GOP sanity is in short supply

Jacob over at Contextual Criticism asks the question, Why would anyone vote Republican especially after their dismal record? He’s got a point. Cathy Bonner once told me that if Dubya was a serial killer there would still be 20% of the population that supports him. I’m starting to wonder if mass psychosis is systemic to a huge swath of population.

It never occurred to me that democracy might be in danger of it’s own inclusiveness. What if the voters are nuts? Is that why the Republicans typically oppose mental health funding? Are they afraid of being committed? They should be. Maybe we should start funding some sort of vaccine.

Free Novel

It's just a ride. . . .

Another day, living outside of oneness

I haven’t been much for blogging lately. For over a week I’ve been plagued by petite seizures, . . . again. For the most part I rarely have them any more. A couple of weeks every year they arrived like a shrimp fork poking my balls, leaving me disoriented, disturbed and petulant. Bah, humbug.

Grand-mal seizures

For those of you unaware, petite seizures are quite different from Grand-mals. Grand-mal seizures kick my ass, beat the snot out me, and leave me emotionally and physically drained. I fall head first, usually lacerating my scalp. (I’ve been lucky not to suffer from many concussions.) As I convulse, every muscle in my body flexes to its limit for nearly 5 minutes. When I awaken, the pain from the head wound is barely noticeable compared to torrential agony of my muscles as they scream from the forced work-out. I’ve bitten thru my tongue so many times the scars across my taste buds are only outdone by the cris-cross pattern of scars on my scalp. Even a short grand-mal seizure severely stresses my body. I am forced to drag myself home and sleep for 24 hours and then putter around the house for two days as my brain fully re-boots and my cognitive powers return. If that wasn’t enough, I receive a bill from the hospital as an souvenir of the experience. With that in mind, believe me when I write, petite seizures are much, much worse.

“Why me? What could God possibly gain my tormenting me?” - - - I hate it when people say things like this. Blaming a horrible experience on God is weak. My answer?: What? You’re too good to have the shit kicked out of you? Not hardly. Life isn’t suppose to be never ending bliss. What fun would that be? I like to imagine that we all knew the perils of suffering going in and we were ecstatic to get the chance.

2B R NOT 2B or, Death is easy, life is hard.

If we live forever, even terrible moments will be remembered as fleeting orgasms compared to the entirety of our existence. If we take the perspective that our time on earth as only a speck on the time-line of our future lives, then we can easily equate the sorrow and grief we feel from losing a loved one with that of a toddler when he’s left with a baby sitter. Two hours away from mommy is a serious percentage of life time for the kid.

Dying isn’t easy. Sometimes it’s terrifying.

Next year I plan on trying my hand at stand-up comedy. I know that dying on stage will kill me emotionally, but my desire to enjoy that rare experience easily outweighs the humiliation and suffering involved. Patton Oswald spoke to my fear when he said how uber-cool it would be to die in the Apocalypse. He’s right, that would be a great way to die. So I thought I should learn how dying feels before my last day.

Back to petite seizures. Zap. Now, where was I?

Petite seizures slap me around like a Bangkok whore who’s been holding out on her transvestite pimp, Dick Cheney. (I have no idea what that means.) Usually lasting less than a second, petite seizures zap my consciousness, forcing me to re-boot my thoughts, over and over and over again. As an extra side dish of bitch slap, I am rewarded by annoying the hell out of anyone who is talking to me. Try losing an entire second, four or five times during a conversation. With no way to let the person know I’m being tortured by electricity, I am continually being regarded as a jerk for not listening. Ahh, good times.

It’s not all bad. Frustration from this predicament has given birth to a weird and fun sense of humor. I find myself laughing at the stupidest things. Schadenfreude forces absurdity to any kind of self-congratulatory dignified conventions. I’ve already written an award acceptance speech: “I’m drunk. But I’m not too drunk to notice this is the biggest circle jerk I’ve ever been a part of.”

I have faith in the ride.

What is faith?

Faith is throwing off the desire to interpret reality. I am convinced that this desire is instinctual. We do it all the time without thinking about it. Distressing, uneasy thoughts like, ‘What am I?’, ‘What am I experiencing?’, ‘Who am I?’, ‘Why do I suffer?’ is easily capable of stressing the psyche beyond reason. Desire for these unanswerable questions rises exponentially with the amount of suffering involved in our lives. It’s not hard to understand why. Even without intense suffering, questions like these can quickly become an obsession.

Ultimately, thoughts like these are self defeating. For the most part, they are unanswerable. The desire for faith comes from our desire to enjoy life without these god-damn nagging questions. It’s a form of personal torment to bring these thoughts to the forefront, making it a relief to believe these sufferings comes as part of a grand reason. Life is soooo much easier when organized religion dresses up all these sufferings as “God’s will.” Job done. Let’s go home.

I have faith in the ride. Irrationality can be invited along for the ride, but why would you want to obscure the view?

I asked and I received.

“Who am I?” was my question to God. Now, I’m not so sure I should have asked. But, since I did, and since I got an answer, I thought I’d pass it along.

You are not static

Ask yourself - - - Who are you if a serious blow to your brain can quickly re-define your thinking? It’s not uncommon for brain injury to result in changes in character, demeanor, and personality. A nice guy turning into an asshole is common in the world of brain trauma. Aaggressive extroverts suddenly becoming recluse introverts happens all the time. You are not who you think you are because you are not static. We are today who we were yesterday is a false impression. Try thinking in terms of who you were at 18. Is that you now? Who will you be ten years from now? Is that you then or is that you now?

On many occasions I have experienced parts of my brain corrupted and non-functioning. For instance, after waking up after a grand-mal seizure the language part of my brain is unavailable. I have thoughts, but without the ability to give them context or description. It’s a strange world, but it has happened to me so often the experience has become almost enjoyable. Are we nothing more than thoughts without words? Not hardly. But it’s important to understand that language is as subjective as anything else we experience.

With parts of my brain corrupted, rational thought becomes impaired. Sometimes the brain can recognize this. I can attest that, for brief periods, yes means no, up means down, monkeys are typewriters. And then I stop myself. Recognition of these incongruities forces re-examination. Yes doesn’t mean no. Up is not down. Who am I? What am I?

For me, this is part of the re-booting process.

Who are you?

You are everything. When you die your ego is stripped away. To understand you must ask yourself who you are without your individuality or even language. As part of everything, you are no longer an individual. - - - - Which makes living outside of oneness so very, very, precious. Enjoy the ride.

