Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Dear Ghetto Shaman,

Hello, I am an attractive twenty six year old Yoga instructor.  I am striving for complete inner and outer harmony.  Striving seems to have led me into a blind alley for the moment.  Can you help me?

Pam Nystrom

Johnstown, PA

Dear Pam,

I believe I can.  Bend over, I’ll strive. 

The Ghetto Shaman

Clinton Admits the Two Girls He Brought Back From His Oriental Envoy Are Not the Missing Journalists

Los Angeles, CA – The Ling and Lee families are now claiming that the two women former President Bill Clinton returned from North Korea are not their loved ones. Clinton was initially stunned by the allegations. 

“Laura Ling and Euna Lee are home safe and sound,” insisted Clinton.  “They were treated well by their North Korean captors, and they were both very grateful, to me personally, for their new found freedom.”

Clinton then repeated the words “very grateful” several times while giggling to himself.

When reporters asked why the Ling family is considering legal action over what they are describing as an “emotional rollercoaster,” Clinton stiffened. “Those ungrateful bastards!  I go through all the trouble of wooing those little…all right. I admit it. Mistakes may have been made.  I get a little overexcited when Hillary let’s me leave on a road trip un-chaperoned, if you know what I mean.”

Clinton faltered further as the press conference turned ugly.  He came up with several reasons, one more ridiculous than the next, as to why the misidentification was not his fault.

“After all,” said Clinton, “there was certainly a chance, albeit a slim one, that these women were Laura and Euna.”

At one point during the heated press conference, Clinton said, “I did not have sexual relations with those hookers.”

Mr. Clinton apologized to the Ling and Lee families in a heartfelt poetic speech.

He then asked, “If it’s not too much trouble, could you send the girls back over to my place.  Tell them it’s for their debriefing, but briefs are optional, if you follow.”

Obama Apologizes to Geico Cavemen for the Pleistocene Neanderthal Genocide (PNG)

Washington, DC – President Barak Obama spoke to a group of cavemen earlier today at a benefit luncheon at the luxurious Palomar Hotel.  His mission was to smooth over some growing tensions over his administration’s failure to address the Neanderthal extinction issue.  Obama said the accountability begins and ends with him.

“I apologize for not apologizing earlier,” said Obama.  “In retrospect, I clearly should have apologized for this when I had nothing better to do than apologize for things.  For this I am sincerely sorry.” Obama went on to say, “This apology is long overdue.  In fact, it’s about forty-five thousand years overdue.”

The President is just glad that the world’s oldest inhabitants can finally find some closure to this dark period of human prehistory.  Long ago Homo sapiens ousted their Neanderthal cousins, wiping them off the face of the Earth, in an act that Obama described as “rash, unjust, and inexcusable.”  Obama would like to blame America for the Neanderthal’s demise since it is “likely to piss off the patriotards.”  To end the press conference on a lighter note, Obama finished with a joke.

He apologized again for the heinous Pleistocene genocide against a thoughtful and peaceful race before adding, “Genocide may be tough, but my apology was so easy a caveman could do it.”

Obama’s attempt at jocularity sparked a violent riot amongst nearly all of the dining Geico Cavemen in attendance. The disturbance ended with twelve arrests and 47 injuries.  President Obama regrets that his remarks were poorly received and hopes to re-establish strong ties with his cavemen constituents before his return to giving a shit, which is projected to be some time in early 2011. 

The Bucks County Badlands: Haunted Pennsylvania

My wife and I have spent considerable amounts of time and money in downtown New Hope, Pennsylvania.  For those of you unfamiliar with this cozy little playhouse town, it’s well worth the stop.  One weekend, while vacationing there, I even proposed to my wife (along with several other women who happened to pass at the time).  We always try to hit New Hope whenever we’re within a hundred miles of the joint.  Speaking of joints, John & Peter’s Place is a must.  It’s a bar on Main Street that boasts 37 years of live music.  There’s a wooden sliding door to the backroom where many a good band can be heard.  But John & Peter have no shame, apparently.  Neither do their friends over at Woody & Johnson’s just down the street (members only).  New Hope has plenty of good eateries and a few good bars, but the town could use a brewpub, a better beer bar, a humidor, a Belgian bistro, and a few more women who will accept my advances, or at least not involve the authorities.  But I’m not complaining, the hell I’m not.  Get cracking on that, peeps!

