Stop Treating People Like THINGS! Mykel Board's Post-MRR Column 7

YOU'RE STILL WRONG

POST MRR COLUMNS

NUMBER 7

by Mykel Board

What connects us, what relates us, is our certainty that each of us is real, and how we take that profound fact in whatever, together, we do. – John Stoltenberg

This is one of those columns that's inspired by a book. In previous “book-columns,” the inspiration has been great books by great writers. Wonderful ideas by people I respect: Celine, J.G. Ballard, Phillip Wylie. There are more.

This month is different. This column was inspired by someone who is so wrong, that at times he seems like a parody. By a man who writes: All pornography exists because it connects to some man's sexuality somewhere. There's no other reason. This is a guy who's never perused spreadxxx.com (Kicked off the internet, sorry. Best lesbo-for-lesbo site ever!).

The man is John Stoltenberg. The book, appropriately enough, is called Refusing to Be A Man. The book makes (very) occasional good points, though the author gets a D- for run-on sentences.

To be “oriented” toward a particular sex as the object of one's sexual expressivity means, in effect, having a sexuality that is like target practice-- keeping it aimed at bodies who display a particular sexual definition above all else, picking out which one to want, which one to get, which one to have. Self-consciousness about one's “sexual orientation” keeps the issue of gender central.

Okay, that's something I've been saying for years, though in a better way. But Stoltenberg is usually as wrong as he is verbose. Try this one:

Every economic system devised by men-- whether capitalism or communism or socialism-- is designed to defend male ownership of the bodies and labor of women. (Obviously, this guy's never been to Sweden.) Or A male must not identify with females, he must not associate with females in feeling, interests, or action. His identity as a member of the sex class men absolutely depends on the extent to which he repudiates the values and interests of the sex class women. (Obviously, this guy's never watched The Food Channel.)

I cannot say I read the book with an open mind. I'd heard the author was Andrea Dworkin's significant other. Oy vey! The book is certainly filled with her quotes. I did read it with curiosity-- and amazement-- like my liberal friends watch Fox News... how can people think this way?

The author spends much of the book complaining about objectification. That is the idea that men see women as things rather than looking at them as complete human beings. To be a real man, says Stoltenberg, you have to divorce yourself from the feelings, life and emotions of the person you're having sex with. You have to think like you're fucking (or in porn, watching) a THING. This is the central idea of the book.

So it got me thinking. Objectification is not seeing the whole person, but rather using the person-- or an image of the person-- as a THING. The theory is that we should always recognize the whole human being... not just jerk off to a squirting twat or pumping beef whistle-- but consider the person as a living entity with thoughts, needs and emotions.

I'm not exactly sure you can consider the human needs of a bunch of ones and zeroes residing on hard drives at Broke Straight Boys DOT com, but that's the idea.

But why only in sex? Sex, unfortunately, is a very small part of my daily life... even if you include jerking off. Don't we objectify people in ALL our activities? Maybe it's time we stop... start looking at people as full human beings... everywhere. Maybe it's time to humanize everything... not just the genitals.

I'm on the Number 6 train... on the way home from work. It's late. I've been out drinking at the Korean bar with some students. Almost a quarter hour passes before a train pulls into Grand Central. I get in a nearly empty car, sit down, and begin to read my primer on Hangul. Learn Hangul in One Hour. Yeah, right.

At 33^rd Street, the door opens. In a cartoon-like cloud of fetor, a stinking wretch stumbles in. A white guy... mid-thirties, with a Duck Dynasty beard... stinking of piss and body odor. Of course, he sits next to me... not sits exactly, but slumps. I need to jump... to move away from this... this malodorous THING... Then I realize. I'm objectifying.

“You must be miserable,” I tell him, speaking to the person behind the object. “Tell me what you're feeling.”

“Iyablahgazzid,” says the human, resting his body against my shoulder.

“I understand,” I tell him. “And this train-ride, is it good for you? Is it something you want to do? Or were you coerced into it by social circumstances or physical weakness?”

“Godaplassikflah,” he says.

“Of course,” I answer.

By now, we're reached the next station. More people have entered the car. Once the stench reaches their nostrils, they stand and huddle at the opposite end of the car... or near the door... waiting to rush out at the next stop. Those callous commuters... they see some repulsive THING rather than understand a whole human.

