Friday, December 27, 2013

Mykel Pulls the Ole Switcheroo Mykel's Post MRR Column Number 5

YOU'RE STILL WRONG
POST MRR COLUMNS
POST MRR COLUMN NUMBER 5

by Mykel Board

or Mykel Pulls the Ole Switcheroo

There is another elephant in the room we're not discussing: racism and how it's putting our entire society at risk when it comes to mass shooters. If a black kid was pulling knives on his family and threatening their lives, just how fucking long do you think he'd be allowed to remain free, walking among us until he finally snapped? If a black kid made people as uncomfortable as Adam Lanza did, would he make it to 20 years old and a mass shooting of an elementary school before people FINALLY deemed him dangerous? Black kids can't even listen to loud music in parking lots before they're perceived as threatening, yet somehow white kids like Adam Lanza go their whole lives with excuses being made for them before they finally snap and kill dozens. --Comment on a blog post about the Sandy Hook school killings



It looks like an anus. It's pink and the size of a baby's fist. In French Guiana, they call it a pomme rosa. I don't know what it's called here in Suriname... maybe a Suriname apple. I sit here in Paramaribo, munching on one, deciding that it indeed tastes more like an apple than an anus. Eyes closed, tongue only, I would've guessed anus on the lick, apple at first bite. On the other hand, if I started on the BACK of the fruit, I would only guess apple, without anal influence.

Sometimes, what it takes to understand something is to put in the switch. Take the back for the front, the top for the bottom, the apple for the anus. The same switcheroo works in human relations. You'd get a whole nother understanding, if you substitute black for white. Gay for straight. Old for young. Jew for Goy.

For this column, I focus on race. It's something I've been thinking a lot about recently, and it's all I have room for.

Take gun-control... please. My long-time readers know I oppose gun-control. Background checks are worthless, as most of the notorious (mainly white) school killers have no criminal backgrounds. Most murders committed with non-stolen guns are done by first timers. Background checks-- like permanent sex-offender registrations-- are just another Big Brother invasion that makes it impossible to simply serve your time and be over with it.

I've written before that American violence comes from a culture of violence. A place where standing up for human rights means killing people... where protecting American interests means killing people... where the solution to every international problem means killing people. It's hard to imagine that people in such a society would solve their problems any other way than by killing people. Guns don't kill people. AMERICANS kill people.

That said, there are those who just don't get it. They want to ban semi-automatic weapons. Have background checks. Make it harder to get a gun than to get a car. (Guess which one kills more people.) With ideas as un-American as that, these people don't get very far... but they could. There is a strategy that would have Americans chomping at the cheeseburger for gun-control.

Here's some fuel for the other side: I want to teach them how to promote their point of view. How to achieve gun control quicker than a hundred full-page ads in THE NATION. I'm not afraid to reveal this technique. I have nothing to fear. They never listen to me anyway.

So what is the amazing gun control method? You guessed it, buckaroos. It's the SWITCHEROO-- aka RACE CHANGING.

Here's the plan. A bunch of black guys buy high-powered assault rifles and go out to the hills of Montana... er better make that Tennessee. The uniform is the old Black Panther one. Black beret, red sweatshirt with a clenched fist on the front, and a panther on the back. They practice target shooting with target cutouts of Rush Limbaugh and Sarah Palin. They do two hundred push-ups... run 20 miles... every day. They develop tight military skill, become an army. They call themselves the Trayvon Militia.

POW! You wanna see how fast there's gun control? Mitch McConnell introduces it the day after the NY POST runs its exposé. The NRA calls for MORE restraints on gun ownership, just like they SUPPORTED gun-control during the Black Panther era. If folks want to bring back that support, all they have to do is bring back the Black Panthers... or something like them. Every Dixiecrat and Tea Partiyer will be hiding under the bandwagon until congress controls those weapons.

SCENARIO TWO: It's a typical day under Michael Bloomberg. In Midtown, the tourists and the businessmen mingle in la-de-dah appreciation of the new New York. New skyscrapers. New bike lanes. New rich people. The only cop to be seen is the smiley-faced woman directing traffic around the new blocks of tar in the middle of the street... closed to cars and renamed PARKS. It's all part of Bloomberg's Greening of New York.

But in Brooklyn, in Brownsville-- called Blacksville by the locals-- things are different. A group of black teens has just been visiting their schoolmates. Friends hanging out in the projects. Get together, listen to music, talk about girls. As they leave the building, they hear, “Alright, freeze.”

They are not afraid. It happens all the time. A cop, shorter than they are, night stick hanging from his belt, speaks the words. The kids know the routine.

“Hands up against the side of the building. Spread your legs. Look straight ahead,” They stand next to each other. Hands against the building. The cop frisks up and down their legs, making sure to press against their balls, then their ass, then front pockets.

“What's this?” asks the cop, feeling around in the front pocket of one of the boys.

“It's my wallet,” says the boy.

“Take it out,” says the cop, “slowly.”

The boy removes the wallet and hands it to the cop. The cop opens it, rifles through the ID section, comes across a couple condoms.

“You use these a lot?” he asks.

“Not as much as I want to,” answers the boy.

The cop doesn't laugh.

It happens... happened dozens of times a day. Called “stop and frisk,” the theory is that if you make it likely that people will be stopped on the street, then they won't carry weapons or drugs. It'll make the streets safer.

Of course, it is unconstitutional. The fourth amendment prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures and requires a warrant supported by “probable cause.” But because these guys are black, the constitution doesn't matter. White folks tell them “it's for your own good,” like a parent excusing the beating of a child. “It makes your neighborhoods safer,” they say. But the people who actually LIVE in those neighborhoods don't think so.

So, what's the cure for Stop and Frisk? Easy. The old switcheroo!

Now we're in Times Square... across Broadway from that stupid billboard-screen that shows live video of people across the street. It's a huge collective selfie. A massive ego display of people wanting to see themselves on video, looking at themselves on video.

A vacationing couple from Japan makes peace signs. They jump up and down pogo-style to locate themselves on the display. They hear, but don't understand, a voice from behind them.

“Hands up against the side of the building. Spread your legs. Look straight ahead,” it says.

The tourists don't understand English, and have no way of knowing the cop is talking to them. They continue jumping and snapping pix.... until they're tackled. Somewhere there's a scream. The man's head hits the ground. He lies now with shattered glasses.

“I said up against the side of the building,” shouts the cop.

The couple struggles upwards. The cop pushes them against the building, grabbing wrists and ankles to position them correctly. When frisking the man, the uniformed one pushes his hand hard between his legs. The crowd, now gathered around the pair, gasps as the man doubles over in pain. The cop forcibly straightens him up.

