That's a Crazy Idea, Let's Talk About It or You're STILL Wrong August 2022 Blog

 

 

That's a Crazy Idea, Let's Talk About It

or You're STILL Wrong,

Mykel's August 2022 Blog

by Mykel Board

We live in a technological universe in which we are always communicating. And yet we have sacrificed conversation for mere connection. --Sherry Turkle

Knowledge nowadays, is a matter of reaffirming what we already believe. There is no real conversation. --Stephen L. Carter

To get real diversity of thought, you need to find the people who genuinely hold different views and invite them into the conversation. --Adam Grant

We all lose when bullying and personal attacks become a substitute for genuine conversation and principled disagreement. --Alicia Garza

I've got tons of Nazi friends. David Duke and all the Nazis totally think I rock... No offence, Nazis, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I don't like you. I like Jews. –Gavin McInnes

=============================

It’s a great beer shit. More than the release of pain. More than the emptying of too-fullness. Just a slight push and… SPLOT! … downward relief so fulfilling it turns on itself and splashes upward. It must be close to what women feel when they give birth. A giant human turdlike mass… a vaginal shit that cries and squirms... a relief of pain so wonderful you carry it with you for days… months… years... to come… thinking back… Wow! That was great!

As for my massive rectal birth: This is gonna take half a roll of toilet paper. I reach for the first sheets, ball them up and start wiping… I feel nothing… like scraping mud off a pair of boots. Fuck, it’s all over my hand… under the nails… over my thumb, embedded in whatever that piece of skin is called between the base of one finger and the next.

Next bundle of paper… Ahhh, I can feel the sphincter… the little circle of muscle... the release point… the anal vagina that births a pleasure that gives orgasm a run for its money.

I feel around... feel each wrinkle of that muscle... wiping away debris and dingle-berries. Ah, the tight… one fold… the next fold… the next… Ouch! What’s this? A bulge… It hurts… sticks out like something that belongs inside was pushed out with the giant turds… something that shouldn’t be there. It’s smooth, covered with slime… Using my middle finger, I wiggle it back and forth… push it inside and clamp tight. I run my finger around again. It’s gone, replaced with a perfect wrinkled circle.

Whew.

I check in the mirror for any cheek splashes… wipe away a dot here… a brown streak there... pull up and finish getting dressed for the day. Next comes a cup of coffee, poured from the refrigerated pitcher where I keep the percolator left overs. BLAM!into the microwave. Two and a half minutes… aaaahhhh. A beershit and a cup of coffee. Maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

As I drink the coffee, I check facebook, and try to think of snappy answers to all those people who’ve said they’ve had enough of me… but have not as yet blocked me.

Here’s a new one… from a friend who I’ve known about 40 years. Now she’s fed up. “Mykel,” she says, “It’s time I take a vacation from you. I’ve had enough for a while.”

Aahhh, I relearn a much-needed lesson: Some friends should not be facebook friends. And…

Fuck! The second shit. It always hits about half an hour after the first. I can predict. Half the load… with a consistency more like yogurt than cottage cheese.

Okay, okay, I’ll go. The porcelain goddess wins. Facebook loses.

This one takes a little more push than the last… but… but… but… aaaaaah! Yogurt as predicted, a lighter brown than should be healthy… but oh so good. More paper… wipe… wipe again… What’s that? It’s back. That rectal ‘roid popped out again like a rubbed nipple. What the fuck? I thought I’d gotten rid of it.

After I clean myself, I reach for the CVS Oral Analgesic. Nothing like oral to kill the pain of anal. Then I push it back up into its rightful home and pull up my pants

Returning to the desk and facebook, I sit gently.

Here’s a message from Sid Yiddish. He’s asking about my friend, performance artist, prankster, and noise musician, Boyd Rice.

HALT! TECH TALK. LAST CENTURY VERSION: I need to explain something. A lock groove is a groove on vinyl records, usually at the end of each side. It locks the needle in place, so it doesn’t go running into the label. It’s not a spiral like a usual groove, but rather a circle, keeping the needle in place. If it’s used before the end of the record, it sounds like the record is skipping and playing the same thing over and over again.

Back to Boyd Rice.. Back to Boyd Rice…. Back to Boyd Rice

Whatta guy, that Boyd is. The first time I heard of him was when he made a record as a “band” called NON. He sent me a vinyl copy in the days before “download” had anything to do with music.

