Mykel's MRR Column for #312, (MAY, 2009)

You're Wrong
An Irregular Column

for MRR 312, May 2009
written in Feb. 2009

by Mykel Board


"I feel very old sometimes... I carry on and would not like to die before having emptied a few more buckets of shit on the heads of my fellow men.” --Gustave Flaubert

 “You talkin' to me?”

 I stand at the far end of a row of urinals. The farthest end. Urinal Number 8. Away from the prying eyes and ears of the other full bladders. The only other person in this row is way over there at Number 2. Far enough.

 A glorious river of the evening's beers floods out of me. As the liquid joyously pours out, a tiny fart nestles itself just inside my back door. A little stomach jerk and it's out. 

 Pfffft! 

 Slightly louder than I expect, but not a jet engine. 

 “You talkin' to me?” says the guy at number two. 

 Wiseguy. I pretend I don't hear him, but it wrecks the ecstasy of the moment. The joy of simultaneity. The beauteous bliss of synchronous urethral and rectal expulsion. Pffft! Gone in the wisecrack of a jerk at the other end of the porcelain street. 

 Experienced at making lemonade from a life full of lemons, I pick up the spoiled moment and roll it into a ball. Then, I press in the edges, and shape it. Sculpting with my thumbs and forefingers,

I whittle this spoiled moment into a metaphor. It's life, sex, politics. It's getting what you want. Then spoiling it.. easy as piss. We won that election. President Obama... just saying that gives me a thrill. President Obama. President Obama. Obama. Obamarama. Obamamamamamama. The sound slips through my lips like a fart at a urinal. It would be so easy to sit back and wait for my bailout. 

 It ain't gonna happen. It's a big country. A big new government. And I gotta log of shit to throw. 

 Cut to the senate: Imagine there's a senator. (It's easy if you try.) Now imagine his views are so outrageous that you wonder how even Americans could be evil enough to elect such a guy.

 Examples? Make “illegal immigrants” pay a fine for their illegality. Yep, force the bottom rung, hard-working poor to pay for coming to the U.S. Like this guy's grandparents DIDN'T pay, I bet. Like mine didn't pay... or yours either. 

 Annie Moore, the first Irish immigrant through Ellis Island... they gave her a ten dollar gold piece and said Good Luck! Welcome to America. But Mexicans? Well, they're not white, so I guess they don't count.

 But there's more with this guy. Consider the two kinds of immigrants: the big majority, who work, pay taxes, contribute to the economy... and the tiny minority, who steal, scam welfare, use resources. Imagine punishing one group. Which would you pick?

 This senator picks the working immigrants! He wants to terrorize THE EMPLOYERS. Make 'em pay stiff penalties for the evil deed of giving people a job. Fines will encourage the bosses to fire the peons. Put more people on the streets. Penniless. Collecting welfare... or stealing-- instead of paying taxes. Does this guy have stock in jail-building companies-- or what?

 There's more with him. 

 If you go to the grocery store, and not dumpster dive for your food, you've been paying more than ever for it. In places in Africa, and Asia, people can't pay. They then suffer a food deficiency disease called STARVATION. 

 In Central Africa, a young man has left the countryside to look for work in the city. There is nothing. He has no money. Slowly his stomach distends. His belly button looks like it's going to push itself out of his skin. Somehow, he pan-handles enough money for a loaf of bread. Enough for a loaf of bread yesterday. Today, the price has gone up. It's harder to get bread. Nobody grows wheat these days. Land that could be used for wheat is used for corn. But not corn this guy, or anybody can eat. Corn that's grown to be burned. 

 Yeah, stuff stuffed inside your car and burned. Biofuels. Instead of growing what people can eat, farmers grow food for your gas tank. And this senator LOVES IT. He wants more. Fuck carrots! They're too hard to grow and what can you do with 'em except eat 'em? Now, BIOFUEL! We can just burn that up. Then buy more. Yeah, it makes as much pollution as gasoline, but it's renewable. Okay, it causes starvation, but that's a small price to pay for the comfort of driving. Right?

 How 'bout raising the federal gas tax so people will just drive less? Fewer fuels of all kinds! 
 NO GAS TAX HIKE, says this guy. SUV owners applaud.

 “Okay,” you tell me. “But senators are shmucks. That's a given. Just because Obama is president doesn't mean everyone is a good guy.”

 Hang on to your hairpiece, buckaroos. The senator I'm talking about is AL FRANKEN!! Yeah, that liberal guy from Minneapolis. Check his website: www.alfranken.com It's all there, under issues. Immigration. Biofuels. The whole kit and caboodle. 

 So what the fuck do I care? It doesn't have anything to do with the hair on my balls or the way I've recently been shitting what looks like Mazola oil. (True! It's the weirdest thing. The toilet water looks like a lavalamp after I take a dump... er... a spritz.)

 Mental Scene shift: I think the reason MRR doesn't get any mail about me is that I don't talk about punk rock. The letter writers seem to be continuing the time honored punk rock tradition where That guy in DesMoines charges too much for postage is more important than dead people litter the Sahara Desert because Americans put corn in their SUVs.

 Such is the triviality of punkrock in the twenty-first century. 

 In the seventies, when punkrock began, Gerald Ford was president. Then too, it was trivial. It was CBGBs local, fun, a music-- and a clothing-- style. Nothing more. 

 In the eighties, hardcore burst out like a fartfull of Mazola oil. There were two reasons. His name was Ronald Reagan and hers Margaret Thatcher. The bad guys were in control. The Dead Kennedys stopped singing playfully about the dangers of Jerry Brown. 

 “We've got a much bigger problem now,” said Biafra. 

 And so we got Reagan Youth, and a ton of angry, fun, wild, political, punk bands from Agnostic Front through Conflict to Nausea to Warzone. 

 So what now? We have a lousy economy, but Barak Obama is president. Democrats control the congress and the senate. South America is electing pinkos left and right. Only Israel can manage to vote for a fascist when it has the chance. Oy vey! 

 What's left, but to do what liberals do the best: eat our own. Go back to complaining about Jerry Brown's denim jackets or Al Franken's stand on immigration. When you win a war, who do you fight? The people on YOUR side, That's who.

 It'll still take me awhile to get on Obama's ass. Even though he's 

1.Perked up The Whitehouse Faith-Based Office, instead of closing it.

2.Sent more troops to Afghanistan

3.Had Hillary rattle her saber against North Korea.

 And this is only FEBRUARY!! 

 But, I'm gonna leave him alone for now. The magnificence of his Negritude still overwhelms these other considerations. Instead, I'll lower my sights. Aim for the balls. 

 Al Franken wants to fine “illegal” immigrants? Bang! 

