Tuesday, September 27, 2016

System Upgrade or or Mykel Board's Post MRR Column no. 38

Post MRR Column no 38


"Science and technology would be used as though, like the Sabbath, they had been made for man, not (as at present and still more so in the Brave New World) as though man were to be adapted and enslaved to them.” --Brave New World, introduction

The more difficult a place is to pronounce, the more likely it'll be an adventure. --Mykel Board

I start this blog on a ferry boat about 50 miles north of the Arctic Circle... temporarily in port in Sisimut, the second largest city in Greenland. It's September 17 and I'm happier than a whore at a frathouse... on my way to Aassiaat, and then to Qeqertarsuaq.

Greenland is so far away from the horror of American politics that I could kiss it. No internet here. (Though if I wanted to pay $8 for a half hour, I could get the spotty connection on the boat.)

Right now, I'm on board. The boat is half tourists... mostly Danes. The rest are Eskimos or in PC talk Inuit.

[Crazy, as usual. The derivation of Eskimo is “raw meat eater.” The derivation of Inuit is... people. Of course Inuits are people... so is everyone. And they do eat raw meat... Many other people do not. And, I'm happy to hear, like American Indians with the word Indian, Eskimos are perfectly happy calling themselves Eskimos. It's only the guilty whiteman who insists on Inuit. Though I hear it's different in Canada.]

The only things annoying are technology that I brought from home. My little computer keeps beeping at me to update the virus database and send crash reports to Microsoft. My cellphone tells me to plug it in for a recharge, when I'm off in the middle of the Arctic Ocean looking at an iceberg. What am I supposed to do... shove the power cord up my ass? That might be pleasant for me, but I doubt the phone will get a charge out of it.

It's maddening. These time-saving devices take more time to do what the boring old devices did instantaneously. I wonder how many weeks a year I lose waiting for loading webpages or buffering porno videos.

In the old days, I put a tape in the VCR. It started. I flipped a light switch. The light turned on. I opened a book and BANG! There it was-- all printed out for me.

If I were in the U.S. where the political seascape is so rough and wavy... where a TV reality star is running for president against a shill for the banking industry... where the president chooses to drop bombs on the guys fighting terrorism... where... I donno, the list never ends... If I were there, I'd long for a place like this-- as away from it all as you can get. If I didn't have Greenland, where would I go?

I know exactly where I'd go. It's a place that's both familiar and exotic. It's been awhile since I've visited there, but I've written about it before.

Let's try it. Through the power of writing POW! I'm back in New York. BANG! I'm in front of Chung's Pub just on the border of Chinatown and Soho. I go in the front door, greet the bartender.

Yo, Chung!” I say. “Long time no see.”

Hey Mykel,” he says. “You want a Brooklyn?”

Sure,” I say.

He pours the beer and sets it in front of me.

You want the out of order?” he asks in italics.

I nod, drink the beer and head for the men's room. The out of order stall is right where I expect it. The now-ragged sign taped to the door. I enter the stall and close the door. Then, I drop to my knees, go behind the toilet, and push against the wall. It opens to another mensroom on the other side. Waaaaay on the other side.

I'm in a mirror image toilet stall... The passage through has ironically loosened my bowels. What better place to have loose bowels than in a toilet stall? I drop trou, and pull up the toilet top. At least I TRY to pull up the toilet seat... it's stuck.

A robotic voice comes from somewhere... a speaker in the ceiling maybe.

Please wait to shit. Our plumbing system is updating. You'll soon receive the newest in safe water.

I squeeze my sphincter shut... then squeeze the gluteus maximus around the sphincter... hoping that provides a double layer of protection. Meanwhile, my bowels feel like they've been coffee enema-ed. I wait for a signal. In less time than it takes to run the NYC marathon, the voice is back.

Your plumbing has been up-dated, it says. Thank you for your patience.

I open the toilet top. Sit down. Explode with pleasure... a huge stink of a shit... right on the borderline of liquid and solid. A bold beer-shit of a shit. I flush... or I try to flush... nothing happens. The beer turds just float... the now-brown water in the bowl not in the least reacting to the pushing of the lever.

I jiggle the handle. I'm beginning to figure out this world I've entered. I close the top of the toilet again. Count to twenty; then open it and flush. KRRRRRR-SHLUUUUUIIII! Works like a dream.

