Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Hurricane, or, Refugees Aren't For Africa Anymore!

Mother Nature with her huge hermaphrodictic balls proved the Allinian dictum of "Life Sucks Scum Fuck" in her recent cataclysmic expression of force and destruction. I'll be watching events unfold with dismay in this Apocalypse for so many in the Gulf states and will grin with Schadenfreude at all SUV drivers who will soon be paying $3.50 a gallon for gas to the tune of $70 a tank. You just HAD to have such a big stupid car, didn't you!? Yet my political prophecy lies elsewhere, in a cynicism not only about the optimism of the National Guard's readiness and numbers to assist relief efforts in the U.S., but of the propaganda and double-speak at the Department of Defense where Living Color's catchy phrase, "talking out the side of ya neck," most certainly applies in the D.O.D.'s bald statement concerning an increase in Guard deployments and its celebration of Guard units mobilized during Katrina: "The National Guard's solid response to Hurricane Katrina demonstrates that the Guard is still fully capable of responding to stateside emergencies while supporting the war in terror overseas, the chief of the National Guard Bureau told the American Forces Press Service today. " The news, however, will make you wonder whether the response is indeed "solid": "looting on Tuesday took place in full view of police and National Guard troops. " My point is about numbers, not military might. My prognostication, which -- you can remember -- you heard it here first, is that we have at hand an unfortunate misallocation of resources in the likes of our National Guard units across some four or five southern states who presently find themselves in Iraq pursuing the "President's" vain agendas and absent from their better humanitarian purposes of airlifting the hundreds upon hundreds of citizens stranded on their rooftops in these flooded areas. Oh the looting in Baghdad, oh me oh my. Oh the looting in New Orleans! Not wishing to pun, I just want to float that discourse out there. Spread it around, jack it, fuck it.

Monday, August 22, 2005


Is this shirt gay or not?

My beloved friends from Ohio, "Keith and Bill," gave me this shirt in 1993 in recognition of my likeness to a Landfill Phantom and my confessed love for Allysin Chaynes I mean Alice In Chains. I thanked them for it, and closeted it stat, thinking it was "gay." I believe I had made the right decision at the time. I mean, who wants to look like he’s heading to Lollapalooza? Who wants to look like he’s heading back, even though demographically, and according to the latest figures, 89% of my friend base have in fact been to Lollapalooza at least once? While 46% surveyed indicate that they own an Alice In Chains album, 87% admit to liking at least one Alice In Chains song, with 75% of those responses singling out the single, "Would," from the Singles soundtrack (also from the album Dirt) as the overwhelming favorite; 20% goes to "Man in the Box (Baby You Know You Like It That Way)." And if 20% of the 87% are heading towards the train station, what percent of England has a July 4th?

But now it is time for me to face the skeleton and, as they say, "Jingle the Sleigh (Let's Do it One More Time)." So, is or is not the shirt "gay?" Can it be worn in public without heaps of ostracization descending upon the wearer? This is by no means a settled issue. And experts as geographically and aesthetically diverse as Lilly Locust and Apartmeant13 have weighed in.

Has the shirt accrued any nostalgic value in a universal sense? The shirt is only slightly worn looking. No tour dates on the back; only religious iconography, an Ace of Spades, and dog tags. That was hard to type . . .

YOU DECIDE, FUCKERS (Because I fucking can’t)!

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

The Gayness of the Machine

It sucks! Using a hacksaw for repairs? How would you like to be dangled by a robotic arm 220 miles above the earth's surface? Look, this crappy ass craft was featured in 007's "Moonraker" in 1979 before the first launch: in the movie, we see multiple craft launching from multiple locations, and we get to see Jaws get it on with Pippy Longstocking. The thrill is gone, as is the need. If a NASA device is not in a contemporary movie, then it's time to move the fuck on. That "Deep Impact" featured these cosmological jalopies verifies the utter gayness of the machine: what a wish that movie was for the shittle to be purposeful and agile.

Get new plane, ugh, grunt. Pretend it's 1993 and imagine sending astronauts around the earth in that crappy Forest Gump capsule from the 60s. GET IT? And the worstest bestest part about it is that no one knows what the fuck this current mission is about anyway. Wait, I know, it's about sending a huge foamy Sanford & Son contraption into space so that it can be precariously repaired. THE NATION IS UNITED!

Why not hitch the thing on the back of a 747, like they did in the day, and just cruise around from venue to venue, like two dragon flies flying while fucking.

YAY!, ie., PS: I saw Road Warrior recently and discovered that the villainous hockey masked apocalypticon isn't as muscular as I thought he was. He's just oily and sounds like Randy "The Macho Man" Savage.