Not Necessarily The News

Excuse me while I try to yell over the braying of the sheep, because what we've got here is a failure to communicate. So...Michael Jackson died. You know what? Big deal. The guy hasn't done any appearances outside of court since the late 90s. I'm still not convinced this isn't another attempt to rip off McCartney. (See: Paul is Dead) "But he touched millions!" the crowd says. I don't think he was ever formally convicted of that. (If you think that makes me an asshole...Hi! I'm Chris, have we met?)

So, while the media turns into a Perez Hilton sideshow, the US is pulling out of Iraqi cities. Hundreds have died since the announcement was made. No vigils are being held. The International Pissing Contest is reaching a crescendo as North Korea threatens to launch nukes and Iran takes offense to Obama's stance against the violence. Hundreads have died. Thousands more potentially should this go the distance. Jesse Jackson is not pushing for answers. Probably because there's less cameras over there covering it.

You go ahead and light your candles for a fallen pop star who had faded well before he vanished. I'll take the "asshole" stamp you've given me, press it firmly to my forehead, and wear it with pride. I'd rather be regarded as an jerk for not caring about the one so long as I don't bleed indifference over the many.

A desparate piece

I stopped at the Sunoco near my work. The place has been open for about a year now and has yet to have fuel in the pumps. I go in to get cigarettes and some water. As I'm leaving a fairly attractive woman approaches me. She says she's got her baby in the car and she needs money for gas to get home. I can spare five bucks, so I let her have it. She sees I have a cigarette, and I give her one. I figure my good deed for the year is done. I'm reaching for my keys, and she asks if I'm single. I say yes, and go about opening my door. She comes back around to my side of the car and states that if I can give her fourty dollars for gas and cigarettes, she'll make it worth my while. I'm filled with a kind of sadness that the economy has gone this far. I am not naive, but she obviously wasn't a working girl, and in an act of need was willing to give herself for money. I told her that if I had the fourty to spare, I'd give it to her without compensation, but I can't spare it. She seemed kind of saddened by this, as if her last ditch effort wasn't good enough. I told her to just take what I gave her and get her kid out of this heat.

I'm still puzzled and slightly depressed by this.

We need a fix.

We need it fast.

Mothers shouldn't need to resort to this to get by.

Democracy

A major election is held and a president that a country didn't necessarily vote into office garners control. The masses complain mildly and turn up their noses.

A major election is held and a president that a country didn't necessarily vote into office garners control. The streets amass with rioters, protesters, and police presence.

It's amazing how one country treats the process like it means something great, and another country treats the same process like picking their favorite Super Bowl commercial.

Now maybe I'm making derogatory comments towards the kettle, but how jaded have we become? Sure, we've got who everyone wanted in office now, save for those few delusional die hards on the right wing who keep swearing our head man is in cahoots with Al Queida, Marylin Manson, Anne Murray, Satan, and Jame "Buffalo Bill" Gumm, but the most we got out of the questionable election of W was a bit of whining and some sarcastic comments. (Guilty)

Iranians, on the other hand, in a similar but not exactly the same situation, have been staging protests for days. Women are shedding their burkas (for lack of regional nomenclature) in protest. Streets are borderline war zones. The people, in so many words, are pissed off.

Where was that? Where did our revolutionary spirit go? It's still in the Constitution. It was telling us it's perfectly ok to toss out the government if it got this way. But we did...nothing. Then did it again 4 years later. In all fairness, it was like voting between your drinking buddy and a week old morgue resident, but that's not the point.

I seriously admire the Iranian people for speaking out and making a difference in a country where doing so could cost them their lives. I seriously wish we had had the moxy to do so ourselves, in a country where the most it would have got us is some bad press and glib remarks on Fox News.

Adrienne

I found out last night that one of my exes died back in February. She was one of the rare exes that didn't completely hate me after the break up: Her main issue with me was that I wasn't black nor was I a white guy pretending to be black. Anyway, she was horribly misunderstood, had an attitude but heart at the same time. Beneath her Asian white trash paradox of a persona was an individual who was never afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believed.

