On the windborne devastation of Henryville: Mitch Daniels has made more homeless than all the recent tornadoes combined

Still don't believe in global warming folks? It's my opinion that this is a warning, like Joplin, Missouri last year, from the earth. We cannot keep using fossil-based fuels, we cannot keep using petroleum, period. A consensus is forming in the scientific community that 2017 might be the year of no return, however, with carbon dioxide emissions exceeding all predictions, and with the reaction in the atmosphere growing geometrically, that window might be closing sooner than we think. Do we really want to gamble on that? Everyone with their finger in the oil pie says yes. You sure? I know, I know, Jesus is coming.

Speaking of the Naz, crazy Pat Robertson made one of those predictable remarks one usually sees from slavering goobers when someone "takes the Lord's name (What's his name? We don't know) in vain: "Something's going to happen to you for that," always a popular comment at keggers. Yes, yes, Robertson was doing an "I told you so!" version of it when he said tornadoes wouldn't reap destruction "if we'd pray more" as a nation. This is true: there was no weather until the fall of  Man, the fossil record illustrates this clearly. Yesterday I was running the van on some remnants of Adam and Eve (not Adam and Steve, surely), it's true, I saw it, I smelled it. Souls have a smell, after all, especially American ones, which is why we shower so much. Speaking of stink...

How about that outgoing Republican asshole Governor, Mitch Daniels visiting the devastated Henryville, Indiana on Saturday? A journalist asked the small government asshole what he would tell the families of the town who were now homeless (OK to become homeless through natural disaster is acceptable, not so through man-made lay-offs, downsizing, etc.--your fault). Daniels had this empty comment which he feebly blurted out as though someone had told him he'd lost all of his money, or that someone had photos of...you know:

"Well... we love you...and we're with you. And... if it isn't already obvious... It's not just government, it's their neighbors here to help. I would just say to those families that we're going to do everything we can to get you back on your feet, to get you back in business and in your homes."

After being faced with his own general inhumanity because of the destruction around him, the Governor couldn't resist making his inappropriate political statement and experienced premature ejaculation.

Anyone could envision him having difficulty achieving a erection merely by his nebbish appearance. Goober was painting a neocon portrait of America that's never going to work, never did, common knowledge since the end of 2008. He knows better than anyone; it must be at the back of his mind at all times. Yes, in such events we get to see what people are really made of, Daniels being no exception. As predicted, he's comprised of ineffectual bullshit as all Republicans and Libertarians are. "Neighbors" will never be enough, and for the Ron Paul crowd (mooks), neither will churches.

"Well...we love you...and we're with you." Fuck you too, asshole. This scumbag has never cared about the fate of the homeless in this country, and then suddenly he does? What's he been doing for all of the unemployed during his unfortunate tenure as an officeholder? Working, as one example, with his fellow Republicans in the state house to end their unemployment benefits, actually hurting them, driving the economy down, destroying jobs. On his way out the door Daniels and the Indiana GOP have passed their right to work law, because "Well...we love you...and we're with you."Even in the aftermath of natural disaster, these people never let up, these lunatics, these criminals, these Republicans.

This guy is the "hope" of the GOP? They want to draft him to run for president? They've finally lost their minds. Expect the Republican Party to die soon, of a self-inflicted wound, so be it. The problem is that their "love" will be "with you" in the form of a shattered environment and economic malaise, maybe even social chaos. Do we ever learn? Of course not, this is America. How many times does it have to be said? Daniels was George W. Bush's budget chief. If we were to be honest, he's greatly responsible for the economic crisis we're in and likely will for years to come. He's made more families homeless than all the tornadoes combined. But he's not a total idiot like others.

Unlike Governor Kasich of Ohio, he took the help from FEMA, and the federal money, anyway. This time he had to dole out money to help people. There are limits to venality because, unless we're mentally ill or damaged organically, we all have an inborn sense or right and wrong. Not helping people after a natural disaster is our moral line in the sand. Why is it alright for government to neglect people rendered homeless as they were in Henryville, but not for everyone else who experienced the same through no fault of their own? That's why he made his little government comment--he was busted outright and he knew it. A good thing for him and what he represents that most Hoosiers and Americans are too stupid to notice it.

Of Mice and Not a Man:

http://consortiumnews.com/2011/05/14/mitch-daniels-architect-of-us-debt-crisis/
 

He Jerks Hard for the Phonies

"I work hard!" he told a room of openly uninterested listeners, something he did a lot of the time, especially after he left work at his private firm, his minuscule fiefdom. OK: especially at work, since his employees never listened to what he had to say because they were immune to bullshit. He didn't care. He was better since he made more money than they did, thanks to ripping off all of them through creative accounting and delusions of adequacy, and legally too.

"Goddamned deadbeats--won't work, plenty of jobs out there, I know!!*#^!" As was always the case, nobody acted as though they were listening, and on a conscious level, they weren't. The man kept going on anyway, yammering away while seven people in rags were lined-up outside clutching signs with various inscriptions on them, but all of them essentially said "Will Work for Food" in one way or another. Most of them had been working weeks before, and very hard.

"Spoiling my view!" he muttered. He was only 35, but came off as a moldering 88.

