Newborn disaster.

The “new” Middle East is emerging, and it isn’t at all pretty – a child, in fact, that only its mother (the Bush administration) could love. When a massive military presence on main street Ramadi is considered freedom, you know something is dreadfully wrong with this picture. But then freedom is a very malleable word, one that enables scoundrels to sound high-minded while in fact speaking a portion of the grisly truth. “Freedom” may sound like human rights, but what they’re really talking about is the freedom to apply power at will. Pirates’ freedom, or perhaps more accurately, the freedom of the mafia don. Our standard is clear: a regime loves freedom if it is compliant with our directives. If not, it is radical, dictatorial, extreme. Uri Avnery, the great Israeli peace activist, sums it up quite neatly in a recent column. Palestinians are “moderate” if they follow U.S. orders and “pragmatic” if they follow Israel’s orders.

Clearly Mahmoud Abbas (Abu Mazen) is both “moderate” and “pragmatic”, joining Bush and Olmert in roundly condemning Hamas (which is neither). Rather than criticize Israel and the “Quartet” for systematically strangling Gaza while allowing the expansion of settlements and related infrastructure in the West Bank, Abbas is working in coordination with the powers that have denied his people their most basic national and human rights for the last four decades. These are, of course, the same powers that sign his paycheck and provide his security forces with arms, so how can Abbas not be compromised in the eyes of most Palestinians, who have nothing… not even a national identity. They see the Palestinian Authority living relatively affluent lives, eating well amid screaming poverty, bowing to their occupiers… and so they vote for Hamas, not just in Gaza, mind you, but throughout the West Bank, as well. They exercised their right to choose their own leaders late last year, and now they are being punished for not having legitimized the “leaders” we chose for them. There’s Bush’s democracy.

If it weren’t so grim, it would be almost laughable to hear Dubya clumsily working his rhetoric around this situation when he and Olmert have so obviously undermined the very principles the claim to champion. Pundits in the U.S. media – those critical of Bush – fault him for being “disengaged” from the Israel / Palestine issue, but the problem is just the opposite. That lack of progress in reaching a comprehensive peace agreement? That’s what they’ve accomplished, with the full cooperation of the Israeli government. Bush has involved himself deeply, pouring money and arms into one Palestinian side, strangling the other (and 1.5 million civilians along with it), and fomenting this conflict under the watchful eye of their Middle East point person, Elliot Abrams, who by rights should be spooning gruel in a Nicaraguan prison right now. The result is quite typical for this administration – a total disaster, people at one another’s throats, that sort of thing. More birth pangs, and with a midwife like Abrams, you can see what this sucker is going to look like when it grows up.

The new Middle East – slouching soon towards a Bethlehem near you.

luv u,

jp

Downtown.

Skin temperature 500 degrees Kelvin. 550 Kelvin. 600 Kelvin. Damage report! Skin temperature 750 Kelvin. Pilot to co-pilot – what the hell is “Kelvin” and why is it so damn hot?

Oh, yes… hello, blogospheric visitor. You’re catching your friends in Big Green at kind of a bad time, actually. I would ask you to come back in about half an hour, but we just may have all been burned to a cinder by that time. So… now’s better. You may ask yourself, why is this band always chin-deep in some kind of unlikely peril, rather than wired to a mixing console, turning the pots and making the record you’ve been promised for the last four years? I have an answer to that, I’m fairly sure, only it’s back on the surface of the Earth, where we are headed at approximately 575 miles per hour, through ever-thickening layers of atmosphere, like riding a matchhead over an enormous striker. Hot, baby, hot!

Not that you need a lot of back story (just look below, or click the “Usual Rubbish” link), but last week we rocketed into orbit in one of Gizmandiar’s abandoned space vehicles in order to escape the mindless wrath of our oversized Zenite friend sFshzenKlyrn on his flapjack-fueled rampage through the heart of our little city. Mind you, Gizmandiar and his crew are from a whole ‘nuther planet, so as you might imagine, the controls in this spacecraft were not exactly intuitive. It took me better than five hours to figure out which of these gizmos was a radio (during which time my imagination had gotten the better of me, filling my tiny brain with pictures of a devastated world below, devoid of life… a Rumsfeldian paradise, if you will). Luckily, the seriously unmoored sFshzenKlyrn had not reduced human civilization to ash – everything was still standing except the IHOP in our city center, which… I believe… the man from Zenon… devoured… whole…. (Cue timpani. I said, cue timpani! Damn it, man… you’ve killed the suspense!)