After the frisk and some passport showing, the cop walks away. He meets up with another officer further down the street.

“I always look for the Japanese,” he tells the co-cop. “Remember that sneak attack in Pearl Harbor... you can never tell.”

Meanwhile in Wall Street, cops push stock brokers and bankers against the wall, examining pockets and suit jacket linings for smuggled insider trading information.

“You can never tell,” says Mayor Bloomberg when challenged. “Those stockbrokers and bankers caused a lot more pain than any mugger. We gotta keep 'em under control. Make 'em afraid.”

The Japanese government protests. There is a sit-in on Wall Street. The brokerage companies occupy themselves. In a week, Stop and Frisk is stopped. For everyone.

SCENARIO THREE: Okay, you've heard about the Knockout Game® Origins unknown, it came to prominence here in New York when a slew of Hasidic Jews... including woman and children as young as 12... were attacked. The story goes that the motive is a game... a kind of contest among young black guys. See who can knock out the Jew with one blow. Pow, s/he's down. You hit twice, you lose. So here's the switch:

An older colored lady, grandmotherly, walks with a cane down the streets of Crown Heights... the borderline district. She's alone on a Monday night. Slowly, she goes forward on the sidewalk. Cane-tap, step, step. Cane-tap, step, step. A big SUV rounds the corner... the windows dark. It passes her and turns right at the next corner. Cane-tap, step, step. Cane-tap, step, step. The woman begins to feel uncomfortable. She pulls closer to the buildings, just hugging the porches as she walks from one to the other in her slow march home. Cane-tap, step, step. Cane-tap, step, step. The street is silent except for the low hum of an approaching car. It's the same car... the same SUV that passed her before.

This time it stops. The side door opens. Eight or nine young men get out. They're white men, wearing long black coats, curly sideburns, and yarmulkes.

“My turn! My turn!” yells a particularly large young man, as he approaches the woman. In the young man's grin, the woman sees the space of a missing tooth. It's the last thing she sees before the approaching knuckles rip into her face, sending her reeling to the ground. She loses consciousness and smashes her head on the sidewalk before she can hear the joyful yells of “I DID IT! I DID IT!” She dies on the way to the hospital.

Al Sharpton, who's already criticized the black-on-Jew version of the Knockout Game®, is up again. “This has got to stop!” he says. This time, Rabbis and Black Ministers agree. There are marches in Jewish and Black neighborhoods. Huge posters appear with KNOCK IS SHLOCK on them. Mayor De Blasio's Afro-ed son is photographed tongue-kissing a rabbi's son. We are the World re-enters the Top 40, and The Game is over.

[NOTE: These days, I can't write fast enough to outrun reality. As I type these words, an email appears from Social Reader. It reports on an alleged attack by Hassidic Jews on a solo gay black youth. From the report it isn't clear whether this is a case of “reverse knockout” or your run-of-the-mill gay bashing-- or even a complete fraud. Who can tell in these days of charges and counter-charges thrown at the speed of Twitter? So for now, my solution is only a fantasy. We'll have to wait for larger numbers before we see if it works.]


ENDNOTES: [You can contact email me at god@mykelboard.com. Postal contact (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. Just join the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

--> Crossover dept: I'm (too slowly) writing a travel blog of my last trip. But I did want to mention that bands who want to tour in South America might start in the Guyanas. A promoter contact in Suriname is Jerry Orie, PINNACLE GROUP, Commissaris Weythingweg 142b Paramaribo SURINAME (+597) 462-830 jeroie@hotmail.com Jerry is a great guy, and if he can find a spot for you, he will. His tastes run to the metal side of punk, but he's open-minded to everything except shit.

--> Pat Buchanan gets it right dept: Over at Antiwar.com, arch villain, Pat Buchanan, absolutely nails it with his analysis of Al Qaeda and America at war. Like Ron Paul, this guy who's awful at domestic policy-- the epitome of the worst of paddle your own canoe-ism-- is right about foreign policy. Here's a sample quote: Is it not time to put al-Qaeda in perspective and consider whether our Mideast policy is creating more terrorists than we are killing?

In 2010 America lost 15 citizens to terrorism. Thirteen of them died in Afghanistan. The worst attack was the killing of six Americans at a Christian medical mission in Badakhshan Province.
Yet, in 2010, not one death here in America resulted from terrorism. That year, however, 780,000 Americas died of heart disease, 575,000 of cancer, 138,000 from respiratory diseases, 120,000 in accidents (35,000 in auto accidents), 69,000 from diabetes, 40,000 in drug-induced deaths, 38,000 by suicide, 32,000 by liver disease, 25,000 in alcohol-induced deaths, 16,000 by homicide and 8,000 from HIV/AIDS.

Is terrorism the killer we should fear most and invest the lion’s share of our resources fighting?

--> Blowing my own department: I think I posted this before, but I'm too lazy to double check. Early in 2013, I guested on Blag Dahlia's radio show RADIO LIKE YOU WANT You can hear the interview here.

--> Internet boiling dept: As I write this, America seems embroiled in such sensitivity overkill, that anyone of any notice is virtually gagged. The latest is some actor in Duck Dynasty. It's a show I've never seen (I don't have cable), and am not particularly interested in. Evidently, the show's star gave an interview to GQ magazine... on his own time. In the interview, he gave non-liberal views of gay life and race relations. POW! He's fired... only for saying what he thinks. The guy loses his job for speaking... off the job.

This kind of firing/banning-- he's the latest, but there've also been Howard Stern, Imus, and a ton of others-- reminds me of the McCarthy era studio blacklisting of lefty actors . Neither case was government censorship. Both were just as effective. My pal, Jim Goad, wrote about it. It's a good read, though he doesn't mention McCarthy. Maybe this switcheroo didn't work. Too much time in between and one side forgets about the other.

UPDATE: OH NO!! Again, before the ones and zeros are dry on the screen, A&E reinstates the Duck guy making me agree with a critic who thinks the whole thing was a publicity stunt from the get-go. 

--> Keeping the pressure on: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a Bring Mykel Back concerted effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll. He forwarded me an answer to a letter MRR printed where the editors excuse my firing not as censorship for content, but because I “refused to answer letters in the letters section.”

That is wrong. I only asked that I be allowed to say I don't LIKE to answer letters there. I feel it's unfair to the letter-writer for the columnist to always get the last word. If they want me to answer there, I will. SO, here I'm publicly agreeing to abide by their rules. Here it is in ones and zeros. Their reason for my being censored disappears.

I hope you'll cut and paste the paragraph above into an email, and send it-- along with your comments-- to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com with the subject line: BRING MYKEL BACK. Let me know how they answer.