"For the love of God, would you please shut the fuck up, sir, asshole--whateverthefuck your fuckin' name is? Jesus, fucker." asked and projectile-vomited a young lady in black leather, festooned with tattoos and piercings from head-to-toe.

"Why don't you go get a job, like me? I'm even self-employed, eh, top that, you loud-mouthed Goth-cooze!" he growled, drool flowing from both sides of his mouth, a vein throbbing on his forehead, and a visible erection showing through his dockers. Baboons have their own male species.

"I have a job, bitch," she shot back instantly, visibly smacking him in the face with the comment. "But...everyone fuckin' works, you crybaby asshole. What makes you so special, fuckface?" and she sat back down in the booth she was in and turned her back to him disrespectfully. There was a round of applause for a solid three minutes, but a few in the corner slunk out after paying their bill, looking suspiciously ignorant, even furtively so, as they went across the street to do business at the asshole's unimportant fiefdom.

The Infernal GPS

"It never works, that contraption, damned it to hell! Let's just wing it." he said exhausted as they passed Grand Central Station. 49th Street couldn't be very far--noting all of the obvious landmarks--but the device was now telling them to go the wrong way down a one way street, somewhere off of Broadway.

"Beware the Ides of March, seizure!" said one of them, dejectedly, becoming more depressed when they came to realize that it was too far off, and also in the wrong direction. A tiny tear formed in their tear-duct and they began to laugh, being unable to stop for several minutes.

The accursed diode box kept mindlessly sputting out wrong directions: "Take a ninety degree angle up 56th, then right to..." and it continued to drone on in likewise manner.

Finally, he took it upon himself to right their course, to return home after the great war of navigating to the island of Manhattan: "Cover your ears...do not listen to the Sirens, for they shall dash us all upon the rocks!" and they all laughed. Next time, dramamine®. Definitely.

Ronny Deutch is a fucking liar...

Why? Because she's really Suzi Quatro, that's why, but she says she's a reputable national lawyer. She's not. You know, it all falls off from there...

Cheech & Chong, live @ The Morris Performing Arts Center, April 11, 2010 (review)

What do you expect from a Cheech & Chong concert? A lot of pot jokes, right? Some of the old routines from the albums, how the boomer and gen-x crowd (the latter being my generation), some Q&A, some songs, etc., right? That's pretty much what the show was, with some interesting surprises and insights from two of the most recognizable counterculture's personalities.

Even though the war on drugs is hardly over with the election of Barack Obama, it's safe to come out, and the duo beckon everyone to do likewise. Fear and loathing were not the main themes of the night. For most of us, Cheech & Chong were untouchable icons who were over and done with after the 1986 album "Get Out of My Room," a pretty lackluster coda at that, and their movies weren't especially funny by then either.

But imagine it: Cheech & Chong haven't done a show in South Bend, at the Morris since 1977. 1977. That's 33 years ago, an entire generation. The world is beyond changed from that time after the Reagan blight (still ongoing). The next year, the comedy duo would foist "Up in Smoke" on the world, grossing $100 million at the box office and holding the record for the most successful comedy for a little over two decades. Americans still smoke a lot of pot, but I have to wonder if a film like Up in Smoke would do as well today. Very possibly looking at the polls when it comes to legalization! The real treat of the night for me was when Cheech began talking about Tommy Chong's days up in Vancouver during the early 1960s when he was playing with the R&B combo of Bobby Taylor & the Vancouvers (one of their sometime stage names was rumored to be "Four Niggers & a Chink"). Cheech had fled the United States in 1967 along with a lot of other Americans to avoid the draft.

Chong had started up a blues club in Vancouver in 1962, began playing with the Vancouvers not long after that, and in a few years, they were discovered by the management of the Supremes and on Motown records, charting at #29 on the R&B charts for Chong's co-written "Does Your Momma Know About Me?" The Supremes went on to do a rendition of the song that Cheech later saw a copy of, and noticed the co-writer was a "T. Chong," right before he met Tommy. Rumors that Jimi Hendrix played with the Vancouvers are unfounded according to Chong, but he played his song during the show with Cheech accompanying him on vocals. What was a little sad is how it became evident that Cheech & Chong began as a musical duo and kind of wanted to do that mainly, but that nobody knew when they were kidding or not simply because they were and are entertainers who are just inherently funny.

This was the case at the Morris when they did this song--some audience members actually began laughing at what was a fairly heartfelt rendition of a really great song, but oh well, they got to enjoy being a musical act anyway. What makes them funny is what makes Mel Brooks and a lot of the comedy of the 1970s funny: obvious, dopey (in their case, literally) humor. Sketches like "Dave," "Let's Make a Dope Deal," "Blind Melon Chitlin," and even trotted out the character "Hairy Palms," a real treat! The sketches were also a reminder that the majority of C&C sketches aren't funny because they're about drugs.

Chong's chops as a guitarist were excellent and Marin showed that he does indeed have a very pleasant voice and put it to good use. Besides that, the duo did fine renditions of "Save the Whales" (from the opening of the movie "Nice Dreams," a favorite of mine), "Basketball Jones" (1973), "Earache My Eye" (1974, just the song, not the entire sketch), "Born in East L.A." (which is really closer to a solo thing for Marin), "Beaners" (from "Next Movie"), "Mexican Americans" (ditto), and a few others I was too stoned to remember at the time, or even now.

