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                         Another Foggy Moment

      These are the continuing adventures of a typical resident
      of the self-proclaimed center of the Pugetopolis universe -
      Seattle. Most are true stories but some are made of whole-
      cloth. I ain't the Mayor, the Governor or a Big Shot. Just
      another Working Stiff with a Bad Attitude.

         ------------------------------------------------
         WARNING: This is not a Child-Proof Neighborhood.
         If you're a kid - scram!, beat it! you little
         punk before your Old Lady catches you and calls
         the cops. They'll throw you in the Big House in
         Walla Walla and won't let you out until you're
         89 years old. There. Don't say I didn't warn you.
         -------------------------------------------------

                               - 165 -

 The salmon pond at U Dub has been refilled in preparation for the salmon
 people's forthcoming annual Life & Death Pow Wow. Even as I write this,
 thousands of them are streaming back to their birthplace at Portage Bay
 after spending four or five years wandering the mysterious depths of the
 Pacific Ocean. As they have since long before their were humans on the
 earth, they will once again gather together a final time to Whoop it up, 
 catch up on the latest gossip, do a little dancing and await...The Change.
 After their bodies morph they will give the world a new generation of 
 salmon and...die. The old Medicine Wheel will groan around one more time 
 to complete a new cycle. The Creation will be renewed. The salmon people
 will survive.

 A FRIDAY NIGHT SERENADE...

 As I was sitting quietly at my desk Friday night deeply concentrating
 on a radical new theory that would revolutionize the way all mankind
 thought of gravity, a task I had sleeplessly dedicated nearly a week's
 constant effort to and now stood only a couple tantilizing steps away
 from completion, I faintly heard something familiar in the distance.
 "Lou-eye Lou-eye Whoa! Yeah! Me gotta go now!" with full orchestral
 accompaniment. Hmmm. Screw gravity. 
 
 It's comforting to think that while Hooterville's prune-faced prudish 
 Old Maids and Cross-Dressing Old Bachelors purse their thin, colorless 
 lips, cluck their shrivled tongues and wag their liver-spotted fingers 
 at the world's sexual mores, their kids are out there shaking their 
 half-naked Boo-tays for all they're worth. Once again the Husky 
 Marching Band, our Best & Brightest, was on the march through the 
 U District serenading the Frats and Sororities in all their semi-naked
 and noisey unofficial glory.

 The "Louie, Louie" chorus is a new touch. I don't remembering them
 singing it before. Aside from one new piece, the repetoire was
 familiar from past years: Tequila, Bow Down To Washington, etc. The
 frantic, frentic soft-porn shaking and shagging was familiar enough. 
 You ain't lived until you seen six tubas dancing like demented elephants,
 bikini-clad Babes waving Licorice Sticks with delightfully lasciviously
 abandon and felt the sidewalk-shaking beat of big bass drums, all done 
 without missing a single note. The Dawgy Dudes & Dawgettes were out in 
 force too doing things with their bodies that made a person want to yell,
 "Hey! Stop that before you break something!" One of the Dudes did a
 quadruple series of back flips that left everyone gasping for air. Oi! 
 One of the Dawgettes shot a good thirty feet into the air, landing
 safely in the waiting hands of the Dudes. All on bare pavement. Lucky
 their mother doesn't know what they're up to or they'd be in Big Trouble. 

 With a phalanx of cop cars with flashing lights leading and following,
 the Band wound its way through the neighborhood stopping in front of
 various houses to do a few numbers. As always, they ended with a bar of
 "Bow Down To Washington" before prancing off to the the next stop. The
 Grand Finale was out front of the 45th Street campus entrance where they
 lined the sidewalk for their signature tune. The passing traffic honked
 and waved its approval.

 New Orleans can keep its Memorial Marching Bands. We got something
 better and damn sight prettier. Friday nights before Saturday home
 games - around 9pm. Be there or be square Dude.

 SEATTLE THE CHASTE...

