Thursday, December 24, 2015

The Only Good Thing or Mykel's Post-MRR Blog #28



Mykel's
Post MRR Column #28
The Only Good Thing

by Mykel Board


Imagine a country whose foundation is subjugation... a country where slaves are written into the constitution... officially “3/5 human.”

Imagine a country whose national anthem talks about bombs and rockets... where citizens trust God and not each other.

Imagine a country that holds more of the world's prison population than any other... most of the prisoners descended from slaves... Where jail terms never end... where the right to vote is permanently taken away... your debt to society can never be paid... You are always a slave.

Imagine a country whose people are so stupid that they can't find their neighboring countries on a map... where more people know the names of movie stars than scientists or philosophers... where people have more guns than passports.

Imagine a country where students aren't challenged to think. Where they're warned about “upsetting ideas” and can opt-out of learning. Where “education” has nothing to do with learning, but is only a means to a job where you work to make other people rich.

Imagine a country where the top 1% owns more than the bottom 90%... where huge, greedy corporations pay NO taxes. Where the answer to any violation of corporate interests is to kill people.

Imagine a country that defines “success” as being rich. That exports its love of money around the world, making fetishes of brand names, charging in foreign branches of its stores, a days wages for a cup of coffee... and through advertising and bribery... makes people want to pay it.

Imagine a country where the solution to EVERYTHING is WAR. Instead of looking at problems with a medical metaphor... like a wound that has to be healed... it looks at problems as THE ENEMY that has to be killed. WARS on drugs... Muslims... terrorism... hunger... even a (long ago discarded) WAR ON POVERTY.

Imagine a country that has, in this millennium, killed more people than all other countries on earth... combined. Image a country that continues to kill people, correcting past mistakes in killing people by killing other people.

What benefit could there be to such a pisshole of a country? What right would such a country have to exist? Why should the rest of the world tolerate such a gaping wound in its earthly body? Is there anything that fetid offal has to offer? Can we find one thing that hell-bent-on-world-destruction nation has done to justify its existence?

FLASH TO NOW: I'm in a 777 airplane flying from Manila to New York... via Taiwan. I've been in the plane for seven hours... with another eight to go. I can't sleep, having stupidly taken the aisle seat so there's no window to put my head against. When either of the two passengers next to me needs to take a piss... I gotta get up and move.

This is the end of my six weeks in Asia. The first four were in Japan: tightly planned... familiar... sleeping on friends' floors... couches... tours of sake breweries... a ton of drinking... a ton of innocent nakedness at public hot springs... a bit of not so innocent nakedness. Friends... familiar... comfortable... like slippers and a bathrobe.

Then there was The Philippines. I quote from my travel blog (mykelsdiary.blogspot.com)

Manila is a maze of narrow streets choked with barely moving traffic, blaring horns... people walking... hanging out... sleeping on plastic bags filled with trash.

Food stands sell Chinese pork buns or wooden sticks with your choice of pig's ear, pig's blood or pig guts. The narrow streets hold the auto exhaust of the immoveable traffic. Walking a block is like smoking a pack of cigarettes.

Every few meters, one young woman or another will smile at you... showing her braces and ask, “Hey Joe, you like me?” If you shake your head, she'll offer you her younger sister... or her daughter. My upper arm still has a bruise where a street hooker pinched me to keep me from walking away. Every few steps bring you to another encounter.

Backpacks become frontpacks here... watch your step...means a fuck of a lot more than be careful crossing the street. The heat is oppressive... a wet-heat. Your sweat mixes with the filth from the car exhausts. Simply scratching your neck leaves your fingernails black.

I love the place.

I've been sleeping on a thin mattress on the floor in Taytay, a Manila suburb. Johnny Deadbrain lives here... with his mother who barely makes a living selling ice to the neighbors out of her refrigerator.


I get the mattress. Johnny sleeps on the other side of the living room... on a cardboard box. 

The toilet, as most in this country, doesn't have a seat. You flush it by filling a plastic bucket from a cold water wall spigot and pouring the water into the toilet bowl. A plastic dipper floats in the water. It's not clear whether the dipper is used to scoop water to flush the toilet... or to scoop water to wash your ass in lieu of toilet paper. There is never any toilet paper. Whenever I buy anything in the country, I demand a receipt. That paper comes in handy.

[NOTE: A few places-- mostly high class-- have toilet paper HOLDERS built into the wall. They are for decorative purposes only. There is never any actual toilet paper in them.]

At Johnny's place, the wall spigot is also the shower and bathroom sink.

The Philippines are punk rock.

It's like New York in the 70's... when/where punkrock was born. Dangerous, mysterious, sexy, anarchistic, musical. Everybody and his father... grandfather... is a musician. Even the poorest homes have a turntable... and a collection of records that would make the Rev Norb envious.

Johnny shows me an original of the first Ramones album. From a small speaker attached to his android, comes The Ramones, GG Allin, and his own band DEADBRAINS.

Rock'n'roll came to the Philippines with American servicemen during and after World War II. Navymen wanted more than local nookie from the natives. They wanted their music.

They brought records... 78s... 45s... 33s... to these islands. Local musicians quickly learned the music to play for the sailors. It was as profitable as-- and less painful than-- an American maritime turgid sausage in their anuses.

From the songs learned from those sailors' records, the Philippines developed its own brand of rock... its own bands... its own style. Punk rock came here before anywhere else in Asia except possibly Japan.

BINGO!

That's it! The American contribution... America's ONLY contribution... its only value in the world. ROCK'N'ROLL... That great merging of cultures: black Jazz/Blues that came up the Mississippi River from New Orleans smashing smack dab into white Country music from the heartland. When Hank Williams buggers Muddy Waters... Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley are born.