How do I know this? Read

Also, the ride isn’t as fun if you know how it ends.
_________________



Sing Along to the Galaxy Song:

Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving
And revolving at nine hundred miles an hour,
That's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned,
A sun that is the source of all our power.
The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see
Are moving at a million miles a day
In an outer spiral arm, at forty thousand miles an hour,
Of the galaxy we call the 'Milky Way'.
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars.
It's a hundred thousand light years side to side.
It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light years thick,
But out by us, it's just three thousand light years wide.
We're thirty thousand light years from galactic central point.
We go 'round every two hundred million years,
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions
In this amazing and expanding universe.

The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding
In all of the directions it can whizz
As fast as it can go, at the speed of light, you know,
Twelve million miles a minute, and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth,
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space,
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth.
_______________

On another note: My aggravation with the right-wing nonsense spewed regarding the coming Apocalypse has been pushing my buttons for years. And if it’s not the Apocalypse it’s something else. These delusional wackos are irritating the rationality right out of my existence. As far as I’m concerned their theories about God is mental masturbation. Forever my hero, Jacob over at Contextual Criticism has been keeping me sane. I need guys like him. Jacob reports from his heart about his objection to the hypocrisy birthed from the myriad of organized religions. (So many I have a hard time keeping track.) Contextual Criticism is a pleasure. If you have the chance, give him a read at: http://mythandhope.blogspot.com/

My Jihad on Christmas 2008 - The Reconing 2, un-Celebrate Jesus or die trying

I can smell it coming. Jingle fucking bells! It’s that time of year again. The time of year when I morph into Scrooge McDuck and curse this holiday from hell. It’s forced merriment! Forced jolly. Forced glad tidings. I’ve had enough. I’m calling on free people everywhere to stand up to this damn holiday. Help me fight back against the yule tide. We must fight against the holiday that will never, ever die.

You can’t kill Christmas. Christmas is like a Mummy that just keeps coming. You can easily elude it, but it’s back, every year, and it will never stop. Ever! Until you’re fucking merry.

Granted, last year’s jihad didn’t get very far. So let me reiterate, it’s not the celebration of Jesus’s birthday for which I have a problem. I enjoy the Christmas spirit. But this surreal cultural celebration has morphed into a lawn decorating nightmare filled with 1950's cartoon characters that have NOTHING TO DO WITH CHRISTMAS. Thus, forcing me to explain each one as we drive around looking at Christmas lights. When my son was 7 it went kind of went like this:
_______________

My Son: Who’s that?

Me: That’s Yogi Bear.

Who’s Yogi Bear?

Uh, he was just this cartoon bear that stole picnic baskets from campers at Yosemite National Park.

Who’s that?

That’s uh, that’s Betty Boop.

Who’s Betty Boop?

Son, I couldn’t even tell you.

Boop, that’s a funny name. What did Boop do for Christmas?

I’m not sure. . .

What’s wrong with her head?

It’s a big Christmas head. Sometimes that happens to baseball players.

Who’s that?

That’s a storm trooper from Star Wars.

What’s a storm trooper?

Don’t worry about it. He’s from the movie, Star Wars.

Who’s that?

Uh, that’s Heckle and Jeckle.

What are they?

Magpies.

Magpies? You’re just making up that word. What is a magpie?

It’s a kind of bird.

Ugly black birds.

Yeah. Check out the Santa on the roof.

He’s on every roof. What’s so Christmas-ee about magpies?

Nothing really.

What’s that?

That’s Wonder Woman and Aqua Man.

Are they friends of Santa?

Not really. They’re super heros that fight crime.

What? Like someone that steals Christmas presents?

Sure. Why not?

What does Wonder Woman do?

She can knock bullets out of the way with her bracelets.

Nuh-uh.

I know, it sounds kind of stupid. But did I ever tell you the time Superman and Batman fought against Santa Clause for domination of the galaxy? It all started when Chris Cringle started a feud with the Village People.

Which village?

No, the Village People was a homosexual disco group from the 70's. They’re right over there on the roof across the street.

What’s that?

That’s a life size cut out of Dolemite. Before you ask, I don’t know.

_______________

Also on my list of grievances - Christmas music is forcing me to buy an IPOD. I can’t go shopping and listen to the same litany of crappy Christmas music. The little drummer boy and jingle bells have become like fingernails on a blackboard. My only defense is to plug an IPOD into my head. And, I don’t want to be like my son. Every conversation starts with “HEY!” followed by annoyed derision as he pulls off headphones, that have, no doubt, grown into his head. My son the Borg. Resistence is futile. “WHAT?!?” is always the response, followed by “Jeeeezzzze, you don’t have to yell.” I answer, “Shaaaa.” I’m not sure what that “shaaa,” means but it seems to end most inane teenage blather.

This year I’ll be conducting my Jihad on Christmas in my one-of-a-kind Christmas-proof War Bunker, (my home office.) (My bathroom is known as the “Situation Room.”)

Woe is the caroler that wanders into the domain of my Christmas-proof war bunker. They shall receive gladdest tidings of redemption and lamentations harrowing the new word of God’s glory. Oh, wait. That’s not what will happen.

Santa, who does he work for?

I’ve been picking on the Santa Clause scab since I was born. Who appointed this fat cracker to decide who’s naughty and who’s nice?!? He sounds like the Fidel Castro of the north. And what happens is five years when the north pole melts? Do we really want his kind in the Americas? I vote we push him into Siberian territory. There’s no reason he can’t be productive with his midget slave labor camp in Russia. Honestly, who buys wooden toys anymore?

If Jesus was alive today, do you think he’d want to see another cross? - (Bill Hicks)

I’m not really against Christmas, but for God’s sake we must consider the rigidity of the rules regarding celebrating the holidays. Maybe we should try Festivas. I especially like the “airing of grievances.”

Traditional Christmas television specials demand our attention. Last year I went on a rant against certain Christmas television shows, but there are a few I like:

Lets not forget, Rudolph the Omen



Explain to me how the Pee-Wee Christmas Special doesn’t involve LSD?



I’m looking forward to the Aunt Barbara Christmas Special. He/She had me at Shields and Yarnell.



The Night the Reindeer Died. Starring Lee Majors, in color.



I should point out that I love the movie Bad Santa. Next year I plan to set up a Bad Santa franchise here in Austin. I will play the drunk bad Santa as cars full of kids drive up. I’ll ask them what they want for Christmas and then feign sickness, vomitting icicles into a bucket before they can speak. My assistant, an over-medicated daytime whore with too much makeup and under-dressed as an elf, will ask if anyone wants a $5 picture while holding a cigarette with a long line of ashes just about to fall, but never does.