But the show basically began with Shelby Chong conducting a kind of Q&A about where they'd been all these years, Chong's time in prison, the state of the nation and the war on drugs, and even a few personal tidbits about the comedy team that were both funny and sometimes harrowing to hear. Chong seems pretty unfazed and unafraid to speak out against marijuana prohibition thanks to his nine months in federal prison and spoke of how easy it was "to kick" smoking pot when he went inside and extolled the health benefits of the soft drug as did wife Shelby. Cheech was unapologetic as well and has said in recent months that he realized he was "never going to escape" the legacy of Cheech & Chong. So be it.

To say that there are a lot of "heads" in Michiana would be an understatement: the place was packed and you could see nearly everyone heading on foot to the venue imbibing in the sacred plant, so really, you didn't even need to bring anything since a contact high would have probably done you straight anyway. My mother saw C&C in 1972 at the Morris, so this was truly a full circle affair. Was it a good show? Did we laugh? Yes we did, and sometimes at the most innocuous things Cheech & Chong said about themselves and their lives. A good evening out all around, catch them if you can...literally. They still got it folks, they still got it, and people shouldn't have to apologize for being heads, it's harmless. They were unapologetic, as it should be.

http://www.cheechandchongtour.com/splash.html

Why nobody gets that Sarah Silverman did (and said) the right thing at the TED convention this week

WWW--The reaction to this has been--well--retarded, and that's being far too kind to most who organized and attended TED. As the story goes, Sarah Silverman was invited and paid to do her stand-up routine at the TED convention in the ugly town of Long Beach, California that took place from February 9-13.

Silverman's appearance seems to have been on the last day. Most Americans don't even know what the fuck this convention is or even care (I'm in their ranks), but they made the news with Silverman's routine and are smarting over it for some reason. They're also trying to misrepresent what happened and show a great case of being unable to think laterally or outside of the box. In other words, the public doesn't know or care about TED for most of the right reasons.

This is what TED is: a lot of bullshit propped-up by money and more bullshit to recruit and to not listen to people with ideas, misuse and misapply them, piss the originators of said ideas off, and then watch them quit in disgust a few months later like most employer-employee relationships in the happy old US of A. But hey, when you have a dumbshow of already ossified bourgeois mummies you have to at least go through the motions:

TED is a small nonprofit devoted to Ideas Worth Spreading. It started out (in 1984) as a conference bringing together people from three worlds: Technology, Entertainment, Design. Since then its scope has become ever broader. Along with the annual TED Conference in Long Beach, California, and the TEDGlobal conference in Oxford UK, TED includes the award-winning TEDTalks video site, the Open Translation Program, the new TEDx community program, this year's TEDIndia Conference and the annual TED Prize. ... The annual conferences in Long Beach and Oxford bring together the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes). (Ted.com, "About" page)

That's exactly what they got from Silverman, yet the organizer of the event, Chris Anderson, isn't exactly a genius, and that's why he's not showcased as a real thinker, slagged Silverman for her routine. This was the talk of Silverman's life and she felt very strongly to do what she did, think what you will. Did she take the TED engagement seriously? I believe so, this wasn't a "for the hell of it deal." You see...how soon we forget.

Silverman's repertoire and themes are always changing, just as they have with the great American stand-up comedians and social critics like Dick Gregory, Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Mort Sahl, and even Noam Chomsky (one of the most often-quoted intellectuals in Western history, yet apparently never invited to speak at TED in its 26 year history). For some reason, the onus is on Silverman for saying the word "retarded" at least ten times in her stand-up routine, and again, remember that she was invited, she didn't crash the event and run up onstage yelling the word without any logical context. That would be the job of another woman named Sarah, a goyische one, a WASP one. Besides, seeing things without any logical context--as we all know--is the job of CEOs, politicians and the public in these here United States. Context is everything, or nothing, if you find thinking painful.

But not more than two weeks ago we had a "controversy" about the word "retarded" and all of its many permutations (my favorite being "tard," mostly because it sounds funny and makes the person saying it look and sound funny), and it was trotted-out all over by a supplicant media and Internet by none other than failed VP candidate, Sarah Palin who has a child with Down syndrome. It should be mentioned here that most women approaching and past the age of forty years old are or should be informed by their personal physician or gynecologist that the risks of having a child with Down syndrome become considerably higher with a woman in this age range. But she had a child anyway, and drags the poor baby around the country while she's trying hard not to get elected. Never mind all this, it's just context, very inconvenient context, and it's all about that evil Sarah Silverman.