I leave the mensroom, waving to Chung on the way out. It's only a dozen blocks uptown to my apartment... but it's cold out and I'm anxious to get home and see what my life is like in the new New York.

I head for the subway: the F-train. When I get to the station, there is a pink tape across the entrance. A notice hangs on the green lamp that is supposed to signal a working subway.


I walk.

It takes me about a half hour to get home. Opening my front door, I feel inside for the lightswitch. I flip it up. Nothing happens. I flip it down again... up again. Nothing.

I flip up the switch... wait... the lights glow faintly, then get brighter... in five-- maybe ten-- minutes they glow full force.

I take off my fedora... my trenchcoat... my Philippine army boots. Ah home! Then a stirring comes from behind me... a scratching... like a mouse in a cupboard. Some critter has gotten inside my shoes. My apartment often gets mice in the winter. It's warmer inside than on the streets of New York. A mouse in my boots is perfectly possible.

I walk over to them, ready to shake the critter out onto the floor. What falls to the floor, though is not a mouse... but a piece of paper. On the paper is written:SYSTEM CLOSEDOWN FAILURE. REBOOT NECESSARY.

I put the boots back on... check my watch... one minute. Then I take them off again.

No problem, this time.

Everything looks familiar in the apartment. Books and records where they should be. Porn cabinet closed and locked... Years of photo New Years cards barely stapled to the wall. Just like I left it.

The wooden ladder that leads to my sleeping loft looks a bit odd. I wonder if something has changed during the transition to this new world.

I walk over to it for a better look. The nails in the side seem loose. One or two of them are missing... very odd... and potentially dangerous.

Okay, off to the closet for hammer and nails. I'm enough of a DIY-guy that I can repair a ladder. I return to the ladder, lay it on its side. Next, I scatter nails of various sizes around and choose one slightly larger than the empty hole.

I insert the nail in the hole. When I pick up the hammer, I feel a tingling in my palm... at first just a light vibration... then warmth... then the handle grows hot. Then the same mechanical voice I heard earlier:


I strike the nail I just inserted in the empty hole and bang it in with the hammer. The hammer grows hot again in my hand. I drop it to the floor. I see the wooden handle glow slightly red. I'm afraid it will burn, but the glow fades and the voice returns.


I pick up the hammer and prepare to finish the job. Then I notice that all the nails are gone. I had them placed around... in size order... ready to be chosen for the job... now they've disappeared.

I've had enough. It's back to Chung's Pub. I go in, wave hello to Chung. Head for the out of order stall, Duck under the toilet and push through the secret passageway. This time I do not come out in another mensroom in New York. I'm in the ferry cabin toilet... off the coast of Greenland... in a very rocky boat headed from Aasiaat to Quqertarsuaq on Disko Island. There is no wifi on the Island.

Oh yeah!

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available by subscribing to the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

-->It takes Greenland to know dept: Among the things I've learned here is that those polar-bear-stranded-on-floating-ice pictures are fakes. No, they're not photoshopped, but they're used in a lie.
Those bears are NOT stranded. They can and do swim well. It's just a common trick for the bears to catch a ride on the floating ice. Saves energy. They've been doing it for as long as there have been polar bears. They are not floating away... global warmed to a death by starvation. They're ice-surfing.

-->Pressure Cooker Dept: After two and a half lovely internet-free days on the ferry from Nuuk to Aasiaat... Inuaraq, my couch-surfing host meets me at the port.
“Hey Mykel,” he says. “I need to take you to my home.”
(I wish more people said that to me.)
“Sure,” I tell him. “My place is too far.”
He doesn't get it.
“And isn't it awful about what happened in New York? That explosion?”
“Happily,” he tells me, “no one was killed.”
I'm glad I'm not in the the US right now, though I don't look forward to going through security on the way back.
This is just after Obama bombs Syrian troops-- killing 5 dozen-- after his Secretary of State engineered a “cease-fire.”
Maybe I'll just stay in Greenland. At least until after the election.

-->Stay on the lookout dept: In Denmark, I recorded a new song with The Cleanboys. Recording under the name THE BEND OVER BOYS the song is called IT'S PUNKROCK. Done from scratch in one evening... it really is punkrock. I'm not sure what will be done with it. It may see life as a 7”. I'll keep you posted.
If you're interested in my travel writing, you can follow it at: mykelsdiary.blogspot.com.