Our trip started out typically enough.  My wife and I took the New Hope ghost tour by lantern light, John’s Peter Place for a brew, and then caught a play.  Ah, I remember it well.  I was dressed as Gomez and my wife was dressed as Morticia Adams (or was it the other way around?).  It wasn’t Halloween; we’re just not horribly well is the thing.  The next day, our travels took a sinister twist, however.  We decided to take an alternate route out of town.  The road less traveled, as it were. It’s the kind of decision that prompts Rod Serling to step out from behind some bushes and say something like, “A traveling couple opt for some changes in their itinerary.  Unbeknownst to them, their new destination now lies in one of the dangerously undercooked loins of The Twilight Zone.” 

On our way northward and homeward, we agreed to do some exploring along the Delaware River.  After some sightseeing, we hoped to arrive at the Ship Inn, just over the Jersey border, at or around suppertime. The Ship Inn is a great brewpub, by the way, that serves a mean brown ale.  But what happened to the drunken clam appetizer, huh?  But I’m not complaining, the hell I’m not.  Get cracking on that, peeps!

We never arrived at that infamous drinkery. Mwahahhahahah…

OK, that’s not the scary part, except for those few beer connoisseurs amongst you.  We did end up at the Witches’ Brew in Easton, where I managed to set my laptop on fire.  The strange part, OK, the strange part for the purpose of this post, happened just north of New Hope, where we found ourselves on this tiny strip of land between the Delaware River and this old canal.  The area was secluded, atmospheric, and thick with old oak trees.  The place was daunting and had a heavy feel to it, not unlike my friend Jim Blob.

At some point during our northward jaunt, we became lost in a rather desolate section of those Buck’s County badlands.  The road we got stuck on was called Upper Black Eddy Road, just off of River Road.  We had just driven passed a large structure on the right and Rod Serling puffing on a cigarette to the left, when I decided to take a moment to enjoy this strange and compelling parcel of woodland, and, of course, pop open another can of Big Jug Extra Malt Liquor.  OK, not really. I just wanted to get out the map.  Women typically can’t navigate, you see, and my wife is no exception.  We were driving around in circles for about a half hour and my mascara was running.  I only had one girlfriend who could ever use a map properly.  Lola, I think her name was.  Anyway, we pulled over and I decided to get out of the car.  The area was strangely quiet, too quiet.  After only a few seconds, I stepped back into the car, grabbed the map, and started the engine.

“What’s wrong?” my wife asked. 

“This place gives me the creeps,” I said, and then immediately became rather adamant about finding my old girlfriend, Lola, and a new map (something not refolded ad infinitum by some origami sadist).  Besides, I wanted some drunken clams, some brown ale, and some women to propose to during those few blissful moments when my wife is in the can.

An uneasy feeling crept into the core of my being.  I had only felt something like that a few other times, most involving my ex, Lola, or undercooked pork products.  Seriously, my wife can’t cook pork.  She’s not Jewish, she’s just profoundly pork impaired (PPI).

In retrospect, she said it’s the only time I ever seemed spooked (I will leave the eve before my wedding out of this).  Since adulthood, I only remember three similar spook-related-experiences (SREs). Two occurred in the presence of a guy named Shag, and the last took place in the heart of the Superstition Mountains with a guy named Pokey.  Don’t read too deeply into this.  A guy named Shag and Pokey; I know what you’re thinking, but we’re all straight.  Well, Shag is iffy, but the rest of us are dead butch.  Oh, how fondly I recall those summers up at PokeShag Mountain. 

After much fear and loathing, we did eventually find our way out of that foul and terrible place and, once we arrived home, I pulled out a proper map and found the very spot where we had stopped.  I looked online only to discover the piece of real estate we were poking about was known as the Devil’s Half-Acre.  The Devil had originally wanted an entire acre, or so the story goes, but something about a really good fiddle player, Daniel Webster, and one bitch of a real estate agent and, well, have some sympathy for the devil, will ya?