 KingCo is suing The Defender Association and that lady lawyer who got
 caught pass'n out free Nookie to one of her clients in KingCo Jail.
 They want $800,000. Dream on. The case against the guy involved hasn't
 even gone to court yet, so any damages caused by delays are as yet
 unknown. "Cadillac" Sims is just jealous that somebody else is Get'n 
 Some while fat, bloated slobs like him ain't get'n any. I'll bet 'ol
 Cadillac would look bitch'n in one of those Wonder Bras eh. They were 
 Making Love, not killing each other. In Mexican prisons inmates are
 allowed weekly conjugal visits with whomever they consider to be their
 Significant Other. Besides, it takes a certain amount of courage for 
 two people to make Whoopie in a filthy, stinking dump like KingCo Jail 
 where they pass out a free case of TB with every stay. Damn! When it
 comes to prudish pecksniffery KingCo tops the list. And how come nobody
 was worried about expenses when Judge Jimmy "The Token Twinkie" Doerty 
 went off on his personal vengence trip against Mr. Trummel over an
 insignificant offense? What a bunch of two-faced phony bastards.

 BTW - Another movie with the 'sex' word in it's title hit the screens
       recently. The old Queen who runs the Seattle Times refuses to
       pan it. I bet that guy likes to dress up in women's underwear
       when nobody is looking eh. He sounds like the type.

 WELCOME TO THE NUTHOUSE...

 If you've never seen a whole nation go insane all at once, take a 
 good look around you. This is what it looks like. Even as our economy
 falls apart, we're pedal to the credit metal. Are we spending to 
 increase our productivity or invest in the future. Hell, no! We're 
 blowing it all on big, fat SUVs and brand new wide-screen TVs. In 
 other words - junk that depreciates the second it goes out of the
 salesroom door. The thinking seems to be: we're working, we got money
 coming in. What's the problem? Ask the 30,000 guys who've been laid
 off at Boeing in recent times. Those jobs that aren't evaporating are
 hitting the road for distant lands where people are willing to work
 for food.

 We ain't alone. Uncle Sammy is doing exactly the same thing. Spending
 tax-money like there's no tomorrow, he's bust'n the bank with grand
 and useless military adventures, vast, bloated, buck-sucking new
 bureaucracies for which he's hiring like there's no tomorrow. Big
 Government just keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger. That nice
 Mr. Greenspan has been cranking out billions and billions of brand
 new Bucks to pay for it all, but his gig has about run its course.
 Soon Sammy's going to have to go back to making his money the old
 fashioned way: stealing it off you and me through oppressive taxation.

 Hee Hee Hee. Your kids will hate your guts when they find out the
 financial burden you've buried them under for decades to come. Forget
 about them finding you a nice retirement home. You'll be lucky if they
 don't lock you in the garage with a year's supply of dog food and tell
 you to flash the light a couple times before you die. Bring your own 
 can opener.

 We used to be a practical and pragmatic people. Now we've turned into
 a nation of Poseurs and Pretenders who go hysterical at the drop of a
 pin. What in the hell happened to us? We've become a nation of Bimbos.

 BABY SMASHER TANGO...

 It looks like people have found a new and creative use for thos Baby
 Smashers commonly found in aircraft bathrooms. Instead of using them
 to change their Rug Rat's diapers, as God and their designers intended,
 they're using them to screw each others brains out. Tsk! Tsk! Nobody
 would really care except they're breaking them in the process. Hey!
 Come on you guys! There are little, helpless babies out their running
 around with a load a hooey in their drawers just because the change
 stations are broke. Show a little consideration will you.  

 SKEEDADDLE FROM SEATTLE...

 It seems to have suddenly dawned on our News Nazis that companies are
 bugging out of here in droves. It ain't news to me. Boeing's HQ has 
 cut out for Chi Town. Key Bank moved it's International Division back 
 to the Home Office in Cleveland. PPG has moved its promotional warehouse
 to Kentucky. Arthur Anderson is gone. Many smaller fish, like yacht 
 brokerages, are going back to the Mid West. With them go the City, 
 County and State tax-bases plus many, many jobs. 

