Friday,
September 5th, 2003 10:04 pm
". . .the HOLY
Bible, Barton?"
"Jesus cradled the shotgun on his lap and tried to ignore the suffocating
pressure of the cardboard and fake sugar-glass cake surrounding him as he
waited for his cue.
"It wouldn't be long now. Five minutes and he would pop out of this cake
and show those Roman bastards what being the Son of God was all about.
"He thought about the lingering soreness in his hands and his feets. Those
bastards he thought. They thought they'd finished me off. They crucified me,
tried to get rid of me because I was 'dangerous.'
"They don;t know what dangerous is, he thought. But they'll know
soon."
(Excerpted from "The Bible Part 2: This Time, It's Personal.")
Hi Kids,
Today, we're gonna talk about religion, spirituality, and other forms of mind
control that don't involve big-ass hair-dryer contraptions that go over your
head and make you think you;re a chicken.
Now, before you all get the impression I'm against God, forget it. I am fine with
God. God's a good guy. It's his fan club that chafes my ass lately, and the
same goes for most of teh other religions--beleive me, I'm harder on Allah's
rah-rah squad than I am even on the Catholics, and I know most longtime
reader's gasped at that admission.
My problem is when people use God as a crutch, rather than turning to more
acceptable crutches for what's really wrong with them--say, a $5000 a month
cocaine habit. For the purposes of discussion however, let's talking about
people being born-again, because anything lower than that means dealing with
those minor deities whose entire church consists of 3 white kids in the
suburbs, and really, who cares about them?
Basically, religion has become another commodified acoutrement, a item of
fasion like lowrider jeans, platinum crosses, flag stickers and other merit
badges of the Scum Scouts.
Here's how it usually works. Usually someone will fuck up their life in ever
spiraling higher magnitudes and then turn to Jesus and get a clean slate.
Somehow this means a "get out of Hell free" card because everything
you've done wrong is sponged away when you go to play outfield for the J-man.
Now, the original intent of this was (I beleive) that peopl;e would get a
second chance to live their life right and be a better person with the guidance
of God.
In practice, it seems like all they get is the excuse to pepper their speeches
with God and Jesus and used them to justify every harebrained becision they
make.
Before you think this is a gross over-simplification, consider this: the
current Presdident thinks he's appointed by God, and so far as I know, I think
God's probaby a registered Green from the literature I've read *waves Bible.*
So, if it's not to make a positive change, where does this urge to get religion
come from? As I've said before, it's just another shiny thing--something to
kill the pain of all that nothing inside. People can't handle the head-on glare
of what they know they are (empty, soulless, assholes) so they try to wrap a
big Jesus blanket around what they do in the hopes it'll disguise the fact that
their spirit is just as blank as everything else about them.
Is it always that way? No. I know some people who live right and with total
integrity who are Christians. But there aren't many of them. I think it comes
down to a simple disagreement that being a true Christian goes beyond Sunday
morning before football and that asinine fish decal.
It's a little harder than the road most people take, but even as someone on the
outside looking in, it's a hell of a lot more rewarding. And they're far better
people.
This is your cranky sensei knocking you upside the head with a kendo stick, Ten
Sticks.
Current Mood: sleepy
Current Music: "Overkill," Motorhead
Friday,
September 12th, 2003 9:30 pm
How To Deal With
Stupid People Without a Resultant Murder Charge, part 9 of 2
"Samson held his severed ponytail in his hands. He felt weak already, and
more than a little lost.
"Had those Philistine cocksuckers given ANY thought to how long it took to
GROW this mullet?
"Nevertheless he knocked the man in the tuxedo aside and yelled with all
his might. Enough was enough and it was time for a change, and so the lone (and
now bald) strongman marshaled the last of his strength and called out the
Philistines' god.
"DAGON!" Samson shouted. "I WANT YOU . . .IN THE *STEEL
CAGE!!!!*"
(*Excerpted from "The Bible 2: This Time, It's Personal")
Hi Kids,
A lot of people have asked me for hints and tips on how to deal with difficult
people. I understand the impulse--so much of our life daily is putting with
cretins, jackasses, and other screwheads that in a better world you wouldn't
feed to a starving goat. Also, for some reason there's some legal issues about
beating the howling fuck out of people who anger you, which means the
screwheads own the legal system.