A tavern is the only structure standing in the middle of Salem’s lot.  It was built in the 1800s (by drunken demons I suppose) and was frequented by the workers who dredged out the nearby canal.  The original owner was a questionable sort (not unlike our own Ghetto Shaman) and he was often in trouble with the authorities (not unlike our own Dave Atsals). Legend has it that the whole place is overrun by the spirits of the dead canal workers who died at the tavern during many-a-wild bar brawl (tragically just before happy hour).  The losers of these fights were said to be buried somewhere on the grounds by the owner of the place.  Apparently, there are all kinds of critters buried behind Farmer Vincent’s shitters.  The Devil’s Half Acre is actually part of Solebury Township and how many souls are buried behind that dark and terrible place remains unclear.  Mwaahahahah.  Taverns don’t usually bother me, but taverns that no longer serve beer apparently scare the shit of me.  If you’re really quiet in those accursed woods, you can almost here those spirits saying: Is it still happy hour?  Are there free wings by chance?  And, who the hell just broke that bottle over my head?

If you ever find yourself driving along that windy lonesome river road, dressed like Morticia Adams, go with someone who knows how to navigate, like Lola, and pop open some Big Jug Extra Malt Liquor for those thirsty tragic spirits of yore.

Brewhaha: Obama Beer Summit Breaks Down to Brew Swayin’ Bust

CEO’s NOTE: Dammit, Mick reports that those bastards at The Onion have scooped us (although I haven’t actually read it….wait, I can’t even find it. What the hell are you talking about???) but I’m running it anyway…

Washington, DC – The infamous Beer Summit designed to help smooth over Obama’s recent comments about the arrest of Harvard Professor, Henry Gates, did nothing of the sort. Professor Gates set the negative tone for the evening by ordering a Black Label. Officer Crowley wasted no time countering with a Blue (police officer) Moon (dropping my pants, metaphorically, asshole). President Obama could have opted to take the high ground, but instead decided to order an Extra Special Bitter.

Crowley then asked, “Oh, I see you like bitter beers, Mr. President, you should try Rogue Dead Guy Ale.”

The President countered with, “It’s a shame there are no doughnut flavored beers for our men in blue.”

Crowley then asked, “Have you ever tried a Negro Pendejo?”

Gates, through gritted teeth, corrected him, “I think you mean, Negra Modelo.”

The conversation went south from there. This reporter seriously doubts whether Pete’s Prejudice Porter from White Supremacist Brewery is even a real beer.

To add citation to injury, following the event, Sergeant Crowley pulled the president and professor over on their way back to the professor’s hotel.

“I had probable cause,” stated Crowley. “I was invited into their crib where they proceeded to crack 40s right in front of me.”

When questioned as to whether this action constituted entrapment, Crowley responded “When you see two of ‘those types’ in a limo, it’s usually a king-pin, a rap-group, or a car-jacking. No matter how you slice it, it comes up felony.”

Allegedly, Obama’s cocaine and hookers bribe fell on deaf beers.

Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Dear Ghetto Shaman,

I must admit to being a New Age newbie.  What the heck is Chi?  And what exactly is a super cosmic chakra cleansing invocation?   I hear these crazy things bandied about in the course of my studies, but I must admit to being completely lost sometimes. 

Bobby Tonelli

Kennebunkport, ME

Dear Bobby,

(or may I call you Bobert?)

You must harness your Chi. You must cultivate your Chi.  At the risk of sounding like Dr. Seuss, Chi is the key, you see! You must make the Chi your pet, a Chia Pet, if you will.  As for the super cosmic chakra cleansing invocation, I use prune juice, a warrior’s drink.

The Ghetto Shaman

My Facebook Needs a Face Lift

Dave Atsals

A friend and fellow Discordian, who would like to remain Mickless, recommended we all register on Facebook, and I hate him for it.  I opened an account, a public one, no less, and thanks to Pierce Winslow’s great idea to use public accolades instead of our real names, well…let’s just say I’ve gotten about what I deserve.  NOTHING. ABSOULTELY NOTHING.  Facebook, or no, the expected herds of adoring fans have yet to materialize.  The sexy blonde female stalkers have not overwhelmed my home page.  In fact, I haven’t even had any hate mail.  Nothing, nada, nichts.   Worse yet, despite the endless spam ads assaulting my web searches, the awful truth is: there are absolutely no hot single women in my area waiting to talk to me!  None!  It’s all a lie!  AHHHHhhhhhhhh! Distraught and disenchanted, I turned to the internet to search for my true popularity.  Wikipedia’s search results for Dave Atsals are as follows:

Dave Stalls, my ass.  I’m not a Query either, although I can belt out some show tunes when plied with enough alcohol.