 The reasons for this Bug Out are ambiguous. Many of the moves are done
 quietly well out of the public spotlight. They ain't looking for trouble.
 But Boeing kindly reiterated its litany of needs once again this week:
 They are looking for lower taxes, 
     and ain't finding them here. 
 They are looking for streamlining of the governmental regulatory burden,
     and ain't finding it here. 
 They are looking for State government that takes an interest in their fate, 
     and ain't finding it here. 
 They are looking for an educational infrastructure capable of providing
     them with engineers and technicians as well as promoting research
     related to their industry,
     and ain't finding it here. 
 They are looking for a transportation infrastructure capable of moving
     their goods and employees, 
     and ain't finding it here. 
 They're finding it elsewhere - primarily back east and in distant nations.
 Just as well. As usual, there was no comment from the Little Stinker, our
 Gubnatorial Dwarf. He couldn't give less of a shit. He's already got a
 job and has a big, phat Government Pension waiting for him. His little
 butt's covered.

 Ominously, while our economic base is hitting the road, our population
 is not. People are moving here in droves and will continue to do so.
 The Pacific Northwest continues to be one of the fastest growing areas
 of the entire world. It will just have less of an economy to support
 the new-comers with. Oh well. You can't have everything.

 A DOG STORY...

 Everybody likes a nice dog story. This week an especially good one came
 up in the news.

 This Ukranian Big Shot who was a member of the local legislature was out
 walking with one of his buddies and his pet Boxer one recent evening
 in the city of Yubileinoye. By chance they happen on a cadet from Lugansk
 University of Internal Affairs who had a couple Babes with him. This
 impertenant young man decided to have a little fun yanking Mr. Big Shot's
 chain. He tells him his dog should be on a leash and wearing a muzzle.
 Mr. Big Shot takes great offense at this clear insult to his masculinity
 and authority.

 They start yelling at each other. Then, in the heat of the moment, Mr.
 Big Shot reaches into his pocket and pulls out a military-issue RGD-5
 hand-grenade and throws it at the snot-nose cadet. Upon seeing this, the
 dog perhaps mistaking it for a toy, took off like a shot to retreive the
 hand grenade. Opps! The Boxer obediently brought it back to its master
 just in time for it to explode. The dog died immediately. Mr. Big Shot
 and his buddy died a short while later in hospital. And, the snot-nose 
 cadet who brought all this on is presently in intensive-care. No word 
 on what happened to the Babes. I guess they were the only ones smart 
 enough to run like hell.

 Stick with chihuahuas. Aside from being cute as the Dickins, Rat Dogs
 are too stupid and tiny to retreive stuff.
.........................................................................

 Most people wouldn't know music if it came up and bit them on the ass.
                        - Frank Zappa -

.........................................................................

                   GLENN GOULD - BIRTHDAY BOY

 Wednesday will mark the 70th birthday of the remarkable Canadian
 classical pianist Glenn Gould. If you wanted to remain an obscure 
 and unknown genius what better way than by becoming a classical
 musician in North America? Nobody will even know you were alive.
 America's music is rock 'n roll. Yet one of our best rockers, Frank
 Zappa, was a classical composer. In fact a week after his death, 
 his classical album "The Yellow Shark" topped the classical music 
 charts. Many other rockers have dabbled in classical music. It's 
 not quite as boring as Classic KING-FM makes it out to be.

 Glenn's emergence into the public consciousness is easy to mark. 
 It was his recording of Bach's "Goldberg Variations" when he was
 just an unknown teenager from Toronto. A record company exec had
 heard him at a Youth Concert in New York's Radio City Music Hall
 and immediately signed him to produce this album. It was insane
 thing to at the time. Nobody in their right mind played the 
 Variations. They were obscure, difficult and avoided like the
 plague. To sign a Nobody kid from the Boonies to produce them 
 seemed a tad suicidal. But once the album came out it exploded 
 into a Monster Hit and continues to explode to this very day. 
 People are still buying it. Now everybody and their dog is playing 
 the Goldberg Variations. But nobody has matched Glenn for his 
 interpretive skills and his amazing technical abilities.

