Thoughtless for the Day

Sure, nobody ever said that life was fair, but somebody should've mentioned just how completely unfair life can be: Case-in-point, the death yesterday of Dan Curtis. While the few news sources which even bothered to mention the passing of the great man credited him with being a prolific television producer, all of the reports failed to acknowledge his greatest accomplishment: Dan Curtis was the Father of Modern Rock 'n' Roll.

Just as it was a pure metaphysical roll of the dice that led a thirteen-year-old Elvis Presley into a Tupelo hardware store in search of a coping saw so that his mother would be able to have her gallbladder operation, only to exit with a guitar and a fondness for prescription medication, so it was that Goddess of Fortune smiled upon Dan Curtis who, while working as the producer of television's only Gothic soap opera, sat sad and lonely one evening contemplating the show's flagging ratings. It was somewhere around Dan's sixth scotch on the rocks when he looked up and slurred "Aw, fuck it. Let's toss in a vampire."

That vampire was Barnabas Collins (Vienna has a tattoo of him on her hip) and his addition to the Dark Shadows line up not only saved the show from cancellation (as anyone between the ages of 38 and 50 where they were on weekdays, after school, at four o'clock. Unless they're some sort of smelly pinko, they planted in front of the TV watching DS), but also had some unintended societal repercussions. For the first time, vampires, werewolves, and witches were being considered sex symbols. This opened up a whole new world for the freakish and strange of the world. Shit Luther, until Dark Shadows took off, Mick Jagger spent many a lonely night in his hotel room.

If Dan Curtis had done nothing else, Rock 'n' Roll would still owe him a tremendous dept of gratitude. But Dan Curtis, like the members of Motorhead pillaging from town-to-town, was not content to ret on his laurels. His next coup was the Karen Blacksploitation classic Trilogy of Terror.

Rock 'n' Roll historians will probably never admit this, but we all know in a hearts that every speedcore band we've ever seen has been based on ToT's Zuni warrior fetish.

Speaking of Trilogies, Dan Curtis managed to pull off a hat trick when he brought Kolchak: The Night Stalker to the small screen. And what does the late Darin McGavin in a rumpled suit have to do with Rock 'n' Roll? He fuckin' rocked; that's what!

Look, I don't ever expect Dan Curtis to be inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame (he's too good for that cesspool), but what I would like is that if, the next time you're in a bar and the conversation turns to forgotten heroes of Rock 'n' roll, you could raise a glass to the memory of Dan Curtis.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Sweet Baltimore Jesus on his second helping of crab cakes, this Monday night comic thing is stating to become depressing. I defy any of you to find even the smallest drop of humor in Boycott Liberalism's Cartoon of the Weak. Is it just me, or is it actually possible that that cartoon wouldn't have been sadder if he's tacked on the line "...and then I got raped" ?

I almost feel bad about mocking the living shit out of it. Almost, but not quite.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

My new Bible arrived in the mail yesterday. Unlike most Bibles, it wasn't provide for free by the Gideon Society, the Church of Latter Day Saints, or some greasy preacher who pops up on TV at two in the morning. My Bible cost me a little over a hundred bucks and came from the National Geographic. While (dum) my Bible came with less written material than the more popular Bibles, it did come with a lovely map, a pair of cheek scrapers, two collection vials, a consent form, a padded return envelope, and a terrific DVD which included instructions for collecting and shipping my DNA, as well as a fascinating documentary about the origin of mankind.

The real purpose of any Bible, and this often goes unsaid, is to provide a population with the story of where they came from. This point is driven home in a scene in the included documentary wherein Dr. Spencer Wells (Geneticist and leading candidate for the title of ) engages in minor debate with an Australian Aboriginal who fears proving that mankind originated in Africa will invalidate his people's Creation Story (For RATYHTL's angrier, obscenity filled, take on this debate click here). Instead of firing back with "Look Bwunja[popping-sound-made-with-the-lips]gunnga; I've got enough diplomas to wallpaper your hut three-times-over so, as far as I'm concerned, you and your entire tribe of ignoramuses can suck my dick while I take a shit" the way some people might have, Dr. Wells calmly explains that the man and his people have a story about where they come from in which they believe and which works just fine for them. Great: Run with that. Many others, himself included, Dr. Wells explains, do not have a story of where they came from. The Aborigines have their Dream Stories as tools to trace their origins: Dr. Wells and (far too few) other Westerners have Science. Later, Dr. Wells talks with some American Indians who, despite having their own Creation Myths, are perfectly OK with the idea that their ancestors migrated into America from Central Asia.

Here's the entirety of what I know about where I come from: My ancestors left Eastern Africa about 50,000 BCE (This would make the my nearest know relatives a the San Bushmen. Of course, no matter who you are, they're also your relatives too.) and landed in Pennsylvania sometime around 1700 CE (I know this last bit thanks to a ship's manifest I found in a book in the main branch of the Philly Library. When I would ask my parents where my ancestors came from they would answer with "Germany". The problem, of course is that there was no Germany in 1700.

Personally, I don't really care where in Europe the latter branch of my family is from; I just want to know how they got there. I know that they had to travel through what is now the Arabian Peninsula, but what happened next? Did they travel Northwest through what today are Turkey and Greece? If so, my Y chromosome will carry the M172 marker. If my ancestors turned North and East and headed through what are now Iraq and Iran, then turned North and traveled into central Asia before turning West into Europe (most Europeans' ancestors traveled this roundabout route)? If this is the case, I can expect to find the M9, M45, and M173 genetic markers in my DNA. I'll let you know as soon as I find out myself. I've already done the swabbing and will be sending in the samples tomorrow.

Speaking of Creation Myths, I know where all as tired of the South Park / Scientology battle as we are with Snakes on a Plane (If America is in such a desperate need for a catchphrase, may I suggest the following from CSA: "If'in an ol' no account Darky like me may ax a question"), but I'd just like to make one final comment about the whole shebang.

Xenu.

Tom Cruse and Isaac Hayes weren't pissed off at Matt Stone and Trey Parker because they "mocked". They were madder than baboons with red peppers up their asses because the South Park boys leaked Scientology's big secret: Xenu. Xenu is a real embarrassment to Scientologists. The same way those "Seeing Stones" of Joseph Smith's are to the Mormons. Most religions have something in their closet that they'd rather not have their followers know about. After all, how many Christians have ever head of Paul of Tarsus?

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"John Wayne was a fag."
- Miller from Repo Man

For an Atheist, I sure have seen a whole lotta films about Jeebuz. One of my guilty pleasure favorites is the All-Star Embarrassment, The Greatest Story Ever Told. Back in my pre-cable teenage years, TGSET seemed to constantly be the feature on our local ABC affiliate's Million Dollar Movie (Yes, Dr. Evil, a million dollars was once considered a large amount to spend making a film).

