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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.

                     THIS AIN'T NO STINK'N BLOG

         ------------------------------------------------
         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.
         -------------------------------------------------

                             - 186 -

 Wow! Another sunny week. Like magic, the rain clouds began moving
 in on Friday afternoon just in time for the weekend. While growingly
 pregnant with Spring, the daffies and cherry trees still aren't even
 close to Prime Time yet. The crocus' are up though. Long time no
 see. The ravens continue their crazy Dawn Dance over Union Bay in
 the morning and the ospreys are quietly still snoozing up in the
 trees at the east end of Montlake Cut most mornings. Finally after
 a couple months of dark mornings, I have a beautiful dawn to look 
 at again.

 NOTE:
 I don't read the seattle.general newsgroup. I only post AFM there 
 because I was asked to do so. It is there for availability purposes 
 not discussion purposes. That's the way its been since the start. 
 Make of it what you will.

 AWAKEN...

 I'm standing near downtown this past week having a smoke outside. 
 It's a lovely sunny day. A little on the chilly side but that's 
 fine with me. I cope with cold much better than I cope with heat.

 Along comes this guy who is just walking up the sidewalk. He looks
 a little non-standard but nothing really freaky. He steps right up 
 to me, salutes and says, "Awaken." Just like that. Hmmm. "Awaken 
 from what?", I ask mildly puzzled. He just blankly looks at me for 
 a moment, his expression unchanged, then abruptly does a military
 style about-face and goes his way. I didn't see him stopping to
 'awaken' any others. 

 Was he a Jehovah's Witness who ran outta magazines? Since when 
 did they start saluting? Was he an Army Delta Force agent who 
 mistook me for his 'sleeper' Snuff Zombie? Or was he a Celestial
 Angel sent by the Mothership to put me on the alert? Dang. I 
 just changed the foil in my hat last week too. I was hoping the 
 visits would stop.

 HOOTERVILLE HISTORY:

 It was 101 years ago last Monday that Uncle Sammy bought back a small
 corner of the original downtown U Dub campus. It's the spot where the
 present day main Post Office sits. It's the only part of the original
 campus that was ever sold outright to anybody. The rest - the area
 bounded by University in the north, 5th Avenue in the east, Seneca
 to the South and 3rd Avenue to the west - was and remains the property
 of U Dub. They make a tidy annual income from leasing it.

 The University Trustees tried to sell off the whole thing in the late
 1800's after the campus moved to Montlake. But a depression was in full
 swing and everybody was broke. Except Uncle Sammy. That's when the
 Sly Fox bought that little corner at 3rd and Union for $25,000. It'd
 cost a few bucks more than that nowadays eh. The state land trustee
 kicked up a stink about it saying U Dub had no right to sell any of
 that land without his permission but apparently nobody paid him much
 mind. When the city quickly began to bloom around it, the Trustees
 dropped any thought of selling the land and stuck with leasing it.

 Sammy built a rather elaborate and architectually overblown monstrosity
 on his corner that served at least as a Post Office and possibly also 
 as a Federal Building. I think that's where Mother Cabrini, the first
 American Catholic saint, went to get sworn in as an American citizen.
 I'm not sure what it's function became after the newer post office
 went up on 1st Avenue in the 30's.

 Things stayed pretty much that way until the 50's. By then, Mr. Denny's
 knoll had been washed away and what had been the far northern surburbs
 of Seattle was now well-established as a legit part of downtown. The
 old lease land was covered with many grand office buildings and sported
 the lovely Olympic Hotel. The Seattle Metropolitans hockey team became
 the first U.S. team to win a Stanley Cup at the old Arena that used to
 stand on the U Dub lease land along the east side of the Olympic Hotel. 
 The classy old 5th Avenue Theatre was in full bloom. The Bon Marche had
 moved over from 2nd Ave between Pike and Union, to their new digs on 3rd
 Avenue just off the northwest corner of the lease land. In fact they were
 slapping three more floors on top of their 3rd Avenue store about 1950.
 If you look closely, you can see the difference in stone used between 
 the two halves. Both culturally and commercially U Dub's lease land had
 become an integral part of Seattle's life.

