All posts by Joe

Mirage.

Dubya Bush likely received a valuable political lesson from his father, but may have been only half listening. “War will make you popular,” I can imagine the old man saying, “…so long as it’s short and successful.” Junior probably wandered off about when he heard the “so long.” As a result, the younger Bush shares his father’s love of bombing and invading other countries, but lacks George Senior’s horse-sense about picking the right fights – namely, easily winnable ones. Hence Operation Iraqi Fiefdom and, in effect, the war in Afghanistan as well, which by any reasonable standard is also a dismal failure in achieving the original stated objective (i.e. destroying al Qaeda and capturing/killing Bin Laden). So… how do you finesse such spectacular under-achievements? Well, if you’re none too subtle and you have a very low opinion of the masses, you move the goal posts. And you do it again and again. That’s certainly the modus operandi in both of these wars, but particularly in Iraq, where six month strategies stretch into 18 months with barely a word from the president on the last set of “benchmarks” left unmet.

Perhaps it’s just Dubya himself, the substandard student, the frat-boy drunkard, never making the grade but expecting promotion nonetheless (and seldom encountering disappointment in that regard). It could be that he simply doesn’t understand what objectives are. But I think the problem goes far beyond this one man. We have to confront the likelihood that if this war had gone successfully and ended quickly, it would have been popular even with the same odious goals and bogus rationales. Sure, I know… that’s like saying, “If my grandmother had wheels, she’d be a wagon.” But this war would have been wrong even if it had been short and easy. It would also have been enthusiastically supported by something like a majority of Americans, and maybe a far greater proportion. Remember Panama, Grenada, and “Desert Storm.” Kill a few thousand locals and we’re standing tall. Everybody waving their little flags.

That makes me wonder about us, quite frankly. Do we really need to be directly connected to suffering before we recognize it for what it is and act accordingly? Does the dead person have to be a relative or a friend or a close neighbor for us to give a shit? Perhaps. I remain convinced that the American people have the power to stop the Iraq war if we insist upon it. It just hasn’t hit most of us yet, so we ignore it. We are so quiet about our distaste for the war that the Bush administration has actually felt bold enough to abandon the fiction that our presence in Iraq is a short-term necessity. Indeed, they have started talking in terms of a permanent military presence in that country. Now… this, of course, was manifestly obvious from the beginning, and they have been building permanent bases there for four years, but until now they’ve at least softly denied that there was an intention to stay permanently. Not anymore, apparently. Likely we’ll be presented with the mirage-like possibility of troop reductions – Petraeus’s announcement of next spring’s drawdown like it’s something new; Gate’s vague suggestion of further reductions by the end of next year.

Question is, when do we get to zero? Answer: never. They didn’t take Iraq just to leave it later. They want to stay, and only the American people can derail that policy.

luv u,

jp

Mumbly peg.

Spread some oil on them sticks. That’s good. Now bring a bundle of straw over here. In a bunch, in a bunch! Okay…. kerosene. Where’d I put it? What? You sure that’s not Vodka? Well… take a glug and let me know. Now, who’s got a match?

Yikes – didn’t know you were logged on. Again, I apologize. Keeping this place in order is a 24/7 kind of job, as you might well imagine. Yes, friends – the Cheney Hammer Mill may be a decrepit, broken down, fetid old ruin with rising damp and water snakes in the basement, but it’s home and every once in a while you need to start a bonfire in the courtyard to let the place know you still care. Oh, you may laugh. You may laugh! But we have our traditions here in Big Green. One of them is making Marvin (my personal robot assistant) do all the heavy work. (Of course, that’s more a habit than a tradition.) More to the point, another of our traditions is that of setting bonfires on alternate Saturdays during the growing season when the moon is in crescent phase. I admit it doesn’t happen all that often, but then neither do the Olympics. So what of it?

