The jerks we deserve.

It’s only June and we’re deep into presidential debate season. Did I get my years wrong? I thought this was 2007, not 2008. Fuck a duck, we’ve already got close to 20 presidential contenders hurling platitudes at us and competing over who can be the biggest caveman on camera. I think this week’s prize might have to go to G.O.P. longshot congressman Duncan Hunter, who advocated using “tactical nuclear missiles” to destroy Iranian centrifuges. (There’s a man of conviction!) That’ll teach those Iranians to threaten … people with… nuclear … weapons…. (irony). Christ, they’ll probably kick up their uranium enrichment just on the basis of his little demagogic tirade. Then there’s the god-stakes, which was a bit more of a laugh than usual since the very same day I heard a political commentator on NPR opining that the Republican candidates were shying away from openly religious rhetoric to distance themselves from Dubya. Right on the money once again, NPR! What’s the weather going to be like tomorrow? (How about today?) For chrissake, that Huckabee jerk started one of his answers quoting from Genesis (and I don’t mean The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway).

Where do we find these losers? Well… as a grizzly bearded android fabricator from Lost In Space once remarked, “They are non-personalities. We make them.” It’s not hard to figure out why our politicians, for the most part, act like dicks….I mean… act in ways that seem antithetical to our interests. For them, politics is the art of getting elected. They tell us what they think most of us want to hear. The fact is, most of us don’t want bad news… so we vote for politicians that don’t give us any. Most of us don’t want to think of our nation as having been responsible for death and despair overseas… so we vote for politicians who tell us pleasing lies about our history. When Wolf Blitzer asks presidential candidates – Democrats – what they would do about Iran, they’ll all imply that Iran poses some kind of substantial threat to the U.S. No one will provide any background to our relationship with Iran that goes beyond the 1979-81 hostage crisis – no mention of our long history of establishing and supporting dictatorship within their country and, later, our support for a neighboring dictator (initials S.H.) who attacked their country… with WMD’s.

It’s the same phenomenon that keeps international and national news off the front page of my hometown newspaper. The publishers – like the politicians – assume that we don’t really care that much about what’s happening in, say, Iraq, because 1) we don’t have to go and fight there, 2) we don’t pay for the war via added taxation, and 3) we re-elected George W. Bush, who can’t tell the ceiling from the floor, as our commander-in-chief. We’re insulated from the effects from our own wars, so why should anyone assume we want to know about them? That insulation is the product of our own gullibility. While a good many of us wanted the Iraq war, no one wants higher taxes… so our “leaders” came up with this “invade now, pay later” imperial strategy. Similarly, no one wants the draft, so our politicians lean more and more heavily on the volunteer force, making them go back again and again, perpetually raising the bar like Colonel Cathcart in Catch-22. Bush and our congressional leaders told us we could have a world war without having to fight or pay, and we, for the most part, bought it.

What’s the solution to this conundrum? We need to grow up as a nation. We need to face the bad stuff that we’ve done over the decades, and try to do better. There’s no leader who can do that for us… It’s entirely up to us. Till then, we’ll get the jerks we deserve.

luv u,

jp

‘Nuther world.

Don’t tell me – let me guess. It’s big. It’s dense. And it’s very, very attractive. Ummmmm… that could be almost anything that fits those criteria. Am I getting warmer? Well, am I?

Crikey. Sometimes Marvin (my personal robot assistant) takes his programming far too seriously. I’ve asked him to help me with a little problem I’m trying to work out… namely, what inhabitable planets can we sail off to in case the titanic struggle between sFshzenKlyrn (trans-physical etheric energy being from Zenon) and Gizmandiar (lawn-obsessed, power-mad space creature now occupying the seat of our local government) renders the earth uninhabitable for a brief time (perhaps six or seven million years… which passes quickly if you are made of feldspar). Matt heard recently that the astronomical community has identified another 28 planets circling distant stars they’ve observed, and I’m sure at least one of them has our name written on it. If I can just get Marvin to tell me which one! Focus, damn it… focus!