 In the 50's U Dub was in the midst of a change of leaseholders for 
 their land and wanted a little piece of Uncle Sammy's corner for a
 new development (the Washington Building) that was going up next to
 it. It turned out to be a major can 'o worms, of course. Whenever
 bureaucratic rice-bowls are involved, things tend to be absurdly
 complicated and move at a snail's pace. The upshot was that instead 
 of paying money for the land, the state agreed to build Sammy a new 
 Post Office where the old one stood. That explains the El Cheapo
 construction job of the present-day Post Office eh. The low profile 
 was deliberate so as not to interfere with the "architectural
 grandeur" of the Washington Building. The old Pantages Theatre 
 was tore down to make way for the parking garage south of the Post
 Office. It entrance used to be near where the present bus-tunnel
 entrance is.

 Ref: "Denny's Knoll", Neal O. Hines - U Washington Press 1980
       ISBN 0-295-95718-2

 ENCORE! ENCORE!...

 The Little Stinker, our Gubnatorial dwarf, pulled a Double Header
 this week. Much to nobody's surprise, he put his little Fix in on
 yet another public initative. The judges in this state are little
 more than cheap whores. They know their names wouldn't even have
 been on that ballot, where they ran unopposed, if they didn't show
 Stinky's little thumbprint in the middle of their forehead. And
 getting ahead largely depends on the 'cooperation' they show along
 the way. Kissing Stinky's ass comes way, way ahead of jurisprudence. 
 Any judge who dares buck him would be expressing a career death-wish. 
 Obviously none of them has the balls to try that.

 The other end of this deal was his announcement that he was coming
 up with a Recovery Plan. Wow! A switch hitter! Isn't this the same
 dumbass who ran us into deep debt? Is this the same idiot who blew 
 a BillionBuck surplus like it was spare-change and for which we got
 sweet bugger all? He didn't address a single, solitary pressing
 issue: our serious infrastructure deficiencies, our nationally
 famed pollution problems, our crumbling schools, the mediocrity 
 of our technical/professional training institutes, etc. etc. etc. 
 Instead, blowing off the voters, he went and built America's most 
 expensive, tiniest and ugliest baseball park for the rich Japanese 
 guy who owns the Mariners. Us? We get the bills.

 GIL'S BRAINFART... 

 Our dumb Pollock Police Chief thinks he knows how the anti-war
 peaceniks will respond when the invasion of Iraq begins. He
 thinks they're going to trash downtown. Where'd he get that
 from? His crystal bowling ball? All the marches and demonstrations
 to date have been completely peaceful and orderly. Is he 
 actually trying to provoke violence or is he merely trolling
 for more over-time? 

 If him and his freeloading donut-munchers are looking for trouble
 they'll undoubtably find it. The obvious strategy for outwitting
 the Pollock is to throw a big party. Everybody get totally
 smashed and have a lot of fun. He don't know how to handle a
 tricky situation like that. Totally confuses him. Ditto for his
 cops. Should they join in or should they bust it up? A tough 
 call. It'd be Mardi Gras all over again.

 Maybe Mayor Greg should sit down with this Idgit and explain 
 to him that this is Seattle not Krakow. We do things a little
 different here. We don't assume tax-paying citizens are the
 enemy. And just as not all Pollocks are as stupid as the Chief, 
 not all peaceniks are out to smash the state. Unless of course 
 Greg don't know the difference himself. Whatever happens - it's
 gonna be his ass, not the Pollock's.

 SAYONARA BONSAI...

 Looks like the Japanese national soccer team's game against the
 US team here next month is off. Reason: Yellowbelly's Iraqi
 revenge trip. An invasion would definitely scrap the match. But
 even without one the Nips are very wary of having anything to do
 with us. We've become the World's Biggest Asshole. Mobody even
 wants to be seen around us any more. The Japs are going to stay
 home and play Argentina and Uruguay instead.

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

 The trouble is that the Devil, by nature, will never be clearly and
 honestly definable. He is the one who always manages to be at once
 judge and plantiff in the trial of his definition. A being who is
 paradoxical by his very essence. He exists, to be sure, but he is 
 in every being *that which is not*, that which tends to nothingness,
 that which secretly aspires to the destruction of existence - the
 existence of others or his own. His quality of not being positively
 this or that gives him an indefinite freedom of action, of incognito
 and alibis as far as the eye can see. 
 