Sounding plaintive, am I? You should hear my cohorts. Hardly a moment passes without giving rise to a new gripe. Earlier this week, it was the man-sized tuber, kicking up a fuss over his terrarium being a bit too snug. And when I say “kicking up a fuss,” I don’t mean literally, of course. Tubey has no feet, as you know, only roots, and he moves rather slowly. It was just the look on his… his… his north-facing side (the side with the moss); I could just tell he was dissatisfied. It was an expression veritably dripping with indignation. (Though it may have been some kind of syrup, to be fair. You know how yams get this time of year – kinda juicy.) And those bloody Lincolns – posi and anti – never stop bickering over who ignored the warning signs just prior to secession and who let the rebs walk away with the first battle of Bull Run. I could knock their bearded heads together! Oh, why… why did Trevor James have to cart his orgone generating machine back to the states? Why couldn’t he send those freaks back to the 1860s, where they belong?

The only one not complaining is brother Matthus, and frankly he has the most to complain about. After all, our entirely grisly and unreasonable corporate label, Loathsome Prick, has demanded a finished album out of us by the middle of November. That’s a lot of finishing, and frankly it’s not going to happen. (Just don’t say anything, okay? I’m not ready to go into the ground just yet.) Sure, we’ve got the sucker recorded – fifteen songs in the can, most of which are mixed. But we’ve got a lot of mastering to do, and we haven’t even worked out a running order. (I know, I know…. in the era of the iPod, who cares, right? I do, damn it!) Then there’s designing the package, pressing the disc, distribution… not a ten-week job, friends. And yet Matt is not taking it real hard. Just sorting his anvils, like any normal person. Won’t even join me in a game of mumbly peg. Geez.

Ouch! Now I know why he doesn’t want to join me. Because I don’t know how to play mumbly peg. Our old pirate friend, Admiral Gonutz showed me the ropes a few years ago, but I’ve lost the knack. So it’s bonfire time, friends. Light ’em if you got ’em. And bring a bucket.

The not-funny joke.

September is here, and the progress reports are rolling in on the Iraq project. The president brought several high ranking administration officials along on a “surprise” visit to a fortified base in al-Anbar province, there to crow in his trademark way about what he sees as evidence of success in his “surge” strategy, but which is actually the result of a coincidence of purpose between U.S. forces and Sunni tribal leaders there who had resolved to rid themselves of al-Qaeda types some time ago. I can’t tell you how many times I heard about insurgent groups in central Iraq turning against that stark minority of foreign jihadists through the course of last year. That is not the work of our military strategists – that is probably the Iraqis taking on a destructive force they feel they can actually defeat, as opposed to fighting the U.S., which they can bleed but not defeat. No one should kid themselves into thinking that this is the beginning of a long-term alliance, unless our government is planning on playing the imperial minority-rule card again, and lord knows that game won’t work now. The moment Sunnis push the jihadis out, they’ll turn the guns back on our troops… if they’re still in country.

But Bush’s Iraq policy isn’t even mainly about Iraq anymore, it seems; it’s really more about Iran now. Iran is practically every third word out of the administration’s mouth these days, a fact illustrated by the mainstream media coverage. Pat, prefabricated phrases linking Iran to extremist Shiite militias and weapons causing American deaths (explosive-force penetrators, etc.), sourced to various military and administration officials, appear with sickening regularity. Reading and listening to all this, you might be excused for forgetting that the principal parties in the U.S.-backed ruling bloc in the Iraqi parliament are Dawa and SCIRI, both of which are led by former exiles and both of which have extensive ties to Iran. If Washington has a problem with Iranian influence in the middle east, they might have considered that factor before invading Iraq on false pretenses. For fuck’s sake, Iraq is probably 60% Shi’a and shares a long border with majority Shi’a Iran. Is this going to change any time soon?

Of course, now that we’ve invaded Iraq and caused more Iraqi deaths than Saddam himself, we are demonstrating the degree to which we and the reviled “Butcher of Baghdad” see eye-to-eye. We despise the Iranians, as did Hussein. We persecute Moqtada al-Sadr and his many followers – the poorest of the Shi’a poor – as did Hussein. We live in Saddam’s palaces, fill his prisons with dissidents, torture our enemies, and pray for a “strong man” to emerge who will preserve Iraq’s territorial integrity and serve as our local administrator. Imagine for a moment that our government’s fondest wish were to be fulfilled and a stable, pro-American government coalesced in Baghdad – one that would tolerate the permanent presence of the U.S. military. What would happen next in this extremely unlikely scenario? Probably a repeat of the 1980s – an attack on Iran launched in part from Iraqi soil, which is, in a sense, what is happening right now. The decades may change, but the broad themes remain the same.