 Many would say Glenn wasn't exactly 'of his right mind'. He was 
 an eccentric guy. In his concert playing days he would often appear 
 on stage decked out like he was heading into a blizzard: long winter
 coat, boots, scarf, fingerless-gloves, plus his trademark Old Duffer's 
 cap. He just didn't want to catch a cold was all. He lived in constant
 dread of germs. And he always brought his own chair. His dad gave him 
 a simple wood-and-canvas folding chair which, over the years, lost 
 it's backrest. Thanks to Glenn's almost complete lack of carpentry
 skills, the legs ended up uneven from all the repairs he did to them. 
 Tall and lanky, when he sat in it at the piano he looked ludicrous
 perched atop that rickity little thing with his nose about even with 
 the keyboard. It didn't bother him. He didn't play by the sound but 
 rather by the FEEL of the keys. He memorized the works he did and
 produced a perfect/ideal version in his head then trained his fingers
 to tactilely play it out. Often when he practiced he had an AM radio
 going full blast to drown out the piano's sound and allow his fingers
 to feel the music. I've never heard of a musician doing such a thing
 before. 

 He was quite playful too. Sometimes he would make his grand entrance 
 by sliding across the stage's wooden floor in his socks. While he 
 played he often 'sang' along with his music. This bothered him greatly. 
 He felt it was unprofessional and must be rather annoying to the people
 who were paying to hear him play. But when he consciously stopped his
 grunting and groaning, he couldn't play right. So he shrugged his big
 shoulders and just let it all hang out. He minimized it best he could.

 As far as anyone can tell, he did all these things (and much more) 
 not for effect but simply because that's the way he was. He wasn't 
 the kind of guy who really gave much of a damn what people thought 
 of him. His great nemisis, the stoggy old Eastern European, George 
 Szell of the Cleveland Symphony grudgingly conceeded, "The nut's a
 genius."

 At the height of his concert-hall popularity, at a time when he 
 routinely sold-out and could name his price, he announced that he
 would not do any more public concerts. He felt they were demeaning
 and produced crap music. Little more than torture sessions for the
 artist who performed and Dog & Pony Shows for the many Poseurs who
 attended these events to 'be seen'. From that time on he would only 
 work in a recording studio where he had full and complete control 
 over how his music sounded. And he really threw himself into these 
 studio sessions. He got deeply involved in the technical end of the
 production as well as the musical end. His recordings sold like 
 hotcakes. Despite his having been dead for 20 years, they still do.
 
 He spent much of his time holed up in his Toronto apartment
 with his piano. While he wasn't a Party Boy he wasn't a hermit 
 either. He drove his friends crazy with 3 a.m. phone calls. He 
 loved to hop in his car on a warm summer's night and just hit the 
 2-lane blacktop to cruise aimlessly around the Ontario countryside 
 with his radio going full blast. He had the Hots for Petula Clark. 
 She was his favorite. He'd occasionally stop at an all-night diner 
 for a coffee. Just another obscure refugee of the night chatting 
 it up with the other refugees at the counter. As often as not, a 
 week later he would be playing to a standing-room-only concert hall 
 in New York City, Paris or Moscow. He enjoyed being around people. 
 He just wanted to control who, when and where. And fer chrissakes 
 DON'T TOUCH HIM. A piano-factory foreman, while Glen was scoping 
 out a new piano, slapped him affably on the back and Glen sued the 
 guy. No hand-shaking either. Germs eh. He was constantly popping
 pills to fight the little buggers off. A flaming hypochondriac by 
 most accounts.

 But music wasn't his only gig. He wrote many essays and produced a
 number of programs from Canadian radio and TV. Often the subjects 
 of these programs had nothing directly to do with music, let alone
 classical music. One of my favorites was the "Solitude Trilogy" he
 did about Canuks in the far north for CBC-Radio. He was absolutely
 fascinated by the Canadian north and its people venturing there many
 times. He made a fugue with the voices of the people he interviewed! 
 It sounds a little weird at first but it works. Any kind of sound was
 fair game for his playfulness. He did a number of comedy shows for 
 CBC-TV in which he would play a number of characters all by himself. 
 One of his favorite characters was a New York City cab driver. He 
 really liked guys who let it all hang out and absolutely detested
 Poseurs and other phonies.

