Happy New Year. To me.

Strange vibrations zipping through my interaction with female human auras. Closing in on HALF OF A CENTURY of life here on Earth, currently portraying Quasimodo as a twice-divorced bachelor man who happens to glide through life in a titanium wheelchair in the casual fashion of a 25 year-long quadriplegia. Dark clouds are lifting. I'm ready for more, already have accidentally been testing the waters. Finally. Didn't want to force it. I've been single long enough as to not throw luggage up in the air when talking to another woman, because it's all settled out. Jump in too soon and you're a douchebag.It's always better to be the least douchebag as possible, you'd think that would be easy. Enough already. I'm clean. I'm relaxed. I've got a little clarity. It's not time to shut down in my 50th year, although my birthday can hold off until this Summer, I'm in a more stable state of mind, maybe more than I've ever been. My health is returning. Simply stated, I'm enjoying being interested in meeting women just because they are women. It's been a while, it's hard to follow a wonderful woman, I didn't want to compare anyone to anyone. The Air is clear. There are so many attractive women roaming around, and I have no game. I'm a horrible flirt, I think. I'm not sure. It's just that now I remember how much I enjoy looking a woman directly in the eye and sharing a smile if just for a second. Trading witty thoughts with a woman far away in the Interwebs feels right too. Yep. I dig that stuff.

It's the beginning of Winter and I feel like it's Springtime with an upswing in the Market. It sure would be good to share some time with whoever wherever you may be. And yikes, women have never been more beautiful in my entire life. Luck and numbers, please favor me. I recently informed a friend on my recently activated mojo, and he said, "Victory or Death.". Sound advice.


















http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64Ixzp94ksw&feature=relmfu

Enough Already.

I'M LEANING INTO THE WIND. PLEASE. Let's please get 2012 underway. Please Jesus, please.

Wake up, it's the day after Santa Biz.

Gee whiz, Mr. Damon. The reason America was a happier place a decade or two ago is because we were a bloated manufacturing giant. The Great America Unwashed had jobs, 20 clams an hour jobs. This put a 2nd car and a boat in the driveways of illiterates from sea to shining sea. Without factory jobs for the vast majority of non-collegians, this collective malcontent will just grow and fester.

Fortunately for those safe in gated communities, 60% of Americans are so lard-assed from sedentary starch-opulence they'll never riot like in Greece or Italy. Taco Bell and KFC's Double Down chicken monstrosity will ensure this. Dean Vernon Wormer said it best, "Embrace the Audacity of Reality." loosely translated to that effect. And yet, how many Americans have a college education that relates to a skill? Hint: Not many. How many Marketing and Broadcast Journalism majors can Ohio State spew out before someone says enough already. WE DON'T NEED MORE OF YOU. THERE AREN'T ENOUGH REALITY TV SHOWS FOR ALL OF YOU TO JOIN IN ON.

Without factory employment, America is screwed. There will never be unskilled American factory employment again. And the reaction from the heart, a fight over waffle irons at Walmart. China and India and Japan are racing for a lunar presence. We cannot even muster enough pride to keep the Post Office open, let alone NASA. Like a fat kid in a closet with a bag of cookies, yay USA. Sharing is for Socialists! Never has a country worked so hard against its own interests and health of its people. The Audacity of Stupidity? The Audacity of Dopes? Of course, the now majority Right Wingnuts have a frothy belief in the destruction of American government as healthy for a free society. Assholes. Matt, you place too much potential on America. Until someone figures how to deal with a spoiled maybe-never-should-have-been middle class, this is going to be a miserable place for many moons.
















The Oscar award winner Matt Damon has been blasting the President lately. The declining American way of consumer life is bothersome to some of the wealthy.

RIP my friend.

My friend died a year ago. I didn't know until last week.