It gets better, and in case you've been in a coma, here's a little summary of the last couple weeks of political and cultural idiocy and general human folly:

The latest battle over the R-word kicked into high gear with a Jan. 26 Wall Street Journal report that last summer White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel blasted liberal activists unhappy with the pace of health-care reform, deriding their strategies as "[expletive] retarded." Palin, the mother of a special-needs child, quickly took to Facebook to demand Emanuel's firing, likening the offensiveness of the R-word to that of the N-word. Limbaugh seized the low ground, saying he found nothing wrong with "calling a bunch of people who are retards, retards," and Palin rushed to his defense, saying Limbaugh had used the word satirically. Comedy Central's Stephen Colbert took her up on it, calling Palin an "[expletive] retard" and adding, with a smile: "You see? It's satire!" ("The case against banning the word 'retard'," The Washington Post, 02.14.2010)

Yes, it's "satire," but only the elect (not elected, however) get to use the term, and in whatever context they feel they want to use it in. But not anyone else, and they'll use the word to suppress other words if they have their way. Players only, yo.

As a matter of fact, the herding instinct has already set in and very naive and pathetic people are taking pledges like it's go time at Masada. In that same Jewish tradition, White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel fell on his sword, but probably not without a lot of prodding from his ostensible boss, the president, a man who seems intent on fucking-up and showing no vision or leadership skills unless he's left with no other alternatives. Hey, it's America.

But what did Silverman say exactly? This is where things get kind of sketchy since we're not seeing any footage with audio yet, but I would imagine we will eventually. Tech Crunch.com seems to have the most cogent version so far from a female attendee in the audience:

“I want to adopt a special needs child (to which one person applauded), because adopting a special needs child, who would do that? Only an awesome person, right?” I looked around the room and I knew exactly what was coming next. She was going to say retarded and not only was she going to say it, she was going to drop it like 10 times. I knew it wouldn’t be ok, but I was excited about it.

Words are powerful. They are mightier than the sword and all of that, but if you let them have too much power, you can create what I feel is evil. You create a society of people who are so concerned about what they say and what is PC and you destroy creative expression. ...

She went on to say:

“The only problem with adopting a retarded child is that the retarded child, when you are 80 is well, still retarded and that she wouldn’t enjoy the freedoms of setting them free at age 18, so she was only going to adopt a retarded child with a terminal illness so it has an expiration date, because who would adopt a retarded child with a terminal illness? Well, someone who was awesome like her”.

The room went silent and she went on with her show and sang a song about how all of the penises in the world couldn’t fill your heart holes. ... ("TED Organizer Trashes Speaker [Silverman], Fails Social IQ Test, Tech Crunch.com, 02.14.2010)

According to the attendee, roughly half of the audience applauded, and out of those, half appeared to have "gotten" the real message. We're a slow culture, so bear with me, please, since the future hinges on it. Apparently they, and a few others in attendance, have a clue where Silverman and the nation have been and what actual stand-up looks and sounds like. It's no secret that she's a shock comedienne, she's even on Comedy Central with her own show, and has been around for over twenty years. It seems TED is as ignorant about Silverman as the public is about them.

Certainly the well-heeled puds that were populating some of the ranks of the audience that received her well-aimed cultural assault on the suppression of words had little idea of who she is and what kind of a comedienne she represents. Silverman is a social critic and a satirist. She is brave, and she's cut through the bullshit of our culture...if only we had eyes to see it and ears to hear it. At least some of us do. Sarah Silverman just did America a very big favor and she's a hero, you betcha!

"Is Sarah Silverman Retarded, posted 10.13.2007: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRegd02Qiew

"TED Organizer Trashes Speaker [Silverman], Fails Social IQ Test, Tech Crunch.com, 02.14.2010: http://techcrunch.com/2010/02/14/ted-organizer-trashes-speaker-fails-social-iq-test/

TED (not your uncle): http://www.ted.com/pages/view/id/7

On the upcoming 30th anniversary of the assassination attempt on President Ronald Reagan...

I think this was a terrible and heinous act on the part of Hinckley...for missing the heart, lungs, and other vital organs that would have done the job properly. I also want to excoriate the idiot for doing it for all the wrong reasons--to impress Jody Foster, a lesbian. In addition to that, it gave Reagan a second term since Americans are sentimental assholes who cry at a John Williams string-swell on command like Pavolv's fucking dogs.

In addition to that addition of their house of cards, that of the myth-makers, I want to say that we need to face that fact that President Reagan--the construct--was so fucking dumb he couldn't even be assassinated correctly or impressively like President Kennedy, McKinley, or Lincoln, and had no idea he'd been shot for several minutes since he was barely sentient, like the people that voted for him. Hey, at least Booth had some kind of ideology and some reasons that made more sense, Lincoln really did act like a dictator during the American Civil War.

And McKinley? He was in the pocket of the Trusts and the Monopolies, people like Rockefeller and Carnegie. Kennedy? We don't even know why he was fucking whacked. It's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, rolled into some club papers, and smoked by some fucking hippies somewhere...

The GOP: Party of can-don't!

GOPland--You can't say they're the party of non-sequitters! Well, OK, actually you can. Like Sarah Palin, they've quit being relevant, human, and a solution to our nation's problems. In fact, they are our nation's problem along with the rest of the two-party non-system, soon to be on the same scrapheap as the former Soviet Union! Soon, very soon, Yakov Smirnoff will begin all of his jokes down in Branson, Missouri with, "In America..."