 His essays were intelligent and delightfully funny. His knowledge
 of the music he played was extensive and he had a helluva good 
 sense of humor about him as well as a biting wit. His interviews 
 were real Dharma Battles. He thought most interviewers were a 
 joke. He actually interviewed himself at one point just to show 
 them how stupid they sounded and how it really should be done. 
 It was an instructive bit of comedy.

 He died at the age of 50, shortly after his mother died. He liked
 girls but was too much of a workaholic for heavy dating let alone
 marriage. Ma was the one who introduced him to the piano when he 
 was a kid and she remained his closest friend and confidante 
 throughout his life. He was an only-child. Her death was a terrible 
 blow to him. He left his many millions of dollars to the Toronto 
 animal shelter. He loved animals.

 There will never be another Glenn. Sigh.

 Glenn Gould Webpage 

........................................................................

             If you can't convince them, confuse them.
                        - Harry S. Truman -

.........................................................................

                          'OL YELLER'S TWAT
                   (aka The War Against Terrorism)

 PREDICTION: After Congress surrenders its sole right to declare war,
 Yeller will brush the U.N. aside and Do Iraq. The best scenario would
 be for the Israelis to handle the dirty work (nukes) and take the blame.
 Their racist, biggoted little kingdom of hate is already the pariah of
 the world. As long as we keep paying their bills, they can afford to
 thumb their noses at everybody. Yeller gets what he wants (oil), they
 get what they want (Muslim intimidation) and the U.N., Russia and the
 Euros are left sucking air. He IS going to invade one way or the other.
 Nobody in the world has the balls to stop our psycho-hillbilly Fuhrer.

 The Pentagoon hasn't done a survey of Iraq military ability in over two
 years. Neither the CIA nor any other intelligence agency has been asked
 by the White House to do an analysis of Iraq weapons-of-mass-destruction
 capability. What exactly does Yeller base his great urgency to invade
 Iraq on? Does he know something the Pentagon and CIA don't? If so, what
 in the hell is it? And why doesn't anybody call this goddam hillbilly's
 bluff in public? Besides that courageous old South African lion Nelson
 Mandela, that is. HE knows a Nazi wen the sees one.

 Yellowbelly ain't taking any more calls from Nelson Mandela. Nelson tried
 to call him this past week but Yeller told him to get lost. He ain't got
 no time for old Cotton Head Nigras who get sassy with him. Why can't they
 all be like that nice General Powell. Colin does a good job in the
 shoeshine department too. He'll make a real snappy looking doorman at the
 President Yellowbelly Memorial Library in years to come. Sort of like Joe
 Louis glad-handing the Gomers at the Vegas casinos in his retirement.

 It was a week of wild vacillations. Now that all pertenent documents 
 have been shredded and the trail is stone-cold, Yeller has agreed to an
 independent investigation of 9/11. It'll be good for the Conspiracy
 Theory Biz but not much of anyone else. Shocking many people both in
 America and Europe, he declared he would never allow our military
 supremacy to be challenged, as he puffed and posed like a true bumpkin.
 To anyone with Nukes, his posturing is meaningless. It would take about
 30 minutes to vaporize America into the history books. The Pentagon can
 handle Afghanistan and Haiti but it's ability starts getting iffy with
 Pakistan and totally evaporates with the Rooskies. Our Executive Coon
 Ass can bully around impoverished small countries but not much of anybody
 else. The days of Hitler-esque gratuitious invading are long gone. He
 can blow his fat mouth off all he likes but he ain't gonna be able to
 walk the walk if he has to.

                                   *

 This truely is crazy. In case you haven't already figured it out,
 Yeller's TWAT has little or nothing to do with terrorism. Nor does 
 it have much of anything to do with 9/11. Everything that is happening
 right now was conceived years ago. Long before any of us ever heard
 of Al Qaida and way before your average American learned to salivate
 upon hearing the name Osama bin Laden. Though 9/11 did fit rather
 well into the scenario. For those to whom this is shocking news, if 
 your knees feel shaky go ahead and sit down. 