One night, when I was roughly seventeen, a group of my friends and I were up late on a Saturday night drinking and watching Atheist Max von Sydow chew scenery as the Big JC. As I said, this was back in the days before cable and this night, being rather windy outside, we were experience "blowover" from another channel. Blowover was a phenomenon in which, given the right weather conditions, sound from other television stations (and, occasionally, radio stations) would drown out the audio of the program you were watching. And so it happened that on this night a miracle was witnessed by several drunken teenagers in Coatesville, PA as Judas (Which translates as "The Jew") Iscariot played by The Man from U.N.C.L.E.'s own Illya Kuryakin, David McCallum, turns to Jesus and asked "Who are you?" Jesus opened his holy mouth and, courtesy of some waves straying across the ether, replied:

"I am Mr. Ed."

If you happen to catch TGSET on TV some night, you might want to tape your eyelids open. Not only is this the only way to guarantee that you'll remain awake for the entire film, but it'll also ensure that you don't blink and miss John "The Duke" Wayne's cameo as the Roman Centurion in charge of the crucifixion: He has one line.

For many decades there's been a story floating around Hollywood that the directory of TGSET, under whelmed by John Wayne's lackluster reading of "Truly, this must be the Son of God" took the actor aside and said "Listen Duke; could you give the line some 'awe'?". The cameras rolled and, captured forever on celluloid, John Wayne (born Marion Morrison) looked into the lens and said:

"Aw. Truly, this must be the Son of God."

I think my last post lacked a certain amount of "Aw". Honestly, I was more than a little tired and I pretty much phone that one in. The point of the piece, which may've gotten lost somewhere, was supposed to be that, no matter what the question is, George Bush always gives the same answer:

"9/11 changed everything; so we've got to support our troops by giving me unlimited powers with which to fight the Global War on Terror and to provide tax cuts for Faith Based Mexican Guest Workers who want to defend Israel from Evolutionists. Amen."

In all fairness, nearly every post on this blog can be summed up as:

"Religion sucks. Now here's some Latin and Greek."

If you think about it; why should this post be any different? That said; let's recap a few days worth of Religious Stupidity Around The World:

Let's start off our travelogue of Fanaticism in Global War on Terror success story Afghanistan (check out those sweet hats) where this week Abdul Rahman was sentenced to be executed for converting to Christianity (or, as it's known in Afghanistan, "Death by natural causes") .

And to think that brave Atheist Pat Tillman actually got Neidermeyered trying to liberate these assholes.

For further comedy of an Islamic nature, we travel south to Afghanistan's border-buddy, Iraq. If Afghanistan is the Wally Cleaver of the Global War on Terror, then Iraq is the Beaver (Saudi Arabia is Eddie Haskel). Anyhoo, it was from Iraq that, earlier this week, Grand Ayatollah Sistani has declared the Gays should be killed "in the worst manner possible". By which I seriously doubt he means "make them comfortable for sixty of seventy years until they die, peacefully, in their sleep." Personally, I don't think that anybody with "Grand" in their name and a penchant for outlandish hats should be running around accusing others of being a Mosque Mary.

The above Fundie fervor would be an embarrassment to America's Religious Right (who have always championed the death penalty, a government based on biblical law, and the return of lawn jockeys) if they weren't too goddamn stupid to grasp the concept of irony: oh, and also if they weren't exactly having their best week ever.

Let's start with Pat Robertson because we always do. Here's the good Reverend reviewing the undersea epic / Bob's Big boy Kids' Menu Coloring Book, The Professors:

"They gamed it, these guys are out and out communists, they are radicals, you know some of them killers, and they are propagandists of the first order and they don't want anybody else except them. That's why Regent University for example is so terrifically important and why we're setting up an undergraduate program that hopefully will see shortly 10,000 students, and then from there 250,000 because you don't want your child to be brainwashed by these radicals, you just don't want it to happen. Not only brainwashed but beat up, they beat these people up, cower them into submission. Ahhh! 'The Professors', read it."

"...you know some of them killers... they beat these people up, cower them into submission" Yeah, I'll never forget the day that I was jumped by a homicidal gang of Anthropologists who beat me to a pulp and made off with my DNA. Sweet, merciful fuck: only in America could an assbrain like Robertson not only have his own TV show, but also his own network. Good luck with that undergrad program Pat. I hope you ordered plenty o' short buses.

The great thing about Robertson (other than his willingness to fuck barnyard animals) is that just when you think that he can't top himself, he pulls something even crazier out of that bony skull of his. Right on the heels of his warning about roaming bands of tweed jacketed killers came the following statement about radical Muslims:

"These people are crazed fanatics, and I want to say it now: I believe it's motivated by demonic power. It is satanic, and it's time we recognize what we're dealing with."

Translation: The Devil is making these people think and act just like Pat Robertson.

Robertson, at least, is free to walk the streets. That's more than can be said for his fellow believers in Jeebuz Cyst, Lynn Paddock and Mary Winkler.

Ms. Paddock was concerned about the proper means by which to discipline her adopted children, so she turned to the same source that many others have used to keep up-to-date with the latest in Pokemon porn and Bea Arthur "upskirts": The Internet. Miss Titanic, may I introduce Rabbi Iceberg?

It was on the worldwidewebofinternets that Lynn discovered the child rearing advice of Michael and Debi Pearl: "an evangelical minister and his wife who recommended using plumbing supply lines to spank misbehaving children." Miss Titanic, Rabbi Iceberg, may I introduce the Reverend Not-Enough-Fucking-Lifeboats?

The end result of Ms. Paddock's careful application of her research being the beating death of her four-year-old adopted son, Sean.

I hope sincerely hope that your plans for this evening included tossing and turning all night, because The Pearl's (of wisdom cast before non-child killing swine) book To Train Up a Child has reportedly sold more than 400,000 copies.

While, Ms. Winkler (no relation to Fonzie) didn't beat any children to death with whatever was on sale at Home Depot's plumbing department, she did manage to shoot her husband, third-generation Minister Matthew Winkler, to death. Maybe the Pearls have been publishing books on how to make a marriage work by visiting the sporting goods section of Wal-Mart?

In a related story: A study by University of Minnesota department of sociology (and gangland murder) found that Atheists are America's most distrusted minority.

"From a telephone sampling of more than 2,000 households, university researchers found that Americans rate atheists below Muslims, recent immigrants, gays and lesbians and other minority groups in 'sharing their vision of American society.' Atheists are also the minority group most Americans are least willing to allow their children to marry."

Sure, I could launch into a tirade about how neither I nor any of my Atheist friends have ever condemned anyone to death for converting to Christianity, issued a fatwah against florists, accused the Princeton physics lab of harboring known criminals, beaten a baby to death with PVC tubing, or gunned down the father of three little girls, but I'll just take the highroad and remind all of those American's who don't trust Atheist that they can suck my dick while I take a shit.