                   - Denis de Rougemont -
.......................................................................

                         THE DEVIL

 The other night I was grazing the aisles of a used-book store.
 I don't need any more books. I got plenty already. This is more
 in the spirit of fishing. I don't go fishing to catch fish either.
 I can get fish in the Safeway if I really want fish. And theirs
 are generally bigger than the ones I catch anyways. I fish mainly
 because I just like being there doing nothing in particular.
 Grazing used-bookstores is much the same. I like the atmosphere
 and the possiblity that an interesting idea might jump out at
 me without warning. Somehow I imagine being surrounded by books
 ups the odds.

 As I'm checking the "R"s to see if any Damon Runyon has come in,
 I notice this book sticking out. It was "The Devil's Share" by
 Denis de Rougemont. It was a crummy old, "reading copy" of a book. 
 Banged up pretty bad but readable. It was published by Pantheon
 Books as part of its Bollingen Series II. That kind of caught my
 eye. Since, as usual, there was no Damon Runyon, I took a peek 
 at Denis' book instead. First thing I discover is: it ain't even 
 a novel. It shouldn't have been in that section. It's a philosophical
 work done in that odd European way where a story is sometimes  
 woven in with serious philosophical thought. I could understand 
 the sorter's confusion.

 It's a book about the Devil. But unlike any other such book I've
 ever come across, it's actually intelligent. There is none of the
 usual religious hocus-pocus and preposterous cartoon characters.
 None of the Aleister Crowley/Illuminati goofiness. Not a speck of
 projectile vomit.

 Denis de Rougemont was a Swiss-born existentialist philosopher and 
 Catholic theologian who was very well known in Europe up to about 
 the 70's or so. This book was written as WW-II concluded. For that 
 reason I suppose, there are a few chapters on Hitler and his Nazis. 
 Denis was in America at the time though France was his home base. 
 His greatest claim to fame and the reason why many Euros would know 
 him, is that he is considered one of the "Fathers" of the European 
 Union. Sort of their Thomas Jefferson. Which has nothing directly 
 to do with devils or theology. In fact the book he's best known for 
 is about love. Which has even less to do with devils and theology.
 Obviously he covered a lot of intellectual bases.

 The Devil has always been a popular guy. The Jews invented him.
 They got him from the Babylonians (Iraqis) during their captivity
 as slaves there. Heaven only knows where the Babylonians got him
 from. But it was Christians who really put him on the map. I'm
 speaking, of course, not of the actual Devil but of the mythical
 Devil. Only hillbillies and Southern Baptists are stupid enough
 to literally believe in the guy with horns and a long pointy tail,
 wearing a red jump-suit. We've sensed his presence ever since our
 tree-climbing days. He's been there all along, but it's only fairly
 recently that we came up with a mythical face and a name for him. 

 Myths are considered pretty gauche in this hyper-rational anti-
 spiritual modern age. We've killed most if not all of them off 
 and replaced them with inferior scientifically designed clones. 
 But they are how we used to digest the indigestable and you can
 still find them in the old books. Voltaire once said, "God created 
 man in his own image but man repaid him in kind." This is usually 
 interpreted as his cheeky way of saying he thought God was purely 
 a human invention. But that's not what Voltaire meant. He was 
 describing how we created myths - we humanized the inhuman. If 
 you like, we anthropomorphized it. It's was our highest form of 
 recognition. We bestowed it on the most significant creatures and 
 forces in our lives. By humanizing them we got a handle on them 
 so we could explore and/or embrace them. We don't do that any 
 more. Too many people mistook the map for the territory.

 The point is: just because something's a myth, doesn't mean it 
 doesn't exist. In fact, it exists because we've felt the need to
 mythologize it. A point Denis makes right at the start. 

 Most devil books are pretty ludicrous. People tend to either revere
 him or hate him. Often, as in the case of exorcists, his biggest
 detractors come across as stealth admirers. It's pretty rare to 
 find someone like Denis who tries to understand him. Most people 
 accept that Evil exists in the world. Well, Old Harry is simply 
 the embodiment of that Evil and its ultimate source - the King of
 Nothing, the Emperor of the Abyss, the Prince of the Void. Our 
 tempter, he also stands in the Heavenly courts as our eternal 
 accuser. Denis' book goes on to describe how he manifests himself 
 in different human social spheres (democracy, police, security, 
 etc.) and various occupations (church, philanthropy, business,
 writing, etc.). 

