America=Moslem

Hmmm, that is a frightening prospect.  About as frightening as a bunch of fundamentalist Christians taking over the government, and appointing a series of like-minded judges to the courts who’ll effect American jurisprudence for decades. . . oh, wait, that actually happened.

This is really an intramural fight between the crazy people, and the rest of us would do best to just stay out of it.   It’s kinda like watching two mental patients arguing over whose invisible friend is the real one.  Let’s just hope that the Christian right and their Moslem bugaboos never catch on to how compatible their aims are, ’cause if they ever do,  it’s bedtime for democracy kiddies.

Is Obama a Muslim?  Probably not.  Is he a religious Christian?  I doubt it.  I give him more credit than that.  Does he, and a lot of the politicians who claim Christian faith, just pretend to believe this stuff because you can’t get elected to high office in America without showing occasional obeisance to the purported Grand Poobah of the Universe?  In all likelihood, yes.  However often he gets down on his own knees, it’s kinda hard for me to believe that Slick Willy really thinks a guy died on the cross for his BJ’s.  Here’s a fun fact: of the top 20 industrialized nations, only Turkey ranks lower than the United States in the percentage of the population that believes in Darwin’s theory of evolution.  That scares me a lot more than the prospect of a Moslem take-over of the US (although if they were to all decide to stop making deli sandwiches on the same day, the nation may well be torn asunder).

Anti-Christ

Two things you can learn here:

1) Satan has a little dick.  Bet Jesus is hung like a bear.

2) Rick really hated the “Star Wars” prequels.  I mean, yeah, Hayden Christianson can’t act his way out of a paper bag, but to cast him as the anti-Christ, that’s just mean.

Bohemian Grove

“The Bohemian Grove, that I attend from time to time—the Easterners and the others come there—but it is the most faggy goddamn thing you could ever imagine . . .”-Richard Nixon on the Watergate Tapes

“How could I go back and sit in civics class, and listen to good government bullshit, after that?”-Henry Hill

Well, ya got me here Rick.  Minus the claims of infanticide, and occult ritual, this is actually true.  Some of the world’s richest and most powerful men really do get together for two weeks every summer and run around naked in the woods.  File this one under the “truth is stranger than fiction” category.  It’s mostly a Republican thing, ’cause let’s face it, those guys are all queer as a three dollar bill, although some Democrats have been known to attend.

To understand the goings on at Bohemian Grove, you have to spend some time around very rich white people.  And not the nouvau riche variety either.  We’re talking about a level of dorkiness that only the real blue-bloods are able to convincingly cultivate.  The kinds who can tell you exactly how many people would have to get wiped out in a freak dental accident for them to claim the British throne.  Those kinds of white people.  Now you might say, “But Russ, you’re a total fucking New York Jew, and you haven’t got a pot to piss in.  What do you know about these kinds of people?”  Well, if you were from such a family, and you really wanted to find the perfect guy to piss off your parents . . .   ‘Nuff said.

Yes Virginia, there really is an American aristocracy, and they really do live in a parallel universe whose customs, mores, and rituals are different from our own.  They tend to come from the same families, go to the same schools, and have a general appreciation for Classical culture (seeing themselves as the heirs to it), deviled eggs, and kinky sex .  What African-Americans are to Average White Americans, Average White Americans from outside the club are to them.  Sure, you may get your token middle-class white dude running a Fortune 500 company, but take a closer look at who holds all the stock, and you’ll probably find a member of this club.

Bohemian Grove was established in Northern California in 1872 as a refuge for writers, artists, businessmen, and newspaper publishers, wanting to establish a circle of culture in the uncouth West.  In 1878 the tradition of a summer encampment began and once the word got out, all the rich, dorky white people wanted to join.  Every Republican President since 1923 has been a member (members are known as “Bohos” or “Grovers”-if that ain’t some dorky shit, I don’t know what is), and every major energy, and media company in the US includes club members on its roster (which is why you’ve probably never heard of it).

