Kraken & Morrie Xanadu
- A Brief History -

This weekend, I received over a hundred emails asking about Roast Kraken. Truly, people are incredibly stupid. However, it didn't stop me from meeting with Morrie on Saturday to talk about the project. He made a critical point about writing this kind of thing (see below), and he wanted me to meet 'our co-writer'. She turned out to be a sweet piece of ass and confessed chick-lit scribe named Sierra Tumbler. More about that meeting later.

To satiate the masses, here is a brief history of my involvement with Morrie Xanadu. For some reason, it is written in the third person. Enjoy.

--- --- ---

In late April of 2004, Mingus Tourette met a fellow who drank white zinfandel, wore light-tan linen suits and professed to be a talent manager. His name was Morrie Xanadu. His reputation was based on the dubious possibility that he had managed Brad Pitt's affairs during the shooting of Legends of the Fall in 1994. Morrie liked to call himself a movie producer some days. However, he made his living in talent, and was quite good at buying drinks for possible proteges.

Tourette never passed up a free drink, so months later, when the tour came to a crushing halt, the two of them found themselves sucking back gin after work on a Friday evening. Tourette had a few hours to kill before midnight, when Rae-Anne was getting off shift. Mingus ignored most of Morrie's small talk, concentrating on throwing back as many gin and tonics as he could. The night sparkled with promise.

"Now," said Mingus. "What the fuck were you saying about getting me my movie rights sold?"

"You won't make a dime off this poetry thing," Xanadu said. "It's for suckers. You'd be better off trying to peddle roast kraken to the homeless."

"Enough about your roast kraken," Tourette said. "What the fuck do you know about writing for money?"

"I know that poetry is bunk. Screenwriting. That's where the real money is. If I didn't suffer from my narrative disorder, that's what I'd be doing. And I tell you - if you write that thing up as a script, I'll get it sold. And not just for your poetic royalties that will never come in the door. Real money. Option money. International rights."

"I've been thinking about writing the story of the ambulance. And the tour."

"Whatever it is, God, don't write it as poetry. Write it as a script."

"Maybe it could be a script. "

"Something like Apocalypse Now, maybe. That would work."

"You mean like The Odyssey."

"No, like Apocalypse Now. I've never seen The Odyssey."

"It was a book," Tourette said.

"Never heard of it."


"I've heard of him. On the tv show."

"The Greek."

"I think he's from Springfield," Xanadu said. "You know, I love the roast kraken idea. Have you ever written a disaster movie? Or a monster movie?"

"No. Though I have always wanted to write something on hippos, sort of a violent revisionist perspective. I even had a title - Koboko: Wrath of the Hippo."

Xanadu looked at him queerly.

"Hippos are friendly," Xanadu said.

"They're the most dangerous animal in the world. They kill more people every year than all the major African predators combined."

"Sounds like a stretch. Even if they were dangerous, it would never fly. They look like big cows. But the Kraken. Did you know that in 1965, a Soviet whaler watched a battle between a giant squid and a 40 ton sperm whale? When it was over, they found the whale dead, the squid's tentacles wrapped around its throat. And they found the squid's decapitated head in the whale's stomach."

"How the fuck is that a movie?"

"I'm just illustrating how dangerous they are. There's a lot of dramatic potential there."

"How? Are you going to name them?"


"The squid. And the sperm whale. How else are you going to have dramatic potential?"

"Well, they wouldn't fight each other in the movie. They'd fight humans."

"What, together? Like Batman and Robin?"

"No, just the Kraken. The squid. Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't know, the duo has potential. You could name them Jeffrey & Anders; a crimefighting sperm whale and his dynamic giant squid partner. You'd apply a homoerotic subtext, of course. It would be perfect for a hundred million dollar Hollywood film. They could solve nutty capers."

"The point is, you've got to stop writing poetry. Screenwriting. That's where the bank is. If you put those five hundred words you write every night on that stupid web site of yours into a disaster movie, you could actually make some money. As a writer. And that's your goal, isn't it?"

Tourette paused as though he were about to say something profound, and then shut his mouth. He looked down at his gin. And there it was.

Roast Kraken, indeed.

After Xanadu shut the fuck up and paid for the drinks, Mingus wandered out into the darkness. Later, after getting dumped by Rae-Anne, and after some further introspection, Tourette went home. He wrote horrible things for a couple of hours, and drank a couple of high test rum and cokes, and when it was four in the morning, he found he still wasn't drunk enough to fall asleep.

He thought about phoning Chloe, but she was probably comatose, snoring beside her piece of plywood, and wouldn't much appreciate it. He thought about reading, but was having trouble concentrating on long paragraphs. After a few moments, he decided to write some more. But he was finished with writing long letters to old lovers that he would never post, so he opened a new page and titled it 'Roast Kraken' and laid into it.

He woke up at three in the afternoon, his hand stuck to an empty rocks glass and his forehead resting on the keyboard. His vision was a bit blurry. He wiped a spot of drool from his cheek and looked at the document he had been writing. He was nearly impressed. It was a one page plot outline, four pages of characters, and the first eleven pages of the most overhyped thriller-type script he could have hoped for, followed by a blank page with the following statement in the centre.


MINGUS in his LONGJOHNS with a RUM & COKE, drunnk and passssed out. He pretends he is surrnounded by zulus, and diyng, and for a lark, he wirtes the word 'arrrggghhhhh' at the the end of his journal

arrrghgggggggggggggggggguyunjhy bhbgyt mjuynh 0000000000000000001

Tourette nodded with satisfaction. Two days later he mailed the script to Xanadu.

Six months later, they would get together to talk about poetry awards, to discuss Morrie's first scenes, and meet a fetching young woman named Sierra Tumbler.

But What Happened Last Week? By God, Find Out Here!