Politico Ultraviolent

"I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch, you better think about it baby." - Glenn Danzig

Being fully in the spirit of the season, I've got the Misfits on shuffle - turned up to eleven. Tomorrow might be Devil's Night, but it'll be Halloween to me... the day I dress up as Abe Lincoln and give a drunken New Gettysburg Address. I will be shot, as always, by my lovely wife, sexy John Wilkes Booth.


And in true Halloween form, Rand Paul's Tea Party supporters are going all American History X on anyone within arms reach. That's right kids, put your mouth on the curb because it's open season on heads. I know this is like a week old, but I think it's important to recognize that we are moving into a profound new political era where it is a power-move to stomp heads.

Next week should be very interesting as voters wearing the wrong colors are gutted and dragged from the poles in small towns across the land, and left to rot in the wake of the victory parties. I think we should embrace this new Politico Ultraviolent with open arms - let the bastards put that big money where their mouth is, shake out the cowards, and return power to the strong invincible psychopaths of yesteryear.

Mudslinging and Falsies

"Shit just finds my face." Cameron Diaz, Top Gear

It is no small coincidence that elections take place just days after Halloween - and this year's elections are particularly hairy. It's a scary time; every two years Real Monsters don people-suits and do a little of the ol' soft shoe to try to fool voters, scare the public, and flat out lie. A story on NPR's website finds that through fact-checking and research, this season's political ads ring Barely True on a whole. This means that every pearl of truth lies deep in a wheel barrow of horseshit.

Do we expect any less? I don't, but we are so jaded that we let it slide as an uncontested truth. Politicians? We know they're lying sacks, but that's what they're supposed to be - what they say and do are from two sides of the same schizoid brain. They don't even know they're lying. Survey that landscape, feel the heeby-jeebies take hold.

So put on a costume and drink heavily this weekend. For by the end of next week we'll have a new set of deviant handlers who have coddled and lied their way into top paying positions of rank, only to drool and twitch at the coming money-grab.

Just a Minor Threat

I hate meeces to pieces...

The thing about mice is that they are very cunning and masters of strategy. There is no boot big enough, no man patient enough to properly hunt them with any satisfaction. If this were Stratego, my basement would be Australia. They hide in the darkened corners, waiting, laughing. Little damn ninjas.

You'd think our twenty pound cat, Thunderpuss, would have a field day with these little bastards. Well, you have too much faith for the cat lost her instinct to hunt long ago - I think she left it somewhere on the futon in the office upstairs. Her life of leisure is at my expense... she waits upstairs for one of us to die so she can come down and eat us. What a horrible creature. To that I say Eat Me. Eat me Thunderpuss.

Well, I've laid the traps with peanut butter for scent, and bread to give them something to munch on. I've trapped quite a few this season - almost enough to make a small coat. The problem is that they are so damn small that they're terribly difficult and time consuming to skin... and I have no use for a coat that small. What ever will I do with all these tiny hides?

Doppelganger

I have been called a LOT of things...


Here's the top five list of celebrities that strangers say look like me, in order of frequency... for good or ill. Spot the theme.

#1 - Jim Breuer

#2 - Johnny Knoxville

#3 - Pacey

 

#4 - Carson Daily

#5 - Elvis

EDIT: I've just been informed by a very reliable source that I also look this guy:

If anybody needs me, I'll be roaming the countryside stabbing the face.

Under the Docks

A strange weekend indeed, at least by local standards...

This weekend was one of those fine moments when all the planets align, and the question gets answered. What would I do? Carpe Diem... Sometimes it gets weird, and sometimes you get paid, but every now and again when the moon is full the weirdness pays - hoo boy, look out!

Open on a long and boring road trip out to Cape Cod. It is a long trip and the scenery is boring. Jenny and I make our way to the Outter Cape. We check in to our room and head downtown to meet with my contact, grab something to eat, generally mill about. It is unseasonably cold and the streets of Provincetown are bare - everyone having scurried from the weather like townsfolk moments before the Big Gunfight.