-end-



Saturday, November 30, 2013

LIBERTARIANS ARE LIKE BIKE-RIDERS: aka YOU'RE STILL WRONG Post MRR Columns: Number 4


YOU'RE STILL WRONG
POST MRR COLUMNS

(or Why Libertarians are Like Bike Riders)

by Mykel Board


He fell asleep murmuring, "Sanity is not statistical," with the feeling that this remark contained in it a profound wisdom. --George Orwell

When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race. --H.G. Wells

Nothing is more patent, indeed, than the fact that charity merely converts the unfit - who, in the course of nature, would soon die out and so cease to encumber the earth - into parasites - who live on indefinitely, a nuisance and a burden --H.L. Menkin

Here's to you oh left and right, you brutal double pack of slime. Basically you're not too bright. New ideas are a crime. --Mykel Board

I type this lying naked on a bed in the air-conditioned guest room of my host here in Trinidad. My laptop is propped on one knee. It's freezing in here. I have the guest AC turned to 60 degrees. This freeze lets me cover myself with a heavy blanket, though outside it's over 90o. The blanket is the only way to keep off the mosquitoes.

I type knowing that I'll soon be called to visit a humingbird sanctuary and have tea with my host's mom and mom's friend. It's an odd luxury of long-term travel. You're always involved in new situations, new experiences, adventures... but you also have more time. Just nothing to do except lie naked on a bed with your computer.

Unfortunately, in the ubiquitous internet age, too much time goes to xvideos.com, and facebook. And worse (better), I found a facebook group of Jim Goad fans that's been so engrossing, I can hardly tear myself away to write this.

For those who don't know: Jim Goad is the man behind ANSWER ME! one of the best, most disgusting, zines in history. He also wrote THE REDNECK MANIFESTO and what may be the best prison memoir ever: SHIT MAGNET.

Jim is a smart misanthropic libertarian. His fans, as you'd expect, are also misanthropic libertarians... some of them smart. Before me, his page was a mutual stroke fest. Like a PETA site, where everyone shares horror stories about turtle abuse, Jim's site was where everyone shared horror stories about the evils of gypsies, the excesses of feminism, and the creeping dangers of big government, immigrants and welfare recipients,

For me it's a strange mix. I LOVE immigrants, admire welfare recipients, am not really concerned about gypsies, and feel much the same as these guys about feminism. What draws me into the conversation here is the LEVEL of the discussion. There's a lot of humor, a touch of know-it-all-ism, some stridency, and with the exception of one asshole (soon blocked), there is no name-calling or hysteria. Often, there is actual THOUGHT that goes into posts. That's not something you usually associate with an internet discussion.

Of course, I'm the bad guy... the intruder. BUT, they put up with me. They er... ANSWER ME (usually) and give me a window into the way some people think. Probably my proudest moment is when someone writes:

I've never before heard ANYONE, liberal or conservative, say they want their tax money to support some lazy asshole who simply refuses to work.

That's right buckaroos, I am not like ANYONE, liberal or conservative.

That's what I want to talk about... it's a topic I return to a lot. Words. Liberal or conservative. And how if you're LIBERAL you've gotta support laws against hate speech and if you're CONSERVATIVE you've gotta believe the world is 3000 years old and created by G-d in 7 days. I showed them (and they showed me), that's just WRONG.

Each side accuses the other of some wildness, something against logic... against basic fundamentals that everybody knows. (Clue... as soon as you hear EVERYBODY KNOWS, what follows will be wrong.)

The libertarians complain about PARASITES. They talk about SOCIAL LEECHES who live off of the work of others. They say everybody knows that people should stand on their own two feet. It's obvious. WHY is it obvious?

First, and clearest to anyone who is NOT a libertarian, there are plenty of people who DON'T HAVE TWO FEET TO STAND ON! Old people, sick people, cripples, babies, parents who struggle with feet that can't even walk yet. It is NOT obvious how these people can stand on their own two feet, let alone why they should.

Yet, there is some sort of quasi-religious mantra: do it yourself, that's good. Help is bad. Taking charity is bad. Why?

If no one else is there and you HAVE to do it yourself... okay, you have to. But because it may be a necessity, doesn't mean it's a virtue.

One word these guys throw around is parasite. They usually use it for people who receive money from the government... like old people... but mostly a vast network of mostly colored people who just are “too lazy to work.”

Their idea of PARASITE is strange. They define it as some one who lives off the work of others. Or that's what they say. But let's see if that's right:

I work an hour for $20. Of that, $2 goes to Jasmine, on welfare. Because I worked for that $2, rather than Jasmine, that means that Jasmine is a parasite. Right?

Wrong!

I work an hour and make $40 for Big Joe, my boss. That means my boss is living off of my work... work he didn't do. He gets $20 of my money. Jasmine gets $2. Who is the parasite?

But, because the word is used so many times in the context of WELFARE RECIPIENTS, people can't think of any other way to see them. Liberals or conservatives... Both say, MORE JOBS! MORE WORK! Both are wrong. Both make MORE PARASITES. BIGGER PARASITES!

This is where we get to the bicycle riders. I've written about them before. If there is a more annoying group of self-righteous humorless Bozos, I can't think of one. They ride like they own the streets. Get out of the way, I'm environmentally correct. Defer to me, you gas-guzzling polluters of Mother Earth.

They care even less about pedestrians than car drivers... pedestrians who pollute less than they do. After all, how much energy was used to make that fuckin' bicycle? How much petroleum goes into that grease you put on the chains?

I've heard bike-riders yell at walking people standing in the bike lane? Get out of my way. I'll run you down. You're in the bike lane! Follow the rules! But Traffic lights? They're for cars! I'm saving the earth, so fuck your traffic lights.

GET A BIKE! PEDAL WITH YOUR OWN TWO FEET. You're just like those libertarians.

Er... aren't you forgetting something? Some people don't have two feet to pedal with. Some people are old, crippled, have more kids than'll fit on a bike. People carry furniture, groceries for a brood. Who are you to judge the car driver? And who are you to judge the pedestrian whose day you just ruined with your self-righteousness? Bicycles do not make you a good person.

CHANGE THE SUBJECT: And what do you learn in school? What is evidence? When I told the Goad-folks that Giuliani, declared war on the poor... they wanted statistics, reports.

I said I SAW street bums harassed. Cab drivers, food venders, street artists all the worst-paid, lowest members of society bullied by cops, forced to leave Manhattan during Giuliani's regime. But it wasn't enough. I saw them. That makes it anecdotal evidence. These guys want numbers, reports from respected places. I respond with a How 'bout Fox News crack. They said something about MSNBC... the topic is lost. But it keeps coming up in different forms.