The ground around my Christmas throne will be littered with beer cans. Jingle Bells and other Christmas favorites will be blaring on the loudspeaker, but the tunes are full of mistakes, as if played by someone just learning. Old, broken plastic Christmas decorations will litter Santa’s village. Strings of lights will be haphazardly covering everything.

For those of you who don’t know this, most Mexican nativity scenes include a GIANT baby Jesus. The scale of the baby Jesus can be as small as a bale of hay or as big as the live animals standing around. My nativity scene will be Mexican friendly by featuring an oversized Jesus, played by Austin's own transvestite celebrity Leslie Cockran in a diaper. The live animals will be restricted to a small herd of sheep with bad Christmas slogans spray painted onto their sides.

As the car pulls away, my super stoked, 6 foot Will Ferrill elf, will wish serious fucking Christmas joy unto them through a blow horn as I light up another cigarette. “Santa can’t talk right now. Keep moving. Santa is feeling a little sick right now, but Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!! Right now! Have a merry Christmas! Hey! You’re not having a merry Christmas! Do it! Now! Right now! Have a merry Christmas or Santa will fart in your bed and pull the comforter up over your head. It’s called a Christmas Dutch oven.”

If your ears are tender and you are easily offended, don’t watch this. It makes me laugh.

Investing in Democracy - Rasing the Level of Transparency

Every time I hear the pundits describe America as red vs. blue, or liberal vs. conservative, I feel myself wanting to yell at the T.V., it’s about DEMOCRACY! As a nation, democracy is our shared faith. Democracy is what unites us. Without democracy, our fate is never our own. If there was a bumper sticker it would say: Democracy, the anti-Cheney.

Laws are like sausages, it is better not to see them being made. -- Otto von Bismarck.

But what if you own a meat processing plant? Wouldn’t you be better off if you knew how you make sausages? After all, that would be your business. Unless we forget, the American public owns this government. We should have ever right of ownership.

For the first time in human civilization we have the ability to raise democracy to become what was desired from the outset. All men are created equal.

Can there be a better government? Can every man be represented? Now they can.

We could require our federal elected officials to stay in the district they represent 24/7/365. What does that do?

For the first time in history of civilizations we can create a truly transparent government. What if our representatives could only communicate with their fellow elected officials on the record? Thousands of Americans already work from home. Why can’t my Congressman? All that’s needed is a high bandwidth, internet connection. All Congressional committee meetings would be on the record. All meetings of any kind would be on the record. Let the Library of Congress manage the whole thing. The technology isn’t exactly cutting edge. We’ve had it for a while. All communications can now be recorded and available to the public, instantly.

What if a big nasty oil lobbyist wants to speak to a representative from your district? We have free speech in the country. There is no reason the oil industry shouldn’t be allowed access to our elected officials. But as part owner, I demand that any and all communications to my employee be formally recorded and available instantly over the internet. This also goes for anyone entering the Congressman’s office/home.

As a part owner of this government, I would like to see how these sausages are made. The public shouldn’t give up their rights, our elected officials should. By law we need to require that all communications with the public be on-the-record.

Privacy isn’t a right guaranteed to an employee and employees should not be the ones defining their own jobs. If you work for me, I make the rules.

At the same time I’d love to see a new kind of politician. Could we ever get that without revamping the campaign finance system?

How about raising the level of transparency to include the election process?

If television churches can afford their own channel, I can’t imagine why the government can’t. It will just be an extension of what C-SPAN is doing.

TV.GOV would not only be on the internet and cable, it could also be broadcast on local VHF band frequencies now available after the change over to digital. The only thing the public would need is a T.V. with rabbit ears. TV.GOV-1: National; TV.GOV-2 Statewide Candidates; TV.GOV-3 County; etc. . .

TV.GOV should be about the fairness required to allow ANYONE the ability to speak to everyone. Everyone should be equal in the eyes of the law. Everyone should be heard. For the first time in history, they can be. I’m absolutely positive that no one will listen, but that’s not the point. If we desire a government that is responsive to the people, access to the public should be free.

It’s an investment in Democracy. The only thing to fear is fear itself.

If we don’t change, we’ll just get another Will Ferrell for President. It’s only a matter of time.

The American Family Association, selling hate one Jesus at a time.

My favorite blog comes from Jacob over at Contextual Criticism. He got me laughing about the American Family Association. The AFA is selling a Christian lawn decoration, a cross, which - through the everlasting spirit of Christmas - looks exactly like a burning cross when you cover it in lights. And what better way to celebrate Christmas than to display a burning cross on your lawn? The problems is, The American Family Association serves their hate on fine china. They are quite capable of endorsing a real burning cross. It’s who they are. They are the American Family that hates the other American Families. There’s a certain zen to it.

Jacob doesn’t know this but one of the reasons I chose to name my blog “Basket of Puppies” was to continue the tradition of using hyperbole in naming as pioneered by the “American Family Association.”

From the American Family Assocation. It could happen to your town. They sell fear because that's the way Jesus would of wanted it sold.



They believe gay pride parades (for Christmas and the 4th of July) will be mandatory for all citizens and no one wants to wear those skimpy outfits except the preacher. It’s comin’. I really hope it does. For the old-time Christian community, homosexuals eat babies and fuck sheep, but Jesus doesn’t want them to marry each other. It’s a weird, weird world they live in, full of war, but only against Christmas. Up is down, streams are running up hill and fish are in the trees. The only constant in their world - black is not white. Black is black and never the twain shall meet.

On the upside, I enjoy the thought of their anguish at a new black president. They must be pulling out the last strands of gray hair. Since these fundamentalist still live in the 1950's, and because Blazing Saddles was full of truthiness, I imagine their prayers to sound like: “Dear God, why did you send us this nigger president?” Jesus must be testing their faith. Hallelujah.

I want to commend Jacob over at Contextual Criticism and other like him that have been keeping an eye on these bigots left over from the 1950's. I’ve been lagging in this area. Ever since the Boy Scouts became the next army-of-god I have been meaning to join in the fight. For me, prop 8 was a rally cry. We need to stand against these bullies.

Thanksgiving is coming up, so I’d like to pass on a Thanksgiving blessing:

“I have sinned against you, my Lord, and I would ask that your precious blood would wash and cleanse every stain until it is in the seas of God's forgiveness. "

I got it from Jimmy Swaggart. Jimmy used it after he was caught fucking whores. It works better if you cry and fall to your knees when you’re done.