-->Ain't capitalism great dept: In the journal BIOETHICS a writer proposes that if assisted suicide is a right, we should permit business that "painlessly" kill people.
Switzerland already allows "non-profit suicide clinics" whose owners-- without making a profit-- kill people for about $9,000 each.
If you can't afford the fee, I guess they WON'T kill you... or maybe they won't kill you PAINLESSLY.

--> Keeping the Pressure on Dept: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for censoring me.
As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.
Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.

See you in hell.


NOTE: If you're interested in my travel blog, you can read it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

The Art of The Deal or Mykel Board's Post MRR Column no. 37

Post MRR Column no 37

One of the tenets behind a win-win negotiation is that all parties must be satisfied with the deal. It isn’t a win if someone feels he/she got the short end of stick, right? --Karrass.com


Trade ya!

Several years before his election, President Trump wrote (or put his name on) a book called The Art of The Deal. I've read it several times... Yeah right.

I never read it, but I can imagine its content. And what I imagine is that much of the book will be about trading. That is, if I have something you want, and you have something I want... we can trade. I'll take a loss for a bigger gain. You have different values, so you take a loss for what YOU think is more important. Finally, we reach some kind of equality... both sides feel happy after the deal. In business, they call it a
win-win solution.

You're a mechanic. I'm a plumber. You take the ping out of my car engine. I'll make sure those monster beer turds will sail smoothly down the toilet. Win-win!

So, in my never-ending quest for beneficence, I propose some win-win deals that will make the world a better place for all sides.


GIRLS! Here's your chance! I'm offering big trades. The feminist goals, just what you want. You only have to give up a few things and then: end the patriarchy!

Let's start with the 79¢. The cliché is that for every dollar a boy earns, a girl earns 79 cents. A closer look shows that this is the result of experience and time on the job, rather than vaginal possession. But for this deal, we'll pretend the gap is real. Girls earn 21 cents an hour less than boys... for the same job. Let's make a deal!

According the the CDC, Women in the US live, on average, to 81.2 years old. Men live to 76.4 years old. Do the math: women live 4.8 years longer than men.

Here's the deal: We'll trade! I'll give up 21¢ per hour. Take it!... the whole 21 cents. It's all yours. Go wild. Have a ball, do with it as you like. I'm donating 20% of my $20-an-hour job. It's on your plate. Buy Ms Magazine with it. Donate it to Hillary Clinton... anything.

In return? Just give me half your extra 4.8 years. We both live 78.8 years. Fair trade! Equal pay... isn't that what you've been wanting? You only need to trade for equal longevity. Win-win. Finally, equality! Do we have a deal?

And the government. There are 100 senators. 20 are women. That's a ratio of 1 to 5. Pretty unequal if you're counting genitalia. What can we do about that? Get some equality here.

Let's consider that in 2016 only 18 year old boys have to register for the draft. Women can stay home and complain about the nanny.

In Iraq and Afghanistan 130 women soldiers have died in the past 10 or so years. During those wars about 5700 men have died. That's a ratio of about 1 to 43. We need some equality! So here's the deal:

I'll give you 30 senate seats and you send four and a half thousand women to certain death in Hillary's next war. Plus... to even things out... girls will have to register for the draft. In case, for some reason, there's a sudden lack of people wanting to die in the Middle East.

Waddaya say? Fair trade?

Come on girls, this is equality I'm talking about.

And then there's abortion. Women have the right to choose whether to drop their puppies or throw them in the stem cell bin. That's how it should be. You've got and deserve that benefit. I'll defend to the death (fetal death, that is) your right to do that.

But why only women? Shouldn't men have that choice? If we've got a brat sprouted by the slip of a rubber, shouldn't we be able to say
Dump It? If it takes two to tango, shouldn't it take two to untango? I'll be pro-choice, if you're pro-choice.

It's not men's bodies, you say. Women have to go through an ordeal for abortion. It costs money, and it hurts. Fair enough. So here's the deal. Women have absolute choice: pop one or cut it out. Men have secondary choice. If a man wants the little twerp and the woman wants to donate fetal organs... She wins. BUT, to make the deal: if a woman has a kid when the man say KILL IT, the man is not responsible. No child support. No lawsuits. No Daddying. If a woman decides to have a child over the father's objections... then the guy walks away clean. It's a trade. Fair enough?