If you need a pleasant story to take your mind off the image conjured up by that last sentence, then feel free to dwell on the following exchange which recently took place between law professor (and, by logical extension, crazed ax-murderer)
Jamie Raskin and Senator Nancy Jacobs during a hearing on a proposed Constitutional Amendment to outlaw Gay marriage (outlaw Gay marriage and only Gay outlaws will have in-laws):

Jacobs: As I read Biblical principles, marriage was intended, ordained and started by God - that is my belief. For me, this is an issue solely based on religious principles.

Raskin: People place their hand on the Bible and swear to uphold the Constitution; they don't put their hand on the Constitution and swear to uphold the Bible.

Translation: Senator Jacobs, you can suck my dick while I take a shit.

Before I go, I'd like to leave you with this week's scores in the Minor League Religious Wars:

US Army 1, Wiccans 0.

"The Veteran's Administration has never authorized the use of Wicca's pentacle on grave markers, even though it allows the use of symbols from 38 other beliefs, including obscure or possibly fictional religions such as Ixumo Taishakyo, Soks Gakkai, Aaronic Order, Seicho-no-ie and Presbyterians."

Scientology 1, Creators of South Park 3.

And now here's some Latin and Greek:

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 11:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hey there, teenaged tuba tooters, here's a tip from your ol' uncle Rodney: if you're an elected official whose popularity numbers in the polls have slipped so far down that the folks at Gallup have been force to create a new category, "in the shithouse", just to accommodate your career; then standing up in front of an audience that wasn't pre-screened and answering unscripted questions should be at the bottom of your "To Do" list.

And yet, that's exactly what George Bush did the other day. And, as fate would have it, the first question he was asked was on a subject about which he admittedly knows little: books. Ok, technically, he was queried about a book: a book titled American Theocracy.

"My question is that author and former Nixon administration official Kevin Phillips, in his latest book, 'American Theocracy,' discusses what has been called radical Christianity and its growing involvement into government and politics. He makes the point that members of your administration have reached out to prophetic Christians who see the war in Iraq and the rise of terrorism as signs of the apocalypse. Do you believe this, that the war in Iraq and the rise of terrorism are signs of the apocalypse? And if not, why not?"

At that point a look crossed Bush's weasel-like face that said "Who the fuck let this NPR listening, book reading baby killer in?" Then the leader of the Free World opened his mouth and every "Talking Point" that Karl Rove had ever coached him on suddenly tumbled forth:

"The answer is - I haven't really thought of it that way . Here's how I think of it. The first I've heard of that, by the way. I guess I'm more of a practical fellow. I vowed after September the 11th, that I would do everything I could to protect the American people. And my attitude, of course, was affected by the attacks. I knew we were at war. I knew that the enemy, obviously, had to be sophisticated and lethal to fly hijacked airplanes into facilities that would be killing thousands of people, innocent people, doing nothing, just sitting there going to work. I also knew this about this war on terror, that the farther we got away from September the 11th, the more likely it is people would seek comfort and not think about this global war on terror as a global war on terror. And that's good, by the way. It's hard to take risk if you're a small business owner, for example, if you're worried that the next attack is going to come tomorrow. I understand that. But I also understand my most important job, the most important job of any president today, and I predict down the road, is to protect America. And so I told the American people that we would find the terrorists and bring them to justice, and that we needed to defeat them overseas so we didn't have to face them here at home. I also understood that the war on terror requires some clear doctrine. And one of the doctrines that I laid out was, if you harbor a terrorist, you're equally as guilty as the terrorist. And the first time that doctrine was really challenged was in Afghanistan. I guess the Taliban didn't believe us - or me. And so we acted. Twenty-five million people are now free, and Afghanistan is no longer a safe haven for the terrorists. And the other doctrine that's really important, and it's a change of attitude - it's going to require a change of attitude for a while - is that, when you see a threat, you got to deal with it before it hurts you. Foreign policy used to be dictated by the fact we had two oceans protecting us. If we saw a threat, you could deal with it if you needed to, you think - or not. But we'd be safe. My most important job is to protect you, is to protect the American people. Therefore, when we see threats, given the lesson of September the 11th, we got to deal with them. That does not mean militarily, necessarily. Obviously, the first option for a President has got to be the full use of diplomacy. That's what you're watching in Iran right now. I see a threat in Iran. I see it there - I'm kind of getting off subject here, not because I don't want to answer your question, but kind of - I guess, that's what happens in Washington, we get a little long-winded. But now that I'm on Iran, the threat to Iran, of course - the threat from Iran is, of course, their stated objective to destroy our strong ally Israel. That's a threat, a serious threat. It's a threat to world peace; it's a threat, in essence, to a strong alliance. I made it clear, I'll make it clear again, that we will use military might to protect our ally, Israel."

I'm going to take that as a "yes": which means that man who commands an army and has his finger on the button that launches all of those lovely missiles is convinced that he is playing an important role in bringing about the apocalypse. Oh, yippee! Nothing says "I'm unfit to rule over a Cub Scout meeting, let alone an entire country" quite like a firm conviction that the end of the world is just around the corner.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

For some time now (well, at least for a lot longer than society should've tolerated), Thomas N. George, the alleged editor of boycottliberalaism.com has been cranking out strange doodles that have the same relevance to other comic strips that re-runs of Chico and the Man have with Eskimo folk art. In other words: there may some sort of connection there, but fuck if I can see it.

I've found it's best to think of Mr. George's work as a sort of Boondocks but without the humor, high artistic sensibility, or Black people.

Boycott Liberalaism's Cartoon of the Weak

RATYHTL looks back in anger.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

While it really can't recommend Reading Lolita in Tehran (a book so poorly written that, roughly fifteen pages into it, I found myself cheering for the Mullah's in the hope that they confiscate the author's keyboard before she could crank out another tome), there's one passing anecdote smuggled into its pages that has stayed with me for some time now:

The chief theater censor in Iran, following the Islamic Revolution, was blind. Just let that sink in for a moment. The handy-capable repressor of other people's artistic visions was able to perform his duties by having an assistant describe to him what was happening on-stage. This might just be the only way possible to enjoy The [Yellow] Vagina Monologues.

In a surprising success story that's oddly absent for the American Foundation for the Blind's website, so successful was the sightless Shiite censor (say it three times, quickly) that he was promoted to the position of Head Film and Television Censor. In order to live up to the high standards that he set in his previous post, the visually challenged guardian of the public's morals had actors audio taped reading aloud the scripts for upcoming films and TV shows. To ensure that his decisions wouldn't be swayed by the seductive power of some thespian's voice, the blind censor demanded the scripts be given the most monotone treatment possible (In America we call that "Starring Charles Grodin"). The kicker is that, after the blind censor died in 1994, his replacement, who was in no way visually impaired, continued the practice of having actors record scripts in monotone voices.

Both of the men mentioned above worked for Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting. IRIB is currently run by the surprisingly photogenic Ezzatollah Zarghami. A man who I truly believe should be put in charge of America's Federal Communication Commission.

Last week the FCC fined dozens of CBS affiliates $3.6 million not because executive at the corporation thought that Julia Louis-Dreyfus' new show had an actual chance at being funny, but because an episode of the show Without a Trace featured a "teenage orgy".

