Origin of VOLTMAN or Mykel's Post MRR Column no 43

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 43

Voltman

I may not agree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. --Voltaire (attributed)

Free speech is the right to shout THEATER in a crowded fire. – Abbie Hoffman

You need to allow people to shout FIRE in a crowded theater. There might really be a fire. --Voltman

[NOTE: This blog/column introduces a new Superhero, VOLTMAN. This is the first episode in what I hope will be a comic or a graphic novel. If you'd like to illustrate the VOLTMAN series, send some drawings to me at: god@mykelboard.com]

I'm out to buy a 6-pack of McSorely's... Morton Williams has 'em on sale... eight ninety nine. Only 3 bottles left in the fridge... better stock up. I'm on the street, walking toward the grocery store... What's this?

Right outside the NYU student center... at least it was the student center when I was at NYU. These days... it could be the NYU MILTON FREIDMAN HALL OF CAPITALISM.

In any case, there's a fight... a doozie. Half a dozen big guys... black leather jackets... kerchiefs over their noses and mouths... pounding on the doors of the building. I figure it's a protest against free speech, because that's what guys in black leather jackets do in 2017.

Fists are flying, but they don't seem to be landing anywhere. Why? Standing in front of the door, arms catching punches and flinging them back... is a superhero. I shit you not... a real superhero with tights, a shiny white shirt with the letter V on it, a black cape and a mask... more like a washcloth with eye-slits... draped over his face.

His arms move in a blur, deflecting punches, returning kicks, sending the leather-jacketed thugs flying. A crowd has gathered to watch the battle.

“What happened?” I ask a very masculine-looking girl standing at the edge of the throng.

“We planned to shut him down,” she says. “And this clown comes and fucks it up.”

“Who is HIM?” I ask.

She looks heavenward, as if to summon enough strength to answer my stupid question.

“Him! Him!” she shouts, pointing to a placard with a picture of an attractive young man... very femmy looking. Under the nose of the young man, someone had-- rather unartisticly-- drawn a small dark mustache.

“It's Milo Yiannopoulos,” she says. “He's a Nazi.”

“Oh, I see,” I say. “He wants to kill Jews and homosexuals and invade Poland?”

“No!” she shouts. “You're an idiot. He's gay!”

By this time the fight is over. The sidewalk is littered with bloodied antifas. The superhero lords over them... his hands on his hips.

I walk up to the guy. We shake hands.

“Mykel Board,” I say.

“Voltman,” says he.

“I figure you're some kind of super-hero, like Super- or Bat-,” I say.

He makes a grunting sound, either laughing or the verbal equivalent of eye-rolling. I can't tell.

“I'm an... er... independent journalist,” I bullshit. “I'd just like to talk to you. I've never interviewed a superhero before, so excuse me if some of the questions are... um... naive.”

“No problem,” he says, “but I don't know how much time we have. I may be needed quickly. This crowd still looks a bit determined.”

“That's the first question,” I say. “What happened here?”

“Well, some students invited Milo Yiannopoulos to speak at NYU. Other students didn't like what they thought he had to say, so they wanted to stop him from speaking. They broke some windows, threatened violence... the usual.”

“So what did you do?” I ask.

“I chaperoned Milo... ushered him into the hall. Bashed a few of the censors... the usual,” he answers... as if I had any idea what the usual is.

“Okay, okay,” I say, “that means you're a right-winger who supports this Nazi guy?”

“Nazis are against homosexuals and Jews. This guy is a Jewish homosexual. Nazis build concentration camps, invade Poland and bomb England. What's that got to do with Yiannopoulos?”

“I dunno,” I say. “I just heard he was a Nazi.”

“He's not,” says the superhero. “But that's beside the point. Even if he were a real Nazi, he still should have the right to speak. My job is to insure that right.”

“That's what I want to ask you about,” I say. “What exactly is your job?”

“I can't talk about my day job,” he says. “You know, it's like you tell me I'm an actor... I answer Yeah? What restaurant?“

“You mean you have a Clark Kent identity?” I ask.

He nods and laughs.

“Okay,” I say, “tell me about your planet Krypton... and why you're dressed so dorky... and how come you have your face covered... and you have a tight suit with a V on the front. Is that for Victory or Voodoo?”

“It's for Voltaire,” he says, “Volt for short. You can call me VOLTMAN. You know, I may not agree with what you say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it. THAT Voltaire.”

“That quote's in dispute,” I tell him. “It's not clear Voltaire actually said it.”

“Don't be so pedantic,” he says, shaking his head. His mask wrinkles with the action.

“Come on,” I say, “superheroes don't use words like pedantic.... You can't be real.”

He picks up one of the bricks dropped by a protester, probably intended for a nearby window. Holding one end in each hand he twists. The brick crumbles into little pebbles.

“Real enough for you?” he asks.

I nod.

We sit on the stairs that lead up to the building he just defended. Voltman sits very close to me...our thighs touch. Then he starts talking. He has a raspy voice, like someone who has done a lot of yelling... or a lot of drinking.

“Let me tell you how it started,” he says. “You remember the Nixon Theater fire... in DC... about ten years ago?”

I nod, having a vague memory of something like that.

“Half a dozen people were killed... roasted alive. Others escaped with major injuries.... a few with minor injuries...” He clears his throat. “It was an electrical fire. Started with a short circuit in the motor that opened and closed the curtains. I was sitting in the third row, and thinking back now, I realize I could smell the plastic insulation melt from the wires before there were flames. I guess that guy in the front row could smell it too... he gets up... stands on his chair... shouts FIRE! FIRE! … This being DC, there are cops everywhere. They rush the guy.”