It happens all the time: BOTH SIDES throw out numbers, statistics. A MILLION FRAUDULANT votes screams the right as they try to pass a poll tax in the guise of VOTER ID.

A MILLION WOMEN WILL BE RAPED IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS scream the feminists, explaining that something has to be done about violence against women... as if it were any different than violence against anyone else.

Numbers fling from one side to the other like shit into the audience at a GG Allin show. 87% of the numbers are just made up. The rest are from studies, which almost always give the stats to prove whatever they started out wanting to prove. Just google your topic and find a report that gives the stats you want. It's easy.

The climate change deniers quote numbers to show the supporting scientists don't really believe in global warming and climate change. The other side quotes numbers to show that during the past 20 years the average temperature blah blah blah.

Wake up and smell the wreckage. Look at the glaciers disappearing in Greenland. Look at the first LAKE ever in Antarctica. Look at the rubble of the Philippines hit by the largest storm in history... and Superstorm Sandy in New York just the year before. Look at the real world, NOT statistics.

Stats? Reports? They're bullshit. The anecdotal evidence they tell you to ignore? THAT'S THE REAL STUFF! Anecdotal is what happens to people.

First there's the howling of wind. WHOOOO WHOOO WHOOO Then the beating of rain like a drummer against the tin roof of your hovel. Then harder. Then the roof shakes... pulls off fragments. Roof pieces blow razer sharp... cutting your hands... your arms... you try to protect yourself. Water is shooting at you now... like tiny pellets from a shotgun. There's no longer a roof to protect you. The walls shake from the wind. A piece of adobe falls, PLOW! On top of your head. You feel the blood stream down your face. Then another blow. And another... the wall falls on you... crushing you.. burying, filling your mouth with clay and dust. You inhale it. It burns in your lungs. You feel like you're going to explode... then you die.

THAT'S anecdotal evidence. And that's what's real.

Show me the paper on how Hugo Chavez built up Venezuela. Show me the stats on the improvement of the lives of poor people. Bullshit! I was there. People are miserable. They live in fear, of crime, of the government. At night, people break open the garbage bags to eat out of them. I've seen it! Don't give me statistics. Give me truth.

A geologist in the state-run oil business loses her job because she signs a petition saying that Chavez should honor the constitution. That is not a statistic! It's my host in the country. Those are MY ANECDOTES.

Statistics aren't real. Numbers don't mean shit. Tell me what happens. Put me there. Show me. THAT'S real. The anecdotal evidence they told you to avoid in Social Studies is the ONLY evidence. The rest is just playing with numbers.

OK, buckaroos, that's it for this month. No travel adventures, though there've been many. No punk rock reports. Though there's plenty to report. For more on that stuff check the travel blog... and wait until next month.

ENDNOTES: [You can email me (god@mykelboard.com) or connect to my facebook page.
Postal contact: 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'd like to read my travel blog, you can do it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com.
If you like my writing in general, you can be notified when anything new is available. Just join the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]


-->Reclaiming dept: Taki Magazine reports that over 100 tattoo shops worldwide offered free swastika tattoos in an effort to “reclaim” the symbol from the Nazis. People who chose to receive the tattoos were required to sign a waiver stating that they did not intend to “use it as a pro-Nazi symbol.” Jewish reporting on the event has been mixed.

-->More than one holocaust dept: The same Taki Magazine had an article by Jim Goad about something called Holodomor. This relatively unknown event took place in the former Soviet Union in the 1940s. Apparently, more than 7,000,000 Ukrainians were starved to death by Stalin and his crowd. Why was this ignored? Maybe because Stalin was our ally in WWII.
In any case, genocide is NOT the property of one group, or one period in history. We need to take note of this, make amends where possible, and then move on.

-->Truth is no excuse dept: The NSA (government agency that reads your email, spies on the German Prime Minister, and copies your internet friends), is suing a novelty store LibertyManiacs.com, for printing t-shirts about them. My favorite: NSA, the only government agency that actually listens.

-->Speaking of the NSA department: Social Reader reports that those guys have broken into a link to Yahoo and Google data centers. This enables them to get EVERYTHING that goes through those servers anywhere in the world. Yeah, I have a gmail account and a picassa picture site, but when I want to do any kind of research. It's duckduckgo.com for me.

-->Things we already knew dept:
  • DO PSYCHOPATHS MAKE GOOD CEOs? asks Fortune Magazine. According to a recent book, The Wisdom of Psychopaths, the answer is yes! The characteristics of a psychopath: inability to empathize, ruthlessness, single-minded focus, murderous competitive nature, fit perfectly with what's needed to run a corporation.
  • CNN REPORTS: People with lots of facebook friends are more likely to be narcissists. Do we need to do a study to find out this stuff? What's next? NEW STUDY FINDS THAT THOSE WHO SPEND THE MOST TIME ON FACEBOOK GET LAID THE LEAST?

-->How to get gun control dept: Long-term readers of this column know that I oppose gun control. Violence has nothing to do with guns or video games or Hollywood. Violence is a reflection of the culture. American culture solves its problems by killing people. A culture that values flags more than life, is gonna be violent.
That said, if the anti-gun crew REALLY wanted to pass anti-gun legislation, there'd be an easy way to do it. Have BLACK militias, armed, trained in the Montana mountains, toting guns to church. You'd see anti-gun laws pump up like penises at a porn show. It's happened already. In fact, the NRA SUPPORTED anti-gun legislation when the Black Panthers were active. (The details are here.) Can you guess why? Hint: it's in the name of the group and NOT the word PANTHERS.

-->Keep up the pressure dept: I'm happy to report that reader pressure on MRR is making them invent new excuses for my firing. The latest? I “refused to answer criticism in the letters column.” It's a lie, of course. I said that I'd agree to answer such letters anywhere. I only wanted the right to mention that I'd prefer it if the letter writer got the last word. That's an offer that still holds.
Keep the pressure on. You can send your protests to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com. Please do!





Monday, October 28, 2013

YOU'RE STILL WRONG Post MRR Columns: Number 3

Column header

YOU'RE STILL WRONG
POST MRR COLUMNS Number 3
aka How You Think
by Mykel Board

(Note: Parts of this column have appeared in different form on the STREET CARNAGE website.)

Ok class,” says the young sexy teacher. “If there are 10 birds on a telephone wire and Farmer John shoots two of them, how many are left?”

Little Tommy raises his hand. The teacher calls on him.

None,” he says. “the bullets would scare the other birds and they'd fly away.”

Actually,” says the teacher, “the correct answer is 8... but I like the way you think.”

I got one for you,” answers Tommy. “There are two women eating ice cream cones. One takes deep bites and eats it right down. The second one slowly licks the top of the cone, swirling her tongue around the tip and then slow widening her lips to suck in the goodness.... Which one is married?”