That freeing, open, rockin music. That rock... that glitter... that punk... that hardcore... That rebellious, liberating, loving, aggressive force. That may be the only real gift America gave to the world... but it's a damn good one.

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 ain't music, it's a concept dept: Chuck Shephard reports that the group Matmos released their new album, "Ultimate Care II." The LP consists entirely of "music" made by an Ultimate Care II washing machine. The machine's 38-minute wash cycle was "sampled and processed." Matmos previously played canisters of helium on stage at Radio City Music Hall and a cow's uterus at the San Francisco Art Institute.

Tax dollars at work dept: One of the many evils of the Obama administration was the bank bailouts and lack of anybody going to the clink for the tragedy. The government claims a victory because it took in billions of dollars in fines from those banks. Same for corporate polluters like BP in the Gulf of Mexico.
Not so fast.
The New York Times reports that the money those banks and corporations paid is considered “tax deductible.” So those same corporations just listed the fines on their tax returns as a “business expense.” They paid no taxes on that money.

Bathe in this dept: Brandon Terry and Casey Fowler of Spartanburg South Carolina were arrested after calling 911 five times to report possums jumping out of their refrigerator and microwave, worms emerging from their floor, and midgets in camouflage. They denied any drug use, but police said it was likely "bath salts."

Sex & The Serviceman Dept: It probably didn't make the U.S. newspapers, but a Philippine jury convicted a U.S. sailor of murder. He strangled a prostitute and drowned her in the toilet, when he discovered she had... er... extra equipment. The Navy removed the sailor from the country before he could be sentenced. At last report, the prostitute was still dead.

Further Evidence Dept: The Daily Mail reports that they've seen video footage that shows Israeli commandos rescuing wounded ISIS fighters from the Syrian warzone, Many of the rescued are enemies of Israel and some may even be fighters for groups affiliated with Al Qaeda. Almost every night, Israeli troops run secret missions to save the lives of Syrian fighters, all of whom are their sworn enemies.
Clearly, toppling Assad is more important to the Israelis than fighting ISIS. No wonder that Israel-obedient Obama calls for REGIME CHANGE in Syria, while the Russians just fight ISIS.

Endorsements Dept: Also on the Russian front. The Washington Post reports that Vlad Putin has damn near endorsed Donald Trump for the U.S. presidency. He called The Apprentice star, “the absolute leader in the presidential race.”
In October, Trump said that he would “get along very well” with Putin and applauded the Russian president for his intervention against the Islamic State in Syria.

Vote Jew Dept: Next year it looks pretty sure I'll be voting for a Jew in November. If, by some (from my mouth to G-d's ears) miracle, Bernie Sanders gets the Democratic nomination... I'm there. If not, I'll have a difficult choice between JILL STEIN on the Green Party, or my pal SID YIDDISH on the Lincoln-Republican party. In any case, I'll be voting Jew in November!

-->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, they blame their 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.

-end-

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Frenching in Japan or Mykel's Post MRR Blog #27

[NOTE: I write this from Japan... soon to leave for The Philippines. I have a lot to say, but my schedule's been so packed, I've had little time to write. I'm uploading this without the help of my usual double proof-readers... and making this MUCH shorter than usual. In the meantime, you might enjoy my travel blog at: mykelsdiary.blogspot.com. That's more friendly-- and detailed-- than this.]


You're STILL Wrong!

Mykel's 27th post-MRR Blog

ARE WE FRENCH?

by Mykel Board

"Believe me, there's nothing like "war crimes" to perk up solidarity. --J. G. Ballard


My NO DRINKING BEFORE NOON rule has flown out the paper-covered window since I got to Japan.

Mykel! The sake brewery opens at 8AM... tours-with-tastings start at 8:30... one at 11. Time to get up or you'll miss it.”

I struggle out of bed... actually a futon on the floor... morning wood competing with last night's food-drink orgy. Into the bathroom... high-tech toilet (washlet, a Japanese combination toilet-bidet)... seat electrically warmed... but even that high-techtitude cannot easily contain what I have to offer.

It's the mother of all beer shits... a sake shit, actually. Twin turds, thicker than my forearm... toilet blockers... like giving birth... Holy shit! brown, shaped like giant loose twin pine cones... If I could preserve them, they'd earn a place in MOMA... Art, I tell you... pure Art.

Forty pounds lighter, I push the WARM STREAM button on the toilet arm and wiggle myself to catch the wave. Wiping off the last flecks of yesterday's salmon, octopus, crab, yellowtail, and oceanic things I've never seen or heard of before... I leave the bathroom an extremely happy man.

Akiko sits in the other room, the TV on... something frantic in the voice of the announcer. Her face is in a frown... much different from the usual... Let's get Mykel plastered before breakfast expression I usually see in the morning.

Have you heard about Paris?” she asks.

I've been there,” I tell her. “I love the city. Some of the people are assholes, but there are also great people who live there. What do you want to know?”

Chow chow!” she says. (Osaka dialect for NO, THAT'S WRONG!) “The attacks... terror... people dead... lots of people?”

What? I'm in Japan... I don't do news... what attacks?”

She tells me there were gunmen... simultaneous attacks... all over Paris... lots of dead...

