Great Gazoo And I Search For Mythical Money!

Ya'll remember the Great Gazoo don't ya, space alien friend of the Flintstones? Gazoo returned to his home planet of Zetox after the series cancellation but upon hearing some "weird stories" about us decided to come back to check things out. Since only those who believe in him can see him I was the only person with whom he could talk and right away he starts peppering me with questions.

"Mad earthling! Why do you do the things you do!?"

"That's kind of a broad question there, Gazoo. I mean, I could give you some karmic theories and thoughts on man's desperate search for love and the price of illusion. Other than that, I'm fine, how are you?"

"You have no time for small talk! You have not even the slightest understanding of nature and how to survive! You are very far off course, more than you know!"

"Don't get all worked up, man. Don't they have any doobage in outer space? Jesus, dude, if I got to fly around in some kick ass spaceship and not have to hold down some godawful dead-end job I'd be pretty damn happy!" I proved my point by taking another bong hit and thanking the god of hydroponics.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! I care more about this planet than you do! You must not destroy yourselves!"

"Fuck man, you wanna save the world, more power to ya! I'm right behind you!" Of course, way I felt then he could have said he was going to blow up the Panama Canal and I'd of said "more power" to that too.

"Excellent news! That's the spirit! Let's be on our way. I shall zap you into a fellow Zetoxite - "

"Oh, hey man, don't be injecting any of that crazy Hollywood junk in my face!"

"-and we'll get to the bottom of your wayward ways!"

That's when Gazoo pulled this ray gun out and turned me into an invisible, flying little green man too. Next thing I know we're over the Gulf of Mexico even though this miniature space fiend refuses to stop for a bag of Cheetos along the way. Are we the only planet that gets the munchies?

It's not like we made it unsafe on purpose. Oh, wait...

"Look! See! You poke holes in your planet to release toxins that pollute your water!"

"No, man, we use that oil to put in cars so we can release toxins into the air, not the water!"

"You call that a good thing?"

"Fucking A! My Maserati does 185!"

"Even if I did concede to such earthly madness, I know your hole poking could be done in a way where leaks like this won't happen."

Little man was starting to get on my nerves. Cotton mouth didn't help either. "Yeah, well, them dudes didn't want to spend the money on that shit. You know, you go worrying about all this shit it ain't good for your health."

"Money? Please explain that concept."

Aw, shit. I so don't need this. So I said, "Aw, shit. I so don't need this."

"You must explain to re-attain your human form!"

Everybody wants to run my damn life! "Money, you know, moolah, cash, dinero. It's how we buy shit so we can live."

"Explain how it's more important than your air, land and water. I'm not seeing how that could be!"

"It just is, man, Nobody thinks about it. It's just the way things gotta be. Even Commies got money. It's just like getting laid, you gotta do it whether you like it or not." Gazoo just floats in the sky with a puzzled look, then starts laughing his green ass off. "You think that's funny?"

"Yes, you very funny! Please give this space alien a break and tell the truth of money concept."

"Dude, I did!" I snapped. Not my fault his dumb ass don't get it. And I'm getting tired of looking at these oily birds.

Gazoo stopped laughing. "Can you show me the money?"

"If I had money I really would have a Maserati, live in a high rise condo and wouldn't waste my time jacking off on a stupid blog. I don't stay stoned because I'm happy!"

"I can see this money illusion makes you very touchy. But I can take us anywhere we want to go."

Anywhere? I hastily cleared the fog from my head. "Well, there's place called a mint back near where I eke out my miserable life. We could see lots of money there."

"Excellent! Off we go!"

Actual Fort Worth mint. You can even take a tour - for money.

Yeah, baby! Meeting this alien is best thing ever happened to this boy! Gonna fly right out of that mint with some big time bucks! What does he care what I take?

Gazoo was confused. "All I see are piles of paper. Show me where this money is that's more important than even your environment."

"Dude, the paper is the money. You can get food, clothing, houses, cars and even girl's bodies with that stuff! Awesome, eh? We should take some and that way I could show you."