Scott Murray and me arrived in Cortland, NY proper within a week of each other. It was the beginning of the Eighties, a very bleak, dark somber America. I was looking for a place to land, so was Murray. It was as if we stepped off separate Lunar landers on Planet MFN, only to end up at the same Weirdness. Scott asked her to go skiing, I asked her to meet me after work since she was going skiing. This all came about first week, one night at a secluded upstairs bar, Godiva's above the Dark Horse, in a ski and college town in the middle of nowhere Upstate NY. Murray had a job that paid and I was a ski instructor and a vagrant. My future ex-wife met me at the bar at the bottom of the slopes, Scott was there. Something should have happened. Murray was gentleman, we were fast friends. It was a magnetic zone of skiing and food and beverages. We became a powerful clan. Greek Peak Ski School, a dozen or so of the Grey and Black would overrun the Dark Horse or anywhere Cortland, colors. And even after I broke my neck, Scott was always there. Jesus we blew a lot of money at the Rusty Nail, The Community Restaurant, Paddy's, the Tavern, Woodman's, everywhere. The Dark Horse. Scott made sure I was everywhere and at every event. He was always there. It was tough being a new quadriplegic, Scott and Greg and Bill and Jim. They were there. Playing cards, arguing politics, parties of legend- the Western event was epic with rooftop gun-play et. al.. After me and what should have been his ex-wife split, we were tight. Scott would laugh when my catheter would leak, we'd fix it. Back before ramps I still went everywhere, thanks to Scott. Scott gave me dignity. We were always tight between women. Women didn't like being around us when we were single, we laughed too hard. Our inside jokes drove women crazy, not one S.O. liked either one of us, we recognized this. Out of respect, we hung out infrequently. But oh, I can't count the number of our legendary events we started and finished. Scott once shoveled a path through eight feet of snow to my back patio. We BBQ-ed ribs like Kings and drank Jameson, a case or two of Old Milwaukee. Scott's generosity knew no bounds. We ate good. We enjoyed cooking over the edge. We did holidays for strays regularly, for those with family far away or unable to travel or too close. Thirty second auto transfer, in or out, me and wheels in his car. Epic times. I was stupid. I didn't check in with Murray after my last split. He was a brother through thick and thin and a great friend. He loved to ski hard and fast, always ready for a grease-race and Spring skiing slope-side BBQ. He loved to fish, fish fish. Always pushing that damn smoked Skaneateles Lake trout. Always wearing the Ray Ban aviators. Drove me nuts, he used to howl with my dogs until physical harm. Steve Earle's Copperhead Road. Damn. I can't believe he beat me into the ground.



The author suggests making a call or writing a note or comb the internet for a chance to say hello to an old friend. Merry Christmas.

A Happier Message of Thanks

Calm down peoples. "More pie." is a good answer.

The tremendous pressure in America to consume is like a tsunami. Back-to-school shopping season now marks the beginning of the Christmas Consumption Orgy. This continues on through February when enough shit has filled the Consumer Colon. There is no escaping this. A fast rising problem looming on the Wheel of Consumption is the impending shortage of days in a year. ALL SALES ARE FINAL. The whole deal appears to be sealed. Fresh faux holidays are in order. Not enough major purchases happening within the dim zone of St. Patrick's Day-Ides-of-March-Passover space. We need a spanking new GAZUNGAPALOOPAZING holiday. A Springtime celebration of Springtime. An excuse to exchange gifts. Big gifts that require power of some kind.

Think of it as only 100 days AFTER Christmas until you can give the Springapalooza Week. Springapalooza Week and its GAZUNGAPALOOPAZING gifting integrate the week-long multi-gift exchange with America's need to wander Walmart instead of doing anything actually interesting. National Parks are interesting and within a tank of gas to many of our Slovenly. Fuck it. Let's buy Shit we don't need. Oooh, look a chocolate fountain!

Happy Holiday.

















Bacon gumballs from thinkgeek.com. GET A GRIP is not endorsing these critters, I really need to monetize this place. Crap. Lost income opp...

Thanksgiving Bankruptcy

The blood-lust, racism, selfishness and hatred of the Far Right is as American as pumpkin pie. And 21st century America is a truly sad place to live with the endless bile of the now minority White who search for blame for their vanishing lifestyle. There is also this core of the Idiot Poor who are called to prayer for the GOP in direct conflict with their own interest. There is no doubt whatsoever that a large percentage hate the President because he's an African Hawaiian Muslim Hitler. Ask them, they do NOT like a negro in the White House. That stench? That's Grover Norquist. The man who runs Congress is close to getting his wish of the destruction of the Federal Government by starving it to death. Good bye food safety, clean water and air, food stamps, unemployment benefits, Medicare, student loans and Social Security. NASA. The United States Post Office. These institutions of A civil Society are evil Socialist ideas according to these greedy, narrow-minded, selfish, piss-on-your-neighbor cunts.