More deals:

Hillary Clinton has never met a war she didn't like. She voted for the Iraqi war, has supported the Israeli massacre in Gaza, and the coups in Honduras and Ukraine. She wants to strengthen NATO and, like her buddy Obama, supports making new ISIS fighters by drone-ing innocents abroad.

Most Americans support these long distance wars. Many want even more of them. What's a drone here or there? They deserve it anyway, don't they?

The problem is: Americans don't know war. They don't know drones. They don't know mechanized death except on the giving end... and those rare times that some sympathetic guy with a machine gun unloads a “terrorist act.” Here's the deal.

ISIS: you stop recruiting local killers. Quit the ad campaigns, the dead-baby sympathy pictures... all that. We'll do it ourselves. For every small city we bomb in Syria, we'll bomb one in Kansas. Every innocent person we slaughter in Kabul, we'll slaughter one in Omaha. It's win-win. And look at the benefits.

ISIS stays out of the US. The American government can use its own bombs and bullets... always profit makers... and we reach equality. Added bonus: Americans get to learn about what we do in other countries... first hand. Education through life (and death). So, do we have a deal?
OUR FINAL DEAL: One for the guys who are squeamish that some of their membered-members... disguised as women… will enter a ladies room and... I donno... look under the stall door? Peep in the make-up mirror? Steal cosmetics? I never quite figured out what they're afraid of. In any case, here's the deal.

If men-dressed-as-women use the ladies room, they will agree to restrict their actions to shitting, pissing, putting on make-up,.. in other words, doing THE SAME THING that ladies do in the ladies room. They will not be allowed to stand next to another room-user while pissing and say, “You don't buy beer. You rent it.” or “Nothin' like bleeding the snake, huh?” And they will always put the toilet seat DOWN after use... Do we have a deal?

Waddaya think?

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available by subscribing to the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

-->Uh Oh dept: Since I started writing this I found out that Trump's book was not about win-win at all. It's about how you should enjoy the GAME of negotiation and not care if you lose, because there's a bigger deal around the corner anyway. My apologies to Mr. Trump's ghostwriter for the misrepresentation. I hope he doesn't sue me.

-->I wrote much of this column on a bus from Copenhagen to Aarhus. I'm keeping a blog of this trip, whose ultimate destination is Greenland. My goals there:

1. Eat Seal
2. Rub noses with an Eskimo
3. Sleep in an igloo
4. Ride on a dog sled

You can read the travel blog at: mykelsdiary.blogspot.com and know if I've done those things-- or what else.

-->Tardcore: Wow! One of my Aarhus pals works in an institution that takes care of “Mentally Handicapped” people who were sentenced because of some crime. In a way that's typically Danish, these folks are separated from the general prison population and given special attention. Not only do they get “job training” and work experience (mostly gardening, but also woodwork, and plumbing) but the caretakers actually ask them What do YOU want? I bet that's a question never heard in the American penal system.

My pal Pedro, who works in the institution, also plays in THE CLEAN BOYS, a punkrock band. And he found that some of the inmates want to play music. They love it... or just love making noise. They mostly can't play their instruments... So what do you do? Start a punk band!!!

Here's a video of their first live show. You might recognize someone famous (not me) in the audience.

Since my first encounter... I've found that world-wide there are several other Tardcore bands in the world. They include one in Finland and the most famous (now disbanded, I hear) HEAVY LOAD in England. What could be punker? With so much shit going on in the world, this is inspiring!
Come on! Help me set up a US tour!

-->Third Thoughts Dept: Last month, I wrote about how Bernie Sanders supporters should vote for Donald Trump. Lately, Trump is looking more and more like a shill for Clinton. He fires and replaces people and derails “his party” more and more. I don't know if it's all part of the elect-Clinton plan, but if so, it would be sad.

I still think, there's never been a more punkrock presidential candidate than Donald Trump... ever! Even if it's all a show... it's a good one. Tardcore Rules!

But in the next election, I'm convinced it doesn't matter how you vote... or if you vote. Maybe it's best to cast your ballot for some minor party candidate... just to tell 'em FUCK YOU BOTH. I'm still going with Sid Yiddish.