We meet my contact in a dark basement-level alley, large sums of money are exchanged - payment for two very specific things; the band is playing that night, and I am performing a wedding the next day. An errant tourist wonders down the stairs into the alley and witnesses the transaction, then quickly turns around and heads the other way. One thing is for sure about square tourists in P-Town - they are shy and always aware that they won't like what's behind Door Number Three. Men hold onto their wives' hands like lost children, like they're out at sea clinging to a buoy for dear life. For if they let go, these strange men with different lifestyles and bizarre facial hair may try the old bag-n-tag, and they will be lost forever at sea. They fear the strange things that might happen late at night under the docks out here.

The Gig

Punk Rock band plays locals bar in P-Town...

I could tell by the sign on the men's room door that it would be an interesting night. The sign read: Only One Person at a Time. Indeed. Nobody wants to clean up that mess. Gay bar, owned and staffed by gay men, but somehow the clientele was strongly lesbian.

The band had been asked out to the Cape as a favor to one of the girls getting married the next day - she used to tend bar at a club in Hartford where we played quite a bit, and her gal was a Big Fan who'd never seen us. Having us play was to be her wedding/birthday gift. So there's that.

The night started out dull - drinking at the bar, equipment set up and ready to go, waiting to play. The club music blasting through the sound system would leave our audience woefully unprepared for what we were going to do.

We attempted to start around Ten-Thirty, at which point the owner and I shocked each other - he was angry and shocked that we didn't bring a PA, and I was shocked that he expected us to. Once his PA was set up we started playing, immediately chasing the crowd to the other side of the bar. They were not prepared for this. Apparently, the only types of bands that make it this far out on the Cape are Reggae and Jam bands.

About half way through the set we won over the crowd and they migrated to our side of the bar. It was loud and unabashedly non-touristy, and they liked it. The owner forgave our bar tab and all was right with the world.

The Wedding

The details were kept secret against all prying eyes, family or otherwise. A high speed getaway ensured that we weren't pursued by fanatical relatives. The ceremony was a clandestine affair out on a beach in Wellfleet - the weather was perfect, albeit a little windy, and there were few looky-loos to get in the way. Two brides to be, their dog, a witness and The Reverend. A short speech, exchange of rings and a kiss. They went off to their reception, and Jenny and I went home.

It's a strange way to get to a free vacation, but if I didn't live this life then who would?

Big White Meatball

"That head of hair is too good for the Valley." - Ari Gold

Preparing for a trade show is a lot like poking yourself in the eye with a fork. There's an extreme sense of urgency, and it all comes down to that last lingering moment when all the Magic happens - the world around you disappears and you struggle to focus on the horrible, life-changing thing that's about to happen. And you did it to yourself.

Well, shit. If that analogy worked for a trade show, maybe it works for our country, too. Any time I try to pay any attention to the news or what's happening in the world around me, I feel like I'm poking myself in the eye with a fork - staring down the tines and I can't look away, and in the end I only come away hurt.

Just the other day I read an excerpt from Matt Taibbi's new book that painted a picture of modern politics as Wild West scene run by a bunch of two-bit hustlers and Pole Junkies (popularity poles, you dimwit), hocking America to a Baghdad pawn shop at deep discounts. Leasing highway overpasses, selling off parking meter revenue to the highest bidder and other fun tricks that really tickle your gag reflex.

I'm drained... at the end of my fork there's a big white meatball staring back at me. What does it want? I should have used a spoon...

Unethical Science

The fix is in...

This brilliant little gem came to me last night as I was riding my motorcycle home from work. Let's see if we can parley this idea into a little scratch. See below for my email to Wendy's customer service.

Good Morning,

I am writing because I have had an excellent idea for a marketing campaign for Wendy’s. I know that there has been a lot of buzz surrounding the six month old hamburger from your competitor, McDonald’s, and I feel that you could cash in on this buzz.

First of all, let me state that I am in no way a scientist, but I feel that my creativity and DIY ethos are an asset.