Fear-mongering is the Wingnut way of life, simply listen to the terror in the collective voice of the Republican debates. Their minions, They froth and cheer at executions and water-boarding. Richard "I hate Commies" Nixon would be booed off their stage as a pinko-China-whore-liberal in the 2011 Red-State Brain. And a bored Media demands the OWS own up to being Democrat college professors with hippie Enemy-of-the-State position papers. Meanwhile, ASK-ANY-Republican lashes out at OWSers as criminal free-loading pot smoking park-poopers who refuse to get jobs. Jobs that aren't there.

When did America get so viciously stupid? Not funny haha laughing at you funny you-fat-ass goober stupid but fucking vicious rank stupid? And we're supposed to be thankful for this shit? Truly depressing. And it's not fucking funny anymore.

The Perfect Shoe

Finally. Here it is. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the perfect shoe. It was made by Heutchy Union Black Shoes. heutchy.com This is not a paid endorsement, it's just that the perfect shoes should be worn. The world could use some Beauty. Beauty makes people feel good. And feeling good is a good thing. Shoes are good. Good shoes are better.

A Finger Up Your Ass

I'll never understand the American Nanny-State. For the life of me, no where in the Constitution can I find a reference to the government having ownership of my body. Prohibition 2.0 is so casually acceptable to the modern version of lazy churched and un-churched Puritans. Hypnotized by the notion that surrendering responsibility makes you safer from local TV news bloody boogey-men, chicken-shit America has willingly abdicated the unwritten Natural Right to Privacy. If only the Founding Fathers added a definitive MYOB clause, the entire 21st century American police/prison culture would not exist. We the Sheeple love a witch trial here in a country spawned from a busy-body religious cult. It is simply a sad and embarrassingly pathetic chicken-shit country we live in. We must never give up to this snoopy legacy. I've probably triggered the gutless Patriot Act with this poorly written paragraph. The 4th Amendment is a bad joke, "secure in their persons"? There is no separation of Church and State in automatic opt-in America. Democrats and Republicans are guaranteed election and re-election by pimping fear to pansy America.

Land of the Free, my ass. My ass? The majority of my countrymen are comfortable with a police officer sticking his fat, greasy, probing finger up my asshole when marijuana, a fucking weed, might be in the vicinity. Go look up a cannabis law, substitute gladiolas for marijuana. Ridiculous, yes? That's right, here in America, young Black men are disproportionally locked up because Gladiolus Regulation benefits us all. Thanks Steve Jobs, being alone and disconnected from technology's grasp is weird and socially unacceptable. You must be available 24/7/365. How long before it's illegal to be apart from your iDevice? Your every movement and moment documented by tracking cookies, RFIDs, and every street-corner plastered with 9/11 surveillance cameras. Privacy dead from billions of cuts. Given away freely. That Halloween cackle from the grave is Carrie Nation, welcoming you back to fanatical zealot 1919. pffft. Damn you and your ilk to Hell, mind your own fucking business.












Thank you ACLU, where there's hope there's fire.

Occupy {"A City Near You"} or I Wear My Sunglasses At Night

Go ahead people. Occupy something. Bring your medical marijuana and the baby stroller. Bitch en masse about a $6 debit card fee. The Teabagger's demonstrated it's acceptable to sit a fat ass in a lawn-chair waving misspelled signs with hand-painted black-face representations of our creepy Africa-born Hawaiian Muslim POTUS. Afro-Pizza King Herman Cain you are next.

Enough Already. Pass this DVD, that your kid can burn for you, around the neighborhood. THEY LIVE. John Carpenter's 1988 cinematic masterpiece They Live appears to be a near documentary of life in the beginning of the 21st Century. The first time I saw it TWENTY-SOME years ago, I mocked it as a piece of closet pop culture. A wrestler, acting? For Christ-Sakes. Another Planet of the Apes. Certainly not in Blade Runner's league. Please watch it with a critical eye. All by yourself. Place a sound-activated DVR in your shirt-pocket. After the screening, listen to the "what the..." and the "no fucking way" replays. Fucking genius social critique buried in that box of VHS tapes. Grab your nuts, America. Time to sack up.

This is the full length FREE ABSOLUTELY FREE widescreen film available at youtube.












Cut and paste in your browser for the entire full-length film:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWy2LBXjkxw&feature=related.

The owners of the film rights are frankly wonderful people. Buy the DVD for your permanent collection. And shake Mr. Piper's hand if you see him, thank him for his brilliant role in They Live.


Happy Halloween. Go ahead, try to sleep now.


Apologies for gratuitous profanity. You will understand. And have mercy and click an ad right down below. I'm a few clicky's from a $5. Don't buy, just click thru. Thank you. This is Steve Jobs digital world. Democratization of communication has flushed intellectual thought and literature into the digital ocean instantaneously. Washed away, the tsunami of the valueless Garbage Patch of gossip and social group fetishes and mundane discussions of lunch.