CBS countered by saying that the show "featured an important and socially relevant storyline warning parents to exercise greater supervision of their teenage children. The program was not unduly graphic or explicit."

I, for one, think it's great that middle-aged drifters now have something "important and socially relevant" to jerk off to.

CBS plans to appeal the fine, but since on that same day the fine was issued the FCC also upheld a previous $550,000 fine against 20 CBS affiliates for failing to protect America from Janet Jackson's tit during the Super Bowl, CBS should swing by an ATM on the way home.

By the way, CBS has pulled the offending episode of Without a Trace, so if you want to see the graphic teenage gropefest, you'll need to stop by the website for the Parent's Television Council: the people who filled the initial complaint about the episode.

Also captured in the FCC's dragnet was The Surreal Life 2 for an episode in which someone mentioned Ron Jeremy's big cock. Only the cock was bleeped out, which means that someone, somewhere, who was acutely aware of exactly what Ron Jeremy is famous for was offended when their mind was forced to "fill-in-the-blank", so to speak.

And then there's the case of the Spanish-language talk show, Fernando Hidalgo Show. I'll just reprint the complaint:

"WJAN Miami showed a female guest who appeared 'in an open-front dress, with her nipples covered but her breasts otherwise fully exposed. As she makes her entrance, she pirouettes in front of the audience, then shakes her breasts toward the cameras.'"

So she was basically nekkid, except for her dress?

This is where Mr. Zarghami re-enters our story. I say that if America is going to talk the Fundamentalist talk, then we should walk the Fundamentalist walk as well. I don't believe in doing things half way: "Either fuck me, or give me bus fare"; that's my motto. So let's hire Ezzatollah ("Ezzy" to his hookah puffin' pals) as the new Chairmen of the FCC and start imposing fines on any show which depicts women in brightly colored dresses, because that day is coming, gentle reader, so we might as well stop putting it off.

It's either that or take the approach recently adopted by Holland. Our wooden shoe wearing cousins have begun showing would-be immigrants a film featuring two Gay men making out and a topless woman sunbathing. The message: If Fags and tits piss you off, don't move here.

Maybe we should try this tactic in America? Round up some Fundies, show 'em a "Greatest Hits" reel featuring Janet Jackson's nipple, that teenage orgy, Ron Jeremy's crotch, and that hot Hispanic chick from the Fernando Hidalgo Show. Afterwards, a simple announcement would be read over a public address system explaining that in a free society people sometimes have to witness things that might upset them and that anyone who has a problem with this should give serious thought to living somewhere else.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 03:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"Bellum sine causa bona aut propter iram gerere non debemus."
- Cicero

Judging by your emails, it would appear that more than a few of you thought that I overacted when I sent my tiny plastic Roman army to Beantown to punish the Catholic Charities of Boston for being a bunch of dicks. The most common accusation being that my little soldiers ran wild through the streets brutal slaying men, women, and children. Allow me the correct this misconception. My army marched through the streets in an orderly formation… brutal slaying men, women, and children.

Yes, there were a few crucifixions: quite a few crucifixions, to be honest. Well, really I guess you could say that there were a great deal of crucifixions; or, to put it another way: a great deal of people were crucified. Really, you didn't see this coming: Roman army plus telephone polls plus people wearing Celtics jackets? Look, I'm somewhat sorry if your cousin from Roxbury got nailed up, but let's not forget that the vast majority of the crucifixion vict… participants only dangled helplessly for a few hours before paramedics arrived: Which is more than can be said for the people who were beheaded.

Beheadings are, of course, inexcusable. Unless, of course, one has an excuse: which I do. While (dum) my soldiers may never have heard of the Geneva Conventions (or, for that matter, Geneva) they are very well versed in Roman law: under which citizens are Roman who transgress against the Empire may be beheaded rather than crucified. This was a tough break from those people who tried to explain that they were Roman Catholics.

On the other hand, strict adherence to Roman law meant that no virgins were put to death. Unfortunately, strict adherence to this rule meant that more than a few young women were deflowered before being put to death. I would like to apologize to the families of these dead and violated girls; however, since their families were also put to death, this may be a little tricky. I think that we can all take comfort in the fact that, had my troops marched into any city other than Boston, the number of virgins encountered would've been much higher.

Look, before you stat getting all "when will we learn to give the pipes of peace a change to join hands and sing Kumbyah" on my ass, let me remind you that as many as twenty percent of the people who were either tortured or slaughtered were dangerous extremists bent on destroying the Greco-Roman principles (in this case, not giving a rat's ass what people do in their bedrooms) on which our republic was founded.

Shit Luther, you don't see anybody on the news crying about the fact that, according to interrogators stationed there, ninety-five percent of the prisoners held at Guantanamo Bay were not captured in battle or that, at best, less than ten percent of those prisons may have any knowledge whatsoever about al Qaeda.

This probably goes without saying, but let's not forget that those who criticize the Boston campaign are hurting the tiny plastic morale of my army. Just the other day, I found Centurion Decius Mallius Umbonius weeping uncontrollably because some plebian had called him a baby killer (that Decius had, earlier that day, in fact killed several babies is unimportant).

And when did everybody suddenly get the idea that war was a tidy affair in which civilians never get a scratch? I don't care how many strategic strikes your smart bomb pull off, every military campaign is going to leave some legless orphans in its wake. I didn't send my soldiers to Boston expecting the citizens of that city to welcome my troops with flowers. I expected the people of Boston to die upon my army's spears: and to be quick about it.
In closing I would just like to say that if my tiny plastic Roman soldiers were guilty of anything it was unbridled enthusiasm... coupled with a savage bloodlust.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 02:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm dead on my ass. So if you don't mind, I'm going to turn in early. Of course I’d never be able to fall asleep knowing that you, gentle reader had been left with nothing to read except the back of a Tampax box. Fortunately my desire for some shuteye is occurring on the same day that the latest edition of Aid or Invade has been published.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I heard a piece about Katherine Harris on NPR during the drive home. I'm sure that all of you remember Ms. Harris, the former Secretary of State for Florida, from the 2000 Elections (the ones, at the end of which, we told ourselves "Someday we'll all look back on this and laugh."). I can't remember what the NPR piece was about (so let's just say that scientists have found a link between Katherine Harris' makeup and Halloween), but the piece made me remember something that I once read about Katherine that few people seem to know about: she once over saw a program to test "Celestial Drops" on canker-infested orange trees.

And just What The Please Sprinkle My Orange Canker-Infested Vagina are Celestial Drops? I thought you'd never ask. Celestial Drops is another term for water purchased from the same Kabbalah Centre frequented by Madonna and Ashton Kutcher. Another description of Celestial Drops was provided by a Florida state scientist:

"[The] product is a hoax and not based on any credible science."

- Smart Science Guy

And what spawned Harris' interest in Celestial Drops? According to Harris, she became aware of the product after being told that "Israeli scientists" were responsible for it.