When the doors open, they bolt. I continue my exercise in humanizing.

“My stop is coming up,” I tell the human, now asleep and drooling on my shoulder. “I'll try to make you comfortable in your misery.”

Gently, I lift his head off my shoulder and lay him down across the seats. I pick up a few discarded newspapers and scrunch them up. Ah, an almost presentable pillow. I put my right hand under the non-objectified human head-- it feels like a greasy coconut-- and lift it up. With my left hand, I push the newspaper pillow underneath.

The train stops, I get out and walk to my favorite bar in Manhattan! I'm a little early, so I enjoy the walk. There is fresh snow on the sides of the street. Dingy New York has a beautiful coat of white paint. The only part I don't like is by the creepy dark NYU buildings of Washington Square Village. Huge Corbusieresque buildings... a block long... ugly as an anal wart. They're the places where the (lower) faculty and staff live. Ugly cinder-block apartments-- one on top of the other-- with three covered entrances. Outside, the buildings are dark and menacing. Ironically, inside is a playground. It's one of the few family friendly places in Greenwich Village.

I pass the buildings and walk into the West Village and then The Peculier Pub. Behind the bar is Kate, my favorite... and most amply bazoomed bartendress. STOP... I'm not objectifying! Back up... Behind the bar is Kate, a wonderfully sensitive young woman from Florida. Her life is a secret, but I can see that, every day, people treat her like... like... a bartender. Not like a human being.

The place is nearly empty and Kate is using her ample... time... to straighten it up and wipe down the bar. She speaks to me.

“Evening, Mykel,” she says, “how's... What's that funny smell?”

“It's the smell of another human being,” I tell her. “It rubbed off on me, like kindness rubs off on a stray dog..”

“Are you all right, Mykel?” she asks.

“I feel your oppression, Kate,” I tell her. “I know that you're forced to rely on using your body to squeeze tips out of customers. I know how that makes you, every day, a victim of the patriarchy.... Not a victim, of course, but a survivor.”

I rest my hand on hers, rubbing the bar rag it holds between my pinkie and ring finger.

“Let me clean the bar,” I tell her. “You are forced to stand on your feet all day. People treat you like an object, expecting you to serve them.”

“Of course they expect me to serve them, Mykel,” she says, “I'm a bartender.”

“You are also a human being,” I say, searching for her eyes with mine. “You have feelings, a whole personality. You are more than just your beer tap-pulling hands or your customer-attracting boo... er... attractions. People see you, but they don't see YOU! They see an object... something to serve them.”

“Mykel,” she says, “you're making a scene.”

“A scene?” I say. “Did you say a scene? Like in a play? Where the actors on stage are just objects to the audience. Where people look at them like puppets... objects with strings and talking heads. This is not a scene. This is life! We are not actors. WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS!”

I can feel my voice raising. A man at the bar-- late 50s, carefully trimmed gray beard... bushy gray hair... professorial-looking... gets up from his bar stool and walks over to us. His eyebrows come together in a wrinkle. He speaks to Kate.

“Are you all right, Kate?” he asks her. “Is this guy giving you any trouble?”

I turn to him.

“And YOU!” I shout at him, releasing Kate's hand and stepping back. “And YOU! With your macho posturing. Trying to save the damsel in distress. All you care about is getting laid. You think playing the big hero will get you into her pants. You barely even think about what's between her legs! You only think about what's between YOURS!”

I'm trembling now.

He doesn't look at me, but I can tell he's shaken up.

He leans over to speak into Kate's ear. I hear every word.

“I think you'd better call 911,” he says.

I'm outta there, walking back to my apartment... same direction as the subway. I pass the evil Washington Square Village. A white woman comes out of one of the buildings. In her early 30s, she hides her body under a long coat. A colorful babushka is wrapped around her head. She pushes a stroller with a white child in it. (That's a rarity here in Nannyville. I mean a white woman pushing a white child in a stroller.) The child, about a year old , is bundled up in a yellow snowsuit and knitted yellow toque. The woman comes down the small driveway and crosses my path.

“Hello,” I say to her. “Cute little one you've got there.”

“Her name is Madison,” says the woman. “We're just going out to enjoy the night.”

“Have you considered what Madison wants?” I ask.