FEEER Is The Answer

Been boiling an idea about enjoining all American peoples in a common solution to all of our energy needs, full employment, eliminating taxes across all strata and income and well...everyone. It's simple. It will make everyone poop-your-pants-with-glee fucking happy. FEEER. It's a unicorn shitting glitter turds of an acronym. FEEER.

Envision the Flyover Energy Economic Empowerment Region. FEEER. Essentially no one cares about the flyover states. The Midwest is the new Confederacy at its heart and in its spirit. Let's face it, between the Rockies and Appalachia, and from the Gulf to the Cheese Belt its a cultural and economic wasteland. What land Monsanto doesn't reign over with their poison-based feudalism is a true to life intellectual Zombie zone. Time to put it to good use and save the nation from an all-out Civil War, except this time the weapons are a tad more lethal than a musket ball. And Walmart will happily arm everybody. Here it is. A Simple two page plan, and one of them is a colorful map. It's time to strip mine the entire Mid-West. Flip and Gut the Plains. A joyful rape of the Land of White Trash-hating Tornadoes and perpetual budget-busting flood-thrashed trailer-parks. Why even the government will save a bundle, it's time for just one big Dakota instead of two, right?














Leave alone the coastal-States like a Twister game, anything Liberal that touches internationally accessible waters is not to be Caterpillared. See, here's the thinking: Most of the Idiocracy of turn and burn voters lives in this Flyover Square. In order to preserve the Union, let them live and earn and burn the MidWest. Coastal politicals and dirty hippies are not keen on the fracking. Heartlanders get boners from the flipping the dirt and mountain-topping, sucking out the petroleum, burning the trash, anything for coin. God-fearing gun-loving, pork 'n' bean Beer-belly book-burning Teabaggers will pee their Carhartts at this Program. And have a heart, fat people need jobs too. No need to secede.

Boom. End of the bickering over the 'Environment'. All the decent National Parks are outside the Flyover anyway. The Mississippi River is just a giant toilet thanks to demon gravity. Let's end our dependence on foreign energy. Rip And Flip And Frack. Drill Baby Drill. Jobs jobs jobs for the GED crowd. Our liberal intellectual zones are preserved, clean and organically fresh as new union-sewn hemp underpants. The Pat Robertson/Jerry Springer crowd is paid and contained. America calls a truce between Republi-retards and the Smuggo-crats. Who do you know really wants to deal with 'Flyover America' soon to be 'Flipped Over America'??? Christ, these people are frightened by big books like a jury at a Salem witch trial. And the Earth is 5,000 years old. Fucking Monster Truck morons.

Solved by FEEER. Problem Fucking Motherfucking Solved.



Big Balls to roll this one out. Be serious, let's stop pretending for Christs-sakes, for Gaia-sakes. We don't get along, we don't need to get along and WE WILL NEVER GET ALONG. Enough already before full scale Civil War breaks out again. It may not have come to this if Abe Lincoln wasn't such a dedicated smarty-pants. The Mason-Dixon Line was simply not as well thought out or natural as The FEEER demarcation Square. Needs some fleshing out, patching the holes with a few minor mandatory no exceptions. Kentucky's Bourbon production is sacred ground, as is Bourbon Street and New Orleans. Austin will have to be relocated and lose its Capitol status. Iowa will be stripped of all political rights, as the Nation's designated pig farm it will be fenced off from all humans in Zone as well. The map is a tad trapezoidal with Slavery-based Carolina (more savings!), Georgia and Florida, this allows ocean access with China for their Walmart-addiction lifestyle. Region ID cards and RFID implants will be necessary to prevent cross contamination and cross-breeding of plants and 'species'. $2,500 yearly extraction dividend checks, a la Alaska, to FEEER residents will be greeted with drunken revelry.

Over one hundred fifty plus years in the making, it's been sitting right there in front of us. Go ahead, grind through from social, political, geological, climate, population, fiscal, every goddamn -ogical. This can work. The Blue Eclair. The Red State Filling. The Teabagger Confederacy doesn't care about being poisoned. Rip it. Flip it. Drill it. Frack it. Strip it. Chop it. Fuck it. And Blue States can be as green and clean as a Hippie-Mama's placenta-fertilized garden. Gayly-painted little Prius' are distributed free with every Gay marriage. Once again, JFK's picture on every Blue mantle. The Bloobers care too much and that's OK. Hemp milkshakes and Birkenstocks all around.