My Google search for Dave Atsals resulted in this: did you mean Dave Astels? A few links to Discord articles also appeared, but who the hell is Dave Astels? Upset by this imposter stealing my thunder, I checked my real name.  After all, Dave Atsals is a sobriquet like all famous writer-folk and escaped convict types use (or even those few people, like yours truly, that happen to be both).   Again, my search revealed nothing—nothing but a few public court related documents. 

I did have much better luck with my YAHOO search.  Dave Atsals, pulled a lot of links to the Daily Discord, and that glory-seeking son of a bitch, Astels, was thankfully nowhere to be found.  My real name was actually linked to an Obituary, not my own, of course, at least I’m reasonably sure. 

I then decided to search the names of some of my friends and relatives, figuring this would make me feel better. WRONG.  The search of my father’s name pulled 30 hits, my mother 10.  Hell, when I searched my son’s name I got 15 pages of listings, and he hasn’t even been arrested yet.  For Christ’s sake my dog’s name got two hits.  Of course, that’s only because he bit my neighbor in the ass.  Sorry about that, Dad.

I then searched for some other things.  Famous Dave did not turn up any related articles, but I did spit out a great BBQ pit place that sounds worth a try, or perhaps a future franchise.  Any investors out there?  They even let kids eat free.  Famous Dave is also a porn star with a 10 inch accoutrement; couldn’t possibly be me (famous Dave falls a little short).

My search for Famous Dave Atsals didn’t even reveal anything in English.  But it did say “DO YOU MEAN FAMOUS DAVE ASTALS?”  Screw him, and, no, I’m not a gay porn star either.

I guess this writing thing isn’t bringing me the fame and fortune I duly deserve.  Plans are now in the work to gain fame the old fashion way, “on the cover of the Rolling Stone.”  I can see it now. I’ll buy five copies for my 10 hits mother.  Of course, the police news section is a far more likely spot to keep up with my antics. 

I did find some relief when I searched for Pokey McDooris, and Mick Zano.  Their names didn’t even pull up links to the Daily Discord. They did pull up some articles about tin cups, cell bars, and front steps, but that’s a whole other article.  Oh, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I get a call from Mick Zano.  Get this, he promoted me to marketing and sales manager about a day after writing this puppy.  Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, marketing manager of the Daily Discord.  Did you mean Daily Dischord?   Screw you, Zano!  Last time I listened to you I ended up with a storage unit full of Betamax VCRs.  There is some good news amidst this pile of ego shriveling horse dung.  Our old marketing manager is now working for Dave Astels.  Good luck with that Davey.  See you in the Obits soon. 

Police Seek Ghetto Shaman as Person of Interest in Jackson Case

Los Angeles, CA – The Los Angeles Police Department has uncovered evidence suggesting the Daily Discord’s own Ghetto Shaman was Jackson’s first spiritual advisor.  The picture, depicted above, was obtained through the combined efforts of LIFE Magazine and someone who knows Adobe Photoshop.  The Shaman allegedly continued to prescribe ‘herbal’ remedies to the pop legend, nonstop, since the early seventies.

“He’s definitely a person of interest,” stated detective Augustin Villanueva of the LAPD.  “Let me be clear, we’re not implying there was any foul play here, but simple import/export transactions were ongoing between the two.”

The police know that copious amounts of Big Jug Extra Malt Liquor, Banana Red Mad Dog, and dime baggies of something containing trace amounts of THC were regularly exchanged between the two.  A handwritten note from the Ghetto Shaman with directions on how to make hallucinogens from nutmeg and Ramen Noodles was also found at the Neverland Ranch, along with a pamphlet on something called Midget Reiki.  Against all odds, the Daily Discord was able to arrange an exclusive interview with the Ghetto Shaman, who remains in hiding.

“I was in constant communication with Dr. Conrad Murray (Jackson’s personal physician),” claims the Ghetto Shaman.  “I am innocent!”

He also wants authorities to know the two were coordinating their efforts to return Michael to the “real world.” The Ghetto Shaman insists that all of his techniques are designed to expand consciousness in a safe and effective way, using only a few household poisons.  Pierce Winslow, CEO of the Daily Discord, would like to stand by his comrade during this difficult time period.

“Turn yourself in, freak,” said Winslow.  “You can still send us your weekly column from the pokey…By the way, where the hell is Pokey?  And where is this week’s post?  I need it every THURSDAY.  No postee, no payee, bitch.”

