From 2010: "Why Alex Jones Will Live Forever"

http://chickasawpicklesmell.blogspot.com/2010/10/why-alex-jones-will-live-forever.html

and another thing (Libertarians)...

Your boy Grover Norquist is about to look as nebbish and stupid to you as he is to the rest of us, the majority of the human race. Now that Saxby Chambliss (a girl's name?), the Foghorn Leghorn from Geor-gia,  has kicked your boy's dumbo "no-tax pledge," your time in the sun is over. Anyone with more than two brain cells knows that American Libertarianism is a white boy fixation, and not many of them at that, in reality. That same demographic wave that's going to consume and destroy the GOP is going to take you down, because you're really extremist Republicans. Maybe that's too fair. I think what you really all are is a textbook example of emotional and intellectual retardation having a political expression. Over, done. Enough with the delusions of adequacy.

Alex Jones Featured Prominently in Upcoming DC Madam Account

There are no words to describe this scummy dirtbag and his audience, you'd have to grab some from other languages. I wasn't aware of it until last year, but Jones did a radio interview with Deborah Jeane Palfrey (aka "the DC Madam") in the spring of 2008, not long before her trial. It was her final interview with him for his moronic syndicated radio show. It's up on Youtube, check it out some time. If you want a good example of someone asking leading questions, look no further, Jones lets his ass hang out in the wind in it.

Worst of all: If you know most of the context of the case and how it played out, you can hear the ambulance chaser concocting his own conspiracy theory before her death. Suffice it to say this gets more elaboration in the text, but Jones is busted here, it's one more example of what a disgusting exploiter and a demagogue he truly is. His audience are way beyond sick and would make good redneck extras in Twain's Huckleberry Finn. I used to think this bastard and his ilk were lowly, but this one tops my worst assumptions about this asshole, this liar, this degenerate, who routinely abuses the First Amendment. He should in fact be taken off of the air for his alarmist comments as well as his pandering to what are very violent, extremist elements in American life.

Filmmaker Richard Linklater should be ashamed for putting this turd in not one, but two of his feature films, both animated. President Lincoln was in fact wrong to fight southern secession after all...

Sgt. Rock demoted in Waco, Texas

Waco, Texas--Ted Nugent...where to begin, where to begin? Mmm-hmm. The Waco Tribune fired Nugent this last week for being Ted Nugent, an unsurprising outcome to everyone except Ted Nugent, for whom life is a constant surprise! Wheeeeeee!!! Yes, the rifts in the right are still very much alive it seems, at least outside of Congress, the domains of the D.C. lobbying cesspools, and the corporate boardrooms where they're finding it difficult to wipe these days.

The Waco Tribune was taken over by a new owner and they wanted Nugent to "tone it down" in his "Teditorial" columns covering home cooking and finery, a reasonable request considering what flows from his mouth and pen, never mind the rest. Ted got angry and threw a fit, but never had the anatomical manhood (pride) to talk face-to-face with his new editor. Once again, Ted's painting himself as some kind of comic book hero, another casualty of believing one's own press from over thirty years ago. How do I put this? Where to begin?

OK, first: Nugent got as many draft deferrments as he could during the Vietnam War, not unlike Dick Cheney, George W. Bush, Dan Quayle, or even Karl Rove. This makes this "reply"to the Waco Tribune's new editor, Carlos Sanchez, all the more galling:

...When the Nazis had the Americans surrounded in the town of Bastogne, they demanded American General McAuliffe surrender or they would level the city. General McAuliffe’s reply: Nuts!