Bush’s war policy may be a joke, but it’s not a very funny one. If they succeed in prolonging this project indefinitely in the face of majority public opposition, we may be in for similar adventures in the coming years.

luv u,

jp

Home sweet hovel.

That spot. I dropped acid there over a year ago. No, no – not L.S.D. … hydrochloric acid, and I wasn’t using “dropped” as a euphemism for “ingested,” I literally dropped it. Didn’t the man-sized tuber clean it up? Strange….

Oh, there you are. Thank you for joining us once again at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill – ground zero for the Big Green experience in all of its glorious cognitive dissonance. So good of you to drop by every week for the latest installment in our little notebook of horrors. Pretty mundane horrors, I will allow, this being the world we all know it is, but horrors none the less, and very much our own. Last week, as you may recall, we were at the point of being waterboarded into a binding contract regarding the distribution of our upcoming CD release (still in the mixing/mastering stage), the working title of which is WORKING TITLE. Big Green‘s current corporate label, Loathsome Prick records, had grown a little impatient with our interminable production delays and, well, decided to apply a little pressure in the shape of a gang of kidnapping goons.

Did it do the trick? Well, let me tell you – those suits at Loathsome Prick are obviously not real familiar with the history of this band. Those of your who’ve been with us since back in the day know that we’ve faced down intimidation by hired thugs, mongooses, extraterrestrials, morlocks, mutant space aliens, hostile Neptunian metal fans, and a host of other nasties. Big Green laughs in the face of death, sneers at danger, and gives blackmail the finger. That’s the long answer. The short answer is, well, yes… it did work. Hey – I couldn’t let Marvin (my personal robot assistant) suffer! They insisted on waterboarding him first and, well, he hasn’t been detailed in a few weeks, so his water resistance is less than what it should be. I won’t draw you a picture, but the proceedings were quite unsavory. So we signed. What the fuck, right?

Well, anyway…. once the paper was signed, we at least had the opportunity to settle back into our digs, restoring some order (or familiar disorder) to the hovel we had been forced to abandon some weeks back by a cadre of lawn-obsessed extraterrestrial invaders. The man-sized tuber made his way back to his climate-controlled terrarium; the two Lincolns took up residence in opposite wings of the mill; John returned to his virtual aviation console; Matt to his anvil collection… and so on. I retired to the kitchen for a swipe at the cooking sherry, taking that opportunity to thumb through the document we had just signed. (No easy task, since my thumbs were still sore from the interrogation sessions. There ought to be a law against that sort of thing.) As Trevor James Constable always told me, it’s a good idea to read documents you sign because, well, they may have something written on them. Sound advice.

That’s when I noticed that the date for our next CD was moved up to November 14. Those mothers at Loathsome Prick! (They sounded like such a nice bunch of folks…) Crikey, we’re only in our fifth year of production on this thing. You can’t put inspiration on an assembly line! (Or can you….?)

Enough is enough.

Gonzales is out, or very nearly so. As some wag has probably suggested by now, I’m sure, he’s headed back to Texas to spend more time waterboarding and warrantless wiretapping the wife and kids. With his departure and that of Rove, both lobes of Bush’s substandard brain will have shuffled down the highway to the land of yellow roses, god help it. The old Texas mafia is disbanded, and Dubya now nearly stands alone amongst assorted replacements and second tier “Bushies”, like Condi Rice and Chertoff. (Media child that I am, this reminds me of the final seasons of “The Waltons,” with no mother, no grandma, no grandpa, an ersatz “John-Boy”, somebody named “Miss Rose”, and the guy who played Patty Duke’s father.) The only constant is Cheney, and he’s very much alive in this embattled White House, at the very center of greatly expanded presidential powers and, paradoxically, greatly diminished presidential influence around the world. Even after monumental failures of judgment, Cheney is still driving policy, pushing the same discredited and disastrous agenda that has cost so many lives overseas and consumed so many resources at home.