 Yeller and his buddies wanna rule the world. That's right: world
 domination. Not a New World Order but a New American Empire. He figures
 our moment has come. Sitting on top of the most destructive military
 juggernaut in human history and with no real competition, Monkey
 Boy thinks he ought to start calling the shots for EVERYBODY. Might
 makes right. History books are full of Famous Dead White Guys who had 
 similar military juggernauts and similar dreams: Napolean, Stalin,
 Hitler, Queen Victoria - they all qualify. None of their empires
 survived.

 But there are many good reasons why adding Yellowbelly's name to that
 list is a bit like adding in Daffy Duck's. He don't belong there. And
 here's where it all starts getting crazy.

 First off, Yeller is a Luser who has screwed up everything he has ever
 touched. From oil companies to state governments, he's trashed them
 all. Time after time, Daddy stepped in to haul his ashes out of
 the fire. When he ran for President, once again he blew it and lost.
 But once again, Daddy stepped in to save his ass. And what have we 
 got since he moved in the White House? Easily the most incompetent 
 and hapless President in our entire history. For the first time in 
 over two centuries, we got attacked on our very soil thanks to his 
 lack of vigilance. We now know he had tons of warnings but just ignored
 them all. And of course, our economy immediately went from Boom to Bust. 
 Unemployment has shot through the roof. Foreclosures have reached
 historical highs. Ditto for repossessions. National and personl debt 
 has achieved never-before seen heights. Our economy resembles a Boeing
 757 with a monkey at the controls, heading right for the Twin Towers of
 Doom and Destruction while the passengers all snooze obliviously away.

 Clearly, he is neither bright enough nor clever enough to handle an
 empire. Even as a Figurehead he's pretty much a failure. He unfortunately
 looks as stupid as he really is. People laugh at him and his dumbass
 hillbilly vocabulary. The corporate neo-fascists he's surrounded himself
 with are not up to ruling an empire either. They're all theory and no 
 experience. Nonetheless, our military will empower these jackasses with 
 the ability to inflict unimaginable harm on the people of many small
 and helpless nations. It's like handing a loaded gun to a drunk. A
 disaster looking for someplace to happen.

 Destroying whole nations and peoples has become trivial in this age
 of technology. It's easy to do. Any idiot who has the right Gizmos
 can do it. Tearing things apart and slaughtering off people by the
 millions has never been easier. Only the expense and general uselessness
 of vast piles of rubble strewn with dead bodies has prevented more 
 tech-savy societies from indulging in the pasttime. They'd sooner just
 buy off the Head Honcho and walk off with the profitable Goodies. We
 used to employ the same strategy but now lack the ability or gumption
 to compete. Ergo, our need to resort to the short-cut of a Military
 Expedient. The crucial task after destruction is creation. What next?

 However misguided their intentions, the above listed World Empire 
 Wannabes were not retards. Aside from Vicky, they all rose on their 
 own out of obscurity and poverty to become national leaders and 
 eventually historical legends. They were master manipulators. They
 knew how to get things done. They were exceptionally aggressive,
 self-confident, clever and driven. They didn't need Daddy to save 
 their bacon. They could handle the job on their own. Many of them 
 had no idea who their daddy was.

 Second of all, aside from wanting to add to his personal wealth, he
 really lacks any coherent motivation to rule an empire. He's closer
 to a tyrrant or despot than a dictator. He's never given a damn about
 his country or its people. He evaded National Service during wartime
 by hiding in a homeguard unit far from the action. He's never been
 engaged in 'community service' aside from paid political positions. 
 As a businessman he deliberately lied to his investors, quietly cashing
 out his stock just before his company went tits up, leaving them holding
 the bag. He's simply a self-centered, highly immature little jerk ruled
 by his personal needs and emotions, not the master of them. He has the 
 emotional maturity of an anti-social 12-year old.