“They thought he was making it up,” I say, “the classic shouting fire in a crowded theater. But there really was a fire?”

Voltman nods.

“Just after the cops usher him out, there's an explosion... a horrible POW! Then a roar... like a freight train passing... a huge ball of fire engulfing the audience. I could feel my face melt like the wire insulation. When I brought my hands to my cheeks, the skin stuck. The horror of realizing what happened was worse than the pain... I didn't have time to feel pain... I was blown back by a ball of fire... I landed somewhere... on top of some wires... high voltage... super high... I could feel the electricity course through my body... but with the pain, I felt a power... like I was absorbing the electricity rather than being destroyed by it... After that, I blacked out and woke up in the hospital.”

“I'm beginning to get it,” I say. “The fire destroyed your face, so you have to wear that mask. The electricity gave you superpowers... electricity... Volt... I get it.”

“Sort of,” says Voltman. “I didn't become Voltman right away... but as I spent time in the hospital, I saw that I wasn't responding to things the way other people were. The other theater-survivors were screaming in pain... I couldn't sleep at night, but I felt nothing. Doctors pressed my body here and there... I felt nothing. I could see the faces of the doctors and nurses when they came to check on me. They tried to hide their horror in a smile, but I could see the revulsion in their eyes... I felt nothing.” He pauses.

“Okay,” I ask, “how long before they let you out?”

“They never let me out,” he says. “I just left. In the middle of the night... I took off... I can't tell you where I spent the next 36 months. Let's just say some sympathetic people protected me, trained me and educated me. I trained my body to use my new powers and to learn that, when I'm injured. I no longer feel physical pain.”

In his right hand, he picks up another brick from the street. He puts his left hand on a concrete step, brings the right hand over the left... about 2 feet above it... and drops the brick onto his hand. He doesn't even flinch.

“Nothing,” he says.

“During my stay,” he continues, “My hosts brought me stories about censorship by government, by economics... by mobs.... all fascinating. But what put the whole thing in focus was my encounter with the Supreme Court decision that said Free speech does not give you the right to shout fire in a crowded theater. That is just soooo wrong! You have to be allowed to shout FIRE! Sometimes there IS a fire... Then there's the quote from Voltaire....”

I start to speak. He anticipates.

“Attributed to Voltaire... the one we talked about before.”

“I spent three years...” he continues, “I can't tell you where... training, honing this terrific power... While training, I read: Voltaire, Nat Hentoff, Alexander Cockburn, Proudhon, stuff from the ACLU and NCAC... more... I was obsessed with free speech and how every group supports free speech for itself, but not for anyone who disagrees.” He rests his hand on my thigh. I involuntarily tighten my muscles.

“After those three years,” he says, “I became VOLTMAN, super-hero of free speech.”

“Can you fly?” I ask him.

“Did anyone ever tell you you were an asshole?” he asks.

“My middle name,” I answer.

He slides his hand between my legs.

“We'll see,” he says.

“Is this your first gig?” I ask. “I mean have you only been in New York to support Milo?”

“I started at a shopping mall in Florida. Freedom of speech, of course, includes religious freedom to express your beliefs. The Boca Raton shopping mall, in response to a complaint about a Christmas nativity scene, allowed a Satanist group to... er... erect a pentagram. Wowie... the locals didn't like that one...”

He seems to drift off into memory... and his voice changes... more... I dunno... ethereal.

“Once the pentagram was up, the local good ole boys decided to knock it down. I know, ya figure Florida... it's gonna be a buncha old Jews with walkers.... but it wasn't. It was a buncha skinheads... flight jackets instead of black leather... and no kerchiefs... otherwise, they were just like these antifa guys I just fought here in New York. They came with crowbars... sledgehammers... they were gonna crush this thing... the symbol of Satan... and anyone supporting it.... I heard about the planned destruction...”

“Searchlight beaming into the sky with a big V on it?” I ask.

“You really are an asshole,” says Voltman.

I smile.

He pushes his hands up between my legs.

I cough.

“I was there half an hour before the thugs arrived,” he continues. “They must've confused my Voltman drag for something satanic. As soon as they saw me, the crowbars came out and I was dodging metal. Then... I cleaned the floor with them. Local security called a couple ambulances, and the pentagram stayed throughout Christmas.”

“Ever do anything big? I ask. “Like against the government?”

He nods.

“Last month I was in Africa,” he says. “Right after Trump issued his abortion gag order. Charities couldn't even use their own money to tell the locals about abortion. Well, I'm sure you read about “the mysterious distribution of abortion information” after the clients left the NGO offices... something that happened in the jungle.”

“You?” I ask.

He nods and smiles.

That's all the space I've got this month. Look for the manga as soon as I get an artist-- and a publisher. Don't forget, if you can draw... I WANT YOU!

-end-

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

-->Speaking of publishers Dept: Word is that a doctored YouTube video of Milo Yiannopoulos talking about his early sexual experiences... and how he actually ENJOYED them... caused Simon and Shuster to drop his book contract, after they had agreed to publish it.

Imagine if someone doctored a Planned Parenthood YouTube to make it seem that that the organization was encouraging abortion to harvest body parts. The left would have a fit over that. Whoops... that happened.

Then, the “libertarian” CPAC, disinvited the mighty Milo to speak at their convention. I guess, FREE SPEECH^® only goes as far as the next YouTube Video.