Oprah's got her Moonbase, the rest of us have to deal with an increasing divided, hate-fueled Homeland.

BOOM. FEEER SOLVES THE FUCKING PROBLEM. WE HAVE NOTHING TO FEEER EXCEPT FOR FEEER ITSELF.





The author hopes to avoid Sir Thomas More's fate.

Our Garbage Patch

The state of affairs that is modern technology is the digital equivalent of the Garbage Patch. The Garbage Patch, that giant swirling mass of fetid, toxic, floating, rotting plastic waste bobbing in the Pacific Ocean that has everyone perplexed. What's in there? How we interact in the beginning of the 21st century with media is a roiling, confusing, sloppy mess. And Netflix is an immensely disruptive blob of digital goop in the Stew of Media. What?

Some of us pretend to be up on the latest wave of interactive communication. As well as all its cool toys and endless, hedonistic entertainment. Here in 2011, we want it all now. No, we want it yesterday. Naturally, it had better be free or damn close to free of charge. Streaming content is the Early Adapter's cheapo-equalizer now and future Joe Public's revelation. When you can pick up a 2TB external harddrive for data storage for approximately $80, the Patch is bubbling. An entire video store wall of Hollywood's magnificent creations stored in a paperback-sized box. And unlike the sentimentality attached to paper-from-tree books or the vinyl experience sleeved in foldout art, there is no reason to own or manufacture a physical DVD in an ugly plastic case. As the streaming library cloud improves, combined with high speed web access availability in 'rural' markets with fresh money, waiting on a DVD in the mail or from a Big Best Box already seems silly on a rainy day. Apple made consumers comfortable with the concept of magic music content that you don't need hold in your mitts to enjoy. Amazon's ereader market is also greasing the tracks, magic books made from ones and zeroes. Out of seemingly nowhere Netflix will grant you access to unlimited TV shows and films through a high speed internet connection. And Netflix or Amazon is going to ride this wave for around $8-12 a month verses cable and satellite TV's $60-90. Comcast is trying to convince you that cable is worth $600 more a year for the same blorp of Garbage Patch, The Biggest Loser and Deadliest Catch. This explains a panicky Comcast buying NBC Universal and its 10 million episodes of Law and Order.

Unfortunately for Netflix without consumer-demanded unique content they can be replaced in a flash, competition drives innovation, a benefit to consumers. Just bargaining for early release dates for a DVD is a desperate attempt at advantage in the Patch. In the murky muck of the internet download, the quality of the feature is not on par with the Retail Savior known as the blu-ray disc. It takes a lot of stones to attempt to convince media-saturated customers to replace all their regular boring widescreen extra features and interviews with the key grip DVDs with "way better cooler" BLU-RAY DVDs. Wait, there's more better better stuff. Blu-ray DVDs need a blu-ray player, right? How about a blu-ray player that can stream Netflix or hulu-plus?














Put on your snorkel and fins, swim for the center, the sweet spot if you will, of our Garbage Patch. Just don't swallow any of the soup. Right then. The savvy skin-diver says why bother purchasing a blu-ray player without an internet access feature? No, wait. Skip that. Just plug one's computer into one's pimped-out LED HDTV loaded with HDMI and optical and USB and every connectivity and capability ever imagined for streaming movies and Pandora music and free eBooks from one's public library, free VOIP long distance video calls, an unobtrusive antenna that gives a gorgeous crystal clear digital broadcast of the NFL, Criminal Minds and local cheesy news and weather. Total cost for an early adapter-type who keeps a 16gb flashdrive on the keyring? Not much. Fat, cheap multi-Terabyte [that's a big big bunch of gigabytes meaning a shit-ton of megabits, 2TB is about 500 to 1,000 feature films like Avatar and Toy Story.] harddrive, high speed connectivity from CLEAR [WIMAX wireless] plus a few bucks to a hulu+ or a Netflix is awesome. [Danger of drowning in technical manual-ese and the cost of psychiatric medicine is an individual's burden.] Be aware of violent outbursts from the 20% of high school dropout-Joe Blows. But Blow-With-A-Job loves all the endless entertainment and Blow writes a whole bunch of checks every month. Most likely paper checks. A small fortune for Joe who is going to be steamed when he figures he's paying out the...