Anyway, his jones sated, his rampage disgorged, sFshzenKlyrn moved on to better things (somewhere in the Pleiades star cluster, I believe – check Entertainment Weekly – Galactic Edition). And with Gizmandiar presumably incinerated or dispatched to some other more tolerable realm of being, there seemed to be no point in bobbing around in orbit for very much longer. Loogit, we may all be indolent, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has to get back to his panhandling. (Once you cultivate a good corner, an absence of even two or three days can mean a serious loss of territory.) Besides, the two Lincolns are beginning to get on everyone’s nerves, even the man-sized tuber’s, who – being a root vegetable – can suck it up better than just about anyone in this organization. But for chrissake, first anti-Lincoln throws posi-Lincoln’s hat out into space, then posi-Lincoln steals anti-Lincoln’s juice box… I mean, how the fuck did either one of those guys win the Civil War, let alone establish the Republican party as a dominant force in American politics?

Okay, so… re-entry was decided upon, destination Cheney Hammer Mill. In the absence of a qualified pilot, it was down to John White, who has circumnavigated the globe many times in his virtual air crafts. Not a lot of difficulty here – just point the nose of the ship towards upstate New York, and down fast! (Though it is getting a bit warm in here…)

Roach bottle.

The Palestinian’s two main political factions are on the brink of all-out civil war – the first such fratricidal conflict in that unfortunate people’s modern history. How the Israeli leadership must be chortling right now. To them, this is a dream come true – at long last, Palestinians are killing one another. Forty years into the illegal occupation of the West Bank, Gaza, and East Jerusalem (not to mention the Syrian Golan, still illegally occupied), the imperial tactic of divide and conquer is finally paying dividends. Back in the 1980s, when the first intifada was brewing, Israeli intelligence made an investment in the then-nascent Hamas movement, hoping that it would undercut Fatah in the occupied territories. Of course, the intifada made Arafat’s organization, then in exile in Tunis, far less relevant, as resistance was driven by Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza, not in the diaspora. That was when Hamas began to take hold as a political force, providing social services while the territories were under siege.

Few will remember that in the late 80s, when Israeli leaders were saying they would never talk to the PLO, they were preparing to do just that. As the post Gulf War peace negotiations began – brokered by papa Bush – Israel took the opportunity to conduct separate negotiations with Arafat, whose witless, mapless, and self-serving representatives were more than happy to give away the store in exchange for an exclusive franchise (to wit, the Palestinian Authority) and the power/graft potential it offered. From that point on, Israel would only talk to the PLO, and not the Palestinians from inside the territories, having effectively co-opted Arafat and his organization into the native colonial administration they had always sought, with little success, since the occupation began. “President” Arafat’s cooperation allowed Israel, in essence, to expand the infrastructure of colonialism in the territories without organized harassment throughout the 1990s, until the inevitable explosion occurred in 2000, provoked by Barak and Sharon.

It’s not hard to understand why Hamas won a plurality in last year’s elections. It’s not because the Palestinians are mostly hard-line Islamists; it’s because, despite their Mossad-funded beginnings, Hamas is definitely not in the pocket of the Israelis. Abbas and the Fatah-dominated Palestinian Authority is funded, trained, and dog-whipped by Israel and the United States. We Americans may be ignorant of this, but it’s only too clear to the people living in the territories. And since the election, Palestinian society has been strangled by an act of collective punishment (shamelessly supported by the Europeans) that would be condemned bitterly in any other context, touching off this fratricidal struggle. This fulfills the fervent wish of an Israeli leader decades ago who envisioned Palestinians in the territories being contained like “drugged roaches in a bottle.” Quite so, and the world looks on. Our own indifference is fueled by a mainstream media that almost never goes out on a political limb, even when ex-presidents give them cover. I just heard NPR’s Steve Inskeep talking to Brookings’ Bruce Reidel about weapons going to Hamas and Fatah, the operative question being, “where is Hamas getting guns?” Answer? Wait for it…. Hezbollah and Iran, of course, the sources of all evil, able to defy geography itself by smuggling arms into Gaza via its border with, what, Lebanon?? Crikey. (Though to their credit, NPR did talk to Rashid Khalidi the next day.)