Gazoo had that puzzled look again. "If this not a joke, your planet has no future. You say you truly believe it's necessary for survival?"

"Hell yeah! Really no substitute like showing you, though. Since I ain't got my own we'll need to take some from here. A million or so should get us through the day."

"In our invisible Zetoxite form, we can handle no material objects."

"Aw, shit! That means no Cheetos too! This is a freaking nightmare! You wanna know more try Googling a wiki post. I'm outta here!"

"But can you tell me what happens when an earthling has none of this paper? Is it not true he survives just as well? I tell you this paper is not necessary to live!"

"Hey man, this ain't space station lollipop here. No one gonna give you shit if you don't got money! No shoes, no fucking, no health, no nothin'! Them's the rules and that's just the way it is, Mr. Spaceman."

"I feel compelled to inform you that requiring this paper will only bring death to your planet."

"Yeah, well, it's what we call civilization. Lots of people live good by it; most don't, and I'm one of them."

"Why not make your own paper and attain all the goods you need that way?"

"It's another rule that you're not supposed to do that. If they catch you they take away your freedom."

"Such savagery to take your illusion so seriously! I see now if you are willing to condemn your fellow earthlings over this paper - God knows why - that you would then condemn your environment as well. A most disturbing and tragic string of logic. Do you not realize you could just share your resources equally and thus create a thriving and vibrant planet free of doom?"

"No."

My mind kept wandering

"It's beautiful! You'll grow like flowers-"

"Look Gazoo, I'm tired and no matter how much we yap about it nothing's gonna change, OK? It is what it is. Nobody wants to share their shit so we came up with this."

"You act as if there's a choice involved!"

"Right, there ain't no choice. It's 'get money or die'. "

"No, I mean you act as if not sharing is an option for living. Otherwise you will suffer a long and arduous death, waging wars for that which should be shared and clutching at one another's throats as your children die."

"That's the plan..."

"But how to you plan to deal with this madness?"

"Easy. We just pretend it's not happening and if we can make ourselves believe that everything will be fine."

Gazoo looked really sad. Dumb bastard really wanted us to live. "How strange of you to worship this god of wood as savior. And when the dying time comes will you call out to this god to save you? Help will not come. Would you not wish to avoid the unbearable suffering?"

"Nah, man, we got our minds made up. If we don't kill people for money then it's like it has no real value after all."

Gazoo zapped me with his gun and I was in human form back under the I-45 bridge again choking in the heat wave. But he was all in a dither now. "I must report this back on my home planet. You were set to join the federation, but now I'm not so sure you will even be around. Remember: follow the light!"

"Sure thing," I nodded, knowing that everyone who follows the light gets shot. But for some inexplicable reason, a flash of hope passed before me, the first in a long, long time.

Obama As Bogeyman

My old friend Ed Wallace titled his weekly piece in the Star-Telegram as "Bias", and he did so because of the number of emails he receives complaining about bias in the news - which would mean something if they were from people actually connected to reality. So Ed decided to focus on an article published in American Thinker [which means it's probably just the opposite] written by William Tate. Tate did an analysis of a 45 page report by the Inspector General's office that assessed how the Auto Task Force conducted itself with the GM and Chrysler bankruptcies. The title of Tate's article: "Race Played Role in Obama Car Dealer Closures".

Yup, the Darkie's gonna get you Whitey for all those generations spent on the plantation! That's a claim that plays well among the willfully ignorant, especially in the 80 percent of the 1,300 most rural counties of America where Obama lost the vote in 2008. [Conservatives seek only what sells, not what's true.] Tate goes on to point out: "Ultimately, close to half of all of the GM dealerships identified for termination were in rural areas." Ergo, Obama was getting those rural rednecks back for not voting for him! [Conservatives suspect such tactics, of course, because those are their own].

I'll let Ed take it from here:

True, the report shows that GM closed many of its rural dealerships. But they were stores selling fewer than 50 cars a year and not showing real strength in wholesale parts operations - meaning their service business was also lagging. In the end, GM decided to keep open just nine of the 394 rural dealerships slated to close for lack of volume.