"I deeply value Israeli technology."

- Katherine Harris

PS. Happy Ides of March

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

One of the things that I find most annoying about the modern world is the overabundance of the vague. Terms like "lump sum", "rough amount", and "a bunch" litter the modern American lexicon. Shit Luther, I can hardly count the number of times that I've toyed with the notion of producing a coffee table book which laid out, in no uncertain terms, helpful measurements like the number of teaspoons to a "smidgen" or the precise amount of pounds in a "shitload".

I can trace my dislike of vague, unexplained terms back to Junior High School, where I first head about a game called "Grab-Ass".

Most of, I'm certain, are familiar with the episode of South Park wherein the Shop teacher keeps shouting "Look at ya'; screwin' around!" Well, when I was in sixth grade I had a gym teacher who was exactly like that character, only his catchphrase was "Look at ya'; goofin' off and playin' Grab-Ass."

Now, you have to remember that my Junior High was broken up into "sections". These sections ran from A to H. The kids in section A were regarded as the dumbest kids in the school: by some miracle of Social Engineering, they were also the poorest and the darkest. The prevailing theory was that they had been given the designation "A" to make them feel better (in fact, many of the more delusional of the A's were actually under the impression that they were in the highest section and that the H's were a bunch of idiots. It wasn't until I was much older that I became aware of the wisdom of this position). As you climbed up the alphabet, the sections became progressively whiter and wealthier, but to all observance, hardly "smarter." Proof of this can be found in the fact that your friend and humble narrator was assigned to the G's.

So here were the G's, a bun...sorry, approximately thirty wimpy middle class white kids on the college-bound track being accused of goofing off and playing Grab-Ass. The goofing off accusation we understood. After all, wasn't that was gym class was about: play? Honestly, we didn't see the point in learning the rules to baseball as none of us were going to grow up to be baseball players. After all, it wasn't like anyone was forcing the B's to learn Geometry, just in case one of them suddenly got the urge to attend MIT.

Grab-Ass, on the other hand, perplexed our young minds. None of us had attempted to grab anyone else's ass. Why would we? Anyone committing such an act would be instantly branded a social pariah even among us: the wimpiest kids in the school. Had Grab-Ass been a popular recreational activity during our gym teacher's youth? It was possible. He was rather old and due to retire at the end of the year. Who know what sorts of barbarous activities the boys of his day engaged in? Something had transformed him into the wreck of humanity that was currently shouting at us to stop prancing around like a bunch of pansies. Perhaps his psyche had been damaged during a pick up game of Grab-Ass?

No one ever asked the gym teacher exactly what Grab-Ass was or how it was played. We just chalked it up to the many other games, like baseball, football, soccer, dodge ball, kickball, etc. that we had no idea how to properly play and had always been picked last for.

Epilog:

In my dreams, a group of men in crisp, white uniforms attempt to break through a line of men in smart blue uniforms who have formed a semi-circle around a brown, doe-eyed donkey. Over a distant loudspeaker, an announcer is heard to say "It's a perfect day for a game of Grab-Ass."

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 08:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

At this point, even a blind, deaf mute living in the jungles of Borneo should know the drill: Each Monday morning, Thomas N. George, mild mannered "editor" of boycottliberalism.com, publishes what we can only assume to be some sort of primitive attempt at humor (comparisons to cave painting have been made) under the heading of Cartoon of the Week, and each Monday evening I savagely debase his childlike efforts.

So let's get to it without even once pausing to mention that if one peruses Mr. George's recently posted Ten Books that Changed the Editor's Life
and will Change your Life too!, then one is left with the distinct impression that the erratic editor regularly writes his Congressman, demanding that the government institute a "watch list" of all the people who haven't jerked off to a picture of Vince Lombardi.

Two 'toons enter; one 'toon leaves! Two 'toons enter; one 'toon leaves! Two 'toons enter; one 'toon leaves!

The Cartoon of the Weak

RATYHTL's oh-so-hip rejoinder.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Thrice-Nailed Jesus at a Carpenters' Convention! I've had my tiny, plastic Roman army for less than twenty-four hours (see previous post) and already I've been forced to deploy. Earlier this morning, Legio XXIII, "Firma in ratione" began laying siege to the city of Boston.

Why? Because more than a few people there are far too gawddamn stupid to reside on the east coast. No, I'm not talking about Bruins fans; I'm pointing my middle finger right in the direction of both Catholic Charities of Boston and Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney and wagging it hardily.

On Friday, Catholic Charities of Boston announce from underneath their tinfoil hats that they would be pulling out (also a popular form of Catholic birth control) of providing adoption services rather than make those services available to Gay couples. Got that? The Catholic Church is afraid that something of a "bad touch" nature might happen to children. That's like the bottomless salad bar of irony.

First, we have over half a century worth of data that shows that children raised by Gay parents are no more likely to grow up to be Gay than children raided by straight parents (Like Dick and Lynne* Cheney). Second, simple logic (remember that?) dictates that Gay parents, knowing that they're under the watchful eyes of the nations homo-haters, are less likely to fuck up and boil a child alive than their hetero counterparts. Think about it. When was the last time you read about a Gay parent killing their child? Yet hardly a week goes by when we don't hear about...

PLANO, Texas - With a calm and dispassionate voice and a hymn playing in the background, Dena Schlosser confessed to the unthinkable, telling a 911 operator she'd cut off the arms of her baby girl.

... or...

Dietz said that Laney, who is deeply religious, had a series of delusions on the day of the killings. He said she saw Aaron with a spear, then throwing a rock, then squeezing a frog and believed God was suggesting she should either stab, stone or strangle her children.

... or the Babe Ruth of Christian mothers who kill their offspring...

(CNN) -- Lawyers for Andrea Yates, the Texas woman convicted nearly three years ago of drowning her children, said Thursday they won't seek her release from a prison psychiatric ward following a court's decision Thursday to overturn her murder convictions.

And I didn't even mention the all of the Priests who've helped to put the "alter" back in alterboy.

Ladies and Germs of the Jury, the Prosecution rests.

OK, so my argument is based on fifty years worth of evidence as well as clear, simple logic, and documented example. And it's backed up by a tiny, plastic army. What does the other side have? Well, they've got a twenty-five hundred year old instruction manual for maintaining a patriarchal, non-democratic society. A book, by the way, that's filled with more wizards, witches, and unicorns than a game of Dungeons and Dragons. They've also got Mitt Romney.

Romney, whom my troops have yet to capture because he's most likely disguised himself as a woman, announced today that he would seek to pass legislation that would exempt religious groups from the state's anti-discrimination laws, allowing organizations like Catholic Charities of Boston the right to deny the chance to give a child a safe and loving home to Gays... and people who believe in Evolution... and people who think that the Earth circles the sun…and people who eat shrimp (Note: While Orthodox Jews do not eat shrimp, I don't see any Christian adoption groups handing over children to them anytime soon)... and people who shave their eyebrows... and...