FIRST THOUGHTS: My friends! Are they okay? Dead? Hurt? Scared.... facebook... email... text... the are-you-okay tools of the 21st century.

facebook has already launched a CALL-IN-SAFE page for Paris. They've made one of those stupid SOLIDARITY face masks... like in gay marriage and who knows what else..... as if looking through the French flag changes the reality of the deaths. WE ARE FRANCE? That's so wrong. THEY suffered the pain of the attacks... a French flag over your face helps about as much as a red ribbon helps a dead AIDS victim.

I send out messages... post LET ME KNOW... check on anybody in the world who MIGHT have been in Paris. Then, when there's nothing else I can do... I head out to the Sake breweries.

It's hard to get plastered than it was yesterday.

SECOND THOUGHTS: Hey France! What do you expect? You participate in mass murder... in war on innocents... on bombing and droning... and “coalition” terrorism. You make a war on people. Can you blame them for fighting back? It's a WAR goddamnit! You think it's one way? You attack and that's it? You think you can make war where YOU want? You think there are no consequence? Just pow! pow! pow! Over there!

Listen buster, YOU (and your pals in the US and Germany and England) started this. You expect people NOT to fight back.... to make it easy for you? America-- the country with the least regard for human life.. the country that has killed more people this millennium, than all others combined.... can expect it NOT to get back its own medicinal taste. France, a “coalition” partner... a Middle East terrorist... a Syria bomber... a Muslim killer... What do you expect?

I'm off to meet THE BEAR and MIWA... a trip to Tora-san land. Tora-san is NOT a version of the Hebrew bible, but a famous Japanese TV character... a bumbling salesman who chases after girls all over Japan... visits his favorite sembe shop-- and wears his coat draped over his shoulders. I'm meeting my friends at the Tora-san statue right near the Tora-san museum... in the Tora-san part of town.

I feel like the first foreigner to enter the enclave... that's the way I like it. You can see more on my adventures there by checking my picasa albums. (If you're interested, send me a note and I'll send you the link, or connect through my facebook page.)

After a great day with Tora-san and my Japanese friends, it's back “home” to check the safety of my French friends. Let's see what CNN has to say.... what the fuck?

It wasn't only Paris that was bombed. More than two score people were killed in Beirut... another big attack in Nigeria. Who knew? Facebook does not offer Nigerian or Lebanese flag coverings for your facebook picture. I guess it's because those people are not white enough... it might clash with the colors.

Then...

THIRD THOUGHTS: What the fuck? What did Lebanon do? Who did it hurt? What did it attack? And Nigeria? Fuckin' Nigeria.... the people are as innocent in the world as the US is guilty. Nothing! They've done nothing. Why attack them? It's clear that the US and its allies don't give a shit about “civilian casualties” or dropping drones on weddings... but why should ISIS-- or its allies care about Nigerians? It's crazy... a holy war against... against... I don't know.

Of course the facebook world cares about France... but we can understand fighting France, France is making war. Facebook cares about the U.S. but we can understand fighting the U.S. The U.S. is making war. But those places that facebook DOESN'T care about. Those deaths that are meaningless... not collateral casualties, but distant ignored acts of malice... of murderous death. What the fuck?

And that's where I am now. Stuck in what the fuck? Certainly not ready to come home.

-end-



Monday, October 26, 2015

How To Say YES or Mykel's Post MRR Blog #26




YOU'RE STILL WRONG
POST MRR COLUMNS
How To Say YES
Post MRR Column No. 26

by Mykel Board

"In a patriarchal society all heterosexual intercourse is rape because women as a group are not strong enough to give meaningful consent.” --Catherine MacKinnon

It's more frustrating than a beautiful lesbian. Scrolling though my punk pix... fresh from the camera... Ah, here's one... recent... from HARD LEFT at ABC NO RIO... Needs a bit of cropping and just a little lightening in the shadows. Too much for IrfanView. I'll open it in Gimp... the best free picture software... I think. Right click... open with...Gimp... Ahh, there we have it. A little touch and ready to go.... The other pictures, I can just click and crop.

Click...KEEN-TONG... wait... Gimp again. Fuck, I forgot to UNCHECK the always open with box. Damn! Now I gotta go back into MY COMPUTER and fix the pictures to open the way I want. It says MY computer, but IT takes over! Whose computer is it REALLY? Why is the default CHECKED? Shouldn't I be the one doing the checking?

Flash ahead: eBay, I have two accounts... it's a long story... but I often have to go between them. KEEN-TONG: sign in. There's the box, stay signed in on this computer (uncheck if on a shared computer). The box is ALREADY CHECKED!! How the fuck do they know what I want? A checkbox should be checked by ME... not checked by default. It's MY fuckin' computer! Even Microsoft says so.

I go to update my version of Adobe Flash...
As a bonus, would you like to install GOOGLE CHROME as your default browser? You guessed it. The box is already checked.

My alarm resets... same time every day... by default. If I forget to turn it off Saturday... BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! at 8 o'clock Sunday morning.

I walk into The Black Sheep... Maria, the bartendress... sees me coming in the door. Before I belly up to the bar she's got a pint of Yeungling poured and waiting for me... my default beer.

Send junk mail... share my personal information with other companies... participate in partner marketing... the default is CHECKED CHECKED CHECKED. Why? Is the default in life always YES? Is it that way in everything?

FLASH TO RUTGERS: Slate reports: A Rutgers-Newark professor is on trial for sexual assault of a disabled man in a bizarre and disturbing criminal case out of New Jersey. Last week, a psychologist testified that the disabled man—who was a patient of Anna Stubblefield when she started having sexual encounters with him—was unable to consent to sexual activity.

The details of the report are interesting, but not important here. What's important is THE DEFAULT! For most things, the default is YES! Stay logged in... open with the same program... give up your privacy... order a Yeungling. No answer means YES! But sex???