We’re almost certain that Gizmandiar and his turf-hugging minions came to us from the relatively proximate planet known as Earth 2. That certainty, of course, is not based on any scientific evidence, since the science complement of our party has long since departed the vicinity of the Cheney Hammer Mill (Mitch Macaphee, never fond of the alley, has other fish to fry, while Trevor James Constable has grown tired of fighting the sewer rats for discarded breadfruit rinds. Mmmmmm…) No, sir, we’re shooting from the hip here, scientifically speaking, and that’s plenty close enough for Big Green. Fact is, the discovery of Earth 2 was announced around the same time that these too-clever-by-half space creatures showed up and started bossing us around, so we made a major inductive leap on the basis of that. (Don’t try this at home!)

Anyway, last week we put out the call for sFshzenKlyrn and he responded with the usual dispatch, faithful cohort that he is. Of course, this hyper-powerful man from Zenon is as uncontrollable in normal life as he is on stage. And if you’ve heard one of his rip-snorting guitar solos, you have a pretty good idea of how sFshzenKlyrn conducts his affairs more generally. I suspect he and this Gizmandiar have some history – maybe a little bad blood, if that term can be said to apply to gaseous beings that exist in multiple dimensions at the same time. sFshzenKlyrn set about stalking city hall in a semi-menacing fashion, later bombarding it with keltone rays which caused the building to shift from its moorings and… well…. kind of disintegrate. (Sorry, folks. Unintended consequences, you know.) Then there was a slightly larger boom, followed by a smoky smell and what felt like a minor earthquake.

So yeah – it was at this point that I started asking Marvin about other hospitable planetary bodies. Just a little insurance, you understand – nothing to get worked up about. So far the best he’s come up with is one of those Magnetars – a neutron star with a tremendously powerful gravitational field. Of course, unless I learn to eat gamma rays for breakfast, that’s probably not much better than a trash-strewn alley on a condemned world… Care to join me? (Thought not.)

Lethal legacy.

Clinging to their precious terror war, the Bush administration now cannot stop talking about al Qaeda, as if Bin Laden were running a kind of Wal*Mart of terror as opposed to serving as inspiration to hundreds and perhaps thousands of self-directed extremist organizations. It’s the last rhetorical refuge for a president who has lost the support of the vast majority of his countrymen and is now hunkering down to ride out the last 18 months of a particularly septic tenure. If we leave Iraq, Bush cautions us, we will be hit again. What he doesn’t tell us is, if we stay, we are just as likely to be hit again, if not more so, thanks to his war in Iraq, which has spawned a new generation of terrorists and significantly destabilized a region already boiling with hatred and injustice. Alas, there is no “undo” button on this war, which is why so many of us opposed it most strenuously before its start. We have set into motion a catastrophe the repercussions of which will be with us for decades to come. If Bush is in search of a legacy, there it is.

Consider the realities of the situation. Prior to the invasion of Iraq, the U.S. had been directly responsible for the deaths of many, many thousands of Iraqis, indirectly responsible for many more deaths, and a primary bankroller and military guarantor of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, Gaza, and East Jerusalem (now celebrating 40 years). America also funded (as it does now) some of the region’s most repressive and unpopular regimes, including that of Saddam Hussein for a good few years. After the Gulf War, its bloody aftermath, a dozen years of deadly sanctions, and nearly constant bombardment by U.S. and British aircraft from 1998 forward, Dubya smashed the country open and set up this seemingly endless war – the first long-term U.S. military occupation of an Arab country. Aside from the death and displacement this has caused, it has made us the subject of ever deepening resentment as foreign occupiers – never the best way to make friends, particularly in countries that have a colonial history.

Now, the Iraq war has generated at least 2 million external refugees, with probably 700,000 in Jordan and more than 1 million in Syria, plus another 2 million internally displaced within Iraq. These are enormous populations of desperate people who will probably not be returning home anytime soon, and I have to think that the vast majority of them blame us for their plight (assuming some level of rationality). Meanwhile, the U.S. is all but ignoring this growing catastrophe, even though it threatens to metastasize the horror of an imploding Iraq throughout the entire region, putting added pressure on societies already under stress. (The U.S. quota for accepting Iraqi refugees this year is about 7,000 – so far, we’ve taken less than 100.) If I were to guess, I’d say the next major attack on the U.S. will include some of these folks in Jordan and Syria – people who have lost everything – family, home, future, hope. What’s your guess?

