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Danzig, Black Sabbath and Jesus

by Tony Ballz • September 13, 2014

Step into the Wayback Machine, Sherman, and set those dials for the glory daze of Flagstaff’s punk scene, about ‘93-‘94ish. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Life in The Mothership with me, Dave N, and our rotating third roommate wasn’t all dance parties, cheap drugs, getting loaded with touring bands, casual sex with high school girls, and running down O’Leary street naked in the snow.

Many an evening found us sitting in our tiny living room, staring into space and bored out of our skulls. Money was scarce. Prank phone calls (in the days before caller-ID) were always dependable cheap fun, but after you’ve dialed the Village Inn and asked for the hair pie twice in a week, what’s left?

We had plenty of music, but the lack of visual stimulation was usually the issue. Cable TV was a luxury and the VCR worked about half the time. The internet didn’t exist (in Flagstaff, anyway). Dave and our friend Clea were aficionados of bad ‘80s movies, and I was fortunate enough to work in a store that had plenty of them for rent (free to employees, of course).

Fully enjoyable was the double feature of Grease II (starring Adrian “The Zmed” Zmed and the screen debut of Michelle “The Fife” Pfeiffer) and The Pirate Movie (featuring Kristy McNichol, the guy from The Blue Lagoon, and the onscreen rape of both Gilbert AND Sullivan), the pain set in around hour three of the Swayze film festival but that blind boy sure plays a mean guitar, I tell you what.

And when all else failed, there was good ol’ broadcast television. Yep, wrap them rabbit ears in aluminum foil and off we go. Flagstaff used to have TWO local stations (and we never thought in a million years BOTH of them would disappear): channel 2 was an NBC affiliate with Flag’s only local newscast (and we never thought in a million years we’d be living in a city without a local newscast), while channel 13 was a proud member of the Trinity Broadcast Network, known to us heathens as The Jesus Channel.

TBN was founded by professional clowns and hypocrites Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker in the 1970s, and by the 1990s it was a flourishing industry, with dozens of affiliates all over this great Christian white-bread country of ours.

Dave and I would watch The Jesus Channel for HOURS and hours. It was our best entertainment value. We never got tired of the constant barefaced greed and arrogance, the bad music, bad hairpieces, bad makeup, bad sets … not to mention all the variations of TBN’s core message: “If you don’t want to go to hell, SEND US YOUR MONEY NOW. That’s right, God can be bought. Heaven is on sale. Eternal paradise is only a personal check away.” All you had to do was pretend these people weren’t real and it was more yuks than Saturday Night Live.

Dave always got a kick out of the fact that TBN’s logo sort of looked like the cover of A Night at the Opera by Queen. When the logo flashed on the screen, Dave would hold the album up next to the TV and we would laugh and laugh. Good cheap American fun.

The televangelists could get really grating, but it was a good night if we caught one of the faith healer yoyos who would bring up a member of their hillbilly audience afflicted with rickets or the gout and SMACK ’em upside the head to drive them Commie demons out. That will be $500, please.

Far and away, our favorite comedian on The Jesus Channel was a guy named Jeff Fenholt. He stood out from the other sweaty child molester types on TBN. Everything about him screamed aging head banger. He was well into his 40s, with a moon face framed by a curly blond rocker mullet. He looked like he belonged behind the counter at Guitar Center ringing up a strap lock and a dozen picks while cranking some Yngwie.

The Holt’s dubious claims to metal authenticity were: a) he played you-know-who in the original 1971 Broadway production of Jesus Christ Superstar (true, although his understudy Ted Neeley landed the movie role), and b) he was the lead singer of Black Sabbath for about two weeks in the mid-1980s.

This was refuted by Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi, who stated he and Fenholt worked on some demos for a proposed Iommi solo album during a Sabbath hiatus, but that Jeff was never an official member of the band. Fenholt claims Sabbath manager Don Arden (Sharon Osbourne’s father) told him otherwise, and apparently that was enough for him to name drop Black Sabbath whenever possible on the air.

He had a “sexy” feud going on with some Wiccan priestess in Wisconsin. He would say her name and growl into the camera: “I’m coming for you, baby. Oh yes, I am.” He made a big deal out of actually flying to Wisconsin with cameraman in tow, but she went: “(Ding!) Restraining order!” and that was that.

Whether or not he was actually in the greatest heavy metal band in the world and renounced their hell-bound ways for a life filled with Jesus, one fact was inarguable: Jeff Fenholt was a douchebag.

One night Fenholt announced he and his Christian metal group (who never appeared with him on TBN, hmmm …) were touring and spreading the Good Word, perhaps even playing in your neck of the woods. We laughed and said wouldn’t it be great if The Holt was coming here? Then they showed the tour dates, and there it was: Flagstaff, Arizona. Dave and I stared at each other open-mouthed.

“No F^#ing way!”

[word “fucking” edited by the editor]

“Dude, we’re going.”

“Oh HELL yeah, we’re going.”

It should probably be mentioned at this point that Dave and I were singular in our passion for TBN and all things Fenholt. Most of our friends didn’t get it. “How can you guys WATCH this crap? OK, once in a while for a laugh, but EVERY NIGHT?” JRo would hole up in his room when we had it on. Clea gave it a shot, but couldn’t hack it.

Luckily, Primitive Tribes frontman and armchair anarchist Sasha Davis was cut from the same cloth as we, and was just as excited at the imminent arrival of The Man Himself to our shit town. Between the three of us (and several 12-packs of Olympia), a plan was hatched: on the day of the event, we would amass a battalion of local punks, get rip roaring drunk, righteously march into wherever the show was, and scream out the most obnoxious offensive blasphemous profanities imaginable at Mr. Bigshot Mullethead Jesus Rocker Guy and let him know THIS was the face of Flagstaff and that he sucked a big hairy gorilla weiner and so did his band and so did everyone at TBN.

Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

About a week before the showdate, fliers started popping up around town:

“LIVE! Former BLACK SABBATH vocalist JEFF FENHOLT!”

There was an eastside address and a photo of The Holt’s face leering maliciously at you through his curly blond mullet. Absent were the following words: God, Jesus, holy, church, Christian, Trinity Broadcast Network, and douchebag.