--> Keeping the Pressure on Dept: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for censoring me.
As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.
(Note somebody told me they currently have a MALE editor. I'll believe it when I blow him.)
Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.


Friday, July 29, 2016

Sanders Fans For Trump! or Mykel Board's Post MRR Column no. 36

[No punk rock, travel notes or scatology this month. It's an election special.]

Mykel's Post MRR Column #36


Election Special Blog
by Mykel Board

It's all over but the counting. The spectacles... the vote casting... the delegates. It's finished... over. The third act starts now, with the election (if you believe) in November. Each of the two big parties fought an internal war. Each party had an outsider and an insider compete for the nomination. One candidate was the choice of the machine. One was the choice of the disenfranchised... those who felt that they had no voice. In the Republican party, the machine lost. In the Democratic party, it won.

Both sides have called on the party faithful to close ranks... fight the horror that is the other guy... “Vote for me,” says Trump, “to stop the selling of America to the international corporatocracy.”

Vote for me,” says Clinton. “I am not Trump.”

I like it that Ivanka Trump and Chelsea Clinton are best friends. Their parents have a long history together. I guess most parents of the super-rich have long histories together. I wouldn't know. Bernie Sanders wouldn't know either. But that doesn't affect November.

Me? I'll be voting for Sid Yiddish. I promised him my vote, and he'll get it. As for other Sanders supporters, I want to present the case for voting Trump:

  1. Rage Against The Machine. Republican-boss-pick Ted Cruz complained about Trump's “yelling and screaming and a lot of whining.” Payback: Trump links Ted Cruz's father to Lee Harvey Oswald... Talk about balls! Trump's got a ton.

    Up and down Little Donny fought the party hacks when they tried to throw Fox News, Rubio, Kasich or even a colored guy, at him. All of the others were backed by the special interests and PACs. Donny went directly to the people on the street, the coal miners out of work, the car-builders who saw their livelihood disappear under the previous Clinton's trade deals.
    Trump opposed Obama's Clinton-style Trans Pacific Partnership (supported by more Republicans than Democrats.) The TPPers want international tribunals to be able to nullify US pollution or minimum wage laws, if they're “bad for business.” Sanders and Trump were both against the deal. They pushed Clinton to say she too opposed it, but do you see it in the Democrats' platform? Watch what happens when the Clintons move back to the White House: a magical thought “evolution.” Suddenly the deal is not so bad. You'll see.

    For almost all of his campaign, Trump took no party money and didn't use the heavy corporate financing machines to win the nomination. The Koch brothers don't like him. He can't be bought. That brings us to reason number 2.

  1. Wall Street and The Banks Hate Him. In an article, Why Wall Street Loves Hillary, the website Politico shows that Wall Street-- and the big banks-- are putting their money on Clinton. They know she's good for (their) business. Trump forced a plank in the Republican platform that restores the Glass-Steagall Act. That law, originally passed in 1933, prevented the takeover of banks by investment companies. It protected average folk's money from the vagaries of the stock market. It also prevented huge monopolies in the financial sector. The idea was for small banks-- who knew the needs of their communities-- to flourish, while keeping big banks from becoming super big. Until this century, banks were locked into a region and could not expand nationally.

    After late last century, the regulations of that bill were canceled. Investment companies and banks merged and grew uncontrolled. Can you say
    J.P. MORGAN CHASE? Investment companies like TD America went on small bank buying sprees, destroying community-based banking. And, of course, there was the “banking” crisis of the last decade, where it all fell apart. Oh yeah, the president who destroyed the Glass-Steagall protections? The other Clinton.As for the current Clinton, her biggest supporters are the big banks and Wall Street. She's personally taken hundreds of thousands of dollars in “speaking fees” from the people she is supposed to be regulating. If she were subject to the same laws as the rest of us, that would be a crime... called bribery. But then again, the rest of us don't have husbands who can jump out of a plane and have a conference with the prosecutor the day before indictment.

3. Less War Let me get this straight. The US and its allies execute a coup d'etat in Ukraine, overthrowing the democratically elected leader and replacing him with a right-wing dictator. The ethnic Russians in the country fear reprisals from the new regime and ask Russia for help. Russia helps, bringing the Russian section of Ukraine back into Russia, and aiding other ethnic Russians who fear the new dictator. Clinton calls this Russian aid, aggression.