When you look at this conflict, just remind yourself – this is the result of a 40-year illegal (and quite brutal) occupation, underwritten by us.

luv u,

jp

Come in, Brazzaville!

Auckland, do you read me. Come in, Brazzaville, come in. Are you receiving me, Des Moines? Is there anybody out there, for chrissake?

Well, now we’ve done it. Golsh dang-git. I mean, god damn it… I may as well swear again, since Gizmandiar and his entire extraterrestrial junta may well have been atomized by deadly keltone rays, fired at city hall by our somewhat intemperate sit-in guitarist from Zenon, sFshzenKlyrn. What the fuck… if only that were the end of it. As many of you know, we called sFshzenKlyrn in to help us deal with these foul usurpers, who had deprived of us squathouse, livelihood, and even language. And as I may have mentioned before, our Zenite friend is a little hard to stop once he gets going. And friends, old sFshzenKlyrn got going all right. He certainly hasn’t lost his touch with concentrated trans-dimensional matter disruption beams.

Okay, here’s what happened, judge. First the man from Zenon smashed city hall to smithereens. Gizmandiar had either returned to his home dimension or… well… gone to perdition, as he would have me put it. Anyway, to celebrate our liberation from this tyrant, we offered to take sFshzenKlyrn out for a hardy meal. Sadly, he chose the local IHOP and ordered about 17 consecutive half-stacks of buckwheat flapjacks with blueberry syrup and extra sweet butter. (Mmmmmm-boy.) I know what you’re going to say – why couldn’t you fuckers in Big Green stop him? Well… there’s no simple answer to that question. It was a matter of honor, you see. Also, we partook of a few half-stacks ourselves, and well… let’s say we soon found ourselves in a state of diminished responsibility. (Do I have to draw you a picture? I just got finished with a freaking breath test!)

Yeah, well anyway… what happened next. Like the last time, sFshzenKlyrn got big. I mean, really really big. He freaking broke through the roof of the IHOP and towered over our little city. Even worse, when he goes on a flapjack binge, his state of matter changes from gaseous to solid. It’s like a thunder cloud that suddenly turns to granite, only instead of just lying there, he starts tromping around the village emitting keltone rays left and right. Now, our little upstate town had never experienced anything like godzilla before – extraterrestrial mayors, yes, but no ten-story space monsters. The local constabulary was at a loss as to how to deal with sFshzenKlyrn, and so everybody just kind of closed their shutters and kept their fingers in their ears. This caused Marvin (my personal robot assistant) a certain amount of consternation. (When he can’t see your face, he thinks you’re gone forever.)

I have to confess, we of Big Green kind of panicked. In our flapjack-induced stupor, we commandeered one of Gizmandiar’s spacecrafts and launched ourselves into a super-wide orbit. Now I’m trying to raise someone down on planet earth, and not having a lot of luck. For fuck’s sake, if you’re reading this, contact us, damnit! We don’t know how to land this bloody thing! (And it’s chock full of lawn fertilizer.)

The jerks we deserve.

It’s only June and we’re deep into presidential debate season. Did I get my years wrong? I thought this was 2007, not 2008. Fuck a duck, we’ve already got close to 20 presidential contenders hurling platitudes at us and competing over who can be the biggest caveman on camera. I think this week’s prize might have to go to G.O.P. longshot congressman Duncan Hunter, who advocated using “tactical nuclear missiles” to destroy Iranian centrifuges. (There’s a man of conviction!) That’ll teach those Iranians to threaten … people with… nuclear … weapons…. (irony). Christ, they’ll probably kick up their uranium enrichment just on the basis of his little demagogic tirade. Then there’s the god-stakes, which was a bit more of a laugh than usual since the very same day I heard a political commentator on NPR opining that the Republican candidates were shying away from openly religious rhetoric to distance themselves from Dubya. Right on the money once again, NPR! What’s the weather going to be like tomorrow? (How about today?) For chrissake, that Huckabee jerk started one of his answers quoting from Genesis (and I don’t mean The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway).