It was laughable, and we laughed. Did this guy think we were total rubes who just fell off the turnip truck and that we would be fooled by his clever ruse and show up expecting a rockin’ good Satanic evening and instead be hit BLAM! with the Lord’s healing power? What a dick.

I tacked a flyer up on our living room wall and The Holt’s glowering mug was immediately defaced with bloody fangs, whited-out eyes, a forehead pentagram, and a speech balloon reading “I Y Satan”. Again, we were REALLY bored.

The first seed of doubt was planted when I rode past the address on the flyer and yep, sure enough, it was a church. Dave and Sasha didn’t care: “Great! It’ll make our blasphemy more blasphemous. And hey, you grew up Catholic … haven’t you always wanted to be drunk in church?”

I had to admit I did.

The next seed of doubt came during our futile attempts to get ANYONE interested in coming along. “Uhh … you’re going to go into a church drunk and HECKLE some guy? Have fun.”

The great day finally arrived, and I raced home from work to find that our army of drunk punks consisted of: me, Dave, Sasha, Clea (our driver and always a good sport), and special guest Mario, undisputed king of the Flag Fiends, worshipper at the altar of Danzig and all things unholy, and future local musician. Oh, and our fuel consisted of a single 12-pack of Olympia between the five of us (did I mention we were really broke?).

These days you can get a pleasant conversation out of Mario, but back then all you got were two or three mumbled words and a silent devilocked glare through a haze of cigarette smoke. I believe on that fateful day he had just stopped by our house to see what was going on and Dave and Sasha hornswaggled him into coming along. The two of them could be quite persuasive.

We polished off the beer and piled into Clea’s little Toyota. The final seed of doubt was finding the church parking lot PACKED full of cars, and the thought “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea” flew across my mind. The church’s doors were wide open but no metal, Christian or otherwise, was emanating. Posted at the doors were the Sweater Zombies, and their eyes lit up at the sight of us.

“Hey! Thanks for coming! WOW! Here, let us get you seats DOWN IN FRONT!!!”

“NO!!!” we all shrieked. We told them we could find our own seats, thank you very much, and stepped inside.

The church was pretty full. I estimated the mean age of the crowd to be about twelve. They all turned around and gaped at us. I flashed back to my Catholic school days and thought, these kids probably have to be here. Well, they don’t HAVE to, but it was STRONGLY SUGGESTED by their parents and teachers that they attend.

The Holt was at the lectern and his spiel barely missed a beat. Some of the kids started giggling, but Fenholt ignored our arrival and spieled on, drawing the little ones’ attention back to him. The guy was a pro.

We stood frozen at the back of the church. Where was his band? We didn’t see amps or a drum set or any equipment normally associated with rock and/or roll. Just an altar, candles, the tabernacle that housed the Body of Our Savior … church stuff. This was unquestionably the last place on Earth I wanted to be. I said goodbye to the remnants of my two beer buzz.

Dave led us to a spot along the far right aisle, about halfway down. We tried to be inconspicuous, but it was impossible. Anyone who didn’t know we were there before did now, and the giggling started again. The first one in the pew was Mario and you should’ve seen those kids scoot.

Fenholt kept ignoring us. I can’t recall one word of his speech, but I can make a pretty good guess as to its content.

We were obviously the hit of the evening, or rather Mario was. He was definitely the only one present with a leather jacket or devilock. Kids kept turning around and whispering and giggling. Dave and Sasha were nonplussed. Clea and I were a bit shellshocked, but kept straight faces. Mario was slouched so far down next to me he was almost horizontal. He looked like he wanted his body to implode upon itself and collapse into a pile of smoldering ash.

After about ten painful minutes, Clea whispered:

“I need a cigarette.”

I whispered back, “I’ll join you.”

I told Mario what we were doing and the three of us stood up and tried to walk over Dave and Sasha. They decided they needed one too. As we all filed out of the pew, Fenholt stopped mid-spiel and addressed us directly:

“Aw come on, where are you guys going? You don’t have to leave!”

Dave turned, looked at Jeff Fenholt and said loudly:

“Oh, we’re just going for a smoke, we’ll be right back!”

It was one of the funniest things I had ever heard him say and I started cracking up. The impudence in Dave’s voice triggered something in those kids too, and the whole church erupted in laughter as we trooped up the aisle wearing stupid grins.

As we exited, I heard Fenholt trying to get his captive audience back, saying those guys came here expecting some heavy metal, but the REAL heavy metal is God’s … blah blah blah. I thought, tomorrow these kids are going to have some great stories to tell their friends who couldn’t make it (“Dude, you should’ve been there, it was AWESOME!”).

Outside, we lit up. The Sweater Zombies had followed us, and they ran the Divide And Conquer. Dave and Sasha each had three or four of them buzzing around. Dave sounded like he was making some headway with his bunch:

“TBN and the Church always want your money, but look at all that expensive jewelry and stuff they wear. Doesn’t the Bible say ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’ and ‘The meek shall inherit the earth’? You know, Jesus and the Apostles were dirt poor. They were fishermen and carpenters, they weren’t rich …”

“Hey … you’re RIGHT!”

We found out that Jeff’s band couldn’t make it, but out of the goodness of his heart he decided to come anyway and, you know, just TALK to the kids. What a guy.

I smoked and tried to put on my best “don’t come near me or I’ll kill you” face, but one of them spotted me, smiled widely, and approached with outstretched hand. About 3 steps in, his hand fell and so did his face.

“Hey, there’s a …”

I followed his gaze and observed Mario with his back turned to us, in the classic “man about to have a piss” stance.

“… restroom in the …”

Too late. All conversation stopped, and we listened to Mario pee for a few seconds. The Danzig skull logo stared hollow-eyed at us from the back of his jacket. The expressions on the faces of the Sweater Zombies were priceless. I was shocked, but I felt like applauding. The words “all right” may have passed my lips. Dave, Sasha, Clea and I met each others’ eyes and the same thought ran through all our heads:

“YES!!!”