Imagine if... whoops, that happened too.
As Voltaire said, A PLAGUE ON BOTH YOUR HOUSES. Whoops, that was Shakespeare.

-->Oh No, Can't Say Anything Nice! dept: Censorship news reports that Scholastic publishers has withdrawn a title A Birthday Cake for George Washington. Why? There is a page where the slaves make a birthday cake for George Washington because they like him.

The censors complained that the book might present an image that slavery was nice. Any touch of humanity for slave owners is a BIG taboo. Take a look

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

As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.

Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.

See you in hell.

-end-

NOTE: If you're interested in my travel blog, you can read it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com. (It hasn't been updated in awhile, but you might enjoy the history.)

Trannies & Trumpers Mykel's Post MRR Column no 42

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 42

Trannies and Trumpers

by Mykel Board

PISSY (& SHITTY) SECTION: I rarely use the ladies'... either at work or in a public place. Usually there's a line... I figure if someone wants to piss in the W, they've got to wait for a stall. In the M, the guys who can use the urinals, do. Stall pissers like me, have more chances.

Tonight is different. I rarely go out on Saturday night... too many tourists... but tonight I'm meeting my pals, Toshi, Pedro and Sven at Harp... the local Irish seafood place... (almost) all boys.

My bladder's three Harp-pints full, I gotta go. There's a line at the Men's... from the door to the bar... no amount of knee holding is gonna take care of me. The Ladies' seems empty...not a surprise since the drinkers here are mostly guys. Why not? I'll be in a stall. Who's gonna know?

A couple quick over-the-shoulder glances and I slip inside. It's empty. Whew! I run for a stall and close the door. There's a crack between the stall door and the frame. From my seated position, I have a full view of the front/sink part of the room. I have other fish to fry.

I sit down (my aim is worsening with age) and let go. While the relief comes over my body, I hear the door open. Footsteps... more than one pair.

I see two women enter, both twenty something... one white, a bit sorority-looking with melon bazooms under a striped black and white sweater... no ass to speak of under her jeans. The other... black, with one of those asses that Christians want to outlaw. She's wearing a CUNY sweatshirt, and pants so tight I feel my good part rise on the toilet.

“Let's go!” whispers one of the girls... I can't tell which from my vantage point. I watch... keeping deadly silent in the stall.

Then it starts. The white girl crosses her arms over her chest grabbing the bottom of her sweater. Uncrossing her arms, she pulls the wool over her head.

Double melons... real.. not the never-limp hard shell of implants... but the soft natural fall of Godly endowment. The kind of tits you can slide a sheet of paper beneath... and it'll stay.

Then the black girl... I dunno... there's something about dark skin.. all the way from Mexican-Lite... to African Noir. It's better up close, of course. In my little stall I'm too far away to see those tiny goose bumps... each one like a raised dot on an expensive condom. I imagine it and throb.

The two embrace. I hear the slurp of their kiss. It's like watching a porno movie on girls4girls.com. Then... more-so. Another woman enters. She's a bit older than the embracing ones... Late forties, I'd guess.... with a matronly haircut and the kind of body that shops at Walmart.

In a flash she's naked. They move to one of those three-way kissing triangles... All touch tongues. Then the housewifey one drops to her knees and pushes he face between the black girl's legs.

One by one, more people enter. They strip off and join the orgy.

---

Of course, none of that happened. I haven't been in a Ladies' Room in a dozen years. My vaginated friends assure me that nothing has changed. You go in, take care of business, wash your hands... maybe adjust your make-up... and leave... not very sexy.

Then what the fuck? What are the women and (mostly?) men worried about when they demand a bathroom closed to transsexuals... or anybody, for that matter? Unless my first fantasy accurately reflects what goes on, why should they care? What do they have to protect from MEN or women in men's bodies? Or anything? There's a stall. You piss privately... occasionally shit... and that's it. Otherwise NOTHING HAPPENS. You're more likely to be raped in an elevator than in a bathroom.

Do you care who sees you wash your hands? I don't even understand why there are separate Men's and Ladies' Rooms in the first place... unless they need to know where to put the urinals.

Even at the urinal, you're facing the other way, Goddamn it! What possible difference does it make?

SMILEY FACE SECTION: After the last election, my fuck-buddy Barack Obie said, “The sky won't fall. The sun will still rise tomorrow.” But you wouldn't know it from the panic

Trump coughs... he's intentionally spreading TB to help the drug industry. He scratches his earlobe... He's receiving secret messages from Putin about who he should appoint Secretary of State.

It's called The Halo Effect... though for Trump I'd call it The Horns and Tail Effect. It's a psychological principle that says if you like someone... or their ideas... everything they do will be good. Even if you only like their looks, everything will seem better about them.

Among liberals, the halo effect worked for Obama. He was responsible for thousands of foreign drone deaths. He bombed a Doctors Without Borders hospital. Killed a US hostage. Deported more people than any two presidents before him. Tried to push through the awful TPP, letting a business council decide American environmental and labor laws. He jailed more whistle-blowers than all previous presidents combined. If Donald Trump had done all that, there'd be marches in the street. There are marches in the street anyway.

But Obama has a nice face. He's a colored guy. He has a soft, intellectual voice. That's a huge Halo.

Donald Trump is ugly... as belligerent as a punk rocker... and as abrasive. No matter what he does, it's EVIL. Negotiate lower drug prices using the buying power of the government? It's a trick. Convince companies to stay in America? It's just propaganda. They were gonna stay anyway. No matter what he does... it's EVIL... because... well... because he's Donald Trump.