Earth to All Patriotards

Mick Zano

Beware!  The patriotards are reconstituting themselves, like those tiny Terminator droplets that reform when you’re not looking.  Patriotards are folks still confused and/or ambivalent about the Bush Administration’s legacy.  And, to set things right, they believe all this country needs is President Sarah Palin. A recent Rasmussen poll, my main reason for this post, finds 42% of this country ready and willing to vote for Palin in 2012.  Forty-two percent…this country…Earth, you betcha ya.  And this number will only increase with another attack.  One peep from Al-Qaeda and the patriotard hordes will seep out of the woodwork like, well, those Terminatorites.  As Bill Maher put it, after the next attack we’ll tear up the other half of the Bill Of Rights and Toby Keith is president.  This Rovian wave of nationalistic neurosis is the heartland of Patriotard Country.  You still don’t understand the patriotard menace?  Let me splain.  No, that will take too long.  Let me sum up…

It’s a free country (used to be anyway, before your last brainchild), so go ahead, vote for her.  But finding a way to identify and track Palinites is important sociological research.  We can call it the slow-jack.  You see, waving an American flag doesn’t necessarily mean you’re patriotic.  Patriotards, while waving such flags, have done more damage to our country then both reality television and ‘alternate side parking’ combined.   I know what you’re thinking.  How do you stay patriotic and intelligent, Mick?  Well, that does seem to be the issue, doesn’t it?  Patriotism these days seems to suggest an almost Sean Hannity-style level of denial.  Let’s say, for argument sake, Christopher Hitchens throws his hat into the ring in 2012. Now, I don’t agree with a lot of Hitchen’s policies, but I would consider voting for him, in fact, I probably would, because he’s fiercely intelligent. He embraces the heart of entrepreneurialism, small government, fiscal conservatism, and would be keenly shrewd on foreign policy.  He’s not even my brand but I clearly respect the model.  Palin fans wouldn’t like him, probably don’t even know him. 

Why do patriotards insist on the lowest common denominator? Why not find someone to champion your views who isn’t dating Cleetus the “Slack Jawed” Yokel.  I am petitioning the American Psychological Association to add a Pervasive Patriotard Disorder to the new DSM-V in hopes a viable treatment can be developed.

If you support Sarah Palin you are simply a Fox-only-watcher (FOW), or, well, the other option is even less charitable.  Look, I have nothing against Sarah Palin. That’s just a banana in my pocket, really.  I don’t mind idiots; I just don’t want any more for president, thanks.  People say, Mick, you’re afraid of her because she’s popular.  Whaaa?  I’m afraid of people in their forties going on sixteen…especially ones with aspirations to be president. But let me make this perfectly clear: the media hasn’t duped me into despising her; she’s just obviously petty, inarticulate, and her politics, what can be gleaned of them, are pathetic.  I based this determination not on the media’s coverage of her, but on the strings of unrelated words spewing out of her mouth that she calls sentences. 

The most recent patriotard pet peeve (PPP) about Obama involves all of the czars he is currently appointing to head everything from the auto industry to the porn industry.  I always wanted to be a porn czar.  Obama is simply continuing Bush’s expansion of power.  This isn’t algebra, folks.  Czars are answerable to no one but the President, so Obama can avoid congress and those pesky cabinet posts by appointing as many as humanly possible.  The patriotards cheered on Bush’s czar power for years. So it’s OK when your guy spawns this evil precedent, but now you cry foul? Anyone who passed civics class can tell you it’s too late once you let the czar out of the Kremlin.

Obama is the most powerful president ever.  He’s an Uber President.  Look, let me borrow a Crank-style analogy to help.  If someone gave you a Dodge Viper on Inauguration Day, are you really going to jump back into the Ford Escort for four years?  Please…  Let him take these new executive powers out for a spin, will ya?  Torture some bad guys, hire some death squads, maybe even appoint me as porn czar (I work cheap).

Now here’s my plan to restore order: “Know Soap.”  Obama can clean up on the way out.  Now hear me out on this. The only thing this democracy still has going for it is term limits.  If he does actually leave office when he’s supposed to, he could throw the keys to the Dodge Viper into the Potomac on his last day in office.  Restore order on the way out.  It’s brilliant!  This way he gets to have fun and we get our Constitution and our Bill of Rights back at the end of his term.  Not much of our country will be left by then, of course, but not much of it’s really left now.  It’s just the patriotards haven’t gotten the memo yet, is all.  Hint: they’re a little slow. 