No! No! No!
FLASH TO BALTIMORE: In an amazing blitz of reality, a 13-year-old boy has been charged with criminal assault for kissing a 14-year-old classmate! According to the police report, the kid “pulled the girl toward him and kissed her on a dare from other classmates.” Can you imagine? A criminal record at 13 for kissing a girl? There's no indication if the girl was happy with the kiss.

FLASH TO A HOSPICE BED: There's ME lying there. … chained to the bed so I don't injure myself in my spasms. There I am. A spastic vegetable... able to answer stimulus with only a twitch... if that. There I am, late at night. A private room, because my garbled curses are intolerable to anyone else. Two AM... Time for my late night check. Time for the nurse/orderly to take care of the helpless patient.

The doorknob rattles... a light CREEEEEAAAAK... footsteps... I can hear the white shoes against the heavily mopped floor... moving to my bed... The healthcare worker hovers over my face and smiles. We are... for a moment... face to face. It's a friendly face that disappears all too quickly.

There's a fumbling around my midsection, probably at my belt. They're gonna bedpan me, or stick that horrible catheter up my peehole... tickle out a drizzle. Fuck... I hate this, but I can't say anything against it. I can't say anything at all!

My belt opens. My pants come down... my boxers. I feel the hands at my crotch. I mentally cringe as my penis is lifted... waiting for the painful insert... huh? No insert... This is friction... a nice friction... Yeah! A little faster... ooooeeee... a little wetness now. Where does that come from? Am I getting a blowjob? Yowsah!

Yes! Yes! Keep going! Almost! Pressure builds in my taint... only a few more seconds... Now. Now! NOW! Chained to a bed, deprived by circumstance and biology of every human pleasure... at least I can have this! Yes! Yes! YESSSSSSSSS!

No. I can't. The law will not allow it. By law, I haven't been pleasured, I've been abused.

Why is my sex default: NO? Why do I arrive in the hospital... in the ward... in the bedroom with the SEX box UNCHECKED? Who DOESN'T like sex? Who DOESN'T want to be touched, fondled, sucked off? SEE THAT HARD-ON? That's the check in the box.

And girls? Okay, you have less obvious hard-ons. So, waddaya think of sex? Is it boring? Yuckie? A distraction from the important things in life? I didn't think so.

Drunk girls are presumed NOT to want sex. The mute... the retard... no no... they're cripples. They can't possibly want sex. Consent says the box starts unchecked. Incredible college sex rules say EVERY STEP needs Consent :

Q. Is it okay if I touch you?
Q. Is it okay if I touch your breasts?
Q. Is it okay if I kiss you?
Q. Is it okay if I kiss your breasts?
Blah blah blah

Two dozen steps before the good part! Each time the answer is NO unless you say YES. Why?

Consent! They'll tell you. The key is consent... I've said the same thing myself... until I thought about it. The idea of consent assumes a default NO! It assumes that people don't want sex unless they specifically say, I WANT SEX! What universe do we live in? We've been so accustomed to CONSENT! CONSENT! CONSENT! being thrust upon us, that we just believe the definition... the default.

Raise your hand if you don't like sex. That's what I thought.

If I'm drunk, I want sex MORE than if I'm sober. I may not be able to... er... perform... but that doesn't change that I still want to relieve the old Vienna sausage. 

We don't have to consent to a host handing us a cup of coffee in the morning. If we're not coffee drinkers, we say “no, thank you.” Otherwise, it's ours. We don't consent to a basket of bread at an Italian restaurant. If we're gluten-free, we say so. We don't consent to a whiskey refill. If we don't want any more we put our hand over the mouth of the glass and say “No thanks, I'm almost at puke level.”

Why does SEX need a yes, instead of a no? Why does the inability to speak mean the inability to say YES, instead of the inability to say NO? Why does the law-- and (U.S.?) society in general-- assume that the mute, the disabled, the retarded, are sexless? 

My guess: this comes from the Protestant anything-that-makes-your-body-feel-good-is-bad mentality...plaguing Christian-dominated countries for centuries. BUT, who lets it continue?

We all do. Not one of us has ever thought different than to start with the sex box unchecked. Even the most libertarian amongst us would argue for CONSENT. Not so fast, I say.

Our Christian baggage says consent is SAYING YES... CHECKING THE BOX. I say consent should be NOT SAYING NO! I say that the sex box is checked. The default is FUCK ME! BLOW ME! JERK ME OFF! DIDDLE MY CLIT!

Why do we have to say YES for sex, and not for almost any other human act... certainly not for any other PLEASURABLE act? Every other animal species snarls NO, when they don't want it. Only humans have to say YES.

Wake up, buckaroos! We're BORN with the box checked!

We can agree that (usually) no means no... but NOT ABLE TO RESPOND? Maybe that means yes. Maybe we shouldn't need to say yes, especially if we can't say anything at all.

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]

-->Today's internet humor question:
Q. How many green anarchists does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. None, because a lightbulb cannot be changed. It must be smashed!

-->A Man After My Own Heart Dept: He's Japanese... and 75 years old. And, he's in the porn biz. 75! That's even older than Ron Jeremy... and he intends to... er... keep it up! “I want to be an inspiration to older Japanese.” He told NBC news. Well, he's an inspiration for me!