It was perfect. Mario didn’t actually relieve himself ON the church, just by a shrub planted next to the front doors, but the effect was the same. I don’t know if his intention was to make it a big sacrilegious thing, he probably just had to take a whiz. Nevertheless, it was a fitting comment on the evening’s events. The last word, so to speak. I only wish The Holt could have seen it.

Our cigarettes were done and so was Mario. The sweater Zombies nervously invited us back inside.

“I’m not going back in there.”

It was Mario’s voice, and he wasn’t mumbling. The words weren’t loud, but they were quite clear. His statement was not scared or angry, it was matter-of-fact, like “It’s raining today”.

I decided I had had enough as well. I also realized at that particular moment I needed to smoke a bowl more than I ever had in my life. I asked Clea for her keys and said we would be hanging out by the car.

Our group split up. Mario and I walked to Clea’s car and got inside. I looked at him.

“Wow. That sucked.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in silence. I loaded a bowl and puffed away. A short time later the driver’s side door opened and Clea got in.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“What about Dave and Sasha?”

“They’re staying. They said they were having fun.”

“Oh.”

As we drove away, I had a mental image of a group of Sweater Zombies in front of the church the next morning holding crucifixes and one of those incense things on a chain, uprooting the tainted shrubbery (to be burned and its ashes scattered) and dousing the ground with holy water.

Apparently after we left, our punker friends Chris and Matt showed up at the church drunker than hell and implored Fenholt to heal them of their alcoholism. It almost made me wish I’d hung around.

I lost my taste for the Trinity Broadcast Network. Seeing that those people actually existed kind of killed the humor.

In 1997 it was revealed that in the late 1970s, Jeff Fenholt was a “boy toy” of the late Gala Dali, widow of Salvador. In her declining years, she was notorious for having a stable of young male lovers, setting them up financially in exchange for sexual favors. She paid Fenholt with several of Dali’s paintings and a million dollar Long Island house. Gala was in her 80s, Jeff in his 20s.

The resulting brouhaha caused Fenholt to disappear from TBN for several years. He eventually made a triumphant comeback, his sins forgiven and his mullet shorn.

by Mick Zano • September 11, 2014

Say bye bye to those science guys. A recent poll showed a whopping 94% of all active scientists do not identify themselves as republican. What I want to know is: who is this other 6%? Should we hunt them down and confiscate their Bunsen burners? Step away from that particle accelerator slowly, sir.

Can you be a scientist and live in an alternate anti-science reality? I guess you can be a quantum libertarian. Wait, I’m being told they broke from republicans too—and then atomized for freedom. Juan Cole found this science poll, here. Juan Poll?

Sure 6% is low, but it still begs the question, how can any remotely scientific-minded individual relate to today’s conservatism? The cognitive dissonance alone would be like sticking Mitch McConnell and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in a G-Force rotational machine.

…but we should still do that. Please sign the related petition below.

Maybe those few holdouts are just being oppositionally defiant? Or how many just checked the wrong box because they were sexting their hot lab assistants? She texted me with science? Sadly, there are still some smart folks trapped in Fox holes, albeit not many. Once in this alternate reality, we see patterns where none exist, here. It’s like seeing the sailboat in those autostereograms. Stare at Megan Kelly’s legs long enough and you see the sailboat.

Hint of the day: when staring at Megan you will sense the main mast first.

Their propaganda doesn’t seem very convincing to me, but what if you’re only semi-engaged in politics because you’re desperately trying to find an abby normal brain over on the Island of Dr. Moreau? Sometimes scientists are busy people. Maybe they only have Fox News on in the background while they’re reanimating dead flesh.

The new GOP meme has become “I’m not a scientist”, which should be followed by, “But I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.”

“The beauty of the line is that it implicitly concedes that scientists possess real expertise, while simultaneously allowing you to ignore that expertise altogether.”

—Jonathon Chait

It’s a wonderful tactic, not that they really need tactics anymore. Fox News has proven people will believe anything and, what’s even more disturbing, those most delusional wrong in the 21^st century feel retractions are passé.

“I’m not a scientist. In fact, none of them will even vote for me.”

—John Q. Republican

When you do corner a republican with things called facts, they will inevitably employ one of these tactics: the reversal, e.g.: why are you anti-Sematic? Or, they will cite that one data point, the outlier, that supports their indefensible position. Or, my favorite, fuzzy logic: e.g., what do we really know about anything these days?

This last one is true. Our media sucks, left and right. In 2014 it’s very hard to glean the truth through these ever-thickening agendas, lobbyists and ideologies. But when those scant tidbits of knowledge do sift down to us, how does the GOP utterly misinterpret them every flippin’ time?! Those few shreds of wisdom that emerge through the 21st century cacophony—what few things we can glean—republicans can’t seem to glean!

[Glean Joe Glean joke omitted by the editor]

YES, we know next to nothing about anything, so how is it possible to know even less than that? Hey, this is a hazy crazy time period so let’s abandon history, science, facts, and statistics in favor of something Fox calls: Whatever the hell the Koch Brothers want me to think.

Great idea! And let’s employ this belief system amidst a time of climate change, mass extinctions, and an ever-looming threat of WWIII. Brilliant! How helpful of you. Yeah, all smart people are dumb and having a high IQ is another vast left wing conspiracy. Makes sense. Have you heard of Occam’s Razor? Of course not!

To ignore the perils of our planet in 2014 for a drill-baby-drill mentality is sociopathic and suicidal. Our super capitalists don’t believe in green energies or global warming and our fundamental religious factions don’t believe in evolution. In fact, they recently attacked the host of Cosmos, Neil deGrasse Tyson, because science keeps contradicting The Bible. They couldn’t attack the theories themselves, so personal attacks would have to suffice. The usual. When Sagan hosted the first Cosmos series, a generation ago, I don’t remember this fundamental backlash. This is another sign of the GOP’s de-evolution.

Evolution…you’re doing it wrong!

“Those creatures who find everyday experience a muddled jumble of events with no predictability, no regularity, are in grave peril. The Universe belongs to those who, at least to some degree, have figured it out.”

—Carl Sagan

So I guess the universe is mine. BOW DOWN BEFORE, ZANO! Meanwhile, with republicans figuring out so little, I guess we should be thankful they’re not beheading us liberals at our town hall meetings.

