Band of Klingons Ruin Local Civil War Reenactment

In hindsight, the decision to host a Star Trek convention at the Gettysburg Inn on the same day as a civil war reenactment was a mistake,” admits hotel manager Sam Watkins. “Tragically, we discovered that fake muskets are no match for the bat’leth.”

Enter the Ghetto Shaman

The Ghetto Shaman

Traditional shamanic practices employ chanting, dancing, sweat lodge and fasting to induce altered states of consciousness.  Long ago, cave dwellers created these rituals to achieve insight and wisdom. With guidance from ‘plant spirits,’ shaman priests discovered roots, vines, cacti, and mushrooms that, when ingested, stimulated the nervous system, allowing access to perceptions of abnormal frequencies of consciousness.

Archeologists all concur that ‘psychedelic visions’ sparked the inspiration for the Paleolithic cave art found throughout the world, and may explain most of the Wal-mart midget sightings.  Many scholars even argue that hallucinogens are the very roots of rational civilization itself.  It’s odd that mainstream science agrees on the importance of hallucinogens in human development, yet these same scientists dismiss the significance of the perceived spirit world. The scientific community reduces these visions into mere random subjective byproducts of an abnormal brain.

The divine world of the gods, demons, angels, fairies, and hedge yetis have long been suppressed by Western Civilization.  On that note, meet the Ghetto Shaman.  He has seen the hedge yetis and has spoken to their king!  Too long has society locked the shadow side screams of schizophrenia behind the materialistic bars of insignificance.  Too long has society left the Ghetto Shaman shaking and quivering in his drunk-tank retreat (after the last Mardis Gras Enlightenment Party bust).

What are these spirit worlds where ancient shamans traveled to find health and wisdom for their people?  Does the shaman’s spirit world wisdom have any relevance today?  Our current medical and psychiatric ‘symptom cures’ leave us empty and unsatisfied, but who has the money for the Amazonian Sacred Healing Vision Quest?  Who has the time to beckon these ‘plant spirits.’

The Ghetto Shaman is closer than you think. He resides under the Market Street bridge (southside).  The Ghetto Shaman’s flesh has been affectionately stripped from his bones by the Thunder Gods and then reassembled during a seven day initiation/barcrawl.  Why do scientists balk at this?  Can I make this stuff any clearer? The Ghetto Shaman uses his own rituals, special substances, and ‘avante guard’ sexual techniques to stimulate the induction of unusual frequencies of consciousness (snorkel not included).

The Ghetto Shaman leads workshops on discovering your sacred parasite, as well as an interdimensional escort service (the inspiration behind the movie, Happy Hooker Goes to Narnia). The Ghetto Shaman’s ‘weekender,’ constitutes two days and two nights in the Raystown boiler room.  Rates vary—survival rates, that is, and for those concerned about last month’s ‘incident,’ the Ghetto Shaman is now CPR certified.  Home visits available—for no extra charge…well, one item from the fridge is the recommended donation and there is always the chance of a Forced Sleep Over (FSO).

Ayauhusca, DMT, peyote, Ibogaine and psilocybin are all illegal and difficult to unearth. No problem. Meet Mr. Nutmeg (spice of the gods), Robutussin, DM (nectar of the odds), and Maddog 20/20 (vine of the sods).  All three are legal to possess and with the right guidance can induce profound changes in the nervous system, accessing ‘abnormal’ frequencies of consciousness (don’t try this at home).

The Ghetto Shaman is also a wizard with the earth’s most life-enhancing foods like lentils, curry powder, cumin, and ginger.  A dash of this and sprinkle of that, add whole nutmeg and slow cook to a saucy paste (seriously, don’t try this at home). Toss it in a tortilla with rice and healthy puddles of Bob’s Big Bad Mamma Jamma Hotsauce ®.  Sell the recipe on-line to Jenny Craig.  Jumpstart the Further bus and get the band back together. It’s the Electric Nutmeg Taco Test. For the even more adventurous, there’s his Electraquilla Mad Dog Mess (for god’s sake, man—don’t do it).

How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Global Warming and Learned to Love the Sun

L. Wolfe

The global computer model supports the notion of an array of “natural” factors contributing to climate change, such as solar fluctuations, fluctuations in the earth’s magnetic field, fluctuations in volcanic activity, and flatulations in a little understood process of planetary gas emissions known as Earth Fart (www.ProjectEarthFart.org).  For more on this subject see my beer-reviewed journal article entitled Earth, Earth, the Magical Fruit.

Our current climate computer model accurately predicted a relatively short-term cooling period after the major volcanic eruption of Krakatoa in the 1800s, when the Earth, as science records it, “really ripped one.”  Since the 1800s, the computer model has not done so well.  In fact, there is a significant point of departure around the mid-twentieth century, when the model actually predicts a mild cooling trend; whereas actual data shows a substantial acceleration in warming over that same period.  Here’s the clincher: the scientists then added the input of greenhouse gases from human activities since 1850.  With that addition, once again, it predicts a global warming trend that closely follows the empirical data.  Hmmm. Perhaps Al Gore isn’t Satan (just one of his demonic helpers).