I'd say I'd miss her, but I'd be lying. We hadn't talked much in the last year. I don't really feel anything other than knowing that she had the potential to do good, and given more time she may have succeeded. If there is an afterworld, she's probably sitting with Estelle Getty and Bea Arthur watching her favorite episodes of Golden Girls.

Note: Don't mistake the last paragraph for whimsy. I've been out of stock on that for years and the shipment of it sank in the ice roads north of Manitoba.

I'm not going to ask any of you to say a prayer for her, because you didn't know her and that would make me a hypocrite. I won't even end this with anything schmaltzy like "stay in touch with those you care about" or any other such bullshit that you could easily find on the inside of a Hallmark card.

Nobody say "Sorry" to me, because I don't really feel anything. I think maybe typing all of this was an effort to see if I would. I guess now I know.

Fin.

Interlude

Celebration

For the first time in 5 years I saw my son. It was this Sunday, in the manufactured village known as Celebration, FL. For the occasion, it is aptly named. The place exists, though it probably shouldn't. The morning was beautiful, and my son is happy and healthy and still remembers his old man. I felt like a heel for having to go to work after only getting to spend an hour and a half with him, but child support doesn't pay itself. I was actually happy and in somewhat good spirits for the first time in a long while, listening to him telling me stories, not wanting to leave my side. Smiling. These are the things I should remember and should have stuck with me, and they do, but the happiness was like a new born cub, and the dark sarcastic bitterness that usually fills me snatched it up like so many hyenas. I still hold on to it, but now the thoughts on the town of Celebration that were lingering in the back of my mind the entire time surface.

If you have never been there, it is essentially a residence for the people of Disney and Electronic Arts. Not the park employees, mind you, but the higher ups and animation staff. The town skillfully crafted and beautiful, yet soulless. Sort of like someone made an architectural homage to Paris Hilton. The city streets are perfectly clean and lined with tidy small shops that I'm sure had happy proprietors who could market their wares and make a decent living. The market district had the look of a set from a Leave it to Beaver episode. I had to have a cigarette just to mire the air. It was too pristine.

We ate at the Market Street Grill. The food was good, but I couldn't help but think there was something sinister behind the smiles of the employees there. I saw it mostly in the waitress. The others hid it well, but looking back it does me good to know that in the suburb that Disney built there is still an underlying sense of desperation among the working class. Those that know that all is not fresh churned butter and fluffy pancakes, but there is the watered down coffee of the real world that they must return to at the end of the day.

Part of me envies the town. Part of me despises it. Both want to burn it to the ground. But I digress, as I feel I may have let the darker side take a hold of me too long, and I have been too long out of the light.

The Slow Suicide of GM: or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Obama

I'm sure you've heard the news by now. GM is going under like the Titanic. What you may not know is that this particular vessel hit the iceberg over 30 some years ago and has been sinking ever since. Campfire time, boys and girls, while I spin you a yarn of ignorance that could have been penned by the Brothers Farrelly.

We have to go back a ways, to the days when GM was sitting pretty on manufacturing cars to the customers liking and the world looked good for the American auto industry. It was just after WWII, and the US economy was the only economy left standing. There was much celebration and copulation and a good bit of that was taking place in the back of a GM vehicle. And things looked good. For a while.

Then came the Korean War, and the US Government commissioning cars from Japan as we still pretty much occupied the place and it was located so conveniently near the place where we needed to be. Come 1957, the Toyota Crown was introduced to the United States. It didn't go over so well, but it didn't die off either.

Enter the 70s and the first gas crisis. I'm sure there's a way for this to be pinned on disco or the Osmonds, but I haven't found it yet. That's beside the point. The fuel efficient and steady Japanese car began taking a big upswing in US sales, while the gas swilling US vehicles began sitting thirsty in ditches or as lawn ornaments. What happened? Well kids, the government set new levels of gas efficiency expectations, and the Japanese companies complied to these with ease, where as GM decided to go the loophole route and start building more trucks and introducing the SUV as a way to get around the stringent gas rules. But the problem stems back a bit further.