 Hillary refuses to talk human rights in China? Bang!

 You? The biggest bang of all.

 What're you gonna do until the next Bush? Until the next Iraq? Until the next market crash? How are you gonna stay punk when there's nothing to punk against? I already know. I know you.

You're gonna get soft. 

 First, you're gonna powder your own economic acne. Gee, I hope I can get back that job as a bag packer at A&P. 

 You hope Obama's stimulus package will work well enough to pay for your iPod replacement battery. You'll put on a tie and smile at K-mart customers. 

 Yeah, I'm talking to you. 

 You'll be there, begging mom and dad not to take you out of SF State. You'll promise to wash dishes, anything, just to stay in school because there are no jobs out there and that's the whole point of school, isn't it? 

 Using the technical language that has developed over years of punkrockdom, I salute you with that most punkrock of phrases, Fuck You! 

 You're hopeless, more worried about your MySpace photo than that just-fired Mexican. You stand right in the middle of that row of urinals, making it difficult for me at the edge. 

 I'm going to edge passed you. I want to talk to your little sisters and brothers, the 10-year-olds who watch you with disgust. They're the ones who see your punkitude drain into the porcelain when you move back with mom because the punkhouse fell apart. 

 They're the ones who'll have heard what you've been talking about during the punk times and who'll wonder what you meant. 

 “Rise above.” 

 They won't get it, as they watch you sink below.

  They're the ones who'll pick up that guitar you abandoned, and start figuring out chords. Yeah, I'd love to stand next to them at the urinal, but I don't need to. Those ten year olds? They'll know what to do all by themselves. And you'd better watch your back.

 Yeah, I'm talking to you. 

ENDNOTES: [email subscribers (god@mykelboard.com) or website viewers (www.mykelboard.com) will get live links and a chance to email comment on the column]

-->When cool things happen by bad people dept: Bill Gates, one of the world's most disgustingly wealthy people, impressed me for the first time. He released a cloud of mosquitoes at a technology conference in California.  
     "Malaria is spread by mosquitoes. I brought some here," he said. "There is no reason only poor people should be infected."  
       In reality, the mosquitoes were malaria-free, but the tactic was punkrock. Get those fuckers to feel the sting of life-- and death-- in the hotlands! 10 punk points, Bill.

-->Death Be Not Proud dept: I'm writing this in the middle of February 2009. Already two notables have kicked off. It does not bode well for the rest of the year. At my age, I could be entering the watch list!
     Actually, BILL LANDIS died in December 2008. But I only heard about it this year.  For those who don't know, Bill was the founder of THE SLEAZOID EXPRESS, the first newsletter of scum cinema. He liked the sleazy horror, the bizarre, and the camp. Although he was a difficult person in real life, he was a pioneer in print. If it weren't for him, the movie world would be much different now. You wouldn't be able to find DVDs of Cannibal Holocaust and I Spit on Your Grave. There would be no Grindhouse or Scream I,II or III, if there were no Bill Landis.
     LUX INTERIOR, singer for The Cramps, died on February 4, the fiftieth anniversary of Buddy Holly's death. The Cramps were maybe the world's first Psychobilly band. (If you don't count Hasil Atkins.) I saw them at CBGBs in 1976-- and several times since-- including a great show at SaltLäger in Copenhagen. Yeah, there would've been a GG Allin without a Lux Interior. But would there be a Reverend Horton Heat? I don't think so.
     Uh oh! I just heard about PAUL HARVEY. He's number three!

-->I thought it sucked from the git-go dept: Remember when every corner threatened to have a Starbucks? I even had a plan to map out Manhattan with a green square on those few blocks without one. 
     Well, buckaroos, those days are gone. Hundreds of the corporate sludge factories have given up the ghost. Even better, a recent review in Consumer Reports ranked Eight O'Clock Coffee as the best-tasting coffee. Starbucks, which costs a fuck of a lot more, didn't even get an honorable mention. 

-->Rare victory for the good guy dept: The Senate voted for part of the economic recovery bill that deals with giving money for school building construction. It said that tax funds used for school construction and rehabilitation may not be diverted to religious institutions. Religious Right groups complained that the bill was “hostile to religion.” 
 I say, I hope so!

-->I think it was Tolstoy who wrote “Without God all things are permitted. He meant it as a criticism. I only wish it were true. Life would be a fuck of a lot more fun.
    Still Christians, Muslims and Jews use this argument to say that if people didn't have the threat of God's punishment, they would not act in a moral way. God keeps people moral, they say.
     Science Illustrated (July/August 2008) says they're wrong. It reports that Yale researchers have found that pre-God-aware babies can still judge right from wrong, good from evil. 
 The researchers created a puppet show where one puppet tries to climb a hill and another either helps it, or holds it back. When they gave babies a chance to choose one puppet to hold. 93% chose the helper over the hinderer. The babies were all under 10 months old. God need not apply.

-->The obvious dept: So far, I've had no mail referring to my “rape” at the hands of Jello Biafra, Noam Chomsky, and Oprah Winfrey. I can't believe the 15-year-old readers (an oxymoron?) of MRR had enough sense of humor to realize the April Fools' joke. It was one, of course.

-end-

Go to Mykel's homepage here

Mykel's MRR Column 309 (Feb. 2009)

You're Wrong
An Irregular Column
for MRR 309 (Feb. 2009)
by Mykel Board

“Americans always do the right thing... when they have absolutely no other choice.” --Winston Churchill

Naked, I lay on the bed. I slip a hand behind my back, through my legs. Grabbing my balls from behind, I pull them down between my legs. I press my thighs together, holding the balls under me. My cock rests on top. It's no longer a cock, but a large clitoris. I've made myself a girl. I can diddle my clit to EuroAngels Hardball 4. Diddle. Diddle. Diddle.

It's election night. I can't watch. I want to diddle myself away from the hell of a McCain presidency. Worse. He won't make it a year. Sarah Palin, not MILF enough for me, will be in the Whitehouse. It'll be worse than Hillary Clinton. I don't want to watch the news. Watch the inevitable Red State creep, as the blood-colored states spread in the smear of American moronocity.

Americans are stupid vengeful people. The crackers of the Carolinas. The old Florida Jews. The hardhats in Ohio. They'd rather give up their homes to a bailed-out bank, than vote for a Negro. I know them.

Americans are the dumbest, most racist, most hateful, people on earth. Like they're gonna vote for Barack Hussein Obama. NO WE CAN'T!

I've got to stop thinking about this. My clit won't harden. That nub won't poke up. Won't swell to its girlish heights. I'm beating a dead larva. Choking a limp chicken. Spanking a... What's that?