See, this is where I don’t understand conspiracy theorists.  The conspiracy is real, but you don’t have to go digging under the foundations of Trinity Church to find it.  It’s right here, out in the open, right in front of your face.  These weird, creepy, criminal bastards, hang out in a big campground for two weeks every year, talking shop, making dick jokes, putting on drag shows, pissing on redwoods, and dividing the spoils.  And it’s all true!  No Illuminati required.

If you really want a vivid picture, this is the only article in existence written from the inside: http://sociology.ucsc.edu/whorulesamerica/power/bohemian_grove_spy.html

Catholicism Revealed

I’ll be the first to admit that the new Pope looks a little evil.  But I probably have a genetic predisposition to feel that way whenever I see  a German guy addressing enthralled millions from a balcony.  My people saw the writing on the wall (in the form a star of David with the word “Juden”, scrawled under it, in the front of their department store), and got out in ’33 when the gettin’ was good.  Unfortunately, the Austria to which they had fled wasn’t all that hot a refuge for the Untermenschen either.  At a family conference my great-grandad then wisely declared, “fuck these German-speaking peoples”, and hopped a ship to the US, literally as the Nazi tanks were rolling in.  But that still doesn’t mean that the Pope is a Satanist, or even a Nazi.  History tells us that he was an “unenthusiastic” Nazi, and that’s good enough for me.  And to be fair, the former Cardinal Ratzinger was well known for his singular love of Heavy Metal music long before he became the divine pontiff, so it’s no surprise that every now and then he just feels the need to bang his head and flash the Sign of the Beast to the crowd.  And as far as the supposedly “satanic” politicians pictured here go, where would Barrack Obama be without his whistle stop tour classic, “Come on Feel the Noise”?

Next Up: God goes Narc, Microchipped liberals, Rick plays the Death card.

Click the image to “Wake Up!”

Right at the beginning they go for a scatter-shot approach, figuring anyone reading  is gonna be scared of something on the list.  Here we go:

Solomon Ashley / Solomon 1-15:
According to Rick Thorne, the purported author and compiler of this whole stinking mess, these are the chapters of his great-grandfather Solomon Ashley’s book.  Apparently serious, hard-core, religious derangement has been passed down in an unbroken line for quite some time in this family.  Mr. Ashley starts off his extended screed with the self-effacing statement, “It is with much timidity that I offer this book to the public, knowing as I do my weakness, and limited education.”  Least he knows he’s an ignorant, backwards hick.  Maybe somebody should have clued in his descendants.

Abortion:
I’m not gonna weigh in on the abortion debate.  I personally support a woman’s right to choose, but I think people of good conscience can fall on both sides of this issue.  Don’t look at this link if you’re sensitive to images of abortion.  It’s pretty nasty.  What’s interesting to me here is the stuff at the bottom.  He makes the claim that “taxpayers will pay for abortion”, but then goes on to admit that this doesn’t appear anywhere in current legislation.  He backs up the assertion by quoting some Biblical boilerplate about “Evil workers of midnight” , and Satan, and conspiracy, and . . . you get the picture.  A Moslem friend asked me the other day what was wrong with people having faith.  This kinda sums it up right here.  It’s real easy to justify any argument when your world view is based on a vague ancient text that runs all over the philosophical map, from “an eye for an eye”, to “turn the other cheek”.  Pick your quote, and whammo, blammo, instant justification for anything.

Adultery:
Don’t knock it ’till you’ve tried it.  I ever tell you guys about the night of the 2003 blackout?  Five times.  Once on the floor of the Marriott Marquis lobby.  Yeah, it was that dark.  So fucking hot . . . this was before I started getting those back spasms.

America Dying:
This is where all the lines of crazy start to converge into one fine point of infinite psychosis.  Where to begin with this one?  Okay, I’ll start with the obvious; where were these people during the Bush administration?  I don’t think I’m being overly partisan in observing that if you’re a conspiracy-minded wack-job, the Bush folks gave you a lot more to go on.  Apparently the Patriot Act wasn’t a problem until a black Democrat became President.