So Donny T's taking the limo home from a hard day supervising wall-building.

“Driver,” he says, “take me to the colored neighborhood. I wanna see how those people live.”

“We don't say colored anymore,” says the driver, turning the limo South.

“I'm the fuckin' President,” says Donald. “I can say what I like.”

The exchange ends there. In front of them is an old Washington wooden house, with a front porch... on fire. Big leaping flames... hotter than a tranny's thigh... right there in front of them.

“Stop the car, NOW!” shouts the president. BANG! He's out of there, racing into the burning building.

“What the fuck?” asks the driver frantically searching for a place to park. He's supposed to protect this guy, but the heat from the fire is too much for him to enter into the building.

He calls a special number and before long sirens ring in the distance. In what seems like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, a figure appears at the door of the burning house. It's the President. In each of his arms is a small child, faces covered with ash. The president's blond locks are singed. His red face is even redder. Blisters appear.

The next day Facebook liberals tell each other that Trump's own staff set the fire so he could profit from the publicity.

Trump can't win. There's nothing he can say or do that's right for those in the grip of the Horns and Tail Effect. After the fire, they hate the president even more because “he'd risk the lives of children, just to get some good press.”

Anyone who says, the guy might have an ounce of compassion is suddenly “a Donald Trump supporter.”

BACK TO REALITY: You can't even joke about Trump... unless the jokes you're telling are anti-Trump. Make fun of Obama, criticize Clinton... and you're a Nazi. The Halo effect makes every other view a danger... They warn: Don't take the risk!

“Listen,” they'll tell you, “Trump's an unqualified bad guy... stupid... insane!”

It's the Horns and Tail effect. You want to stay safe. (I already was unfriended^® by a long-term real-life friend because I said that Donald Trump had not yet started a nuclear war. Really!) So you agree, laugh at the guy. Fifteen years ago he made a joke about pussy grabbing... grab that line! Run with it.

Look at the TV liberals: Bill Maher, Stephen Colbert. What is their humor? Anti-Trump jokes. In those circles, being anti-Trump is as safe as being anti-Hitler.

Sorry buckaroos. As my condom supplier knows (I don't have one), I never play safe.

-end-

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

-->A Wet One Dept: Former Navy SEAL Carl Higbie told Fox News that torture isn't so bad.

"Well, I can tell you, NOT waterboarding didn't get us the information. So why not give it a shot."

Donny seems to agree, but that doesn't surprise me. I've heard he's a fan of watersporting anyway.

-->Girls vs God dept: During a basketball game between a heavily Jewish Boston-area public school, and a visiting all-boys Catholic school, the Jews taunted the Catholics by shouting, "Where are your girls?"

The Catholics shouted back, "You killed Jesus!"

-->Side effects dept: Tylenol, already marked because of a cyanide scandal last century, has since been shown to cause severe liver damage... and the latest report shows that the drug "dulls empathy." That means, if you take Tylenol, you're less likely to give a buck to that homeless guy sitting freezing on his cardboard box.

My question: Why hasn't there been a study about capitalism? I'm sure it will find an even strong correlation between it and lack of empathy. Take Ayn Rand.... please!

-->It had to happen dept: The city of Toronto had to cancel a public meeting on accessible housing for the disabled. Why? You guessed it. The building where the meeting was held was not accessible to the disabled.

-->Public Transportation Dept: Pastor Tim Jones of Resurrection Baptist Church in Kannapolis NC offered voters a ride to the polls in the last presidential election.

"The only stipulation is you vote against abortion, corruption, excessive gun control, Obamacare and career political criminals. Otherwise, you will have to take a cab! Our church is NOT ashamed to stand up and support Donald Trump!"

-->Xmas cheer dept: A man visiting Six Flags over Texas was asked to leave because he looked too much like Santa Claus.

WALB News reports that when parents saw this guy with a white beard and long hair,they asked him to pose with their kids. He did, and park officials kicked him out for... er... interacting with children.

Hmmm, we wouldn't want Santa interacting with children would we?

-->Show some respect dept: Indian police have arrested at least 20 people for not standing during the national anthem at a movie theater. Says a NY times article:

The arrests were the first known efforts by the police to enforce compliance with the Supreme Court ruling, which requires movie theaters to play the national anthem before each screening. Patrons, according to the ruling, are required to stand respectfully for the duration of the song unless they are physically unable.

The court said it was necessary that “the citizens of the country realize that they live in a nation and are duty bound to show respect to the national anthem.” The Constitution, it continued, “does not allow any different notion, or the perception of individual rights.”

Seems like football fans in the US also are not very big on "different notion of perception of individual rights," when players express THEIR disagreement by not standing during OUR national anthem.

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

As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.

Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.

See you in hell.

-end-

NOTE: If you're interested in my travel blog, you can read it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com. (It hasn't been updated in awhile, but you might enjoy the history.)

Hate, a Crime? or Mykel Board's Post MRR Column no. 41

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 41

Hate is a Crime?

You fucked him? Him? With a chest hairier than my head? Him with a belly? Him with that pimple on his nose... that puss-oozing pimple. You fucked HIM???

At each question mark I lift the knife out of the body now on its knees in front of me. Then, I plunge it into a different spot. The deep red splashes my arm, my chest, my face. I can't tell if the wetness dripping under my eyes is from blood or tears. I keep pressing. IN... OUT... IN... OUT... the knife fucking skin like my penis used to fuck flesh.