If you don't want the tiny, plastic Roman army to visit your state, region, or municipality and do to it what the XXIII Legion is currently doing to Boston, then you'd better make damn sure that your community leaders and elected officials don't act like fuckwits.

* To be fair, Mrs. Cheney did pen a book which trumpets the glories of Lesbianism.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 11:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I think it was the Greek playwright Euripides* (if it wasn't, it really should've been) who said that there are only four plots: Man versus Man, Man versus Himself, Man versus Nature, and, of course, Man versus Nick Nolte.

Let's take a few minutes to focus on Man versus Nature.

Last night Vienna watched the season premiere of I Shouldn't Be Alive, featuring man trapped under boulder, and the movie Open Water, featuring annoying couple harassed by sharks, jellyfish, barracudas, and low production values.

Open Water didn't manage to get a grip on my attention. It was basically a reworking of those 1970's B-movies in which a wealthy, white urban couple would find themselves in a remote location surrounded by Mexican bikers. In the intervening years, Mexican bikers have teamed up with Jewish lawyers (I once knew a guy who was half Mexican and half Jewish: he was a janitor, but he owned the building) to make sure that if a Mexican biker is going to appear on the big screen, he's going to be a sensitive, victimized Mexican biker. That's why Open Water used sharks (also the name of the Puerto Rican gang from West Side Story) as a metaphor for Brown people.

I Shouldn't Be Alive, on the other hand, was fascinating and I'm glad that I gave up sitting through the second half of the over dramatic dramatization of the life of Boudicca on the History Channel to join Vienna to watching it. Please keep in mind that when I say that episode of ISBA was fascinating, that's only because, having just spent twelve grueling, adrenaline fueled hours trapped at my job, I could easily identify with a guy who spent thirty-six hours trapped under a boulder.

I'm not going to go on a three hundred word crying jag about my job, because I get paid an assload of money to do what I do. There are millions of other people in this country who labor just as hard, if not harder, for less than half of what I earn. But I'm also not going to pretend that yesterday didn't depress the Hell out of me (I actually had two glasses of wine with my dinner last night: I have a glass of wine once every six months or so). That's why I decided to run out and buy myself some toys today.

I woke up wanting some toy soldiers (maybe it's my way of dealing with the hectic pace of my job - wanting a little army that I can order around - , or maybe it was the side effect of combining two glasses of wine with the fist have of the Boudicca special). If you're like me (and I know I am) you don't want just any toy soldiers. You're going to want either some ancient Greek or Roman soldiers. Now, if you're looking for some "high end" metal toy soldiers you'd better brace yourself for some sticker shock (How many adults are out there with enough disposable income to own army of forty dollar soldiers?** Also, you might want to check out this somewhat creepy Egyptian collection. If my soldiers ever need dancing girls, at least I'll know where to find 'em). What I was looking for were some cheap plastic legionaries. In other words, like Donald Rumsfeld, I wanted to outfit myself with an entire army for under twenty bucks. And I wanted (needed) them today, which precluded online shopping: Even though I only waited two weeks for my copy of The God Who Wasn't There and my Darwin fish to arrive from the James Randi Foundation, it seemed like an eternity spent in Hellfire. By the way, feast your eyes upon this cool return address label that was on the package:

Since I wasn't will to wait eight to ten business days for my troops to muster, I tossed aside what few shreds of my dignity that I was saving for my deathbed (now I'll be forced to die in a freak accident involving a mule and one of those potato cannons), and pay a visit to the only place geekier than the Comic Book Store: the Hobby Shop. Although, as far as hobby shops go, the one nearest me, located near Third and Market, isn't as geeky as most: many of the male customers have even slept with women who didn't have to be inflated. Once there I quickly picked out two packs of soldiers (Legionaries and the Imperial Roman Command), plopped down my two Hamiltons and beat a hasty retreat while praying that no one had seen me either enter or exit.

So, like many fans of the Latin language before me, I had purchased myself an army: eighty-nine soldiers to be precise. But what exactly did I get? Let's open the boxes and take a look.

I hope you're not disappointed. I'm sure that, despite the title of this piece, many of you were expecting my army to be painted and to be considerable bigger (look; you get roughly forty-five to a box. How big did you think they were gonna be?). As for me, I couldn't be happier with them (Shit Luther, I've been assembling them while I've been writing this post.). Being small, they're incredibly portable. In fact, the next time that someone says to me "Oh yeah? You and what army?" I plan to produce them on the spot and proudly proclaim "This army!" before stabbing the offending party in the neck and running away.

Well, I've got plenty of work to get to. If there's one lesson that the Red States have taught us it's that those Barbarians aren't going to civilize themselves, so I've got to ship my boys off to bring Roman culture to the unwashed sections of the globe. I'll be sure to keep you informed of any additions to or developments concerning my tiny Roman army.

(not so) Phun Phact: Adolf Hitler collected toy soldiers. The only other person in the world who was allowed to play with Hitler's toy soldiers was Benito Mussolini.

* Euripides trousers, Eumenides trousers.

**You may, or may not, be interested to know that my search of the worldwidewebofinternests turned up these moderately priced and apparently very well made Roman soldiers.

PS. There'll be a little less elbow room in Hell tonight.

PPS. The new Green Party candidates flyer is out! Vote Green or Die at the Hands of My Tiny Army!

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 04:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Did anyone read the piece about in the latest Military History Quarterly about terrorism and torture in ancient Rome? It's an excellent read and easily worth the ten bucks you'll plop down for a copy (of course I may be saying that because I'm hoping to sell MHQ a piece that I'm working on about Rome's notorious Sixth Legion.

In other news...

I'm seriously considering posing nude for Skepchick's 2007 Skepdude calendar. Those of you who know me are well aware that it takes little (or no) encouragement for me to disrobe in public. I'm sorry if I ruined anyone's dinner, but you shouldn't be eating in front of the computer anyway. No wonder your keyboard looks like a Jackson Pollack painting.

Ken Krawchuk Alert!

My ol drinkin' buddy Ken Krawchuk has turned down the Pennsylvania Libertarian Party's nomination for U.S. Senate. Ken gave as his reason for declining the honor PA's petition signature requirements, which he described as "insane". You know, when Ken Krawchuk, the man who once said "a girl's best friend is a gun" during a gubernatorial debate, starts calling something crazy, it's time to listen up.

Repackaging of the Week

From an LA Times story about Iraqi Death Squads:

[Major General Joseph] Peterson said that Interior Minister Jabr had fired four brigade commanders over allegations of abuse and corruption. The most notorious commando unit, the Wolf Brigade, was recently renamed the 'Freedom Brigade.'

They wanted to change their name to the Mod Squad, but nobody wanted to be Mike or Julie: they all wanted to be Linc.

And finally...

Check out this Bizarro World version of RATYHTL featuring the Vatican's version of our own beloved Ben Schumin.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm dead on my ass from a very long day at work. I hope you don't mind if, once more, I simply pass along some news items for you perusal.