-->Church and State dept: Josten Bundy, a teenage Texan whiteguy, punched his girlfriend's former boyfriend. Doesn't sound strange, does it?
Well, the former boyfriend pressed charges and Judge Randall Lee Rogers gave Bundy a choice:

A. Go to jail for two weeks (and lose his job, as he was not allowed to call his former employer).

or

B. Marry his girlfriend and write Proverbs 26:27 (If a man digs a pit, he will fall into it.) 25 times a day for two weeks.
Because of fear of job loss. Josten took the marriage and the Proverbs' proverb.
My take on it is, that by accepting the marriage, poor Josten has just dug his own pit.

-->Long overdue dept: Sid Yiddish reminded me that I should thank my friends at PORK magazine in Portland for printing some of my columns. They're quarterly, so they can only do one out of three... but THAT'S a big help. Thanks guys. It takes balls.

-->Catholic school education? dept: In England, Paul Neaverson has been called the world's dumbest bank robber. He reportedly pulled a knife on a teller and demanded she transfer Ƚ500 into his bank account. He then gave the teller his name and account number.

When the teller rang an alarm, Neaverson ran out and into ANOTHER bank just down the street. He also tried robbing the second bank.

Neaverson is now serving a 2-year jail sentence. The charge? Massive stupidity.

-->Keeping the Pressure on Dept: And on the side of the ball-less... take Maximum Rock'n'Roll... please!
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, they blame their predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business.
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.

-->War in the Pacific Department: For all of November and the first half of December I'll be in the Pacific. First Japan, then The Philippines. If you're in Asia during that time send me an email. Let me know and we might be able to meet up. You can keep track of my schedule on facebook.

-->And: I'll be taking a break from my massive clean-up/divest kick while I'm traveling. When I return, I'll be again giving away DVDs, cassettes, VHS videos, CDs, posters, and a few 7-inch singles. Just pay separate shipping and handling. Details at: MykelsGiveaway


=end=

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Let's Talk Race or Mykel's Post MRR Blog #25



YOU'RE STILL WRONG
POST MRR COLUMN 25

Let's Talk About Race

by Mykel Board

"We had grown up believing white to be the color of all the important things , like ice cream, aspirin, ribbon, the moon, the stars.” – Lloyd Jones

I'm happier than a young feminist firing an old Jew. Let's Talk About Race... the new fashionable topic... right up my alley... I talk about it often, but it never gets the attention it deserves. 

Race's kissin' cousin IMMIGRATION is getting a lot of cyber ink lately, especially thanks to Donny Trump. I'm gonna talk about that too.

The SCENE: You have a medium-priced apartment in a low rent part of the city. Yeah, it's far from downtown, but it'll do. There's a bodega down the block... beer and chicharones. There's a bar on the corner where they know you by name and pour out that pint of Yuengling when you walk in the door. It's a place you can live.

A truck pulls up to the next building... a moving van. You lean out your window to check on the action. Behind the van is a big black SUV. A Negress, hair done up in a bright-colored headscarf-- wearing a matching dress-- slides heavily out of the passenger seat. She opens the back door. Four screaming little black kids-- two of each gender-- pile out onto the street. A very proper-looking colored gentleman is the last to leave the car... from the driver's seat. Wearing a black suit, with a stiff white shirt and tie, he puts his hands on his hips and bends back to look at the building.

You think, “Yes!! Safe!!”

When colored people (or Mexicans) move into a neighborhood, what do people think? "FUCK, it won't be long before I can't live here anymore? It'll be too expensive. All the shops I know... my friends... NOBODY will be able to stay. Rents will go up like penises at a strip club. Food will go up. I'll be forced out."

I don't think so. That's not gonna happen.

But let some white bearded guy, with too skinny jeans and a topknot, move in and... it's the end! Next come the organic bakery, the hipster hat shop, and STARBUCKS! Let's get this clear. White people make neighborhoods unlivable. There, I said it.

Little known fact: except for Godfather's Pizza (and I'm not sure if that qualifies), every fast-food chain in America has been started by and presided over by a whiteguy. But walk into one of those restaurants and see who is actually doing the work. It sure ain't white guys. The ones MAKING, SELLING, CLEANING UP, are not white! White people don't work. They sit there and OWN... that's it. White people wouldn't know how to work if you paid them... and you do!

Take my local bank... please! I walk in and a black guy greets me at the desk. I walk past him... up to the Indian woman behind the safety glass... ask her how much money I have left. Not a white guy in sight! But my credit card late fees are NOT paying these guys... the guys who are actually working. They're paying some white gym bunny to sit on his ass and watch internet porn in between NASDAQ trades. THAT IS NOT WORK.

Those knee-jerk defenders of white people talk about crime. They talk about black on white crime... black on black crime. They talk as if reducing the number of pickpockets and dope smokers was REDUCING CRIME.

White-guy supreme, Rudy Giuliani, brags about REDUCING CRIME in New York during his regime. He brags that the city has become safer because of his war on Negroes.

Let's get this straight: GUILIANI did NOT reduce crime in New York. He reduced crime STATISTICS. While he was gathering up homeless people and shipping them off to Camden or Newark, there were a bunch of white guys at Citibank and Chase, committing crime after crime. They were stealing from bank customers, defrauding homeowners, MAKING people homeless. Eventually the feds stepped in and made the banks pay billions in fines. Unlike the single-joint marijuana smoker under Mayor G... none of the white people went to jail. Jail isn't for white people.

Clearly more people were hurt by the banking crimes of (mostly) white guys, than by any Negro stealing a hubcap in the South Bronx. But for Mayor G... That ain't a crime.

Want to limit crime? Then make some laws. It's not Broken Windows that are the problem, but Louvered French Windows. My proposal for the first new law under President Sanders: Establish a MAXIMUM PERSONAL WEALTH. If you have ten billion dollars, you don't need ELEVEN billion dollars. Come on white guys... give it up.