Every groove of the record was a lock groove. In order to play it, you had to manually lift up the needle and move it from one groove to the next. It was wonderful frustration. Immediately, I thought. Here is a man after my evil heart.

I learned even more when I saw him in front of an “art piece.” You know that awful LOVE sign? The eye-rolling tilted “O”? Oy vey!

So what punker art than to create a LOVE sign with a universal symbol of hate? It’s just genius.

Yeah, that’s Boyd Rice next to his artwork. The original, as I remember, was a sculpture, but I can’t find a picture that version.

I finally get to meet the guy when he has a performance in NYC... sometime last century. He affects a kind of SS leather coat look with no insignia... just the look. Like my mafia fedora trenchcoat look or Sid Yiddish’s talis and tzitzit masked Hassid look. An image... like an actor… a performer…. always on stage.

Boyd “performs” by making noise on some electronic machine or other. I don’t remember the details. I do remember talking to him after the show.

“I saw that LOVE thing you did,” I tell him. “Just genius… use some cliche and turn it into its opposite.”

Boyd shakes his head. “They just don’t get it, Mykel. Irony is lost…” It’s a great conversation… about music, art, and the loss of irony.

“Boyd Rice is a bad man,” says Sid Yiddish in his facebook message. “A friend of mine told me.”

Ah, his friend must’ve seen the LOVE ART and figured… sure the guy’s a Nazi. Our mutual friend outs him to Sid.

My fuckin’ God… It’s IRONY… humor. Wise up! Think punk! Think about the conversation with Boyd Rice. THAT’s what I want to write about: conversation.

Flash to California: A film-maker pal wants to do a day-in-the-life documentary on Gavin McInnes, founder of the Proud Boys^®. From Canada, Gavin once played in a punk band, Anal Chinook. My pal wondered if I had any connections to him. I didn’t then, but now I do.

Through a circuitous route I got in touch with Gavin. We went out for a beer and snacks at an Irish bar in Manhattan.

“I want a picture,” says Gavin. “Put your hat on and try to look like Mykel Board.”

We talk about punk rock. We talk about how people just have no idea what real punkrock is. How my friends in Hungary thought the Dead Kennedys were seriously advocating pooricide when they sang, Kill The Poor. We laugh.

“Are you still a homo?” Gavin asks me.

“I was never a homosexual,” I answer, “but most of the guys I’ve had sex with have been homosexuals.”

He laughs.

Gavin drinks Bud. I drink Lagunitas. We agree on censorship and how what used to be topics for discussion are now topics to be censored. We disagree on immigration. He wants to keep them out. I want to open the borders… make it no different going to the US from Mexico than from going to New York from New Jersey. We disagree on guns. He likes ‘em. I think the big ones need to be banned. We disagree on welfare. He thinks people should have to work to EARN their money. I think if rich people want diamond-studded Maseratis, then they can work for them. Meanwhile, most of rich people’s money should go to support those without money-- whether they choose to work or not. Gavin has “issues” with transfolks. I think that they’re among the sexiest people in the world. (I didn’t call the second ARTLESS record Boy With A Cunt for nothing.)

The conversation is deep, but fun… lots of laughs… lots of overlap… I felt a friendship and liked the guy. I still like him and hope we can drink together again. We agreed on a few things. Disagreed on a few. Sometimes just talked about stuff where there was nothing to agree with or disagree. I tell him I could never have been a Proud Boy^®.

“Those guys don’t jerk off!” I complain.

He laughs.

During the discussion, I mention that I’d read that he quit the Proud Boys. I ask him if it was because they were getting too hot to handle.

“No,” he tells me, “I’d said some pretty extreme stuff. You know, like punk rock. Courts and juries don’t get the punk rock mind... Kill The Poor. You know what I’m talking about.

Lawyers would use my quotes like “choke a tranny” literally. It could cost those guys some time in jail. I thought it was best for me divorce myself from the group in order to save it.

Wow! I had completely misunderstood. I misread an act of altruism for an act of ass-saving. I’m glad we talked about it. New respect for the guy... 

At the end of the evening, Gavin pays for both of us and we both leave with a smile. Like I said, I like the guy and hope to see him again sometime.

After I get home, I post the picture of Gavin and me on facebook and say what I great time I had drinking and talking with him.

The reaction comes swift... and hard. The same stuff I put up with Boyd Rice… only stronger… harder. Like the returning hemorrhoid I thought I’d stuffed away.

My “friends” list shrinks by nearly 100. Those who don’t leave fill the picture comments with How could yous and You’re turning alt-rights and… and… and...