What I propose is this: I will go out and buy one McDonald’s hamburger sandwich and one Wendy’s hamburger sandwich, with the intent of leaving both out over the course of six months and document daily the changes in each product.

To be successful, I will lightly mist both with water for the first three days of the experiment. To further ensure the chances of proper decomposition, I will provide a layer of one eighth of an inch of soil from my own back yard, and I will sprinkle this onto the plates on which each food will sit before placing the food.

I will attempt to prove that the Wendy’s hamburger will decompose faster because of the freshness and superior taste of the sandwich. To ensure that I get the results that I hope to see, I will soak the McDonald’s hamburger patty in iodine before the start of the experiment. This should provide an environment too hostile for bacteria to form and therefore secure my desired results.

I will document the changes every day with a high resolution Nikon D40X D-SLR camera so that you may use the results in your marketing efforts.

I know what you’re thinking: what about the fries. Well, I have a bone of contention with that issue because I find that your fries, while initially quite tasty, become soggy quite quickly and therefore do not meet the criteria for my experiment. But the hamburgers... tres magnifique!

I look forward to working closely with you regarding the future of my experiment. I await your response for further instruction.

Thanks for your time.

Best Regards,

Maxwell [redacted]

Burger Threat

I think Lisa threatened me...

You may recall from last week's episode that I requested some instructions about performing my own McDonald's hamburger experiment. Well, their response was quite wiley - in fact I must admit that at first I thought I was given the brush off. But no, coded in this long-winded and threatening tirade about quality lies the secret to the eternal hamburger: the food must be kept dry! Why didn't I think of this before! It's Jerky, Damn it! Clown Jerky.

Hello Maxwell:

Thank you for taking the time to contact McDonald's. We appreciate this opportunity to respond to your concerns.

McDonald's menu items are freshly prepared in our restaurants. It is not possible to provide a detailed explanation regarding these claims without knowing the conditions in which these food items were kept. That said, we strongly caution anyone from jumping to conclusions.

Bacteria and mold only grow under certain conditions. For example, without sufficient moisture, either in the food itself or the environment in which it is held, bacteria and mold and associated decomposition, is unlikely. If food is/or becomes dry enough, it won't grow mold or bacteria. In fact, any food purchased from a restaurant or grocery store or prepared at home that lacks moisture would also dehydrate and see similar results if left in the same environment.

McDonald's hamburger patties in the U.S. are made with 100% USDA-inspected beef. They are cooked and prepared with salt, pepper and nothing else - no preservatives - no fillers. Our hamburger buns are made from North American-grown wheat flour. Our world-famous French fries are made from potatoes and cooked in a canola-oil blend. These are the same foods that consumers buy every day in their local grocery stores - bread, meat and potatoes.

McDonald's food safety and quality standards are among the highest in the industry. McDonald's sources its ingredients from approved suppliers that adhere to strict standards for food safety and quality, including a controlled, well-maintained and clean environment throughout our entire supply chain. Together with stringent procedures for handling and storage, we work hard to minimize any exposure that would contribute to the presence of mold, bacteria or other microorganisms.

Also we are pleased to hear that you enjoy the iced coffee! In answer to your question regarding McDonald's franchises in Hawaii, we are proud to have franchises in all 50 United States.

Again, thank you for taking the time to contact McDonald's and we hope to have the opportunity to serve you again soon.

Lisa

McDonald's Customer Response Center

Licking Doorhandles

"Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not... fuck with us."  - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

This morning I saw this dubious ad slamming Chris Murphy for backing a heathcare reform bill that robbed Medicare, gave copious amounts of health care to illegals and ensured every sex offender would get a monthly ration of Viagra. When did mudslinging get all Mad Max? Or is it Twilight Zone?

Imagine the first person to own a horse. He comes back to his village, in his hand is a rope which is attached to a horse. He's clearly been through a lot - what with having spent his afternoon battling a wild stallion. The reaction* of the locals is unkind; "You must be off your nut, carrying on with a wild animal like that - bringing it near my children." Or, "Oh, good. I've always wanted to be bit by a horse while whittling on my front porch." But in due time, the locals saw his genius. He would ride his horse over great distances, use it to carry things he didn't want to carry himself, impress ladies...