Unfortunately, it’s pretty clear that humans aren’t going to stop pumping greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere any time in the near future—to say nothing of residual Earth toot (RET).  We probably won’t see an end to such industrial emissions in our lifetimes—especially, if our lifetimes are significantly shortened by global warming (running rings round you logically).  With the population of India and China growing, with the energy demands of those countries skyrocketing, with the Kyoto Accord in the shitter, and a mongo leadership vacuum in America (MLV), this warming trend is likely to continue.  That means all of those bad things you hear about: glacier recession, sea levels rising, an Al Gore candidacy, or even (gasp) a It Could Happen Tomorrow sequel could actually happen tomorrow.  We may face droughts, storms, plagues, bad sit-coms, dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria! And, yes, Ted Turner may resort to cannibalism, but only due to an age-related neurological disorder.

But does anyone ever talk about the good side of global warming?  Is there a good side?  Better global warming than global cooling, wouldn’t you agree?  I mean, who chooses the poles for their vacation getaway?  What’s it gonna be? Edmonton, Alberta or Daytona Beach, Florida?   (hockey fans are, no doubt, going to be the outliers in this poll.) Besides, most people on Earth never see the arctic or the Antarctic in their entire lifetime.  So what if it’s gone?  You want to see penguins, go to Pittsburgh.  Intercourse the penguin!

A great HD documentary aired recently called “Planet Earth”, and they took some impressive footage of the place.  That’s good enough for me.  Now, no one need fly to the top or bottom of the earth, wasting all that nasty fossil fuel.  I can simply turn on my HD TV, plop in a DVD, sit in my air conditioned home, and wa la’.  So what if it’s a few degrees hotter outside?  That’s what the temperature gauge on my air conditioner is for.  Sure, you can do all those calculations to determine what the “carbon footprint” is for my Fat Ass sitting in my comfy chair (made in China with all those chemicals, transported on a diesel-burning ship to the U.S., and sent on a diesel truck or diesel-electric train from San Francisco—my chair not my ass—which is made in America), eating McDonald’s food (made with beef grown on a clear-cut rain forest farm in South America, fed with growth hormones, flatulating all that methane [a much more effective greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide by the way] and shipped on diesel-burning vehicles to my local McDonald’s), in my air conditioned home (using those ozone-depleting chemicals, running on electricity generated by coal-burning power plants [48.9%], natural gas [20%], nuclear [19.3%], or other [11.8%]), watching a DVD (made from petroleum), on an HD TV (made in China and shipped on diesel-burning vehicles).  OK, I admit that was a run on sentence, but my grammar may also be impacted by climate change.  Thus the origins of the made for TV movie.,it Coul’d Happens; Next-Week…?

Here’s what “they” won’t tell you.  The benefits of global warming:

  1. More sunny beaches.
  2. New coastlines.
  3. More bikinis.
  4. More boat drinks.
  5. More unwanted pregnancies (oh, wait: please delete).
  6. No more salt on northern roadways fouling streams and lakes.
  7. A free and clear Northwest Passage (the holy grail of commerce to the far east [read – China], which everyone has been searching for since before Columbus’ time and which everyone will need in the future since China will make EVERYTHING we want to buy.
  8. On a related note, shorter trade routes from China equals less boats sinking with hazardous lead based toys.
  9. An archaeological boom once the glaciers recede, giving us access to archaeological sites, relics, and frozen thunderbirds, wooly tadpoles, and pre-cambrian shit goblins—a cryptozoolgists wet dream (literally).
  10. New beach-front property (buy it now, its cheap, some of the most depressed and crime-ridden parts of several major U.S. cities will become prime beach-front crime scenes).
  11. Greenland.  It will finally be green again!  If those poor Vikings had only held out 500 more years….
  12. More bikinis.
  13. Putting an end to the iceberg menace will allow the Titanic to finally have its’ revenge.  Live, Rose, live!

I could go on and on (and have)—thank goodness for editors—so slip into that bikini girls and don’t think global extinction, guys, think global erection!

Hurricane Kills 7, Harasses 3, Before Downgrading to Tropical Storm in an Effort to Elude Police

Forming in a seedy section of the North Atlantic, Hurricane Mel has churned up a devilish trail in his wake. "He got hooked on thermals and warm ocean water, he’s been spinning out of control ever since," explains his mother, Hurricane Edna.  Mel’s meteorological mother admits to her own sordid past which includes a long string of tidal surges, heavy winds, and prostitution (mostly blow jobs).  Apparently, the apple did not fall far from the uprooted tree.

Who’s Looking Out for “True”?

Mick Zano

How do we really know what’s going on?  Truth seems harder to find than an Obama supporter on the Appalachian Trail.  These days, how can anyone parse out the truth in politics, culture, or even science?  Yes, even science is suspect.