Through my closed window comes the sound of cheering. People in the street. Screaming. Applauding. Stomping in joy. Horns honk. I can't fuckin' believe it. He must've won. Somehow, he did it.

I turn off the DVD and switch to CNN. There's McCain now, talking to a cheering crowd:

That Barack Obama managed to inspire the hopes of so many millions of Americans, who had once wrongly believed that they had little at stake or little influence in the election of an American president, is something I deeply admire and commend him for achieving.

This is an historic election, and I recognize the special significance it has for African-Americans and for the special pride that must be theirs tonight.

A century ago, President Theodore Roosevelt's invitation of Booker T. Washington to dine at the White House was taken as an outrage in many quarters.

America today is a world away from the cruel and frightful bigotry of that time. There is no better evidence of this than the election of an African-American to the presidency of the United States.

African-American? Presidency? Fuck! He won. We won!

Pride for African-Americans? Hah! Pride for Whitefolks, I'd say. Pride for Jews! Pride for everyone who voted for the guy even though (because?) he WASN'T one of them. I feel like dancing. Walking on air. Kissing a fat girl.

They did it. Those shallow, stupid Americans. Those I had so much contempt for. Those crackers. Those Jews. Those shlubs in Ohio. They did it My mind drifts to the future.

I'm in Europe. It's 2009. The Euro has declined enough to let me visit my old friends in Germany. I get off the plane and go to immigration. I flash my American passport, something that usually fills me with embarrassment, if not dread. Not this time.

“Listen, you fucker,” I think at the immigration agent. “Don't say a thing. I don't want to hear it. I don't want that Oh, a stupid American sneer. I don't want see your hands grip the passport, thinking another violent thug.

Fuck you. We elected Barack Obama. We're the first Western nation. First “white” nation to have a leader who's not white. You didn't do it. You couldn't do it. WE did it. We, America... Something I haven't felt part of since Jimmy Carter gave amnesty to the draft dodgers. Me, a United Statesian and PROUD of it. My mental flag waving strong.

Flash ahead to the real future: Gilberto invites me to Boston to see THE DWARVES. The show's before a farewell-for-two-weeks party for him. He's going back to Sonora to see the family, and prepare for the great LATIBBEAN PARTY in Mexico 2009. I'll post the details on Latibbean.org as I get 'em.

I'm at the show with Gilberto, some of his friends, my pal John R. and his daughter. (Everybody thinks she's his girlfriend.) The Dwarves, of course, are great... a little calmer than they used to be, but still a lot of fun. The surprise of the night, however, is a band called THE UP-RISING.

UP-RISING is pure hardcore fun. A big singer with So-Cal attitude. (Looks like he's been around. Mid-30s, hardcore crust on the edges... How come I never heard of these guys?). He even gets the crowd to sing along to the punkrock hits of the 80s. Can you say 6-Pack? Most of the audience was still sperm when that came out.

I forgot my earplugs, so I chew on a few napkins and stick the spitballs in my ears. Not the best sound protection, but even a daughter is better than nothing.

I love the band, but I can't hear the patter between songs. Something about the anniversary of a Bali Bombing-- with a lot of God bless yous.

Uh oh, I think. Some stupid anti-Muslim redneck garbage. I'm glad I don't understand it. Besides, the band is so good, I don't want to spoil a good time.

After the show, I go over to the merch tables. I don't plan to buy anything. I just wanna tell The Uprising how much I liked their set... despite that God Bless You shit. I also want to ask 'em about Bali bombing. So what if it's an anniversary. Every day is a bombing anniversary. Do they mention Hiroshima? Belgrade? Are they spreading some kind of anti-Arab bullsh... Ok. I'll let 'em speak for themselves.

“Yo!” I say in my typically shy way. “You guys were great. Best surprise since Kissy Kamekaze. But...”

Before I can finish, by pal John... who's got better hearing than me, perks up.

“You a surfer?” he says.

The guy... Crab, the band's singer, nods. How the fuck did John know?

“So you were in Bali for that surfing thing,” John continues.

Looks like I missed something.

“Yeah,” he says. “I was the only American who lived.”

“I heard about it,” says John.

“You don't know,” says Crab. Then he tells the story.

I'm in Bali for this surfers fest, I guess you know about it. We all go to this disco... all the surfers, I mean. I'm not much for discos, but since everybody was going.... So we're inside and I'm just talking to this guy. A friend of mine... fellow surfer... blond hair, kinda skinny, you know, the kinda guy that girls like... well liked... see. Suddenly he explodes.

It's a huge sound. Louder than anything in my life. My hearing's still wrecked from it. Can't hear at all out of this ear. But just then I don't hear the sound at all. I just see my friend... explode.

I see his head blow off, just go into the air... just pow, it's flying... his mouth is still working... jaw going up and down... even 8 feet in the hair... just his head... Everything's in slow motion. His insides explode. Guts coming through his body. Flying into my face. Covering me. Can you imagine... imagine... imagine what it's like being covered by your friend... pieces of your friend. Blood, guts... His skin all over me... Skin in my eyes... over my eyeballs. Intestines in my mouth, my nose, breathing intestines. Inhaling intestines... I can still taste it. How many people know... know... know the taste of raw human guts. I know. I'll never forget it. They hit me so hard in the mouth... almost knocked my teeth out. Your friend. And there he is. You're inhaling him. Tasting his blood. It was warm, no hot. Hotter than your own blood, you know when you get a cut or something? And his flesh. Seeing pieces of his body.

Just blam... your pal.. turns inside out. One second he's just standing there... next second he's... he's... he's in pieces. All over you. It's not something you forget. You can't forget. Never forget...

He stops to breathe. Close his eyes. If he cries, I'm gonna lose it. He doesn't cry.

“I thought you might be a surfer,” says John. “I'm a surfer too... in Boston. But I was thinking about going to that Bali party. It's a good thing I didn't.”

“Yeah,” says Crab. “A good thing.”

“Holy fuck!” I think, forking over five bucks for the band's homemade CD. “If that were me, I'd wanna kill 'em all. Al Qaeda, Joe Ali-salaam, a random lady walking down the street in a black headscarf. I'd be a maniac. I'd move to Israel. Join ARAB-BUSTERS. Vote for Joe Lieberman.”

But here's this guy. The only American who lived. And there's not one speck of hate coming out of him. Not one phlegmspot of malevolence.

It's America. Hooey! Some new America. It's people saying Yes, We Can. It's not an eye-for-an-eye. It's compassion. It's lack of hate. Not kill 'em all. It's something more than bumper sticker brains and gunracks.

Yes, we fuckin' can.