I LOVE you! I yell to the still-whimpering naked body. The screams now faded into barely sobs. Again and again the force of love guides my stabbing hand. The body stills.

I press my face into the now silent face on the couch in front of me. I LOVE YOU! I yell, as the knife cuts through the neck flesh choking the last sob... slicing around... deep and around...sticking hard on the vertebrae.

I LOVE YOU, I yell as I use the blade like a crowbar, separating... cutting... like removing a stubborn fishhead from my future dinner. Cradling that now-severed head in my arms, I kiss the lips... lapping the still warm blood... that puddles in a lipstick parody around the mouth.

Under the severed neck hangs the bloody tube that once connected that most perfect mouth to the stomach below. It now flaps and inflates and deflates like the end of a balloon farting out air.

I unzip... pull out my five inches of throbbing love... insert it into the blood-lubricated esophageal opening. Yes! Yes! This is love. I love you. You'll be with me forever, I tell that head. We can love each other and never have to be apart...

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

At the trial, they... of course... find me innocent. Temporary insanity... a crime of passion. Blinded by love. A quick visit to the looney bin, and I'm out on the street... rehabilitated.

Affection, Amusement, Anger, Annoyance, Anxiety, Agitation, Boredom, Calmness, Caring, Contempt, Contentment, Delight, Despair, Disappointment, Disgust, Doubt, Elation, Embarrassment, Empathy, Envy, Excitement, Fear, Friendliness, Frustration, Guilt, Happiness, Helplessness, Hope, Humility, Hurt, Interest, Irritation, Joy, Love, Pleasure, Pride, Relaxation, Relief, Sadness, Satisfaction, Serenity, Shame, Shock, Stress, Surprise, Tension, Trust, Worry

During Yom Kippur, we ask forgiveness from The Holy One^® for the past year's sins. We have a prayer that lists all the different emotions in which we sin. It's an alphabet of sinful feelings... a Hebrew alphabet... from Aleph through Tav. And those are only the BAD emotions.

There are dozens of human emotions. Maybe scores... maybe a gross. You've felt most of them, I bet. That's the nature of humanity. It isn't a crime, is it?

You bet your iron cross it's a crime. If it's the WRONG emotion you're feeling there, buckaroo. It's criminal. LOVE crimes we can forgive... HATE crimes are evil. Here's the law in New York:

When a person is convicted of a hate crime pursuant to this article and the specified offense is a misdemeanor or a class C, D or E felony, the hate crime shall be deemed to be one category higher than the specified offense the defendant committed, or one category higher than the offense level applicable to the defendant’s conviction for an attempt or conspiracy to commit a specified offense, whichever is
applicable.

That means, if you draw a swastika... six lines on a wall... graffiti... protest art since Roman times... You can go to jail for a year! Minor nothing! If you do it in hate, it becomes major something. You pay for what's in your mind... not for your action. As if being thrown in jail with cripplers and murderers is a cure for hate.

Where are the BOREDOM crimes? The INDIFFERENCE crimes? I type this in a bus between Boston and New York. The asshole in the seat in front of me is reclining right into my lap. I'm like a circus clown in a clowncar... crunched into an ever tinier space by this shithead who didn't even look behind him before he hit the release lever. INDIFFERENCE CRIME! OFF WITH HIS HEAD!

And it's not just me: More people are injured, crippled or killed from not-caring than from hating.

Earthquake in Haiti? Let 'em die. My best friend is suicidal? I don't give a fuck. Drones in Syria are making refugees who can't go anywhere? Who cares?

INDIFFERENCE CRIMES! A YEAR IN THE CLINK! I say.

And where are the PRIDE crimes? Wad you say 'bout my Nikes? Take that you fuck!

How 'bout the IRRITATION crimes?

Listen you shithead. I don't give a fuck if you just have to text your boyfriend to tell him you saw this cute little cabinet that would look soooo good under the bathroom sink. You're in my way. You're walking too slow. I push you off the sidewalk... into the street... you get hit by a Citibike going the wrong way. It's an IRRITATION crime! Off with MY head!

The worst crimes of emotion are LOVE crimes. Of all the crimes in the world... LOVE crimes are the most vicious, most destructive of crimes.

My severed-head opening paragraphs recreate a love crime. Motel floors are littered in love crimes. But the problem is bigger than that. In some countries (India), it's the duty of a man to kill his wife's lover. A duty? It should be a LOVE crime!

And as bad as love crimes is LOVE SPEECH. The little goo-goos and kuchi-kuchis that inevitably lead to violence. Free speech is one thing. But there are limits. LOVE SPEECH is that limit. Besides engendering disgust-- a completely justified emotion-- love speech is otherwise destructive.

Every puckered lip sound... every partner-hair-fix... every did I ever tell you how much... is a spike driven deep into the intestines of those around the speakers. Public displays of love make the lonely guy in the next seat... lonelier. They make widows and orphans tear. They make the short... the crippled... the aged... feel their afflictions more deeply.

LOVE SPEECH is not simple sticks and stones. LOVE SPEECH is hurtful. It drives people to suicide. How many souls throw themselves off bridges because of a careless I Love You overheard on a trip back from the cemetery? How much tension, how much jealousy, how many early deaths come from careless LOVE SPEECH? Too many to count, I bet.

Religious Christians tell us GOD LOVES US: Yeah right. Typhoons, volcanoes, earthquakes, tsunamis, drought, yeah, that's LOVE all right. For the religious, that's what love is. But even if it's not...