“Huh?” asks the mom.

“Just because she's small... a child... That doesn't mean she's a subhuman,” I tell her. “Children are humans. They have feelings. Are you sure you have CONSENT before you take the child out? What if she doesn't want to be in the coldness of the city? What if she feels lonely... all by herself... confined to a three-wheeled machine? Have you tried to find out about her feelings... and not just treat her like a THING... A CHILD?”

“Listen Mister,” says mom. “Who are you to tell me how to raise my child? How many children do YOU have?”

“Have?” I ask. “You say HAVE? Like HAVE a car? HAVE a bagel? HAVE a mutual fund? You HAVE THINGS. You don't HAVE people... unless you treat them like things.”

“Fuck you!” she says.

“Now you're looking at ME like a thing,” I tell her, “a sex object that you abuse in a sexual way. You are exploiting me by not seeing my humanity. You are objectifying me.”

The woman stands stone still. I can hear her teeth grind. From the corner of eye, I see the flash of something large and square... maybe a pocketbook. Then there is nothing. Then there is the feeling of cold beneath my cheek. A rough cold... snow. I'm lying on the sidewalk, something sticky on the side of my face. I gotta get up. Get home.

I push my hands against the sidewalk and force my upper body to rise from the muck. I walk my hands back, and raise myself to a doggie position. Then, slowly, unsteadily, I make it to my feet. I can't think straight. It takes a second or two to get my bearings. Very slowly, unsteadily, I walk to my apartment building, let myself in, and go up to my apartment.

Once inside, I look in the mirror. There is a bruise from chin to cheek. Little flecks of blood mix with the snow and car grime on my face. The eyes on the face in the mirror stare glazedly into mine. What are you thinking? I ask that face. What are you feeling right now-- as a human being?

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 joining the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

--> Hard to believe dept: People are complaining that J.C. Penny's and Forever 21 are marketing t-shirts to girls. The shirts say things like Allergic to Algebra and I'm Too Pretty To Do Homework So My Brother Does It For Me. The complaint? The shirts “send the wrong message” to school-age girls. But the protesters have it backwards. This is capitalism... you sell what people WANT. Hey buckaroos, those shirts wouldn't sell if girls didn't think that in the first place. It's not sending a message. It's receiving one! You're complaining to the wrong side.

--> There's a magazine I'm NOT going to subscribe to dept: A study published in the December 2000 International Journal of Impotence Research found that average erect penis length in 50 Jewish Caucasian males was 13.6 cm (5.35 in) An earlier study conducted by LifeStyles Condoms found an average of 14.9 cm (5.9 in) among all U.S. Males.

Yeah we're shorter... but we're also smarter.

-->Sorry to report dept: Marty Thau died this month. He was 75. For those who don't know, he was a punk rock pioneer. Manager of the New York Dolls, he was also the brains and money behind Red Star records. That company produced the SUICIDE LP, one of the best records ever. I did not know Marty well, but that guy had taste... and balls.

-->What the frack? dept: So an earthquake hits the U.S. South and people are shocked! How could such a thing happen? There are no plates there to move like in California or Japan. In 2011, there was a tremor in Virginia. This year, it was at the South Carolina-Georgia border. So, quick... to the fracking map. Nothing on the SC-Georgia border... but plenty close. Very heavy in Mississippi, a bunch in East Tennessee. And Virginia last year? BINGO.

And look at all that fracking in New Mexico? Can you say underground radiation leak?

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

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

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

MRR also has a facebook page, (as does as Mariam Bastani, the girl who fired me, but I can't link to her... she's banned from my webpage). You might want to let them know how you feel.

-end-

Mykel Scrapes His Sensitive Side Post MRR Column Number 6

by Mykel Board

YOU'RE STILL WRONG

POST MRR COLUMNS

by Mykel Board

A sense of humor is just common sense, dancing --William James

The most egregious onslaughts against the human spirit have always been perpetrated by the easily offended.– Jim Goad

DECEMBER 18, 2014: My knees rest on either side of her head... the calves close to her ears. I squat. Her Latina nose tickles my puckering sphincter. I wonder how she breathes. I lean forward. My tightening testes press against her lips. She sucks one in. Then the other. Now both, pushing her tongue up to lift and separate those golden globes in her mouth. I'm furiously pumping myself. My pig appearing and disappearing in its hand blanket. Soon... soon... now! NOW!