The young teacher is visibly embarrassed, but she decides to stand her ground. “The second woman, of course.” she answers.

No,” says Tommy, “the one with the wedding ring. But I like the way you think.”
--Old Joke

It's the mother of all beershits... a massive movement... I trace it inch by inch... starting on the lower right side like appendicitis. The massive ball of excrement moves inch by peristaltic inch through my large intestines... upwards... from right to left... downwards... exquisitely... to the final sphincter where it forces a relaxation and downward blast... like a rocket exhaust... propelling me upwards toward the ceiling... an anal orgasm... After landing, I tilt to the left, raising one cheek from the pot... to examine my accomplishment. Wow! All that! It's like giving birth. I sit down flat again and allow a few straggling turdlets to make their final escape. When I stand up, I see that the toilet seat is covered in squished shit. So is my naked ass. I guess that when I twisted to examine my achievement, fecal remains must've clung and rubbed off on the seat. When I righted myself, I squeezed them down fouling the toilet and myself.

CLICK: Belly sweat collects in the folds, forms little rivulets... puddling in my navel... spilling over... streaming midrifly downwards... curling... running through pubes like swamp water through mangroves. Collecting salt to feed my already chafed groin...turning the pink to black-speckled red. One. Two. Three showers a day. Doesn't help. As soon as I step out, the heat and humidity again start the sweat. And the atmosphere refuses to evaporate it. A kind of diaper rash covers every crevice from knee to navel. Mosquito bites cover the rest.

I start writing this column in Georgetown Guyana. Both paragraphs above happened here. Readers over 40 might remember Guyana from The Jonestown Massacre in the late 1970s. The rest probably think it's some place in Africa.

If you imagine South America as a breast, halfway between the shoulder and the nipple... facing the Caribbean Sea... is Guyana. But I don't want to write about Guyana here. You can read it in my travel blog or in a special article I did for Street Carnage.

I want to go back to that joke at the beginning of the column and tell you that I DON'T like the way you think. Self-evident logic makes as much sense as 8 birds on a phone wire after two are shot. Self-evident logic is wrong. What your life experience has taught you is mistaken. I want to take a look at some of your thinking. Examine it carefully. But you've been warned. After the examination, you might find your ass in a mess.

FIRST CASE: What inspired this revelation was my pre-Guyana visit to Trinidad. In New York City, there are no Costcos, SamsClubs or other giant warehouse companies. I never had the experience. In Trinidad there is at least one: PriceSmart, a San Diego based chain specializing in warehouse stores in the Caribbean.

I go shopping there with Randy, an oft-mentioned pal from ANTI-EVERYTHING, the only punk band in the country. Floor to ceiling metal shelves. Bins, boxes, tables filled with useless things... and one or two things I might need one or two of. There are huge hunks of meat, whole cows, unrecognizable pieces of unrecognizable mammals plastic wrapped and ready for massive consumption. (One package says BEEF OXTAILS, and guarantees me it is halal. Aren't ALL beef oxtails halal?)

Why would a family of four buy a half cow? What the hell are you going to do with 240 rolls of toilet paper? But the thinking goes like this:

If I use one roll of toilet paper in a week, then 240 rolls will last me 240 weeks. I'll eventually have to pay for those 240 rolls. So, here they'll cost me 50 cents each, that's $120. If I pay for them one at a time, they'll cost me 75c each. That's $180. I'm saving sixty bucks.

THIS IS SO WRONG! If you have 240 rolls of toilet paper lying around, you'll use twice as much. You'll use it to blow your nose, to wipe up last night's beer puke, to sop the pus up from a broken pimple. You'll throw one to a friend with a cold... here, take this, I've got hundreds more. You'll use a fistful to wipe after that dainty superclean dump. You'd use one sheet, if you only had one roll. Those 240 rolls will last less than half the time and make twice the waste of your one roll a week. With that roll you'd stretch... use less... maybe buy a handkerchief for the occasional sneeze. Your savings are flushed down the toilet.

With food it's worse. You have more, so you eat more. A never ending supply of beef oxtails or whatever else you don't need. Nothing fresh and healthy... only in gross and grosser for it. Sure,if you're having an oxtail barbecue for 20 people, buy at Costco. If you're in Endangered Feces and need Charmin to throw at the crowd, buy at Costco. But if you're just this guy (or gal) and you think that buying a gallon of ice cream for $40 is cheaper than buying a pint for $7.95... WHAT YOU THINK IS WRONG.

SECOND CASE: Right now, the internet in the Guyanese house I'm staying in is down. All the electricity is off. It happens a few times a day-- like in California during the Enron era. I wonder how many times the average Californian was blacked out then. I can just Google it and find out. No I can't. I forgot. There's no electricity. Too bad... NO IT'S NOT!

I can still wonder. Speculate, imagine, use my mind. WONDER is NOT the same as WANT TO KNOW. Wonder is the joy of thinking, imagining, guessing.

I've seen pictures of the Amerindians here in Guyana. They look like the pictures I've seen of the Brazilian headhunters-- or the New Guinea ones that shrunk a Rockefeller's head in the 1960s: Vaguely oriental features, a bowl-cut haircut, loin cloth (probably an evil relic from some Christian missionary), curare-tipped spears, a bone through the nose. Just what you'd expect. I wonder if the local Indians were cannibals in per-Christian times. I wonder what cooked human flesh tastes like... but, I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW.

Google and Apple have destroyed wonder. Everyone and her pet pig walks around i-plugged into Wikipedia. If I wonder out loud what animal has the largest penis, BLAM, someone comes up with THE BLUE WHALE at 8 feet. End of wonder. Before I can fantasize about some unknown rodent dragging a 5 foot tube of flesh around... bigger than its body. My wonder's been killed. Like my foreskin, it's something I can never get back. I want to wonder without wanting to know. WHAT YOU THINK IS WRONG.

LAST CASE: Cut to a typical Guyanese house. Two stories, wood, the second floor has a covered porch as wide as the building. It's where the parties are... especially here in this house. Jamal, my host, is a gadabout, a man around town, party at his place every night. Beer, rum, and girls.

One of the many things I like about Guyana is the girls. Not that they're so beautiful. Some are. The average Guyanese woman is not average, though they all have some beautiful shade of skin color that puts any white guy/gal to shame. (No wonder tanning salons are so big in America.)

Except for the universally erection-inducing color, the girls here are either spectacular... combining the best of the Indian and the Negro... big eyes, Caribbean S-shape... strong, muscular legs that look like they'd squeeze the life out of you... and you'd love it... OR... ugly as an anal wart, rotund, hairy as a coconut or … so concentration camp skinny you're afraid to touch them. They might break.