The rich are destroying America. They make prices go up, buy up real estate, force people out of their homes. Wealth creates poverty. If you have money, go away... leave... NOW! Move to Russia. I don't care, but don't buy up The United States. Live in Beverly Hills if you want, just don't move to my neighborhood.

As long are there are rich people, crime will not end in America.

FLASH TO IMMIGRATION:

What about immigration? It's related to race because every immigrant to the US belongs to some race or other. I say Donny Trump has the right idea: A WALL. I wish! But we can't build a wall where it really belongs... in the North Atlantic. We need a flotilla!


Yes! I'm talking about EUROPEANS. 


In 2010 there were almost 5 million European immigrants in the US... enough to populate every hipster hair salon in New York... for a year! These were only the official ones... the ones in the records. Millions more came on tourist visas... and... er... forgot to leave. And the legal ones? Many of them work in “higher-skilled occupations.” (This from immigrationpolicy.org.)

You know what that means? NON-WORK. They diddle away at banks and IT companies, getting incredible salaries for making ONES and ZEROS... pushing numbers from one computer to another... doing NOTHING that will make your life-- or the life of anyone you know-- better.

How do so many Europeans enter the US? EASY! All they have to do is register on-line, show a passport and POW! They're in. Do we stop the ones ready to drop puppies? Anchor babies for French or Germans or Brits? You bet we don't. They'll be Americans... little European-Americans ready to make space to bring their parents and who knows what other Daddy Warbucks over here.

Let's make this clear. I have nothing against immigrants... if they qualify as REAL IMMIGRANTS. What does it take to qualify? The answer is built right into the statue of liberty, composed by Jewess, Emma Lazarus:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me


That doesn't mean investors, property owners, millionaires, bankers. Huddled masses are not bearded IT execs. Wretched refuse doesn't refer to insurance actuaries, or suits with a summer villa in The Hamptons. Poor! Get it? Homeless! Understand? Take your bankroll and spend it elsewhere. Please!

If I were President Trump, I'd add a few more requirements to the ones listed on Ms. Liberty. (Not many-- I think the lady got it mostly right.)

Extra Requirement One: Immigrants must have REAL JOB SKILLS: carpentry, roadwork, restaurant bussing. Things involving people, tangible things, services everybody can use. "Creating a lunch-break scheduling app" is NOT a REAL JOB SKILL.

Extra Requirement Two: Immigrants must speak Spanish. MOST of the Western Hemisphere speaks Spanish. People spoke Spanish in America before they spoke English. Europe is a hodgepodge of languages. Walk ten miles and people speak something else. For the sake of a unified hemisphere, EVERYONE should be able to speak Spanish. At least we can make sure our NEW AMERICANS can do that.

Look, I don't want to blame Europeans for the accident of their birth. They can't help it. And if they want to visit the US, I have no problem with that... though I'd insert a microchip under the skin to make sure they don't overstay their welcome.

In Montana, we could make a EUROTOWN. Move all those $700 a night hotels, those ridiculous Fendi and Coach shops... those $300 a dinner hoity-toidy restaurants hosted by celebrity chefs from the Food Network... Put 'em there. Europeans-only hotels, where for $700 a night, the white travelers could have a bed, a bathroom, and a souvenir bar of Ivory Soap at their jacuzzi.

Meanwhile, in real cities, we take back real estate for bodegas and taquerias. Open a bikini bar or punkrock club. Have a thrift shop. Make the city a place to live again.

Yeah, buckaroos, let's talk about race and immigration. There's a lot that needs to be said.


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]

-->Kiss this dept: A study by anthropologists at the University of Nevada and Indiana University surveyed 168 cultural groups and found that only 46% "kiss in a romantic or erotic way." Among those kissless groups are many countries in Black Africa, New Guinea and the Amazon. Some Pacific cultures have fake kisses involving "passing mouths over each other without making contact. What's with the lack of eating face?
"Some of these people never go to the dentist," says William Jankowiak, one of the study authors, "They never brush their teeth."

-->Tarred prayers dept: Mayor Tony Tarber of Jackson Mississippi has a solution to the city's pothole problem. With repair estimates at $743 million, Mayor Tarber offers a cheaper solution.
"Yes, I believe we can pray potholes away," he tweeted. "Moses prayed, and a sea opened."

> What's in a label dept: This from Utne Reader:
There are over 300 different eco-labels on packaging. Those that rank with "virtually meaningless" include HYPOALLERGENIC; the word is a creation of cosmetics advertisers in the 1950s.
FRAGRANCE FREE merely indicates that a product doesn't have a conspicuous scent, substances that cover up or neutralize odors can still be present.
A product labeled NON-TOXIC "won't kill your kids if they ingest it, but still might contain chemicals that can cause serious health problems.
More: BIODEGRADABLE has no enforcement nor clear definition. The manufacturer is free to decide what exactly NO ADDITIVES means.HORMONE FREE has no legal standing and can be used on beef even if it contains hormones such as testosterone. NATURAL, CRUELTY FREE and FREE RANGE, all have no legal meaning and can be applied at the manufacturers' discretion.
The label CORPORATE SCUM, while usually not found on packaged goods, has, on the other hand, a clearly defined and identifiable meaning.

-->Long overdue dept: Sid Yiddish reminded me that I should thank my friends at PORK magazine in Portland for printing some of my columns. They're quarterly, so they can only do one out of four... but THAT'S a big help. Thanks guys. It takes balls.

-->Keeping the Pressure on Dept: And on the side of the ball-less... take Maximum Rock'n'Roll... please!
I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for censoring me. 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.