However, the most telling line of the entire report puts to shame all that Tate has incorrectly concluded on this matter. The line, on page 11, reads, "SIGTARP found that the Auto Team was not involved in determining which dealerships to close." (Italics mine. - EW)

There you have it. Obama and his task force did not choose any dealership to close; executives at GM and Chrysler did it all.

So, if the Auto Task Force did not hand-pick which stores to terminate, then there was no payback for rural areas, no payback against Republican dealers and no racism involved. In fact, anyone who followed that story when it first broke, or knew how GM and Chrysler were selecting the dealerships to close, knew that party politics were not a factor at all.

I buy Italian anyway

So Tate's entire article is a blatant lie, one which could have been easily fact-checked by anyone who had bothered to read the IG's report, like Ed did. But like almost all news, it's the first impression that's lingers most, not the correction posted the next day. Propagandists know this so the goal becomes to get the story out the door, enflame the masses, and watch the truth go up in smoke. Ah, if only those poor pitiful bastards knew the same fate awaits them.

Ed goes on to further analyze the IG report and falsities of the article but what he does not do is ask the far more disturbing question: Why did Tate ever think he could get away with this in the first place? You see, there always have been and always will be liars who live among us willing to say anything if they see - rightly or wrongly - a benefit in it for themselves. It's not whether liars exist or not is the problem, it's when they are listened to is the problem.

Hitler did not invent anti-Semitism. It was rampant in Germany and openly deemed a socially acceptable concept long before his rise to power. He merely tapped into that lie as a means of gaining control. But what do you think now when you hear someone propagate Zionist conspiracy theories of Jews controlling the world and other crap like that? We think the person is a nut, deluded, and needing of mental help - a description that applies to Hitler as well. The difference between an ensuing holocaust and a "get thee to an asylum" statement is how seriously we take the lie.

I started this holocaust...

So when I see the liars among us getting bolder and bolder, I know we're in trouble.

It used to be when one's face was covered in crumbs and one's fingers smudged with chocolate one did not declare to one's mother, "I have no idea who ate the last cookie." There was a certain fear factor of not being believed and a painful accountability sure to follow. But the Last Cookie Eaters brazenly strut around today not bothering to clean their face or wash their hands of evidence to their crimes. No, they merely attack the accuser. "Who are you to question me, Mom?"

And America, a nation of mommies literally horrified of bare breasts, swear words and bad hair days, does not want that question to be asked of her. So just as the remaining few still holding faith in the truth brand the liars as outlaws, so must we must we brand those who enable them as outlaws as well; those who stand idly by in the hopes of being spared the liar's venom, of having the demonization turned back on them. Tell me, America, what is it you know about yourself that makes you fear that so?



As far as Obama goes, he truly represents us as a people: decry those who do evil but do nothing to stop them. And that's why he ran the strongest campaign, he knew we wanted the status quo kept but done in the name of change, to admit no wrongdoing and not wipe the crumbs of war, greed and untruths from our faces. But lies are like parasites, once they take hold it's either you or them, there's no living with them. It's no act of kindness to let the lie live, it's suicide.

And that is what America has become: a nation of perverts, living in a bubble growing larger every day, praying to our gods it does not pop like we know it will - as all bubbles must. As a politicial pervert, Obama sees political reality as the true reality, and reality itself - the welfare of people - as unrealizable fantasy. Our wars are good and our killings just. Our economic system is good and its suffering just. We need change nothing, no course to correct. Those statements are the true fantasy. And for those not on the receiving end of it, it's just a big fucking yuck.

...and I'm continuing it!

So is Obama the bogeyman? Why yes, he is. We all are for rising someone so feckless to power, for protecting our lies. By failing to repudiate war, we lay the groundwork for more war. By failing to repudiate greed, we lay the groundwork for more inequality. And when time comes to pay the piper and finally feel the inescapable pain we have so richly sown, you'll get no fucking sympathy from me. Nobody said you had to believe a lie.

People Of Incite

No, no, I completely agree with you.
You see things just like they are.
Let me know how things work out for you!