Or:

LET'S HOPE THE 6th EXTINCTION HAS ROOM FOR ONE MORE SPECIES

This will happen, but unfortunately so will the Rise of Radical Republicanism. Coming soon to a blog post near you.

by Bald Tony • September 7, 2014

For several months Mick and I were planning a trip to Great Basin National Park. Alex Bone thought this was kind of funny. You see, Alex is a true outdoorsman, a throwback to another century, a man’s man who makes Grizzly Adams look like Martha Stewart. Alex’s advice was to stay on the marked trails while wearing bright clothing and warned us about entering the back country. Fine with me. While I actually like spending time outdoors, my idea of roughing it is staying at Bellagio when the Aria is booked.

Two days before we were scheduled to drive to GBNP I checked the weather. I shook my head in confusion, cleared the screen, and this time carefully input the correct destination. The forecast was still the same. High of 36, low of 22 with a steady snowfall throughout the day. It might be germane to inform everyone at this point we’re talking about the third week in May. All those YouTube videos of the park were apparently filmed between July 10^th and August 10^th.

As much as I love Las Vegas, I really wanted to get away on my vacation. So we headed to Tonopah for a ghost investigation, here, and then Mick suggested Yosemite. As we started to climb the road toward Mono Lake, however, it started snowing. Mick asked, “Where the hell can we warm up in the desert?” Freezing to death in the Nevada desert during the third week of May seemed a tad ludicrous to both us. I said Death Valley National Park sounded like a good place to warm our feet. Heck, it had to be warmer than 22 or even 36. While consulting a map—yes, a real paper map of the AAA variety can never be refolded properly by even the most adept origami guru. Anyway, we noticed the ghost town of Rhyolite, NV is adjacent to the eastern edge of DVNP. We had never been there, but being a Nevadan for 18 years I am familiar with the lore of this long abandoned municipality.

Rhyolite Nevada: A Place that Makes Other Ghost Towns Seem Bustling

Rhyolite is a true ghost town. Not a small town with a low population, not a touristy, manmade-to-look-old-and-abandoned town, but an actual bonafide, no-living-soul-has-resided-there-in-a-century, ghost town. There are no services or businesses of any kind. Rhyolite had a short life span, 1904-1920, and its decline quickly accelerated in 1911. So, essentially, it only had seven good years, which Zano reminded me is six more than he’s had. That could be why there’s a feeling of, if not anger, at least frustration, in them there Bullfrog Hills.

So Mick and I are somewhat adventurous being in a real ghost town, yet safely within a ten minute drive of gas, food, and lodging in the small town of Beatty, NV. Bone probably would have walked to Rhyolite after setting up a base camp in DVNP. Mick and I drove there with the air conditioning on, stopping for snacks and bottled water along the way. But once the car was parked, we walked more of the site than we drove, which is pretty badass…uh, for us.

Mick and I are both amateur shutterbugs. Neither of us will be hired by National Geographic, but we enjoy getting out there and seeing what develops as we take photos. If you’ve read some of my other stories (and if you haven’t, why the hell not?) you know I am old school overall. In fact the first digital camera I ever owned was purchased shortly before this trip and it’s still confusing me. Maybe by my 2015 vacation I’ll have it figured out. Anyway, Rhyolite is a photographer’s paradise. The abandoned buildings, the rugged scenic backdrop, and while there will be other tourists when you visit, there aren’t so many as to get in your way, and they’re not the photo bombing type. I was thoroughly enjoying traipsing around “town” taking photos, feeling the cool vibe of the place, and feeling safe and secure in our decision to forego the frigid, artic high Nevada desert. High plains snow drifter?

Perhaps the coolest thing in Rhyolite is Albert Szukalski’s 1984 version of Da Vinci’s Last Supper…uh, on acid. This brings the spooky factor of the place up a notch and, really, the town didn’t need any help in that department.

Cue the WARNING Rattlesnakes sign which, conveniently, the Bureau of Land Management put the Porta Potty right next to.

[Note: One eyed snake joke omitted by editor.]

While not a haunted ghost town, so far as we could tell, Rhyolite is definitely worth the stop. It brings your typical eccentric abandoned ghost town up to a whole new level. Just leave Zano in the car…with the window rolled down, of course.

by Mick Zano • September 5, 2014

I hate to pile on the Clinton Administration before it even gets out of the Benghazi-gate, but Hillary is either as clueless as the rest of the chicken-hawk republicans or she’s pandering to a parallel universe in hopes of some votes. Either way she’s losing me and ‘so goes the Zano so goes the election’. Okay, no one says that.

There’s a reason Hillary’s sinking in the polls. All she needed to do was shut up and assume command in 2016, but she’s showing a huge lack of insight by chiming in. Anything can and will be used against you. I hoped to find out what an evil clueless hag you are after the election, the way our Founding Fathers intended. My frustration stems from her recent criticism of Obama’s foreign policy, here. You got Iraq wrong, lady. How is fomenting rightwing drivel going to help you or your party in the midterms? You’ve gotten everything wrong in this arena and your ‘solutions’ to the Middle East seem as misguided as the Fox News All Sharts.

Sorry, but neoconism died. Cheney killed it. He shot it in the face when they were out hunting. Sorry you didn’t get the 17% approval-rating-memo. Andrew Sullivan is also starting to Hillary bash over on The Dish. He begs the question, is Hillary really any different from McCain on foreign policy? I don’t see much distance either and just when I was starting to get over Managed Care.

Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the Whitewater?

I think Hillary is actually basing her criticism of Obama on GOP inaccuracies. She’s saying we should have helped the Syrian rebels, many of whom are linked to a variety of terrorist groups. Give me a break. Don’t you get how clustered this whole situation is post Operation Enduring Femdom? Here’s why you’re all wrong.

Obama got the WMDs out of Syria without a land war. Of course, now he has to give them all back to Assad so he can fend off ISIS. Although, they have a weird kind of relationship right now as they both hate the Syrian rebels more than each other…for the moment. And, yes, ISIS is being led by the same people the Bushies sent away when they, in their infinite wisdom, disbanded the Iraqi army—in a county that we never should have invaded in the first place. So is it still Bush’s fault? No. Creating the army we are now fighting by destabilizing the region after you lied us into war is… uh….is not …umm. Yeah, it’s a bit of a stretch to blame Bush (throat clear).