The Unions. See, back when the money coming in for GM was good, the Unions wanted their cut and GM complied, offering their employees pay plans for life and some of the best benefits money can buy. Where did the money for all this come from? The Research and Development department, of course. Instead of investing in technologic advances that would keep them ahead of the game, GM made the foolish gamble of putting their faith in an unchanging product and bowing to the demands of people who...for all intents and purposes...had no real idea about the coming trends in the mechanical and economic climate.

And Mr. Obama is not the first person to bail out GM. GM has been getting government protection since the 70s, as it was once the staple of the American automobile industry and to let it die would have killed the whole thing. Essentially all this last bail out did was buy a bit more time to get the funeral plans laid out. Face it, GM has been the business equivalent of Terri Schiavo for the last 30 some years, and we've been forcing money down it's feeding tubes in hopes of seeing some kind of life, but it just isn't there.

This brings me to Chrysler and the person CNBC dubbed "The Worst CEO of All Time," Bob Nardelli. Chrysler is a different beast all together, and I can almost guarantee they are in the situation they're in due to this man. Let's take a look at his track record for a moment, shall we?

Nardelli got his start at GE, where he was shut out from becoming the CEO by one Jeffery Immelt. Literally within minutes after leaving GE, Nardelli recieved a call to head up Home Depot. Here's the thing...for the first few years it almost looks like he was doing a decent job over at the Depot until you look at the fact that their growth rate...while still rising...was cut nearly in half when he took over. When the company was pretty much bankrupt and getting thrashed by Lowes (due in no small part to the awesomeness that is Gene Hackman's voice) , he took a nice 210 million dollar severance package and left.

Bringing us to Chrysler. The man actually blamed the poor auto sales on his company making cars too good. and I quote: "We spent about half a billion dollars in the first several months. Our warranty costs are down 29%. It's an interesting comparison because in the hearing today, going around the panel, the majority of the Senators said that citing specific vehicles that they own that they've got 60, 70, 80,000 miles. The comment was you guys are making them too good and therefore, we're not buying vehicles and we're contributing to your problem. That was from the Senators on the committee today. On April 30, 2009 Bob Nardelli announced that he would leave the company as soon as the bankruptcy was over."

And that was just talking to Wolf "I've got the coolest anchor name ever" Blitzer. In April, he turned down the government loan because it would have required him to cap the executive salary. 8 days later, the company filed for bankrupsy.

The bilingual hell that is Dora the Explorer*

*pronounced 'Explora,' because rhyming is more important than teaching young kids the importance of proper annunciation.

My niece is borderline 2. She is a huge fan of the saucy latina moppet known as Dora. However, Dora is the greatest plot to undermine American society since the fluoridation of water, Mandrake. Teaching our youth Spanglish when their minds are merely sponges, cultivating a society where the English language is perfectly ok to mangle so long as you do it in the presence of a monkey with a pair of golashes on. /limbaugh

The truth of the matter is that the show just creeps me out. The over long silence as the characters stare dead eyed at the screen, the inept ferret-thing thief. The talking backpack. The insidiously catchy and mind deadening song of the Map. To make matters worse, there was a recent effort to "grow up" what...for all visible purposes...is a six year old girl who's show aims to a demographic of 1 - 6. She's now going to be a "tween" for the older audiences.


So...the grand plan was to turn her into a Bratz doll?

I understand that parents are busy these days and the Grand Moff Television must raise our children, but can we please....PLEASE....stop the madness?