Take my recent MS in Psychology, which focused on addiction and psychopathologies.  (I actually majored in literature; the MS degree was merely an exploration of my booze problem and uncontrollable urges to kill.  What can I say?  I have issues.)

Research into addiction is funded by pharmaceutical companies seeking scientific validation.  Lo and behold, the researchers’ findings typically “suggest” exactly what their sponsors are looking to confirm.  These endless “beer-reviewed” studies are self-serving and often suspect.  (This is not a slam on scholarly journals; I’m just usually drunk when I read them.)  The point being, science itself now borders on “scientism,” which is almost a religion in its own right.  Richard Dawkins is the perfect example—a brilliant man, but philosophically felonious.  Forget history, throw out spirituality; instead, everyone must focus on his version of evolutionary psychology and let the best “meme” win.

This is nothing new for science; I think it used to be called logical positivism, but I’m not positive about the logical part.  Each scientific or psychological breakthrough is always the answer. Remember when behaviorism could explain everything?  Great job, Watson and Skinner.  You’ve really curbed my uncontrollable urges to kill.  Thanks.  I’m reminded just how well behaviorism works each time I shovel the human remains from my carport.

Limited funding provided by the same dubious sources—pharmaceutical companies, medical grants, and the military—results in a uniformity of thought that impedes genuinely significant research.  Case in point: What ever happened to the research into Jell-O-kinesis or remote spewing?  (I won’t go into detail on these subjects for fear of losing readers).

Speaking of Jell-O, politicians take the cake.  Our foreign policies have become simultaneously draconian and juvenile.  We invade and take over Afghanistan, and the world opium supply suddenly quadruples?  I’m partial to coffee and cocaine, so please sign my petition encouraging the U.S. to start bombing Columbia immediately.

And speaking of drugs, the only people who can’t seem to get any these days are the terminally ill.  Even my own use of medical marijuana (a pound a day for glaucoma in my left eye) is under heavy scrutiny.  Psychedelics like Ibogaine may prove to be the best combatants of addiction; but since that would not fit into our current paradigm, the research remains ignored.

Education has become a business.  In fact, virtually everything has shifted into a business—except our businesses, of course.  They’ve just shifted overseas.  Detroit should be grateful for its status as “Hockeytown,” because innovative and well-engineered cars are beyond its manufacturers.  The puck stops here, people.  I’ve owned seven vehicles in my life: six American-made cars and one “rice burner.”

I miss the rice burner. 

Public education has become a farce.  Remember that annoying little child Bush refused to leave behind?  Well, the rest of the class is now waiting for him.  He’s in an extended time-out right now and won’t stop spitting his Ritalin pills at the teacher, so the rest of his classmates may be waiting for quite some time.  Give him another study hall—that should do the trick.  In the meantime, children, try sitting next to someone of Asian or Indian persuasion during your PSSAs.

Overall quality in healthcare is collapsing as social services and medical clinics focus on billable hours instead of quality treatment.  Managed care, HMOs, and the proposed national healthcare system are all part of the problem, not the solution.  Insurance companies focus their resources on avoiding claim payments, while our personal and national debt accelerates faster than a monkey on methamphetamine.  (Don’t try that, by the way. It pisses off the PETA people, not to mention the monkey.)

Since 1950, the average sperm count in the US of A has dropped 75%.  I repeat: seventy-five percent! I suppose it explains how I got through college without a single “oops.”  (Alas, I can’t say the same for nether-region rashes.)  The FDA allows massive piles of shit in the guise of “food” to be sold in various shapes and sizes via homedelivery, 24-hour drive-throughs, and buffet-a-ramas.  Enjoy variety and shapes while you can, folks, because soon all Americans will be uniformly round and sterile.

America: If the only one looking out for you is Bill O’Reilly, then do the honorable thing, young samurai, and fall on your loofah.

So, what are the answers? 

We must seek the truth.  We must speak impeccably in all endeavors.  We must take back America, blog by blog.  Our journalism and our politics must change—they must become more than empty slogans pushed by campaign managers. Remember, with crises comes opportunity.  Moderates around the globe: Continue sharing your ideas and pierce the ever-thickening wall of bullshit passing as discourse.

For years, I have championed a more parliamentary style of government.  Not enough of us fit under these two big dysfunctional tents, if we ever did.  The current administration has magnified the flaws in our system, so “revampage” is imperative.  Revamapge is tidier than a revolution, so let’s get cracking.

Smithers, release the flying meth monkeys!

Luckily, we don’t have to worry about damaging the Constitution or the Bill of Rights; Bush and his cronies took care of that.

We at the Discordare advancing the agenda of a new, emerging party known as the Transcosmetic Party.  You will hear more and more as we start wearing our cute little arm bands and marching in goose-step fashion from sea to shining sea.  I’m kidding, of course; we’ll probably take the bus.  We are, after all, fat, middle-aged, monkey-drugging, coke fiends.