The new editor of the Waco Trib recently told me that I could only write nice things about people, that I could not be critical. Basically, that I need to tone it down. I can not, nor will not, comply with this Romper Room request. My reply: Nuts!... ("The Nuge vs. The Waco Trib," Evan Smith/Ted Nugent, 08.16.2009)

He seems to have fixation on "nuts," probably implying that he has none. I had a great-uncle who was at Bastogne, by the way. He was in the 101st Airborne and literally had to fight his way out of Remagen in hand-to-hand combat with members of the Waffen-SS and Wermacht--all crack troops--with a knife. He was briefed by the OSS before going into Western Europe over a distant Slovak relative in their branch of the Waffen-SS, but that's another story for another time. But that was a real war fought by real men for the most part. Ted, being your typical Midwestern redneck doesn't know his history from his ass, and him invoking those kinds of stories had better know them well and have a damned good reason to do so. He does not. But we learned one very important message from all of this: one of Ted's favorite shows is Romper Room. And speaking of kids...

Second: he has oodles of illegitimate kids all over North America, and yes, he's that kind of deadbeat you're assuming he is right now. Reference that with his moronic and Libertarian-style economics and social policy opinions, and his hypocrisy takes on an almost aristocratic air, the bad kind.

Third: he stole at least half of his style from the hard left MC5, originators of the real "Detroit sound." Even "the Nuge" himself has admitted witnessing them back in the day and being scared shitless by them. The one thing he really copped from them was the sheer volume, dynamics, and intensity of Wayne Kramer's and Fred Smith's sound, and he wasn't alone; even Funkadelic did. Fine, whatever, but don't lie and tell me "I blew Hendrix off the stage in 1970, he was washed-up by then from the drugs, man," because we all know that story is bullshit you loud-mouthed asswipe. Frankly, I think he meant "I blew Jimi."

Fourth: Ted--are you perhaps the finest example of the North American male tendency for overcompensation, trying to prove to us all that "you're a man," when clearly you are not? Your invoking of the Nazis was nowhere to be seen under the last president, and yes, Obama is barely any different, except that he's black. That's your real problem, you thicko, you moron.

Fifth: We all know that all of this high talk of insurrection and secession isn't going to go anywhere and that nothing will come of it. Being a natural coward, you won't be on any battlefields. You'll be hightailing it like the yellow-bellied adolescent you are today.

Keep being Ted, and stay out of Edwardsburg! They say hobbyists are already reenacting the Vietnam War. Someone should tell the president, and you, Ted, that none of that was necessary with Afghanistan and Iraq, two more unwinnable wars to declare victory over in the our endless game of military adventurism and mindless stupidity.

"The Nuge vs. The Waco Trib," Evan Smith/Ted Nugent, 08.16.2009: http://www.texasmonthly.com/blogs/stateofmine/?p=1647

Make some Romper Room for my main man: http://www.tvparty.com/lostromper.html

Alex Jones makes coffee (A satire?)

It was one of those Pleasant Valley Sundays: He awoke to the sound of his motion detection sensors--all of them were going off. What could it be? More precisely: who could it be, and why were they coming for him, especially on Sunday?

He knew why, he had no illusions--only certainty--and the wimmen folks eat that shit up, jack, even when one is clearly wrong. He was used to being wrong, sure, but he never told anyone and never displayed it openly. This was part of his key to success. Since he was surrounded by paranoiacs, he wore his fear on his sleeve...like a swastika. OK, in fact it was a swastika. Like everyone, he had his own secrets, buried deep in a closet. What were they?

The fact that he had a small penis--hey, nothing doing pal! That off-camera Bohemian Grove incident still stung him like the clap, it was all some Fifth columnist plot that he'd hatched on himself, so he scratched himself and shivered, nearly gagging. This was a momentous moment every morning, like mounting D-Day. Yes, it was time to get out of bed. It could become problematic: there were unnamed legions of conspiracies working against him at every moment, even while he slept...especially when he slept. He used to cover all of his windows with blinds but he started suffering from Vitamin D deprivation so they had to go.