By the time you read this, I'll be back from a trip to South Carolina. And in North Carolina, besides buying pecan log rolls at Stuckey's, I can actually talk to people. I can say “Hi. I'm an American too. Maybe we even voted for the same person.”

Back on the bed, blood rushes to my clitoris. I rub up and down. Yes, we have the best chance ever. Yes, we can. We can have a white country lead by a colored guy named Barack Obama. I rub harder. Faster.

Yes, we can. We can feel pain and not respond with hatred. Yes, we can. We can cheer and honk horns for more than a football win! Yes we can! My labia swell with blood as my little girlnub hardens in my hand. Yes, we can. I rub more. Yes, we can. Yes. Yes. YES!!!

ENDNOTES: [email subscribers (god@mykelboard.com) or website viewers (www.mykelboard.com) will get live links and a chance to email comment on the column]

-->Glad the Brits are on it dept: BBC world news reports that Maasai herdsmen in Kenya have use an age-old contraceptive, the "olor", to protect their goat herds from a drought.
The locals make an olor from cowhide or a square piece of plastic. Then, they tie it around the belly of the male goats. It keeps them from screwing. The herdsmen are using the device to limit the goat population and make sure there aren't too many animals grazing on sparse vegetation.
"We don't want them to breed in this drought," says Ole Ngoshoi Kipameto, a Maasai goat owner.

-->Keeps her a virgin dept: A Jesuit magazine has apologized after inadvertently publishing an advertisement for a Virgin Mary Statue wrapped in a condom. The artist intended it as a protest against the church's opposition to condom use.
The Rev. Drew Christiansen, editor-in-chief of America, said that the condom was not visible in the black and white proofs they used to review the final draft of the magazine.
The headline for the ad read, ''Unique Contemporary Religious Art Work for Sale.'' In the text, the statue was called ''Extra Virgin,'' and was described as ''a stunning 22 cm high statue of the Virgin Mary standing atop a serpent wearing a delicate veil of latex.''
The statue was made by Steve Rosenthal, who said he was an artist in London. Rosenthal released a statement saying he placed the ad as a protest against Vatican opposition to the use of condoms.

-->Again with the kids dept: Amazingly, the Supreme court ruled (5-4) that states could not use the death penalty against people convicted of child rape. Though they did not say they enjoyed the crime, the judges said that "in terms of moral depravity and of injury to the person and to the public, it cannot be compared to murder." They did not mention where dropping bombs on civilians fits on the moral depravity scale.

-->Mixed emotions dept: Remember Elliot Spitzer, the NY Governor who promoted stronger laws against prostitute patrons. He was caught with a $10,000 prostitute. I was sad he was a victim of a horrible law. I was glad it was HIS law he was a victim of.
Likewise, the arrest of right-wing evangelist Tony Alamo mixes my emotions. On one hand, it's a joy to see the bastard nailed. On the other, the charge is "possession of child pornography," clearly a crime with no victim. I mean, how the hell does POSSESSION hurt anyone, even if you believe making of porn does?
Oh well, bad law... but it couldn't have happened to a more deserving person.

-->Now THAT's an emergency dept: Local cops are familiar with the neighborhood cranks. You know, the guys who call 911 to complain about their neighbor's squeaky bedsprings. But my favorite crank is Reginald Peterson of Jacksonville Florida. He called 911-- twice. Why? A SUBWAY restaurant did not prepare his Italian sandwich correctly. They left off the sauce. If that's not a bigger crime than having kiddie porn, it should be.

-->Then there's the Longmont, Colorado guy who tried to get free porn from the locals. He told the clerk he was a detective who wanted to check the films to make sure there were no underage people in them. He even flashed a badge. He told the store to give him the DVDs "to inspect." Though it was a good scam, it didn't work. The store gave the REAL cops store surveillance tapes, made while the fake cop was demanding vids. They haven't found him. Yay! He didn't get any free DVDs. Awww.

-->It's catching dept: Not to be outdone by Christians with their drive-in churches, Utne Reader reports that "Mega-Mosques" are rising all over America. One in northern Virginia has more than 5000 families. Many offer church-like programs, including gymnastics and Boy Scout training. Oy vey!

-->Criminally correct dept: In Car & Travel Magazine (October 2008) they use a photo to illustrate an article about car models popular with thieves. The young man, in a hoodie, with a jimmy stuck in a car window.. is white. Hmmm, shouldn't they have made it a girl? A grandma? What's with this cliché that all car thieves are young men? Are they prejudiced?

In case you're wondering what to steal, the most popular models for 2007 were the 2000 Honda Civic, the 1994 Honda Accord, and the 1991 Toyota Camry. It is not clear from the article-- or photo-- how many of the thieves are Japanese.

-->More on sackcloth & ashes dept: (I copped this from the internet someplace. I wrote about this plan before. Evidently, it flopped.)

Birmingham Mayor Larry Langford castigated a local clergy group because he doesn’t think enough churches participated in his sackcloth and ashes rally back in April. He also criticized churches for espousing prosperity theology (a valid point) but pretty funny coming from the man who accessorized his sackcloth with a Rolex and designer shoes.

In 2002, about the same time he was running for county commission, Langford had accumulated about $70,000 in credit card debts and department store bills. Most of that debt was for clothes.

-->How to get money from the government dept: Kyle wrote me that his girlfriend, Angie can't stay with him because of a “no contact” order on his probation. So she was homeless.
The solution? Kyle punched in her in the face and kicked her in the ribs. It left a couple hardcore bruises. She then went to the women's assistance center for homeless women. She told them her ex husband beat her up.
The center called the cops and took her to the battered women's shelter. With a copy of the police report, the welfare office put her in the domestic violence assistance program and gave her a $1500 check. Then, they found her an apartment, paid the deposit and the utilities.
I think Kyle should charge for his services.

-->God does it again dept: A recent Science Illustrated reports that 1,800 people participated in a prayer medical-heart-study.

The result? Those who knew that they were being prayed for, were 7 per cent MORE likely to develop complications than those who either didn't know, or weren't prayed for at all.

The authors surmise that the reason was when people knew others were praying for them, it made them more nervous and they got sicker. I say bullshit. The real reason? God got pissed off at people disturbing her (God) with their stupid supplications. She wanted to teach them a lesson! Fuck you AND your prayers!

-->Just keeps getting better dept: My pal Sid Yiddish was in town. We did a Pennsylvania talk radio show on WDIY, and recorded 45 minutes for StoryCorps-(heard weekly Friday mornings on National Public Radio or www.storycorps.net).Sid stayed at my apartment during that time.

I like having guests every once-in-awhile, but a major problem is that they use up the toilet paper. Well, this time, God was listening to ME!