Rope = Awesome

This morning, I helped my friend Angel move a mattress up 3 flights of stairs. I was notified I would be doing this a few days ago, so it left me little time to prepare. Feeling very Boondock Saints like, I hit the store and picked up a length of rope. 100 ft of nylon goodness. I head to Angel's, rope in car, and assess the situation. Kim would have been there, but her hair was not the right color blue for such a situation. Angel's family told her cousin and I that the box spring was the heaviest, so we should move that first. The box spring was a lie. That was pretty light. We got that up the stairs no problem. The mattress was a different beast all together. So I get the rope out of the car, unwind and make a futile effort to untangle it, drop part of it from the balcony on the 3rd floor, and go back down to secure it to the mattress.

At this point, it was noted that it would have been quicker for the 2 of us to just carry the mattress up the stairs. Those pointing this out were all women, so didn't understand the awesomeness of what was taking place. We ran up the stairs and heaved the mattress up to the 3rd story, arms shredded in nylon ripped glory. Fuelled by victory, we carried the mattress to the bedroom, where it sat atop the box spring and formed a bed that was about 4.5 feet tall.

Unnecessary, you may say. But you were not there. The day belongs to the rope. Also, I now have 100 ft of rope for adventuring. I'm sure it will come in handy soon.

Random Thoughts

I think I have maybe 3 actual friends, 10 or so acquaintances I'm friendly with, 20 or so more people I'm kind of neutral with, and a good deep loathing for just about anyone else. I don't hate people specifically, only in general. Face it, people do stupid stupid things for stupid stupid reasons.

I've been told I should look into becoming a politician as I seem to be able to speak clearly and with candor and have some decent ideas. People who tell me this obviously don't actually listen to the words that come from my mouth, as me being in charge of anything would be a very bad idea. I should not be in control of anything more influential than the TV remote. I have no tact.

I've been told I should do stand up, as people seem to think what I say is humorous. I really just say what's on my mind. I don't think I'm all that funny. I also don't think I care enough what people think about me to stand in front of an audience. I would probably offend many people. Maybe this isn't such a bad idea.

I think most Floridians are self absorbed douche bags. Any time I go to Ybor, I feel like this is confirmed.

The "guys in skinny jeans" trend makes me want to throw punches. Knock it off. Seriously. Wear clothes that fit properly and quit being girls.

Speaking of wearing clothes that fit properly...quit buying the over-sized clothing so you can look cool in the hood. Tall people like myself need these clothes as they actually fit. I'm tired of my options being limited to bad Hawaiian shirts and ill fitting pants when I actually decide I need more clothes.

I feel anyone who wears boxer-briefs are indecisive about their position in life. Boxers or briefs, man. It's not that big a deal.

I am tired of women complaining they end up with assholes when they essentially go out with the express purpose of finding one. You want a guy that respects you? Don't go to the bar and act like an airhead. Problem solved.

I blame Girls Gone Wild commercials for my inability to take the Steel Drum seriously as a musical instrument.

Can anyone tell me what Samuel L. Jackson's actual age is? That dude's like Dick Clark (pre-stroke.)

Quitter.

I'm trying Ringo. I'm trying real hard to quit smoking. But those cigarettes are sexy little sirens and they keep calling me to the rocks. I've cut back, I've even gone a sporadic day or so without one, but the sinister urge is still there. I tried signing up for the state of Florida's assistance site, but the navigation of it alone sent me outside with a square in hand. I called their help line, they're going to be sending me free patches, gum, lozenges, and having a free counselor call me and help me out, but that doesn't start for a week or so, and I won't see the gear for a week after that. I want to be done with it now. As it stands now, I've gone from smoking a pack a day down to about 5 cigs a day, but I want it gone. From what I've heard, it's easier to quit heroin. Damn the Camel.

I'm pretty sure I can take a Prius in a fight.

So I'm walking to the grocery store during my new morning routine to grab some breakfast and get some exercise in at the same time, the soulful voice of Chuck Norris singing the theme song from Walker Texas Ranger in my head, when I walk past a parking lot entrance and am almost hit by a Prius. The odd little lady who was driving it seemed to be a bit angry that I was occupying the space where her car should be, even though I was there first. After a brief stare down, I moved out of the way and allowed her to pass. It was at that moment that I started weighing my odds against the compact menace that was the Prius.