Holy Shit! More on Kennewick Man

Looks like the Official Human Remains of RATYHTL (originally discussed in this post) is grabbing its share of the spotlight.

Holy Shit! More Skehmet Statues Found

Looks like archeologists have turned up six statues of the goddess worshiped by my wife.

Holy Shit! Yanni Runs Amok

The only guy in the world whom Michael Bolton can make fun of, Yanni, was arrested for domestic battery. Said the Musak Man:

"These allegations are cruel, false, without merit and baseless. At a more appropriate time and place, I hope and pray I will have an opportunity to address my fans and colleagues all over the world."

Well, that shouldn't be too hard to do, as Yanni could easily fit all of his fans and colleagues into a studio apartment and still have room left over.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 08:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Just a little news item that I thought you should be aware of...

Pro-Rape and Incest Lobby Gets Retarded Bitchbastard to Sign Fucked Up Bill

Yesterday, mentally challenged South Dakota Governor Mike "Reacha" Rounds signed into law a bill that would ban all abourtions in his "state"even in cases of rape, incest, serious dangers to the mother's health, or "havin' been with a colored fella."

The good news is that some folks are theorizing that this move could quickly come back to bite the Fundies in their scratchy undergarment covered asses. The new law is bound to end up in front of the Supreme Court. As Chief Justice Roberts and Judge Alito have pointed out in the past, they're in no hurry to overturn any precedents. So, it's entirely possible that the court could rule against South Dakota's stupidity by a very large margin: thusly reaffirming Roe vs. Wade for decades to come.

PS. Has anybody heard anything about a bill in the Missouri statehouse to make Jesus the state's official deity?

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's Monday night which of course means that I'll be graphically sodomizing the weekly featured failed artistic endeavor from Boycott Liberalism's editor/scheditor Thomas N. George.

However, before we get to the main event, I would be greatly remiss if I failed t mention that, this being the first Monday of the month, Tommy has posted his predictions for March. Everybody grab a spoon and dig in:

-President Bush's efforts to fight the war on terror are great and one day it will be learned how extensive.

Oh I see, Bush's plan to let Iraq collapse into a bloody civil war is just part of a cleaver ruse to trick all of the Arabs in the world into killing each other. Brilliant!

-The only way that Hillary Clinton can become president will be via fraud.

Well, it's the only way that I'd vote for her. Maybe she'll strike some sort of deal with Diebold.

-The Bush family will become the new Kennedy's as their siblings enter politics as candidates and behind the scenes; however, none will surpass that of George W. Bush.

Well, they've already gotten the drinking and questionable behavior parts down. And don't forget the mistresses. "…none will surpass that of George W. Bush" Does Tommy mean that no Bush will ever push the National Debt as high as it is now? And what about the "little brown" Bushes?

-JEB Bush will never be president- but will find himself in the midst as a vice president candidate.

-People will continue to be an illegal commodity until foreign countries become more advanced and inexpensive robots are available to the public.

Robots? I got nuthin'.

-One day almost all crime will be solved by video.

And that video will feature Kid Rock, a dozen hookers, and twenty feet of aluminum tubing.

-Food will one day be made to be absorbed completely by the body.

Just as Tommy's ass is completely absorbing his sofa.

-Studying the behavior on Survivor will one day become a college course.

Um…Tommy…it's not really a prediction if it's already happened.

One more thing before we get to our little weekly showdown: Has anyone else noticed that Tommy signs his cartoons as "Gary Flatt"?

Boycott Liberalism's Cartoon of the Weak

RATYHTL's humble answer.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As part of a campaign called "Operation Lion Feed" the good folks over at God is for Suckers are asking their readers to visit an odious little reactionary blog called Halbert's Cubical and to make copious use of its Comments section.

To be perfectly honest (which I'll try never to do again) I was willing to give this little shit a pass until I spotter the following on his site under the heading of Atheist Civil Rights?

"Civil rights struggle? What a bunch of whiners. In what way are your rights abridged at all in this freaking society? Hmm? Oh, that's right, in no way whatsoever."

In no way other than having to see "In God we Trust" emblazoned on the money of a secular country, having our children forced to say "under God" in the pledge to the flag of a secular country, having our tax dollars diverted to fund religious organizations, and an ongoing attack on Science by the fuckin' cast of Hee Haw.

Please feel free to hammer this little dipshit's site into dust.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm going to declare a new ritual for Saturday. As I've become fed up with the modern world, I'll be spending every Saturday escaping into the ancient world. Caligula may've have been a homicidal psychopath, but when viewed entirely through the Prism of History, he's much more palatable than George Bush...or John Kerry, for that matter.

If I keep my mind rooted in the present, I just might lose it. Is it just me, or does it seem like there's been an exponential jump in the number of complete and total morons in America in the last few years? While at the library today, I picked up a about Charles Darwin and found out that in a recent UK poll, he was voted the fourth most popular person in the history of Britain: just behind Princess Di. In a recent US poll, it was discovered that seventy-nine percent of Americans believe in the virgin birth of Jesus. That's like finding out that eight out of ten of your neighbors believe in Santa Claus.

Shit Luther, just the other day I turned on the TV and saw a piece about the OSCAR awards that featured talking rectum Larry Elder crying like a little bitch and claiming that the nominations of Capote and Brokeback Mountain are part of some Liberal plot (ah, makes you nostalgic for the "good ol' days" when every plot was a Secret Jewish Plot © ) to make homosexuality attractive to middle America. Good thinking Larry, you jockstrap sniffing piece of shit. Nothing is going to make guys like me, who've never had a Gay thought (other than, I should really tidy up around here) wanna punch butts more than the rock hard, chiseled body of Philip Seymour Hoffman. And although I haven't seen Brokeback Mountain (because I'm not Gay, but I'll betcha that Larry has "monitored" the film at least a dozen times), I'm willing to bet that two Gay men in 1950's America aren't going to end up living happily ever after.

Larry, you stupid, stupid, stuuuupid fuckwit. You need to think about the OSCARS in the same way you've been ordered to think about tax cuts for the rich. Most conservatives believe that if you overtax the wealthy they'll pack up their mansions and move to some other country, like Albania. If we stop handy Academy Awards to those arty/smarty films that you hate Larry, and start giving them to the crap that rakes in the cash at the box office, it's entirely possible that America's intellectual elite will relocate to ...altogether now...France: leaving only you, Larry, and your retarded mother to guard our borders.

Jacked Up Jesus spending the night in the Drunk Tank, is there anything more annoying than a Black conservative? Forty years ago, conservatives were arguing that Blacks needed to shut the fuck up and sit quietly in the back of the bus. So Larry, what do you do when, turning into the driveway of one your Right Wing buddies, your headlights illuminate a lawn jockey?