I just like the fact that they're THERE! Unlike in many other third world countries-- Gambia, Senegal, Trinidad, for example-- girls go out by themselves... singly... just to lime (hang out). They don't need to be attached to anyone... they just are some of the guys. And many of these girls, not conventionally attractive, have such great personalities, that you WANT to be with them. They've got friends up the ass... as they should.

My favorite bar is a place called Buttsy's. Reminds me of the scummy bars on the Lower East Side when the Lower East Side was good. A couple pool tables, cheap beer ($300, about $1.50US), the kind of loud people others call characters, rather than the kind of loud people others call jocks. Girls as loud as boys. ID? Hah, if you can see over the counter to buy a beer, you buy one. If you can't see over the counter, the guy behind you will give you a boost. At the outside tables, you'll find easy banter among friends-- and friends to be made at the other tables. All they need is a stage and it's CBGB.

Conversation is not about whale penises, but it could be. Lots of laughter, body touching, innuendo. Makes me happy to be here. One of the guys says, let's just buy beer and come over to my place. The party continues... smooth and as easy flowing as a beer shit. That's where we are now. On the balcony, limin', drinking Banks beer. (I know the Beer Advocate doesn't like it, but it's the perfect beer for this hot humid climate... meant to be drunk ice cold.), a bottle of rum and a liter of coke make the rounds. There aren't enough cups, so we use the tops and bottoms of old water bottles to make our own.

“How do you like living in a primitive third world country?” I ask the goddess pouring rum into my half-water bottle.

“Depends on how you count,” she answers with a twinkle in her eye that make my nether parts ooze. It also gets me thinkin'.

Who decides which countries are in which world? Are they in order of average annual income? I don't think so. That would put Saudi Arabia in the first world and Greece in the third. How 'bout majority race? Nope, by that criteria, Japan and Cambodia would be in the same world.

I've heard lefties talk about North countries and South countries, instead of numbered worlds. That doesn't work either. Australia is south of the equator and Afghanistan north. Which one is first world?

How about flush toilets and internet access?

I haven't been in a house here that doesn't have both.

Gap between rich and poor? By that criterion, America would be fifth world... or sixth.

And what is the second world? Anything that used to be SOVIET? Anything with a -STAN at the end?

Has a country ever graduated? Moved up? A former third-worlder now second... or even all the way to first? I don't think so. Countries have moved down: Azerbaijan, for example. Maybe most of the seconds moved to third after the fall of the Soviet empire. Maybe the only second worlders left are Russia, Cuba, North Korea, and whoever the US is attacking at the moment. In any case, I've never heard any country called second world.

I figure is it's a cold war relic. In commie times, America and its friends were the first world. The Soviet Union and its allies were the second world. Everybody else was the third world. These terms stuck. After Russia broke up, the newly independent republics instantly joined the third world-- or the first.

This is just wrong. Countries are NOT in worlds. They are not worlds apart: luxury vs poverty. Flush toilets vs holes in the ground. It's much more complicated than that. Either there are no worlds or there are hundreds of worlds-- not three. WHAT YOU THINK IS WRONG.

This weekend I'll be in Suriname. That's not in Africa either.

ENDNOTES: [You can contact email me (god@mykelboard.com). Postal contact send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003]


-->How Much Punk Rock Do You Hear in Guyana dept: Most of my time here has been with members of the only punk band in the country: Keep Your Day Job. (How come counties with only one punk band have punk bands with such great names?) I sang an acoustic version of BEER IS BETTER THAN GIRLS ARE and will be a roadie for them in Suriname. In a country with very little live music, and no punk, they've got a tough job ahead. I hope they keep it.

-->Related dept: Those of us old enough to remember the 80s, put down later punkrock as bland and commercial. Green Day? Blink 182? Sellout arena bad punk copies, we'd say. But, for many people (like Keep Your Day Job), they are the bridge between the punk we know and the punk they're going to forge. If it weren't for those bands we dismiss, there'd be NO punkrock in places like Guyana. So we gotta give 'em credit... THEN, we teach 'em about GG Allin.

-->Beer and girls dept: A great man (me) once made a song by rhyming those old gas station posters of 20 Ways Beer Is Better Than Girls. Clearly, the list is a comic lament by some teenage guy who can't get laid and drowns his sour grapes in beer. It's almost feminist in its pathos. But, with the typical sense of humor of feminists, they don't get it.
Now, a Texas beer company has introduced a new beer with the motto: Goes down easy. The reaction has been predictable. Check it out here.

-->Keeping on the pressure dept: If you want to see me back in Maximum Rock'n'Roll (or if you don't) you can tell them directly with an email to: mrr@maximumrocknroll.com You SHOULD contact them.

--end

[My sadly under up-kept travel diary is available at: mykelsdiary.blogspot.com. And you can subscribe to updates, and notification of new columns and other writing by joining my Yahoo group at: http://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/readMBoard/]



Saturday, September 28, 2013

Between Columns Mykel Solves the Syrian Crisis

Spending my free time:

An Inter-Column Post

by Mykel Board



I've got a weekend free before my journey to South America. Since I have some free time, and not much else to do, I figure I might as well use that time to solve the Syrian crisis. After hours of thinking, I present my solution:

Step 1: The U.N. Security Council gives New Jersey to the Syrian rebels. There are at least a hundred people of Syrian decent already living in the state, so it's a natural. The state is to be renamed NEW PHOENICIA.

Step 2: Anyone of Syrian descent will become an automatic citizen of New Phoenicia. I expect the population to initially increase from refugees avoiding the government gassings in Syria. But the state will act as a homeland for dissident Syrians everywhere.
 
Step 3: Because the surrounding 49 states have so much room. The American population of New Jersey will be encouraged to emigrate. We expect the other states to take them in quickly, though there is a possibility that there will be refugee camps on the borders. Those Americans who wish to stay in New Phonecia can do so, but they will not be allowed to serve in the NP army. Also, if they move out of NP, they will not be allowed to return. Only those of Syrian blood will be allowed to be new citizens of New Phonecia.

Step 4: There will be some time where Kuwait will have control over New Phoenicia. During this time, Syrian terrorists will blow up a few hotels and murder all residents of Secaucus. But this period will be short, and the Syrians soon will be allowed to rule themselves.

Step 5: After independence, Russia will donate billions in money and arms to keep New Phoenicia alive. It will be the largest receiver of Russian foreign aid. Syrians in Russia will keep putting pressure on the government to increase aid. They will point out that New Phoenicia is “the only democracy in North America.”