Pushing a horse like that through congress is sure to raise some concerns but Jesus. Shouldn't health care be like roads or cops - there for general public enjoyment? Are we supposed to be at the mercy of the white-collar fat-backs in the insurance industry if we Can afford it, and Damned if we can't?

Okay, let's say you don't think health care is for everyone. Let me point over here at exhibit A - company provided flu shots. You bastards line up in droves to get your free flu shot, which the company pays for proactively to derail any profit-sucking epidemics. The same theory applies to the public health; but in the grander stroke of it, the entire economy suffers, en large...

...and I seem to have gone into a diatribe. So I'll leave you with this:

My Scare Tactic:

The untreated sick are out there - like zombies wandering the streets, the countryside, going about their business and coughing on things. Poor people everywhere, licking the door handles of office buildings, leaving hot dumps on the floors of public restrooms, not washing their hands. They are preparing your food, they are handling your paperwork, they are high-fiving you. They are legion.

* Please read reaction with a British accent.

DIY Hamburger

Curiosity killed the cat...

A nice little follow up from yesterday - I've emailed McDonald's customer service...

Good Afternoon,

I have just read about your hamburger promotion and am enthused to get started - but I am having a difficult time finding instructions on exactly how to properly preserve it. Do I just leave it be?

I think it's fantastic testament to the resilience of your product that it could survive for such a length of time! My real curiosity lies in the taste of an aged hamburger. Wine and cheese improve over time, so it stands to reason that your hamburgers might, too.

Is there a limit to the amount of time that the burger can be aged for before it is consumed? Should I shy away from cheese, specifically, or will that age well too?

Oh, and good job on your iced coffee. You’ve got a winner there, a real contender to the over-sugared and over-milked Dunkin Donuts variety.

Also – are their McDonald’s franchises in Hawaii? I’ve always wondered…

Thanks for your time.

Best,

Maxwell [redacted]

Six Month Old McDonald's Hamburger Kills Family of Four

"I yearn for you tragically." - Yossarian, Catch-22

Libel is an interesting charge because to be accused of it, the plaintiff has to admit that they care what you think or say. I doubt McDonald's Corporation (NYCE: MCD) gives a flying grab what I say about their food - but if they did, they'd have to openly admit that they take a very small corner of the internet with a meager thirty hits a day seriously. And I think that's an ugly proposition for even the most ravenous lawyer, no matter how hard he's been beaten and kept hungry for the Kill and the Good Show. Ugly because it chinks the armor of the lawyer's Super-Egolessness. To try something so utterly inconsequential requires a fine sense of the suspension of disbelief.

The lumbering ogre doesn't mind the mice unless it's by the handful, and even then it's just a snack. So, realistically speaking, a libel suit is off the table. I won't be Banned for Life, for good or ill - because these little hamburg sandwiches are killing people by the bucketful in sad and violent ways. Arteries exploding across our nations highways, tainted meat madness and value meal murders.

Chasing the Clown

No one looks more the fool than he who chases the clown...

Truer words have never left my lips. Last night I started digging into the Fall Out article. Meat, bone, substrata... as a loose concoction of ideas, I can tell it might just work. One thing that was fairly refreshing is that my notes were top notch - really high quality stuff. And I thought they'd just be for reference.

Now we must chase the clown - to change the subject briefly, these pre-election mud slinging ad campaigns are getting out of control. Just this morning I saw an ad featuring a militant Linda McMahon wearing a Richard Blumenthal is a Dum Dum tee shirt, spouting nonsense about jobs and what's right for Connecticut, with a Mussolini demeanor. In all my dealings with Bloomer I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt, that while he may be shrewd and may present a bit of used car salesman savvy, he is a Strong and Legit contender who Doesn't Suffer Fools.