Seems to me, the best way to prevent terrorism is to 1) pull our troops out of this stupid war, and 2) help Iraqis rebuild their society (from a discreet distance). No matter what the punk tells us.

luv u,

jp

Shouldn’t-a dunit.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t-a dunit. But I dunit. They left me no alternative. Do I suck? Maybe. But at least you know where I stand. (Am I standing? Feels like sitting…)

Howdy, friends. Expect you recall last week’s tiresome debacle and the intolerable acts of our extraterrestrial overlords, as they came to occupy our humble city hall. Who could forget the arrogance of a certain Gizmandiar? A gentleman he is not. (Neither gentle, nor man… nor any other species I’ve ever come across.) I am not being ungenerous. Consider, if you will, the bill of particulars with regard to said Gizmandiar. He and his minions hath:

  1. deliberately and wantonly, with malice aforethought, driven us from our ancestral (relax – that’s just the paint color) home and consigned us to a life of enhanced beggary (that’s like the beggary we enjoyed previously, only with 65% more cat’s pee);
  2. issued the intolerable and wholly despicable decree known as “Special Order 14-2007” which directs us, on pain of prosecution, to “refrain from employing any foul, obscene, or abusive language commonly known as ‘swearing,'” thereby foreclosing our most immediate (and highly satisfying) remedy to item #1 (dag nab it!);
  3. taken the foul and underhanded step of using his considerable resources to purchase our corporate record label (Loathsome Prick Records), subsequently employing that organization as yet another tool in our ongoing persecution (which is to say, well beyond the level of persecution we had experienced previously simply by being associated with Loathsome Prick Records);
  4. heinously and relentlessly transformed the distressed brick courtyard of our beloved abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill into a carpet-like monoculture of lawn grass, later applying the same pernicious ground cover to other public and private spaces throughout our community.

Need I go on? I think not. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is pointing frantically to his watch, so… How do you battle a well-heeled cadre of space aliens who have taken over your town and evicted you from your squat house? Fight fire with fire, my friends. Oh, yes… Gizmandiar and company are not the only space aliens in the universe. And we of Big Green can name one space alien of long acquaintance who could easily mop the floor with these interlocutors, these usurpers, these…. gall-dangit, I wish I could fricking swear!!!

Ahem…. that space alien is, of course, sFshzenKlyrn, our occasional sit-in guitarist from the planet Zenon, located in the small Magellanic Cloud, quite a long ways from here. Didn’t want to do it, but with all that’s at stake, I put a call in to sFshzenKlyrn and asked for assistance. Are there risks? Oh, yes. Great risks. Remember what happened a few years back when our Zenite friend had a few too many flapjacks. (Suffice to say, they had to add a whole new chapter to Lost New York in the last edition.)

So, yeah… I know I may have acted rashly. But I think we can control the unpredictable force of nature that is sFshzenKlyrn this time. Or not….

Supine.

Question: how long does it take for the Democratic Party leadership to cave in on issues of life and death? Answer: less time than it takes to ask the question. Yep, old “Give ’em hell” Harry Reid, Nancy Pelosi, and kin have signed away the farm to mister 28% himself, Dubya Bush, who is now bound by no restrictions – fiscal or legal – in his prosecution of the disastrous war he started more than four years ago. This in the wake of yet another 9 U.S. service members killed and god knows how many Iraqis – scores over the past few days. I know I’m not the only one saying W.T.F., though it’s not so much out of surprise as it is just pure exasperation. I mean, a watery timeline for withdrawal with a plethora of caveats – that hardly constituted a radical departure from Rumsfeldian warmaking (precisely what we need). And yet that has morphed into a no-strings-attached allocation of billions for the continued occupation of Iraq. Is that what people voted for last November? Was that the theme called out from the podium as party leaders implored us to turn the G.O.P. out? Not hardly.