What to do? Well, since your buddy Ten Sticks is a man of peace in all ways
& in all things, I'm here to help. I'm going to give you a quick rundown of
ways to deal with stupid people that don't involve the direct approach, that
being to smash a beer bottle against the edge of the table and drive the jagged
shards into their face.
PASSIVE RESISTANCE: As made popular by men of peace like Jesus, Martin Luther
King and Ghandi, there's always the option of sitting there stoically and
weathering the storm while creating a force field out of your own sense of smug
superiority.
There is a drawback, however, that being I'm not always possessed of the
patience to stoically take it. I find existence tends to rebound with even more
stupid people who go one for hours and hours with shit like, "I ate a
pickle. I like pickles. Sometimes I put my hand in a whale's rectum just to see
what'll happen." And then I usually end up throwing them out of a
high-rise window and running downstairs to run over the remains with my car.
Clearly, passive resistance is not for the timid.
THE DRINKING BIRD: Not a Kung Fu style but it oughta be, the Drinking Bird
takes its name from the old desktop standard that used to hold people rapt for
hours--tip it gently and watch the bird nod over and over and over again.
This is a sort of passive-aggressive weapon--a step up from passive resistance
because it calls upon you to do something without really doing anything.
Basically, all that's required of you is to occasionally grunt or make some
other affirmative-sounding noise in an effort to perpetuate the noise discharge
long enough to where the person involved will eventually get tired of
essentially hearing themselves go on and on & either go away or (and this
is rare but so beautiful, because it's tangible proof the world is getting
better) soak themselves in gasoline and set themselves on fire.
Either way, it gets you out of the conversation.
INSANITY: My favorite of the three. Basically a more active version of the
Drinking Bird, it involves inserting something completely insane into dead
spots in the conversation in the vague hope that the moron who's wasting your
time will decide you are dangerously unstable and maybe they shouldn't be
wasting your time.
A similar theory was used by Nixon when be bombed Cambodia in the 70s, but
don't worry. This won't get you tossed in front of the World Court. At least I
think it won't.
How do you do it? Very easily. Say a stupid person is going on startlingly long
about their inconsequential problems and there's no blunt instrument to smash
them in. Well, even morons breathe, so when they gasp for air, strike back by
saying one of the following:
"You know, one of my testicles hangs lower than the other. I think aliens
my be responsible."
"I think there's a squid-brain in my head."
"OH MY GOD! I just realized you're not only stupid, you're full of shit
and dangerously mentally disturbed. Excuse me while I build a time machine and
kill you in the past."
"HOOOOOOO DADDY! YUP! YUP! YUP!"
And a personal favorite, "EXCUSE ME, BUT I THINK I HAVE TO EXPLODE
NOW."
Three options open to you, ladies and gentlemen.
Because when you say "man of peace" you say "Ten Sticks."
Current
Mood: contemplative
Current Music: "Oompa Loompa
Song--12" Murder Mix"
Monday,
September 15th, 2003 9:00 pm
Life During Wartime
"David held his sling in his hand as Goliath started doing stupid sword
tricks--passing it back and forth, whirling it around, and generally showing
off.
"Clearly the Philistines didn't like being made fun of.
"David raised the sling, weighed his options and pulled out his .357 and
shot Goliath dead. Immediately the rest of the Philistines cheered for no good
reason at all.
"But David couldn't enjoy their adulation. Not when Bathsheba was in one
of those baskets and that Nazi monkey was even now ratting her out to its
flea-bitten masters."
(Excerpted from "The Bible 2: This Time it's Personal)
Hi kids, Ten Sticks here with a short little entry on the eve of what could be
trouble. As mentioned before, it's hurricane season and we have one coming
here.
Sorta.
Maybe.
For this has been the worst-predicted hurricane in my recent memory. Usually,
hurricanes lock into a particular route and it's all just a waiting game from that
moment on.
Not so Isabel, which has been out there for nearly a week solid now and the
only place that's been totally ruled out as a target is the fucking moon.