 It's a fascinating book that blends together a spiritual struggle
 with existential philosophy. All the classic existential stuff is
 there: depersonalization, irresponsibility, boredom, cynicism,
 etc. But so are God, Archangel Michael and the Heavenly hosts.
 I sincerely doubt if any other philosopher of that time even 
 considered trying something like this. It's far more spiritual 
 than Jacques Maritain bloodless efforts.

 One of the odd things about Denis' book about the Devil is that 
 he hardly ever mentions Hell. There are hints of it here and
 there but more as a state-of-mind we condemn ourselves to than
 as an ultimate destination of souls. It's a curious omission.

 Of course, if you don't believe in the Devil it's unlikely you
 got this far. He'll be delighted to know that.
 
.......................................................................

        No one likes us.
        I don't know why.
        We may not be perfect,
        But heaven knows we try.
        But all around,
        even our old friends put us down.
        Let's drop the Big One,
        and see what happens.

        We give them money
        but are they grateful?
        No they're spiteful 
        and they're hateful.
        They don't respect us.
        So let's surprise them,
        We'll drop the Big One
        and pulverize them.

        Asia's crowded.
        Europe's too old.
        Africa's far too hot
        and Canada's too cold.
        South America stole our name.
        Let's drop the Big One.
        There'll be no one left to blame us.

        We'll save Australia.
        Don't wanna hurt no kangaroo.
        We'll build an all-American amusement park there.
        They got surf'n too.

        Boom! goes London.
        Boom! Par-ee.
        More room for you
        and more room for me.
        And every city 
        the whole world around
        will just be another American town.

        Oh how peaceful it will be.
        We'll set everybody free.
        You wear a Japanese kimona baby.
        It'll be Italian shoes for me.
        
        They all hate us anyhow.
        So let's drop the Big One now.
        Let's drop the Big One now. 

        - Randy Newman's "Political Science"
       
.........................................................................

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

 So that's it! The truth is out. President Yellowbelly gets all
 his best policy stuff off of old Randy Newman albums. 

 Here we go! The world thinks he's crazy, MILLIONS march against
 him, the UN refuses to back him, the Euros think he's gone nutso 
 and the only allies he can dig up are the Pollocks and Limmies 
 but he's heading into war anyways. Standing there with his fingers
 in his ears, the moron's in way, way over his head. He has no idea 
 what he's doing and he can't even vaguely handle the mess he's 
 created. You could see it this week when he started blubbering all 
 that Jesus stuff. I'll bet he's hit'n the sauce real heavy these 
 days. He's probably got bottles squirreled away all over the White 
 House.

 Oh well. Our News Nazis have probably already got the victory
 reports written up and taped. That will be the only allowed Spin.
 Even if the whole thing blows up in his face, they'll have him
 covered. Guaranteed. If we want to find out what really happened,
 we'll have to look elsewhwere.

 In the space of only a few months he's left us more internationally 
 isolated than we've been for over a century. He's divided this
 nation more profoundly than it has been since Civil War times.
 And he's sent our economy into a death-spin. Never hire a retard
 to do a man's job. Meanwhile, hang on for dear life and hope you 
 survive this Looney. It's likely millions won't.

                              *

 That Courageous Old Warrior of South Africa, Nelson Mandela,
 continues to bang the drums loudly against war. From President  
 Yellowbelly to that Limey Fairie Blair to our News Nazis, the 
 Velvet Glove Bigots are trying to ignore him. These are the 
 same phony hypocrites who were patting him on the head in front 
 of the TV cameras only a year ago speaking of his bravery and 
 integrity. Now - they don't know his name and refuse to take 
 his calls. They're giving him the Cold Shoulder.