-->Happy 5776 dept: I had a nice Rosh Hashanah dinner with friends, including Mr. & Mrs. George Tabb. George is another veteran writer recently canned from MRR.
“Every columnist there now is a transsexual feminist,” he told me.
“What about Lefty Hooligan?” I asked. “You know, the old guy-- a goy-- willing to sell his father to keep his column.”
“It's Leftisha Hooligan, now,” he answers. “Didn't you know?”

-->And: I'm still on a massive clean-up/divest kick. I'm giving away DVDs, cassettes, VHS videos, CDs, posters, and a few 7-inch singles. Just pay separate shipping and handling. Details at: MykelsGiveaway



=end=

Saturday, August 29, 2015

What's in a Girl's Mind or Mykel's Post MRR Blog #24

YOU'RE STILL WRONG
MYKEL BOARD'S POST MRR COLUMNS
POST MRR COUMN 24

Mykel Confesses He Doesn't Understand How Girls Think

by Mykel Board

"Women have an instinct for labyrinths... for ins and outs. It's order that stymies them!” --Louis-Ferdinand Celine

I'm more at home than a rabbit in a briar patch. My chin rests about half an inch north of her immaculate anus... my nose presses her pubic bone. The sublime smell of yeastless twat stiffens my ferocious five inches pressed into the bed. I lick forward... sucking in... my clit-clenching lips push back the hood... the part that Muslims circumcise. My tongue tastes the tip... she squirms... tightens her legs around my head.

Het guys cannot possible be any good at eating the hairy clam,” I think. “This is like giving a miniature blowjob... How would they know?”

As I suck, I thrust myself against the bed... merging the two of us in ecstatic union... feeling the same rising rapture... the same tightening... My breath rustles from my nose through her pubes... like wind in high grass. My groin pushes harder against the bed.

Mmmm mmmm mmmm,” her voice... her little whimpers... sounds made completely through her nose... as if she were afraid that opening her mouth would let loose a scream loud enough to wake the neighbors... the tourists... the dead. Her legs grip my head like a pair of fleshy pliers.

I hear my own sounds... breathing... panting... moaning into the woolly valley cleft between her legs. It's howling into a cave. I half expect an echo to return to me from the womb. The sheets beneath my groin are suddenly wet. And YES! I feel that final tighten... taste that sweet juice... hear that choked moan to know she's matched me in rapture.

Wow!” she says. “You don't NEED a big dick. You do the satisfaction!”

I'm guessing that's a compliment.

I kiss her from her pubes up to the navel... an innie... up further... between her double amplitude... her chin... her mouth. Then I lie down next to her and allow the sleep Gods to carry me off.

Hey Mykel,” she says, “talk to me. Say something.”

Mmmm,” I say, desperate for sleep.

Say something,” she says again. “Tell me what you're thinking.”

I'm thinking I want to go to sleep,” I tell her.

She elbows me in the ribs.

What the fuck?” I don't say. “We had twin orgasms. Wet the sheets. Genital juice. You want to talk about Donald Trump?”

What should I say?” I do say.

Tell me what you're feeling,” she says. “I want to know what's in your mind.”

Huh? We both just had an orgasm... cum... ecstasy... mind explosion... what is there to talk about? Why talk? This is a girl thing that I just don't get. A sunset over the Pacific: it's beautiful without saying

Gee, a sunset over the Pacific. Isn't it beautiful?

What is it with girls? Why do you have to SAY everything? Aren't the stains in the sheets enough? I don't get it.


FLASH TO: Rick's Cabaret, my favorite strip club in New York. 

I'm here with a couple Japanese friends and some Latinos. Next to me sits Maxine, at least that's her stripper name. She's a beautiful Negress wearing a long red wig and not much else. As I don't do lap dances, I buy her drinks so she'll talk to me and touch my arm every once in awhile. We discuss George Orwell, and Russian mafia owned strip clubs in Florida.

My Japanese friends, half of them married-- wives in Japan-- are off in various corners of the club... their one-eyed unagis massaged by the tender tushes of the other strippers. $20 a song... the usual price.

$40 later... one-by-one... the guys return... big smiles, thumbs up, and a wink.

Jiro is gone. Disappeared... gone off with a blond white girl... Slavic accent... Olga is her stage name... he's been gone for 20 minutes!

I think he went upstairs for special service,” says Ricardo, the italics clear in his voice.

We all smile. I wink at Maxine.

FLASH TO SCHOOL: The next day, I tell the other teachers about the strip club, laughing at the story of the missing Jiro.

That's awful,” says Madeline. “His wife is in Japan and he's screwing around in New York.”

What?” I ask. “His wife is in Japan! Why SHOULDN'T he screw around in New York?”

Maybe because he loves her,” she says.

Huh?” I say, my forehead wrinkles deepening. “He's in New York. Would you mind if he went out to eat with another woman-- or man? Would you mind if he went to a ball game with them?”

That's different,” says Madeline. “This is sex.”

And why is sex different?” I ask. “What's it got to do with love? It's just friction! Less energy than a night of mastication.”

Mykel,” says Madeline, “you're just trying to stir the pot... causing trouble... You know the answer.”

But I don't. I don't get it. Eating dinner is pleasure. Screwing a stripper is pleasure. Taking a huge beer shit is pleasure. Throwing a birthday party for your 90-year-old mother is pleasure. What the fuck? Why is one forbidden pleasure? Why is one love and one NOT love? Do girls fall in love only through their cunts?

How girls think is beyond my ability to understand. What is in their minds? Someone should write a book called What's Love Got to Do With It? and actually answer that question.