The criminality of love is bigger than a husband killing a paramour.

Patriotism is GIANT love. Probably the most disgusting example of love. How many people have been murdered for that one? We officially honor murderers for killing because THEY LOVE THEIR COUNTRY. (Whichever country that happens to be.) Their job is murder. They carry tools of murder. They train in techniques of murder. Why? They LOVE their country. Salute that flag now.

People commit the most heinous crimes... for love of country... or religion...or race... or “the people.” Love is the excuse for the worst atrocities in human history. Excuse? No, the REASON. And that reason should be a crime.

So stop with the HATE crimes, already. Prison can't break some one out of hate. Let's go to where the real evil is. Let's get on to the LOVE crimes. Prison can certainly break someone from that affliction.

-end-

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

-->Laws I Like Dept: According to the human rights group LandMark, Tanzania is one of only five countries to grant autonomy and access to resources to all its people. Why? Because they don't allow private land ownership outside urban areas. Sounds like Mongolia (used to be?) What a great idea! Of course, I'd extend that to the cities too. How can you OWN land? You didn't make it. It was there before you were, and will be there after. It belongs to everybody!

-->Creative Dentistry Dept: A Taiwanese artist/dentist, Kuang-Yi Ku was annoyed that his dentistry textbooks did not address the mouth's value as a sex organ. He created a special dental retainer including “bumps, cones, ribs and ripples” that promises to be more pleasing to a partner than your everyday teeth and saliva.

It's not clear whether the retainer hides your teeth as well as providing the extra hills and valleys. If it doesn't, you could still feel an incisor or two... definitely a LOVE CRIME.

-->Say it and BANG! it changes dept: Before I even have this posted, I see that the locals seem to realize the idiocy of “hate crimes.” So what's the new term? Bias Crime. As if bias were an even more evil emotion than HATE.

-->Just when you thought they couldn't get any sleazier Dept: Time-Warner has changed its name to Spectrum, but that hasn't changed their dishonesty quotient.

Remember how they used to advertise? PHONE, INTERNET, CABLE 89.90 a month* with the asterisk explanation hidden in tiny print *plus fees, taxes, service charges, postage, installation and equipment?

Now, it's SPECTRUM and they advertise PHONE, INTERNET, CABLE for $29.90 a month.

And the asterisk? *for EACH SERVICE... when bundled...

So you have to take ALL the services and it's $90 a month (plus taxes, fees, tips, equipment, extortion, etc.)

Now, tell me again how THE GOVERNMENT is dishonest, and should be run like a business?

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

As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.

Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.

See you in hell.

-end-

NOTE: If you're interested in my travel blog, you can read it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com. (It hasn't been updated in awhile, but you might enjoy the history.)

If you want something closer to the ENDNOTES-- bitesize tidbits-- try: http://mykelsclippings.blogspot.com/

Smart? or Mykel Board's Post MRR Column no. 40

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 40

or If you're so smart, how come you ain't rich?

There's more than one way to skin a cat. --Old saying

You start with the legs. Of course your knife has to be razor sharp... as pointy as a party hat. Slowly push the knifepoint into the rabbit skin... just at the ankle. A small stream of blood will trickle from the wound, but if the rabbit is properly inverted... hung from the feet... the drip will end quickly as the blood pools in the headside of the animal. Cut in a circle... mohel-like... around each ankle. It might be tempting to remove the feet for good luck, but that comes at the end.

From the cut ankle circles, slice a straight line down toward the rabbit-ass. Don't cut too deeply or muscle will stick to the skin. You're only interested in the skin itself. It's gonna be part of a coat, you know.

When you reach the tail, you have to cut through the tailbone. Be careful... a slip of the knife could pierce the bladder and the animal skin will be soaked with rabbit piss. From there.....

FLASH TO FACEBOOK: After the hoopla of Donny Trump choosing an “Alt-Right” chief of staff, I decided to check out what Alt-Right is. Seems like it's a nationalistic, pro-white, anti-PC, capitalist, somewhat libertarian group. I figure, there's got to be an ALT-LEFT someplace. That is an international, color-neutral, socialist, somewhat libertarian, anti-PC group. And sure enough... facebook connect me to ALT-LEFT. I join.

But instead of color-neutral, these guys are spreading the same pro-white stuff as ALT-RIGHT. They brag about the correlation of high salary and high IQ …. and how that shows your brains are in your DNA.

What's most interesting/weird are the constant references to socio-biology and relative racial IQs. There's a continuous debate... with footnotes... over whether colored folks are biologically dumber than whitefolks.

People argue with the methodology. They discuss whether a representative sample of each race was chosen. They talk about statistical misuse. They talk about the notorious BELL CURVE where scientists^® have proven^® that most white people are smarter than most colored or Hispanic people. It's all in the IQ tests.

Ok, let's investigate.

Like any other modern person, I ask the internet for an IQ test. (I score 137, by the way). First, the website tells me that the BBC says: A person's Intelligence Quotient (IQ) is, arguably, one of their most important characteristics. It is believed that you can predict a person's behavior more accurately from their IQ than from any other single piece of information about them."

It is believed? Who believes it?

And the test? What kind of questions do they ask?

PEACH is to HCAEP as 46251 is to:

     25641 26451 12654 51462 15264 

or Ralph likes 25 but not 24; he likes 400 but not 300; he likes 144 but not 145.