Now, let’s start our assault on reason by systematically rating the journalists, column-writers, and cable news anchors of our time.  Exposing the flaws of our peers is not meant to slander or attack.  This report card is necessary.  We will be mercilessly non-partisan (MNP).  After all, we’re not prejudiced; we hate everybody. We will hold each individual up to Ken Wilber’s four quadrants to determine their overall integral scores.  This should be fun, although in no way does Wilber approve of what we are doing.  We are the “barely integral,” damnit!  And you know what they say about an ounce of knowledge: It’s for medicinal purposes only.  I have glaucoma in my left eye!

Top Ten Worst Documentaries Of All Time

  1. Southwest Airline’s Great Baggage Screening Outtakes Reel
  2. Going Up? The Musak Story
  3. The Accidental Martyr (starring Abdul “I strapped on what?” Rahman)
  4. Interview With the Narcolept
  5. Finland: Frozen Shitcicle of Europe
  6. Ventriloquism for Dummies
  7. The Unedited Joe Biden Story (87 min intro by Bill Clinton)
  8. The Making of the Making of: My Big Day at the DMV (director’s cut)
  9. Family Trips on a Dollar’s worth of Gas (5 minutes of fun in the SUV)
  10. Raising Camel Spiders as Pets (spider holes can conceal your most precious belongings)

Springtime for Wilber?

Sometimes, just sometimes, watching the democratic process stirs up a mix of emotions that is oddly reminiscent of how I feel when I see things like chocolate covered potato chips. First, I’m a little intrigued. Then, I think, what a waste of perfectly good chocolate. Then, I end up feeling a bit scared on behalf of humanity as a whole.

During some of the presidential debates, I felt all this, and more, as I watched Ron Paul’s emergence and his fellow candidates’ subsequent confusion. When someone like Paul brings up those pesky National Intelligence Estimate findings to the denial squad, or mentions facts about torture, habeas corpus, or the constitution, it can be both comical and dangerous. For Republicans any deviance from the White House’s talking points triggers serious consequences, such as (gasp) realization.

Didn’t that kook, Paul, get the memo? FOX News has assured us that the incompetent parts of the last seven years (roughly 94%) never happened. Who is this constitutional upstart? Doesn’t he realize that what’s left of the Republican Party is designated to the ever-shrinking Bushian bubble of non-reality, hovering over the White House like a Roveian fart? When Paul spoke during the debates it was like watching robots being fed paradoxical statements. Smoke rose out of their ears, a few springs shot into the audience, and the knee-jerk responses spewed, such as, “America doesn’t need to apologize to anyone!” Apparently, this includes those affected by all the war’s collateral damage as well as those people wrongly whisked away into the night, detained, and tortured without proof or due process.

These neocons must be brought up to date slowly; otherwise it’s like watching a deep sea diver surface too quickly, or abruptly rousing a sleep walker, or reliving that mother/daughter end-of-the-Crying-Game moment. In short, the Republican denial involves pride, stubbornness, and a lack of Ginkoba supplements. You have been terribly wrong about a terrible war that may have far reaching consequences for the Middle East and the United States, but it’s OK. When you are a neocon digging a hole, it is best to stop digging, casually lay down the shovel, look as inconspicuous as possible, and maybe shift your energy toward domestic affairs, like dismantling more of the Constitution.

The ‘Surge’ may well be working, but the fact remains that this is just the first step of our build-your-own-country kit. After five years, countless lives, and an ongoing two-billion a week price tag, we have successfully inserted tab A into slot B. Hurray, now we have completed step one…only 187 left (I knew we should have purchased the preassembled model).

I understand it may be distasteful to allow your liberal friends to pull you out of this hole, so why not employ the aide of someone more integral? Someone who understands that foreign threats do exist and that something really does need to be done about them, but have you ever seen something fraught with this many missteps end well? OK, maybe the play Springtime for Hitler, but, let’s face it, that was a fluke.

Personally, I marched on Shock and Awe Day, but I was brightened by the purple thumb brigade during Iraq’s first vote. Our cheerleading must be tempered with the awareness that any progress might be seen as a green light for the Bushies to move their invasion to other countries, including loveable Canada. This eventuality continues to cause considerable moral and patriotically-grounded angst. After all, they invented back bacon and hockey. It’s time people started to appreciate the difficulty that I have had walking the line between patriotism and rationalism. Let’s face it, if Iran, and or Syria, are ever to become the next logical step in Bush’s ‘road-side-bomb to peace,’ there is no way, no how, it should be managed by Dr. Incompetent and his Neonatecons.

Isn’t it time for more options than ‘America is always wrong,’ or ‘America is always right?’ In order to rise above both parties, isn’t it time we formed a new one? Integralists will help you out of this ideological ditch without saying, “I told you so,” or “where is that twenty you owe me, bitch?” But on that note, I would like to take this moment to ask, “Where is that twenty you owe me, bitch?”