There are many who will argue that this is the only avenue open to opponents of the war; that this supplemental spending plan is a strategic move and a prelude to a more meaningful confrontation down the road. Perhaps we can be forgiven for a certain amount of skepticism in this regard. Many of those supporting this bill also voted with the Republicans to start this war in the first place. Their strategy now as well as then is to make their re-election battles a bit easier – that is to say, they want to pre-empt those 30-second RNC-sponsored attack ads slamming them for cutting funding for “our troops” in the middle of a war. They counsel patience, like the G.O.P. leadership, which is becoming a bit nervous about the war themselves… but which now can point to their opponents as partly responsible for the mess. Of course, patience only means more deaths, more amputees, more head cases, and more Fallujah-like mass killings. Waiting until September to re-evaluate the “surge” strategy could cost hundreds more American deaths, followed by some equally bone-headed tactic.

This is criminal behavior, pure and simple. Bush wants to keep this sucker going so that it won’t be “lost” on his watch (or “watch”, as many might put it). The Democratic leadership, for its part, refuses to draw a firm line in front of the president even when his popularity is at a historic low, largely due to the war in Iraq (even in my moderate-to-conservative district, Bush polled about 28% in a recent Web survey by the local daily paper – that’s almost unprecedented for a Republican). It’s obvious that neither of the major political power centers in this country is going to put a stop to this slaughter. And judging by the news coming out of Iraq – Parliament supporting a timetable for withdrawal, Muqtada al-Sadr re-emerging, Iraqi youth in Basra (!) cheering over a burning security contractor vehicle – it may in fact take the Iraqis to send our military home. Until we can get ourselves politically beyond the idea that “supporting the troops” means extending their service in a hell hole, I see no other way out.

Unless, of course, we all just stand in the street until they end it. There’s that, too.

luv u,

jp

Effin’ a-holes.

Why, I’ll moiduhlize ’em! Dose lousy no-good s.o.b.’s! What duh “f” do those “a” holes think they’re doin’, handed us this pile of “s”? Dey got no “effin” principles, dat’s what.

What’s up with all this? Don’t ask! You insist? Rrrrrr…. okay, then. But you asked for it, friend. First of all, welcome once again to the general vicinity of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, where we have availed ourselves of those alleys not already occupied by creatures significantly more fierce than ourselves. (Mice? They tolerate us. Rats? We surrender. Simple rules of the unforgiving streets.) Dislocated and made homeless by that extraterrestrial usurper, Mayor Gizmandiar (formerly of the planet we know as “New Earth”), we have applied every legal remedy we can think of to reclaim our squat house. And all it has earned us is a gag order… and a bitter betrayal. Oh, yes…. betrayal!

First, the gag order. Actually, it’s not your usual variety. It’s more like a judicial parental filter, the “v” chip, if you will, of legal proscriptions. The local magistrate (also an extraterrestrial now, by the way… I think that was a case of transubstantiation, but I would need Mitch Macaphee here to confirm that) has ordered us to refrain from any “foul, profane, or abusive language that might ordinarily be considered ‘swearing’ or ‘speaking obscenely'”, an addendum to his writ helpfully listing words and phrases covered by the gag order. They include:

f**k

c**k

c**ksucker

*sshole

m*th*rf**k*r

sh*t

f**k*ng sh*t

f**k*ng c**k

g*dd*mn s*nuvab*tch

…and a few others I’d frankly never heard before. Well, as you can imagine, this has left us with very, very few options in normal conversation. I mean, how am I to properly communicate to Marvin (my personal robot assistant) exactly how fast I want him to perform some menial task, eh? How the heck am I supposed to compel that freaking man-sized tuber to get his butt out of my easy chair if I can’t use foul or abusive language. This is freaking killing me!

Okay, now as if that wasn’t bad enough, we have just learned that sometime over the course of the last few days, whilst we were seeking warmth in cellar window-wells and sifting through garbage for sustenance, Gizmandiar and his fellow lawn-obsessed space aliens got together enough scratch to buy out our corporate label, Loathsome Pr*ck Records. Under their new management, they have (of course) refused to intervene on our behalf and are now threatening to cancel our distribution deal if we don’t swear our allegiance to Gizmandiar. J*sus effin’ Christmas!