1) Weight - The weight advantage would go to the Prius, as I'm not constructed of plastics and metals. However, I'm pretty sure that if the same thing had occured 6 months ago, I probably would have had the advantage in this category.

2) Height - I definitely take the advantage here. The Prius came just about up to the bottom of my chest. I think that if I were to lay down flat next to the vehicle, I'd still have it beat by a few inches. Those cars are pretty tiny.

3) Reach - Advantage: Me. I have a wing span of about 6 and a half feet, where as the Prius doesn't have arms. You could count its front tires as arms, I suppose, but even then they don't extend past the body.

4) Agility - I also take the win here, mainly due to the fact that I can jump without the assistance of a ramp and a stunt driver. Even then, I think I would take this category.

5) Speed - This is a tough one. Sure, if the Prius has room to excellerate, it will go much faster than I'm capable of going. However, there's not much room to speed up in a boxing ring, so I think I would hold the advantage here.

6) Psychology - This is pretty much a draw, mainly due to the car's inability to speak and my inability to effectively communicate words that a car can understand.

The main reason I think I would win, however, is my opposable thumbs. They give me the ability to grab baseball bats I could use to beat the car down with.

I'm open to any opinions you all may have on this, but I'm 97% positive I would win the fight.

Adventure!

I was sitting around the apartment, bored off my ass and tired of just sitting and killing time until I had to be at work. I longed for an adventure. I hopped into the car and headed to where I knew there would be plenty of entertainment today. The Brandon Town Center.

For those that are unfamiliar with the Brandon Town Center, this is the largest mall in Florida. The structure itself is visible from space. It encompasses well over 2 miles of consumerism and features not one, but TWO Starbucks within pissing distance of each other. (This holds true if you are capable of peeing through walls.) I went to the Pantera Bread on the outskirts of the monolith and set myself in a decent spot for watching the crowd.

Above: Pantera Bread in Brandon Town Center

The mall itself was a wretched hive of scum and douchebaggery. Abercrombie as far as the eye could see. Mothers dressed as if they were wanting to be tracked down by the folks at MilfHunter strolling with their inappropriately dressed daughters returning gifts given to them from the heart for "something they really wanted." I understand returning an item if you got a double gift or if someone bought you clothes that don't fit, but because someone didn't get you just what you wanted seems to be kind of shallow to me.

Anyway, I sipped my coffee and enjoyed some broccoli cheese soup, noting the vapid conversation going on around me, as if the dialogue from Juno had lost all of it's charm and humor and was re-written by Billy Mays in an effort to make his knock-off Bedazzler sound cooler. There was preening abound as twenty-somethings primed themselves for mating season. I had to force myself not to go around un-popping collars, as my trip was merely for analytical purposes.

Above: approximation of average guy walking around Brandon Town Center

To avoid being swept into the crowd of fake tans and designer clothing, I left the mall, watching 3 near deaths in the parking lot before making my way out of my parking space 20 minutes later.

It was a nice reminder as to why I avoid that place at all costs, but a valuable life lesson none the less.

Big Head Todd

It has been over a year since I've washed up on the shore. It's been quite the adventure. I've switched jobs, focused on classes, honed my skills, and went through the Quickening. I've had my heart ripped out and beaten, twice, and it is now kept in a box I have buried just outside of Poughkeepsie. Ladies, get your shovels. To those of you that will continue reading my blogs, I thank you. To those of you who don't read my blog, you'll never see this, so rest secure knowing that I've probably said some fairly horrible things about your mother. For those that are new to my blogging, it's usually not for the weak or easily offended.