Seriously, if you ever wanted a glaring example of how with all the technology
they have the science of meteorology is not so very far removed from the days
of the Farmer's Almanac when an entire year's weather could be determined by a
farmer shoving his hand up a cow's ass.
Or maybe that was just what they did for fun. Hasn't been SO long since they
invented TV, you know.
So, with a few days warning, NCers have decided to get ready instead of getting
into a panic with Z-minus 2 days. For a change. Meanwhile, stress accrues when
every time you tune in the Hurricane is on a new track is stronger or weaker
and they're beating the doom drumbeat at various intensities.
Or they don't mention the hurricane except for two minutes and spend the rest
of the hour talking about what the weather's gonna be like for the Sunday
football games. As football is played in any weather, (American football, for
you international readers) this is basically a fucking stupid waste of time,
especially when you're relying on this news to make evacuation plans.
This is why we're getting stupid as a country, I'm convinced. One minute we're
saying "My god! Armageddon comes on the wings of a hurricane! You must do
all you can to prepare to be wiped off the map!
"But first . . .here's what conditions you can expect while golfing."
We SO do not take life seriously.
Anyways, now everyone's on guard and the waiting game has begun. . .this time
Thursday we'll know for sure where it's going because it'll finally BE here.
The waiting, as Tom Petty said, is the hardest part.
And that's where I am now. Waiting. Hopefully once all this is over with I'll
be back to regale you with a new installment of "The Bible 2: This Time,
It's Personal" and my usual witless observations.
Cross your fingers kids, I could use all the luck I can borrow.
This is Ten Sticks, the tide is high, and I'm holding on.
Current
Mood: anxious
Current Music: "Closer to the Edge"
Monday,
September 22nd, 2003 8:55 pm
Once You Pull The Pin,
Mr. Grenade Is No Longer Your Friend
"They spotted the man on the donkey at the head of the pack about noon.
The news went through the town like the first sounds of thunder on a clear day.
"Panicky merchants, homeowners, and especially the damn money changers
started packing up and making for the hills. They knew once the man at the head
of that pack of 12 got here, they'd be the first people hassled. Especially the
damn money changers.
"He HATED money changers most of all.
"On the outskirts of town, the silhouette of a man on adonkey came into
view. Some in the village reacted with fear, but there was no denying one inescapable
fact:
"Jesus was here, and he was bringing the Christians with him."
(Excerpted from "The Bible 2: This Time, It's Personal.")
Hi Kids,
Returning by popular demand (and also because my brain hasn't started
functioning again yet since the whole hurricane fooferah) here's a few
Stripcreator comics of recent vintage to chew on. It's a cheap, place-holding
way to run a railroad but hey.
First up, I return to the mystifyingly successful Captain Gruntass while he
muses on the existential questions such as why seafaring is a lot like swimming
in a fat woman's navel in the wholly unnecessary comedy that is Captain
Gruntass in "The Old Man and the Sea"
Now, a lot of you think my total disregard for religion of any stripe is a
recent thing, and you would be wrong. Entering the third year of a parody that
will only run out of steam when I run out of drama, behold as I combine the
shared faith of millions with one of the great classics of anime in a comic
that I call (often speaking in tongues as I do) The
Latter Day Christ Luv Players In "Akira"
As I have often said, one of the dreariest inventions in recent memory is the
"reality" comic. Much like "reality" TV it has about as
much relationship to real life as having your finger up your ass is like anal
sex. I read comics to escape my ordinary average life, I definitely don't want
to read anyone else's. Watch as I take what's broken, fix it and break it all
over again in a little backyard barbecue I call "Rality
Comics: Sammy Wizzleteats--a life"
It's only three but I like to think 3 instances of raw agony is enough for a
monday.
Until next time, this is your Cool Rider, Ten Sticks, and I'll see you in the
steel cage.
Current
Mood: mellow
Current Music: "Rock You Like A
Hurricane"
Wednesday,
September 24th, 2003 7:15 pm
Give My Regards To
Bobby Babboon
"Cain raised up the rock and split Abel's head open with it.
"OOOOWWWW! You fucker!" Abel responded, holding the bloody wound that
took up a quarter of his skull. He raised a hatchet and hacked off one of
Cain's arms. "How do you like it, you asshole!"