Help Fight back:

I am well ahead of the curve regarding Cinemark theaters. I was boycotting Cinemark long before prop 8. Although, boycotting isn't really the right word. I just hated the place. For those of you who haven’t heard, Cinemark’s Mormon CEO, Alan Stock, made a $9,999 donation to the "Yes on Prop 8" effort. (I’m sure there’s some financial reason he didn’t give the full 10k. I like to believe he had too many pennies.)

Cinemark theaters have pissed me off since day one. First and foremost, their interior looks like it was created by a vomiting clown. Last time I was there (maybe 10 years) the inside was sprayed with green, purple and 1950's celebrity glamor posters. “Oh, look, it’s Carol Lumbard next to Ms. Pac Man, how traditional-ee-ee.” All the signs were there. I should of known then what kind of person ran this show. They start every movie with a cartoon featuring their bizarre cartoon spokes-cat, “Front Row Joe.”

Speaking in Generalities:

A new song comes up on the radio, but something isn’t quite right. You become aware that the song sucks. It has no depth. The melody is somehow strained. Then you realize that you are listening to Christian rock. It all makes sense now. So, what is it? What is it about Christian rock that doesn’t make the cut? I’m not sure, but if Mormon rock exists it can’t be good. Alan Stock has created the Mormon rock of theaters. I’m not saying that all Christians have no imagination, but . . .

I’m hard pressed to explain away the Christian metal band Stryper. It’s the same kind of bad taste I received from Front Row Joe. The point is, I should of known then what kind of place Cinemark was. Front Row Joe has all the charm of a Guantanamo interrogation, and was probably funded by the military for just that purpose. Front Row Joe is Mormon hard rock.

It’s not really about crappy cartoon spokes-cats, or how Mormons seem less creative, it’s about hate. It’s about the CEO of Cinemark Theaters, Alan Stock, the unimaginative, self-righteous, master of his domain, and his quest to promote hate. Why would anyone want to support that? Please don’t go to Cinemark theaters.

http://www.nomilkforcinemark.com/

The FCC, Kevin Martin and G. Clifford Prout

Kevin Martin pushes my buttons, dials my number and hangs me out to dry. What a dweeb. To bring the full story takes too long, suffice to say, Martin has been working diligently to enforce his burka-esque puritanism onto our airwaves ever since he was appointed to chair the FCC. It almost goes without saying, but Martin may be more sexually repressed than G. Clifford Prout.

The similarities between Martin and Prout are astounding. For those of you don’t know, from 1959 thru 1962, G. Clifford Prout spoke to the nation’s heart. Prout was the ultra-conservative chairman of SINA. (The Society for Indecency to Naked Animals.) Something had to be done about clothing the naked animals!

As luck would have it, Prout even got on the evening news with Walter Cronkite. It wasn’t until later that G. Clifford Prout was exposed as comedy writer Buck Henry, and that SINA was nothing more than a hoax. (Cronkite was pissed!)

While Prout was able to successfully elicit donations (which were never accepted) Kevin has been spending millions to be educated by U.S. federal judges. Kevin’s losses in the court system have gone unrivaled. He has already been censored by the New York Court of Appeals after they found the FCC’s "fleeting expletive" rule unconstitutional. After that Kevin couldn’t legally impose fines against the bad word people, but there was still Janet Jackson’s breast from the Superbowl.



That breast was a picture, not a word. So, Kevin is off to the races again, this time to the Supreme Court because a lower court has already slapped that breast down. I can still hear Prout demanding that "we must cloth the naked animals!" United States Appeals Wardrobe Ruling

It’s a weird set of circumstances when this nation gets to arguing over tits. Kevin’s puritan brainwashing not withstanding, is this really the best way to spend taxpayer money? How much does it cost to take a case to the Supreme Court? Do we really need the FCC? Forcing federal judges to teach Martin about the Constitution is costing us a fortune.

Who was hurt by Janet Jackson’s breast?

I was. To this day I remain deeply disturbed, a shell of man. I hardly go out anymore. Boobs terrify me. Last week I found myself crying, alone, naked, in the back of my closet, after accidently channel surfing onto one of the Spanish cleavage channels. It was horrible. I panicked. Wildly pushing buttons I ended up surfing into Woody Allen’s "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex * But Were Afraid to Ask." That’s right, it was the scene with the 40 foot boob. (I’m told they usually run in pairs.)

Oddly enough, while breasts frighten me, I’m still okay with nipples. (But only because Janet’s jewelry is exactly like my branding iron.)

Seriously, what’s the deal with Kevin Martin? Unless he selects an Amish jury I don’t think he can find 12 people that are offended by a breast. I may be wrong about the Amish. Teats may be more of a practical matter for them. If this was about child-bearing hips we'd be in trouble.

If obscenity is really the question, how are images of war not obscene? How are images of violence not obscene? How obscene is this haircut? I think we can all get behind lynching his barber.

Martin’s hypocrisy only goes so far, and then you wake up riding a dinosaur in the Creationist Museum. Is this all because Kevin Martin is a virgin? Please, some woman, or young boy, please, take a bullet for the team and sex this man down. He’s costing us a fortune.

Undiagnosed Mass Psychosis

When Janet’s breast hit the public an army of mindless conservatives lost their collective minds, and I can’t think of deranged mobs without thinking of Monty Python’s The Life of Brian. There was, as there is now, a mass of people desperate to find reason in our unreasonable reality. Lest we forget, these people are perfectly capable of bugging the crap out of everyone in their deluded quest to force their beliefs down our spiritual throats. Do we really need to spend money to appease these people?

Is their faith is so precarious as to fall away at the sight of a woman’s breast? No one was hurt. Nobody died. There were no tit riots. The only victim was the news cycle. Last time it was this bad, "flag burning" forced all three networks to spend months explaining the Constitution, . . .again.

If the Kirk Cameron Christians are feeling "Left Behind" every time they stumble across a pile of cloths should we outlaw laundry? We’ve already spent billions on an abstinence program that has been rebuked by every major independent assessment as worthless. Do we really need to spend money fighting our own court system? I guess so, Kevin Martin was Left Behind to chair the FCC.

Kevin, you insecure little dweeb, for decency sake, get some therapy.
____________
On another note:

First there was the ending to the new Indiana Jones movie. (Aliens? Really?) And now, at the end of Quantum of Solace, the new James Bond movie, the audience is invited to watch an exploding hotel. An exploding hotel? That’s right. Apparently the hotel is powered by hydrogen fuel cells - which don’t explode, but for James Bond, they do. Remember how easy it was to believe in the exploding volcano lair? When is the bad guy going to make his hideout in a fireworks factory?

