He Moonwalked on Water

Today we morn the passing of the single greatest contribution to the universe that humanity could ever hope to offer. He was a singer of songs, a dancer of dances, a dangler of little babies and a diddler of little boys. He was Michael Jackson. Known to his closest friends as “Wacko Jacko“ or in more intimate settings simply as ”OH FUCK! What happened to you!? Shit!“

In his short time on earth he showed us that there is no difference between a black man and a white woman, and what ever differences there were he had surgically erased. He showed us that it is just as easy to love children as adults regardless of legality or morality, as long as you can afford to pay off the parents. And when no one else’s children are aloud to sleep over, he showed us that little blond white children can always be had. He even showed us that it's okay to name all of your kids after yourself, even if one is a girl , as long as you refer to one of them as a piece of bed clothes.

Though the nearly bankrupt state of California is more than happy to shell out in the neighborhood of four million dollars for the Staples Center event, perhaps the greatest tribute to the King-o-Pop came when the Fruit of the Loom company announced its special edition Michael Jackson Underoos, with images of the performer printed on the inside of the garment. The company said they hoped this would fulfill Jackson’s life long dream to get in to the pant of children around the world.

The requisite three days having past since his death, I can only assume that the casket on the stage of the Staples Center in Los Angels is either empty, or perhaps the lead lining is interfering with his ascension. But either way, I am sure we will see his zombie corpse shuffling down the street like a Filipino prison inmate, in his red leather jacket, looking for a little boy who’s ”brains“ he can eat, and leading us to the rapture. Oh the glory!

Good bye Michael, we will miss you, at least until the toxicology reports come out.

The Day After

        Ok, the dust is settling, though some still look forward to some kind of re-count, if only for tradition’s sake, and we have a new president, and he’s not white! This is nothing short of... well, you know. Everyone’s already said it, so I’ll assume you know (it rhymes with mistoric). But America’s shiny new black president is not the only news, oh my no. Voters in California have once again voted to deny gay couples the right to get married, but this time they went ahead and made it official with a constitutional amendment. I say there is more yet to be done in the cause of protecting marriage. We can’t let the gays settle down. That would mean we would have to change our image of homosexuals as drug addled, Satan worshipping sex addicts with the power to turn straight people gay just by looking at them! If they start getting married it will be that much harder to justify being so afraid of them. We can’t let that happen. Don’t you know that every time a gay couple gets married and angel gets sodomized. It’s in the Bible, look it up.
        I know that many heterosexuals who only got married to prove that weren’t gay, if gays can get married then no one will believe that they’re straight. What would be the point? Besides, I don’t want to do any thing that homosexuals do, they always look so much doing it, why do you think I don’t wear Abicromby & Fitch? But that’s not the point, the point is that gays are amoral heathens, and that’s how we like them, and the very concept of matrimony is not strong enough to handle that kind of people. I am especially grateful for this outcome for personal reasons. When California fist defined marriage as a union between and a woman, my wife and I could not keep our hands off of each other, we went at it like we’d just been released from prison, so glad were we to have that issue finally sorted out for us. When the State Supreme Court overturned the new definition, we began to drift apart, no longer able to understand why we got married. I mean, sure, we are madly in love and want to share the rest of our lives with only each other, but that’s why the gays want to get married! Ewww! After last nights vote I feel my fragile manhood becoming turgid with vitality. I think we might have some lovin’ in the near future. Fingers crossed!
        I would like say something else here about California. People don’t always understand California. Most folk outside the Eureka state think of its residents as gang banging minorities and syphilitic hippies all living off of the government or Zionist movie studio executive polluting the minds of right thinking, christian Americans, but they’re more than just that, they are innovators. No other state in the union continues to find such new and exciting solutions for discriminating against people who are not the same. California has had laws prohibiting the marriage of whites to minorities, and let’s not forget the internment camps, but they did not just rest on their laurels. No, they found a new way to keep people from thinking they are human beings. It should be no surprise that to find new ways to hate people that are different, America looks to the West. Congratulations California, you have done more than your part to make sure that gay people remain single and unattached. Way to go.
        And congratulations America, hopefully our new Executive will lead us to a better future where everyone will feel that they can make a difference in their lives and the live of others, and will actually make the sacrifices needed to bring about change. I wish the best of luck to the President Elect, and if he ever needs some ideas, California is waiting by the phone.

TIll next time, keep your hands above the covers.