Now, on to the subject of this blog. The character I have dubbed Big Head Todd until I can think of a better one. I am currently in the middle of a 6 week training class for my new job. The trainer is some guy who's about as old as I am, looks 12, has a severe Napoleon complex, and isn't too fond of yours truely. But that will be another blog for another time. The current barnacle keeping my ship from sailing properly is a fellow who may or may not be in his mid 40s. His admitted past of heavy drug abuse could have aged him and he may well be 17, but I never bothered to ask. I do what I can to avoid conversation with him. His head is roughly the size of an overinflated basket ball and he's one of those characters that has something to say about everything, which in my experience means he knows nothing about anything.

He has the voice of someone who has smoked since he was in the womb, and it constantly says stupid, time wasting things. I'm very curious as to how he made it through the interview without the person doing the interview stabbing him repeatedly with the closest piece of office equipment that would do the job. You can't mention a thing to him without his wanting to "one up" everything.

I will elaborate further on later a later occasion, as right now I'm going cross-eyed from thinking about it.

Fly On Thunderbird.

It was 1994. A somewhat cool if not humid evening on field for the Brandon Eagle's homecoming game. It was the one game during the year we were almost guaranteed to win, as we were playing the Bloomingdale Gucci-Crew. I don't remember the details of the game, but as halftime rolled around we were treated to the sounds of Chris Isaac, playing "Wicked Game" 3 or 4 times in a row, as he didn't remember any of his other songs. There was a brief pause as the field was cleared of middle-aged women who swooned themselves into a drunken stupor. Then, from out of the sky parachuted none other than legendary rock band Quiet Riot, instruments in tow and perfectly tuned upon landing so they could belt out their 1 facemelter "Cum On Feel Da Noize". Metal health drove the crowd mad.

Ok, this didn't actually happen. But it was talked about constantly as being the greatest possible high school half time show ever.

I bring up this memory because Kevin Dubrow, lead singer of Quiet Riot, passed away this weekend. I'd actually gotten to see the band once in Louisiana, playing in a mansion that was converted to a sort of underground rock club. It was entertaining, if not a little sad. But for all the jokes about Quiet Riot that myself and others have made, I really don't think a band has entertained our imagination more. So fly on, thunderbird. Hopefully you'll get to your destination in a slick black cadillac.

Nell!

Yes, that is a very dated reference to the animated mounty, Dudley Doright. Why do I make this reference? Because I have come to realize that I am a veritable Magneto. No, not for iron and metals, which would admittedly be awesome. Instead, my powers of polarization seem to attract the Damsels in Distress. The Queens of Quandries. The Mistresses of Mental. I am their masculine Statue of Liberty, holding the torch in the middle of a sea of instability.

Case in point: Today I'm sitting at my desk when this absolutely gorgeous girl walks in. Picture a young Joan Jett, sans 80's hairdo. The other technicians damn near fell off their seats watching her come in. She comes up to the desk and coos that she needs some help getting her amplifier out of her car. So, I stroll out to her mid 80s Volvo station wagon, grab her amp, and walk back in, the lady smiling at me the whole time. During the entering of the information, she's flirting with me like mad, leaning over the desk and laughing way too much at things I say that are slightly sarcastic. As I move her equipment to the back, she starts singing. Tuneless....tuneless singing. I come back to have her sign her paperwork and notice the wedding ring that she's been gamely trying to hide.

From this I gathered that a) she's in a crappy marriage and I seemed like just the morally corrupt fellow to help her out of it and b) she's stark raving mad.

I could write this off as a one time deal if I hadn't noticed that this has been a sort of pattern for me ever since I was at least 18.

I know all women are crazy. This is a scientific fact. The only reason the study hasn't been released is because all women ARE crazy and actually having the documentation to proove it would only drive them further over the edge. The thing is, the ones that always find me are the ones who already pulled a mental Thelma and Louise and the car hasn't landed yet.

Look for me to be making an appearance on Springer some time in the not too distant future.