America gets the politicians it deserves, don't kid yourselves. And soon--sooner than you might think--we'll all be in the streets! Well yeah, because we're already going to be there! Wheeee!!!! Quit believe that the GOP is behind all the problems getting a decent health care system created through actual reform. The Democrats are falling on their own swords in the name of profit, of greed. OK, keep fooling yourselves and wait-and-see.

And they saw that it was hideously flawed: The Day God Died (a very short story with dissolves and flash-forwards)

In the beginning, there were six-packs and microwaveable meals, and they were good, or at least better than nothing at all, so quit yer bitchin'. Nobody ever got hurt--muchly--and all mimsy were the Borogroves, not even a mouse. There was something I was going to write, about some "City on a Hill," but they say the place has fallen into disrepair...you really don't want to go there, trust me on this one (worse than Detroit).

And the Lord spake far too often when there were no people around to hear it, then silence for thousands of years when there were and spake again saying, "Let there be light...oh shit. Did I pay the electric bill for last month? Oh boy. There I go again!" Yet somehow, there was light, and it too was good for a time until the bill collectors came. Six thousand years passed, somehow missing the dinosaurs and several ice ages by a mile, and then it was time to go to bed again, day-in, day-out, I tell ya'...

And they found that God's all about non-sequiturs, so he must be a Libertarian: One day in the 21st century (because you can do flash-forwards and even dissolves in allegory), a corporate executive belatedly died of a heart attack in his very posh home office in upper state New York. Like most CEOs, he was a criminal asshole and nobody cared when his time came, but you have to put these people somewhere after they're six feet under, so he made his way to the afterlife. No, the streets aren't paved in gold there either, so quit asking! "What idiot would believe such bullshit?" shrugged St. Peter. No one knew.

"I'm here to win!" said the CEO to the beleaguered bureaucrat manning the Gates of Heaven. Peter grinned.

"It appears that you have lost, schlub, but I got an idea a week ago I want to try out, so come with me." He took the CEO by the hand like fathers do with their drooling children at Wal-Mart and they ambled down the crumbling halls of a crappy Ministry in a dank, smelly corner of the afterlife. The stink of piss was everywhere, and the walls of Heaven were covered with obscene graffiti. Worst-of-all, someone had written "J.D. Salinger," which confused the executive since he'd never read a book after high school, or even that much during it.

"What's that?" said the CEO as they were looking at a hole in reality into a flat plane below. Tiny dots appeared to be moving on the surface, and it reminded the executive of his many flights over Ohio--the sprawl, with capillaries and arteries of commerce spreading out like a bubbling cancer, eating-away at the surface of the plan.

"That's limbo, also known as suburbs. No actual life takes place there."St. Peter retched while the suited Golem looked down at the scene below wishing he had a piece of the action.

"Right," said the CEO with that absolute certainty all the ladies love. They kept on further down the labyrinth of halls, endless halls, all growing darker and more disintegrated as they went. At times the walls seemed to exist merely as rapidly vibrating vapor and the CEO was able to stick his arm through them. "Nifty," he said, and shrugged.

"Keep talking kid, keep talking," said his divine escort laughing softly as old men often do.

Finally, they reached an enormous set of double-doors, bronzed and festoomed with lavishes of spirals, eyes, and flora. At the heart of the door was the design of a man who was in the center of a circle, his arms and legs endtended-out in the shape of a rightside-up Pentagram. All was silent and even the pair themselves were completely immobile. There is no movement in the presence of the divine, no action...but suddenly, there was. A deep moan pervaded the hallway and seemed to emanate from everywhere, then abruptly faded away as a sickly gurgle.

"What's that? the executive asked nervously.

"That was the death of God," St. Peter said, laughing and nodding wisely.

"What killed God?" he asked. St. Peter looked at the executive sadly.

" 'What'? You mean 'who.' Why, you did. Your very existence accomplished it."

"That doesn't make any sense to me. What do you mean? I've done everything right in life, been successful, did what I had to do to get ahead, and..."

"All fine and well, but did you ever consider the beauty of a Beethoven symphony, or the divinity in children laughing and playing in peace? Did you ever see the worth in all human beings, that every life is sacred in the end? Have you ever pondered in your life why mankind yearns for more, the loneliness, the angst that created the great works of art? Did you ever try to control your animal-impulses and be the better man? Did you ever try to improve yourself? Have you ever taken a stand in your life for what was the right thing to do for others?"

"Nope, none of those--hey, are you communist or something.?"

"Yes, I thought not, and that's why you were brought here. You see, you're lack, the temporal evidence that God created something imperfect, and therefore, was imperfect himself. Your mere proximity was enough to finish the job of an already dying deity that was in the denial stage of the grieving process. I can sleep the sleep of ages now, but first..."

Someone started hacking their way through the double-doors. With an abrupt kick, a man with wild, greasy hair and a thick-mustache crashed through. He was wearing a beautiful red robe studded with Hermetic symbols on a gold-red lame background, clutching a staff, wearing jack-boots. His eyes were both of the darkest night and the brightest day.

"Who's that? said the executive.

"That's Nietzsche, here to fix some shoddy craftsmanship."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing, you are lack, you never existed."

Nietzsche spake, "The last man has come...and where's the nearest bar anyway?"