Let that be a warning to Linda McMahon - while I don't believe she'll be fitted for cement shoes by Bloomer's contingent, there are fates worse than death. Failing in November in Connecticut is as lousy a fate as I've seen. To be relegated to Chasing Clowns around the WWE headquarters in Stamford will ensure Linda's future political failings.

Fallout - Old Cars, Voodoo

Let's do the time warp again...

You can't argue with good weather, and the turnout was fantastic. The night before I burned an axe handle for Good Luck, got some rest, and readied myself for hijinks. Everything turned out okay after all - other than, of course, the sunburn and the totally shot Sunday that followed.

The cars were amazing - no less than 500 high quality pre-1963 cars in attendance, plus a few non-conforms... I saw a sixty-something Le Mans that didn't make age but made it through the gate, a Ford GT-40 that could have been legit but was possibly (probably) a kit, and a hot death-tube Abortion mad-max something-or-other that only kinda made it through the gate. Strangely, there was a VW Rabbit convertable - which leads me to believe someone was snoozing at the gate because that thing had no business there...

But the real show was put on by all the twenty-something rockabilly style-goons and -goonettes. There was much re-translated 80's, 90's and 2000's versions of late 50's early 60's greaser style... See the Reni-faire reference from an earlier post.

As much as I'd like to dig into the meat here, I gotta save the Good Stuff for the pubs... more on that later.

Eating People, One Foot at a Time

"Soylent Green is people!" - Charlton Heston

Today, my five dollar footlong came with the strange notion that maybe they aren't just baking bread at Subway. They have expanded their menu. They are, in fact (it would seem), baking people - babies to be specific. As I stood there on line, having placed the bread and meat part of the order, the girl arranging things on my bread called into the back room for Baby Cakes. I know, it sounds Delicious, but no cakes appeared. Perhaps the grinning patrons pay up front and go out back for delivery.

The Johnny Depp film Sweeney Todd reminds me of my childhood - sitting on the couch while my dad watched some PBS broadcast of the play. That was weird - not only because of the plot, but because any filmed play has a strange sense of voyeurism to it... there's a peeking through the window feel to the camera shots, everyone is far away and the actors don't know at the time that someone may be watching the performance from their living room, sometime in the distant future.

So the marketing Geniuses at Subway have reached well beyond Jared, and started serving breakfast and, you guessed it - delicious little baby cakes. I know that many of you will find this notion horrible and offensive, but is it? Are babies the new veal? Probably not as it would take quite a bit of convincing to sell that - but when we finally get to that point in the Grim and Distant future, I'm sure the cakes will be succulent, tender and delicious.

Edit: As a side note, it is important to mention that the film Soylent Green takes place in 2022. A mere twelve years in the future.

American Australia

Politicians and Libel go together like junkies and their smack...

Boston is the Australia of the United States - it is an awful prison colony populated only by criminals and the desperately insane - and they'd like to keep it that way. They know that their nearest competition for sheer brute force is New York City, which is an equally qualified asylum (in fact, the two stand as a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah, complete with pillars of salt as Far as the Eye Can See)... to keep in good standing Boston needs it's army of loonies and homicidal maniacs.

In the olden days, all criminals and miscreants were sent to Boston as a matter of course, so what we are left with today is quite possibly one of the angriest broken teeth on the face of America. They play by their own rules, it's widely know that they have a secret constitution which enables a certain bit of bribery and general buying of public trusts to occur out in the open where the public can assess and ignore - which they tend to do because, like a dead cat on the side of the road, it is Too Ugly to pay attention to.

They say the truth will set you free, and in some ways it can, but the key truth to ignore is that Connecticut is slowly being swallowed by two mean and ugly brutes on either side, and our own ugliness pales in comparison and fades into the background.

Calm Before the Calm

"What, me worry?" - Alfred E. Newman

Okay, hear we go. Gearing up for the weekend. The mortgage is up, some say the chips are down - but hell, who am I to complain? This Saturday is the Hot Rod Fallout, which I will attempt to cover here, in some minor sense, and of course Elsewhere, for the Big payoff. Let's see how that works.