Early Adapters have reached critical mass. EA's hate hate hate paying for anything. They hate paying for content like a Tea-bagger Republican hates taxes and food stamps. Hello, say there The Pirate Bay! 'My portable harddrive will hold a HALF MILLION songs? *thud* What's a bit torrent? Even Joe Blow's grandma is swimming in the free Facebook cluster-fluke. Along with those wacky kids in Tahrir Square. The DVD's impending death was announced with Blockbuster and Hollywood Video's implosions, Netflix is twisting the knife. Data floats. Is the Garbage Patch a Google underwater data farm? Can you charge a whole generation for content when it has been free for a decade? And what's to become of those who've overpaid for the same decade?

The convergent seascape of hardware and proximity of imagination and revenue enhancements is fermenting like the Patch underneath it all, and loyalty to physical media is dead as AOL in the price-based world. And it's all moving frighteningly fast for a floating partially-decomposed petroleum-based gurgling sludge in the middle of our largest ocean. It's feeding off the Weirdness Energy like that Kirk-Spock era Star Trek episode. Was it Star Trek?

Cheese is a healthy snack in these wacky times. Mmmm...cheese.

Sexy Hip Food Carts!

Excerpts from an internal staff memo:

NOTE: I MUST HAVE BEEN REALLY REALLY THWARPED IN CRIPPLEVILLE FOR THIS BILE TO SHOOT OUT. IT HAPPENS. SHOULD NOT BOTTLE UP THE RANT. AND I WON'T DELETE ITS IMMEDIACY. PROST.

"I'm considering burning down a hugely popular festival of consequence this weekend. Foodie-Cartopia. Like mushrooms after mist. Here in Portland there is a nuclear explosion known as FOODCARTS...sss-sss-sss... Started innocent enough with a cute little truck colorfully decorated DIY commie vibe hummus felafel doughnut free-range chicken nipples on a stick. Now they are a rash. Great unique funky foodstuffs open until 5AM. PODS, they are called, clusters of carts/trucks. And according to a respectable harumph harumph business owner buddy -they are all cash, no codes, no health inspections, no restrooms, no paya da taxes or da rent. The food can be killer-good. Fabulously killer delicious good. NY Times loves the Portland food-cart scene. BOOTSTRAPS ENTREPRENEURS. There is a huge festival under the bridge down the block this weekend. The thing is...as good as the food is...really really good...good fucking foods...they serve peoples of colors. They serve Jews. They serve dykes. And fags. And Transluciterians. Almost everybody eats. Here's the rub. Most of these quirky, hip, groovy, out-side-the-box freedomers don't take my kind. And I've asked nicely if were it be OK. Ramp it, please. Ummm, we can't afford it. Or we don't have to, we read the law. (''reasonable accommodation'' small biz exemption clause). Who cares, eh? The dude wearing a tutu gets a deep fried monkey pie. So STFU. They know they're skirting the ADA and hush...here's a coupon. PROPER ETIQUETTE TO NOT BURN IT DOWN? I almost have to monkey-wrench this party. Edward Abbey would do it. Hunter would do it. What size laminate should I size? For my porkpie. 3"x5"? Smaller? Graphic is a given. I gonna hafta liquor up hard to thrash an INDY post-420 groove-fest. Serve child-molesters fine cupcakes but I'm a rabble-rouser. Silly Greenville kids wanting to eat at the lunch counter. Just throwing out a few hay-makers to hear what they sound like... I could fix this the hard way. Maybe I will. It be tempting to lighter-fluid match the dam industry, so easy...

I fought long and goddamn hard so I could get into a fucking restaurant. Me and Bob Dole. Bob Dole. So I could sit at the fucking table with my friends and family and strange beautiful women. Now some asshats come along and rip up the fucking ramp that I busted my ass to build. Fuck. I just don't think I have the energy stones to burn down really good food. Affordable delicious food. I did my time as Gimp Anarchist Activist pre-ADA. I've got a goddamn FBI file from my days with crazy cripples staging protests against Greyhound and some nation's Capitol fiascos. Where are the lazy cripple young Americans? Egyptian kids aren't playing fucking xbox. Here's there chance to piss people off and affect change for the good of all. Are little old ladies in walkers and wheelchairs not deserving of a free-range weasel waffle with wasabi pineapple dipping sauce? Nope. Only the cool, groovy yoga pants-hipstas pushing their $2K dog/baby SUV-strollexus who can step up to a dumpy ecoli-happy Winnebago for veal-newt tacos on a stick get to be the in thing.