You ever see that movie "Maria Full Of Grace"? It's about this girl smuggling heroin in her stomach. So you see she wasn't full of grace AT ALL. It was heroin! These people are calling heroin a GOOD THING! That's just SICK! Fucking Hollywood! Word!

***

What do you mean my moustache looks like Hitler's? How dare you compare me to that monster! Some of my best friends are Jewish you racist son-a-bitch! I hope they put you in a concentration camp for calling me Hitler! I see right through you! Word!

***

I think all the people who go around bitching need to shut the fuck up! They're just pissed the world isn't the way they want it and then they go around telling everyone else how to act and even what to speak! The nerve! So shut the fuck up if you're not going say what I want! Word!

***

You just said a Bible quote! So you believe in priests molesting children, hating gays, burning people at the stake and a mythical space god! You're a total jerk for shoving your beliefs on everybody else! The Bible's all fairy tales and you better believe that! Word!

***

There is no truth, motherfucker! It's just you and your own personal fucking agenda making shit up to fit your biased point-of-view hoping that will somehow make you a good person! There is no objective truth that can be known! And that's the truth! Word!

***

What I can't stand is people that are naive and think everything should be all lovey-dovey. We gotta have war or we're doomed! There's bad people out there we have to fight - but I'm not one of them! We'll never be safe if we don't kill people! And I'm not just saying this because of the war that rages within me. Word!

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

Did I tell you about the militant peace protesters' march I saw the other day? Those guys mean business! They had all these great signs and chanted lovely slogans and made all sorts of insightful points how we need peace before it's too late. Then some guy on the sidewalk shouted out how he was for the war and they shot him.

The truth will bear itself out in the end.

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

Man...An Ancient Race

"So it's come down to this, has it?" Frank stared at the gargoyle smile, neither smiling nor scowling, looking him in the eye with unexplained expectancy, a life on hold. Eyes hard as rails, forged from deep, grey stones pounded mercilessly by the clanging hammers of dead hearts. In this part of the country, explanations were hard to come by, like water from a rock. "It always does," concluded the gunman, heaving a sigh of relief; his greatest fear in facing a man uncorrupted.

"Man...an ancient race." Grey Eyes spoke just loud enough to be heard - or not heard - it mattered little. He spoke to the sky.

Frank wondered: Have I gone too far? He remembered sitting behind the Rich Man's desk feeling like a king of old, wallowing in the eternal lust of power. Rich Man asked the gunman how it felt. "Feels just like holding a gun," he marveled, running his hands along the edge of the smooth mahogany. "Only much more powerful." Thievery was one of many occupations listed on Frank's resume and the few seconds spent on the Rich Man's throne opened his eyes to the vast horizons of the plunder of the pen.

But the crown of decision sat uneasily on his head. More to shooting than just aiming straight. Man can't hit his target with his stomach in a knot - and Frank never had a tight gut. That was his advantage over the dead men he'd left behind. No, Frank was not a builder of empires, just a very useful tool. He needed the simple rules of the bullet. Games without rules left him naked and exposed as a baby.

Frank was sure he knew himself

Well, it's not like I've been beat by a man yet. Don't see why this one should be any different. But Grey Eyes was different - and Frank knew it. In the hard wasteland of killing, the steady hand won out. Frank had seen many faces of death. Men too scared to fight back, men too dumb not to run, men who wanted the glory of the kill without learning the skill. Just wantin' to kill, that's not enough. But the face before him now was a demon's mask with angel's eyes.

Grey Eyes had killed before; his other face of granite and ash. Some killers - most killers - plunged into the thrill of it, an adrenaline shot for the emerging Frankenstein. Going down that road put them out of the norm, out of sync, twisting life into warped and distorted images. Tightrope walkers don't dare become bored. And staying alert means finding another kill. But Grey Eyes killed only striking snakes, preserving life. He took pleasure in the preservation - and that was his advantage.

Frank's truest enemy was guilt. Guilt muddles the mind, causes hesitation to slow the killing hand. It's easy to pull the trigger on a bad man, giving him his just desserts. The weak get what they deserved too. But a killer who didn't need the killing. What was he like? Aren't you a cripple too? Gotta be! We all are. Them bullets don't just kill the other guy, they take a piece of you too. I bet you're no different than all the rest of us. Frank bet his life on it.