This party will stand by the original tenants of conservatism, small government, and protected civil liberties, while embracing civic responsibility for those less fortunate among us. A more ‘integral’ party loosely based on some of the work of Ken Wilber, will help us address the complex problems of the twenty-first century. Our battle cry, which will ring out from the fruited plains to the purple mountain’s majesty: “Don’t be stupid. Be a smarty. Come and join our TransCosmetic Party.”

Worst Rock Solo Careers of All Time

  1. David Lee Roth (Hello Yankee Rose—Goodbye Diamond Dave!)
  2. Art Garfunkle (Hello silence my old friend)
  3. Oats of Hall & Oats: (The Just Oats Tour)
  4. Roger Daltry (Who?)
  5. Syd Barret (He’s dead now, so we can start the healing process)
  6. Glenn Frey of the Eagles (and as for you, Don, it’s always been about Joe. But good luck with that rainforest thing)
  7. We may be going out on a limb here, but Jimi Hendrix was nothing w/o The Experience
  8. Animal from the Muppets (pre rehab)
  9. Vince Neil of Motley Crue (although he did have a single on the Encino Man soundtrack)
  10. Did we mention the Just Oats Tour?

OK, OK, we made up the Oats one, but it’s plausible.

Palin Faces Ethics Panel

In a potential scandal, Vice Presidential hopeful Sarah Palin recently tried getting her former brother-in-law fired from the state police. She will soon face an Alaskan ethics panel to determine if she abused her powers. We at the Discord believe the interrogation should be led by Michael Palin of Monty Python fame. She should face both the rack and/or the comfy chair…because ‘nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.’

The Sir Woody Chronicles

Salutations, seekers of sophistication and acumen. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Woodrow Emerson Prescott III, or “Sir Woody” to my colleagues.  A fortnight hence, during a serendipitous ejection from Pugsley’s Public House, I chanced upon the editors of the “Daily Discord” who solicited me to compose an authoritative column for their publication. My area of expertise, I ascertained, is how to maintain a sophisticated lifestyle in shelterless urban environs. It is my sincere belief that my libertarian associates benefit from my example of gentlemanly comportment, and I am imbued with optimism that I can bestow similar wisdom upon the general literary public and those Metropolitan Roving Survival Aficionados (or MRSA-neries as I call them).

The first school of thought in corporate real estate is, “location, location, location”. Location is ephemeral to the ever transient. Those not auspicious enough to habitate in more southerly climates must endure the adversities of frigid air, preferably with a box from Frigidaire. Such cardboard casas are one of many copious techniques to sustain optimum bodily temperatures when the Fahrenheit plummets below the freezing point.

The quaint and archetypal image of ladies and gentlemen congregating in the vicinity of a roaring barrel fire has long elapsed. The quest for warmth has become an individual endeavor. Layering is the optimum solution, and in this era of green technology and recycling, discarded newspapers act as superlative insulation and engender a feeling of environmental activism and responsibility. Recent advances in ink and chemically laden paper have reduced the most disagreeable “smearage factor.” No longer does one appear like a Dickensian chimney sweep, a West Virginia coalminer, or some outdated minstrelesque faux pa.

The accessibility of the business section and book reviews is a peripheral benefit that should not be neglected!

Those who are industrious and possess the adroit skills of a Boy Scout can assemble a heat-capturing pavilion utilizing a large swathe of plastic siding and string.  Alas, boy scouts themselves will warm one’s château in a pinch, although a plucky girl scout is my preference for both their perky pookas as well as their palatable pralines.

Simply envelop a sidewalk storm grate that exhumes steam from below. You may recollect the famous photograph of Marilyn Monroe coyly attempting to maintain her feminine dignity while a lusty gust of air failed to expose her delicates. Later that evening, once Marilyn, her entourage and the paparazzi departed, six people shared that very grate. It was a magical night for the ages.

Exercise is a crucial component to maintaining peak physical conditioning. Bipedal transportation, admittedly, is the sole source of mobility for my demographic group. I proudly proclaim that I promenade a minimum of twenty miles a day. Many of my more fitness passionate compatriots accomplish this feat via a circumambulatory route where I choose a more linear trajectory frequenting the parks, shopping malls and public museums. I find it extremely inspiring when our uniformed law enforcement officers loudly exclaim their encouragement for me to “keep moving.” My daily constitutionals would be impossible without their vigilant support.

To live in a country of such abundance is a blessing. A gourmet diet is easily achievable in our land of milk and honey (although, be wary of the discarded milk). Each night, Italian pizzerias receive numerous unscrupulous and erroneous telephone orders. The undeliverable pizza pies are discarded at the conclusion of each work night. And many of my colleagues confess that stacked pizza boxes make for excellent head pillows. One twenty-five cent piece can muster a culinary feast celebrating the melting pot that is America.