 The thing that seperates Yeller from the Wannabes on the above list is
 that they had a vision they wanted to create. Napoleon dreamed of a
 universal French civilization. Hitler dreamed of a 1,000 year German
 Reich. Stalin dreamed of a world run according to Commie political
 principles. Vicky dreamed of a genteel British empire ruled by the
 naturally superior and ever so polite English. All deeply identified 
 with their national culture. All wanted to create something for their
 nation that would extend far beyond their individual lives. National
 ambition, not personal ambition, was their Bottom Line.

 And how does Yeller imagine he'll embrace the whole world into his big
 American Family?  Does he dream of a world in which everybody sits around
 their TV every night watching "American Idol"? Is he going to teach them
 all how to play baseball? Will he replace the soccer World Cup with a
 grand international Super Bowl? Does he dream of a world in which everybody 
 will have big picnics and fireworks displays on the 4th of July? Does he
 imagine a world dotted with cute little churches surrounded by nice white
 picket fences into which everybody files on Sunday mornings to sing hymns
 and listen to a preacher scorch them with a Fire & Brimstone sermon? Does
 his world vision see every nation studded with big shopping centers filled 
 with snarly, disaffected Pimply Faced Youth and parking lots full of SUVs? 

 The American Way of Life used to embrace such noble sentiments as freedom,
 liberty and justice. But we dumped all that useless jazz and traded it in
 for the simpler concept of Conspicuous Consumption. Obviously the whole
 world can't engage in this sort of national pursuit. Somebody has to MAKE
 the useless, dysfunctional junk we buy. Apparently that is the role that
 he envisions for our new  brothers and sisters: they'll be our maids,
 gardeners, chauffeurs, lackeys and flunkies.

 He intends not to free them, but to enslave them. He intends to turn them
 into Meat Machines in service to the American Way of Life. They won't be
 allowed to participate in that Way of Life. They won't even be allowed to
 emulate it. If they so much as think about writing up a Constitution like
 ours, let alone something as subversive as our Bill of Rights, he'll kick
 their asses. His dream is very similar to Hitler's dream, minus the culture 
 and civilization aspect. We have no culture or civilization to impart. All
 we got is Stuff and Moola.

 I sincerely hope he gets his ass kicked. That would be the best thing in
 the world for my America. I'd love to see the World's Cop get knocked
 right on his keester Bigtime like happened in Vietnam. Then we can go 
 back to just being ourselves.

 We're not smart or sophisticated. We're simple people. We're the world's
 left-overs. It's trailer trash. We'd sooner sit around watching TV than
 read a thick book. We'd sooner drive around aimlessly on a dark 2-lane
 highway listening to the radio than engage in intellectually uplifting
 conversation. Before we became rich Big Shots paranoid about everyone
 and everything, we used to be pleasant and hospitable people who enjoyed
 one another's company and would happily give the shirt off our back to
 anyone in real need of it. Now we hide guns under our pillows and carry
 pepper spray in our purses. We don't talk to anybody. We're scared of
 each other. We hate the world and the world hates us.

 We don't need no steenkin empire. 

........................................................................
                   Every crowd has a silver lining.

                          - P.T. Barnum -
.........................................................................

                        -  MONDO VATICANO -

 With war on the horizon and the threat of regional instability hanging
 over the Middle East, where is the old Pollock, Future-Super-Saint JP-2?
 Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z Not a peep. Christ's Vicar on Earth is Out to lunch.
 Some commanding voice for Christian peace eh. Hopefully he'll die soon 
 so we can get a functional Pope.

                                  +

 The Vatican's parade of clueless idiots continues to march on. This week
 saw Cardinal Teddy McCarrick of Washington-DC tell every to move along;
 nothing to look at here; the pervert priest scandal is over. Of course
 Teddy is the guy who over-ruled a clergy-abuse review board and had a
 pervert priest re-instated last year. One of Fr. Pervert's victims, now
 all grown up and old enough to handle a gun, showed up to blow a few
 holes in his tormentor. Ted was terribly sorry afterwards about his
 little goof. Lawyers, like the one in Toledo handling the six new cases
 filed there, say this ain't even close to the end. This is just the
 beginning.