 Once again Nelson is a Badass Motherfucker - an Outlaw. Yiii 
 Haw! After the High and Mighty wined him and dined him; after 
 they bestoyed their highest honors on him; did he obediently
 shuffle off to a quiet and much deserved retirement? Hell no! 
 Injustice prowls around the world like a hungry lion looking 
 for people to devour. Uncle Sammy arrogantly struts about 
 bragging and boasting to one and all that he intends to mug 
 Iraqi - steal its oil and kill its people with impunity. Nelson 
 ain't gonna sit still for that kind of bullshit. The old warrior 
 smells a Good Fight and he wants a piece of that kind of action. 
 You can't buy his silence with awards, prizes, pasty Prime
 Ministerial smiles and sweaty Presidential handshakes.

 His voice is ageless. He knows Evil intimately. While President 
 Yellowbelly and Tony Blair were jacking off in their Frat House 
 beds, while General Shoeshine was still learning to kiss Fat White 
 Military Asses, Nelson went eyeball-to-eyeball with El Diabalo
 and stared him down many times. When Nelson speaks of peace and 
 war, he knows what he's talking about. He's no paper-shuffling 
 Department of Defense Uncle Tom. He's a REAL warrior. He has 
 blood on his hands - righteous blood. The blood of those who 
 would torment his people. And he knows the sweet taste of 
 victory. He knows resistance is never futile.

 Speaking of paper-shuffling Uncle Toms...

 Our Secretary of State, General Shoeshine, shuffled off the stage 
 this week after his pathetic "Good Cop" performance at the UN. 
 Yellowbelly rubbed his kinky old head for good-luck, snickered, 
 then brought out the Big Ass White Boyz to kick some serious butt. 
 "Rummy" Rumsfeld slipped on his jack-boots and brass-knuckles to 
 go have a little talk with those Krauts and Frogs as "Bad Cop" 
 once more came to the fore. No more Candy-Ass Good Negro
 horseshit. This is Daddy talk'n to you now baby. Listen up!

 Surprise! Surprise! Guess who showed up this week? Yep - Osama.
 Between the peculiar timing and the strange message, I find it
 absolutely amazing how crude and clumsy these clowns are. They
 really do stretch the limits of gullibility. They seem to take
 cynical glee in rubbing our noses in it, as if to say: "Sure
 it's obvious. So whatta you gonna do about it?"

 Two international obstacles stand in the way of Yeller's Amerkian
 Reich: the UN and the European Union. For Hitler it was the League 
 of Nations and France. 

 The international community can be easily dismissed. Hitler
 treated the League of Nations with the same contempt and
 disrespect that Yeller treats the UN. It has no army; no 
 teeth. Ergo, it can be readily ignored.

 The less ephemeral national entity represented by the Euros
 is a different matter. It can bite back. So "Rummy" went to work 
 on a classic "Divide And Conquer" coneroo this week. One of the 
 oldest scams in the book. A divided and divisive Europe will be 
 a push-over. And NATO is just the ticket to make it happen. 
 Isolate and neutralize Germany (Europe's economy) and France 
 (Europe's soul) and it will drop in Sammy's lap like a ripe 
 peach. The half-starved Eastern European additions to the EU 
 and NATO, come about as cheap as Crack Whores and hate the 
 arrogant Krauts and snooty Frogs almost as much as we do. So,
 naturally, Rummy bought their asses. The Pollocks and Czechs,
 both people who endured vicious invasions in recent times
 themselves, are now ready to help Sammy do the same thing to
 Iraq. Wouldn't it be ironic if Yeller set up a Guantanamo Bay
 type concentration camps in Poland to hold Iraqi terrorists 
 just like Hitler set up his concentration camps in Poland?

 For both Hitler and Yeller, nostalgia has become a powerful
 weapon. The victims really want to believe they're still dealing 
 with their reasonable, rational, 'old pal'. They don't want to
 face the new, ugly reality that a monster has hatched before 
 their eyes. They want to believe that if they just give a little, 
 their 'old pal' will be happy and content. Let Hitler have 
 Czechoslovakia. Let Yeller have his pound of flesh in Afghanistan. 
 Of course it didn't end there with Hitler nor did it with Yeller.
 Hitler moved on to Poland while we're moving on to Iraq. Give the
 monster an inch and it'll take a mile everytime.