Dr. X

Election Day, 2008

        Well, here we are at the dawn of a new political era. By the end of tonight America will have a new president. Record turn out at the polls almost guarantees it (term limits have nothing to do with George W. Bush leaving office, believe me). People looking to two men to lead us out of this “New Depression”, out of Gulf War II, and in to the good life of the American dream. Who will be our next leader? I for one do not believe that our nation will be helmed by a Viet Nam P.O.W., or a black elitist, not for long any way. I see the oval office occupied by either this country’s first P.I.L.F. or some one who honestly thinks we could do better, and will tell you so himself. Why do I envision a second string leadership? Simply because neither of the presidential candidates have a high survivability ratings. McCain is old, much much older than his years it would seem, and has been in plane crashes and prison camps and Arizona. None of those things tend to lengthen life. Obama, well that’s an other issue. At first glance he seems to be a healthy, vital man, but I doubt that he’s is bullet proof. America is, like it or not, for better or worse is a white country, and there are plenty of white Americans who will not truck with a black man holding the highest office in the land. Some people will say that America has come a long way since the days of separate water fountains and midnight lynchings, and I would agree, but I don’t think it has been a straight line that we have traveled. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I wish Senator Obama ill or that I don’t have faith in our people, quite the contrary, we are a can do nation, and if someone wants to become president they can do it, and if someone wants to kill them, they can do that too. I have no illusions that we as a people have evolved in to a high minded, egalitarian democracy, it is not a sense of civic duty that is bringing out voters in droves. No, it's the worst kind of fear and loathing, and no two words could be found to describe it, I only wish the good Doctor could be hear to see this, the grandest demonstration of his ideas that could be imagined. Fear of a country turning in to a great big housing project complete with whores and crack dealers and crack dealing whores. Loathing of the idea of another four years of leadership that refuses to be held accountable for the way it has ignored human needs and rights.
The name of our country, the United States of America, refers to one government that has been alive and in practice for over two hundred years without interruption, this is rare in our world, hell the French are on there fifth republic since the revolution, and there are people from both sides of this that will tell you that it will be the end of our country if the other side wins. I say, bring it on. Out with the old (that is not a reference to John McCain’s age) and in with new. Bring on the post apocalyptic hordes. That would get people out of their seats. Never has a leader galvanized a people so completely as when Mad Max said “Two days ago I saw a rig that could haul that tanker. If you want to get out of here, talk to me”. You want to see a problem with dependancy on foreign oil? Just wait till you have to beg Humungo, ruler of the Waste Land for enough gas to get the kids to school, then you’ll see how good we’ve got it now.

Whatever the outcome, try not to piss yourself.

Dr. X

Death and Rebirth

It has been far too long since my last posting, but that could not be helped. While making what any reasonable human would call a legal left turn on red, I was pulled over by the "5-0". It did not go well. At first the officer that stopped me seemed to almost have sense God gave a goji berry, but as he tried to explain to me why he would NOT make an exception for me with regards to city policy on open containers, loaded weapons and minors, I realized that my initial assessment was far to generous. So I decided to take action. "Step out of the veehickle (sic) sir" the constable told me, and proceeded to run me a roadside sobriety test, the breathalyzer test having been not so much inconclusive as incredulous. As I stood there touching the spot I would have sworn my nose was, with my right arm cocked and ready to fire, I let fly with  near lethal Bruce Lee style chop to neck of the storm trooper. WHAHCHAAHH! But the bastard was faster than me. So fast in fact that most people would have said that he didn't even move. At all. So my strike flew ineffectually past his left ear, and the shear force of the blow pulled off of my axis. As I struggled to recover my footing, the cop tried to take control, and pushed me towards the back of his patrol car, but I had other plans. Using physics to my advantage I was able to fall into the driver's seat of the cruiser and speed off in to the night leaving Roscoe kicking dirt by the side of the road. 

Lights flashing, sirens wailing, I careened in to the dark. Full of triumph and chemicals I congratulated myself for once again pulling my dick from the flames, when from the passenger side of the car came a cold metallic click click sound followed by a cold metallic feeling pressing insistently against the side of my head. Craning my eyes as far to right as they would go with out actually moving my head I spied the 12 to the 1 ADAM I had left behind in the dust. The face looking back at me, over the barrel of a gun that would make Dirty Harry feel inadequate, was at least as surprised as I would have been had that emotion, and most others, been artificially suppressed.  

Thus was my long absence begun. It was long, and it was painful, and I will speak little of my time away other than say that self delusion and the ability to completely suppress memories are grossly under valued skills. 

But, now I am returned.

The jails could not contain me. The walls of my prison were not high enough that I could not or' top them. You would be amazed what you can do inside the American penal system with a carton of cigarettes and a pretty smile. 

Till next time,

If you need me, maybe you can find

X

Your Money Is No Good Here Mr. Torrence.

Things have not progressed very far since the last time I posted. I still find myself drawn to the blasted Dirty Martini, the beast that ruined the old world.
Last night found me and some un-named cohorts in a vintage Golden Age hotel bar that looked like it was pulled right out of The Shining. In between haunting the other patrons the bartender managed to do more damage to my liver than Jack Nicholson with a fire axe. The atmosphere was distinctly plush and luxurious but ghostly, silent ballroom dancers fading in and out of existence and a creepy pair of twins kept asking if we wanted to play. By the third martini I was ready to stuff Scatman Crothers into the deep freeze, and after the forth I was ejected from the premises when they found me in the basement trying to stoke up the boiler to the point of exploding. But that was fine with me, I didn’t need to witness the bloodbath that was surely on the way. In the end, I believe I made great progress in finding out what all play and no work will eventually make Jack into.