A brief sojourn in my daily routine is a hearty brunch at the local soup kitchen. I delight at the intellectual discourse that permeates the atmosphere reminding me of an ivy-league university student union. Discussions range from criminal justice and pharmacology to the latest in mental illness and religious experience, transfixing patrons to a higher plane of philosophy and thinking.

Now don’t imagine for a moment that just because the traditional 3-bedroom domicile is absent, one’s primordial desires go unfulfilled. The instinctive inclinations of men and women are easily satiated by those willing and ambitious enough to employ themselves in the carnal arts. Dalliances under a refrigerator box or in a Salvation Army clothing dumpster are the proverbial love nests. My favorite lass, Gummy Rose, a retired yet self-employed artisan of the flesh is a callipygian beauty for all those with a spare fiver to splurge. The free clinic gratefully administers inoculation services to mitigate any shared pathogens or crustaceous cohabiters of dubious origin.

Those who traverse the boulevards and alleyways of a large metropolis often excrete a tremendous amount of perspiration, making proper hygiene a challenge. There exists a variety of agreeable deodorants that obfuscate any felonious odors. Discarded automobile air fresheners when festooned from the neck exude a satisfying pine tree fragrance and accentuate one’s modish prettification. To enhance the bodies’ natural bouquet, various alcohol-based concoctions when imbibed in sufficient quantities permeate a sweet and sour dermis medley that pre-announces your entrance to any room.

Being devoid of material possessions has allowed me to follow more cerebral, sophisticated pursuits. Much like the Buddha, all I own is contained in a solitary shopping cart. May I add, K-mart pushcarts are the Rolls Royces of transportable towage with the smoothest and most vertical alignment? The fries from a thousand diners grease my wheels of pragmatic progress.  I have zero credit card bills, car or mortgage payments, there’s no compulsion to “keep up with the Jones’s” and no concerns or stress regarding employment promotions. Fornicate the Jones’s.

I feel a closer affinity to our ancestors who lived a more simple life before the age of electricity and luxury. I sincerely believe this exposé on how to live truly free and in comfort will inspire those considering such an alternative lifestyle. My needs are simpler yet my tastes remain refined. I still take my tea at three and it’s a marvel of science that you can get over 200 cups with one single bag. It is trifle weak after about 150 but supplemented with brandy, wine, whiskey, rum, scotch or vodka there is no end to the pedestrian epicurean delights. Don’t even get me started on the hidden treats amidst those fast food dumpsters and the shear magnitude of their discarded buns, or urban crumpets as I call them.

I trust this editorial will help the urban newbies transition smoothly into the adventures of vagabondia, so until next time.

Cloning of Japanese Chia Pet Condemned as ‘Abomination’ by local Sea Monkeys

It’s been a long week and I still haven’t gotten to the bank or post office, so could you please use your imagination a little bit? Humor me. Think about how oriental Chia Pets would react to the unethical cloning of those freaky childhood monkey-brine thingies from our childhoods.  I wanted a decoder ring.  They sounded cool.  Sea monkeys were OK, I suppose, but there was nothing really monkey-like about them.

Cheney: King of the Damned?

Mick Zano

Warning: To the casual reader who is blissfully unaware of the darker goings-on within the current administration, the contents of this article may prove deeply disturbing. To those with weak constitutions: consider Ron Paul’s candidacy.
Dick Cheney at 1939 World’s Fair

Something sinister has happened to Vice President Dick Cheney. My suspicions were aroused after viewing a video clip, circa Desert Storm, wherein Mr. Cheney alludes to the insanity of a regime change in Iraq. He prognosticates that if Saddam Hussein were to be toppled, pieces of Iraq would “fly off,” ultimately leaving us stuck in a “quagmire.” (His words; my quotations; Jack Handey’s Deep Thoughts). Equally stunning is the conclusion of the video, wherein Mr. Cheney is seen licking an ice cream cone and petting a small dog—possibly a pug—while warning of the dangers of global over-industrialization.

Since then, yours truly did some digging…and oh, what macabre truths have been unearthed. I believe that President Bush is simply a human ghoul guarding Cheney’s lair back at his ‘undisclosed location.’ If the opportunity arises, move in as close as possible to the VP, then whip out a shard of mirror or some other reflective surface to see if he casts an image. Sadly, our own roving reporter, Skippy Morowitz, was gunned down within inches of the VP while attempting this very feat.

Cheney’s former chief assistant, Lewis “Scooter” Libby, apparently played a more Renfield-like role. During his obstruction hearing last year, Libby sent this enigmatic message to New York Times reporter Judith Miller: “They turn in clusters, because their roots connect them.” What you may not know is that the postscript read: “Send juicy centipedes.” More intriguing was Cheney’s response to Scooter’s pardon. “It saves me the trouble of deciding whether to visit his jail cell in the form of a wolf or a greenish vapor.”