Also: For some reason I’ve been receiving 10 times the usual number of hits on Basket of Puppies regarding George Hunter White, who I featured in a post last year at this time. If you’ve come to my blog in an effort to find info on the Hunter S. Thompson of law enforcement please send me an e-mail and tell me why you are interested. (One of the best resources is Wikipedia.) I love writing about George Hunter White. It's an incredible story and my curiosity is itiching to find out why he has recently become so popular. For those that don't know, White's personal writings and correspondence are available at Stanford - but can’t be checked out. They are only available for viewing in the library.

Sarah Palin - The Spinal Tap Candidate

I still can’t stop laughing. A press conference in front of slaughtering turkeys? Is this really happening? Yup. If you’d like to watch for yourself, here is an unedited version, but if you get squeamish watching turkeys being killed its not worth it: ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vPDrC1FjjDk )

I can’t bring myself to be upset at the sight of a turkey being killed. I’ve digested too many of his delicious brethren to betray my hypocrisy now.

On the political savvy scale - 1 to 10, how savvy is killing animals in the background as you talk about not being out-of-touch? One (1) being, "Bill Clinton savvy" and 11 being - "Spinal Tap Republican."

I immediately smelled conspiracy with behind-the-scenes conversations like, "Okay Ma’am? Just stand right there." Whispered: "Okay, Earl? When she starts to talkin’, you get to slaughterin’."

Officially, beginning right now, this is my favorite press conference of all time. This gets my Krusty Brand Seal of Approval. But it raises so many questions. Shouldn’t all press conferences be held in front of turkeys being murdered? The sight certainly took my mind off what she was saying. Everyone’s a winner, you bet cha.

If you haven't noticed, Sarah’s response to the "What do you read?" question is eerily like "but these go to eleven."

What is the Sarah Palin story?

Maybe this isn’t even about her. Ripped from the headlines, it’s the story of a young African witch doctor living in Alaska and his magical powers to propel a mildly retarded beauty queen from Mayor to President of the United States inside of four short years, if it wasn’t for those meddling kids. (I’m hoping to sell this as an episode of Scooby Doo.)

Or is this the story about the Jacques Clouseau of politicians? Think The Pink Panther meets Wag the Dog. Or is it, The Sarah Palin Story - Smell the Glove meets The Candidate. In the end, she taught us how to love again. No, wait,. . . . . . In the end, she taught us all how to hate again.

And justice for all. . .

A closet, in a closet, in a closet

I’m still pissed about California's Prop 8 vote. I expected the liberal turnout for Obama to beat it down. Mostly, this disappoints me. Just when I think we’re progressing as a culture, my optimism is struck down by a majority of dumbasses.

Then I read about Scott Eckern. The artistic director at the California Musical Theater, Scott Eckern, a Mormon, donated $1,000 to the "Yes on 8" campaign. Yes, you read that correctly. A closeted Mormon (do they come any other way?) donated a grand to make sure he could never be married to another man. If I’m wrong about this Mormon, let me reiterate, he’s the artistic director of the California Musical Theater.

I honestly don’t think you can’t get that job if you’re straight. Straight men and butch lesbians need not apply. (At least that’s what I imagine what most Mormon’s think.) Eckern must be doing his best to allay the fears of his fellow religious brethren. When I first heard that Mormon closets have their own closets I thought it was to hold their magic underwear. I think we can safely assume it holds another closet.

Scott Eckmen did not say this: "See, this proves it. I am not Gay."

His money said it for him.

Or, . . . am I getting this all wrong? Eckern wouldn’t be the first man to pay for an excuse not to be married. Is he trying to avoid the old balls and chain? Last I heard Eckmen has resigned as artistic director. His resignation letter speaks from the heart but he seems unable to understand the grievance.

At this time I would like to endorse Sarah Palin!!! I can’t think of a thicker nail for the Republican party’s coffin. She's a time bomb waiting to go off. That’s right, I’m calling on some major democratic donors to keep this insane pageant contestant out in front, on the Republican runway. "Mindless Ambition," her Secret Service code name, could be the automated lighthouse that illuminates Republican ignorance. I don’t think she remembers going to school in the little bus. For those of you in the liberal media, please only throw her softballs.

Kudos to Keith Olbermann for referencing Bill Hicks. But I gotta tell you Keith, that advertisement for the fear-jerk alarm service is a bit over the line. Do you really need to go that way? Every time I watch it I expect it to end with, "McCain ‘08."

Threat-Down!!!! I’m calling on Stephen Colbert to add Giraffes to the list. Don't forget, they play mine sweeper. I think we can all agree, these animals are some kind of genetic experiment gone terribly wrong.

I can't remember when I haven't been a fan of Bill Hicks. This is the truth as he taught it to me. "It's just a ride." I live by these words and the last words in the movie Being There. "Life is a state of mind."

Keith Olbermann’s Special Comment on Prop 8 - Gay marriage; Do unto others. . .

I felt like Keith was too kind to these gay haters.


I resist getting preachy on subjects like this. Mainly because I can’t imagine anyone wanting to read such things. But, Olbermann has inspired me. California’s Prop 8 was nothing less than a referendum on bigotry. Bigotry won. It’s just that sad.

My message to the Christian homophobic haters that voted for California’s Prop 8:

Do you really believe that Jesus loved everyone except homosexuals? Do you really believe that Jesus believed in exclusion to those that does not measure up to a "Christian" level of piety? Do you really believe that Jesus didn’t love everyone, unconditionally?

Try to remember what Jesus didn’t say. Jesus said absolutely nothing about homosexual behavior. That your pastor would represent otherwise is just his own hate.

The alternative to this hate means having to stand up to your friends and family and your church. Jesus understood what that meant. He knew the price to be paid. Now, you do too. The only question is, will you follow in Jesus’ footsteps, or will you follow the road laid out by your hating pastor? If you believed in Jesus’ message you’d stand up to your congregation, you would tell your friends and family that hate is wrong.

Consider Prop 8 as the measure of Jesus’ redemption. This time the haters won.

For those of you who don’t know this: Your hate is its own burden. You’ll never be able to reach salvation carrying that much hate. Losing that load costs you nothing and gains you everything.

Do unto others as they would do unto you.