Lest we forget, a McCain or Romney Administration would have already bombed the shit out of Iran, which—if that hadn’t started WWIII—would have forced the U.S. to rebuild and rearm Iran to help keep ISIS in check. They would have called this some very patriotic name like Operation Get the Fuck Back Up, Bitch. Are you following? Now how to get back the arms back from radicalized Syrian rebels, who the U.S. deemed a terrorist group in 2012? Well, McCain and Hillary would be retrieving these weapons during in Operation Repo Man.

Granted, Obama did cause all of these problems by pulling out of Iraq…er, I mean by following Bush’s Status Force Agreement, complete with a specific Iraq withdrawal date. W wanted this in effect so he could initiate Operate Clear Brush and Paint Shit. Only by Dec 2011, the time of the withdrawal date, the Iraqi army wasn’t so much standing up as kneeling several times a day to pray to Allah. They would then practice dropping their guns and fleeing, a trick they mastered by the time ISIS, run by their old disenfranchised bosses, returned in 2014. Still with me? Why? I’m just making shit up at this point.

Now, Obama could have reneged and kept helping the Iraqi army for another ten years during Operation Please Stand the F-Up Already MFs! How does Al-Qaeda fit in, you ask? Well, Al-Qaeda in Iraq—who never existed until our invasion—morphed into ISIS with the help of Saddam Hussein’s army. This promoted the advent of a covert Area 51 program called Operation Reanimate Saddam Hussein, wherein it was hoped that Zombie Saddam can re-stabilize Iraq. The Walking Despot?

Or….instead of all that bullshit, you can actually understand that arming radical rebel groups with all of our latest toys, like Reagan did, like both Bushs did, and like Clinton did, is really, really stupid. And maybe, just maybe, the best thing to do is to start the Golf War by pulling out onto the green in your speedy little golf cart while flipping all of you opinionated no-nothings the presidential bird.

More importantly, where was Hillary Clinton the night four Americans died in Benghazi?!

Yeah, it’s complicated and republicans simply aren’t. To say they are delusional is an affront to delusional people. Obama’s approach is essentially correct. We can no longer successfully police the Middle East. If you don’t believe this, you might be a republican. We can’t protect them from themselves. I can’t even entirely blame Bush for that, although you can say he took something hovering around a seven and escalated the situation to an 11. Spinal Crap? Because our foreign policy goes to 11!

I like the idea of arming only the Kurds and if the crazies are bent on killing themselves, we can watch key cities, key resources, key genocides, but beyond that the Middle East is going to play for a while until they finally get it out of their system…or they’re all dead. Their call. If the fantasy world called the Republican Party takes the helm, we will all look back fondly to the Bush years as everything he did will pale in comparison to their atrocities. The only ones who haven’t noticed how bad they’ve become are themselves. They will continue to base their decisions whether or not to go to war on a delicate blend of Breitbart.com and prejudice, and facts be damned.

So I am starting to think gambling a few percentage points to get an actual human being, like Elizabeth Warren, elected may be worth the risk. Granted, Hillary did a great job as Secretary of State.

(Collective gasp.)

I realize this is news to our local parallel universe. You know, the place where Hillary snuck into one of our embassies and, due to some workman’s comp issues, shot four defenseless Americans dead and then burned the place down to cover her tracks.

Benghazi: so many questions….

Lewinsky’s Secret Revealed in Discord Exclusive

…so little relevance.

Actually, it’s been a long time since Hillary murdered Vince Foster so her urge to kill was simply becoming too great. Again, the concern is that a Warren candidacy puts the presidency back into play and there is nothing more important to our collective future than defeating the GOP in 2016. Success for the GOP will mean our swift demise, and I am kind of pulling for a lengthy hops-n-barley filled one. That’s from Reve-libations Ch 1:9.

by Pokey McDooris • August 31, 2014

These sissy environmentalists are all talk and no action. It’s time to save this planet! The scientific consensus agrees that Climate Change is the greatest crisis threatening the world. President Obama promises to violate the Constitution by bypassing Congress to sign a UN Treaty to curb carbon emissions. I say it’s time to stop pussy footin’ around the subject. Let’s get to the root of the problem by employing ISIS’s five steps to Beat Climate Change.

I believe Obama’s plan to save the world will not be nearly as effective as what ISIS has in store for mankind. Let’s combat our warming world through the magic of Sharia Law!

1) Sex-Slave Auction/Fundraisers

Many may not realize the meaty market for young sex slaves. On a good day healthy young 12-year-olds can attract five digits, maybe even a six! And ISIS promises that 50% of all proceeds will be donated to the funding of green energy powered WMDs.

2) Reduction of Automobile Use by 51%

We hereby pass worldwide legislation that outlaws women from driving automobiles. By eliminating women drivers we will put a serious dent on the world’s carbon footprint. The legislation will further fight climate change by sentencing those found guilty of such an offense to community service in the Sex-Slave Auction/Fundraiser. That’s not even counting the ones we’ll stone for adultery!

3) Slave Labor to replace carbon based energy

We propose Infidel powered windmills (IPWs) without the need of wind; scientific consensus agrees that infidels, horses and camels can power any Jihad, so Gitteeup!

4) Massive Population Reduction

Much of the global warming problem stems from the fact there’s just too many damn people. Birth control and abortion haven’t worked, so it’s time to get serious. We propose an exponential increase in beheadings. Let’s save the planet, one dismemberment at a time. I want our kids to get a behead.

5) Destroy Western Civilization

Who can deny that Western Civilization is the root cause of all global warming/climate change? Without Western Civilization there would be no such thing as a greenhouse gas problem. The Great Satan has the biggest carbon footprint ever. Talk about a Bigfoot sighting. We have you in our sights! And it’s time to take that hairy bastard down.