She can sense my coming release. I lift myself to switch. To have her finish off my petite pulsator. With my balls still in her mouth, I hear her try to speak.

“Izshit hoofan hee?” is what I make out.

“What?” I ask, holding back as best I can. “What did you say?”

“Izshit hoofan hee?” she repeats.

Uh oh, I'm either gonna cum all over her chin... or lose the urge. I gotta solve this problem quick. I lift my balls out of her mouth and ask again.

“Is it gluten free?” she asks.

I spew.

NOW: You know it. You can't have dinner with people anymore... unless you make it only water... filtered water. I don't eat meat. I don't eat carbohydrates. I can't take spicy food. No alcohol, it's bad for my pituitary. I'm cutting down on salt. Anything that comes from the ocean makes me break into hives. I'm allergic to peanuts. Ad nauseam.

People are sensitive to ANYTHING. Health consciousness has become so obsessive that almost any food has legions who can't eat that stuff. Picky eating has replaced joyful gluttony. We're so sensitive we can't enjoy anything, choosing our meals to avoid what we can't eat, rather than digging into what we love.

This new body sensitivity mirrors a MIND sensitivity. I was witness to the world's dumbest facebook discussion as one person asked another about about the birds in England.

“I am not a bird,” answered the offended receiver. “I am a woman.”

Of course, bird is simply the British version of chick... an avian word for female. (Or at least it was in the 60s.) It's as offensive as naval lint... or should be. But the huff and the puff around this post! Oy vey! It's hard to believe this is 2014. What the fuck happened?

I'll tell you.

After the opening and taboo-destroying 70s and 80s... a new, stronger, set of taboos has raced in to fill the void. Southern Christian parents warn their children against the F-word. While every New fuckin' Yorker uses that fuckin' word at least four fuckin' times in every fuckin' sentence. (My favorite NYC t-shirt: FUCK YOU! You fuckin' fuck!)

That looks like progress, at least here in America's largest city. But New fuckin' Yorkers are so squeamish... so sensitive about THE N-WORD for race, the C-WORD for gender, the H-WORD and the L-WORD for sex preference. Then there's the D-WORD. (It's medication, don't you know?)

A fellow teacher whispers to me in the teacher's lounge. “Mykel,” she says, “I can't believe that guy. He said the P-word... in class. I don't believe it. He's gonna get fired for that one.”

The P-word? What the fuck is the P-word? Piss? Paki? Pollack? Pedophile? Prairie Nigger? I can't imagine! I never heard of the P-word-- but I guess there's one for every letter.

My fellow Jews are notoriously thin-skinned. There's that famous scene in Annie Hall, where Woody Allen talks about how Jews see antisemitism in the most innocuous things.

When someone says “Did you eat yet?” Woody hears “Jew eat yet?” Jew? Jew? See? He's anti-Semitic!

Jews have even appropriated the word anti-Semitic which SHOULD mean against Semites. That is, all Arabs and about a third of the Jews. Now, it ONLY means JEWS... and if you object... why, you're ANTI-SEMITIC!

The Jewish Anti-Defamation League was the first. Jews are often the first to do things-- like invent the theory of relativity, Communism, and the atom bomb. Among religious or ethnic groups we are the most easily offended. The ADL website says “The goal is to develop industry standards that balance effective restrictions on antisemitism, hate, and bigotry with respect for the right to free speech.”

Sorry, buckaroos. You CAN'T balance restrictions on speech with the right to free speech. To quote my hero William O. Douglas about the first amendment: “No law (against free speech) means NO LAW, dammit.”

The Jewish Anti-Defamation League... now the plain old Anti-Defamation League is the modern version of 1950s McCarthyism. Seeing antisemitism under every bed, and in every dark corner... they extend the idea that anyone anti-Israel is anti-Semitic. Sound familiar? It should, that's what Israel itself says.

But the Jews are only the uncircumcised tip of the iceberg. Check it out! We've got: The Polish anti-defamation league, Christian anti-defamation league, African anti-defamation league, Hispanic anti- defamation league, Arab anti-defamation league, Gay and Lesbian anti-defamation league, who's left? Well what about the Cab driver anti-defamation league? I shit you not.