The Whore of New Orleans. The smoke of her eyes disarmed Frank of any gun not of his birth. Like diseased creatures stricken with desire, men flocked to her in helpless agony. Cloaks of deceit flung to the ground as pleading arms stretched out for a taste of her nurturing nectar. Once enflamed, words imprisoned in the dark stillness of night released their cry and she knew well the hidden voices of men. Like a beaten dog of the desert, she walked with wary steps at the sight of oncoming leggings.

Pressing her husband's killer against her lips she belched her weaknesses in open contempt. She could have caged them, owned them, left them to damage her organs. But she freed them right in front of Frank's hazing eyes leaving him to realize her death was his death, his bullets useless as his rotted love. She knew he'd come to rape her, to call her whore, to pray at her temple with a psalm of depravity. But in the facing of it she took away his pleasure. A whore no more.

Still, Frank need his raping, to show all the world the plight of his soul. He demanded her worldly possessions in lieu of her body. Having suffered the humiliation of marrying his gun, Frank crusaded his rifled religion with an evangelist's fervor. And like any religious zealot, he bore contempt on creeds of a differing stripe. Most importantly he craved the conquests as sacrifices to his god, to prove he'd not thrown his life away in vain. All he need do was win - every time.



Frank had had his chance to kill his competitor, had him cold and surrounded. But in flinty recognition Grey Eyes flashed Knowledge Of The Unknown and for Frank nothing blazed more preciously in his torment. "Don't punch him in the mouth," he ordered his men. "He needs to talk, and talk plenty." But Frank must first ride out if he were to grab onto the brass ring of his blossoming business career - but after having taken care of the confused plans of his heart, he'd wring the truth from behind those grey eyes and perhaps learn the secret to his freedom.

Didn't look like Frank was going to get that talk now. "Who are you?" he demanded of Grey Eyes. No, there was no backing down now but he'd lost his advantage. The only way to find out who this man was was to draw his gun. And yet...why this childlike need to talk? He fought back the urge, to fight two opponents was lethal. No, no need for words. I can kill him like always. Man that can be shot got no right to live no how. I'm gonna draw, simple as that. My head's clear enough. Now!

Man, an ancient race...modern in his methods, clichéd in his traits...men waiting to be proven true, men wanting to be proven liars...what's left to be done with nothing new under the sun?...time to return where it started, innocent children safe in Nature's hands...the rising sun mourns the forever folly of soil drained barren by weeds...someday avenging angels swoop in to save the flowers before it's too late...high and wide will be the mounds of pulled weeds as the angels lament, "Man...an ancient race."


________________________________________________



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Hey, Bud, What's Your Problem?

Sometimes you just have to say something. Make a moral stand, I say! I try to be generous to my fellow man but comes a point where enough is enough! Must we listen and suffer the losers of this world forever? We winners are a patient lot but really, is it my fault your life sucks?

I think not!

Life is good aboard my luxury yacht, the S.S. Bailout. Bless those taxpayers' hearts. Finally they earn their keep! The world is of the rich, by the rich and for the rich. You know why? Because all good things come from us. Ain't no homeless bum going to give you a job to keep a roof over your head. Remember this: there's nothing more important in life than taking care of the rich.

And be honest, you know you want to be rich too! Ah, here comes one of my employees now, a Mexican boy I rescued from dire poverty who now gets seven whole dollars an hour! I really don't know where all this talk of racism comes from. I let all sorts of races toil for me.

"Hello, Pedro, how are you today?"

"It's Paco."

"Now listen, Pedro, you keep working hard and doing a good job washing my cars and someday you'll have a yacht like this too!"

"Yes, senor, everybody in America believe that."

"That's right! This is the land of opportunity! You just remember that, boy. Work! Work! Work! And everything will be fine."

On his way to his first million - if he does a good job!