So, yeah… the ne’er-do-wells at our label have, in essence, sold us up the river (or down the alley) in exchange for gold bullion and stock options. Who woulda’ thunk it? Loathsome Pr*ck always seemed such a pleasant sort of company. Such is life. It may be necessary to take drastic measures. Next week: the sh*t hits the fan.

Mitt happens.

I expect some of you saw the Republican debate this past week – ten-strong G.O.P. hopefuls in a fiddling contest as Rome burns around them, sparked by an ember first coddled by the sainted Ronald Reagan, whose administration launched the resurgent America now being destroyed by his veep’s mutant spawn. Yes, it was a proud moment indeed when applause could be heard at the mere mention of torture (or “enhanced interrogation techniques”, as some put it). McCain, of course, gave his standard speech about torture – inspiring, until you recall that the “anti-torture” legislation he ultimately signed onto last year has holes big enough to pass a dozen waterboards through. To be certain, he was the only one there who’d ever experienced torture, and I imagine he and his fellow P.O.W.’s may have believed during their captivity, as McCain suggested, that America would never abuse prisoners in such a way. Just a ways south of the “Hanoi Hilton”, however, the C.I.A. and local allies were applying grisly and often lethal techniques on their captives with sickening regularity, particularly in connection with the Phoenix program, which left probably 20,000 dead (many of whom, like so many current detainees, may as well have been picked at random). Of course, how that is any worse than just dropping cluster bombs or jellied gasoline on people kind of escapes me.

So, yes… the FoxNews-sponsored event (hosted by correspondent Shit Fume… I mean, Brit Hume) turned into a pissing match over who was the bigger troglodyte on prisoner abuse. In all, I think Mitt Romney deserves a special prize for saying that Guantanamo should be “doubled.” Reasoning? We don’t want those terrorists to have access to our laws and equitable (ahem) justice system – to do so would only contribute to the collapse of western civilization and the universal values it represents. So… we can’t allow our western standard of human rights to apply to them because that would undermine our western standard of human rights. Well done, Mitt. Beautiful circularity. And that sort of sotto voce delivery (a la Reagan) is getting better every time I hear it. (Of course, Tom Tancredo gets a special prize for exclaiming, “We need Jack Bauer!” to deal with Shit Fume’s 24-esque straw man torture scenario.)

We were also treated this week to some of the actual real-world reasoning behind keeping terror suspects out of the courtroom. As with the Phoenix program, I’m certain many of these detainees were captured on the basis of an informant accusation – perhaps a disgruntled neighbor or the like – or some other questionable evidence that might not stand up in open court. At Jose Padilla’s trial, for instance, the prosecution presented a kind of Al Qaeda recruitment document that purportedly had Padilla’s fingerprints on it. Of course, the guy was held in an extra judicial hole for years and had his wits tortured out of him to the point where he cannot even aid in his own defense, so it’s just possible that during that long process he may have been presented with this document during “enhanced” interrogation. Fact is, it seems the real reason they don’t want to try terror suspects in open court is that they often don’t have much of a case against them.

Note to Mitt and colleagues (both Republican and Democrat): if you don’t have a case, you shouldn’t be holding people. That’s supposed to be one of our founding principles. Why are you all so afraid of that?

luv u,

jp

Huzzah!

Whirl, whirl, twist and twirl… jump around like a flying squirrel. You pull my beard, I’ll pull your’n. Pick him up and hit ‘im in the head. Hit ‘im again, that critter ain’t dead!

Dang! (I mean, damn!) You learn the weirdest little songs living in the alley. With this heat, everybody’s got their windows open, and the fragrant tendrils of sweet country music waft out into the night and accost your unprotected eardrums. Right now I’m hearing some kind of a twangy ho-down emanating from about three stories up. Probably high time I show my appreciation – Oy! Oy! Toin it down, duh radio! That’s better. (At least I feel better about it – the freaking music is still there…)

Yes, well… if you guessed that the alien-mayor Gizmandiar has succeeded thus far in keeping us out of our adopted home (squat house) the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, then you are indeed correct. Matt, John, Marvin (my personal robot assistant), Mitch Macaphee (Marvin’s personal inventor), Trevor James Constable (keeper of the patented orgone generating device, as seen on T.V.), the man-sized tuber (no parenthetical comment can do him justice), Big Zamboola (former planet), Lincoln (our famous president), and anti-Lincoln (his evil twin) have all been released into the wild, there to do what nature commands. In my case, that’s sleeping in this alley. ‘Cause that’s the kind of fella that I am. (I’m biding my time….)