Where do we find these losers? Well… as a grizzly bearded android fabricator from Lost In Space once remarked, “They are non-personalities. We make them.” It’s not hard to figure out why our politicians, for the most part, act like dicks….I mean… act in ways that seem antithetical to our interests. For them, politics is the art of getting elected. They tell us what they think most of us want to hear. The fact is, most of us don’t want bad news… so we vote for politicians that don’t give us any. Most of us don’t want to think of our nation as having been responsible for death and despair overseas… so we vote for politicians who tell us pleasing lies about our history. When Wolf Blitzer asks presidential candidates – Democrats – what they would do about Iran, they’ll all imply that Iran poses some kind of substantial threat to the U.S. No one will provide any background to our relationship with Iran that goes beyond the 1979-81 hostage crisis – no mention of our long history of establishing and supporting dictatorship within their country and, later, our support for a neighboring dictator (initials S.H.) who attacked their country… with WMD’s.

It’s the same phenomenon that keeps international and national news off the front page of my hometown newspaper. The publishers – like the politicians – assume that we don’t really care that much about what’s happening in, say, Iraq, because 1) we don’t have to go and fight there, 2) we don’t pay for the war via added taxation, and 3) we re-elected George W. Bush, who can’t tell the ceiling from the floor, as our commander-in-chief. We’re insulated from the effects from our own wars, so why should anyone assume we want to know about them? That insulation is the product of our own gullibility. While a good many of us wanted the Iraq war, no one wants higher taxes… so our “leaders” came up with this “invade now, pay later” imperial strategy. Similarly, no one wants the draft, so our politicians lean more and more heavily on the volunteer force, making them go back again and again, perpetually raising the bar like Colonel Cathcart in Catch-22. Bush and our congressional leaders told us we could have a world war without having to fight or pay, and we, for the most part, bought it.

What’s the solution to this conundrum? We need to grow up as a nation. We need to face the bad stuff that we’ve done over the decades, and try to do better. There’s no leader who can do that for us… It’s entirely up to us. Till then, we’ll get the jerks we deserve.

luv u,

jp

‘Nuther world.

Don’t tell me – let me guess. It’s big. It’s dense. And it’s very, very attractive. Ummmmm… that could be almost anything that fits those criteria. Am I getting warmer? Well, am I?

Crikey. Sometimes Marvin (my personal robot assistant) takes his programming far too seriously. I’ve asked him to help me with a little problem I’m trying to work out… namely, what inhabitable planets can we sail off to in case the titanic struggle between sFshzenKlyrn (trans-physical etheric energy being from Zenon) and Gizmandiar (lawn-obsessed, power-mad space creature now occupying the seat of our local government) renders the earth uninhabitable for a brief time (perhaps six or seven million years… which passes quickly if you are made of feldspar). Matt heard recently that the astronomical community has identified another 28 planets circling distant stars they’ve observed, and I’m sure at least one of them has our name written on it. If I can just get Marvin to tell me which one! Focus, damn it… focus!

We’re almost certain that Gizmandiar and his turf-hugging minions came to us from the relatively proximate planet known as Earth 2. That certainty, of course, is not based on any scientific evidence, since the science complement of our party has long since departed the vicinity of the Cheney Hammer Mill (Mitch Macaphee, never fond of the alley, has other fish to fry, while Trevor James Constable has grown tired of fighting the sewer rats for discarded breadfruit rinds. Mmmmmm…) No, sir, we’re shooting from the hip here, scientifically speaking, and that’s plenty close enough for Big Green. Fact is, the discovery of Earth 2 was announced around the same time that these too-clever-by-half space creatures showed up and started bossing us around, so we made a major inductive leap on the basis of that. (Don’t try this at home!)