"Cain stood there dumbfounded. "Uhm," he began. "Why aren't
you dead?"
"Abel bent down and showed him the caved in portion of his head.
"This?" He said. "This is just a flesh wound. What about you?
I've just hacked off one of your arms?"
""Oh that," Cain said. "Just a scratch. Had worse."
"Oh yeah?" Abel said, lopping his head off with the hatchet?
"What about now?"
"Cain's head sailed like a homer smacked into deep right a few feet away.
His body however, continued to function normally.
""This is nothing," Cain replied. "I got worse falling off
my bike."
""That right?" Abel asked. "You DO know that the only
reason you're surviving right now is due to your own belief in your continued
existence, right?"
""How do you mean?"
""Well, c'mon," Abel said. "How can you breathe or talk
without a body? I mean, you have no functional connectivity between your head
and your body. By rights, neither should be working."
""Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Cain said, and promptly died.
"Abel watched the remains of his brother for awhile, then walked back
home, whistling a happy tune, and remembering a lesson he'd learned early on:
"When violence fails, use logic."
(Excerpted from "The Bible 2: This Time, It's Personal)
Hi Kids,
Well, as longtime readers of my LJ know I'm in somewhat of a cold war with
stupid people trying to waste my time, and have taken matters into my own hands
on more than one occasion. Because God knows you can't really expect societal
uprisings about it when people would rather see the first episode of a new
"Survivor" than learn about the hurricane that might possibly be
plowing through their homes at the selfsame moment.
But when it DOES happen, it's heartening. Such was the case with the national
Do Not Call List. For those who live outside the US, it's a federally
registered list wherein telemarketers who call one of the numbers on the list
get fined a sweet $11,000 per violation.
It was created because people like to eat, they like to take baths and they like
to have sex and don't have time to fuck around with a bunch of idiots trying to
get them to change their long distance plan and won't take "no," or
"Fuck off and die" for an answer.
Now, for a organism that claims to constantly be controlled "Only by the
whims of the market" and "The will of the consumer," when
millions of people signed up for this service, what did the major telemarketing
companies do?
They got a federal judge to block implementation base don nothing more or less
than a technicality, which would bounce it to the more business-friendly FCC,
who managed to get exposed in June as being in the pockets of the major TV
networks in their plan to let them grab up every single thing they could seize,
a plan that once exposed manage to get a coalition of political interest
together not seen since WW2.
To say this flies in the face of all logical sense is a gross
understatement--people have said over and over they DON'T want this, they
resent it and would beat the snot out of these people en masse if they only
knew where they were, and yet, flying in the face of democracy and every tenet
thereof.
So what's left?
Well, clearly the only way to give it back is to resort to guerilla tactics.
And so, here's a few handy sayings you can use to break the backs of the
Telephone Idiots.
"I'm sorry, I don't believe in telephones."
"The Master would not approve."
"Sir, you'll have to excuse me, I have to finish inflating my date for
tonight."
"AAARRRGH! I'VE BEEN SHOT!"
"Help me. I'm a bug."
"I'm sorry sir. I was expecting a phone call from a heavy-breathing woman.
Could you clear the line, please?"
"HOOOOOOO DADDY! YUP! YUP! YUP!"
". . .really? So do you think Bobby likes me?"
"I'm sorry I couldn't buy anything from you, because you touch yourself at
night."
True, some of them are mean but it's the only way they learn. Tough times
demand tough hearts, demand tough talk, etc.
This is your man in the box, Ten Sticks
Current
Mood: cold
Current Music: "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise
Pollution"
Monday,
September 29th, 2003 5:55 pm
". . .It's
DELICIOUS!"
"Outside the city of Jericho, the angel set up is amp
as the man watch on nervously.
""I'm sorry," Joshua said. "I mean, aren't you supposed to
have a horn or something?"
""Do I look like Herb Alpert to you?" The angel replied,
brushing back his golden mullet. He hoisted his guitar pick high in the air,
faced the walls of Jericho, and let loose:
""SAY-HEY MOMMA! SEE THE WAY YOU MOOOVE! GON' MAKE YOU SWEAT, GON'
MAKE YOU GROOOOOVE!"