Others in our party – let’s face it – are more ambitious than me and the man-sized tuber (who’s in the next alley over). Mitch Macaphee is, after all, a man of relative means; a veritable Tarzan of mad science, swinging by vine from international conference to research fellowship to faculty posting. Right now he’s off to Madagascar on some kind of government research initiative (reinventing Lysol, I believe is what he said). In any case, Mitch has options. So has Trevor James, who spent a week in solidarity with us before lighting off to his ranch in California where comfort and plenty await. (Who can blame him, right? I said, am I right?? Is this bloody thing on?)

My apologies. You get cranky out in the alley – I’m sure I don’t have to explain. Anyway – that leaves us with Marvin, the two Lincolns, Big Zamboola, and of course, the tuber… none of whom has anywhere better to go (trust me on this). And as you know, Marvin has little choice, since he is an automated servo mechanism programmed to respond to my voice commands, however imperfectly. I have instructed him to negotiate our return to the Mill and, if necessary, to raise the money for any fines levied against our account. So far no progress – in fact, he’s been sputtering and clanging in the same spot since I issued that command about a week ago. (Personally, I doubt he’s even started the assignment….) Bloody servo mechanisms! When do I get a proper robot? And where’s my jet pack!

Yes, Marvin may be malfunctioning. And his repair man is – wait for it – Mitch Macaphee, now a temporary resident of distant Madagascar. Crikey – don’t tell me I’ll have to send the Lincolns to do our negotiating! Last time they agreed on something, the Confederacy fired on Fort Sumter. (Not the diplomatic type…)

Old uncle Osama.

Looks as though the FBI has snagged some would-be terrorists – a group of Muslims originally from Bosnia, Jordan, and elsewhere allegedly crazy enough to want to attack a military installation in the U.S. Strange choice – kind of like planning to rob a police station, but never mind. A triumphal week in the never-ending, absolute total war against terrorism, right? Well… not entirely. This was also the week that Luis Posada Carriles was allowed to walk, his immigration-related charges having been thrown out by a federal judge. But this septuagenarian is not just somebody’s elderly uncle who entered the country illegally to visit a sick relative. A former C.I.A. operative, Posada is one of the alleged masterminds of the 1976 bombing of a civilian airliner that resulted in the deaths of all 73 people on board. He was jailed in connection with this charge by the Venezuelan government – not the current one, mind you, but a very pro-U.S. administration – based on an international investigation carried out by several Caribbean nations, including Trinidad and Tobago, Barbados, and Cuba. (Check out this story on DemocracyNow! as well as related documents on the National Security Archive web site.)

Trivia question: Who was head of the C.I.A. back in the mid-seventies? George Bush the elder. Funny story – while president, the elder Bush pardoned Posada’s co-conspirator in the airliner bombing, anti-Castro fanatic Orlando Bosch, who now lives like a war hero in Miami. But this is not just another Bush story; this policy runs deep. Despite all the high-octane rhetoric, the United States has long been a fairly congenial retirement destination for aging terrorists. Posada is hardly the first, or even the most heinous, bad though he is. Aside from him and Bosch, there’ve been people like Emmanuel “Toto” Constant, leader of the Haitian paramilitary group FRAPH and another C.I.A. asset, who was living a fairly comfortable existence until being picked up in connection with a mortgage fraud scheme, to which he has pled guilty. (Kill and rape hundreds, perhaps thousands, in cold blood and you walk. But don’t defraud the consumer!) Plenty of Latin American and Southeast Asian killers have been welcomed into our neighborhoods and universities, stopping just briefly to rinse the blood off their hands as they enter. And what the hell do you call Oliver North if not a terror leader, organizing and supplying the Contra army of murderous thugs during the 1980s (an enterprise to which Posada also contributed his grisly talents) as they attacked co-op farms, clinics, and anything else they were certain was undefended.