Some disbelievers may ask why most Cheney sightings continue to occur during daylight hours, but I’ve got two words for you skeptics: Adobe Photoshop. Speaking of which, perhaps the most compelling proof is the completely doctored photo seen at the right.

Several other theories have surfaced regarding Cheney’s atypical behaviors. These include, but are not limited to, alien abduction, Australian-rules cloning, mutant werewolf ninjas, and, perhaps least credible of all, the emergence of a Dormant Evil Gene (D.E.G.). Some of these theories may seem fantastic, even made up, but they do beg the question—is Dennis Kucinich a UFO?

Although the particulars remain up for debate, a growing truth is becoming apparent: Dick Cheney is a supernatural entity. If not a vampire then perhaps he’s a pod-person or possibly a zombie clone of some sort. How else could any administration pull off the most heinous expansion of executive powers since Howard Taft discovered marzipan?

The current administration is unimpeachable, unsympathetic, and, quite possibly, undead. Mounting evidence suggests Cheney is amassing Sauron-like powers in his de-Googlefied mountaintop fortress. That’s right, folks: his residence has been removed from Google satellite images, so even Tom Tom can’t find Dick Dick.

The final nail in the coffin is this: weeks before Skippy Morowitz’s tragic death, he secretly obtained this picture of what is believed to be Cheney’s new and improved residence:

Cheney's new and improved residence
Cheney’s new and improved residence

Vice President Cheney and his underlings can listen to our phone conversations, read our emails, and imprison and torture us without provocation or due process. But even he went too far when he added the following to his list of approved interrogation techniques (Christmas edition):

1. Such “enhanced techniques” may consist of the following, among other things, according to circumstance:
Deprivation of sleep
Stress positions
Waterboarding
Impaling (suspected terrorists only)
Draining of blood (on second thought, just send them to the VP’s office)

Ultimately, we must discover a way to destroy the seat of Cheney’s power: his sacred book, the Neo-Necronomicon, which is believed to be buried deep within his cadaver-sized safe along with Machiavelli’s The Prince, two missing CIA torture tapes, and the only known copy of Nixon: The Musical. We must recover and destroy these items…well, all of them except for the CIA tapes. We’d better hang on to those to defeat an equally diabolical monster: Frankenbush.

Fox’s Tentative Fall Line-Up

  1. Survivor Tijuana: Anyone who makes it all night without a tattoo or an S.T.D. wins passage back to U.S.
  2. Coyote for a Day: contestants are tested on how many illegals they can sneak over the border.
  3. Pimp my Fridge Carton: The show that proves you don’t have to live in a house to have bling.
  4. The Ultimate FOX News Experience: short skirts, tight shirts, big boobs, blond hair, no sound.
  5. Trading Spaces-Incarceration Edition: How well can inmates decorate each others cells?
  6. C.S.I West Virginia: can’t check dental records, no one has seen a dentist in decades. DNA? No good here, 3 million people, 6 last names.
  7. Liberal Survivor: Seven Pacifists Stranded on an Island with Ann Coulter: Only one will leave.
  8. SADtv: Stooges Against Democrats: the FOX News All-Stars
  9. The Limpsons: When Even Viagra Doesn’t Cut It
  10. Boston Public Works: see how much money you can skim off Boston public works projects.

Bones of Ancient "Real" Republican Unearthed

Archeologist discovers the fossilized remains of a traditional George Will-like conservative dating back to the pre-Reagan administration.

"This exciting find could provide key evidence for the comparative study of Republican de-evolution," claims archeologist Sterling Hogbein of the Hogbein Institute and Microbrewery. "The skull is 31% larger than today’s social conservative," continues Hogbein, "and the pelvic bone suggests a much larger and heavier scrotal sack."

Newer conservatives seem to have lost the ability to use tools, keep governments small, and maintain even a rudimentary budget.

"Perhaps," posits Hogbein, "evolution is getting even with the non-believers."

Restore Habeas Corpus: Then Explain It to Me

Mick Zano

Why is the recent Habeas Corpus Supreme Court decision so important? The writ of Habeas Corpus is the cornerstone of the Bill of Rights. Habeas Corpus is the right of any individual unlawfully placed in detention to receive legal council, a fair hearing, or Circus Peanuts. (Oh, that stale marshmellowy goodness.)

"Habeas Corpus secures every man here, alien or citizen, against everything which is not law, whatever shape it may assume."

— Thomas Jefferson (that left-wing, terrorist lover).

One can assume that Jefferson meant even if the ‘shape’ comes in the form of the aforementioned Circus Peanut.

If your government can pick you up, detain you indefinitely without trial or charges, the Bill of Rights and the Constitution are moot! In fact, if someone tries to permanently suspend Habeas Corpus, our forefather encouraged us to run around in circles, flailing our arms. While this advice has raised my metabolism considerably—allowing me to indulge on the occasional Circus Peanut—it has done nothing to restore our rights. Frankly, we’ve dressed as Indians and held wild tea parties for much less offenses. Today, just ‘offending’ the government could book someone a one way ticket on the Gitmo express.