Maybe the nastiest of the anti-defamation groups is the Southern Poverty Law Center whose hate-watch division labels more than a thousand groups as hate groups. The implication is, we gotta get rid of these guys. Hate the haters. They preach intolerance. We can't tolerate that.

It's all about being offended... and some kind of right NOT to be so. First, let get something straight. The idea of FREE SPEECH means there is NO RIGHT not to be offended.

You can say you're offended. Tell people what offended you. You can just answer it. You don't stop it. Even if that censorship is legal, it's still WRONG!

But even to be offended these days!! It's like a gluten allergy. Are you really that sensitive?

I'm Jewish, short, old, bald, and slimly endowed. If someone calls me a short old bald pencil-dick Jew... they're right. I may feel somewhat embarrassed, but I won't be offended. One of my many proud moments is when Jim Goad called me an elfin heeb.

I am not uneducated, pimpled, shy or obsessively clean. If someone calls me a dumb bashful pizza-faced germaphobe, I'll laugh and ask, ”How does your colon look from the inside?” I won't be offended.

Of course, the TRUE epithet usually hurts more than the fantasy, but embarrassed or humored, that's part of life as a human. I don't need to be protected. And I'm not offended.

There are those who say, “Look, the first amendment is about laws. So if the government does it, it's bad. If CORPORATE AMERICA does it, it's good.” Often, these are the same folks who criticize the U.S. for being ruled by corporations. Wake up, CORPORATE AMERICA IS THE GOVERNMENT!

For these folks, if a radio network fires Imus for talking about nappy heads... it's not censorship. If Walmart forces Nirvana to change their lyrics... it's not censorship. If another radio network drops The Dixie Chicks for criticizing George Bush... it's not censorship. It's the free market. Wrong! It's the free market AND it's censorship.

It's not a violation of the constitution, but that doesn't make it any less censorship. When Walmart forced Nirvana to change their lyrics there was no way for those who wanted the original lyrics to hear them... and no way even to find out about them. Blocking information is censorship.

The marketplace can be a more vicious censor than the government. Usually, when the government censors something we know about it. Even in pre-Snowden times, there were trials against ULYSSES and TROPIC OF CANCER. They made the news. People could smuggle in the forbidden books... or at least know they were forbidden. With “free market” censorship, we have to rely on the free market. If you keep up on the issues or follow the National Coalition Against Censorship you might have an idea. But it takes more work than the average Leroy has time for.

It's not only the traditional minorities. Even those who it used to be OKAY to make fun of are now so sensitive that they fall for everything.

I'm not above it. Phil Robertson was “fired” from the Duck Dynasty for an interview in GQ Magazine. [Aside: GQ is the number one magazine for high fashion closet queens. It's not the place you'd expect a hillbilly to give an interview. That alone would have made a less sensitive guy suspicious.] I joined the outraged rage against freedom of speech.

“How could they fire someone for speaking his mind?” I asked, along with the sensitive rednecks outraged at the injustice. I posted on my facebook. Wrote about it in this column, my typing fingers shaking with indignity.

A facebook pal immediately answered that the whole thing was a trick... an A&E publicity stunt to solidify fan support.

“No way!” I said. “The network is just S-O-O-O-O SENSITIVE, that they'll cave in to the homo mafia.”

I was wrong. It was ME who was s-o-o-o sensitive.

In less than a week, Robertson was “rehired” and everything was hunky dory... with more publicity than thousands of paid commercials. It WAS a trick! Why was I such an idiot?

In the 60s and 70s ethnic humor WAS humor. The earliest I remember were the Polish Jokes: Q. Why can't they make ice cubes in Poland? A. They lost the recipe.

There were Jew jokes Q. How do you get 25 Jews into a Volkswagen? A. Throw in a quarter.

Negro jokes: A black woman was filling out forms at the welfare office. Under Number of children, she wrote 10 and where it said List names of children, she wrote Leroy. When she handed in the form, the woman behind the desk pointed out: "Now here where it says 'List names of children,' you're supposed to write the names of each of your children.” "Dey all named Leroy," said the black woman. "That's very unusual. When you call them, how do they know which one you want?" asked the welfare worker. "Oh, den I uses the last names."