“Do you think it’s an accident that America’s debt is exploding . . . that countless jobs are leaving the country?”:
No.  No, I don’t.  I think it has something to do with a confluence of forces, including a deregulation of the banking system that started with the gay icon of the Republican party, that old reprobate, the master of disaster, the Gipper himself, Mr. Ronald Wilson Reagan (whose name has three groups of six letters, 666, in case you’re interested), and continued on through EVERY administration that followed, both Democrat, and Republican.  Add to that a Congress that lacks the moral courage to make a choice between tax cuts and the expansion of services, the coming to fruition of economic globalization putting American workers in direct competition with the much cheaper labor pools of the third world, and the normal course of Imperial rise and decline (agriculture, to technology, to militarism, to finance, to over-extension, to collapse), and it’s pretty easy to answer these questions without checking under your skin for hidden microchips. (More on those later! -Ed.)

“Do you think it’s by accident Obama is forming a CITIZEN ARMY (Acorn, SEIU, the Unions, etc. , . .?)”
Isn’t there this actual, totally for real, private army running around that recently had to change it’s name from Blackwater to XE, ’cause they killed a whole bunch of people in Iraq without justification?  And didn’t the last administration make sure they, and all other private military contractors working for the US government, would be immune from prosecution for crimes committed in the war zones in which they operated?  And didn’t we pay out billions of dollars to this army to do a job that traditionally would have been in the hands of the US military, whose members are accountable to the Uniform Code of Military Justice?  And isn’t Eric Prince, the CEO of this company, the scion of a wealthy Christian conservative family that’s been deeply involved in Republican politics for decades?  And doesn’t this company also have a financial services division, and it’s own private intelligence gathering operation (Total Intelligence Solutions. Inc.), that was originally headed up by Cofer Black, a former CIA director, until he resigned in reaction to some of what he discovered about the company (or some of what the public started to find out about the company)?  And wasn’t this private army actually deployed by our government into the disaster zone in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, in contravention of the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878, which forbids the use of American military force on US soil?  Doesn’t this represent exactly the kind of intersection of shadowy influences that y’all are jumping up and down about?  Maybe you should look into that.

“Do you think it’s by accident that Obama has countless CZARS in his fascist government (they’re used to bypass Congress and the Senate to institute fascist policy changes in America)?”
Well, I personally blame Woodrow Wilson, who appointed the first “industry czar”, financier Bernard Baruch, to head the War Industries Board way back in 1917, probably about the same time Rick Thorne’s dip-shit grandfather was writing his nutty drivel.  The practice continued under FDR, but then had a lull for awhile until everyone’s favorite paranoiac, Richard Nixon, decided to appoint a “drug czar” to oversee national drug policy in the wake of Grace Slick’s attempt to dose him at a White House tea party.  Oh, how history might have been different if she had managed to turn that crazy fucker on.  The term itself is mostly a media creation and has never been used, outside of Tsarist Russia, as an official designation.  “Czars” have no official power, and are essentially just high-level advisers to the President.  George W. had 35 of them.  Again, it’s apparently only a problem when a black Democrat does it.

Before we move on, I’d like to examine this claim a little more closely because it’s a bit more “mainstream”, if you can call FOX News mainstream, than some of the others.  Now, when Glenn Beck, or Rush Limbaugh, wake up one morning and decide, ” Oh, I know what’ll really scare the shit out of my uneducated, ignorant devotees.  Policy Czars!”, I assume that they’re just being cynical and know damn well how stupid this assertion is.  Does the freak who wrote this know or is he someone who picked this up on FOX and, with the inductive reasoning typical of the breed, decided to just tack it on to the list of “evidence”?  Just trying to figure out what the hell is going on in the sociological petri dish we call “the heartland”.

“Your food bills will continue to rise!  Gasoline prices will climb once again!  Utilities will go through the roof!”
Yeah, probably.  Think it has more to do with peak oil and the unsustainability of an economic model based on the assumption of infinite growth, than it does with a decline in morals, or divine judgment, or ACORN.  This is a pretty common tactic of demagogues; make a prediction that you know will come true, then use it as evidence of your foresight when it happens later.  You know, come to think of it, that sounds like a pretty sweet gig.  Let’s give it a try: I hereby predict right here, and right now, that you will stub your toe at some future date and that it will hurt.  A lot.  Remember I said that.