True, Cheney is one of the most strongly disliked, unpopular political figures in America. But don’t think that fact will slow him down. There are troubling signs that our cockeyed VP is pushing for war with Iran as soon as this Fall; another full-blown marketing campaign, like during the run-up to the Iraq war, may ensue in the coming weeks. (See this posting on Juan Cole’s valuable blog.) Now that the press has offered limp mea culpas over their complicity in whipping up war fever in 2002-03, you may be tempted to believe that they will not repeat the same sorry performance again so soon. Don’t get your hopes up. If the administration wants war, the mainstream media will be right on board. Per Cole, Barnet Rubin reports that “the Wall Street Journal, the Weekly Standard, Commentary, Fox, and the usual suspects” will be leading the charge, per Cheney’s “instruction”, delivering a “heavy sustained assault on the airwaves” to generate support for war on Iran. Hypersensitive media institutions like the major broadcast networks, NPR/PBS, and major newspapers will fall in behind these drunken admirals of the gutter press, even if they are leading us into the reef. All it will take is a cry of treason or two to make them snap to attention.

Given the climate of the country today and the bankruptcy of Dubya’s current endeavor in Iraq, it seems unlikely that even a well-crafted scare campaign could drum up majority support for yet another war. But they don’t particularly need or want majority support. It would be nice to have, I’m sure, but they don’t really care that much. If they can keep the hardcore reactionary base on board, they’re fine with that. Barnett’s sources suggest that they consider 35-40% enough of a mandate for them to attack another country without provocation – that this level of public consent is “plenty.” I suppose it’s not surprising. They’re in the final 18 months of their reign and from their point of view, they’ve accomplished everything they set out to do. We now effectively have a permanent presence in Iraq, our public sector institutions are crumbling around us, hundreds of billions of tax dollars have been squandered on well-connected contractors, and trillions have been added to the national debt, making major “structural adjustment” of the U.S. economy far more likely in the coming years.

In short, these fuckers don’t need public support. If they did, they’d never get anything done.

luv u,

jp

Sign off.

Okay, now where does the signature go? Ah, yes – the line which is dotted. Okay, okay. Right, now… where is that dotted line? Sure, sure… on the contract, sure…

Oh, hi blog-o-files (or perhaps merely ultra-patient Big Green-o-files). You’re probably thinking you may have stumbled in on some kind of trade negotiation, perhaps the latest upgrade of NAFTA. Not so, though it is coercive, expropriative, and downright nasty, so I can understand the confusion. Yes, indeed… after several days (or was it weeks?) in the back of some grimy delivery van, bound and gagged by belligerent strangers, we arrived at our destination. T’was a strange and lifeless place, cold as the grave, its chalky brick facade crumbling beneath the groaning burden of decades of neglect and abandonment. This was the grim place our captors had intended for us to see when our blindfolds were removed.

The abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill – just as I pictured it!

I know what you’re thinking. What the hell are the chances that these brigands and ne’er-do-wells would have chosen for their hideout the same condemned hole we had occupied illegally for the last five or six years? Good question. Hard to calculate those odds. Even Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is totally stumped. Still, there’s no need to strain your brain or burn out your pocket slide-rule – these pirates of the open road had known about our residence at the Cheney Hammer Mill, and had deliberately brought us back there. Now I can hear you saying, “For what PUR-pose!?!” (That is you talking, isn’t it?) Well, my friends, the answer to that is both simple… and complex

Actually, it’s really just simple. (Forgive me. Can’t resist a little cheap drama.) These rough fellows are merely representatives from our (relatively) new corporate label, Loathsome Prick records. It seems we never quite got around to formalizing our relationship with LP, so the company hired some strong-arms to pressure… ahem… negotiate with us on the terms of how we will divide the proceeds from the interstellar sales of our upcoming album, [Marvin: insert album name here before we go to press, there’s a good lad]. This is a bit technical, but we had agreed on a release date of [Just stick any date in here – we can back away from it later – thanks, jp], assuming the mastering and publishing processes went according to schedule. Only catch is, they kind of want to keep all of the money. Sure, I know – that’s their starting position, but they’ve presented it after tying us to waterboards. Not sure I like where this is headed.