Yeah, there are a few commenters I admire. They want to talk. Especially one on the left and one on the right… but the majority are too outraged to discuss… only ready to complain.

I try to explain that I like people… especially smart people with a sense of humor. It doesn’t work and it’s not long before Godwin’s Law hits.

“Sure,” I answer, “I used to go to the local kneipe with Herr Goebbels. He never let me pay for a Hofbrau.”

Pretty snappy, huh? Huh?

Then it hits! I’m as guilty as the others. Instead of conversing, listening, taking a drink, inhaling, stroking my chin… and maybe changing my mind, I’m more concerned with snappy answers than learning anything. That concern baits snappy questions and feeds on itself like a hemorrhoid feeds on a steady diet of beer shits.

SCENE SHIFT: I hate the telephone. It’s an evil intrusion… calling you away from what you’re doing… demanding an answer NOW! But when I find myself in a quandary, I pick up the phone and call Dorothy Parker, the smartest person I know.

Since she’s dead, I never worry about her calling me at inopportune moments. I have the upper hand… er… voice.

“Dorothy,” I say, “you gotta help me. Suddenly, I’m finding myself as my own best enemy. I complain about people not willing to converse anymore, just looking for snappy answers... Something to throw out without thinking… for a laugh. In reality, I never learn anything. I never change my mind. I’m just interested in throwing out something witty.

“Wit has truth in it; wise-cracking is simply calisthenics with words,” Dorothy says.

“So I’m learning,” I tell her. “I’m trying to learn how to listen and have a peaceable discussion. I want to learn from people who want to learn from people. I’m tired of ideologues who stick to the party line come Trump or Nancy Pelosi. I don’t want that. I want to converse.”

“You can’t teach an old dogma new tricks,” she says.

“But what should I do?” I beg. “Where should I go?”

“The Algonquin,” she says. “Get a roundtable, eat, drink, talk about things... and listen.”

BINGO!

So now, slightly less often than once a month, I meet with friends and strangers in the lobby of the Algonquin hotel. Poets, musicians, thinkers… lesbians, homosexuals, people in their 20s and people in their 80s. We talk. When I’m tempted to jump in and listen to myself, I bite the inside of my thumb or squeeze my asscheeks together until the hemorrhoid hurts.

But slowly, ever-so-slowly, I listen and learn. Gavin and Boyd… come and join us! Smart people listening to each other. That’s what we need. I’ll shut up now and see what the other folks have to say.

See you in hell. 

MB

aka

Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.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. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Join the conversation dept. If you’re in the NYC area or can be, we want YOU at the Algonquin Round Table, especially if you’re not white, not old, or/and not binary. We need to increase our diversity. If you’re interested in joining us, send me an email, and I’ll put you on the list. Just show up some month, introduce yourself, and converse.

→ Is that a handy wipe in your river, or are you happy to see me? Science News reports that an island the size of two tennis courts and composed entirely of used handy wipes (the Brits call ‘em wet wipes) has appeared in the Thames River that goes through London. Government ministers have asked people to stop using the wipes and are considering a ban. A Labor Party MP said she had visited the site: "I've ... stood on it -- it's a meter deep or more in places.” It's actually changed the course of the Thames."
    The Environmental Minister asked citizens not to flush the wipes. My question, if you don’t flush them, just where do you put them?

→ Accidents will happen dept: The British tabloid The Daily Mirror tells us about a man who may never be able to use his penis again after his partner accidentally sprayed expanding foam inside his urethra.The man was struggling with impotence and had been putting different items into the opening of his penis in a bid to stay firm. But his latest attempt ended in horror when his partner tried to use the straw of a can of insulation spray to keep him erect.
    His partner said she accidentally hit the button on top of the can, sending the foam into his penis. There, it hardened and “became anchored."
    Doctors had to cut a new opening between the man's scrotum and his anus to urinate and said he must pass a psychiatric test in order to qualify for “reconstructive surgery.”

See you in hell, redux,

MB

LINK TRADE DEPARTMENT:

I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends and enemies in their blogs. So facebook me or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

Here's a start:

You can see Gavin on Censored.tv... maybe the only place he's not blocked.

There’s a great interview with Sid Yiddish on YouTube. You can check it out here.

Here’s Richard Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.com

Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency

And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out Yesterday's Recipes.

And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.

Andy Shelton has an interesting blog here.