Maybe I should just send this with some clean-up and added adjectives and stingy verbs and shit. Rat bastard cock-smoking SOBs. I just want to eat fucking Poutine like any other properly aligned Oregonian. On a stick. Used that one twice. Must be another hand-held food delivery generalism. Generalism. That's not even a fucking word."

Suckers Are Still Available

Dateline: Portland, Oregon. March 14, 2011.

HEY, Let's pay money to 'get motorvated' by Rudy, Bradshaw, and LAURA BUSH in Portland's Rose Garden Arena with thousands of other paying suckers, err... motivated Americans chasing skins. Sales pitches between genius millionaires makes a motivated American proud to be fleeced, err... inspired by America's Mayor, a genius Quarterback ...and the real First Lady. Cough it up, $99 will buy your dreams if you act before the tent stakes are pulled up! Hurray hurray! If only I attended this epic sellout snake-oil, errr motivate America to RICHES BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS! LEAVE YOUR CUL-DE-SAC LOSER NEIGHBORS BEHIND! Jesus Fucking Christ in a polyester suit and a headset mike. Preying on the desperate is an American tradition, PT Barnum would be proud. Some type of lemming or fire ant or wasp or suburbanite metaphor would really be appropriate right about now. These people paid "pornographically wealthy"* millionaires their grocery and kid's shoe money for this. Fraud is no longer a crime. Now get back to the suburbs in your mini-vans, and wait for your Terry Bradshaw McDreams to die.

note: Former Mayor of Portland Bud Clark, pictured above, is the antithesis of these douchebags.

*quote from a C-SPAN Washington Journal viewer.

Sunnyside Winter Day

Portland, Oregon. February 18th, 2011. Stumptown Coffee. Sunnyside neighborhood. Belmont & 34th. 11:20AM. 41 degrees. East wind wafting off Mt. Hood. Or the Gorge. Cloudy. Photo by author.















Around and down the block. Memorial turned landmark for the May 1998 vehicular murder of bicycle commuter Matthew Schekel. In a neighbor's front yard. Unseen are the new art-benches and bike frames from the other side. Bright sunshine. SE Taylor & 37th. Photo by author.

Seriously.

The Conservative Political Action Conference takes Don Trump seriously.

SUNDAY EDITORIAL

The unedited Sunday Editorial occasionally is published many other days of the week.



The revolution will be televised. When the worm turned in Tahrir Square, something very odd happened. In front of the entire world, sprung up from eons past, the Roman Colosseum appeared in front of our very eyes. The day before, anti-government protesters gathered peacefully to be witness to the ouster of dictator and American friend Hosni Mubarak. As if directly channeled from a Portland Oregon leftish wet dream, tens of thousands gathered to change a 30 year-long yoke of oppression. Somewhere on that Square, a little girl placed a bright orange poppy in a soldier's rifle barrel. But in a region of Ancient Rome, suddenly there it was. A Superbowl.

A bunch of guys straight out of Ben Hur extra casting crash through the crowd. Gladiators on camels and horseback waving sticks like scimitars. Except these dudes are dressed like they just left the second-hand WalMart men's department. A gang of pro-dictatorship types bashed in some heads. Their swarthy fellow Egyptians in $2 Goodwill armor fought back admirably. Beatings ensued, a camel may have been injured. News Departments are scrambling their design divisions brainstorming for new graphics and logos and dramatic music. An epic scrum. Day and night blur together.

Anti-Mubaraks form barricades, steel plates the size of picnic tables are magically produced from the Hollywood prop department out back of Liberty Square. A reporter remarks 'they locked their shields like Roman Legion soldiers'. Molotov cocktails. In the Arena. Two sides battle it out, surprising no corporate sponsorship banners in the FIFA background. Warriors symbolically fighting for the fate of Egypt. And not a Mark Anthony in sight.

A Middle Earth siege, back and forth. Except it's covered by CNN. And Al Jazeera. And FOX and CBS, MSNBC. NBC. The newspaper dudes were the first to be beaten with sticks and punched in the mug. Anderson Cooper was punched in the mug later on. The Whole Enchilada is coming in way under budget according the studio's auditor. The Army did a big smoke trail around the Square, obviously this stealthy technology was designed in the United States so what the Heck. A Doug Henning Smoke Ring of Illusion. And yes, sure, it's in 3-D by gumption. Just like the Superbowl. Hey, wait a minute...the comparisons are just sitting there. But that's too easy, even for Henry Kissinger and Rumsfeld.