"Can I finally sleep?" said St. Peter.

"Soon, but there's a universe to fix! We're off!"

As well all know, such an allegory is preposterous, impossible. Nothing so absurd has ever been contended by any religion at any time in human history, except at lunchtime and before bed.

If Congress and the President keep putting band-aids on shotgun wounds...

Yakov Smirnoff will be able to do national tours again and preface every joke with: "In America... ." What a country!

DEVO: Chicago, the Vic. 11.13.2009, 8 PM Night Two-Freedom of Choice (review)

Chicago, Illinois--Last night's Chicago performance was a barn burner for the many Midwestern fans of DEVO, itself being a Midwestern band going back to the early 1970s. As a matter of fact, the members of DEVO met at Kent State University during the Vietnam War era, some were members of SDS, and bassist Gerald Casale helped organize the antiwar demonstration in the spring of 1970 in which the infamous shootings took place. If you stay in the Midwest long enough, you get as weird as these guys or weirder, mostly from boredom.

Far from being "nerds," or "yuppies," DEVO began as a multimedia arts collective and still operates as one to this day. The real irony in all of this is that they never broke up and have continued to record in their Sunset Strip "Mutato" studio doing soundtrack and commercial work, the most well known being with director Wes Anderson.

Like several other old school punk and postpunk bands that have been touring this year--like the Pixies and even R.E.M.--the spuds were doing entire albums live and in their original running order. Night one was "Are We Not Men?" from 1978 (a punk classic) which sold out so quickly that another night was added to their Chicago appearance. Night two brought the entire "Freedom of Choice" LP from 1980, and yes, "Whip It" was in full bloom with all of its punch and glory. The music hasn't aged and the entire original lineup looked healthier and happier than they have in--well--over a decade, and the mood was celebratory, even for Chicago. From the opening guitar-riffs of "Girl U Want" to the more obscured album cuts like "Gates of Steel" and Mr. B's Ballroom," there was a real sense that this music hasn't aged at all...which was interesting since there were probably no more than maybe two dozen twenty-somethings to be seen. The majority of the crowd was 30-and-up, and with the bar, it was an 18-and-older show. But what the hell, people are broke all over the place these days! The audience was more fun than people watching at Wal-Mart. The icing on the cake was the gorgeous Bettie Page-style model coming out with her boxing-round cards emblazoned with "Track 1," and so on.

Some of the best times I had was looking at all of the former New Wave glam queens, now in their forties and early fifties, but still looking pretty good! Many concertgoers literally hadn't seen the group since the 1980s, or if they were like this writer it was their first time ever. The merchandising will be legendary, but there was nothing especially crass about it and it all appeared to have been made in America. All said, it was exactly what you would have wanted out of a DEVO concert and that includes Mark Mothersbaugh coming out onstage and singing "Beautiful World" in the second set dressed as the utterly grotesque "Boojie Boy," then regaling the audience in a totally surreal account of DEVO's trek to Los Angeles and meeting Michael Jackson, that he was dead, and how great it would be if he could rise from the grave like in the video "Thriller" to tell us all "what a beautiful world it truly is." The brutal truth was that there was no irony to be had!

But really, having been a budding teenager listening to Freedom of Choice when it was new, this was just a real road to Mecca moment, pure bliss. Not only is DEVO still great, they're professional and can still stop on a dime. Most of these guys are hitting their sixties, but the joy and the appreciation were so palpable that Mark Mothersbaugh, and even Gerald Casale, could only smile along with the rest of us and enjoy a very special tour in a very unique cultural moment. One of the greatest surprises of the evening was the dusting-off of a very old DEVO song, "Be Stiff," going back to the mid-1970s, almost one of the earliest songs that they ever did. Hey, they weren't going to do "Oh No! It's DEVO!" (1982) or "Shout!" (1984). Here's to art and crowd pleasers! Whoever said you can't have both in art was wrong.

There's always room for delusion...

...in the world of tragic. Eat your heart out, Doug Henning.

Once again: Check comic genius Eric Filipkowski's site, 'cuz he's a rocket man

This guy is a laugh-riot. Ever since I began this site I've had a link up to his, and he's just genuinely funny. Not only are his cultural observations usually spot-on, but his fictional routines are simply hilarious. You won't be disappointed, trust me, he's got the funny gene! (he's on my linkroll to-the-left, hit it!) Fuck you, I wish I was half as funny as you are, Eric! ;0)

"I am the god of hellfire, and I bring youse..."

...a prune danish!

The New Devil's Dictionary: Fortune Teller

Fortune Teller, n--Someone who tells a paying customer what they already know (see "Tarot cards").

Coming to this space soon: "Radical Pirate Chic," a satire of Tom Wolfe's famous article!

J to the Powah of 7--There will be humor...wenches, grog, and the occasional flintlock AK-47 and RPG for all!!! Arrrrrrrrrr!!!!!! Can someone find me a schooner in Somalia? Starring Ron Paul and a cast of millions!

George W. Bush: Last white president?

I'm stealing this joke from a friend:

F: "Everyone's talking about how Obama's the first Black President, but not the fact that George W. Bush is the last white one."

Me: "Why's that?"