The Musical Travesty Tour: Part 4 - Color Me Badd

So one day, Kenny G., George Michaels, Vanilla Ice, and Terence Trent D'Arby got together and decided to capitalize on the all male singing quartet fad that was sweeping the nation. After the huge success stories that were Boyz II Men and Jodeci, Color Me Badd burst onto the scene with "I Want to Sex You Up," which casually invites women to come inside, take off their clothes, with the promise of being made to feel at home. I, for one, don't know a single woman that feels at home when taking off their clothes, unless they spend an ample amount of time in their own home running around with the lights off yelling "don't look at me." Looking past the accidental financial success that this group became off their one hit (yet somehow managed to have a "Best Of" album) this is one terrible, terrible mistake.

Lacking the fun, sincerity, and even somewhat philosophical nature of Boyz II Men, and the testosterone to pull off the "dirty" songs like Jodeci, Color Me Badd estrogened their way to a hit single, relying mainly on pretty boy posturing and the stupidity of teenage girls (see: New Kids on the Block). Despite all this, the group enjoyed fairly large financial success of their first 2 albums.

Then, out of the clear blue skies, the success that Color Me Badd had enjoyed was pulled from underneath them on the release of their 3rd album. Some would say it smells like justice. Others would say it smells like inevitability. The record, however, will clearly show that it Smells Like Teen Spirit. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. The smooth, corporate white-boy R&B sound that was Color Me Badd was shut down by the crunchy fuck-it-all white-boy sounds of Nirvana.

Having lost their contract after their 4th album went no-where fast, the band split. This is not the end of the story though. One would figure that this would be enough, but this group has been responsible for far greater travesties post mortem.

Sam "I Swear I'm Not Kenny G" Watters went on to become a music producer, responsible for polluting our air with Celine Dion, Anastacia, and 98 Degrees. Kevin "I Probably Am Terence Trent D'Arby" Thornton went on to the lucrative gold mine that is gospel based hip-hop. Mark "one of the other white guys" Calderon is now...god help me...an insurance salesman. Bryan "Ice Ice Latte" Abrams is star of VH1's "Manband" and is currently recording a single with the Insane Clown Posse.

It's eerie how some of these are tying together.

Dennis Kucinich has balls the size of watermelons.

I say this without ever having seen them. It would explain why that red headed amazon is married to him, though. The reason I bring up the testicular fortitude of our would-be Elrond the Elf King of America is this:

Dennis Kucinich has put forth a motion to impeach Vice President Cheney.

I can seriously see Kucinich hiking with Sean Astin as they move to through the mechanical heart of the Dark Lord Cheney into the fires of Mount Doom. I also know for a fact that Cheney has an army of orcs and the viscous Nazgul at his disposal deep inside Number One Observatory Circle.

I expect a massive smear campaign against Kucinich to hamper his presidential hopes to come directly from the White House. I also expect an oath to smear his face with the blood of the elf-kin to come from Cheney.

The reasons for the impeachment stem back to the infamous claims of chemical weapons that were supposedly being held in Iraq, with Kucinich boldly calling The Dark Lord a liar, and selectively picking apart intelligence for his own purposes. Having summoned all the courage of his friends Pippin and Merry, and with some help from the wise Gandalf, Kucinich presents his argument to the grand council of Man, the Judiciary Committee:

"The Vice President's deception upon the citizens and Congress of the United States that enabled the failed United States invasion of Iraq forcibly altered the rules of diplomacy such that the Vice President's recent belligerent actions towards Iran are destabilizing and counterproductive to the national security of the United States."

And merrilly did Tom Bombadil dance and play his flute as Kucinich continued:

"In all of this, Vice President Richard B. Cheney has acted in a manner contrary to his trust as Vice President, and subversive of constitutional government, to the prejudice of the cause of law and justice and the manifest injury of the people of the United States."

"His treachery runs deeper than you know. By foul craft, Cheney has crossed Orcs with goblin men. He's breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Cheney is coming for the Ring!" Screamed Ted Stevens as he donned an ashtray as a helmet and shot Wayne Allard (R -CO) with a bow and arrow he'd apparently been keeping under his desk.