Step 6: We expect there might be some dissatisfaction with the new country by both the surrounding states, and residents of the former New Jersey. The latter will now be in other states, mostly in refugee camps. They may even attack the new country. Fear not: supplied with arms and money from outside, New Phoenicia will beat back the attackers, and expand it's territory, taking what is now Rockland County (called THE NORTH BANK) and Brooklyn (called the EAST BANK). They will settle those areas, forcing local people to become refugees or captives in their own counties, subject to starvation by the New Phoenicians. If humanitarian boats try to bring in food, they will be mounted by the New Phoenician army, and the food-deliverers shot.

Step 7: Residents of Rockland and Brooklyn, may attack the citizens of New Phoenicia, but, because of overwhelming technology, and a policy of YOU FIRE ONE ROCKET WE KILL A THOUSAND PEOPLE, the New Phoenician army will maintain control.

Step 8: The U.N. may decide to reconsider it's original plan for New Phoenicia. If they do, the New Phoenicians will accuse them of anti-Syrianism. This will justify the New Phoenician actions and insure the continued existence of that country.

SO, that's my plan. What do you think?

--Mykel




Tuesday, September 17, 2013

 





YOU'RE STILL WRONG
POST MRR COLUMNS
Post MRR Column 2
by Mykel Board


Strip clubs don't appeal to me... If I was inclined to seek the company of a bunch of angry drunk women who hated me, wanted all my money, and were determined to tease me but not have sex with me, I would just open a bar in Edinburgh. --Craig Ferguson
 
 
I follow an actual red carpet to the inner room. Plush. Plush. Soft red chairs, like in the corners of a romantic restaurant...by the fireplace. White table cloths, thick carpeting... inviting me to take my shoes off... run the shag between my toes... I don't. The host is dressed like a Russian hitman. but softer and friendlier. The lighting says QUIET... not dim, but diffuse... like looking through gauze. On stage is Ona. Vaguely Oriental, she's beautiful. Not make-up-silicone-centerfold beautiful, but a real-girl beautiful. My sleeping mini-me begins to awaken.

There is no pole on this stage. The lighting (black light?) makes Ona's skin glow indigo. Her now visible nipples are only slightly darker than the perky, but natural breasts supporting them. I take a bite of my eggs benedict.

The place is two-thirds empty. Who (else) goes to a strip club for brunch? Even if it is the bacon and legs special. I take a single out of my wallet and walk up to the stage. Ona doesn't notice me. I quietly lay a bill on the stage floor and walk back to brunch.

Next up is Kirsten, a colored girl wearing a blond wig that glows in the stage lighting.

Meanwhile, Ona comes over and sits in the empty chair next to me.

“Sorry,” I tell her, “I can't do lap dances... just had a hernia operation.”

“That's okay,” she says. “I'm happy just to talk. How come you're sitting at such a big table by yourself?”

Her voice is as soft as the lighting. Not a trace of an accent.

“I'm expecting friends,” I tell her. “Sometimes my friends are flaky.”

She laughs.

“Sounds like my roomates,” she says. “I had to move out of Brooklyn... to K-town. They just forgot to pay the rent.”

“Are you Korean?” I ask her.

“No,” she says. “I don't understand much Korean. I'm Chinese... from Shanghai.”

“I tried to learn Cantonese,” I tell her. “My favorite movies are from Hong Kong.”

“That's tough,” she says. “They have eight tones.”

“I know,” I tell her. “I gave up on it.”

“Shanghai-ese has five tones,” she continues, “Mandarin four. The levels are different too, Mandarin only has moving tones. Shanghai has a plain high and plain low tone.”

The conversation continues. Here I am, in a strip club, talking with a stripper NOT about a lap dance, but about Chinese linguistics! Yowsah!

By now, Kirsten is down to her g-string. I pull another dollar out of my wallet.

“Excuse me,” I tell Ona, “I gotta tip the girls. It's a pretty thin crowd today.”

“You're telling me!” she says.

When I get back to my chair, Ona's off, giving a lapdance to some fat white guy at the bar.

Kirsten soon leaves the stage and-- you guessed it-- appears on the chair next to me.

I give her the hernia story.

“No problem,” she says. “Could you buy me a drink? I just need to talk.”

I nod and call over the waitress. I know strippers earn commission on these girl drinks, but the club is empty and she needs the money.

By this time, my pal Richard, his 30-year old son and friend have shown up.

“I'm having trouble with the Florida Condo,” he tells me.

“You're from Florida?” asks Kirsten.

Richard nods.

And she begins her story.

I was working in a club in Florida, The bosses were all Russian mafia. Well, I had a private dinner with one of them... took me to a fancy place... you could smell the money... oozed out of the wallpaper... women in dresses that'd cost a year's rent... and I live in New York... so the boss buys me a fancy dinner... caviar, wine, the whole caboodle... this guy comes over with a spoon around his neck. Pours a little wine... into the spoon, then tastes it.... makes a smacking sound... then offers me a taste... Jesus! I don't want to taste from that spoon, it's been in thousands of mouths.... It IS a good dinner, but I know the piper is gonna ask me to pay.

'So,' says the big muttha, 'think it's time we go to my place?'

I'm sure the guy has a gun, I gotta get out of there.

'Sure Boris,' I tell him, 'just let me take care of a few girl things.'

I stand up. He pats me on the ass. I head for the ladies, lucky... it's out of view of the table. I split. Bang, out of there. Take a cab to my place in Miami. Grab a few clothes... Bang. I'm on the train, running away. Bye bye Florida. You think the LAW has a long arm? It's a baby-prick compared to the long arm of the RUSSIAN MOB.

“Yow!” I tell her. “You should write about this. It would make a great book. You know that book Girlvert?”

She shakes her head.

“This pornstar wrote it. She started as an actress and then went on to direct. You should read it.”

“I'm already writing a book about my life,” the Negress tells me. “It's called Homage to Catatonia.

“What?” I ask.“That's a play on a George Orwell book, Homage to Catalonia. Three people in America know that book. And you've got a parody?

She smiles. “I'm glad you know it. Most of my friends don't get it.”

“I'll bet,” I tell her. And we go on talking about writing.

The conversation continues. Here I am, in a strip club, talking with a stripper NOT about a lap dance, but about writers and writing!

In my experience, most strippers are just taking care of their families.... paying for the kids. It's a living... making ends meet... for those who can't do anything else. This is a room full of intellectuals with tits and twats! Not one of the (other) customers in this place has half the brains of these girls. Yowsah!

What a commercial for heterosexuality, huh?

FLASH ACROSS THE ATLANTIC: Russia has the Olympics and America's homos call for a boycott. Jeezus fuckin' Sodomy! You've got citizens of the most mass murderous country of the millennium: America! America, who has killed A MILLION PEOPLE in Iraq and who knows how many more in the rest of the world... America, who right now is asking for permission to bomb Syria for killing the same Al-Quidists that America has killed. To kill Syrians for … I donno. And citizens of this most evil country want to boycott the Russians because Russians are unfair to homos??? Can you say misplaced self-righeousness?