Sid and I go ABC NO RIO to see the hard-on inducing Kissy Kamekaze. We not only see them, but are amazed at TRIGGER EFFECT from Montreal. Those guys were literally bouncing off the walls-- like Spiderman-- or Jet Li. I've never seen that outside the movies. And they're LOUD. Reminds me of Motorhead... if Motorhead came from Seattle.

We're also treated to the funny, and scatological ENDANGERED FECES (best name of the year?) They're ecologically (scatological?) incorrect... throwing rolls and rolls of toilet paper over the crowd. Then the crowd throws the paper at each other. I haven't had so much fun since my first night in Trinidad!

PLUS, Sid dives right in, rescues two barely bothered rolls for our own private use. I'm using some of that paper right now, to clean up after EuroAngels Hardball 4.

-end

Mykel's Column for MRR 306 November 2008

You're Wrong
An Irregular Column
for MRR 306
by Mykel Board

America has Race Fever. It's not an actual race war, but a sort of racial Cold War. A grinding war of nerves. And it's impossible to escape. A race war would be anticlimactic at this point. --Jim Goad

[NOTE: This is my LAST column about race and the elections. I promise! Next month, something more personal... from Trinidad and Venezuela. This will NOT, however, be the last column where I talk (about) shit. I LOVE shit.]

When girls shit do they do something dainty? Me? I pinch a loaf. Lay some cable. Drown the chocolate slugs. Slash the brown trout .... Macho, tough-sounding excrement. What do girls do? Drop some daisies? Plant the coffee beans? Dot the i's?

I've talked with a lot of girls about shitting. Sadly, the biological process doesn't satisfy them as much as it does the testiculared class.

“It's just something you do,” says Miranda. “Like taking out the garbage or washing the dishes.”

“I do those things every month,” I tell her. “I don't feel especially pleased afterwards.”

“Exactly!” she says, as if that proved something.

“That's sad,” I tell her. “It feels so good. Like shoving a carrot up your ass. Only in reverse.”

“If you say so Mykel,” she says.

“Okay then,” I ask her. “What do you call it? When girls have to paint the porcelain or dunk the brown klaxton?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mykel?” she asks. “We just do it. Do you have a special name for washing the dishes? It's just something you do.”

BINGO!

Of course! You only have special names for things that are special. You have euphemisms, funny names, tech-speak, graphic language. All this to describe what's important, fun, sexy. If taking a shit doesn't mean shit to you, you don't need a special name for it.

That's why I decided to again write about the up-coming election. Though, by the time you read this, McCain may have already been sworn in.

In any case, it's important to talk about language. I wrote about NIGGER before. This time, I want to write more about language and race. How we use special words for what's important. How words themselves make us think in a certain way. How language can confuse or obfuscate.

“Tom McCain doesn't have a racist bone in his body,” says Joe Lieberman after McCain makes some racist remark.

I wonder about this. Where is the racist bone? I don't remember one from science class. And I sure spent a lot of time with that anatomy textbook.

I check ask.com. It says that the human body has 206 bones. I check out the names. No racist bone. Maybe NOBODY has a racist bone.

I finally find a diagram of the appendage. You can see it at: http://tinyurl.com/6kev4r,if your browser will let you.

[Aside: tinyurl.com is a free website where you enter a long URL and it changes it to a short URL, starting with: tiny.com. For example, you find something cool at: http://www.somethingcool.com/pg8/analanomolies/ref#42/~leslies/432.23.

You plug it into tinyurl.com. The website generates a much shorter address, maybe tinyurl.com/321abc. That's what you forward to your friends. Great service right?

Well, spammers found the site is also useful for covering tracks. They put in their spam addresses. Tinyurl generates another, untraceable, address. Then the spammers use that one.

So, like in airports, where security security security trumps convenience, free speech, free movement, free anything, some browsers and some websites (like MySpace) block all tinyurl addresses. They might be spam, you see. Better safe than... I donno, annoyed?

Fuck Security! One of these days we'll be so secure we won't be able to do anything! But we'll be safe.]

If you can't get to the picture on your browser I'll describe it. The racist bone is at the tip of the right thumb. It's not clear whether it's the entire upper digit, or just a small extra growth. But that's where it is.

Is this fact? The picture is an artist's rendition, not an actual photo. It may be in the artist's mind. A figment of his idiomatic imagination. I still can't find a person who has one to show.

No one brags, or even thinks about the racist bone unless they DON'T have one. The lack of that bone defines it. I google for someone who HAS a racist bone, and is proud of it. I can't find anyone. Everyone denies it. Nope, not me. Not a racist bone.

Maybe it's like holding a candle to something. You only find people or things that CAN'T hold a candle to other people or things. If someone CAN hold a candle to something, you don't hear about it.

I bring this racist bone thing up to a Democrat pal of mine. She wears an Obama campaign button bigger than Obama himself. She once clobbered a Ralph Nader supporter for “giving us George Bush."

“So,” I tell her, “I've been looking for the racist bone. The one that John McCain doesn't have one of in his body. I heard it's at the end of the thumb. Which bone do you think is the racist bone?”

“They all are,” she says.

BINGO!

We're all racists. At least all of us in America in 2008. We live, breathe and think race. Race is what we first notice about others. (Unless they have a physical handicap. Then THAT'S first). Race is what we're drawn to or repelled by. It's what completes the phrase Some of my best friends are... We're all racist. We have to be as much as we have to shit. Now I'm beginning to see. But wait! There's more...

Besides bones, There're cards. This or that politician is playing the race card. That's even harder to find than the racist bone. I locate a chart of the picture cards in a 52-card deck.

I figure that the race card must be one of the picture cards, not a number card. Except for the Ace of Spades I can't imagine how the numbered cards would have anything to do with race.

For the picture cards, I find out the King of Hearts is Charlemagne. The Queen of Hearts is Judith (of the Book of Judith,”an Apocryphal Book of the Bible.” Something Christian, I guess.) The Jack of Hearts is "La Hire," a famous French warrior. The King of Spades is King David of Jewish Star fame. The Queen of Spades is Pallas, a.k.a. Minerva. The Jack of Spades is Hogier the Dane, one of Charlemagne's paladins. (What the fuck is a paladin?) The King of Diamonds is Julius Caesar. The Queen of Diamonds is Rachel (of the Bible). The Jack of Diamonds is Hector of Troy or Roland of France. (I've heard of neither.) The King of Clubs is Alexander the Great. The Queen of Clubs is an anagram of Regina, all the queens of England put together. And the Jack of Clubs is Lancelot.

Except for the Jews, David and Rachel, the rest of 'em seem like generic white Europeans. One, not much different from the others. Which is the race card? And how exactly do you play it? No telling from this chart.