He itched all over. It must have been something that was purposefully slipped into his eczema cream by a faceless cabal of geriatrics, this was certain, he knew it, he knew it, he goddamned well knew it. What was he thinking about earlier? This modern life was too much for him, which is why he needed someone--anyone--to blame for his inadequacies, especially nameless, faceless ones who could never be identified, who could never talk or fight back. Jews weren't going to cut it anymore, and besides, they tend to give as good as they get. No, one can never have enough fictional enemies, it's true, he decided, patting himself on the back so hard he sprained his fat, flaccid American wrist.

Oh yeah, he remembered what came next: coffee. Shit. He trembled violently. This would mean walking across the room into the line-of-sight of Black Ops snipers. The blinds were gone now. One time he tried leasing a room in the highest building in Texas but saw a Black helicopter hovering outside of a window as the suspicious realtor showed him the apartment. She was clearly a operative working for Mossad, but he needed a new place so she'd have to do.

Instead, she found him a unit that was less elevated in (and than) Austin. He could see the tower that Charles Whitman shot dozens from where he was at, finally shrugging off the erection he get at the thought of that 1966 incident. He had no questions in his mind--Whitman was a victim of MKULTRA mind control experiments, and so was he. There was nowhere to run--he knew this--and accepted that when it was his time...you know. He'd tuck his head between his legs and run like a pussy, c'mon people.

Over an hour had now elapsed since his first thought of coffee, and now he had to urinate badly. This presented other problems and conundrums. There were other windows open to the line-of-sight of other NWO snipers. How would he get to the bathroom? He had a plan...

He covered himself in an Army blanket but then worried that it might be tainted with smallpox, so he dropped it and started crawling on the floor below the windows. He was clever and wouldn't allow these forces arrayed against him to alter his life one bit, and they hadn't, no way, not even close. He'd always been like this, a paranoid. As a child, he was certain that the Boogeyman was coming to get him and had been through this drill before, he was a proactive kind of a guy. Coffee. Boogeyman. Crap. That was it: he'd have to call one of his assistants to come over, so he made a call, collect. There was no answer, dammit. Oh boy, oh Jesus Christ.

The time had come to be a man: he would walk upright into the kitchen and make a cup of coffee. This would mean putting his life on the line for millions who didn't even know his name, but he would make the sacrifice. He put one foot in front of the other, moving forward with great reluctance and spine-tingling fear. The kitchen grew nearer and his fear reached a fever pitch. He was quaking, but he had it under control and grabbed one of the NWO mugs he sold in the thousands on his website, grabbed the Guatemalan coffee from the freezer and was about to pour it into the filter when he realized he'd forgotten something crucial: the toxicology kit.

Great, now he'd have to run to the cupboard across the kitchen. He did, then got the coffee started. After twenty minutes it was ready. He felt something warm...he'd wet himself. Not again. Oh well, there would have to be another cover-up with the fans, but that was no-problemo, they'd swallow anything, even what was now running down his leg. By this point he couldn't control his laughing and abruptly stopped as he raised the cup of coffee to his mouth--he'd almost forgotten the toxicology test, how careless. It would take a few days for the results to come in, but he could stand the wait. It would be worth that good cup-o'-Joe...

A Scanner Darkly review

1Corinthians 13:11 When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

1Cr 13:12 For now we see through a glass [the original-Greek connotes "mirror," not a window], darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

1Cr 13:13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these (is) charity.


Substance-D is a powerful hallucinogen, a drug that when used over a prolonged period causes a bicameral-split in the user's personality. They become psychotics with multiple-personalities. Users call the drug "death," an appropriate moniker that reflects the eventual disintegration of the user's personality--or, at least in Philip K. Dick's science-fiction novel , "A Scanner Darkly" (1977).

Dick's adult life was spent primarily in-and-around Berkeley during the heyday of the antiwar movement and the American counterculture (though it really has continued into now). Many of the characters in his story like Ernie Luckman, Charles Freck, Donna Hawthorne, James Barris, and even Bob Arctor, were based-on real people that Dick had allowed to hang-out at his home while he wrote. Most of them were junkies and losers (and a few robbed him), but Dick felt a real pity and empathy for them. I share this with him, as despicable as addicts can be.