The Palace Guard drops petro-bombs from the walls up on high. The Burqa's re-supply from the sidestreets encircling Tahrir Square. Fresh throw rock piles are stacked during lulls in the Scrap. Cartons of Marlboro's and clean polyester shirts are passed around. No chariots however, 50MM rounds fired from American-made tanks dot the sound-scape. Keep 'em in the Ring, Boys. The Battle rages. Facebooked and twittered. On cable, satellite, cellular, AM/FM, on paper, ones and zeroes, over-the-air antenna. Tune in to witness the Spectacle of Human Drama. Just keep it in the Ring.




After the Superbowl, flat panel television prices will plummet. There it was, an extremely rare in-the-flesh Philip K. Dick expanded Spartacus vuvuzuela moment. Parker and Hart's Wizard of Id: "Sire, the peasants are revolting!" "Indeed."

SHAAZAM!

Dream gig. Department Chief: The Decider Division.

In every media organization there is a department that designs the graphics and scores the theme music for IMPORTANT STUFF. *echo echo* Without this, it never happened. Flash cuts. Bam. Bam. Bam. "Greenlight that, Bob!" Without this, it never happened. *zing. svoosh. pa-shwa-zang. huh-nuh-nuh-huh-nah-nah. ping.* Cue cellos. Roll in melancholy horns... Director's voice at quarter-volume, "3...2...1...and...".

Words are so declasse. Get A Grip needs a theme song that can easily be hummed. And some swirly graphics. 3-D graphics. Everything is going 3-D.

Screw that. I need glasses to read. Why would I want glasses to watch my gotdam teevee? Exactly.

Long Live The New Queen!

Secretly, for years of juicy, hot, sexy glee, I've been promoting the Congresswoman from Minnesota's 6th District. A year or so ago, it was easy to recognize that Representative Bachmann had edged out the Quitter Queen Sarah Palin for the Batshithousecrazy title. And now that Palin's star has fallen with the cancellation of her reality show and her collusion in the assassination attempt on Arizona Congresswoman Gabby Giffords, a coronation ceremony for the New Queen of Koo Koo for Cocoa Puffs is an obvious necessity. It is insane the amount of quotable material created in such a short time by Lady Bachmann. Unlike Palin, Bachmann will spin and win a Republican nomination with her hot boomer lady-parts on Dancing With The Stars ensuring victory through the power of spandex.

"...The question is, will the Senators of Minnesota act like the Honolulu military headquarters and ignore your message? Today we face perhaps the greatest attack on the family in our lifetime. Now is OUR time to stand up and send a message to avert an equally impending disaster. Please visit www.mnmarriage.com to read my recent column on the threat that legalized gay marriage poses to our civil and religious liberties and, to tax exempt organizations in particular." - Michele Bachmann email to supporters.

My deepest apologies to the simpleton followers of the Palin Fiasco. Guns, the book signing crowds, pre-marital teenage babies, snow-billies, shopping sprees, moose knuckles, a fine porno tribute 'Nailin' Palin', Guns, Russia and Tina Fey's paycheck, little retards, the Couric Paranoia, there is so much more... It's all water under the Wingnut Bridge. We'll miss you Sarah. And we'll miss your clan of under-achievers.

*blaring trunpets*

Congratulations! Our next President of the United States of America! Michele Bachmann!

perverts and psychos

Well now. This is wrong in so many ways.

Autta Be a Law

Yoga pants have been banned from a local high school. High schoolers are not the problem. This clothing should banned from all public spaces, grocery stores, public transit within city limits... Jegging law should be set by independently elected BMI boards will base policy upon urban community standards. Naturally, urban rules supersede suburban standards. "I was only gonna be a minute." is no excuse. The stocks or hard labor are yet to be determined. My imaginary world is rough,tough place.

Approval Rating Explained

Sometimes it's the simple, obvious answer literally looking right at you. Does anyone look at Bozo the Clown and say, "Now there's a serious thinker I can respect."? Watching the healthcare debate taking place in Washington, witness the US House of Representatives as the largest collection of frightening hairstyles on planet Earth. It's difficult enough to listen to an entire gaggle of flapjacks who don't understand the concept of the 'Indoor Voice'. But look at them. I dare you to watch CSPAN, it's a trainwreck of hairspray and rabid zombies. The comb-over and TV preacher hair battle it out for most gruesome example of barber college final exam failures. This is the subliminal reason why America hates Congress. Only a decent haircut can save America. Stop the madness, in the next election please vote for the best hairdo among the candidate field.