I go to Ask.com and ask Which card is the race card?

For an answer, I get some references to people playing that card (always negative... usually involved with politics), and some sponsored ads for Visa and American Express. Not very useful.

As any student-with-a-last-minute deadline has learned, when you want well-researched and consistently incorrect answers, you go to Wikipedia. This is what it says about the race card:

Playing the race card is an idiomatic phrase referring to an allegation against a person who has brought the issue of race or racism into a debate. It is a metaphorical reference to card games in which a trump card may be used to gain an advantage.

The phrase is commonly used in two contexts. First, it alleges that someone has deliberately and falsely accused another person of being a racist to gain some sort of advantage.

An example of this occurred during the O.J. Simpson criminal trial, when critics accused the defense of "playing the race card" in presenting Mark Fuhrman's racist past as a reason to draw his credibility as a witness into question.

In the second context, it refers to someone exploiting prejudice against another race for political or some other advantage. The use of the southern strategy by a political candidate is said to be a version of "playing the race card", like when former Senator Jesse Helms ran an ad showing a black man taking a white man's job. The ad was interpreted as trying to play to racist fears among white voters.

On the other hand, George Dei and Karumanchery, in their book Playing the Race Card, argue that the term itself is a rhetorical device used to devalue and minimize claims of racism.

BINGO!

That's it! The charge of playing the racist card is racist! It's a racist attempt to either inject race or falsely take race out of the sphere of debate. It's using race, and, in a racist way, tries to invalidate it.

The American presidential election in 2008 is all about race. No bones. No cards. No nothin'. No matter what Obama says. No matter how awful his religious proclamations, his self-cultishness, his stupid Russia bashing or his fawning over war in Afghanistan. No matter what, this is about race.

For the first time, America has a real chance to put a political end to the racism that's defined America since The Constitution. It has a chance to trump the racist card. To break the racist bone.

Every voter has a duty to put the period on the 200-years-of-slavery sentence. Negroes were slaves. Now one can be president. If this fails (and I believe it will. Americans are just too... well.. racist... to allow a colored president), America will fail again, and continue being the most evil country on earth.

If it succeeds, the America disease will not be cured over night. Objectively, America may not get any better. But we will have won with the race card. We can finally make it as valuable as any other card in the deck.

Am I saying that NOT voting for Obama is racist? Am I saying that even if you vote for Nader or don't vote at all, you're committing a racist act? Am I saying that voting against Obama because you don't like his stand on religion in government, or the Afghan war, or gay marriage, is STILL racist?

YES! That's exactly what I'm saying. Not voting for Barak Obama is racist. Bone or no bone. Card or no card. Race isn't the main issue here. It's the only issue.


ENDNOTES: [email subscribers (god@mykelboard.com) or website viewers (www.mykelboard.com) will get more endnotes (There's a new column length limit at MRR.) live links and a chance to email comment on the column. Subscribers will not get the columns any earlier than anyone else.]

-->Target practice dept: King Abudullah of Saudi Arabia has offered his country as a meeting place. Who for? “Representatives of the world's monotheistic religions.” Why? “to discuss how to "shore up faith" in a world of "declining family values and rising non-belief."
Says the king, "The idea is to ask representatives of all monotheistic religions to sit together with their brothers in faith and sincerity to all religions."
Wow! What an opportunity! The leaders of all the world's monotheistic religions together in the desert. Makes you think of one giant bullseye, doesn't it?

-->Pervert dept: This year, Police arrested Michael Bessigano for downloading bestiality images from the internet! Who knew THAT was illegal? I donno, maybe it violated the conditions of his parole.
In 2002, he was convicted of having sex with a chicken and in 1993 for "a matter involving a dog." Two years in jail for sex with a chicken... probably getting raped there. That's supposed to cure him? Maybe it'll cure him of his animal love so he can start raping humans, like normal people do.

-->More jailbird's addresses dept: I think I already wrote about Cassidy. He's been in the clink for ages for stealing a pair of socks. He's put together a prison project, collecting real pictures taken by real folks from places around the world. If you've got some good ones, send 'em to him: Cassidy Wheeler, #14282456, 82911 Beach Access Road, Umatilla OR 97882

-->Sometimes I forget how much I love Mexicans dept: Yowsah! My pal Gilberto tells me that Sucieded Discriminada is coming to New York. 40+ year old punks, still doing it! From Sonora in North Mexico. I'm there (ABC NO RIO).
The Mexis are sandwiched by two younger punk bands, both Boston based. I like 'em both and BOTH of 'em give me free recorded material. A 3-CD set from Max and the Marginalized (maxandthemarginalized.com). Their shtick? They write, record and post a news song every week. That's not a typo. They write NEWS songs. Topical stuff. Like about Lou Dobbs. One a week.
Talk about productivity! One of these columns a month kills me... and I don't have to worry about a drummer Speaking of drummers, the other gringo band: LIBYANS, has the best drummer I've seen this century. Amazing!! He's only in two bands.That's because he lives in Boston. In NY, he'd be in 40! Punk rock with a girl singer too! Contact: thelibyans@gmail.com
As for the Mexis. Holy Frito Bandito. Great show! Complete with rubber masks of famous Mexican politicos. I danced with one over my head. It did not smell of nachos
Contact them at www.geocities.com/suciedaddiscriminada

-->They've started coming-- me too dept: I wanna thank Dick Berger and Tom Washington for the homemade DVD they sent me. Yeah, I believe your name's are Dick and Tom, like I believe America invaded Iraq for humanitarian reasons. But thanks in any case, by any name. It's a DVD that'll get a lot of use. And Dick, that's a nice Tom you've got there.
Keep those things coming. Send me your homemade sex tapes. As usual, I'm at POB 137, Prince St. Station, NYC 10012 USA.

-end-

go to Mykel's homepage

Mykel's Column for MRR 300 May 2008

YOU'RE WRONG
An Irregular Column

by Mykel Board

I am profoundly troubled that any candidate would chart the course of American history as follows (and I'm rearranging Obama's history here to make it more chronological):
American Revolutionaries -> Manifest Destiny -> Slaves/Abolitionists -> Suffragettes -> the Labor Movement -> the Greatest Generation -> the Civil Rights Movement -> Himself. --Mother Jones Magazine

Rather than focusing on any specific issue or cause — other than an amorphous desire for change — the message is becoming dangerously self-referential. The Obama campaign all too often is about how wonderful the Obama campaign is... --TalkLeft Internet Site

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE ONE: It's November 4, 2008. There's an early arctic chill in the air. I walk the 100 yards down Bleecker Street from my apartment to the voting booths. Faced with the depressing task of staring at the names HILLARY CLINTON and JOHN MCCAIN, I'm gonna pull the lever for Ralph Nader or some other sure-to-lose candidate.