The supplies: Sony 2GB digital voice recorder, note pad, tiny pens, wherewithal, press credentials, cans of beer (why not?)... am I missing something?

Along with me will of course be Jenny, who will be on her own mission for the same result - pictures and the Big Payoff. Don't know about any of you clowns, but I'm ready to look at some cars!

I've Stumbled Upon a Basket of Treats

Our finest hour is upon us, we must hone our skills...

Foraging in a semi-modern industrial environment takes a bit of skill - but every now and again, even the most lowly rats will find the crumbs and dine. Today, I've beheld the most holy of foraging occasions, the perfect storm of poachable treats - the customer visit. Treats Everywhere.  

"The horror... the horror..." - Kurtz, Apocalypse Now

That particular quote doesn't sound right, but the revery is spot-on. It really should be "The treats... the tasty treats..." That was me today - I found a boston cream doughnut, doubled back later for a blueberry muffin in the same location. Then, as luck would have it, I found a cookie. It was large and chocolate chip. Totally different spot - it helps to vary your hunting grounds. It is also important to Tell No One, and Hide Your Score. There is nothing more gut-wrenching and disheartening than to steal back to site of a recent kill and find that all the treats have been felled by those you shared your Treasures with.

"Why do you build me up, buttercup baby just to, let me down, and mess me around..." - The Foundations - Build Me Up Buttercup

Drive Fast! Live More in Less Time! Go America!

Round and round we go...

There is something horrifying and all-around unholy happening on our paved roads. We all know it and we're too afraid to say anything about it - until Now.

Slow moving vehicles are killing people on our highways Every Day. If I lose 5 minutes to slow traffic every day on my commute to work, another 5 minutes on my way home, that's 10 minutes a day. 50 minutes a week. 216 minutes a month. That's 43.3 hours a year. Work for ten years and that's 18 days.

Thanks to slow moving old ladies, I have lost a month of my life Already, just by driving to work. This doesn't even account for nights and weekends. The Newington High Indians Football booster club is stealing my life, minutes at a time, flagrantly, Despondently, right in front of my eyes - Those Fools! - and they do it with a glaring defiance as the look back in their rear view mirror!

The bottom line is they just don't know the math. We must Teach them. Every speed limit sign is not only a suggestion, but also an implied equation. To hell with the American standard plus 10 mph - you must drive at least three times the posted speed or get the hell out of the way Immediately! You're killing me!

Vintage Hair

All good things must come to an end...

Today marks the last Soul Reapin' 3 show. Last night was the last Connecticut show, and it was a fine time. Its a funny thing, the whole Rockabilly idea. I have discovered that the whole scene is almost identical to a Renaissance festival. People in period dress, speaking in period tongues, subscribing to period ideals. Large women in costumes, big turkey legs, outdated music.

That isn't to say that it isn't fun. And hell, I can sit here and judge all I want, but I've got a pompadour on right now. Res ipsa loquitur.

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Is Everyone Taking Crazy Pills?

Hell, even sometimes I'm guilty of it...

I just stood one side of a door holding a knife, and as it opened, my coworker on the other side was clearly shaken. I consoled him: "Remember Frank, you never know what's on the other side of this door."

Sometimes, the leadership needs to be struck down. Everyone IS taking crazy pills. Things are getting weird around here - in a local sense and in a national sense. I remember a time when I relished in the idea of a pseudo-Republican Tea Party... I thought it was great to see all the crazies in together in a group. At least that way I could identify them en large. But now things are getting scary - these kooks are amassing, absorbing other strange factions - the gun pushers, the midwest anti-commie movement, the crazed pro-poverty types (read: pro-life)... It's turning into a weird Renaissance faire. Huge legs of meat, horses, men in full battle array.

The misguided soft-racist mid-western vote is getting strong. If this weirdness gets legs in the Republican party, we are all screwed. I can at least cope with the old archetype -  a greed-sick bozo glomming on to everything within reach - because at least even the most brazen try to hide it. The other option is far worse: lunatics in tri corner hats and powdered wigs who are armed to the teeth and believe in goblins and dragons.