F: "Because, once you go Black, you never go back..."

Congratulations to President Obama, now please make us all proud. And thanks George: you gave us a more nationalized economy, expanded the powers of government to help and assist the needy, and paved the way for a Black president. I know it was a mistake, but that counts too.

RNC delegate sees whore, is robbed of $50,000, then whines to the police and press, both of whom take the bait...

Minneapolis, Minnesota--This must be why they're downsizing all these newspapers lately (as well as creating these kinds of stories as a result of no support-staff).

Do I think his story is straight? Nope. What it has is the appearance of a dorky Republican attorney who tried to get laid with a hooker, was ripped-off, and then concocted some dumb story to cover his ass so he could report the theft.

El cheap-a-dora:

The delegate gave police a detailed description, but investigators had no suspects, Palmer said. He stressed that investigators don't believe Schwartz did anything wrong.

"It's embarrassing to admit that I was a target of a crime," Schwartz said in a statement Tuesday. "I was drugged and had about $50,000 of personal items stolen."("Tryst turns in $50K robbery for RNC delegate, AP, 09.16.2008)

And it's also embarrassing to be caught having sex with a woman for money while intoxicated, because that's the only reason any of them ever would have had it with a schlubb like Schwartz anyway. Why the hell would it be embarrassing to "admit [you] were the target of a crime"?! Because he had to pay for sex, then to add-insult-to-injury to his monolithic but equally-fragile ego, he was finally ripped-off by a hooker. You're just jealous. It's true, I am. Wouldn't you be?

The story is utter crap and Schwarz is lying. He was drugged alright--by his member, and possibly a toot. But if some lady of the night actually did this to a Republican Party delegate, good show, they've got it coming from prostitutes this year and from everyone else. Somehow, somewhere, Deborah Jeane Palfrey has gotten her tiny piece of revenge in another woman. Who needs reincarnation when we keep making the same stupid mistakes over-and-over again? Why bother? I tip my hat to the woman in the story--if she exists--and I wish her well. With luck, Schwartz won't be able to write it off on his taxes, the stupid schmuck.

It's good to see that the Minneapolis Police Department has calmed down enough from their police riots against war protesters to investigate something as important as this. Their indefatigable will to protect the incredibly unpopular couldn't be more American, just not in a good way, and they went too far as American policemen have traditionally done. Don't spend it in one place, lady, but spend it soon, before it's devalued again. So much for Minnesota nice, it's officially dead.

"Tryst turns in $50K robbery for RNC delegate, AP, 09.16.2008: http://enews.earthlink.net/article/nat?guid=20080916/48cf2f40_3ca6_1552620080916-725458355

Tropic Thunder (2008) review

Ben Stiller's Tropic Thunder is everything its critics have said it is: it's offensive, it walks a fine line on race...oh yeah, and then there's the "tard scandal" hyped by people looking for something--anything--to protest. It's just incredibly an offensive movie, and that's what makes it great. We should demand to be scandalized, but humorless turds are humorless turds.

Like Yasuzo Masumura's "Giants and Toys" (1958), or Kubrick's "Dr. Strangelove" (1964), Tropic Thunder is social satire at its best and criticizes all war movies.

That doesn't mean it isn't entertaining or too high brow. It isn't, and anyone who inhabits this era in the developed world is going to understand the many social and cultural observations in this film. Audiences will also find it very easy to understand exactly who and what are being criticized (the current incarnation of Hollywood and spoiled movie stars).

But Stiller and co-writers Justin Theroux (who's also the executive producer and a great English actor) and Ethan Cohen make a whole lot of gleefully brutal comments on our mass culture, our peculiar attitudes, and our unquenchable appetite for spectacle and ultraviolence....wrapped in a movie that's supposed to be "antiwar."

Hollywood and movie production companies tend to overstate their sincerity when tackling "issues" like war, poverty, and all the rest. They don't generally tend to care at all, it's a business move. Tropic Thunder makes this case well throughout.

This was pointed-out by Lenny Bruce in the late-1950s and by many other social critics over the years, and it's not a uniquely American viewpoint. Movies are made to make money--a lot of money--and that's about it. The rest is garnish, with a little sincerity here-and-there in some productions. Fine.

Without giving too much away, we're treated to a troubled Hollywood production stuck in Vietnam, making one of those "horrors of war" films we all love to watch to feel better about ourselves, while doing nothing to prevent the phenomena of meaningless conflict. Hollywood isn't the only one playing the insincerity game, after all. But the writers stick with hitting Hollywood over the head, and as a result, they even accuse themselves of hypocrisy. This is a very brave moral and career position to take, and it's likely to add to the film's popularity for the chances it takes.

Too often, Hollywood creates spectacles that claim some higher moral ground, yet simultaneously cater to the bloodlust of audiences in their stylizations of violence (if they get that far). This is something even "Wild Bunch" (1969) director Sam Peckinpah was guilty of at times, though it's debatable whether it was conscious or not in every case.

Tropic Thunder is where entertainment also becomes art, though this could be one of the funniest and most entertaining comedies I've seen since my first viewing of Animal House. You're in for quite a ride if you have a sense of humor about yourself and life.