Best we can do at this point is stall on the signing. I have asked Marvin to send transmissions to his inventor, Mitch Macaphee, in hopes that he will drop his six-month martini in Montserrat and fly in to our rescue. Until then, we’ll just play dumb. And hold our breaths….

Mr. history.

I feel like Rip Van Winkle in reverse; like I’ve awoken years in the past instead of years in the future. Dubya Bush going from VFW to military academy assembly selling the Iraq war. Democrats hedging their positions, hoping to land on the winning side. Pro-war ad campaigns funded by arch-reactionary swift-boaters. Improbably optimistic National Intelligence Estimates, at least in their highly redacted declassified form. What is this, 2002? Are we starting from scratch yet again? This is the product of our political culture’s “ballgame” approach to foreign policy adventures, wherein the central question becomes “will it succeed?” Is this the question we ask when someone commits murder and holds a family hostage? Do we console our consciences with the notion that, well, he did kill that old man and that baby, but at least he’s finally got that household under control? (Right – before someone jumps all over my shit, let me make it clear that I don’t consider our troops to be the “murderer” here. They are the weapon, the instrument of policy that is initiated by our democratically elected leaders, so ultimately it is we who bear responsibility for what they are ordered to do.)

In his speech to the VFW, Bush drew some analogies between the Iraq war and the wars in Korea and Vietnam. (I should say his speechwriters drew the analogies, since he clearly knows nothing about U.S. foreign policy, past or present.) One point was that, like Vietnam and Korea, Iraq is an “ideological” struggle. This is truer than he knows. Both Korea and Vietnam – while very different wars – were fought over the establishment of a U.S.-led global economic system. Iraq was invaded to breathe life into that same superannuated imperial body. The “ideology” of which Dubya speaks was perhaps best articulated by his father – “What we say goes.” That position faces the opposing ideology of “yankee go home.” We fight for freedom – the freedom to do what we want with other people’s lives and property. They fight for, as Robert Fisk puts it, “freedom from us.” So in that way Bush is unintentionally correct, though he and his conservative pundit supporters (like the little fuck on the PBS News Hour) appear to know nothing about the Vietnam war (nor, apparently the Iraq war).

The rest of Bush’s selling points are just laughable, frankly. Grim as the situation is, I couldn’t resist a guffaw when I heard Dubya tossing around that hallucinogenic contention about how we left Vietnam too soon. (Strange argument for someone who did his level best to avoid going there himself.) He raised the specter of the “boat people” and the “killing fields” that await our departure from Iraq. Not sure if he’s quite been paying attention over the last four years, but that scale of human catastrophe has already been taking place in the unfortunate land he chose to invade, with more than 2 million external refugees, a similar number of internal refugees, and between 500,000 and 1 million killed, plus god knows how many grievously wounded, orphaned, widowed, etc. This is an upheaval easily on the scale of that which accompanied and followed our criminal invasion and destruction of Indochina. (See journalist Nir Rosen’s recent articles for some on-the-ground reporting on this.) So since what Bush claims to be his worst fears have already been realized, why are we staying in Iraq?

This is old wine in new bottles, folks. We are not wanted in Iraq, we have no right to be there, and we should leave with all deliberate speed. Once we get that underway, we can talk about reparations… and accountability.

luv u,

jp

Transit time.

Mmmbbgh. fffmmmprphhh dblffffmmmbfff. mmfmnfb! Okay, okay… so I’ll stop dictating. Awfully hard to make yourself understood with a sweaty bandana tied over your gob. Must… reach…. ENTER… key…. nnghh….

There! New paragraph. Hello again, Big Green aficionados, and welcome to another installment of Hammer Mill Days, that mentally fractured, unspeakably pointless journal of our travels from nowhere to nowhere fast. As many of you may recall, we were in the process of hitchhiking our way across the placid countryside of upstate New York, towards our adopted homestead a.k.a. the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, when the lot of us were cruelly abducted, bound, gagged, and stuffed into the back of a panel van. That’s the bad news. The good news is that I think we’re traveling in the right direction… and we’re making pretty good time. Now… that ENTER key again… nnnghh… (click!)