My Confession

Time for my confession

Alright, I’m going to come clean. In my letter “Lesbian No More” to Penthouse magazine, I lied. I admit it. Those four cheerleaders never existed, and if I want to be honest, I don’t think I could ever persuade four lesbians to change teams like that. Generally, when a strange man, dressed as the pope, breaks into a lesbian slumber party he’s regarded with scepticism, even if he does have a large throbbing unit, which, I do not. Furthermore, I don’t understand how anyone could believe that two lesbian mothers would join the pope in the shower with their daughters and the mentally retarded, large chested, baby sitter. Nor do I believe most suburban homes owns an 8 person shower complete with sex swing. Look, I knew there were some holes in my story when I wrote it. I just didn’t think http://factcheck.org would bother. My life is falling into a million little pieces.

Last week my son told me he hates commercials. “They all suck.” I tried to remind him that certain ads tell a thirty second story like no other medium could. Sometimes it is art:



Obama has won. I’m feeling patriotic



I can’t help but wonder if the phallic instrument made him gay or if he chose it and the puffy shirt because he was born that way.
Cool sounding, yet totally gay:



Guitar, but without the puffy shirt and haircut, not so gay:



Do you know Raphael?



You go tell Raphael, I ain’t taking no jive from no western union messenger. You tell that asshole, if he got something to tell me to get his ass down here himself. Then he said that I was to get my white ass out of there quick or he’d cut it.

It's a Joy to hear the joy

The New York Times has a video that made me cry



My favortie people. Rachael Maddow was on Stephen Colbert:

Lets put our rapists to work

I’m having a hard time understanding my own feelings. I am thrilled that Obama is the next President. I found myself crying during his acceptance speech. All the while, I watch as our world falls apart before my eyes. Madness seems to be spreading.

In March of 2002 the Saudi religious police forced 15 young girls to burn to death. The school girls were forced to stay inside a burning building because they were not wearing correct Islamic dress. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/1874471.stm

It’s one of those stories that is forced into the back of my mind. Facing the truth of these sick, twisted animals forces me to hate. It’s just easier to focus on my lack of power to effect the situation. I hear these stories and wonder what reality I’m in. A couple of days ago I was blind sided with this story:

Girl Is Stoned to Death in Somalia After Reporting Rape

In Somalia the Muslims believe it’s appropriate for a freshly raped 13 year old girl to be stoned to death for committing adultery. I try like hell to keep my hate in check, but war seems justified against pure evil. And how can stoning rape victims be anything less than pure evil?

Is there such a thing as “more insane?”

With Somalia legalizing rape, my hate for such things leads me to imagine going to war against this abusive culture. But when did war ever solve anything? So, I’ve re-thought my hateful designs and decided on another strategy. If “bombing for peace” works, I’m thinking "non-consensual, male-on-male fucking" could work to stop rape. We’ll need a recruiting effort from our prison population to rape the Somalian men. Remember that scene from Pulp Fiction? Kind-of-like that but multiplied by thousands. It make more sense than anything else to get medieval on their ass.

So now I’ve gone round the bend. I’ve become the curmudgeon I’ve always feared. Remember Grand-pa Simpson’s letter to the President? :

Dear Mr. President, there are too many states. Please eliminate two of them.
P.S. I am not a crack pot!

We’ll, here’s mine:

Dear Mr. President,
Please send all convicted man-on-man rapist to
Somalia and have them rape the all the men. P.S. I am not a crack pot!!

P.P.S. And please do something those murderous Giraffes!! They want to
eat our brains.

This story almost got by me. Someone has stolen a beach. No, really. In Jamaica someone stole a beach.

Jamaica puzzled by theft of beach

To date the police have not found the 500 truck loads of beach so there’s some kind of sand cover-up going on. Which means someone has the dirt, on the dirt, on the sand.

I just heard about Palin not knowing that Africa was a continent. If this is just a malicious rumor I commend it’s author because it’s the kind of thing that sounds like stone cold truthiness. In other words, ‘you can’t make this kind of thing up.’ And if it isn’t true I don’t feel alone in blaming the Alaskan Governor for feeding these type of rumors by not being candid and available for interviews. The only thing the public knows about Palin is her inability to think on her feet. It seems most people are not freaked out by this. I can’t help but wonder about the nightmare scenario of Palin becoming President. How can this almost happen? Electing a mentally challenged beauty pageant contestant to the highest office is half a step away from a Marx Brother’s movie. It makes more sense to steal a beach and move it to Fredonia.

Giraffes

Giraffes:



What is wrong with me that I think this is hysterical?!? So, like always, I pushed it too far. Now my son hates me. Maybe it was the note I snuck into his backpack before he left for school. It was a time bomb waiting to go off. I wrote it on real nice stationary - heavy bond paper and envelope. It said, ‘watch out for giraffes!" Now he hates me.

What is Obama going to do about the giraffe problem? Doesn't he care that giraffes are from outer space and they want to eat our brains? We might stand a chance if we can find out how they got those giant leathery bat wings.

Yes We Can

I haven't seen it in action yet, but Talking Points Memo has a cool election map for returns.
http://www.talkingpointsmemo.com/
Today's the day. Yes we can.

Halloween on 6th street (Austin, Texas)

It was Halloween on 6th street (Austin, Texas) again so I thought I’d stop by and take a few pictures. It was packed. Jack-in-the-box was there with his white trash girlfriend.













The crayons showed up. It was one of those small 8 packs. Before they could color outside the lines, Bumblebee man came to the rescue.

These crypt keepers were ready for the next round of speed dating.

Honestly, I was focusing on her face. I can't figure out why this keeps happening. There must be something wrong with my camera.

You can’t put a bucket over a pig’s head, it will just make him skiddish!

Alright, I’m officially sick of this campaign. I needed some cheering up so I went old school. Here’s my favorite Kids in the Hall:




My son doesn’t think I have a sense of humor. Old school SCTV still makes me laugh.




Okay, I lied. I not totally sick of the election. This made me laugh. Back when I was running for office we use to wear an onion on our belt, because that was the style at the time.
From the Onion:

Sarah Palin, International Woman of Mystery

What I’d really like to see is Sarah Palin required to answer questions from the White House Press Corps for 3 to 4 hours. How is it we have a Vice Presidential candidate who has yet to be cross examined?

I imagine if Sarah was actually forced to answer the hard questions it would be like my favorite Japanese game show, WAKE UP!



Here’s Keith with a Campaign Comment:



And here’s my favorite campaign song:

Hate funds the Terrorists

Keith Olbermann blew me away with his special comment again. Keith, your special comment is the best part of the show. Don’t hold back, and you don’t need to apologize for doing more.