Now to keep the Crank a little less cranky, there’s another end of the spectrum.  If you think Nancy Pelosi is doing a bang up job, welcome to the libertard club.  I agree with the Crank on the danger of libertards (another sure sign of the apocalypse).  The Crank feels most people are in themiddle of these two extremes, but I see it differently.  I think Karl Rove ordered everyone behind door number one, or door number two.  His politics of polarization worked far better than even he could imagine.  Americans now side with one group of developmentally disabled politicians or the other.  I think there are two countries, and I don’t like either of them.  About 42 percent of the country consists of patriotards, 45% consist of libertards, and 12 percent are hopelessly ambivalent.  Who’s left, you ask?  Yes, I’m talking about the Transcosmetic Party!  We need more integral voices.  The fighting one percent! The army of integral thinkers…onward Wilber soldiers!  

Oh, and Barak…I know you want to go on this joy ride of yours for awhile, but please stop riding the collective clutch.  A second stimulus?  Stop.  Please, just try male enhancement products. 

Oh, and I will be submitting my resume for porn czar shortly.  Open your minds real wide.  

Lowell Observatory Discovers Really Hot Chick in Sedona

Flagstaff, AZ – The Lowell Observatory has discovered an impressive binary, D-cup, star system just thirty miles south of their Mars Hill location.  Business is booming since the observatory shifted her historic Clark telescope toward the sun bathing escapades of one Kristy Felldorfer of Sedona, AZ.

Professor Nicholas Steiger had this to say about the new events calendar:  “She usually flips on the hour, so her twin binary system is viewable at 1:00, 3:00, and 5:00 PM.”

This attraction is highlighted by a dual aureole effect, tantalizingly cresting at the poles.  On alternating hours, 12:00, 2:00, and 4:00 PM, the full moon appears over the southern horizon to the roar of some horny astronomy enthusiasts. 

Professor Steiger admits to playing more with his Polaris since the recent change in venue, but as Steiger put it, “Take my wife, Pleiades.”

Steiger then laughed at his own joke to the point of choking. 

One of the Observatory’s second year interns, Duane Rufus, had this to say: “Finally, a heavenly body worth tracking.”

Rufus is considering the implications of an even closer encounter with Ms. Feldorfer and is planning an away mission this fall.  The Observatory hopes to boost gift shop sales with color photo spreads of what astronomers have come to call the Kristy Felldorfer Experience.  Is this just the beginning for the Fantastic Voyeurs?  Professor Steiger’s latest empirical article Turn that Hubble, Putz, onto those Bubble Butts has met with mixed reviews. 

A CEO Update: Winslow Insists Michael Jackson Spoof Articles Should Taper Off by Mid-to-Late October

Philadelphia, PA – The Daily Discord’s CEO, Pierce Winslow, would like to reassure our readers that “there is an end to the Michael Jackson gags, I promise.”

Although, Mr. Winslow is grateful for the frenzy of recent activity and material related to the pop stars untimely demise, the Daily Discord is no longer accepting Michael Jackson related faux articles at this time.  Winslow reported to the press today that the articles in-stock should all be posted by mid-to-late October, barring anything unforeseen, or as Winslow put it: “a really funny one comes along that I just have to post.”

Mr. Winslow would like to apologize for many of the recent submissions, which he describes as “displaying considerably poor taste.”  Mr. Winslow would also like to apologize for the next several months of Michael Jackson related articles, which he describes as being “er,…displaying considerably poor taste.”

Cranking On Gadner

The Crank

Dear Andre,

This is a rebuttal to your posted verbal diarrhea on July 16th regarding, among other things, that child cancer patient recently in the news.  Let’s start by saying, AHHHHHHHHHHHH!  I would like to follow that point with a brief ARRRRRG! BLLLARRRRRG!  Whew.  Now I’m on a roll.  You had me for one paragraph, the first one, I loved it. Then you lost me, big time. You see, there are times when people have to be saved from themselves. Mickko comes to mind when he tries to BBQ (can you say “Fire Marshall”?).  Let’s start with that cancer kid. He is a child, and having been one, albeit many moons ago, I can tell you that a child can not make a conscious decision. I could not make a conscious decision until I started my meds in my mid-thirties. You may never make a conscious decision, based on your last paragraph.