Savage Hippie is a guy who has been YouTubing for a long time. Our opinions largely overlap... but he complains that I'm a Communist. I'm not! I'm a communist.

Chris Stecher publishes a zine called PRECIS. You can see the back issue links there... and he promises a new issue soon.

George Fertakis has a very nice graphics-heavy blog... with music and books featured prominently. If there’s no link here (I can’t find it temporarily), then Google… er… Duckduckgo him for information.

And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

And connect to TRUST Zine, a long-running German punk zine… that STILL PRINTS!!! Yeah, they have a website too… of course! It’s here.

Here are a couple video links.

This from Jon Cox https://squelchchamber1.bandcamp.com/album/down-so-low

And this one from my very long-time friend Roger Armstrong.

Jim Testa moved his long running zine, Jersey Beat, to the blogosphere awhile back. You can read it here. Jim also recommended a kind of unique album… in a style you don’t see to much of these days… or any days. Neo-Hassidic Rock Opera. You can stream the album here.

Kyle Nonneman is in prison in Portland. At least he can’t be kidnapped by the secret police… I think. I post his blog for him, he can’t do it from the klink. Lots of stuff about noise metal… and some very weird politics that will either fascinate or repulse you… or both.

My long time pal, Jim Hayes rightfully complained about my leaving out his blog. He’s a great writer, so it was a tragic omission. Here it is.

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. god@mykelboard.com

TO BE or NOT TO BE or MAYBE TO BE Mykel Board's Post-MRR Column 13

TO BE or NOT TO BE or MAYBE TO BE

YOU'RE STILL WRONG

POST MRR COLUMNS

by Mykel Board

We will peer at wiggling things that look like rattlesnakes from one side and look much more like the middle of next week from a different but equally plausible angle of view. Those with tired or rigidly dogmatic minds will find these perceptual relativities distressing... You have had warning. Don't complain later if this seems like a bloody abattoir for you own favorite Sacred Cows and you get a bit uneasy about things that formerly looked simple and honest. --Robert Anton Wilson

Fuck, I'm late. They're gonna be pissed off at work. The Japanese are such sticklers that on-time is late. I'm hung over... I need to pour myself into my clothes and POW! out the door. Elevator downstairs... out the front door. My foot hits something slimy... gooey... slippery.... SSSSSSS.. TAKOOO! It slides from under me. For a second, I'm in the air... Peter Pan over Bleecker Street. TWATOOOM! I'm on the sidewalk... my ass a mass of coffee-colored pain... my hands aching and slimy. I look at them. They too are brown... palms covered in shit. Splashed onto my wrists, the sides of my pants. I slipped on dog ooze and landed in it palms first. The smell makes me gag.

FLASHBACK TO 1997: I don't have a cellphone. I won't be bullied into getting one for a couple years. But I need to make a call. In the 90s, there were things called COIN PHONES. The body of the phone was attached to a little stand. You picked up the receiver (a black piece of plastic with a speaker for your ear and one to catch your voice) and listened for something called a DIAL TONE. Once you heard the tone, you put some money-- usually a quarter-- into a slot at the top of the fixed part of the phone. Then you dialed the person you wanted to speak to. There must be an instructional video on YouTube someplace.

This time, though, the act of picking up the receiver, putting it next to my head... against my ear... and speaking into it is … well... there's something slimy on my ear, something squishy on my hand, something foul-tasting in front of my lips. You guessed it! It's covered in shit! This time I vomit... right into the receiver.

FLASH TO LAST WEEK: First class over, now! An intestine full of last night's Red Horse beer … Red, now brown... waiting to burst out... I can just about make it to the men's. Rip open my belt... unzip... now... now... NOW! BLLLAAAUUUUPPPP! A blast... a joyful noise... a liquid soup... a number three.... exploding from my rectum with such force it splashes the bowlful of water back up... mix of shit and bogwater coat my ass... drips from my balls... FFFFFRRRRT.. an aftershock... another ecstatic explosion. My God... the best feeling of the day... the week... the month... I'm pregnant... giving birth... releasing the universe inside. The best shit... uhhhh... wait.

Shit! Shit? Good or bad. Most evil of face filthers or most delicious of joys? Maybe it's neither... or both... or... And of this shit begins this column.

SHIFT TO A BOOK: Recommended to me by my jailbird friend Kyle, it's written by Robert Anton Wilson. He's best known for his conspiracy trilogy THE ILLUMINATUS... and his participation in lots of Libertarian events. It's the third part in another trilogy: the Trigger Books. The quote at the start of this column is from that book.