In all seriousness, may this pass, and may God have mercy on Kucinich's soul.

The Musical Travesty Tour: Part 3 - Woodstock '99

The 30th anniversary of the beloved original Woodstock was an attempt to recreate the success and feelings of community from the 1969 outdoor festival, where there was a celebrated "sense of social harmony, the quality of music, and the overwhelming mass of people, many sporting bohemian dress, behavior, and attitudes."

Woodstock '99 was pretty much the polar opposite of that original spirit of peace, love, and understanding. To quote MTV News anchor (and collossal douche bag) Kurt Loder: "It was dangerous to be around. The whole scene was scary. There were just waves of hatred bouncing around the place, (...) It was clear we had to get out of there.... It was like a concentration camp. To get in, you get frisked to make sure you're not bringing in any water or food that would prevent you from buying from their outrageously priced booths. You wallow around in garbage and human waste. There was a palpable mood of anger." In short, a cluster-fuck.

There were plenty of acts playing at Woodstock '99 that sort of fit the mold of the artists that played the original, including The Roots, DMB, Alanis Morrissette, and Elvis Costello. However, the inclusion of Rage Against the Machine, Limp Bizkit, Metallica, Megadeth, Insane Clown Posse, and the ever present ne'er-do-well Moby ended up working an already frenzied crowd into even more of a frenzy. The fires, looting, and violence is pretty well blamed on Limp Bizkit, who's song "Break Stuff" apparently worked the crowd into a frenzy. (This is either because of the songs lyrics inviting people to "give me something to break," or because Limp Bizkit sucks so horribly bad that the crowd grew angry and restless.) Further adding to the fire, literally, was an on stage burning of the American flag by Rage Against the Machine, and an apparent attempt by the Red Hot Chili Peppers to encourage more bonfires by playing a cover of Jimi Hendrix's "Fire". (It should be noted that Kiedis stated the song was played as a request from Jimi's daughter who was in attendance.)

By the end of the night, there were 4 rape charges being made, at least one of which took place in the middle of the mosh pit, a small bus in flames along side a few of the towers and booths, ATM machines and concession stands robbed, and 7 arrests.

Surprisingly, noone died. This is the only thing that puts the '99 Woodstock ahead of the original, which saw 3 deaths (none due to violence.)

It's hard to say whether or not promoters will try to pull a 40th anniversary Woodstock out in '09. Given that greed is a strong motivator, I'd look for this next accident waiting to happen to be promoted by the middle of next year.

The Musical Travesty Tour: Part 2: Celine Dion

Some might say this is an easy target. It is. However, I'm not focusing on the expanse of Celine Dion's reign of musical terror that harkens back to the days of Disney soundtracks with Peebo Bryson, cluminating in her Hitler-esque domination of the music charts thanks to the Titanic soundtrack, and her current status as the new Las Vegas mainstay. No, Ms. Dion has committed a far more greater and savage act of audio-terrorism with her performance at the Divas Las Vegas show:




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FONt47Z0KZg

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. She covered AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long." For those of you that live in the South American rain forests in grass huts, "You Shook Me All Night Long" is a song full of thinly veiled innuendo essentially referring to the lead singers sexual exploits with an American woman, which is only properly belted out in the gravelly yowl and male machismo that is Brian Johnson's voice. Now, it may come as a surprise that this song has been covered previously by other female artists, such as Kelly Clarkson, Tori Amos, and most understandably Melissa Ethridge. But none has made such a Hindenberg-like disaster of the song as Celine Dion, who tainted it with her vile Canadianess and Singier-than-thou attitude. This is including the Apologetix Christian version entitled "You Booked Me."

Somewhere, deep in his subterranian lair, Peebo Bryson has seen this. He has seen and he is pleased. For decades he has watched as the reanimated skeleton that is Celine rise to untold pop fame and pop fortune. And he bides his time, knowing that this musical nugget is the beginning of Celine's inevitable decline, and he will rise again...