There are many types of parents in this world, Andre, and some are better than others. I assume, or rather hope you don’t have any children, ‘cause if you do, I will need to alert the authorities. That cancer kid’s parents have him brainwashed into believing what they believe, just as my mother had me brainwashed into believing that I was actually a reincarnated gopher, who needed to stay in the yard under some leaves for the better part of my childhood.  OK, in my case it may have been a good decision, but in general it is bad form. Seriously, my mother had a rather large impact on my life (not to mention my ass). I still crap my pants when I see a large wooden spoon. What she didn’t realize was that I crapped my pants upon seeing the spoon, knowing the intense pain to follow.  Pavlov calls this Negative Reinexcrement.

So when she came up to me holding that big fucking wooden weapon in the air saying “did you just crap your pants?”, well, it was a self-fulfilling poophecy: Instant HotPocket.  I call that point my “number two.”

Stupid decisions are OK, I suppose, when you make them for yourself, but not when you are making them for a child.  She was wrong, and so are you.

Now, getting back to you, if I want to go to a bar for a beer or five, I don’t want you sitting next to me going all afterburners on me with your Lucky fucking Strikes.  Bite me.  Take it outside. It’s a stupid decision for you to smoke, but “stupider” for me to inhale your decisions, while I’m trying to kill my liver all quiet and peaceably like.

As for your next brain fart: “If I want to smoke marijuana and veg out on the couch watching psychedelic movies, let me.”  This is also problematic, in that someone has to work two jobs, probably your mother, cause you’re still living on her couch at nearly forty, I would guess, so you can “veg.” Or worse yet, it’s your wife, and she is secretly seeing a divorce lawyer. Hey, but look at the bright side, she’ll be the one who has to pay the legal fees, right?  You may do as you wish in our great society, but you must do so on your own. When you start involving others in your little “Neverland,” it becomes a problem.

Time to get off Sugar Mountain and find a friggin job. 

Welcome aboard, Andre.  Oh, and don’t go crapping your pants when you see that old Discord gorilla pic.

Yours Unruly,


Russians Suggest Buttons for New World Currency

L’Aquila, IT – At the G8 summit on July 9th Russian President Dimity Medvedev unveiled his own vision of our new world currency.  He feels paper should be discontinued and our universal currency should be buttons from old clothing.  Buttons, according to Medvedev, would ensure an end to our global recession and would “symbolize the start of our global depression.”  The President believes we need to “stop fooling ourselves” and that we should start developing some realistic goals for our shared demise.  Medvedev also reportedly agrees with Mick Zano that bug ichor is an excellent source of protein.

Jackson’s Doctor Insists He Only Prescribed the Diprivan, Xanax, Valium, Percoset, Demerol, Oxys, and Vicodin: But I Told Michael to Lay Off the Big Jug Extra Malt Liquor

Los Angeles, CA – Dr. Conrad Murray is admittedly denying claims that his prescribing practices contributed to the pop legend’s recent death.

“This is America,” said Dr. Murray, “everyone is on downers.”

Dr. Murray believes that Americans have built up an incredibly high tolerance to benzodiazepines and pain pills.

“It’s in our water system for crying out loud.”

The doctor believes the old med regiments just weren’t making a dent in our neurotic noggins.

Dr. Murray went on to say that, “Higher doses make any beer consumption extra dangerous, or in Michael’s case Big Jug Extra dangerous.”

When the Discord’s own Bald Tony pointed out that Jackson’s BAC was zero and that the Big Jug Extra reference was merely a cheap Discord yuck-yuck from an earlier faux article, Dr. Murray refused to comment.  The doctor does hope that his stock in Astra Zeneca will not suffer for the incident and hopes the drug rep luncheon is still on for Tuesday.

Furthermore, Dr. Murray sends his condolences to the Jackson Four and added, “If you don’t sue, bitches, you can have my script pad.”

Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Dear Ghetto Shaman,

Your attempt at a “sequel” to His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s The Art of Happiness is truly appalling.  The Fart of Crappiness is an affront to all Buddhists. Actually, it’s an affront to all people!  You have missed each and every major point of Buddhist mysticism. If I ever run into you in a dark alley it will be a true test for me to ‘harm none.’