Which does he like: 10 50 124 200 1600 

or If you rearrange the letters "CIFAIPC" you would have the name of a(n):

City Animal Ocean River Country

And I'm thinking:

WHAT THE FUCK?

Do you want Ralph to get more from his boss... the country... your taxes... because he likes the number 25, but not 24? Do you think it's important to recognize HCAEP is PEACH backwards? How useful is that when there's a rabbit that needs skinning?

Who could possibly care about a bell-curve of people who can unscramble the word CIFAIPC? What does that mean for people whose first language is NOT English? Can you unscramble GCAHNI UT AMRED? And even if you can, how far with that get you when the tacos need to be made?

I suppose... based on these tests... Wall Street brokers, bankers, atomic scientists, and Hillary Clinton have high IQs... Do you want to give them any more value... any higher position... for that? Can you tell me one benefit of being smart?... in the IQ sense of the word.

Just like Think Outside The Box has become the most In-The-Box phrase in advertising... rewarding Being Smart is the Dumbest way to run a society. There is no social benefit in knowing what number Ralph likes.

There is no possible reason to value a high IQ. What good is it? How does giving more money to someone who can rearrange CIFAIPC make the world a better place to live in? I don't see it.

How did this happen? How did being smart (that is having a high IQ) become a valuable asset? It seems odd in a country that built its reputation on powerful fists and fast guns.... a place where the bad guy in every movie is the Mad Professor or the Criminal Genius. It seems even stranger when Ronnie Reagan, possibly the most popular president, built his image riding a horse and corralling cows-- not on publishing in Foreign Affairs magazine.

Here's my guess: White guys find themselves a minority in a place that they're used to occupying top-dog position. Affirmative action, sympathy, and a wave of leftist totalitarianism (trigger warnings, professor firings over speech issues, speakers prohibited from college campuses, the rise in segregationist safe spaces) have scared the white folks... made them circle the wagons... look for SOMETHING that proves they're better. Aaah, got it! IQ!!! And now, if we look at the DNA... we can find out it BELONGS TO US... BECAUSE WE'RE WHITE!

So the guys who make the IQ tests are the ones who will score high on the IQ tests. What a surprise. Listen guys, being smart (having a high IQ) is the most idiotic way to judge the value of a person. Empathy, compassion, tolerance, ability to cooperate for the common good... creativity maybe... these are much more important than IQ. Of course there is a correlation between high salary and high IQ. The guys paying the salaries are the same heartless scumbags who need MORE heartless scumbags to increase their profit. That's the name of the game. But it's not MY game and I don't care if IQ is biological or if it comes from eating bacon-wrapped asparagus.

Why should ANYONE care about the biology of IQ? If you want to do the research, fine with me. But the results are as useful as discovering the history of Gilyak. Politically, laws apply to everyone equally. IQ is not in the mix. People have different traits... maybe biological... maybe social... most probably a mix. Where those traits come from does not matter in society. Being smart^® is not important. In fact, it's useless, unless you want to steal from someone. There is no more reason to give any benefit to someone who can spell PEACH backwards, than there is to give a benefit to someone who can skin a rabbit without getting rabbit piss all over the fur. Probably less.

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

-->Alt-Alt Left Dept:  Because the Facebook version of Alt-Left is so race-fixated, I think it's time to start a new page... either a facebook page or a completely independent site. But I need some interest... and some contributors! If you have ideas... or would just like such a site to exist... let me know at: god@mykelboard.com.  Positive responses by ten people will signal a go ahead. 

-->I was Wrong Dept: Last blog I wrote: This blog will appear just before the 2016 presidential election... probably the most useless presidential election in American history. From the get-go, I predicted a Clinton victory...

       Whoops!
 

But all the other trustworthy^® media (NY TIMES, CNN, FOX) made the same mistake. So I don't feel so bad.

What pisses me off is the media's REACTION to Trump. Instead of saying We Were Wrong, they're saying I Told You So.... with ridiculous stories of a spate of “hate crimes” unfolding after Trump's election. Many of the stories are FALSE.

And the others? Are people being shot, stabbed, or run over because they're colored? Are there anti-Mexican mob attacks... like the peasants at the house of Dr. Frankenstein? NO! Almost all the “crimes” are GRAFITTI. That's it! Scribbling on a wall... that's a HATE CRIME!!!

Jeeee-zus! When did we learn about sticks and stones?

-->It's a free country, ain't it? Dept: Obama was the hardest president ever on press freedom. (Can you say Edward Snowden?). He prosecuted more whistle-blowers than anyone before. Yet I still hear Americans talk about how great it is to live in a “free country” and how Obama is a champion of that freedom. Yeah right.
 

The World Press Freedom Index ranks the U.S. as number 41 in the world. That's behind Tonga, Chile, Samoa, Slovakia, Jamaica, and many others. Next trip... TONGA!

-->Asking the right questions dept: When there was a spate of police murdering colored guys... especially unarmed colored guys... including a kid with a toy gun... I asked what would happen if there was some risk to this. What would happen if every time a cop shot an innocent colored guy... a cop someplace GOT shot? I didn't advocate such action, of course, but just wondered out loud what would happen.

Now we're beginning to see it. More than fifty cops were shot this year... many NOT involved in a gunfight. Maybe the war has begun-- with the other side finally fighting back.

I see two possibilities:

1. #policelivesmater and #blacklivesmatter will sit down over beer and newly legal marijuana to discuss their differences. Make a truce.