I enter the curtained booth. Something presses against the back of my head.

“Don't turn around,” says a voice. “I've got a gun. If you don't vote for Clinton or McCain, I will kill you.”

Reluctantly, I pull the lever next to: McCain.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE TWO: It's November 4, 2008. There's an early arctic chill in the air. I walk the 100 yards down Bleecker Street from my apartment to the voting booths. Faced with the depressing task of staring at the names HILLARY CLINTON and MIKE HUCKABEE, I'm gonna pull the lever for Ralph Nader or some other sure-to-lose candidate.

I enter the curtained booth. Something presses against the back of my head.

“Don't turn around,” says a voice. “I've got a gun. If you don't vote for Clinton or Huckabee, I will kill you.”

“Pull the trigger,” I say.

******

Yes, it's MRR #300. The May issue. I write this, however, in February. The theme is supposed to be The California Scene, the Bay Area and politics-- just like the first MRR.

I don't give a shit about the California scene. I don't know anything about Bay Area music. I haven't cared since Op Ivy broke up. But politics? Oh yeah, now is the time to write about politcs.

For the last 25 years of Grandma MRR, every 4 years I wrote my VOTE-THIRD-PARTY or DON'T-VOTE-IT-ONLY-ENCOURAGES-THEM column. But this year, I've got a surprise.

(“You're so predictable Mykel,” she says.

“I hate being predictable,” I tell her. “That's the worst insult you can give me.”

“I knew you'd say that,” she answers.)

February 2008, America has a chance. The sliver of a chance. An infinitesimal chance. A corn-kernel-in-a-beershit chance. A semen-stain-on-an-evening-gown chance. The United States might become the first Western nation with a Negro leader.

Korea, Vietnam, Dominican Republic, Granada, Desert Storm I, Afghanistan, Desert Storm II. 50 years of being the planet's badguy. 200 years of white guy presidents-- all but one Protestant. America NOW has a chance to lead the world in something different.

For once we can be the good guy again. The world hates America. I can't travel without being gringo-ized by a humanity that America fucked up. The election of a Negro could change all that.

How bad could America be if a majority white nation votes for a Negro? How could that country of arrogant racists be so arrogantly racist if it elects a colored guy as president?

Barak Obama could be the first Democrat I'll vote for since George McGovern (who?). I don't give a shit about Obama's politics. I don't give a shit about his flip flopping. I don't give a shit about his church appearances. He is a Negro. He was against the war in Iraq from the start. That's enough for me.

I don't care that Obama's campaign is about Obama. That his platform is Obama. That his promises are Obama and more Obama. Presidents don't do anything except stand up and make speeches. Their advisors rule. Presidents exist for the TV cameras. Things in America are not going to get better with Obama, but they'll LOOK better with Obama.

I can't imagine this really happening. Americans are too goonish, too war-loving, too nasty to allow it. But in February 2008, there is a sliver of hope.

Eager to help make that sliver into an entire... er... board, I call M, a pal of mine with a button-making machine. I find a picture of the Illinois senator. A nice one. In front of the Capitol. Smiling. Arms folded. No American flags. No religious symbols. I scan it into Photoshop.

I lay out the words in a circle around the picture. VOTE OBAMA-- AMERICA NEEDS A NEGRO. Proudly, I walk outside and go up Broadway to the closest Obama campaign office.

I pass my local street bum, a scruffy white guy who still has some of his teeth. He's been on my corner for almost 10 years. We're friends.

I dig in my pocket for a quarter. Throwing the coin into his oversize cup—really more like a pail—I tell him my plan to work for the Illinois senator.

“Good luck,” he says, “but it ain't gonna make much difference to me. No matter who's president, I'll be right here on the corner with my little bucket. You'll see.”

A bit further up the street, an attractive colored girl walks toward me. I thrust out my chest to make sure she can see who I'm supporting. It's working. She gives me a big smile. Then she freezes. Her smile turns into a frown, then a sneer. She huffs past me. I don't get it.

Shrugging, I continue my walk the half dozen blocks to the downtown Obama campaign headquarters. It's about 4 blocks east of NYU. In a storefront. If I remember correctly, it used to be a Radio Shack.

There's a huge picture of the colored man in the window. Not a full-body shot. Just his face. His hands together, prayer style. But they're not in praying position. Instead, they're at an angle supporting his head. Like Shirley Temple on The Good Ship Lollipop. (Who? On what?)

Inside the office, there are Obama bumper stickers, Obama badges, Obama campaign literature. Most of it has no words on the front except OBAMA. A few brochures have a white-on-blue logo that says CHANGE WE CAN BELIEVE IN.

In front of one table, a vaguely punk-looking young man (black leather jacket, tight black jeans, hair in a collegiate fauxhawk) pokes at the literature. He speaks with the black woman behind the table.

“And what about vegetarianism?” he asks. “What's Obama's stand on that issue?”

“Issue shmissue,” says the woman. “We don't do issues. We are issues.”

An expensive haircut, smelling of Eau d'NYU Freshman, comes up to me.

“Hi,” he says, eagerly extending his hand. “Can I help you?”

“You bet,” I tell him. “I wanna work for Obama.”

I see him look down at my home-made button.

“I can get more,” I tell him. “I made it myself. You can have the rights. No royalties. I don't believe in royalties.”

“You can't wear that,” he says. “That's racist.”

“You bet,” I answer. “But it's racist in the best way. It's PRO-colored people. It's a short form of from slavery to president! I know Obama doesn't have slaves in the woodpile, but it's the image that counts. Don't you think?”

“Look,” he says. “I don't know what you're trying to do, but would you please do it elsewhere? We have a campaign to run.”

“And I want to help,” I say, beginning to lose my enthusiasm in the cold reception. Like an erection that droops at the sight of an anal wart.

As we speak, a tall dark guy with dreadlocks comes in the door. Despite the dreadlocks, he wears a business suit, white shirt, and dark blue tie. His lapel sports a large button with a picture of Obama. Just the senator's face-- and one hand in a thumbs up gesture.

“Is there a problem here?” he asks in a deep resonant voice, sounding more British than Jamaican.

The whiteguy nods at my button. The tall guy looks at it and frowns like that girl on Broadway did.

“I think you'd better leave,” he says.

I take a few campaign leaflets and go out.

Looks like organized politics, like organized religion, does not get along with me. I'm gonna have to do this myself. My way. Bring on the scanner and color printer!