 For Yeller the question is: where next? For the rest of the world
 the question is: what in the hell is go'n on? They now know he
 doesn't give a damn what they think. He blows them off as casually
 as he blows off American citizens. As Hitler cruised throguh Europe,
 the most unlikely people suddenly decided Nazis weren't all that
 bad afterall. They were humans just like everybody else. A luxury
 the Jews didn't enjoy. Will our victims too capitulate like that,
 or will they fight back? Time will tell. And of course, we have a
 few decisions of our own to make here in the Belly of the Beast.

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

 But I call attention to the fact that in a society in which the
 spiritual sense is dormant, correctness of behavior becomes an
 ideal, raciness of language is regarded as an impropriety, the
 frankness of passions causes people to clamor for a specialist
 in nervous disorders. Their sole concern is to avoid conflicts 
 which would force them to face real issues, outbursts which
 would make manifest the truth of the human heart, its abysses
 and its miracles. Be *nice* says the bourgeoisie. It does not 
 realize that in order to be nice it pays an exorbitant price:
 the very savor of life.

                   - Denis de Rougemont -
................................................................

                    -  MONDO VATICANO -

 The old Pollock and the Curia Queens have a problem: they want 
 to see President Yellowbelly obliterate the Iraqi people but 
 for various "technical reasons" they can't just come right out 
 and say so. I mean what would people say if the Pope started
 screaming, "Death to the Muslim Infidel scum!" It'd blow his
 phony Respect For Life schtick and tip off everybody that Uncle
 Sammy owns his ass. Especially since the Iraqi haven't threatened, 
 let alone attacked, anyone. Their only apparent crime is that 
 they're sitting on one helluva pile of oil. Reserves at least 
 as big as Saudi Arabia's, if not bigger.

 To get around this problem and still maintain the fiction that
 they are at least semi-religious, the Vatican scumbags tried
 a generic expression of distaste for wars of all kinds. But,
 let's face it, nobody actually likes wars except for psychopaths. 
 While they fit that bill, they don't exactly want to advertise
 the fact. It wouldn't look right. 

 Then Cardinal "Ratso" Ratzinger, the head of the Holy Inquisition
 and Gruppenfuehrer of the Theological Gestapo came up with a
 bright idea: let's find a theologian who will declare it a Just
 War. There's got to be one around somewhere. They looked all over
 Germany. No luck. All over France. No luck. Hunted hight and low
 throughout Europe. No luck. Finally, in America at a neo-fascist
 political think-tank, they found their man. An obscure, 3rd rate
 theological nobody named Mike Novak. The kind of guy who will say
 whatever you're willing to pay him to say. So they chose him to
 be The Voice of American Catholic Theology, flew him over and 
 gave him an audition. Not bad. He could stand all by himself,
 didn't slobber all over his shirt and more or less seemed to 
 know what day of the week it was. That's better than the Pope.
 They declared themselves convinced: Just War fer sure. "Kick
 Saddam's ass Uncle Sammy! The Vatican's behind you all the way!",
 they screamed.

 But as they so often have done in the past, the Curia Queens
 created ten new problems with their latest solution. Now they
 got the Real Ameircan Theological community in an uproar asking
 who in the hell is this schmuck Novak and why weren't they
 consulted. Even the head of the council of male religious -
 all the religious Orders in America - has joined in. But not
 the Bishops. They're too tied in various courtrooms with their
 pervert priests. Ain't got time for religious stuff anymore.

 Just as Hitler carried the Vatican and Pope Pius XII in his back
 pocket, President Yellowbelly has the old Pollock in his back
 pocket. Moral cowardice seems to have become a pre-rewquiste for 
 the Papacy.

                                +

 Fr. Mike Pfleger at St. Sabina's in Chicago is one wild and crazy 
 guy. He takes on everyone from neighborhood drug-dealers to Jerry
 Springer to his slime-bag bishop - Cardinal George. Since his parish 
 is mainly black, he makes an effort to bring to his people the voice 
 of Black America. He's invited the likes of Minister Louis Farrakhan 
 of the Black Muslims and activist/singing-legend Harry Belafonte to 
 speak at St. Sabina's. And this week he invited presidential canidate
 Rev. Al Sharpton of New York City.