Hate is driving the McCain campaign now. For a sobering moment I’ve been surfing the racists forums on the interwebs. I noticed two things right away. First, these morons cannot write. Like Jethro Bodine, they done have their schoolin’ cut short, but they knows their cipherin’. Second, I couldn’t help but notice the abundance of anonymous postings. They don’t want to own their own words. Hate does that. In masse, hate is condemned, but behind closed doors many celebrate it - to their own detriment. I shouldn’t surprised when it spills to the surface.

After many hateful episodes in my life I have come to terms with the emotion of hate. Hate is worthless. Hate is easily obtained and hard to get rid of. Hate is only detrimental to my life, and hate is, without a doubt, the stupidest way to spend my time. Nothing I have ever done, worth anything, came from hate. My hate filled rants have only a detrimental value. Hate leaves me powerless to objectively understand my own actions, forfeiting my free will. It’s an all losing, all encompassing emotion to nowhere.

The Grand Old Party of hate

Regardless of the perception, the Republican party is all inclusive. Anyone who shares in hate can easily join, so there’s a certain symmetry, a certain Zen to John McCain playing the hate card. Why wouldn’t he? Like an easily spooked feral cat, hate seems to energize the republican base like nothing else. Why? Because hate is what the Republican party is built on. It’s that hate which identifies Republicans as tough on crime, tough on defense, tough on everyone who doesn’t tow the line. If you’re not with us, your against us. Or, as my grandpa McCain says, “I ain’t fur ya, I’m agin’ ya.” [My favorite republican line: “We don’t like your kind ‘round here.”]

Appealing to the basest of the base the grand old party has become a place where anti-Semites can congregate openly with misogynists, where homophobes can bond with racists, where the neo-con hawks can reach out and support our war with the KKK while throwing lavish junkets brought to you by the pharmaceutical companies while raising money to help keep out the flood of ethnic brown people crossing our borders.

Congressman Michelle Bachmann wears her hate on her sleeve. Friday she asked about Barack Obama's patriotism and suggested that the rest of Congress be investigated to determine which ones are "anti-American." Congressman Bachmann was elected after keeping the film “Aladdin” from being shown at a middle school in her district. Apparently, Aladdin delves too deep into witchcraft for her taste. I can only imagine she yelled in agreement with the mob in Monty Python and the Holy Grail to “burn the witch!” After being turned into a newt I can sympathize. (I got better.)

Keith let loose with another great special comment. Keep it up Keith!



If you’d like to know more about my battles with hate, check out my previous post, Racism in Texas.

Sarah Palin - her silence is deafening

Here’s another Keith Olbermann Special Comment:



In case you didn’t catch Olbermann yesterday, here’s a video of the Debate he introduced:



Did Burgess Meridith know John McCain? And who was this Obatman?

A poem from John Cleese to Sean Hannity

Another perfect Keith Olbermann moment as he reads a poem from Monty Python's John Cleese to the soul-less Sean Hannity.



I also need to get my Bach on:



I've always been a huge fan of Bach's Toccata and Fugue d minor. Until I saw this on youtube I never, ever, ever, thought it could be played on an accordian. Was I wrong? Yes. And this may just be my favorite version.

McCain’s McCarthyism fueling the next McCon-game

Mavericks are not leaders. Mavericks just run off and do whatever they want. I can’t help but watch in puzzled amazement as the McCain campaign continues to accuse Obama for knowing someone. I won’t say who because McCain/Palin can’t bring him/herself to say Valdemort’s name. (What’s up with that?)

Innuendo politics of McCarthyism first strikes me as silly. But the more I think about it I find it a sad commentary on the state of this country as it accentuates the Republican’s underground army of ignorant, right-wing, hillbilly, sky pilots jabbering into heaven. I like to think of them as the great unplugged. They don’t want internet access because that’s where the sex devil lives. Others just seem to oooze crazy - like Christopher Magavero a sheriff's deputy in Florida who was just fired after confessing his undying love for a 13 year old. (School officer confesses love to 13-year-old student, gets fired.) I'm pretty sure I saw him shaking McCain's hand.

This new guilt-by-association strategy is like watching red-neck rubes get caught up in pyramid scheme. Anyone who’s been around can tell you it’s a con game, but it’s too late once you’re already invested. “How dare you impugn the obvious righteousness of my leader?!?”

The Great American McCon Game

With throngs of McCain supporters chanting hate, cynicism starts to envelops me. I’m having daydreams of selling pet rocks and fuel additives guaranteed to increase your gas mileage to 140 miles to the gallon. Or maybe I just need to send out 10,000 dry cleaning bills to upper class restaurants demanding recompense after the waiter spilled wine on my shirt. If only I could bring this con to a higher level, you know, like McCain’s new mortgage bail-out scheme.

Rachel Maddow tells the truth.

The Maverick drinking game takes some casualties

On the down low, on the Q.T., word on the street is, a friend of mine had to go down to Brackenridge hospital to get his son (who goes to the University of Texas) after suffering from alcohol poisoning from playing the "Maverick" drinking game. He and his friends had been taking shots of tequila for every time Sarah Palin said the word "maverick" during the debates. I felt bad for him until I saw this on SNL. I once passed out after playing "Hi Bob" while watching the Bob Newhart show. It’s a nasty hangover.




Olbermann rules:



This is one of those times when I get to say, my son is better than your son. Instead of drinking himself into a stupor my 16 year old finished his assignment in creative writing:

New Age Hippies

While walking past the capitol one day I was affronted by a man in a red shirt. He handed me a flyer, telling me that I should believe in peace. Behind him the others in his group chanted: "Iraq for Iraqis! Iraq for Iraqis!"

Now, I didn’t disagree with the sentiment, although that chant is really lame, but as soon as I looked at the flyer I saw the man’s disguise fall apart and underneath was nothing but a dirty hippie, preaching free love and drug abuse.

"Now exactly why should I believe in peace?" I asked, warily, trying to play devil’s advocate. Of course I believe in peace, only Republicans don’t want peace.

"Because peace is love man." He said, clearly believing he was being deep.

This statement made my head hurt. I rubbed my forehead where the pain was concentrated and closed my eyes for a long moment. "N-no… its not… peace is not dropping bombs on your neighbors."

"And the only way we can do that is to love our fellow brothers on this earth." He said, clearly insulted by my rebuttal to his meaningless statement.

"Love has nothing to do with peace! Just like hate has nothing to do with war!" I shouted, now his group stopped chanting and looked over at us. Peace groups probably don’t get many counter-protesters here in Austin.

"Hate is the reason for all wars, and the only thing that can combat hatred is something more powerful, it has to be love for everyone else that changes the world."