Obama needs publicity. People everywhere need to be reminded. I scan the cover of one of Obama's campaign brochures. Click. Cut. Paste. I'll photoshop a new set of stickers that'll wake New York up to my new hero.

I cut the stickers into large squares and go back out to the street. I see my bum friend again.

“Hey,” I ask him. “Can I put one of these on your coin bucket?”

He looks at the white-on-blue sticker.

“Sure,” he says, “but I don't get it.”

I read the sticker I've slightly doctored.

OBAMA, SPARE CHANGE WE CAN BELIEVE IN.

I'm gonna distribute them to beggars all over the city. That should wake people up. Every sympathetic bum donor will get it. They'll all become aware of the historical poverty of American slaves. They'll realize the way the world sees us. And they'll understand the chance for a symbol to reverse that image.

It's not far to the next bum. He sits on a milk crate at the corner of Mercer and Houston. Instead of a bucket, he shakes a more standard cardboard coffee cup. This guy is black. The sticker should have even more impact here.

“Hey,” I ask. “Can I put one of these on your coin cup?”

I show him the sticker.

“Er...” he starts. “Would you mind telling me what it says? I left my reading glasses at home.”

Wiseguy.

I read the sticker to him.

“Sorry,” he says. “I don't get this political stuff. Anyone gets elected, I'm on the same street corner... 'cept of course, Giuliani. With him, I'm in jail.”

This guy is only the first in a string of refusals. For some reason, the average homeless guy has no faith in the government or the electoral system. He doesn't want to spend even an inch of begging cup to support a candidate.

One guy I try to talk to could be Hispanic, or just a white guy who needs a bath. From his speech I figure he's black. In any case, he's savvy enough to have an actual marketing reason for rejecting my request.

“See,” he says, “most folks that give me money are brothers, white ladies or old people. Now, the brothers are gonna give me money anyway. Obama, Osama or whatever. The white ladies all like that white lady...”

“Hillary Clinton,” I say.

He nods.

“And old people,” he continues, “like that old guy.”

“John McCain,” I say.

He shrugs.

“So your sticker ain't gonna do me no good... got a quarter?”

I give the guy a quarter for his astute political analysis and, discouraged, I head home.

So what's left? My campaign work was a failure. My bum crusade never got more than one bum. All I have left is this column. So here it is:

If Obama doesn't get the nomination, you should vote 3^rd party or not at all. America does not need 20 years of 2 families. Didn't we fight King George to get rid of dynasties?

McCain is a worse horror. Sure as shit, he won't allow 4 years to go by without his own war.

If Obama gets the nomination, you should vote for him. I will. He really is the chance for Americans to feel better about themselves and the world. There's not much more we can hope for.

ENDNOTES: [email subscribers (god@mykelboard.com) or website viewers (www.mykelboard.com) will get live links and a chance to email comment on the column]

-->Yeah it was April Fools dept: I guess most of you figured out that my column about A YEAR WITHOUT KIDS was a fake. There is no such group.
The man who started the movement was also a complete invention-- sprung from my brow like Aphrodite from the brow of Uranus.
The concept's not bad though. Anyone interested can have full rights to the name.

-->Get me one dept: Daryl Hill of Cookeville Tennessee bought his 10 year old daughter an MP3 player from Wal-Mart.
Surprise! The player was "preloaded with pornography and explicit songs." Evidently, someone bought the thing, downloaded the good stuff, then sealed it up and returned it. Now that's my kind of sabotage!

-->Embarrassing being a Jew dept. part 1: City University of New York and The Chicago Council on Global Affairs, among others, canceled presentations about a book called THE ISRAEL LOBBY. They said they needed critics to balance out the presentation. All critics, however, were "unavailable or unwilling to participate.” This call for "balance" is the new censorship.
Where is the balance for Rush Limbaugh or Anne Coulter? Where is the balance for an entire night of Fox News? Certainly not on CNN!

-->Embarrassing being a Jew dept. part 2: The school administration in Old Saybrook Connecticut canceled a performance by the Al-Ghad Folklore Dancing Troupe of Palestine. Why? Because parents claimed it was "offensive to Israeli and Jewish sensibilities." Maybe they couldn't find a Kill-the-Palestinians-Now Dance group to balance it out.

-->Speaking of predictable dept: A new book called, Predictably Irrational, talks about variations in the famous PLACEBO effect. Not only do people get better when doctors prescribe a sugar pill placebo... but the effect is increased if patients pay a lot for it. In other words, a worthless drug gives more relief when priced at $2.50, than when priced at 10 cents.
And what have the drug companies done for you lately? You sure?

-->Saving by intimidation dept: No, I'm not talking about Christianity. I'm talking about a BOMB BANK made by the Japanese toy company, Tomy.
The bomb-shaped bank begins to shudder and beep if not fed regularly. Longer starvation makes it explode and send coins and bank-shards flying. Sounds more American than Japanese, doesn't it?

-->If thy left hand offend thee dept: Kyle N sent me a clipping about an Idaho man who believed he saw THE MARK OF THE BEAST on his hand. Using a circular saw, he cut off the hand and microwaved it. A hospital spokewoman declined to say if any effort was made to reattach the offending hand.

-->What exactly does OVERWEIGHT mean? dept: The November 7, 2007 Journal of the American Medical Association reported, "Overweight people have lower mortality rates than those in all other weight categories (underweight, normal, and obese) and are less likely to die from certain illnesses, including Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and respiratory disease."
That begs the question... who decides what is and isn't overweight? Over WHAT weight?

-->Glad I'm not a Christian dept: Southern Baptist Pastor Wiley Drake has again urged his followers to pray for the deaths of staff members at Americans United for Separation of Church and State.
Last August, Americans United filed an IRS complaint about Drake’s use of church letterhead and a church-based radio program to endorse Mike Huckabee. Federal tax law forbids tax-exempt groups from endorsing or opposing candidates for public office. The IRS later notified Drake that his church was being investigated.
In response, Drake sent e-mails to followers urging them to engage in “imprecatory prayers” (curses) against Americans United and three of its staff members.
Wrote Drake, “In light of the recent attack from the enemies of God, I ask the children of God to go into action with Imprecatory Prayer. Especially against Americans United for Separation of Church and State…. Specifically target Joe Conn or Jeremy Learing [sic] and their leader, Rev. Barry Lynn. They are those who lead the attack.”
Drake directed his followers to Psalms 109 (as well as Psalms 55, 58, 68, 69 and 83) for examples of imprecatory prayers. Verses from those texts ask God to bring death and destruction to those targeted.
“Let his days be few; and let another take his office,” says one passage.
“Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow. Let his children be continually vagabonds, and beg,” says another.

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