Anyway, last week we put out the call for sFshzenKlyrn and he responded with the usual dispatch, faithful cohort that he is. Of course, this hyper-powerful man from Zenon is as uncontrollable in normal life as he is on stage. And if you’ve heard one of his rip-snorting guitar solos, you have a pretty good idea of how sFshzenKlyrn conducts his affairs more generally. I suspect he and this Gizmandiar have some history – maybe a little bad blood, if that term can be said to apply to gaseous beings that exist in multiple dimensions at the same time. sFshzenKlyrn set about stalking city hall in a semi-menacing fashion, later bombarding it with keltone rays which caused the building to shift from its moorings and… well…. kind of disintegrate. (Sorry, folks. Unintended consequences, you know.) Then there was a slightly larger boom, followed by a smoky smell and what felt like a minor earthquake.

So yeah – it was at this point that I started asking Marvin about other hospitable planetary bodies. Just a little insurance, you understand – nothing to get worked up about. So far the best he’s come up with is one of those Magnetars – a neutron star with a tremendously powerful gravitational field. Of course, unless I learn to eat gamma rays for breakfast, that’s probably not much better than a trash-strewn alley on a condemned world… Care to join me? (Thought not.)

Lethal legacy.

Clinging to their precious terror war, the Bush administration now cannot stop talking about al Qaeda, as if Bin Laden were running a kind of Wal*Mart of terror as opposed to serving as inspiration to hundreds and perhaps thousands of self-directed extremist organizations. It’s the last rhetorical refuge for a president who has lost the support of the vast majority of his countrymen and is now hunkering down to ride out the last 18 months of a particularly septic tenure. If we leave Iraq, Bush cautions us, we will be hit again. What he doesn’t tell us is, if we stay, we are just as likely to be hit again, if not more so, thanks to his war in Iraq, which has spawned a new generation of terrorists and significantly destabilized a region already boiling with hatred and injustice. Alas, there is no “undo” button on this war, which is why so many of us opposed it most strenuously before its start. We have set into motion a catastrophe the repercussions of which will be with us for decades to come. If Bush is in search of a legacy, there it is.

Consider the realities of the situation. Prior to the invasion of Iraq, the U.S. had been directly responsible for the deaths of many, many thousands of Iraqis, indirectly responsible for many more deaths, and a primary bankroller and military guarantor of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank, Gaza, and East Jerusalem (now celebrating 40 years). America also funded (as it does now) some of the region’s most repressive and unpopular regimes, including that of Saddam Hussein for a good few years. After the Gulf War, its bloody aftermath, a dozen years of deadly sanctions, and nearly constant bombardment by U.S. and British aircraft from 1998 forward, Dubya smashed the country open and set up this seemingly endless war – the first long-term U.S. military occupation of an Arab country. Aside from the death and displacement this has caused, it has made us the subject of ever deepening resentment as foreign occupiers – never the best way to make friends, particularly in countries that have a colonial history.

Now, the Iraq war has generated at least 2 million external refugees, with probably 700,000 in Jordan and more than 1 million in Syria, plus another 2 million internally displaced within Iraq. These are enormous populations of desperate people who will probably not be returning home anytime soon, and I have to think that the vast majority of them blame us for their plight (assuming some level of rationality). Meanwhile, the U.S. is all but ignoring this growing catastrophe, even though it threatens to metastasize the horror of an imploding Iraq throughout the entire region, putting added pressure on societies already under stress. (The U.S. quota for accepting Iraqi refugees this year is about 7,000 – so far, we’ve taken less than 100.) If I were to guess, I’d say the next major attack on the U.S. will include some of these folks in Jordan and Syria – people who have lost everything – family, home, future, hope. What’s your guess?