FLASH TO WASHINGTON DC 1994: Then Senator Joe Biden introduces a Violence Against Women Act. One of the results is:

All states have authorized warrantless arrests in misdemeanor domestic violence cases where the responding officer determines that probable cause exists.”

In New York, when there is a “domestic violence” complaint, THERE MUST BE AN ARREST. Women support the law, though it's clearly a violation of presumption of innocence... the foundation of the American justice system.

The victim of a woman's wrath... Bang! In jail... no trial... no defense... just off to the big house. Kerpow!


But Mykel,” says Claudine, a friend visiting from Portland. “Women need these laws because they're weaker than men... and in more danger.”


I'm five foot three inches tall!” I yell at her. “There isn't a woman under fifty who can't beat the shit out of me. How are women weaker?”

Average, Mykel,” she says. “We're talking about average.”

Average shmaverage,” I say. “How can you put AVERAGE in jail? Do they measure your averatude before they throw you in the clink? I don't think so.”

Besides,” I add, “we're supposed to have presumption of innocence. You're forcing the cops to arrest someone they presume is innocent.”

It protects the woman,” she says.

So would wrapping each female in a suit of armor... with a chastity belt!” I answer. “This law gives all women an incredible weapon! Any time they're pissed off at a guy they call the cops... BLAM! The guy's in jail. It's crazy. It's like an every-woman dictatorship... You don't like me... a phone call and I'm in jail... with a record!”

It's better to save one woman from one black eye than to keep a dozen so-called innocent men out of jail,” she tells me.

WHAT? In high school we learn that it's better to let ten people go free than jail one innocent. Who switched that around? Why is it switched just for women? How is saving a black eye more important than saving the freedom of a dozen innocents? Is that how women think? I don't get it. How can women think this way?

FLASH TO: Tucker Max, an author my jailbird pal Kyle told me about. Tucker wrote an entertaining book called I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. At first I thought he was a kind of preppy GG Allin... a guy who lives for drinking, fucking and the occasional fight. But there's one section where he writes about a visit from some girl who sucks him off before going to see her boyfriend.

At first, he's thrilled that he somehow put one over on some other guy. HE got it first. Then he thinks a bit more and wonders how many girls he's kissed/screwed/ate out have just come from giving OTHER guys blowjobs. This repulses him. Disgusts him. Gives him the heebee jeebees. He can't stand to think about it, but he's obsessed by it.

What the fuck? If I think that someone I'm kissing might have just given a blowjob to someone else... it thrills me. The idea that I might be tasting semen in someone else's saliva makes me hard. I imagine a threesome. Me having withdrawn that semen myself. The more people, the more erotic the situation. It's just logical. What is this Tucker-guy talking about? Do people really think like that?

Boys! Sometimes I just can't understand how they 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]

-->Kindness is illegal dept: 77 year old Sam Samsonov was fired from his job as a Florida toll booth collector because he took $6 out of his own pocket to pay for a driver who didn't have the cash.
Says the official highway agency "the action of personally funding or withdrawing cash to make it correct before it is turned into accounting is considered fraudulent by the auditors and a terminable offense"

-->Provoking Matters dept: This Week Magazine reports that Richard Valdez, a former employee of conservative activist James O'Keefe said that his old boss “instructed an undercover operative to goad Black Lives Matter protesters with statements like 'I wish I could just kill some of these cops.' Few were goaded.
In related news, some Negresses jumped on stage at a Seattle Bernie Sanders rally. They harangued the crowd, complaining that Sanders did not address Black Lives Matter issues. It later came out that these girls were in no way connected to Black Lives Matter.
Maybe they were working for O'Keefe. My bet, though, is they were Hillary operatives.

-->More provoking dept: It's lucky it didn't work in this hyper anti-Muslim atmosphere. Jason Paul Smith, from West Virginia, was charged with a fake bomb threat to the Statue of Liberty. He phoned 911 claiming to be ABDUL YASIN, an ISIS terrorist.
Lucky there was no REAL Abdul Yasin around for some loony veteran to shoot in the head... and be proclaimed A HERO by FOX News.

-->Where's my cash dept: The manager of a Popeye's Chicken in Texas was fired for not paying back $400 stolen during an armed robbery. The manager was behind the register when the robber burst in.
The boss said he fired her for “keeping too much cash in the register.”

-->Naked anger dept: A teacher who won a national award for teaching Shakespeare in Los Angeles was suspended for reading a passage from Tom Sawyer that mentioned nudity.
“. . . the king came prancing out on all fours, naked. He was painted in rings and stripes all over in all sorts of colors and looked as splendid as a rainbow.”
The act of reading was deemed inappropriate for the young children, who probably bathe with their clothes on.

-->Long overdue dept: Sid Yiddish reminded me that I should thank my friends at PORK magazine in Portland for printing some of my columns. They're quarterly, so they can only do one out of four... but THAT'S a big help. Thanks guys. It takes balls.

-->Keeping the Pressure on Dept: And on the side of the ball-less... take Maximum Rock'n'Roll... please!
I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a continuing Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll for their firing me as their contribution to the world of censorship. 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.

-->Just heard dept: The former editrix of MRR quit the zine to become editor of REVOLVER magazine. That's a pop punk zine with ads for Nike and major labels out the wazoo. Maybe I should ask for a column there.

-->And: I'm still on a massive clean-up/divest kick. I'm giving away DVDs, cassettes, VHS videos, CDs, posters, and a few 7-inch singles. Just pay separate shipping and handling. Details at: MykelsGiveaway


-end