If you have ever truly been a part of the counterculture, this is going to be familiar-territory, and it will be both a funny reminder and a tragic one. I can say with authority that the film and the novel are pretty authentic in depicting the paranoia and the toll that the "lifestyle" takes on people. But, in classic Burroughsian-fashion (Philip K. Dick was an avid reader of William S. Burroughs, like many countercultural writers of that time), he shows that there are facets of the lifestyle that are worse, far-worse than "straight" society. Addicts are victims in more ways than you might suspect.

Think of addiction as a pyramid--as Burroughs enjoined us to do--and you'll understand that the so-called "drug problem" is about social control of rebellious populations and an excuse towards about gradually foisting a totalitarian system onto a democratic one. Dick homes in on this theme with incredible perceptiveness, simplifying it for the average reader. Yet the majority of Philip K. Dick novels are about the elusiveness of the underlying reality that constantly escapes us, the search for meaning within this reality, and the need for empathy in our lives. Like numerous other social observers, Dick saw us all becoming dehumanized by modern consumer culture, even becoming commodities through "reification." Richard Linklater has done this particular theme and story more justice than any other director has or possibly will anytime soon.

Linklater is a product of the American counterculture, which should be obvious glimpsing "Slackers," "Dazed and Confused," "Waking Life," and virtually all of his most personal films. He has also done what few writer/directors have ever attempted which is a story that is basically anti-drug (hard-drugs, not pot) without being preachy and boring.

I have read "A Scanner Darkly," at least six times and I can say that Richard Linklater has nailed the story, its meaning, and the hard lessons learned by Philip K. Dick and people like myself in the counterculture. Unlike many anti-drug films, we are told by the character Bob Arctor why he began his addiction: he hated his conformist daily-grind life with the kids, the wife, and its consumer nightmare of meaninglessness. This is why most people become addicted-to-drugs. They can no longer stand life in the developed world and how controlled and repressed it is. They yearn for empathy, closeness, and community.

When life's options have become constricted by ever-greater concentrations of power (a situation fostered by politicians and lobbyists, and the inaction of most people), you get a society like ours, and the one in A Scanner Darkly. The lives of ordinary people become warped by the distortions in power-relationships, and it poisons society and people's minds and spirits. Before long, nobody trusts one another, it all becomes apparently "normal," and society begins to feed on itself.

After that, collapse comes, inevitably. The body politic crashes and a bloodbath emerges as the system crashes. It wasn't hard to see where things were going in the 1970s, especially after Watergate and earlier--and more important--revelations like the 1971 break-in of an FBI field office in Media, Pennsylvania that revealed the extent of spying on American citizens at that time. Now, it's become "normal," but at that time the public was alarmed and outraged. Now, the war on terror justifies everything, and up is down.

The NSA's current spying is nothing new. Philip K. Dick's own home was burglarized during the early-1970s and his tax-records were stolen. The likely motive was that he had been a war tax resister during the Vietnam War, which raged into the middle-1970s. It should be noted here that Dick Cheney was a Nixon and Ford administration staffer. We shouldn't wonder why we're back to square one. Because things have only gotten worse, Linklater's version of the Philip K. Dick story is nothing less than a call-to-action and a very radical film in a very good sense. If we continue not to act against these encroachments on our rights, we will end-up with a society that closely resembles the one in A Scanner Darkly. Since 1977, things have gone in this direction. But then, there's the (second) war on drugs again...

There is ample-proof that our government has had involvement in the drug trade with corporate complicity in some areas (think NAFTA). Like any great science-fiction tale, this is a cautionary one, and we ignore the message at our own peril. What Richard Linklater has crafted is a great film based on a great American novel, and it was fun watching Alex Jones be dragged-away by the police (again). If only that part of the movie had been real, but Jones has a tendency to screw-up, so we'll see if he gets popped again. Timeless.

Significantly Revised, 09.13.2008