Seems to me, the best way to prevent terrorism is to 1) pull our troops out of this stupid war, and 2) help Iraqis rebuild their society (from a discreet distance). No matter what the punk tells us.

luv u,

jp

Shouldn’t-a dunit.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t-a dunit. But I dunit. They left me no alternative. Do I suck? Maybe. But at least you know where I stand. (Am I standing? Feels like sitting…)

Howdy, friends. Expect you recall last week’s tiresome debacle and the intolerable acts of our extraterrestrial overlords, as they came to occupy our humble city hall. Who could forget the arrogance of a certain Gizmandiar? A gentleman he is not. (Neither gentle, nor man… nor any other species I’ve ever come across.) I am not being ungenerous. Consider, if you will, the bill of particulars with regard to said Gizmandiar. He and his minions hath:

  1. deliberately and wantonly, with malice aforethought, driven us from our ancestral (relax – that’s just the paint color) home and consigned us to a life of enhanced beggary (that’s like the beggary we enjoyed previously, only with 65% more cat’s pee);
  2. issued the intolerable and wholly despicable decree known as “Special Order 14-2007” which directs us, on pain of prosecution, to “refrain from employing any foul, obscene, or abusive language commonly known as ‘swearing,'” thereby foreclosing our most immediate (and highly satisfying) remedy to item #1 (dag nab it!);
  3. taken the foul and underhanded step of using his considerable resources to purchase our corporate record label (Loathsome Prick Records), subsequently employing that organization as yet another tool in our ongoing persecution (which is to say, well beyond the level of persecution we had experienced previously simply by being associated with Loathsome Prick Records);
  4. heinously and relentlessly transformed the distressed brick courtyard of our beloved abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill into a carpet-like monoculture of lawn grass, later applying the same pernicious ground cover to other public and private spaces throughout our community.

Need I go on? I think not. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is pointing frantically to his watch, so… How do you battle a well-heeled cadre of space aliens who have taken over your town and evicted you from your squat house? Fight fire with fire, my friends. Oh, yes… Gizmandiar and company are not the only space aliens in the universe. And we of Big Green can name one space alien of long acquaintance who could easily mop the floor with these interlocutors, these usurpers, these…. gall-dangit, I wish I could fricking swear!!!

Ahem…. that space alien is, of course, sFshzenKlyrn, our occasional sit-in guitarist from the planet Zenon, located in the small Magellanic Cloud, quite a long ways from here. Didn’t want to do it, but with all that’s at stake, I put a call in to sFshzenKlyrn and asked for assistance. Are there risks? Oh, yes. Great risks. Remember what happened a few years back when our Zenite friend had a few too many flapjacks. (Suffice to say, they had to add a whole new chapter to Lost New York in the last edition.)

So, yeah… I know I may have acted rashly. But I think we can control the unpredictable force of nature that is sFshzenKlyrn this time. Or not….

Supine.

Question: how long does it take for the Democratic Party leadership to cave in on issues of life and death? Answer: less time than it takes to ask the question. Yep, old “Give ’em hell” Harry Reid, Nancy Pelosi, and kin have signed away the farm to mister 28% himself, Dubya Bush, who is now bound by no restrictions – fiscal or legal – in his prosecution of the disastrous war he started more than four years ago. This in the wake of yet another 9 U.S. service members killed and god knows how many Iraqis – scores over the past few days. I know I’m not the only one saying W.T.F., though it’s not so much out of surprise as it is just pure exasperation. I mean, a watery timeline for withdrawal with a plethora of caveats – that hardly constituted a radical departure from Rumsfeldian warmaking (precisely what we need). And yet that has morphed into a no-strings-attached allocation of billions for the continued occupation of Iraq. Is that what people voted for last November? Was that the theme called out from the podium as party leaders implored us to turn the G.O.P. out? Not hardly.

There are many who will argue that this is the only avenue open to opponents of the war; that this supplemental spending plan is a strategic move and a prelude to a more meaningful confrontation down the road. Perhaps we can be forgiven for a certain amount of skepticism in this regard. Many of those supporting this bill also voted with the Republicans to start this war in the first place. Their strategy now as well as then is to make their re-election battles a bit easier – that is to say, they want to pre-empt those 30-second RNC-sponsored attack ads slamming them for cutting funding for “our troops” in the middle of a war. They counsel patience, like the G.O.P. leadership, which is becoming a bit nervous about the war themselves… but which now can point to their opponents as partly responsible for the mess. Of course, patience only means more deaths, more amputees, more head cases, and more Fallujah-like mass killings. Waiting until September to re-evaluate the “surge” strategy could cost hundreds more American deaths, followed by some equally bone-headed tactic.