‘Til we meet again, try not to step on your own dick.

X

To Insure Promt Service

I woke up this morning with my soul shriveling on the floor and a gang of Philippino stick fighters causing massive collateral damage in my skull. The previous night was spent dining on a bag of fortune cookies and several very large bone dry dirty vodka martinis. That man who invented the martini is a soul brother of Robert Oppenheimer, having unleashed upon the world a source of such destructive power which is all too deliciously tempting that it should take the simultaneous turn of two keys to allow it to be poured. The fortune cookies however are not so cruel. After extricating myself from the cabinet I had taken refuge in, I armed myself with a fire extinguisher for fear that the pure alcohol I was sweating would ignite at the smallest spark. Thus I hit the streets.

My first stop was the local diner where I planned to offset my condition with a liberal application of grease and salt. “Gimme two eggs with bacon and cheese on a buttered roll” I told the woman behind the counter. “Well,” she said, “we have a special with two eggs, bacon or sausage, homefries and toast, but we don’t have egg sandwiches.” I can’t say what my reaction to this looked like, but judging from the way she retreated into the kitchen it must have seemed fearsome. “WHAT? NO EGG SANDWICHES!?” I bellowed, “What kind commie crap is this? The egg sandwich is the back bone of the industrialized world! This affront will surely affect your Zagat rating!” It was at this point that I noticed the crew of busboys moving to surround me and I knew action was needed. “LE MIGRA!” I yelled by way of diversion, and as the lead man turn to see, I swung the fire extinguisher in a high whistling arc connecting with the soft upper shoulder shattering his collar bone. “I saw them pissing in the soup tureen and there was an ear lobe in the Cobb salad!” I found many times the best way to escape an unhealthy situation is to incite a riot, and this day proved the rule. As the waiters and busboys scrambled to look nonchalant and reassure the cliental that all was well I continued to fan the flames. “I have video tape of them putting Mad Cow Disease in the bacon! What do you really think is in that eclair? SOILENT GREEN IS PEOPLE!!!”

On that note I knew it was time to abscond. Within minutes the customers would overturn the tables and set fire to the Rock-O-La jukebox and beat the waitstaff with broken chairs. I’ve seen it happen before, though I won’t say where for fear of prosecution. Suffice it to say that a wise restauranteur would never show me a bill, knowing by instinct alone that my actions for good or ill could decide the life or death of his establishment.

Hours later, as I sit here still half dead and trembling, I can smell the burning formica and flesh wafting up the avenue from where the diner once stood. The lesson to be learned today dear friends, is don’t come between a man and his egg sandwich. It can cost you more than your life. Also, rot gut scotch will serve as a good remedy for short terms DTs.

My hands just now have stopped shaking enough to return to being a productive member of society, whatever that is, and as such I must leave you now dear friends.

Until next time, don’t drink the milk. It’s spoiled.

X

Scooter, we barely knew ya'

Well it looks like Ol’ Scooter is going down and I for one am glad to see a man receive the recognition he deserves. That’s right, any one who would so selflessly rat out one of our nation’s covert operatives and put an end to their career to send the message “Shut up, your going to ruin our war” should be held high and pointed out as the yard stick by which to measure this administration. All to often people see what needs to be done and stop short, making excuses like “Oh, that’s illegal” or “That would be unethical” or even “That might put some one’s life in danger”, but not our I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby. The Scootster is a man of action, the kind of man that understands that things like ethics and morals and national security and regard for human life or even common courtesy have no place in running a country, especially when it comes to winding up for a good war. Why if he hadn’t acted, Joseph Wilson might have proven that Iraq wasn’t trying to buy uranium and stopped us from opening up the can of whupass we had been working up. But Libby did act, and thanks to him we didn’t have to find out that there was no reason to be in Iraq until it was too late to leave.

Now two years and two thousand American dead later, the Scootmiester finally gets his do. Or does he? Maybe, just maybe, some one higher up took action and is so humble that they decided to give credit to a loyal aid instead. Knowing what I do about the current White House, I would not be surprised to see such leadership tempered by such humility. Who knows?

I also wonder what reward the president has in store for his loyal service. Perhaps he will make him Ambassador to Gabon and o Tome and Principe! Or maybe he’ll appoint him to the Supreme Court. That would be sweet!

Well, enough of this crap, I going to follow the president’s example and go on a drinking binge! I’ll see you again with blood on my knuckles and puke on my shoes.

‘Til then, don’t trust the white man!

X