Yes! As you can well imagine, this has been a bit of a morale-buster, what with our mixing project awaiting us and a production schedule that loses more ground by the hour. (And our corporate label, Loathsome Prick Records, is not known for its patience.) But what the hell can you do, right? So with the assistance of Marvin (my personal robot assistant), I’ll take advantage of this unplanned sojourn to answer a few cyber-grams from our avid readers. Ready, Marvin? Ready?? Oh, right…. they put a bucket over his head. Well… here’s the first note, anyway…

dear big green,

your lame-ass blog never seems to go anywhere but down. i can see why you changed the freaking name. why don’t you fuckers shut the fuck up and play some fucking music before i fucking step all over your shit.

– m. f. friendly, Boise, Idaho

Thanks for that message, m.f. We couldn’t agree more! Fact is, we would far sooner be making music than doing what we’re doing now. Only trouble is, we appear to be caught in some kind of pernicious space-time vortex that turns all joy into soul-crushing angst. Drop by and visit some time – there’s always room for more!

Next message….

Our Warmest Greetings!!! Incomparable proposition for you Dear Clients!!! Only these 5 days for your byers incredible rebates!!! On all pharma you need!!! Fill in your life with colors of merriment!!!

Sincerely Yours,

On-line association of druggists

Hey, “On-line”… Seriously, now – this is the fourteenth time you’ve written us this week. Give somebody else a chance to ask something, will you? I mean, it’s not fair to all the other Big Green fans… like Felix Richter and Ola Dooley. They’ve been writing too.

Okay, we seem to be pulling over to a truck stop of some kind, so maybe one more message – this one from Guy Incab, no known address….

Dear Big Green….

Keep it down back there or I’ll break your fucking heads.

Best wishes,

guy in cab

Uh, right. Thanks, guy. Well, I guess that’s probably enough typing for now…. don’t want to make the driver nervous. Oh, and if you get anywhere within shouting distance of my mom’s house, tell her Matt and I said mmmpfhfwrrrgwabflllrmmmm!!!!

Down to whom?

The ample-assed “brain” of Dubya, Karl Rove, announced his departure from the White House this week, and the air waves were thick with pundit-wisdom on this supposed genius of the modern political arena. How easily public figures earn such designations. I always think of Henry Kissinger, hailed in his time as a brilliant geostrategist and practitioner of cold war realpolitik, whose ham-fisted policy of stalemate in the middle east contributed very substantially to the outbreak of the 1973 Arab-Israeli war (not to mention the continuing disaster in Israel/Palestine) and whose Nobel Prize-winning Paris Peace Accord was sabotaged by the man himself before the ink was dry. Rove’s reputation is similarly inflated, and we often hear about his meticulous district-by-district, precinct-by-precinct analysis, his get out the vote strategies, etc., but honestly – what did the guy really accomplish? He basically lost the 2000 election against Gore, who was about as flat-footed a candidate as could have been imagined at the time, then very nearly lost four years later (with all the advantages of 9/11 at his back) to John Kerry, more than Gore’s equal in the flat-footed category. Where’s the magic?

Seems much of Rove’s vaunted talent is about luck, much about a very entrenched G.O.P. electoral machine (crucial for Ohio in 2004), and three parts right-wing media echo chamber – the talk show yammerers, tabloids, and reactionary bloggers that push the pusillanimous and profit-obsessed mainstream media to the right on just about every issue. Without those natural advantages, Rove/Bush would have gotten nowhere. For Christ’s sake, the Democrats handed their ass to him on a plate and he practically handed it back… twice, pulling off razor-thin victories that made JFK’s 1960 win look like an electoral landslide. How do their two elections compare with LBJ in ’64, Nixon in ’72, Reagan in ’84, or even Dubya’s father in ’88? Pretty poorly, that’s how. And as a political strategist/advisor, what has he managed to accomplish between elections? His boss enjoys abysmal approval ratings, his administration in a shambles. If it weren’t for the total ineptitude and disingenuousness of the Democratic leadership, I doubt there would have been an administration left for Rove to quit by this time. Seems to me a bona fide political genius might have managed to keep his man from scraping his ass all the way to the finish line.