They can do that though. They're GAY. GAY is the new Negro. Everyone talks about my gay friend. No party is complete without the PARTY HOMO, not prancing, not faggy, not Freddy Mercury butch, but just like you and me... only talking about MY HUSBAND (if a guy) or MY WIFE (if a girl)... and being congratulated by the other guests on the legalization of gay-marriage... and how finally the world is realizing that gays are just like everybody else.

In the 60s, there were rent-a-Negro agencies. You could make your party ethnically complete. Be hip! Too bad they don't print the yellow pages anymore. There'd be pages of PARTY GAYS. Ouch!

PICTURE THIS: Citizens of Luxembourg feel discrimination. No one appreciates their tiny country. They have protests. Write letters. Complain because they get no respect from the bigger countries. Then there are Germans. They feel discrimination. Other Europeans don't like Germans: leftover grudges from World War Two. Then, the Belgians join in. The Belgians feel insecure. They have two main languages: French and Dutch. People say they have to choose... that there are no real Belgians, only French and Dutch who haven't made up their minds.

Then, there are the Turks. Turks live all over Europe, but because of their name and language people still call them Turks. The Turks are calling for the right to choose their nationality. Just because they were born a Turk doesn't mean they have to stay one. They might be a Belgian, trapped in a Turk's body. They want the right to identify as any nationality they please. To vote in any election. To free themselves from the restriction of one national identity.

Based on who knows what, these groups decide to hook up. They unite and call for Luxembourg, German, Belgian, and Turkish (LGBT) rights. What do they ask for? The right to BE LIKE OTHER EUROPEANS, get respect, pay taxes, run for the European parliament, own mansions in Spain. Other than being Europeans (debatable with the Turks), these groups have nothing in common. But they all demand to be included in THE CAUSE. 

 The Luxembergers, Germans, Belgians, and Turks have more in common than any two letters of the groups glommed together under GAY CIVIL RIGHTS.. But wait. There's more. The Civil Rights group has a new letter. As if LGBT weren't oxymoronic enough, now there's LGBTQ.

Q??? Queer???? GAY is as queer as a five-dollar bill. GAY is marriage and the “right” to spawn / adopt human tadpoles! GAY runs for mayor of New York, on a 100% yeah big-business platform. Oh wait, that's LESBIAN.

Then there's Bradley Manning, the hero of WikiLeaks. Tortured horribly by the army and the CIA. Stripped, strapped down, the unimaginable... all for revealing to the world how horrible the government is. His treatment proves his point. So what happens? The liberal press, says it's all because of hormone imbalance. He's really a girl trapped inside a boy's body. They want him sent to women's prison. The government should pay for sex change surgery. Oy vey!!! He shouldn't be in jail at all!

You've got a great human being. One who should be honored for risking everything to tell the truth. And LGBTQ are saying the reason for his actions is that nobody called him Chelsea. It almost makes me want to give up anal sex.

We don't need EXCUSES for Bradley Manning's actions. His were acts of greatness. Pushing them off on hormones diminishes them. He did the right thing. He acted with integrity and courage. Those nouns don't NEED hormones.

So buckaroos, last month, at least in my life, has been a great one for hetitude. Homos, on the other hand, have been an embarrassment.

ENDNOTES: [Contact: Send those... er... private videos..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003 You can also contact me by email at god@mykelboard.com. You can comment on the blog version of this column at http://mykelsblog.blogspot.com/. I will delete personal attacks or violations of Godwin's Law. Everything else is fair game.]

-->Taking a bath naked dept: The National Coalition Against Censorship reports the children's book, THE DIRTY COWBOY was removed from the school libraries in Annville-Cleona Pennsylvania. The book had a picture of a dirty cowboy taking a bath... just sitting in a bathtub... no goodies showing! Why was the book removed? "Children may come to the conclusion that looking at nudity is OK, and therefore pornography is OK."


-->Ban the converts dept: Under the headline CHRISTIE SIGNS BAN ON GAY 'CONVERSION THERAPY, amNewYork reports that New Jersey governor Chis Christie signed into law a gag rule that "prevents therapists from counseling gay and lesbian youths to change their sexual orientation." His reasons include "medical research that sexual orientation is determined at birth."

I'm waiting for the law against Christian Conversion Therapy, since it's clear, that being JEWISH is determined at birth. The gay establishment is apparently happy at the signing, again not realizing that laws that shut OTHER PEOPLE up... can turn around and bite you on the a***. I'd write the word, but by the time you read this there'll be a law against it.


--> The Progressive Magazine reports that the drug company Pfizer hired private investigators to find evidence of corruption against the attorney general of Nigeria. They wanted to blackmail him into dropping legal action against the company. This according to WikiLeaks. The Nigerian government had filed a lawsuit against Pfizer alleging fraudulent drug tests on children.

-->It's for your own good dept: Schools in Fort Wayne Indiana are introducing the fingerprinting of all students. Recognition technology, they say, will allow students to pay for their lunches. School officials excuse the privacy invasion by saying the fingerprints will "reduce the risk of a student's ID card getting stolen or lost, help eliminate clerical errors, and speed up the process so kids have more time to eat.”

Yeah, right. See what the cops match when they find that next bag of weed. Eliminate clerical errors, my ass.


-->It had to happen dept: Just when a fad diet hits, another fad diet comes along telling you that not only was the first one wrong... it was actually dangerous. Eggs were healthy, then bad, now good again. Margarine was good, then bad. Diet sodas, they now say, make you fat. And the newest? CHOLESTEROL IS GOOD FOR YOU. It had to happen. You can see the details here.


-->Letting Go dept: I've said it before. It's time for Jews (and Armenians, and whoever else holds a half-century grudge) to let go of their holocaust. That period has been used as an excuse for some of the most heinous crimes of the millennium... and a good deal of them from LAST millennium. It's time for some cultural Alzheimer's. The excuse was “we remember so it never happens again.” But it DOES happen again. Over and over... just to different people.

Well, in a last ditch attempt to exploit the victims, Israel has crowned Ms. Holocaust Survivor. I shit you not. Check it out here. I wonder how she did in the swimsuit contest.


-->Not letting go dept: I still want to keep the pressure on Maximum Rock'n'Roll. They've got a new dictateress, but as far as I can see, no changes planned. If you'd like to see me back there... or if you just want to comment on my getting fired. Post on the MaximumRock'n'Roll facebook page (though all comments about me have been quickly censored). You can also email them directly at mrr@maximumrocknroll.com.


-end-