Makes perfect sense. You’re either with us or against us. Hey, let’s freeze some of those severed heads and make some ISISicles!

by Mick Zano • August 29, 2014

Once upon a check-in, I asked for my traditional room—which is always dead, and not in any kind of a supernatural way—but the desk lady decided to upgrade me to a queen. She must have noticed my high heels. This turned out to be my ghost investigating big break, or big mistake depending on your point of BOO!

I would have to go it alone for this one, because due to my age and incongruous maturity level, it’s becoming harder to find company. Shock poll: everyone who knows me agrees with this poll. Actually, I had other business…I was squatching. Fine, I had to train a class the next day, aka, I wasn’t going to a training to sleep, I had to stand up in front of people and present stuff. This proved difficult after the Amityville-F-king-Horror I experienced the night before. WTF? This is not even a particularly haunted hotel. Try Googling Hotel St. Michael in Prescott. I dare you. There’s next to nothing on this place, it’s a veritable taBoo rasa. Heck, I just came from the Mizpah, which is tier-one haunted, this place would be lucky to make pier-one imports. This was going to be a tip toe through the banshees, or so I thought.

Tell them about the Twinkie, Ray.

There was no Twinkie! Stop that. But I have even stayed here before and slept like a…

[Alex Bone joke omitted by the editor.]

In fact, I always sleep well in haunted places, see any of my other ghost misadventures…ever. Heck, I didn’t even bring my Viewmaster for this one. I usually have Bambi in the cue if anything weird happens. It doesn’t record anything evidence-wise, but it always makes me feel safe.

This should give you some idea of how prepared I was to encounter a real entity. What makes me crazy is that I had plans for after this training. I wanted to hit: The Raven, Granite Mtn Brewery, Prescott Brewing Co., Murphy’s, The Palace, The Gurley Street Grill, The Drunken Las, Celtic Crossing, Matt’s Saloon…

Kidding! I hate Matt’s Saloon. Point being, I had shit to do, but now thanks to some bored spook I’m exhausted. According to the front desk folks, The Ghost Hunters already declared 319 haunted, well, I spent two nights alone in room 318 and ditto. But I couldn’t find any reference to this online, but here’s my two cents…and two nights. Oh, and I will never spend another night in this hotel again! Mainly, because their liberal use of the words “room damage”.

The staff claims what action this hotel does get is generally limited to the third floor, but I got no action on the third floor, despite my kick ass stilettos and fishnets. On that note:

Night One:

When I arrived back at my room around 9PM on Thursday 6/26, I started with my usual 3^rd floor walk about and captured this shot between the 2^nd and 3^rd floor.

Then I headed to my room and started clicking and clicking and clicking and nothing. Wait! Bambi’s mother died! Nothing…so I listen to some Coast to Coast AM and turn in around 11PM. I know what you’re thinking, but the episode wasn’t about ghosts. Then, I suddenly wake up swatting my shoulder as if something was there. I snap some pictures and start capturing some serious orbage. Then, like any good ghost investigator, I go back to bed.

About an hour later I have this horrible dream that I owe material for Mr. Winslow, but he can’t open any of the files I sent him. Okay, not that dream. I dreamt that I’m desperately trying to get out of this very hotel because it’s haunted and then, when I wake up, all hell breaks loose. I walk to the end of the bed and take some more pictures and there’s this cold spot. I have never experienced a cold spot. I have experienced a warm spot in a public pool, but I’m told that’s different.

Suddenly I feel wave after wave of chills and goose bumps. I don’t get goose bumps so I am wondering if this is a walk-in clinic thing or if there’s an ointment involved. I have never had such a weird feeling, so I start snapping and start getting orbs in almost every picture I take!

A montage of some of the room visitors.

Then the weirdest thing happens. I see this flare through my camera. I didn’t catch this on film—because it went by in a fraction of a second—but as the flash is cueing up, something shoots through my viewer like a meteor. I’m like, holy shit! Where is my camera man when you need him! I am wide awake now so this isn’t some semiconscious state thing and it definitely wasn’t a bug.

I try to sleep again and I’m woken up again. Now, it’s 3AM and I have to be up a 7. So, I’m like, if you’re going to keep me up all night I want a full apparition, in the mirror, or I’m going back to sleep.

It’s a pretty weak attempt, no apparition, and it’s partially on the frame. What is the deal with ghosts?

I finally say, “Look, I have to present tomorrow, you know, conduct a training so play time is over. I need to sleep. Tomorrow night I’ve got nothing but time, so for now I please go back to room 319.”

Thankfully, I slept for the last couple of hours. This was not a frightening experience for me, to put things in perspective frightening is working for Pierce Winslow, but I would describe it as unsettling. I can look through my camera and see shit that isn’t there? Yes, I stopped taking my medications, but only because the pills were helping the government hear my thoughts.

The next morning I woke up, thanked the spirits for some sleep and snapped one picture. Yep, it had an orb in it. It’s a shame the walls are white because most of these really blend in, so for all of my sleepless trouble I got a couple of dozen meh-looking-orbs (MLOs).

Night 2:

I decided to retrace my steps and actions from last night, so before lockdown I took a round of pictures around the 3^rd floor and…

Possibly the best dust particle I have ever captured on film.

The bottom one is the same orb, only enlarged. Below is what I captured in the room during night two.

So I go to bed, I tell the ghosts to do their worst and….I wake up eight hours later to my alarm. Really? Why couldn’t the ghosts stick to the script: 1. night one sleep for training, 2. night two lots of spooky haunting stuff (SHS). I send the itinerary out weeks ahead of time. Yeah, I’m talking to you, pestergeists! Keep me up and I got next to nothing to show for it, NOTHING! And, whereas I am not prepared to say I believe in ghosts at this time, this was a weird night and now picture all this happening with me in fishnets and stilettos. OK, don’t picture that, I’m losing enough fans lately.

by Alex Bone • August 27, 2014

Discord CEO Moves All Reporters into a 1957 Winnebago

Rest Area outside of Bullhead City—In an effort to cut expenses and help fund his second home in Bermuda, CEO Pierce Winslow has moved the entire Discord reporting staff into the old Winnebago his grandmother left him. No less than a dozen reporters, six children, eight significant others, eleven cats, four dogs, twenty-six snakes, a full bar with keggerator, an eight-foot statue of Yig and seventeen cubic-feet of crawdad traps will be living and working from a space roughly the size of Winslow’s guest’s guest bathroom.