This is criminal behavior, pure and simple. Bush wants to keep this sucker going so that it won’t be “lost” on his watch (or “watch”, as many might put it). The Democratic leadership, for its part, refuses to draw a firm line in front of the president even when his popularity is at a historic low, largely due to the war in Iraq (even in my moderate-to-conservative district, Bush polled about 28% in a recent Web survey by the local daily paper – that’s almost unprecedented for a Republican). It’s obvious that neither of the major political power centers in this country is going to put a stop to this slaughter. And judging by the news coming out of Iraq – Parliament supporting a timetable for withdrawal, Muqtada al-Sadr re-emerging, Iraqi youth in Basra (!) cheering over a burning security contractor vehicle – it may in fact take the Iraqis to send our military home. Until we can get ourselves politically beyond the idea that “supporting the troops” means extending their service in a hell hole, I see no other way out.

Unless, of course, we all just stand in the street until they end it. There’s that, too.

luv u,

jp

Effin’ a-holes.

Why, I’ll moiduhlize ’em! Dose lousy no-good s.o.b.’s! What duh “f” do those “a” holes think they’re doin’, handed us this pile of “s”? Dey got no “effin” principles, dat’s what.

What’s up with all this? Don’t ask! You insist? Rrrrrr…. okay, then. But you asked for it, friend. First of all, welcome once again to the general vicinity of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, where we have availed ourselves of those alleys not already occupied by creatures significantly more fierce than ourselves. (Mice? They tolerate us. Rats? We surrender. Simple rules of the unforgiving streets.) Dislocated and made homeless by that extraterrestrial usurper, Mayor Gizmandiar (formerly of the planet we know as “New Earth”), we have applied every legal remedy we can think of to reclaim our squat house. And all it has earned us is a gag order… and a bitter betrayal. Oh, yes…. betrayal!

First, the gag order. Actually, it’s not your usual variety. It’s more like a judicial parental filter, the “v” chip, if you will, of legal proscriptions. The local magistrate (also an extraterrestrial now, by the way… I think that was a case of transubstantiation, but I would need Mitch Macaphee here to confirm that) has ordered us to refrain from any “foul, profane, or abusive language that might ordinarily be considered ‘swearing’ or ‘speaking obscenely'”, an addendum to his writ helpfully listing words and phrases covered by the gag order. They include:

f**k

c**k

c**ksucker

*sshole

m*th*rf**k*r

sh*t

f**k*ng sh*t

f**k*ng c**k

g*dd*mn s*nuvab*tch

…and a few others I’d frankly never heard before. Well, as you can imagine, this has left us with very, very few options in normal conversation. I mean, how am I to properly communicate to Marvin (my personal robot assistant) exactly how fast I want him to perform some menial task, eh? How the heck am I supposed to compel that freaking man-sized tuber to get his butt out of my easy chair if I can’t use foul or abusive language. This is freaking killing me!

Okay, now as if that wasn’t bad enough, we have just learned that sometime over the course of the last few days, whilst we were seeking warmth in cellar window-wells and sifting through garbage for sustenance, Gizmandiar and his fellow lawn-obsessed space aliens got together enough scratch to buy out our corporate label, Loathsome Pr*ck Records. Under their new management, they have (of course) refused to intervene on our behalf and are now threatening to cancel our distribution deal if we don’t swear our allegiance to Gizmandiar. J*sus effin’ Christmas!

So, yeah… the ne’er-do-wells at our label have, in essence, sold us up the river (or down the alley) in exchange for gold bullion and stock options. Who woulda’ thunk it? Loathsome Pr*ck always seemed such a pleasant sort of company. Such is life. It may be necessary to take drastic measures. Next week: the sh*t hits the fan.

Official site of the band Big Green