"The walls thundered and buckled and finally crashed under the pounding
bars of "Black Dog." By the time the classic Zeppelin song had gotten
to the bridge, Jericho lay in ruins.
"The angel handed the man his guitar. "Ok dude, it's all yours
now."
""Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Joshua
asked. "I didn't understand a word of . . .whatever that was."
""It's a gift from God," the angel replied.
""A gift?" Joshua repeated.
""Well yeah," the Angel said. "Haven't you heard? God gave
rock and roll to you."
(Excerpted from "The Bible 2: This Time It's Personal")
Hi Kids,
You may not know it, but you are, at this very moment, in danger. There is an
epidemic roaming the lands like a horde of zombies. I don't mean SARS or
anthrax or terrorism.
That's right--I'm talking about fat people.
There is, according to the news, an "epidemic of obesity" afoot among
kids and adults, one that apparently threatens to strange our very way of life
and make us all fatties, despite the fact that you can't catch it from a toilet
seat or anything, nor will it immediately cause you to swell up and burst like
some sort of overinflated Christmas Santa.
Heavens no. If it were THAT kind of epidemic, it would be somewhat cool and
less stupid.
And like most "epidemics," it's utter bullshit, fed in by one
narrow-minded interest group, filtered through a sensationalizing media, and is
as totally divorced from reality as Adam Warlock.
The refrain goes something like this: "We're feeding our kids super-size
meals and all they do is sit in front of the TV and get fatter and fatter.
Likewise, the parents sit in their cubicles at work all day and eat super-size
meals of greasy food and don't exercise."
Taken at face value, both points are true. But calling it an epidemic assumes
it's happening in a vacuum. Because there's a reason most people are sitting
around getting fatter--we don't have any fucking time left to go outside and
when we do we're too exhausted to capitalize on it.
Here's a couple f'rinstances:
"Billy is a student in 3rd grade. His school day consists of constantly
being prepared to take a battery of high stakes standardized tests spaced
throughout the year, lest he be forced to repeat a grade and make the school
look bad. To prepare for these tastes takes little to know actual learning--save
how to take tests and fill in goddamned dots and hour and hours of memorizing
tedious facts from older copies of the tests which will be immediately
forgotten. Sometimes he looks out the window at the kindergarten kids on the
playground and wants to kill them--they took away HIS recess period for more
test time. When he goes home all he wants to do is turn his brain off and do
something, ANYTHING, other than look at more words on paper. Fortunately, the
TV is right there."
"Bob is a mid-level functionary at The Suckass Company. His working life
is a battle between looking busy and being totally swamped. When he has time to
eat, which is rare because he usually ends up working through his lunch hour
(though he can't report it as work time) he has to go to Mickey D's and grab
whatever's cheap, which is usually slimed with grease, including the napkins.
On the few days when he doesn't have to work late he comes home exhausted and
tries in vain to connect with his family despite the kind of exhaustion that
would result in his being shot if he were a horse."
So, as we see now, it's a little harder to blame it on some formless
"epidemic" with a little of the background filled in, isn't it?
I'm virtually certain people don't WANT to be overweight. Despite the
stereotype I know very few people who are tipping the 250-lb line and are a
barrel of laughs. It's probably from being the butt of so many jokes and so
many BS news stories about how their lifestyle is endangering thin people.
That and the TV constantly blaring that most everyone should be as physically
fit as the chics in the Charlie's Angel's movies, two of whom are skeletons
with a thin membrane of skin pulled over them and are in desperate need of
either something to eat, or Drew Barrymore to hurry up and devour them to
satiate her unholy hunger and put them out of their misery.
Anything but more movies.
Neither are the malicious by nature. I've never seen someone so pissed at his
neighbor that he eats Krispy Kreme Donuts for breakfast lunch and dinner until
he's fat enough to trap him in a fold of body-lard and suffocate him.
"So," I hear you saying, as I suspect I'm losing you the longer this
goes on. "What does all this really mean?"