Now, where was I? Ah yes, the abuse we rich have to endure. It's outrageous! Take that BP well that had that unfortunate one in a million act of God happen to it. What do people expect? Perfection? And they literally crucified my good friend Whatshisname the CEO. How disgusting. No one says a word about all the wells that don't leak do they? Damn liberal media!

Like who can make a well not leak if the good Lord makes safety too expensive? You people so wronged a good man. Life is certainly cruel sometimes. I hear all this hullabaloo about some fisherman who offed himself. Why? Because he cares so much about the fish he brings up to kill? I think not! Darwin explained this long ago. Nature dictated he should die - not our artificial economic system. And - oh wait - a phone call.

Speak of the devil! It's my good friend, BP CEO guy.

"Hey, guy, what's going on?...You quit? Why? You had it made?...Well, at least I hope they made it worth your while...Eh, 18 million is better than nothing I guess. At least now you can get your life back!...I told you not to say "little people". They hate being reminded of that!...What firm do you have doing your lying for you?...Those guys? Those cocksuckers couldn't lie their way out of a paper bag. I got a neo-con that will blow your mind!...Hell yeah, he got us into Iraq, didn't he? He's one helluva liar!...Can you hold a sec, I'm doing a very important blog."

He's feeling really down everyone. Hope you're fucking happy ruining a man's life like this, mocking him for one little mistake. You dirty, little people!

Do I really look sincere?

"Nah, nobody important. I got to put these malcontents and losers in their place. I'm sick of all this whining. I want to see happy shiny faces around me!...You're right! It's that bastard Obama's fault. Fucking liberals are destroying this country! I worked hard for my ill-gotten gains...Yup, I saw those tea partiers on TV. There's nothing they don't hate!...I know! Makes me want to join too! We need more useful idiots like that. We should encourage them...Wow, you really are feeling low...Well, I'd hold off before I sold the Ferrari. Don't do anything rash!...Look, I'd love to stay and chat but I have a girl here and she gives one hellacious blow job!...Alcohol and sleeping pills? That might do the trick. Let me know if you survive!"

What a depressing guy! I can't stand people who go on and on about their conscience. Has anyone ever actually seen one? Just a bunch of bullshit poor people make up. Problem with this country is all the broken homes we got. We need more stand up parents like mine. Mom always said I'd never amount to anything without selling my soul. She was right! What a useless thing a soul is!

And remember this you lovely pot scrubbers you: money worship is the only way! Anything else is just suicide and chaos and will destroy the whole planet - not like now! I just love the free-to-fuck-you system. Hold steady to that and I'll be just fine. Shit, that reminds me, I gotta call my broker. "Hey you, darkie, bring my phone so you'll have a purpose in life."



"Yes, yes, buy me that munitions stock. We're going to need guns and bullets for a long time to come!...Hehe, that's funny! They'll be so goddam hungry they won't be able to shoot straight!...Too true! Like they can even afford them anyway! God I just love it when I see cops beating up the poor...I know! It's a free country. They can buy stocks too...Some people you just can't help. I asked my gardener about his portfolio and you know what he said? 'I done sprayed for that already, boss!' What can you do?...Oh, Obama, he's been a godsend. Badmouthing us on one hand and kissing our ass with the other. That boy knows where his bread is buttered! But all his high talk got people thinking he's doing something real, hehe...I completely agree. Never give a sucker an even break!"

Bottom line is this: I don't know what everyone is bitching about! I'm going to be just fine. Sometimes you just have to thin the herd, cut out those who aren't pulling their weight - and their children too. It's great to be me! And after all, I didn't invent the system we live by. The minute we change our minds is the minute things change. But don't do that! Don't ever change! All the bad shit that happened this time will never happen again. Thank God we saved the system! Keep everything just like it is! After all, what else is there to live for but to be rich?

America 2010: When War Is Treason

Hush little children,
Put your head to sleep;
Forget the world's sorrows,
Let the darkness creep.

Forget all the analysis. Forget the false parsing, the breaking down of strategy and useless political wrangling. Forget all the slick propaganda - even your own. And ask yourself: why do we wage war?