So… some terrorists get thrown into dark cells in client states; others go to a hero’s welcome in Miami or get their own T.V. show on Fox. It’s all about targeting. If they kill people who don’t count, there are no consequences… and there are often rewards, in fact. If they threaten our friends or ourselves, it’s a whole different story. Buy letting Posada walk, we’re saying it’s okay to blow up planes if the civilians on board happen to live in a country we have some dispute with. What the hell kind of “War on Terror” is that? I mean, doesn’t our government’s very definition of terrorism incorporate violence against innocents to achieve some political end? If Posada, Bosch, and their like are deemed not worthy of prosecution, doesn’t that serve to legitimize Bin Laden’s attack on the World Trade Center? I don’t know about you, but that disgusts the living hell out of me. Those of you who’ve been reading this column for a long time know that I am no fan of U.S. policy towards Cuba, but even if I supported the embargo, I’m sure I could distinguish between those committed to peaceful democratization of the island and those willing to blow ordinary people to bits to express their opposition to Castro.

Let Posada walk? To borrow a Steven Colbert phrase, that’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.

luv u,

jp

Write soon (right soon).

That’s one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, now go, cat, go! Don’t you step on my… ah, what’s the use? Can’t do covers… even when I’m panhandling.

Welcome back. I almost said “to the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill,” but I caught myself in time. Actually, our august squat house is now, indeed, abandoned… in the sense that there is now no one in it. Yes, friends… our new extra-terrestrial mayor, Gizmandiar, has made good on his threat to evict us – call it a down payment on the opportunistic election campaign he’s planning for this fall. This fucker’s racking up empty promises so fast, you could swear he was born on the planet earth. (In fact, never having seen this creature, I can’t say for certain that he wasn’t.) Everywhere you turn in this town now, it’s Gizmandiar’s doing this, and Gizmandiar’s in favor of that…. and one of those things he’s doing is enforcing building codes and vagrancy laws, no matter how obscure. Hence, our homelessness. (He sent in the goons. And let me tell you, baby… they’re good at what they do.)

Matt, John, Mitch Macaphee, and the others (with the exception of the two Lincolns) think that the lawn-loving space people are just sticklers for the law, and when they took over the town government (by bribing our local officials all the way to Tahiti), they went on a good-government rampage. I personally think that this Gizmandiar character is taking revenge on us for complaining about the carpet-like lawn they established in our courtyard when they first arrived on this sorry planet. What the hell, I even cajoled Trevor James Constable into training his orgone generating device on their space craft. I’m sure even on their anemic planet, turnabout is fair play. (Though if they have negative gravitation, that may not be the case.) Whatever the truth may be, they have found an effective way to squelch criticism of their landscaping fetish…. and we’ve earned our one-way ticket to palookaville. (I coulda been a contender! I coulda been somebody… instead of a bum….)

Now, I don’t know about you, but I think it’s one hell of a coincidence that astronomers have discovered a strangely Earth-like planet a mere 20 light years away at precisely the same time that these odd space aliens showed up in our little town. We asked Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to calculate the odds of these two events happening at the same time, and the results were astounding – seventy-three trillion to one against. (Of course, those are the same odds Marvin gave me when I asked him if it was going to rain last weekend…. and it rained last weekend. So yes, he could certainly be a meteorologist in this town.) So… is it true? Are the local aliens really from the strange rocky world known as “New Earth?” Can discarded lawn darts really be repurposed as inexpensive bottle openers? Is guar gum a vegetable? Is our children learning?

Yes, friends…. the answers to these and other questions can be found right here next week. And for all those who wrote letters of sympathy and support for your friends in Big Green last week, all I can say is… something went wrong down at the post office, because we didn’t receive any letters of sympathy and support. (I haven’t checked the trash can today, to be fair.) Write us, damnit – we need scrap paper!

Official site of the band Big Green