Wilson writes the entire book without using the verb TO BE (am, is, are, were, was etc) except when quoting someone else. The reason? He believes that TO BE stops thought. If I say, “It IS cold outside.” there is no room for discussion... only right or wrong. Disagreement becomes personal attack. A position is hard... fixed. Whereas if I say, “From my life experience, and in comparison to other temperatures I've observed, the weather seems colder than at other times.” I open the door to intelligent discussion and a world of possibility closed to the IS COLD absolutism.

If we only have IS, we can only counter with IS NOT. We're trained to make binary decisions. A or B. Hot or cold. Right or wrong. Good or bad. Mother Theresa or Adolf Hitler. The world isn't like that. There's a complicated range of possibilities... and they can be different depending on what side of the sphincter you're on.

Intellectually, that appeals to me. Stylistically, it sucks. I like the idea though, and will take a lesson... or two..., from it. Lesson one:

Take Israel... please.

The original idea of Israel was to make a socialist paradise-- a safe haven for any Jew under attack. It was supposed to be an example. A utopia... a lesson for the world on how to live... a place to go when the going gets rough (as it often does for Jews). That's a worthy cause.... a good cause. But there's been a lot of lead over the desert since then.

In the current war, thousands of Palestinians have been killed... fewer than a dozen Israelis-- all soldiers. A U.S. funded Iron Dome system protects Israel. It destroys in-coming rockets before they reach their target. Gaza has no such system... so they die from Israeli rockets. How can Israel excuse such a one-sided massacre? What's left to say... they WANT to die?

Yep, that's what they say. According to the Israelis, Palestinians hide the rockets in schools, hospitals, and apartment complexes. The Israelis warn them of coming attacks and the locals climb to the building tops to wave on the attackers. The fact that there are tens of thousands of refugees running from the war doesn't change this opinion. Running away or not-- they still WANT to be killed. How can people believe that? It's easy, because the opinion doesn't come from facts... it comes from viewpoint, from BEING.

I AM a Jew. Jews support Israel. First support Israel, then bend the facts to fit that support.

And what of those lefty Jews? Those who say I AM a liberal. The ones outraged by environmental degradation... refusing to shop at Walmart because the company pays slave wages... marching against climate change... what are their feelings on Israel? Support a massacre, an ethnic cleansing. They find their views are exactly the same as FOX NEWS... How do THEY feel when their liberal perspective suddenly turns conservative? When Glenn Beck visits Israel and wears a yarmulke? How do they choose between I AM a Jew and I AM a liberal?

Why support Israel just because you ARE a Jew? Jewdom has a myriad ways of expressing itself. It's a religion, a nationality, a culture. You don't have to believe in Israel any more than you have to believe God turned Sodomites into salt. You can start with some version of reality and THEN see if that leads to supporting or opposing the Jewish state. You can start with the moral action, rather than the rules you have to follow by BEING Jewish. Same, of course, with BEING a liberal.

Lesson two:

Or take feminism... double please.

The idea went through a myriad of changing. Starting (in the US) with an angry Carrie Nation's saloon smashing, morphing into a voting rights movement, now finding itself at war with transexuals. Calling the trannies bed wetters in bad wigs.

Like being pro-Israel, if you start out being feminist (in the 2014 sense), you see things in a completely different way from someone who is not feminist. Feminist Susan McClary, for example, writes that Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is about rape:

“The point of recapitulation of the first movement of the Ninth is one of the most horrifying moments in music... which finally explodes in the throttling murderous rage of a rapist.”

Oh please! I hate Beethoven as much as the next guy. The music may be boring, but it ain't rape. From her feminist-first point of view, however, that's the reality.

Now we see lefty wars between feminists and trannies... and you can't even say “tranny” anymore. (NOTE: I AM Mykel Board. I can... and do... say what I want.) Fox News' Gavin McInnes was fired both from his Fox TV job and the ad agency he helped start. This for writing on the internet:

(Transsexuals) are mentally ill gays who need help, and that help doesn’t include being maimed by physicians. These aren’t women trapped in a man’s body. They are nuts trapped in a crazy person’s body. I see them on the streets of New York. They are guys with tits and a sweatshirt. They wear jeans and New Balance. “What’s the matter with simply being a fag who wears makeup?” I think when I see them. You’re not a woman. You’re a tomboy at best. Get fucked in the ass. And ladies, if you’re a butch lesbian, you’re a lady with a lot of testosterone. Put a dick on a belt and fuck your girlfriend. You don’t need to turn your vagina inside out. You’re not a man.