You might be saying, “But they would never do that!”

Did you ever take a civics class, theoretical question person? Do you huff paint thinner, per chance?

With Harris v. Nelson (1969) the Supreme Court determined the “writ of habeas corpus is the fundamental instrument for safeguarding individual freedom against arbitrary and lawless state action.” If recent government proceedings have not been arbitrary, I don’t know what is. The ‘great writ’ has been undone by the ‘great twit.’ The fact that John McCain is complaining about the restoration of Habeas says a lot about this presumptive president and his priorities. Next he’ll be telling us he doesn’t use the Internets.

Our forefathers actually borrowed this ‘great writ’ from the Magna Carta of 1215. Such rights aren’t pre-9/11 thinking, they’re more accurately pre-1215 thinking. Do you know what happened in 1214? I don’t, but I’m reasonably sure it was before the Bushes or the Clintons held office (by a month or two). 1214, people! Even longer than Bush rolled back those EPA regulations (by a month or two).

You might be saying, “Why do enemy combatants need rights?”

Look, paint-thinner boy, your government can declare anyone an enemy combatant and is therefore no longer burdening itself with providing any pesky evidence or proof. The rule of law has not only broken down, but it has been stripped to the block and the parts sold on fucking E-bay! Can I make this any clearer? That is why this decision to restore it is so important.

It is not good enough to say, “well, our president would never abuse such powers”; the point is, no one should ever wield such power. That’s what checks and balances mean. That is why Gandalf, Galadriel, or Mr. Fabulous would not accept Sauron’s ring of power. There was a Mr. Fabulous in Middle-Earth, wasn’t there?

I’ll never forget watching C-span in my underwear with a bucket of vodka (the Monday night special) as some senator asked Alberto Gonzales, “Aren’t you concerned that these expanded powers in the wrong hands might be abused?”

He responded, “Yeah. Like I hope the next dude is, like, righteous,” or something equally inane.

You might be saying, “Well, all I can say is, it hasn’t affected my life.”

Are you serious, theoretical question person? Put down that magic marker, this instant.

Let me use an extreme example: it’s a little late when you’re on the train to Auschwitz to start tapping the SS officer on the shoulder. I’m talking to you Sean Hannity. Although, I do approve of your recent Hannity-Youth Movement. I think it’s patriotic and well-grounded in rationality. In fact, anyone would be an ‘enemy of the state’ not to join this wholesome brand of governmental programming.

To heck with waterboarding; only three countries have ever officially condoned stress positions during interrogations: the U.S., Turkey, and Nazi Germany…or—as the pharmaceutical companies call them—the Axis of Advil. I have been following Andrew Sullivan’s blog, and, like him, I believe “Sane and civilized societies do not give permission for such things. And they do not make excuses for them. And when they discover they have been done, they investigate and prosecute those who broke the law.”

Remember in the movie Cloverfield, when the monster ripped the head clear off the Statue of Liberty? I believe that was a metaphor. Clover = Bush and field = failed; erog, Bush failed. Crimson and clover, over and over. OK, it’s getting late and the hallucinations are starting again. Circus Peanuts, Circus Peanuts. Need more Circus Peanuts.

They’re coming for me again. It’s just that I’ve been in this same stress position for so long, and they don’t let me sleep anymore…

Opinions such as these have led to my being whisked away in the night, denied a lawyer, and formally charged. They even cut off my access to medical marijuana. I have pre-glaucoma in my left eye, for god’s sake! Worst of all, they keep denying my request to be waterboarded with beer. The monsters!

Come hell or high lager, glug-glug, I’m going to write my next compelling article, It’s Hard to Enjoy the Chicken Pilaf Chained Naked to the Wall, glug-glug. Oh, god, here comes the bitch with the leash. Well, this part isn’t so bad. Could someone please call the ACLU? Better wait until the bitch with the leash is finished, then call.

Signed,

Sleepless in Syria

(I think…well, I know I’m sleepless, but the Syria part is an educated guess)

Below is a Discord original recipe. Not like one of those Cindy McCain original recipes—the real thing. For god sakes, man, don’t let them get their hands on this!

The Circus Peanut:

  1. One shot of Banana-Red Maddog
  2. Top off with a whisper of Southern Comfort

Virgin Contracts VD: Hailed as Immaculate Infection

Despite the fact that 17 year old Becky Forrest of Clifton, NJ tested positive for Chlamydia and HPV at her July physical examination, she is maintaining her chastity. “It’s been challenging to earn crack money and keep my abstinence pledge,” says Becky.  Her mother Greta Forrest couldn’t be prouder, “I believe her.  Aside from selling most of our belongings for drug money, she’s an angel.”  Becky’s mother beamed at the doctor’s report with an unparallel level of motherly denial.  “There’s the hand of god at work here…or certainly some part of god.”