When Gorbachev broke up the Soviet Union in 1991, then-President Bush (remember THAT one?)  promised that NATO would not expand to increase its threat to Russia. In 1999, the Czech Republic, Poland and Hungary joined NATO. In 2004, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Bulgaria, Romania and Slovakia joined. In 2009 it was Albania and Croatia. Russia was surrounded... NATO missiles lie on Russia's doorstep, in violation of the Reagan promise.

In the 60s, John Kennedy threatened to start World War III because Russia put missiles in Cuba... too close to America. So you tell me, what should Russia do?

Trump and Putin seem to have a strong relationship. They respect each other. They don't read ENEMY at every news story. Trump wants to turn down the tension in Europe. Weaken the NATO war machine. Make America less of a global cop. Clinton wants to make the war powers stronger. She's never met a war she didn't like... most notoriously voting for the Iraqi war as a NY Senator.

Every time the US kills innocent people, it makes new terrorists who want to avenge that killing. Every drone Obama has dropped on a Pakistani wedding has made someone mad enough to buy an AK-47. This is not a war, with a central point. There is no one you can assassinate to end it. Obama killed Bin Laden. Did it work?

Trump would not be kind enough, I'm afraid. But Clinton will be worse. She'll send in the troops. You can bet your assault rifle that home-grown terrorists will double under her rule.

4. Stop the Dynasty Listen to the Democrats and it's Hillary this or Hillary that. You don't hear them say Donald, for the other guy Why Hillary? Easy answer: they want you to forget she's a Clinton.

Since Reagan retired into full-senility, there has been a Clinton or Bush in (or near) the White House. A brief respite from BushClintonism came when Secretary of State Clinton quit to start her second run for the presidency. John Kerry took over for a very short time. Otherwise we've had Bush Sr, (4 years) Clinton (8 years), Bush Jr. (8 years) Obama w/Clinton as Secretary of State (4 years). That's about 3 decades of ClintonBushism. The USA has become a 2-family banana republic... with less political choice than REAL banana republics. 300,000,000 people ruled by two families... switching every eight years or so. This is a dynasty supreme. The only way to end it is, well, to end it. Neither a Clinton nor a Bush can do that.

5. Show the Democrats they can't count on the sheep. When Sanders first began his run, some of my friends called him “a sheepdog.” What they meant was that he was being used to shepherd lefties, dissatisfied youth, and other outsiders into the Democratic party-- converting outsiders to insiders. Then, goes the theory, when he loses to the mainstreamer, the sheep will be trapped. They pointed to Eugene McCarthy as an example of another shepherd.

But what happens when the sheep jump the pen? What happens when the party can't count on the converts staying converted? What happens when the party fat cats find that when they're ready to celebrate, the party-goers have left the party?

I like Sanders too much to think he intentionally joined this race to be a sheepdog. But between the superdelegates and the recently-revealed party leadership plan to slur him... he didn't have a chance. In order to run, he had to pledge his allegiance to his new party. It may turn out he was a sheepdog after all, but an unintentional one.

But what happens if the sheep refused to be shorn? Sheep-herding won't work if the sheep refuse to be herded. Nothing tells the party that the sheepdog strategy is a failure, like Sanders supporters voting for Trump.

6. He'll probably lose anyway Let's face it: the fix is in. Some people think Trump has been a shill from the get-go. They say the Democrats realized they had NOTHING in Clinton. Having no one to vote FOR, they promoted Trump so that people would have someone to vote AGAINST. Nothing motivates like fear.

So fear-mongering runs supreme... vote for Clinton or every colored person will be shot. Vote for Clinton... or the Supreme Court will make it illegal to sneeze without a God Bless You. Trump will start World War Three the minute they make fun of his haircut. (Though it's really more likely that Clinton will start World War Three-- without even a haircut's provocation.) 

Americans are suckers. “The dumbest people on earth,” to quote Michael Moore. “There's a sucker born every minute,” to quote P.T. Barnum. Even if Trump is not a shill, he still scares so many that non-WASPS shit at the thought of his inauguration. I can't imagine him coming close to winning.