Here we see rightist FOX-NEWS Gavin taking the same side as the radical feminists. But maybe he knows this and has decided not to BE a right-winger, but to SAY what he thinks is right. Fuck the requirements of TO BE ideology.

Of course I disagree with him... but NOT completely. I want to fight the binary.

Gavin says, “You ARE NOT a man?” Does that mean you ARE a woman? We're caught in the binary again, instead of the realm of infinite possibilities. Why are there only two choices? There aren't!

I know many transfolks are not gay. Half the guys who become women become lesbians. Is that gay? I don't know. But Gavin asks questions that go beyond the gonzo writing. Some transactivists want children “born in the wrong body” to be given hormones... starting as young as 8 years old. That way, they say, the kids can have a smoother transition.

WTF? eight-year olds cannot legally decide who to fuck. They're not allowed to fuck anyone, actually. Yet they can decide to take hormones leading to major surgery? Huh? When I was eight years old I wanted to be a cop... or maybe an astronaut. Kids-- all people-- change their minds. One false move as a kid and POW! you're on hormones! This thinking disappears when you get rid of the verb TO BE, at least when it comes to gender. Not I AM a girl or I want TO BE a boy... but

“Johnny, you may be right and don't feel like you're a boy. That doesn't mean you're a girl. You don't have to be one or the other. You're JOHNNY! Different from everyone else. Okay?”

Of course I support the freedom to choose your gender... and the freedom to unchoose it. But if we stop looking at gender as something you ARE... instead just doing what feels good, we can kiss the hormones and the scalpels goodbye.

Here's where that copula-cutting works. If I say (and I used to) I AM a leftist does that mean I support Fox's censorship of Gavin McInnes? That's what leftists do. I don't. If I say I AM a Jew, do I have to support the Israeli genocide? That's what Jews do. I don't.

I've written before about homosexuality and how people DO homosexual... not ARE homosexual. Maybe it's time to rein in the BE... er... in my opinion, the time has arrived to rein in the BE... not to eliminate it, but to think a bit before using it.

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]

-->Full-disclosure dept: The coin phone episode is true... but it didn't happen to me. It happened to my friend Bianca... and was the reason she got a cell phone.

-->Had to happen department: An ALS fatality... some idiot decided to do the ice bucket one better. Jump in to a pool at the bottom of a cliff... a 100+ foot drop... plow... didn't make it. I guess he won't have a chance to challenge someone else.

Me? I was challenged and rejected the challenge... or tried to. At the bar we ordered 3 bucketfuls of Red Horse beer. I explained how I'd decided to refuse to be intimidated into supporting a rich charity where most of the money goes to the board of directors. My friends answered by holding me down, pouring the water and ice from all the buckets... over my head. Fortunately, they forgot to video the farce.

-->Just because it's in the Post doesn't mean it's wrong dept: The NY Post reports that private eyes have started using drones to spy both on cheating spouses, and people filing false disability claims. “The drones are a game changer,” says one of NY's private dicks.

-->Censorship is censorship dept: I'm not sure of the best way to support Gavin McInnes in his ouster from Fox and his ad company, Rooster. Try send emails of support to Fox and to the Rooster Ad Company complaining about the censorship.

-->Quote of the Month dept: President Obama is a member of a minority and as such I'm sure during his lifetime he has been prejudiced against... Now he's doing the exact same thing, talking about the top 1 percent as if there's something wrong with us. --Cypress Semiconductor CEO TJ Rodgers

-->Compassion, Swine and the 1%-- South Africa style dept: Thandi Modise, chairwoman of the S.A. National Council of Provinces, was paying workers on her pig farm sub-McDonalds wages. They walked off the job. Without attendants, the animals starved, became cannibals and drank their own piss. When the woman was confronted with the facts, she said, “The suffering the animals endured does not compare to the financial loss I suffered.”

-->More on the 1%-ers dept: 1%-er Michael Bloomberg's website Bloomberg.com reports that economists at the European Central Bank said that a new study shows the percent of earnings of the 1% is not 30% as usually stated, but 36%... and may be higher. Study author Philip Vermeulen said, “The results clearly indicate that surveys are very likely to underestimate wealth at the top.”

-->Keeping the Pressure on Dept: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a Bring Back Mykel effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll. Send your comments-- to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL. Let me know how they answer.

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

-end-