Next Up: Henry Kissinger, Bush Sr., and Tricky Dick party naked. (This one’s actually kinda true.)

Leah celebrating suburban living in the manner of her people.

As promised I will now impart to you the tale of our fateful journey to the lands surrounding that magnificent bay, with it’s clear, icy waters, populated by fantastical creatures of the depths, and rounded on all sides by hills, and mountains, upon which the inhabitants have built the most spectacular, and unlikely city.  Be forewarned gentle reader that within this idyllic, and paradisiacal setting, lurk things so strange, and terrifying, that were one who is faint of heart, or overly steeped in the mundane boundaries of that material stuff spoken of by the blessed ignorant as the real, to read my tale, the descent of raving madness that must follow, would be a kind of merciful escape from contemplation of the horrors contained herein.  Continue only if you are, like myself, a fellow traveler in the worlds of the strange, and fantastic, so that the revelations contained here will seem no more threatening, or unlikely to you than your own mother’s milk, suckled from that bountiful breast of unique and peculiar knowledge that is the main sustenance for our kind.  Gentle reader, you have been warned, and should you continue onward to the main portion of my narrative, remember that I have been your true, and honest friend, with only your best interests in mind.

We began our journey in that old Dutch colony which lies upon the eastern shores of the rebellious land, whose inhabitants now call themselves “Americans”.  This place deserves it’s own examination, for it’s surfeit of skin creams, and scantily clad persons who run through the streets at all hours of day, and night, while some symbiotic creature with white tendrils, snaking up from their bellies, feeds upon their very thoughts, by plugging directly into their defenseless earholes, whispering secrets that only are only fit for daemons, and angels to know.  After receiving instructions from their cruel masters, they go out into the markets, and purchase all manner of useless things, which they then put into their homes and worship.  I know not the meaning, or purpose of these activities, or the gain to the creatures in this, but in my many years amongst the natives there, they thrived, and multiplied, until almost every ear played host to one of the monsters.  I have begun a study of this wretched phenomenon for the Naturalist Society, and will publish my findings shortly.  Should these beings, known to the Americans as “Eye-Pods”, perhaps for oracular means of gestation, although I never solved the mystery of their generation, find their way to the shores of our brave emerald isle, we must be prepared to defend against them, lest our practical, and wholesome way of life be wholly overcome by frivolity.

Leal earns extra cash for the trip, the only way he knows how.

Let me tell you now of my first fateful meeting with that traveling troupe of thespians who were to be my companions.  By pre-arrangement, we gathered at one of those places from which powerful dirigibles are launched, choosing to brave the chance of tumbling to the earth in a ball of flame, as oftentimes happens in this Promethean age, when man treads ever more closely to the sun, inviting cosmic retribution for his presumption.  Please do not think us arrogant for this, kindhearted reader  Would travel by ship, or rail have brought us to our destination in a timely manner, allowing us to meet our engagement upon the boards of the far away land in which we were due, we surely would have chosen the less heart-palpitating means of travel.  But our fate would not be that of the timid, and the tepid, quietly enjoying the passing landscape, while reading from a broadsheet of the latest political scandal, a plate of buttered scones to one side, and a good strong cup of Earl Gray to the other, as is the preferred method, and manner of transport for so many of our countrymen.  No, ours was to be the path of the adventurer, and if any of us were made uneasy by the place of our departure being named for a slain Irishman, who once led these peculiar people, none mentioned their trepidation.