Maybe I'm wrong. It's happened before. But even if Trump wins, it won't be THAT bad. In fact, it'll be better than another Clinton.


Reminder: I'll be voting for Sid Yiddish (alt website:

https://www.facebook.com/Sid-Yiddish-for-President-2016-832293733522278/?fref=ts ) Other choices include Jill Stein on the Green ticket or whoever is the socialist. But if you want to vote for Trump... it's not a bad choice.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Deep Meanings! or Mykel Board's Post MRR Column no. 35

Deep Meaning/ No Meaning
Post MRR Column no 35

I don't want to be a tree, I want to be its meaning.” --Orhan Pamuk

"The more we know about the universe, the more meaningless it appears.” --Steven Weinberg, Nobel Physicist

"What is useful to us generally conflicts with what is true.” --Julian Barnes

by Mykel Board

1970-something: If she had a few more teeth, she'd be almost pretty. I forget if it's crack or speed that does it... If I close my eyes... those gums... stroking up and down on my five inches of throbbing flesh... they aren't so bad. When I look at her... that view from the top of her head with the greasy black hair... just-this-side-of-intentional dreadlocks... her nose... light blue veins under translucent skin.. moves back and forth to the beat of her lips

In an objective way... me detached from my body... there... behind CBGBs where the bands load-in... under the faint glow of a spotlight... I watch myself, leaned up against the filthy brick... my own blue veins appearing and disappearing under the nose of the young woman on her knees in the tar in front of me. The veins of her nose are a counterpoint to the veins of my tumescent baby carrot. I can feel her lips... dry... chapped... wet and rewet by her dripping tongue.

My body calls to me... a pulsing seminal call. I answer:

Yes! Yes! Yes!”

A thin white dribble falls from the side of her mouth.

Five dollars later, I'm around the corner and back inside CBGBs. It's the DEAD BOYS tonight. Just those two intro chords to Sonic Reducer... DAHN DAHAN... send a thrill up my spine that matches anything a crack whore can do.

Yo Mykel,” comes the voice.

If there's one thing I hate, it's THE READER injecting himself in what I'm writing. I'm not even writing and already THE READER is butting in like a radical at a political rally.

I'm trying to watch the band,” I tell THE READER. “Can you at least wait until they're done? It's the fuckin' DEAD BOYS!”

Yo Mykel,” comes the voice again. “You just told a story about a crack whore blow job behind CBGBs. You did it for some reason. It MEANS something...”

What do you think it means?” I ask.

You're saying that we're all whores, and that a crackhead blowjob is no more exploitation than a California grape harvest.”

Nope,” I answer. “That's not what I'm saying at all.”

“Well then,” comes the reply, “you're saying that sex is just a matter of friction, and it's ridiculous to romanticize it with soft music or poppunk love songs pretending LOVE when all anything is... is sex.”

“I might think that,” I say. “But it's not why I wrote this.”

Then what does it mean?” comes the rather whiny reply.

Listen asshole, sometimes a crack whore blow job is just a crack whore blow job. It doesn't MEAN anything. It's not happy or sad or a metaphor. It's not a sign of society's this or that. It's not a signal to do this or that. It is itself! Chapped lips on a penis. Five inches of depth... nothing deeper than that.

Flash to Now: I begin to write this a few days after some guy in Orlando blasts a hundred homosexuals with a semi-automatic machine gun.

Kerpow! Kerpow! He's holed up in the bathroom. Semi-automatic, semi-automaticing the panicked homotude. People down... bleeding... dying... The cops take hours to get there. Kerpow! Kerpow! Blood... rivers of it greasing the dancefloor. The cops break in through the wall. Kerpow! Kerpow! Kill the guy.

News comes dribbing and drabbing. He's a white Christian, on an anti-gay rampage. He's a Muslim. He's a security guard for a company with secret government contracts. He's a soldier for ISIS. He only pledged himself to ISIS minutes before he started firing. He's a homo himself.

On and on. Speculation, pronouncements, false news, half truths... political statements... a circus.

Months before, the FBI's investigated him. They found nothing. There were no charges... an investigation... that's all! But, they investigated him! That's enough for people who want guns banned for “the accused,” whether guilty or not. Forget the idea of innocent until proven guilty. In American in 2016, accused is guilty enough.