My guess is that the Democrats will miss Rove more than the Republicans. He makes a good target – he is obnoxious and despicable, to be sure – and it fits into the general narrative that everything was swell until the Mayberry Machiavellians came to town. That is the theme of the Hillary campaign… back to the future. Don’t buy it, friends. As much as Bush has been able to destroy the U.S. empire merely by strolling through it, Bill Clinton was culpable for considerable misery, including an eight-year campaign of economic strangulation and bombing against Iraq that cost at least 500,000 lives. There are marginal differences, but nothing to get too giddy about. And while Rove bears substantial responsibility for the carnage that has occurred since, he isn’t the mastermind the Dems make him out to be. In fact, a cursory look at the past fifty years of electoral history shows him to be a third-rate Svengali, less accomplished than Michael Deaver or James Carville.

The most influential figure over the past three election cycles was named Bin Laden. And that fucker cast his votes with hijacked planes.

luv u,

jp

Homeward bound (and gagged).

Sittin’ in a railway station, got a ticket for my destina-shun. Oooooooh. Ah yes, that brings me back. Back to all those lame gigs I played as a twenty something. Damn that sucked!

Well, hello, my friends, and welcome to the Big Green saga on the Web, now in its… let’s see… eighth year? Good god, man – that’s nearly old enough to type. I could practically put this blog to work in an electronics factory in Nogales. (What’s Spanish for, “One more electrocution and you’re fired”??) The least it could do is key itself in. Work, work, work, that’s all I ever do. That and sleep. And run from dinosaurs. Dinosaurs! That’s right – the nauseating circumstances of our most recent posting. It seems the saying is true… that one about music soothing the savage beast. (Though it is taking some license to refer to that Dino song as “music”, still… the principle applies.) We found that singing the Dino song was just comforting (or perhaps confusing) enough to keep the Creature of the Barge Canal from swallowing us whole. (Or perhaps the shrimp – or was it crab? – salad hadn’t agreed with him. More likely the hapless lieutenant he washed it down with was what caused any gastric distress…)

Anyway, keeping ourselves from becoming the soup du jour was hardly enough – we had to work our way back home somehow. While Matt continued the serenade, I asked for ideas from the group. Nothing. Well… Matt had one, but he was singing. Then Marvin (my personal robot assistant) piped up – not verbally, you understand, but through the use of a handy chalk board. The means of our return home was right before us, and we hadn’t seen it. That freaking dinosaur – we could hitch the half-eaten cruise ship to its ass and have it drag the sucker forward. Marvin could wheel along the tow-path, playing a greeting-card chip recording of the hypnotic song, leading the dinosaur like the pied piper. Hey… not half bad for a constabulary school drop-out.

Well…. it didn’t work so well. I know you’re as shocked and amazed as I was. It seemed like such a good idea. Turns out Marvin couldn’t get the song quite right – it was too tinny, and that creature of the deep has very selective hearing. And the thing about lashing the ship to its back? Yeah, well… that was just… kind of… dumb. So, what the fuck, with no better ideas at hand, we made our way to shore, humming the Dino melody all the way so as not to seem like attractive morsels in the somewhat stagnant water of the canal. (Though I hear it’s great for kayaking! And waterskiiing!!) Once on the banks, we ran as best we could (with our sea-legs) up an embankment to State Route 5. Then it was thumbs out. Not the first time, friends. Not by a long shot. Sure, I know what you’re going to say…. Hitchhiking is dangerous, Joe. You could get mugged… or abducted. Think of young Marvin and the poor defenseless tuber…. Right, right… I’ve heard it before. I just want to live MY life the way I WANT TO. And NO, I’m NOT going to do my homework! And YOU CAN’T MAKE MEEEEEE…..!!!

Whoops, sorry. Don’t know where that came from. (Issues.) Well we did get a ride. And as much as I hate to admit it, it was kind of dangerous. Tied up, gagged, and thrown into the back of a van kind of dangerous, to be more specific. Okay, you were right. Just pay the ransom, please. I’m keying this blog on my cell phone, and it’s taken me the better part of a week to do it…