 Cardinal Bernie "The Pimp" Law in Boston successfully screwed the victims
 of one of his pervert priests out of a proper settlement. Boy was he ever
 proud of himself for saving the Church all that dough. Reduced to
 sneaking around incognito while surrounded by bodyguards and forced
 to travel by Kennedy Family jet, it's not too hard to figure out who
 this evil son-of-a-bitch is working for. It ain't God - that's fer sure.
 The voters of Boston come this November just may be electing the D.A. 
 who finally nails Bernie's fat, pink ass. I'd love to see him in prison. 
 Let him get a little taste of his own medicine.

 Monsignor Andy Baker of the Curia Wops Congregation of Bishops engaged
 in some gratuitous Gay Bashing this week in Roma. He don't think Gays
 should be ordained. Opps! Too late Andy. Pope Paul VI was an active and
 practicing homosexual though the Vatican has frantically tried to suppess
 that fact. Virtually all of our ordained priests and bishops are Gays.
 How else to explain why our priests AIDs rate is a whopping 300% higher
 than the national average? How else to explain why virtually every case
 of aberrant sexual behavior involves a Gay act. It ain't that Gay priests
 are more likely to be perverts. It isn't that celibacy drives men to 
 homosexuality. It is simply that damn near all our priests are Gay, so
 ipso fatso, the exceptions to the rule are also Gay. It's as obvious as
 the nose on the Pope's face. 

 I dream someday at a bishop's conference Cardinal Law will turn to 
 Cardinal McCarrick and say, "Hey Ted. You a faggot? I am." And Cardinal
 McCarrick will reply, "Yeah Bernie. I'm Queer as they come." Then they'll
 turn to their assembled bishops and say in chorus, "We're Queer. We're
 here. Get used to it." They'll all embrace crying "Praise the Lord!" 
 and their stupid hateful charade will be over. It's spiritual integrity
 that counts, not sexual orientation.

                                  +  

 The mysterious Bishop Milingo continues to hover invisibly behind the
 scenes. After he got hitched to a nice Korean lady in a Moonie wedding
 ceremony, the Curia Wops put the screws to him and lured him back to
 Roma to give an accounting of himself. And that's when he disappeared.
 He hasn't been publically seen since. At first they lied and said he
 was praying in a monastery outside Roma. He wasn't. He was in Argentina.
 Under growing pressure from Emmanual's wife, his family and friends like
 Fr. Gabe Amorath the Vatican's Offcial Exorcist, the Curia Wops began
 reconstructing him. He's been giving phantom interviews and has now 
 phantomly authored a book. He supposedly will resume his African
 ministry though there has been no firm word on when or where. He remains
 legally married. But he has yet to appear in public. Is this just more
 Curia lies?

				    +

 There are Pollocks and there are Pollocks. Dorota Nieznelska isn't a
 Pope, she's an artist. She don't live in Roma; she lives in Poland. 
 She is presently on trial for blasphemy. Hard to believe in this day
 and age eh. But then Pollocks aren't known for their intelligence or
 sophistication. Anyways...Dorota made an artistic work called "Pasja"
 (Passion) in which she stuck a picture of a penis on a crucifix. That's
 what got her into hot water. It's illegal to ridicule or abuse objects
 of religious affection. Whatever in the hell that means. She could get
 2-years in prison for her art. Pollocks are simple, superstious peasant
 people who worry a great deal about Bad Mojo. They are apparently afraid
 she'll piss off the Big Guy by suggesting he had a penis. If Christ
 truely was a man, he most certainly had one. It's standard Guy equipment.
 She says her artistic work has nothing to do with religion directly but 
 was instead intended to critique certain absurd forms of masculinity.
 Like the Pollockish kind.
                                     +

 Superman got pissed off at the Vatican this week. Christopher Reeve,
 who has been paralyzed from the neck down since a riding accident a
 few years ago, pointed an accusatory finger at the Church's failure
 of compassion in fighting against theraputic cloning and stem cell
 research. He said he'd likely be nearly back on his feet if it weren't
 for that. But then bishops don't have to worry about being paralyzed.
 So why should they care about people who are?


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