Homo jokes: Q: What does one homo say to another who's going on vacation? A: Can I help you pack your shit?

Redneck jokes: You know you're a redneck if you stand under the mistletoe at Christmas and wait for Grandma and cousin Sue-Ellen to walk by.

WASP jokes: Q. How can you spot a WASP in the gym? A. He's the one who steps out of the shower to take a piss.

Everybody joked... and everybody was the butt of jokes. It was FUN. People laughed.

Now, Jimmy Kimmel joking about the Chinese gets protest marches-- and posters of himself with a Hitler mustache. I'd say the Chinese are almost as touchy as the Jews, but Israel one-ups them and makes it ILLEGAL to call anyone a Nazi (especially those in the Israeli government.) Give me a break. Loosen up!

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

-->Old News Department: I've been cleaning out my virtual drawers and found this interesting article from the turn of the century:

On March 26 1999, the federal appeals court in Chicago upheld the Butthole Surfers' right to end a handshake deal with their former label, Touch and Go. The Buttholes, who signed to Capitol in 1991, sued the label to reclaim the six records and long-form video they made in the mid-80s.

Touch and Go operates on an honor system. They pay the bands 50 percent of the profit on their records--about four times the industry's standard royalty rate. In return, until recently, Touch and Go gets the right to press those records for as long as it can keep them on the market.

Now, however, as a result of the court's decision, Touch and Go and the dozens of labels that follow the same business model, face the possibility that their principles may cost them their back catalogs.

-->Slightly Newer dept: In 2012 California approved a horrible retributive ban on human sex trafficking. The bill was opposed by the California Peace and Freedom Party and the Harvey Milk LGBT Democratic Club. It was supported, of course, by the California Democratic and the California Republican Party.

Now, importing people for slave labor on farms and in the houses of rich people is fine, but if SEX is involved... my heavens! Eeeek!

The law seemed to target Johns, but it actually acts like the Arizona SHOW ME YOUR PAPERS LAW, making sex work harder for the undocumented. If your girl/boy is foreign, you could be a SEX TRAFFICKER! Better stay away.

One critic said: If Proposition 35 passes, anyone receiving financial support from normal, consensual prostitution among adults...could be prosecuted as a human trafficker, and if convicted, forced to register as a sex offender for life!"

It passed.

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

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

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

-end-

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

YOU'RE STILL WRONG

POST MRR COLUMNS

POST MRR COLUMN NUMBER 5

by Mykel Board

or Mykel Pulls the Ole Switcheroo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It's my wallet,” says the boy.

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

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

“You use these a lot?” he asks.

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

The cop doesn't laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-end-

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

YOU'RE STILL WRONG

POST MRR COLUMNS

(or Why Libertarians are Like Bike Riders)

by Mykel Board

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wrong!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ENDNOTES: [You can email me (god@mykelboard.com) or connect to my facebook page.

Postal contact: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003

If you'd like to read my travel blog, you can do it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com.

If you like my writing in general, you can be notified when anything new is available. Just join the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

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

-->More than one holocaust dept: The same Taki Magazine had an article by Jim Goad about something called Holodomor. This relatively unknown event took place in the former Soviet Union in the 1940s. Apparently, more than 7,000,000 Ukrainians were starved to death by Stalin and his crowd. Why was this ignored? Maybe because Stalin was our ally in WWII.

In any case, genocide is NOT the property of one group, or one period in history. We need to take note of this, make amends where possible, and then move on.

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

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

-->Things we already knew dept:

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

-->How to get gun control dept: Long-term readers of this column know that I oppose gun control. Violence has nothing to do with guns or video games or Hollywood. Violence is a reflection of the culture. American culture solves its problems by killing people. A culture that values flags more than life, is gonna be violent.

That said, if the anti-gun crew REALLY wanted to pass anti-gun legislation, there'd be an easy way to do it. Have BLACK militias, armed, trained in the Montana mountains, toting guns to church. You'd see anti-gun laws pump up like penises at a porn show. It's happened already. In fact, the NRA SUPPORTED anti-gun legislation when the Black Panthers were active. (The details are here.) Can you guess why? Hint: it's in the name of the group and NOT the word PANTHERS.

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

Keep the pressure on. You can send your protests to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com. Please do!