When we tried to reach Mr. Winslow for an interview, he wouldn’t allow us into his office. I did hear him bragging to his secretary’s assistant through the door. “They think this is bad, if that thing breaks down wait until they get a load of plan B. Besides, it’s all part of this team building exercise I read about, or at least a slightly more sadistic version.”

Undaunted, the Discord team has tried to make the best of their situation. “We’ll be like pirates,” said Alex Bone, while strapping a six foot statue of Yig to the hood. “Only dumb ones.”

“Yeah, look on the bright side,” added Zano, “with the Ghetto Shaman in jail, at least we won’t have to deal with all of his chickens.”

The women appeared less enthusiastic. After pulling out enough hair to allow Bald Tony to join an eighties hair band, Cokie McGrath shouted, “All the women are relegated to, big surprise, the kitchen! I’ve already heard enough of, ‘well, since you’re there, Cokie, how about twenty sandwiches and a few pizzas?’ And that’s just Bone’s order. I would call them misogynists if I thought they’d know what it meant.”

I spoke with Mr. Tony Ballz, who sat with three cats on his lap between two adults and two small children on a couch. “I’ve had worse,” he said, before turning away to place an order with Cokie in the kitchen.

Since everyone is now housed in the same location, Winslow cut staff expense accounts even further. He rationalized this by sending the gang a Sam’s Club card with a note that read: BUY IN BULK. Alex Bone Is trying to subsidize the food supply by laying out his crawdad traps each night, but when he got arrested for stealing butter, morale fell to an all-time low.

“But at least we have some space,” said Zano. “That tall freak took up as much room as all the pets put together.”

What does the future hold for the Discord crew? Only time will tell. But as long as they can sponge enough money to keep gas in the tank, there’s no limit to where they could be reporting from next week…as long as you let them park in your front yard…and, maybe, use your shower occasionally. Yeah, that would be really cool. Tony’s starting to smell. Oh yeah, and do you have Wifi? This article needs to be sent to Winslow A.S.A.P. or we won’t get our next food allowance.

by Alex Bone • August 19, 2014

Parmesan Cheese Newest Tool in Battle Against Drug Addiction

In one of the most unexpected moves of his presidency, Barack Obama announced how America’s Drug addiction recovery funds will be transferred to a new and radical drug treatment that involves the use, and misuse of Parmesan Cheese. The FDA is now parmed and dangerous as methadone treatment centers and the like across this grate country are being supplied with high grade parmaceuticals.

The main premise: all drugs and craving will be replaced by the use of parmesan cheese. “If you used to smoke meth, now you’ll be encouraged to wean off with an 8-ball shaker of parmesan cheese,” said Dr. William Lynn, CEO of Bristol-Myers-Kraft. “If you’re hooked on heroin, now you can snort all the cheese you like on the Feds! No cops, no hassle and at nearly 100% off the street value. What a deal for everyone, especially those folks at the Cheesecake Factory.”

Vincent Drake, owner of Hidden Shadows Pharmaceuticals, was quick to adjust his company’s approach, “We’ve already created a fresh batch of products and got a Twitter page for our new line of parmaceuticals. Our mottos, Just Say Roman-No and Parmesan: the Other White Meth are being well received. We believe such parm reduction models will go a long way to winning the war on drugs.”

Field reporter Cokie McGrath added, “If you snort enough parm, you can just sneeze onto your pasta and voila’, you’re ready for dinner. Just sneeze for more cheese…I like that.”

Meth-Head-Moe felt less certain of this approach. “Maybe it’s just me, but besides the horrible burning sensation when you snort it, parmesan cheese just isn’t the same at all, man. I’m still jonesing really hard. Say, you got a couple of bucks? Otherwise I’m going to knock off a Dominos for their parm shots.”

After Zano, Ballz, and I tried some, Ballz got so sick and moved into Winslow’s bathroom, which is still three times the size of Ballz’s house. Zano just curled up into a ball and started rocking uncontrollably, which is not that dissimilar from most nights. I thought it was okay as long as you filled the bottle with macaroni first.

Time will tell if this will move our addictive hordes to less dangerous substances. Critics question whether or not this is just an insidious plot to save the American cheese farmer. Is Obama’s plan to retire in Wisconsin just a coincidence? Is there a connection between this initiative and Big Parma? Or is this another insidious plot concocted by the makers of Lipitor?

by Mick Zano • August 17, 2014

This is a review of a place I already love, but don’t get too excited—that usually means I ask for a set of keys, drink all your beer and then throw an endless house warming party for myself. This pub already evokes both a resounding Hear! Hear!, as well as a simultaneous what the hell were you people thinking! I am either off my bipolar meds again, or watching Colbert’s “Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger.” Stay tuned for a glorious rant, done out of love.

The Good:

I already like this place, a lot, and I’m an east coaster so for most restaurant reviews I immediately turn into a bitchy kvetchie, hard to please New Yawker. I immediately liked the layout as well as their mixed drinks, particularly their rhubarb old fashioned, but complaints are inevitable because, let’s face it, they’re funnier.

The Pork Shank Redemption: It’s wonderful. It’s really just called the pork shank, but I was just listening to Morgan Freeman narrate something on YouTube so…

The Chicken Avocado thingie: You don’t call it this, but I misplaced the menu I stole. Great sandwich, but I agree with Cokie McGrath on this one, it could use some better buns (but, hey, so could Cokie…).

The Branding Iron: A steak, mashed potato thingie. I asked for medium, it was well, but otherwise tasty!

The Chicken and Gnocchi: I loved it, but somehow this made the bad list as well. Stay tuned.

The Hummus and Falafel salad: This is wonderful! But the hummus is sold separately…WTF?! I will leave this in the good column if you promise to merge them together into a package deal. Yes, I added the hummus part to the title, but remember:

“One is the loneliest falafel that you’ll ever do.”

—Three Dolma Night

[“I’ve never been to Spanakopita” joke omitted by the editor.]