"Love is nice but it isn’t the strongest force in the world, greed is. Greed creates war, and it’s the only thing that can stop it!"

They were now thoroughly confused. "Look the only solution that can fix the world’s problems is more free trade and interdependence among nations."

"Free trade isn’t fair trade." The man repeated the slogan and then explained. "Capitalism creates nothing but strife and pain for the rest of the world."

I knew it! They are hippies!

"Yeah cuz the Soviet union really promoted world peace." I said sarcastically. "Look, here’s an example, for hundreds of years the British and the French hated each other, but recently, within this century they began to trade heavily. They might have still wanted to claw each other’s eyes out, but they didn’t, because it was more convenient for them not to."

They consider this. Then how do you explain all the wars we fight over land and money, those are all caused by greed, greed can’t be our salvation if it causes all our problems."

"Greed is a problem, but like anything else it can be redirected to be beneficial… Perhaps I misspoke, greed isn’t what’s going to save the world, but people wanting to have a better life will."

The man, now emboldened by catching me in a hyperbole, (which I am very bad about using) pressed his advantage. "And a better life for everyone can be found through love and sharing. That’s what Socialism is."

"That’s an opinion, and a poorly based one, often in Socialism, people end up in abject poverty, freezing to death in breadlines, that doesn’t seem to be a better life to me."

"Just because it didn’t work in the past doesn’t mean it can’t work in the future."

"I believe one of the definitions of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

"If Trotsky had won Socialism could have been great and just."

"Trotsky was a general, he was a warrior and a communist. Socialism or communism doesn’t cut out hatred or greed. You can tell that because Stalin lusted after power and nearly doomed his nation because he was willing to do anything to get it. Castro’s the same and so is every other communist leader.

And do you notice that there aren’t any pure Socialist nations? That’s because Socialism doesn’t work if you have more than five people."

"The hope of Socialism is still better than Capitalism."

"If you hope for something that means it’s not guaranteed to work. Socialism is a beautiful Idea, but it’s retarded, because it requires people to look out for each other. Capitalism is a horrifying Idea, but it’s brilliant because it requires that people only look out for them selves.
You should rely on what works at the time and try to improve it, rather than scrap it to replace it with something that may or may not work."

"But Capitalism doesn’t work for everyone. You can’ justify a system that works to make some people rich and other people impoverished."

"Of course you can, because every system from the beginning of time has done that. The only logical way to approach it is look at how many each of them sacrifices for the greater good."

"You’re heartless man, you don’t even care about the people who are starving and in pain."

"I’m not heartless I’m a pragmatist. No goal will ever be accomplished through love and caring. You have to use logic and strength of will and hard work. Ideals will always fail if they’re not backed up by cold hard facts and insight. The only way we can end the problems of the world is through trade and interdependence. Make it so hard to live without each other that it’s foolish to even think about wiping the other guy off the face of the map."

He was about to say something, but I cut him off, tired of arguing. "Love is dead man, get with the times, this is the new peace symbol." I said, and walked away, behind me a dollar bill fluttered to the ground where I had dropped it.

Kill Dozer!, the television series

We need a hero. We need Kill Dozer! the television series. (In color)

It’s in times like this, when our elected representatives are not representative, I am reminded of Marvin Heemeyer.

There are some stories that shouldn’t be discarded. Marvin Heemeyer’s is one of them.

"Sometimes reasonable men must do unreasonable things." - Marvin Heemeyer.


One of the reasons I’m not a big sports fan is the liberal use of the word ‘hero.’ Describing an athlete as a hero is like calling George Bush the American Idol. American heros can be found working for the Coast Guard and found in volunteer fire departments. Real American heros are working the night shift for minimum wage as a nurse in a rural hospital.

Some criminals are remembered as heros. Billy the Kid comes to mind. Even though he was labeled the villain, if you take a look at character of men running New Mexico at the time, Billy wasn’t any less guilty than the government. The Lincoln County War forced everyone’s hand to murder, including the Governor who lied about amnesty for Billy. America loves an outlaw hero because it’s the story of the little guy fighting against the big guy.

Marvin Heemeyer was one of those criminal heros. Heemeyer was the small guy that stood up against city hall the only way he could. His story reads like a bad 70's drama. (see details below.) If you have the time, check out the Wiki story or just do a google search for Heemeyer.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marvin_Heemeyer

To make a long story short - Marvin didn’t like the way his city counsel of Granby Colorado was treating him. They zoned a concrete factory all around his muffler shop cutting off access to the road. He wouldn’t sell his property and in the end his muffler shop was forced to close. So, on June 4th of 2004, Marvin took his homemade tank and drove over a good portion of Granby Colorado. The only person hurt was Heemeyer who killed himself in the end. Granby was left in rubble. Observers noted that Heemeyer appeared to go out of his way to avoid injury to bystanders.

Except for the suicide, I love this story. Heemeyer was ruined by the Granby city counsel. He probably didn’t have enough money to fight these crooks in court. (But why should he have to?) Our system of government left him without recompense. I took the time to read some interviews of the city counsel. You’ll be unsurprised to hear that they denounced Heemeyer in the worst of terms. Mostly they called him a criminal but I couldn’t help notice they didn’t paint him as the ‘crazy old man.’ They said he was crazy for doing what he did, but they didn’t elect to portray him as continually insane. This tells me that they fully understood his grievance.

There’s something wrong with my sense of humor. Even with his suicide I find this story hysterical simply because of the surprise endured by the Granby city counsel and townfolk. How could this happen?!? Why would someone do something like that?!?

It’s the same kind of humor I get from Gen. George Custer: “I just don’t understand it. As white people we tried to be efficient and orderly about killing the native Americans. I just can’t figure out why we were attacked.”

I really wish Heemeyer hadn’t have killed himself. I would of made the trip to Colorado to meet the guy and brought some smokes he could use to trade for prison favors. Hell, I would of created an internet fund to help keep Heemeyer in luxury while he was behind bars.



Kill Dozer! the television series. (In color)

K.D. would be formatted like any other revenge story. Instead of Heemeyer dying in the end, he would move from town to town as a drifter. A man who plays by his own set of rules. A lone wolf. A cross between the Incredible Hulk and Rambo, whenever some small town sheriff, super rich guy or city counsel would wrong him, he would do an A-Team, build another kill-dozer and level the town. I have one demand. At the end of every episode everyone freezes like at the end of Police Squad while their town continues to crumble around them. Ripped from the headlines! Kill Dozer! In color!