OR

2. The war intensifies until President Trump has to call in the National Guard to separate the sides.

I dunno. But both solutions seem pretty far from reality. We'll see. Things ARE getting interesting.

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

As their revolving editrixes move on to commercial ventures, each blames her predecessors for my demise... as if they had no control over the business... and couldn't simply invite me back.

Send your comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com (or post on their facebook page) with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL! Let me know how they answer.

See you in hell.

-end-

NOTE: If you're interested in my travel blog, you can read it at mykelsdiary.blogspot.com.

I Was Wrong or Mykel's Election Postmortem

Postmortem (Second Version)

November 9, 2016

by Mykel Board

No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people. H. L. Mencken (disputed)

I was wrong. I predicted a Clinton landslide. I expected the American people... influenced by the press (57 of the top 100 newspapers supported Clinton, 48 gave no endorsement, 2 endorsed Trump)... scared by horror stories of a maniac at the atomic button... extermination of Mexicans... a gun in the hand of ever wacko... I expected them to run to the polls like scared rabbits, scratching out ballots for Clinton faster than you could say Michael Moore. I expected a planned election... engineered by that least democratic of political parties: The Democrats. (Leaked emails proved that the party leadership steered the party toward Clinton-- away from Sanders-- from the early primaries. The primaries themselves, were fixed by unelected superdelegates.) I even offered odds. Three to one on the election Ten to one on NY State. Lucky for me, no one took me up on it.

Now that the election is over, the scapegoat charges have already started flying. Third Party Candidates, The Electoral College, Trump Rigging... Democrats are looking everywhere... except in the mirror.

Here are some other interesting results from the election. From Yahoo:Voters in California, Massachusetts, and Nevada opted to fully legalize marijuana for recreational purposes. They join Alaska, Colorado, Oregon, Washington state, and the District of Columbia in legalizing pot.

Voters in Arkansas, Florida, and North Dakota also opted to legalize medical marijuana. And voters in Montana voted to ease their state’s rules on medical marijuana. No state voted against allowing pot for medicinal purposes.

Arizona, Colorado, Maine, and Washington state all considered raising their minimum wages to $12 an hour. And the proposal won in all four of these states.

At the same time, South Dakota voters overwhelmingly rejected a measure that would have reduced the minimum wage for those under the age of 18.

Candidates for prosecutor who campaigned on prison reform won in several states, from Florida to Texas. And a Democratic challenger defeated Maricopa County, Arizona, Sheriff Joe Arpaio, who billed himself as “America’s toughest sheriff” and got into trouble repeatedly for racial profiling. 
 
Meanwhile, initiatives to reduce prison sentences passed in California and Oklahoma. And New Mexico passed a constitutional amendment that dictates no one should be jailed because they can’t afford bail — a major reform to make sure people aren’t locked in jail just because they’re poor.

What happened? Weren't we beaten into believing Clinton was the progressive candidate and Trump was a fascist?

Here's how I see it:

I'm not sad Trump won. I didn't support him, but I'm glad for the first time since 1981, there won't be a Clinton or Bush among the top three positions in The U.S. (or running for one of them). More than that, about 50% HALF the eligible voters didn't vote. They were so disgusted by BOTH candidates that they felt there was just nothing to vote for. For one reason or another, Trump (sort of) inspired his followers. What kind of inspiration can come from a Clinton whose only talking point is: I Am Not Trump? I understand and sympathize with the non-voters.
 
If you remember, early polls said that Bernie Sanders would have beaten Trump. People wanted A CHANGE! Another Clinton is not a change. Minimum wage, marijuana, prison reform... these are changes. That's why the issues won and Clinton did not.

Like the Brexit folks, tired of their lives being controlled by the gnomes of Brussels, the Trump folks weren't keen on the expansion of corporatism begun by (the other) Clinton and carried forward by GW Bush and Obama. The TPP is DEAD! Proposed by Obama, called the gold standard of treaties by (the current) Clinton, supported by most Republicans in Congress, this treaty would have given away the US government's right to pollution controls, minimum wages, occupational safety and more, if it interfered with international business. Pressured by Sanders, Clinton agreed to “oppose” the treaty, but would have “changed her mind” within her first 3 months in office. Now, the treaty is dead. And an already-passed Clinton NAFTA treaty, is in trouble.

Clinton was the war candidate. The one who wanted to strengthen NATO... easy code for saber rattling. She wanted to increase tensions at the Russian border, setting up the same kinds of weapons John Kennedy almost started WW3 to get rid of. Americans were having none of it. It's nice to have international leaders be friends. You have fewer wars that way,

As long as we see Trump supporters as just redneck anti-immigrant hicks with no validity in their point of view, Trump will continue to win. As long as one party chooses hacks and the other a non-hack... the non-hack will win. I wish the Democrats would learn. I doubt they will. Some idiot will say... see America is right-wing and we have to move to the right to win. That idiot will be wrong.

This is not about right vs left. It's about arrogant keepers of the mainstream vs a shake-up. It's about people who make speeches to farmers and people paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to make speeches to bankers. It's about people buying and people being bought.

If the Democrats were smart, they would nominate someone like Elizabeth Warren next time... or maybe even more of an outsider who we don't know yet. The Democrats are not smart. No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the Democratic party.

Americans? H. L. Mencken... and I... were wrong. They're smarter than we thought.

--Supplemental Column

regular column posted at: mykelsblog.blogspot.com

For a video from the UK that expresses a similar idea see:
https://www.facebook.com/viralthread/videos/598130190359668/