The Bad:

The acoustics are lousy. It’s not a concert hall so it isn’t a big deal, but it’s worth mentioning. I don’t know how to fix the acoustics, try to invite more librarians or dining mimes. Just a thought.

The gnocchi of the chicken and gnocchi makes the bad list too. I loved the gnocchi, but five? Really? Five gnocchi? My grandmother told stories from the great depression where you could get six gnocchi, free! …with each purchase of a carrot. The gnocchi were delicious, but they’re not scallops for Christ’s sake, they’re little balls of fried dough…balls of fried fucking dough! …and not of the cash variety.

[“Let’s make Gnocchi” joke deemed inappropriate by the editor]

The Zano:

The beer selection…it’s sooo Scottsdale. If you’re not familiar with Scottsdale Arizona, it’s sooo Hamptons. If you’re not familiar with either of these, you should really get out more. Let me ‘splain. Flagstaff takes its beer seriously and we take our coffee seriously…and you have brought us neither!

You must understand, Flagstaff has one fatal flaw: places that serve good food generally don’t serve good beer and vice versa. We have a myriad of wonderful beer bars, wine bars, and coffee shops, but they’re all strangely devoid of sustenance. Aside from the occasional muffin, I could starve at most of my favorite haunts. To sit down with a nice steak and a kick ass ale is not easy to do, unless you employ the Zano sneak the shit in method (STSIM).

One year before this place opened I prayed each night to the porcelain gods, hoping beyond hope that an establishment would open that serves BOTH fine food and ale. Then I walked over to the tap system and I wept a little. The only IPA on tap was Lagunitas, which is not up to Flagstaff standards. It’s the Budweiser of IPAs, the King of Blahs. Seriously? Lagunitas? If this shit showed up in India via camel, the British troops would have sent it the hell back complete with a rude hump-day joke. They also went with two styles from Borderlands in Tucson, a place I tried to hit during my latest Tucson beer review here. The brewery choice isn’t the problem, it’s the styles: a honey kolsch, a citrusy pilsner, and a sweet porter? That’s fine if you have twenty taps, but six?

Oh, and your service is already in need of an intervention. I’ve notified Mr. Ramsay by posing as your manager…uh, and I called him dick, so batten down the hatches. To put bad service into perspective, Flagstaff is where several pioneers are still waiting somewhere for their sliders. Actually they just opened so I’m just giving them a hard time. I’m sure it’ll all work out and I’ve never personally had a problem. But, then again, I take off an article of clothing every five minutes that I have to wait, so I get prompt service everywhere I go. It’s like magic…because the alternative is anything butt.

The 2^nd A-Menument:

I ate here again before posting, and they have already implemented a lot of my suggestions! Okay, probably a coincidence, but cool nevertheless. They’ve already stolen James from Cuvee, one of the best chefs in town, and the falafel salad now comes with hummus! No shit. I didn’t even post this yet… that’s the kind of Zen, Dr. Who-like fictional prowess that I wield! And I spoke with Tyler, the beer manager, and they already have a better IPA on tap, Deschutes Fresh Squeezed IPA. The Brits could have colonized the whole world with this shit…uh, okay, maybe not. The McMillian is also starting to get reserve Belgian bottles of gloriousness in stock and there’s already talk of expanding the tap system and a tap takeover. So far I’ve spoken to Tyler, AJ, Bobby, and James and these guys rock and this place is going to be a fixture in Flagstaff. So now I can fully endorse this place…uh, if you could just lift the whole ‘I’m banned thing’. Look, the waitress incident was not my fault and the men’s room faucet was like that when I found it. And I’m very sorry about the missing painting, but on the plus side it looks great over my mantel.

I’m looking right at the camera, but does that stop me? Never!

by Dan Sutton • August 11, 2014

My thought for today is this:

It’s a message to some of my Facebook friends, particularly those whose posts are various self-identified Republicans…all of whom have exactly the same opinion…their party’s opinion…

Indeed, these social site wizards all have the identical position on:

God, immigration, climate change, the economy, the death penalty, the healthcare system, the education system, home ownership, taxation, big business, the legal system, NASA, the military, Iraq, Iran, 9/11, Islam, Israel, ethnic minorities, homosexuality, drugs, political campaign funding, gun laws, alternative energy, social programs, welfare, abortion and marriage.

There are simply no different positions among them and we’re talking about nearly half of the United States of fucking America. The incongruity of this can be emphasized by noting that most of the positions they take are based upon logic so twisted and faulty as to be indefensible.

This is not dissimilar to anyone who would submit an article to the Daily Discord for publication, which this is certainly is not. Meanwhile, observing these ongoing posts in Facebook-land, I’ve formed the following conclusion:

Republicans have no opinion or individualism at all—they appear to be so in need of belonging to something that they’ve abrogated any self-awareness they might ever have had—and have instead reduced themselves to reiterating the same crap over and over again, becoming indistinguishable from one another: effectively, they’ve turned into spambots, complete caricatures of one another.

I suggest, therefore, that they create a Facebook page on which they get together and post all this nonsense, so that the rest of us can unfollow it. Foxbook? Pindisinterest? I’m not a huge liberal fan either, but at least occasionally there’s some glimmer of insight from those Prius driving, do-gooders.

Take for instance, the republican argument on anthropogenic climate change. It’s not dissimilar to the religious right’s “pro life” stance, implying that those supporting the right to have abortions is “pro death”. I think you’ll find that most non-republicans, when talking about climate change, will say that there are many factors contributing to it, not all of which are understood, and that it’s entirely possible, or even probable, that it’s anthropogenic. Oh, and don’t link to that article where you say something similar to this Zano! Don’t do it!

Zano Climate Change link here.

He did it, didn’t he? BASTARD!

But to sit there and deny that man might be influencing climate change, beyond all reason, because it suits a political agenda if it isn’t, is just so pathetically idiotic…

Frankly, neither “side” is capable of realizing that reality doesn’t care what they believe: it does what it does without giving a fuck about the Republicans or the Democrats… but the idea of solving any given problem, purely on its own merits, without recourse to mind-numbing dogma has apparently eluded them all.

And don’t post one of your cartoons at the end of this either.

Where Climate Change Is Likely to Hit the Hardest