There's no honest socially acceptable answer. But there are many socially acceptable answers we forgive: "To preserve freedom", "To fight terrorism", or the very desperate lie: "To fight the good fight". We know that's not the truth but it's most comforting when one can spread lies with impunity. Makes you can think you can lie about most anything and get away with it. And of course you can - for a time.

But we also know lies must be carried on the backs of people, that someone must pay for our sins. We certainly don't want our own lives and loves gutted in the name of Today's Big Lie, but someone must bear that cost. We are the carriers of war, spreading it like a disease hoping the symptoms never touch us. But that's hoping against hope.

I don't say these words in condemnation, but to bring salvation.

War porn

I ask you again: why do we wage war?

What is to be gained from sacrificing the truth? Who are we fighting? When does it end? Where does true hope lie for our future?

I met a man once, a man who wanted only one thing in life: to be something he was not. He relentlessly sought to accomplish this impossibility and if he pulled it off, he'd be the greatest man in history. Quite a prize! Everywhere he went he carried two things: a square peg and a round hole. Each day he'd try to fit that square peg into the hole, and in times of stress - a.k.a. encroaching reality - he'd squeak the loudest. Most annoying!

He loved to hear the naysayers, feeding off their negativity, proclaiming himself an eternal optimist, a man of courageous heart. "I don't cut and run!" Success was always just around the corner, today's progress made it only that much closer! He was fighting the good fight to benefit all mankind, for if one lie can be true they all could. Dreams of a madman, wasting precious time, funded by blood and misery.

There's only one enemy to destroy and that's the lie within. It is ourselves with whom we wrestle and do battle. That's a struggle that cannot be won by the military. Peace is a byproduct of commitment. It cannot be negotiated, it doesn't require treaties; it's just facing the fact you have to have it in order to live. One by one we'll realize this and turn around, starting the long journey back. How long and painful that journey is is up to us.


Why do we wage war?

___________________________________

A Day In The Life Of A Frustrated Blogger

Peter the Provo Marshal spoke forthwith:

"You see, under these new chartered accountancy rules, in some scenarios where the depreciation has exceeded the norm - but not in a way as to trigger a Rule 8 Burden Of Proof certificate - but still outside the established fluctuation boundaries in a multi-year drawdown will require a special parsing evaluation all the way to the item master level of the components so as to compare the unassembled scenario versus assembled scenario with labor counting - and here's the tricky part - on a daily ad hoc basis so as to determine an ongoing mean over the reporting period but with no historical statistical data kept allowing for backtracking calculations this will have to be done on an inputted process without fail each day so that we can build a database for quarter-to-quarter and year-to-year comparisons which will give us standardization for a baseline for our depreciation rates.

"But, haha, we need to know those scenarios don't we!" (Peter always liked to inject a bit of whimsy)

"So what I'm going to need from you is a report listing those scenarios driven from a new depreciation scenarios table to be derived from each manufacturer's requirements (this you will need to painstakingly gather and I have a list of contacts you will need to contact) which will then need to be verified according to which method of principles we decide to choose - I know we haven't chosen that yet but I want you to get started anyway and at some point the CIO will make a final determination for the formulas which you will then need to incorporate - but you don't need the formulas, of course, to create an overall structural design analysis of the design which needs to be able to plug into the profit-and-loss statement module on a dynamic level forthwith. This project shall be your purpose in life for the next six weeks.

"Oh, and don't put too many dots on the label extensions to the data columns - it makes things look too stuffy!"


Bernie the Blogger hated his life. And what he hated most of all was his dreary job, a slow tortuous death bleeding him into oblivion one maddening day after another. But he did have the power of the pen to strike back against the injustices of the world! He scribbled furiously a burning epithet of modern society with a post titled, "An Open Letter To God", which read like this:

"Dear God,

Suck my dick! This whole goddam planet sucks. You think it's such a fucking picnic you come down here and live with these assholes! Who gave them the right to decide my fucking life? Why do I have to pay just because some fartheads think they got it all figured out and I should have to live by their bullshit ideas? Got an answer for that, motherfucker?