Gary Kissel

Monroe, LA

Dear Gary,

Indeed, at the heart of all Zen lies a staggering contradiction.   I am such a contradiction.  No I’m not.  See?   Hope this helps. 

The Ghetto Shaman

Those Libertarian Blues

There is one thing, well WAY more than just one, that annoys the hell out of me about our “faithful” and “allegiant” United States Government.   First off, I personally consider myself patriotic, as long as the government does the right thing and doesn’t tell me what to do.  They don’t know what’s best for me!  Why does the ever-so-powerful-&-liberating U.S. government think they can dictate my lifestyle?  Shouldn’t ordinary people be able to make our own decisions without organizations like the FCC, Child Protective Services, NAACP, ACLU and a host of other acronym-laden organizations (ALO) getting in the way?  Hell, we can’t even make our own decisions in the comfort of our own home anymore.  And it seems like every decision we do offends some dipshit organization or another.

Here’s a perfect example: the thirteen year old cancer patient in Minnesota who had to RUN FROM THE LAW because the LAW didn’t think it was right that the mother and child decided against potentially lifesaving treatment.  Um excuse me!  Since when is it OK for other people to tell me what is right and good for MY CHILD!?  The last time I checked the U.S. Constitution makes a rather big deal about separating church and state.  In fact, our forefathers weren’t happy until there was an ocean between the two. You all saw this recent abomination on the news.  This child’s religious beliefs are that no life saving measures need to be taken when there is a life threatening injury or illness.  The least we could do for a thirteen year old boy is to respect that.  But no; some asshole didn’t think it was right that the boy’s parents allowed this and obtained a court order to force him into treatment.  WHAT THE F—PEOPLE?!  Now the boy and his mother are on the run from the law only to return and face a media storm that now involves the ACLU and all kinds of children’s rights organizations claiming that the boy’s constitutional rights have been violated.  But get this, they are on the side of the law!

Grow a brain, folks!  This boy made a conscious decision, with the guidance of his mother to avoid treatment and enjoy what was left of his life.  Can’t we as “civilized human beings”, as we describe ourselves under mostly false pretense, just respect the decision and sympathize with the fact that maybe the chemo wouldn’t have worked and he may have lived the remainder of his life in illness and pain?  Can’t we as “civilized people” just get out of the way and respect people’s decisions?  I would be willing to bet that the jack hole that took it to court in the first place doesn’t even have kids.  If (s)he does, I would also bet that they haven’t been through this with their children and therefore have no idea just how hard it is without the interference of some selfish, disrespectful, potentially atheist “patriotic” dick head.  It’s just like someone who doesn’t have children thinking that a simple spank on the ass when a child screws up royally is child abuse and “CHILD ABUSE BREEDS CRIMINALS!”  Again I say grow a brain, folks!  Learn the difference between discipline and abuse and come talk to me about how to handle my child.  I was spanked as a child; most of us were.  I’ll bet that 98 percent of that ‘abusive’ generation didn’t grow up to be criminals.  Well, I did, but I’m a bad example.

For crying out loud, the U.S. Government has turned into a bunch of sissies.  This is why I am a Libertarian.  I want to make my own decisions.  Have you heard we’ve had over one hundred years of psychotherapy and the world’s getting worse?  If our behavioral health experts are so damned interested in ‘measurable outcomes’, how about looking at your own track record, libertards?!

Oh, and I should be able to smoke in a bar (most bar patrons are smokers).  BUT NO; the U.S. Government, in their infinite wisdom, caters to yet another group of sissies who can’t stand the smokers and, presto, there’s a law banning it.  How about this idea: GET OUT OF THE BARS IF YOU DON’T LIKE THE SMOKE OR QUIT COMPLAINING!  It should be up to the owner of that bar.  He bought the damn thing.  It’s his joint.  Don’t even get me started on joints!

Anyway, the point is:  government, get out of my life.  If I want to smoke and “waste my life away” let me.  Maybe I have a family history of cancer?  My father never smoked, yet he is dying of lung cancer.  My 80 year old grandmother, who died in 1996 of natural causes, smoked for 60+ years and was perfectly healthy when she went.  If I want to allow my child to decide against chemotherapy, let me.  If I want to smoke marijuana and veg out on the couch watching psychedelic movies, let me.  These, among others, are decisions ONLY I can make for myself.  Now, if you will excuse me it’s time to spank something, spark something, dose on something, and skip my damn chemo.

More rants to come…