The first to arrive was the Clown.  He had the long face, and prominent jaw so typical to those who practice his craft, suggesting at once a pathetic figure, and one of deranged merriment.  He was the oldest of our company, having traveled the world many times, performing for Emperors, and Kings in all of the benighted corners of this dark and savage planet.  He was once given an ostrich plume, encrusted with gold, and gems, by an African potentate whom he cured of a terrible malaise, through 30 continuous days of merrymaking, taking time for neither rest, nor food, nor drink, in his efforts to effect a cure.  It was his proudest achievement, even though the strain of his incredible performance had left him with a slight tremble in the hands, and legs.  He had a pensive, contemplative look, which suggested a man who had left a part of himself in a far away place, lost, and beyond recovery.  I greeted the fellow warmly as he made his unsteady way towards me, pitying him for the evident toll that his brave and singular act of merrymaking had taken upon his body and soul.  He managed an uncertain, and trembling smile, and I wondered secretly whether or not he had been too used up by his experiences to be of use to us in our entertainments.

Candice scrunches down on the floor, in order to avoid any imperial entanglements.

I put aside such reservations, as three more of our company suddenly appeared in a motorized coach.  While the driver released their much used baggage from the roof, they dug deep into their poor pockets, hardly able to find the modest fare, between themselves.  This is always the way with artists, being disposed to excess, so that what little is earned through pleasing the crowd, is quickly dissipated in excesses of wine, and food, and gambling, and other things which are not fit to be spoken of in a decent, and wholesome narrative.  It was my obligation to ensure that these  tendencies on the part of my companions did not interfere in any way with our ability to make the appearances for which we had been contracted.  I thought upon meeting them, that my work would be cut out for me, and quite a bit more arduous than I had been advised, upon taking the assignment.

They stood there before me, two men, and a woman, of the oddest, and most perplexing appearance that one could imagine, were one to be inclined towards imagining the bizarre, and the lewd.  The first man was a product of the strangest attempt at  interbreeding  that had ever come before my eyes.  The carrier of both Swiss, and Italianate bloodlines, he was an enormous speciman, covered everywhere in thick hair, more fit to a wild bear, than a man.  I surmised that this was the bestial Mediteranian blood at work, within him.  But inside this rough, and frightening shell was contained the most cordial manner, and delightful intelligence one could hope to find in a Christian soul, deriving from his more light-skinned, and civilized ancestors.  He held out his hand, large enough to contain an entire human skull within it, and in an elegant, and mellifluous voice  said, “I’m Leal Vona, and it is my pleasure to be at your service.”  I almost chuckled at the unlikely combination of Northern, and Southern names, but the size of the creature made me think better of it, and I held out my hand, allowing him to swallow it up in his own.

Next, I made my introductions to a quiet Pole, who called himself, Marek.  I found it difficult to pronounce, and wondered why he didn’t make the simple change of one vowel, that would allow him to take the good, and respected name of Mark, the Apostle.  I hadn’t known that I would have Slavs, and Italian half-breeds as my traveling companions, but I tried to set aside my reservations now that I had come too far to turn back.  He seemed like a decent enough fellow, although there was something about his manner that made me uneasy, as if he might be an automaton, going through the motions of courtesy, and gentlemanly behavior, while a world of malice, and perversion lurked just beneath the placid surface of his face.

Things get a little weird, 'round 4AM.

Moving on from the Pole, and the Papist, I took in the sight of  a ravishing creature, whose obsidian stare, cool smile, and generous mamories put one in mind of a warm spring day and the attendant lusts of that season.  The others called her Leah, but we agreed that I might refer to her as “sugar-nipples”, because she reminded me strongly of a beloved cousin who went by that name.

Finally, arriving late, as her kind always does, being frail, and difficult to rouse by nature of her demure, shy, and retiring temperament, was our lovely ingénue, Candice.  Her beauty was legendary in certain circles, as was her chastity, and modesty, and one of my principal duties was to preserve her innocence, against the habits, and preoccupations of the others, whose purity, if indeed it had ever existed, had been discarded long ago, like a used up bottle of ale, from a questionable distiller.  I would see to it that her immortal soul, and her reputation, would not be so ill-treated.

Taking Candice’s arm, I led the group towards the dirigible, and the beginning of our strange journey towards the Western portions of this savage land.

To be continued  . . .