 Opps! Rev. Al's pro-choice. Apparently unwilling to take on both
 Fr. Mike or Rev. Al, Cardinal George just publically whined about
 the invitation. Just enough to keep the anti-choice fanatics and
 fruitcakes off his back. Fr. Mike assured him that Al's going to 
 leave his abortion kit at home for this gig. He's just going to 
 talk about how good old-fashioned American poverty and bigotry
 relate to being black in America. Nothing Cardinal George would
 be interested in.

                                +

 The Pervert Priest Scandal has, up until now, been primarily a passing
 thing of newspaper stories, TV evening news bites and other cultural
 ephemera. In one ear and out the other. If the Media stopped reporting
 it, everybody would forget about it inside two weeks. But it has now
 entered our culture in a more permanent way. Hard-boiled New York City
 writer Jimmy Breslin has begun to document the human side of it. What
 he's saying about it now, will stay on the shelves for decades if not
 centuries as a frozen picture of this time. Like it or not, he's one 
 of our era's rare "journalists of official record". 

 Jimmy had a run-in this week with Wild Bill Donahue of the Catholic
 Fascist League. The Board of Directors may be a bunch of Nobodies,
 but check out that Board of Advisors some time - ALL Republicans,
 ALL just to the right of Ghengis Khan. Not even a single token
 moderate let alone a liberal. Jimmy called up Wild Bill and tore 
 a strip off his ass like nobody's done in a long time. Even Howard 
 Stern ain't got the balls to say what Jimmy said to Wild Bill. 
 This interesting confrontation too, hopefully, will become part 
 of our permanent cultural history so everybody in the future can 
 see what a third-rate little prick Wild Bill is.

 Despite being a practicing Catholic and having had relatives given
 to such eccentric fervour as to climb the steps of St. Joseph 
 Oratory in Montreal (Canada) on their knees, I've yet to ever run
 into a single member of the Catholic League in my entire life. I 
 think Wild Bill's giving us the shuck-and-jive routine. I don't 
 think he has any members. I think he's just a religious Wizard 
 of Oz. Phony as a $3 bill.

                            +

 He belongs in a prison with other criminals. Italian authorities
 have been trying for years to question him in connection with a
 number of murders, arms smuggling, fencing everything from
 stolen gold to radioactive materials. His connections with the
 Sicilian Mob aren't a matter of speculation - they are a matter
 of fact. He's also implicated in the Franciscan Order's money
 laundering operation in Croatia for the Nazis during WW-II. 
 
 He's the former president of the Vatican Bank, Archbishop 
 Paul Marcinkus, hiding behind his Vatican passport in Sun City, 
 Arizona. Born in Chicago, he prefers passing as a citizen of the
 Vatican State instead of America. He stands a better chance of
 avoiding extradition that way. The Italian cops would like to 
 talk to the mob scum Marcinkus hob-nobbed with, but they're all 
 dead. Death and corruption follow wherever Marcinkus walks. 

 But the Italian cops haven't given up yet. They're pursuing new
 avenues to haul Bishop Paul's ass back to Italy and his awaiting
 prison cell. This week a few decisions will be made about the
 scumbag's future. Meanwhile, if you've never seen a demon say 
 Mass, you can see it in Phoenix most every morning. Phoenix bishop
 Thomas O'Brien kind of specializes in hiding perverts.

                               +

 STUPID BISHOP TRICK OF THE WEEK:

 This week Vic Galeone, the bishop of the diocese of St. Augustine 
 in Florida, showed that aside from being a frik'n coward, he was 
 a real tight-assed bastard too. He evicted a 77-year old black 
 guy out of a house he had just bought for back taxes. It seems 
 the dumbasses who keep the property records in Jacksonville 
 screwed-up and misplaced the house. Instead of being in the 
 middle of the property he bought, it was actually a few feet 
 over into property the church owned. Rather than arrange a 
 trade or whatever so the old guy could live out his days in 
 his house, the bishop had him booted out. The former owner of
 of the former house now has nowhere to live. Vic was a little 
 too tied up praying as he tried a long putt on the 5th hole to 
 answer questions. How religiously edifying eh. He let one of 
 the diocese ladies handle that. The gutless jerk doesn't even 
 put his own name up on his diocese's webpage. What's he afraid 
 of? Somebody will find out he's a bishop? Or maybe one of his
 ex-altar boy/lovers from the past will recognize his name.

----------------------------------------------------
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