What it means, dear reader is that it's an attempt by health nuts, emboldened
by how they've done against Big Tobacco (which WAS amazing, especially
considering their one bit of heavy ammunition was "secondhand smoke,"
has never EVER been proven a significant danger in any study I'm aware of) want
to tell you how to live. Just like the people who want everyone everywhere to
carpool and Live Right With The Planet.
Body fascism, in other words. They just want less people around that they look
at and go "eww" at. Not that THEY'RE any closer to the supermodel archetype
either. Then again if I kept having to run to the can because my colon was
well-greased with granola, I'd look distressed and uncomfortable all the time
too.
The point is--it's hard enough to be happy in this world as it is, what with
all the forces pushing human expression downward and inward already. So for
fuck's sake, fight for your right to party and make no apologies about it. If
you don't mind the extra weight, have your glazed donut and tell the skinny
pale asshole with the Nature Bar to come back when she has some hair on her
balls.
But take responsibility for what you do. It's not genetics, it's not a disease,
it's all you.
Just as this is all me, the King of the Impossible, Ten Sticks.
Current
Mood: thirsty
Current Music: "Good Times, Bad
Times"
Monday,
October 6th, 2003 8:49
pm
A Flute With No Holes
Is A Reed, A Donut With No Holes Is A Danish
"Jonah crouched on the prow of the ship. The fish was only a few feet
away, chewing through his boat to beat the band. Quint was fish-food, mauled
before his eyes. Hooper he didn't know about.
"All he knew was that he was going to be next if he didn't come up with
something fast. The fish snapped it's jaws and out of the corner of his eye he
saw his salvation caught in the fish's mouth.
"If only he could hit it. He raised his service revolver and aimed,
praying to God not because he thought it would help, but because it couldn't
hurt.
""Smile, you son of a BITCH!" Jonah yelled, pulling the trigger.
The bullet hit the oxygen tank in the fish's moth and blew him sky high in an
egregious defiance of the laws of both chemistry and physics.
"Jonah took a deep breath and balanced on the remains of the ship. He felt
good, despite the amount of fish matter covering his body as if the Chicken of
the Sea has just done a money-shot.
"He turned his head to the sound of an outboard motor in the distance. A
small, thin boat carrying a uniformed officer of the law sidled up beside the
remains of his boat and took one look at the carnage.
""Excuse me sir," he said. "Do you realise you've bagged
your limit?""
(From "The Bible 2: This Time, It's Personal")
Hi kids,
Dedicated followers of this LJ may think the only interesting thing I learned
in college was the full spectrum of sexual deviancy (and Bellevue me, the
colours on that scale rival the Pantone colour system)but in this entry I'll
debunk that.
Because I learned a useful tactic for the world of business.
And all from a crank call.
It started innocently enough--I was in the lobby with the boys, playing some
cards, when the phone rang. The pay phone in my dorm was a ready target for
crank calls, and it was on this one, unfortunate occasion that my friend Steve
picked up the phone.
I wasn't listening to most of the call, just this from Steve:
"Who? Benchley? . . .WANT ME TO TELL YOU WHAT YOUR MOTHER DID LAST
NIGHT?!?!?"
And he slammed the phone down, both of us laughing hysterically at this. Maybe
it was just the name "Benchley" that did it.
How was I to know how useful it'd be as a business model?
And yet I did. When I worked at a local ad agency we had a problem--at any
given time, one of our two lines would be tied up by people trying to sell us
stuff, and no matter how I tried to dissuade them, they would never shut up.
And this being 1999, there wasn't any Do Not Call list to save us.
So I decided to make up a person to handle it. Guess what his name was?
So by inventing a Purchasing manager by the name of Benchley, it was like I'd
added a tag to every douchebag call and I could invent any excuse to explain
why he wasn't there ("I'm sorry, he accidentally cut his hand off on an
outboard motor, he'll be out of the office until it grows back") or, to
use my preferred method, tell them to hold and hang up on them.
It worked like magic.
The moral of this tale? There is none--considering I did this mostly out of
anger because I hate telephone salesmen, morality was sorta the last thing on
my mind. *L*
Don't tell me you're surprised by this.
This is, Ten Sticks, and my occupation? I get paid to rock the nation.
Current
Mood: mellow
Current Music: "Perfect Strangers"