He was a Muslim. Forget the fact he was on Grindr. Forget that he was a regular at the club. Forget that he tried to set up dates with other guys. Forget the fact that a Chassid on a rampage murdered a fellow Jew at a gay pride parade in Israel. This guy was a Muslim. That's enough.

He was gay. Forget the fact he had a kid. Forget that he was married. Forget that there are more choices than being gay or being straight. He was gay. That's enough.

He had a gun. Forget the fact that if others had had guns he could have been stopped. Forget the fact that most people who have guns don't shoot anyone. Forget the fact that Americans celebrate people with guns... from cowboys to soldiers. He had a gun. That's enough.

People talking shit.... shit... shit... shit and more shit.

What does it mean? That we need to ban guns? Ban Muslims? That homosexuals kill each other? That homosexuals have to protect each other. That trannies should be allowed to use women's bathrooms? No! No! No!

Sometimes a blowjob from a crack whore is just a blowjob from a crack whore. It doesn't have to MEAN anything. A nut with a gun... a club with some homosexuals... BANG! BANG! BANG! Dead people. That's what it is.

Donald Trump and Bill Maher say: IT'S MUSLIM! Look at the Muslims. Evangelicals say IT'S MUSLIM. IT'S GAY... look at GAY MUSLIMS. There's even a preacher who praises the gunman.

Are you sad that 50 pedophiles were killed today?” sermonizes the pastor of Verity Baptist Church. “Um no, I think that’s great! I think that helps society. I think Orlando, Florida is a little safer tonight.”

Anti-gun liberals say, “It's guns! Take guns away and this can't happen.” Pro-gun gays say if others are armed, this can't happen.

Whatever your agenda, there's always a tragedy to prove your point. Except that YOU'RE WRONG! Sometimes a crack whore blowjob is just a crack whore blowjob. The five bucks stops there.

Sure, it's pain and horror for those involved, but that's not a reason why it has to MEAN something. More Muslims DON'T kill people than DO kill people. More homosexuals die in car accidents than in nightclubs.

Death and pain are there... part of life. They make us sad... or angry... or fearful... but they don't MEAN anything. Get it? Sometimes a crack whore blowjob is just a crack whore blowjob.

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available by subscribing to the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

-->Didn't you read the contract dept: In May of this year, the Norwegian Consumer Council staged a live, 32-hour TV broadcast marathon -- a word-for-word reading of the "terms of service" for internet applications Instagram, Spotify and more than two dozen others. This totaled 900 pages and 250,000 words of legal restrictions and conditions. Millions of users "voluntarily" agree to them when they sign up-- usually through a mouse click. A local government official called such terms "bordering on the absurd, as consumers could not possibly understand everything they were legally binding themselves to."
     I say, isn't that the idea?

-->Good thing he wasn't a Muslim dept: Convicted murderer Charles Flores was on Texas' death row for more than 16 years (until June 2 of this year) before the state's highest criminal appeals court ruled that the execution might not be justified. Why? The most important evidence was provided by a witness whom the police had hypnotized. The trial judge, and the jury, had accepted that "hypnosis" could lead to "recovered" memory. This was a popular theory in the 1980s and 1990s. It was often used in pedophile and satanism cases. These days, the idea is recognized as bullshit.
There was no physical evidence against Flores. So, for some reason, they didn't kill him... yet. We'll see what happens.

-->She passes on balls dept: Melissa Meija complained that (get this) she was allowed to graduate from High School despite the fact she had failing grades and didn't do her homework. Her teacher said she (the teacher) was put under tremendous pressure by the school to pass the student to boost the school's graduation rate.
     If I were the principal, I'd say PASS THAT GIRL, just on honesty.
     This whole thing is one of the evil legacies of Billionaire Mayor Michael Bloomberg. He's the one who brought the whole “failing schools” concept to NY education. He should not be given a passing grade.

-->And a touch of good news Dept: I'd guess from the boxing gloves that the Yippies who now run an “underground boxing bar” on Bleecker St. are responsible for this. I also guess they they don't have permission from CBGB to use the logo, so

that's why the last B is missing. But I like the mural, and I'm glad to see wall painting praised instead of Giuliani-ed to a prison cell-- with or without hypnosis.

--> Keeping the Pressure on Dept: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for censoring me.
As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.
Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.