The three main characters are the spoiled movie stars, played by Stiller, the inimitable Jack Black, and one of the greatest actors of this era, Robert Downey Jr. Stiller's washed-up Tugg Speedman is eerily similar to Sylvester Stallone or even a Vin Diesel, while Black's Jeff Portnoy might be a heroin-addicted Luke Perry mixed with an Eddie Murphy. But it's Downey's Russell Crowe-like Kirk Lazarus who virtually steals the show as an Australian actor who takes "method" acting too far: he gets plastic surgery to look African-American, and he never breaks character. In short, he's a little nuts, as some actors are, and gets on the nerves of a Black cast member who constantly calls him out.

This alone is incredibly edgy for a contemporary movie, offering many possibilities to fall over the side and lose the audience, but Stiller, Theroux and Cohen (and Downey) pull-it-off and achieve a kind of comic ecstasy only seen in Kubrick's Strangelove and few other films in cinema history. There are times when Downey's Lazarus is photographically and phonographically convincing as a Black soldier, and it must be seen and heard to be believed. But there's even more...

Almost entirely unannounced is Tom Cruise's brilliantly comedic performance as the Weinstein-like Les Grossman, a corporate movie executive whose vulgarity and crassness knows no bounds. It goes beyond spouting the word "fuck," and Cruise has once again made the right move in taking-on the role of such an unlikable (yet oddly likable!) character. The Grossman character understands that he's a fucknut and a tyrannical asshole, and all of the inherent comedy of this fact. In a way, he actually "gets" it all--that the movie business is complete bullshit, a game.

That's not to say that the Grossman character isn't evil, but he's really something to watch in Cruise's expert-hands. Tom Cruise almost owns Tropic Thunder and deserves some serious credit for his performance, possibly even that little gold guy. He's Dr. Strangelove and General Buck Turgetson combined, and he's given us a performance that would have done Peter Sellers proud.

The movie-within-a-movie approach is very sound here, especially at the beginning of the film. What we see are some of the realities of a movie production: all the waste, the backbiting, the egos, the compromises forced on directors by spoiled "stars," the tainted motives for making a "message picture," the addictions, the troubled actors, and the nightmare of shooting outside of a soundstage. The comparisons to other troubled war movie productions are going to be obvious to most, like Coppola's "Apocalypse Now" and Oliver Stone's "Platoon." There are others, as there was a whole spate of Vietnam war films over the 33 years, many-of-which could be referred to not only as "insincere," but simply bad. The majority of war movies are.

On the "retard" scandal: this is the most overblown part of the release of this film. For the curious, I am acquainted with people who have mentally-impaired children. I wasn't offended by this at all, and the repetition of variations of the word "retarded" simply became funny for its own sake and had little to do with mentally-retarded children or adults. Downey's Kirk Lazarus and Stiller's Tugg Speedman have an exchange over the career-merits of playing the "retarded" over the simply "impaired":

Lazarus: "Full-on retarded--no one ever comes back from that."

Lazarus character mentions a number of films--like "Rainman"--where the characters only appeared to be "retarded," but actually had some other form of impairment. In Rainman, it was autism, and the crazy Lazarus notes that nobody ever won an award from the Motion Picture Academy when they played a "full-on retard," or the "dumbest motherfucker in the world."

Tropic Thunder, then, suggests that what's really offensive is exploiting the impaired to advance one's career and to line one's wallet by making "message" movies about them. The reactions of critics couldn't be more wrong-headed, and should be met with contempt. There are few better antidotes to antidemocratic tendencies cloaked in niceties than unrelenting belittlement and humor. Bravo.

There was no comment being directed towards the mentally-retarded or impaired that was hateful--just the opposite, the attacks were aimed squarely at the hypocrisy of Hollywood in exploiting impaired people for ticket sales, and for actors to win awards. I can say with all honesty that I've never laughed so hard at a scene of dialog in my entire life. There's nothing wrong with referring to someone as "mentally-retarded," it's medically accurate, it's the intent and the tone that count. I leave it at that. Tropic Thunder is a must-see for all the right reasons, and it's what movies are supposed to be. Ben Stiller has topped himself, and so have his collaborators. Good show.

JUNE ROUNDUP: THE BEARDED INTRUDERS ROCK YOUR WORLD

College Corner, O-hi-o--This is a band featuring my old friend Joe Duke (sorry girls, he's taken). Joe's on lead-vocals, does some of the writing and playing with his friends John, Rob, and someone else I'm forgetting. ;0) The sound is psychedelia, maybe infused with a little postpunk-ala'-mondo weirdo. I like it, and these guys have a sense of humor about themselves (and everything) that's to my liking, and the music itself is pretty solid. Peculiar, but very funny and very good psyche with an edge.

If you stay in the Midwest, you only get weirder and more radicalized from the boredom. I'd say "Raise your fist and yell!" but someone else already did (Steve Wilson, eat your heart out you mere journalist). Their myspace page is a bourgeois-hoot! What a month it has been, here at J-7. It just felt right ending it on this note: Put your hands on your head, and get out of the car, sir. That'll learn ya.'

Bearded Intruders: http://www.myspace.com/beardedintruders