Yeah, didn't think so.

So get off your goddam ass and start zapping some of these sons-a-bitches putting a gun to my head and a knife in my back. Shit, I'd do the same for you and here you won't throw me one fucking lifeline when I'm here drowning in drivel. Just what does that say about this piece-of-shit world you supposedly want to save??"


Bernie was ecstatic. He got 17 comments lustily approving of his rant, with very often the exact words "Good rant!" being used. He got three more comments telling him he was the one whom God would zap - and that he damn well deserved it. And he also got a final comment on where he could buy cheap Ugg boots online.

But even with this modest success, Bernie still found himself crushed by the tidal wave of tedium his job so mercilessly produced. Crawling on the floor of his one bedroom apartment - who's only furniture consisted of a bean bag, an outdated Nintendo and wide screen TV - he switched on the set with his last remaining gasp. And there he found Magic Mike speaking words of wisdom.

"Hi, folks! Is your life a dead end? Do you work and work and work and never get anywhere? Are you searching for meaning in a world gone mad? Have you lost all hope? Do you feel that no matter how hard you try, how sincere your efforts or how vital the truth you speak that it will always come to nothing? Do you lie awake at night envying your pet?

"If so, you're not alone! I have an answer for you, one that will turn your life around, show you how to overcome those obstacles you thought you never could. Become one of the successful people you see every day. And I tell you it's far easier than you think!"

I applaud me

Bernie the convert repented to his Maker. "Thank you, God! This is exactly what I needed. I know I thought you let me down, but I was in so much pain, overwhelmed by the blackness and bleak horror of my life. It's hell in that windowless room with those suffocating walls and being forever poked and prodded by mindless minions who don't even know what's best for them. I felt like Napoleon trapped in a loony boon for fake Napoleons, no one ever believing me no matter what the truth is.

"But I should have known better, that would separate the wheat from the chaff and set me free! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Magic Mike was a man of plastic hair and plastic words, both of which seemed shiny and real at first glance. "Now, I'm going to give you this very simple answer, one that took me a lifetime to find, for I too was once in your shoes, downtrodden and stuck in a one room shack, broke and filled with despair. My prospects were less than zero." Bernie giggled. Wow, he had it worse than I do! "But there is an answer, my friends, to start living the life you deserve, the good life, the life God meant you to live." Bernie was literally salivating at this point. "And that answer is simply to give me money. Do that and your life will improve in vast in dramatic ways. Only a complete and hopeless idiot loser wouldn't benefit from this - and if you are such a soul I have a 3 day back money guarantee minus the initial processing fees."

Bernie slammed off his TV. "I hate you, God! Bet you're really laughing now, aren't you? Suckered me good! Well, I'm going to get you - and your Magic Mike too!"


Bernie's keyboard crackled as his fists of fury pounded out a long and deranged diatribe proclaiming among other things, "I've seen the light! I'm a reborn atheist! I have proof God does not exist!" and repulsive ramblings on "that fraud fucker Magic Mike whose only possible use as a human being would be to use his head as an ass wipe." And with his exposure of these two great deceptions of our times, Bernie was featured on Blog-Of-The-Day.com, got over a hundred positive comments as well as receiving an award as a pseudo-journalist from a pseudo-journalism web site.

Heady times for Bernie. But eighteen hours later nobody gave a shit on what had passed on the raging white-water rapids of the blogging river that stops for no man. And his life was still shit. Thus a flounce was born.

"You're all shit! You don't know shit! You don't appreciate shit! You smell like shit! You make everything into shit! And did I tell you don't know shit? Well, guess what fuckermothers, I don't need your shit!"

That sure caused some shit as most bloggers were in the shit-selling business and very desperately needed their shit to be needed. Many sympathetic supplications and moving moments of impending mourning convinced Bernie to stay as everyone joined in the virtual group hug. (Although there was also a consistent thread of comments stating, "Go ahead! Jump!", Bernie decided to gloss over those.)

And so Bernie went to work the next day just a little bit deader than before, musing on his next post, and he kept on that way until all the life was finally hammered out of him.

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