Look, I know that we've been over this ground a million times, but the combination of the stress of my new job and the shock of what I read in the newspaper is causing my head to pound like Bill O'Reilly's mattress when the fleet is in port. Until this storm between my ears blows over, I plan to seek refuge in the Harbor of History and I strongly suggest that you do the same.

The first thing that you'll need is a copy of a book by an ancient author. Almost any work of antiquity will do. Plutarch is always a good choice, but I highly recommend Cicero: not only because he was a brilliant orator, but also because he was the first person to come up with this "Tells You How To Live" racket.

The other thing that you're going to need is Volumes I and II of Synaulia: Music From Ancient Rome (Don't be dissuaded by the pictures of the web site which would imply that this band tours in a short, yellow bus). I picked up (and then was caught by store security and made to pay for) Volume I a few months ago. The first volume is explores Roman wind instruments: the musical items ruled over by RATHTL's patron God, Dionysus. This CD ruled at such a high level that I was reluctant to pick up Volume II (string instruments: which are the province of Dionysus' Type-A older brother, Apollo) for fear that it would suck mightily in comparison with Synaulia's first effort. You might find this impossible to believe, but even I can be wrong from time-to-time: Volume II is even better than Volume I.

Now all you have to do is avoid your phone, your computer and your TV. I've just begun this experiment, so I can't tell you if it's had a positive effect or not. All I can say is that this was the fist Sunday in months that I've been able to watch The McLaughlin Group without throwing my cat at the TV screen.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 11:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Look, I don't want to unduly frighten anyone. After all, that's not what RATYHTL is about. OK, maybe that's sort of what RATYHTL is about, but that's definitely not what RATYHTL is about at this moment. Like I said, I don't want to unduly frighten anyone, but I'm a little worried about Blair.

The last E-Letter that I got from her was back in early January. Since then: nothing. Not even the usual vaguely threatening letters from her lawyers.

Concerned for Blair's safety (I'd hate for her next TV appearance to be as a guest corpse on Dr. G.: Medical Examiner), I did something I swore that I would never do again. I visited her website. But this just left more more confused than before. On the one hand, Blair's journal is fairly up-to-date so she must still be alive (or was on February 25th). On the other hand, right there on the Journal page is a notice which says "Sign up for my monthly e-letter." If the e-letter still exists, why am I no longer getting it? I searched all of Blair's journal entries for clues, but this only resulted in dizziness, nausea, and a tingling sensation in my loins. Having exhausted Blair's journal, I moved on to the FAaaaaaQ section and exited it with nothing more than a persistent ringing in my ears and a newly developed fear of lawn furniture. Despite the partial blindness caused by Blair's graphics, I soldiered on, eventually coming across Blair's Past E-Letters section. The E-Letters here only go up to May of 2005, but if I don't hear from Blair soon, I may be forced to return to this section to gather material for a "Best of Blair" post.

As all true aficionados of Blairism know, Her Highest Hot Sauceness resides in rural Texas. Over and over again, my mind kept coming back to that fact. And that's why I'm really worried about Blair. I've watched enough late night television to know that when anyone goes missing with five hundred miles of the Mexican border there can only be one rational explanation...

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Thursday is a good day for gathering odds and ends. Let's get started.

Brownie May've Been Doing a Heck of a Job After All.

"I don't think anyone anticipated the breach of the levees."

- George W. Bush

Last night the world (except for people who regularly watch FO News, they may have to wait a few days) learned of the existence of a videotape of Bush being told, hours before Hurricane Katrina struck the gulf coast, that the storm would be one bad mutha...

Shut yo' mouth.

Jus' talking about Katrina.

...and that, in the words of Led Zeppelin, if it keeps on rainin' the levee's goin' to break.

How much would you pay for this incredible video? Don't answer now because there's more: The tape also includes footage of Michael "Brownie" Brown (a man whom we all spent weeks mocking) saying "We're going to need everything that we can possibly muster, not only in this state and in the region, but the nation, to respond to this event."

Jesusfuckingmethmouth! When Michael Brown is the most competent guy in the room, it's definitely time to throw in the towel.

Dominoes Delivers... Us From EVIL!!!

Thomas S. Monaghan, founder of Dominoes (the shittiest pizza this side of the Bangladesh Rat Turd Combo © ) has announced his plans to build a town which will be governed according to Roman Catholic law (that is going to make for the best episode of COPS ever!). The town, to be called Ave Maria (what else?) is being built in Florida (where else?) and will feature a 65 feet tall crucifix, which the town's promoters claim would be the largest in the nation.

And that's about all it'll feature.

The stores (which I'm guessing will be Wal-Marts) will not carry "pornographic" magazines (Monaghan's definition of "pornographic" might include woman wearing bright colors), pharmacies will sell any form of birth control, and the local cable provider will offer no X-rated channels.
At last, a town that'll make Boise look like Amsterdam.

Shit Luther, didn't we try this once, and wasn't it called "the Middle Ages"?

Pope Monaghan, I've give you the last word, and another oppoptunity to make an ass of yourself and the wanton harlot who bore you.

"I believe all of history is just one big battle between good and evil. I don't want to be on the sidelines."

- Thomas S. Monaghan

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Lately I've noticed a new aspect of my personality that I really need to get under control quickly: I've become openly hostile towards Christians. Like most things that come to my attention, I realized this while I was in bed with Vienna. There we were, nice and comfy. I was translating some Latin while Vienna was watching her latest guilty pleasure: a primetime game show called Deal or No Deal.

If you haven't seen the show, it works kind of like this: a contestant chooses one of twenty-six metal brief cases. Each of the brief cases contains an amount ranging from one cent to one million dollars. While host Howie Mandel engages in incoherent babbling, the contestant has to pick (and don't hold me to this; I wasn't paying much attention early on) three cases which are then opened by models (Scott Thompson of Kids in the Hall fame said it best: "Modeling can mean a lot of things.") who have been assigned to guard the cases from al Qaeda (hey, that's more security than our ports are getting right now). If the amounts in the models' brief cases are low, then that means that the amount in the contestant's brief case is probably high. If this happens, then the contestant gets a "call" from "The Banker" offering them a substantial amount for their briefcase ("The Banker" is shown only in shadow. The "call" consists of Howie Mandel, whom I'm guessing early focus groups didn't want to see as a bad guy, pretending to have a conversation with "The Banker"). If the amounts in the models' brief cases are high (then so is Howie Mandel), then that means that the amount in the contestant's brief case is probably low. If this happens, then the contestant gets a "call" from "The Banker" offering them a couple of bucks and some "slightly used" issues of Jugs for their briefcase. In either case, the contestant is then offered the choice of Deal or No Deal.

Got it? Good; then let us never speak of it again.

Anyway, last night's first contestant was a Black woman in her mid-thirties who insisted on acting like a stereotype. She said "child" at least four hundred times in the span of fifteen minutes, her and her family, danced whenever a briefcase containing a small amount was opened. I swear; if I was Black I'd be leading an army of my angry brothers and sisters towards NBC's headquarters right now. Oh, and one other thing: this woman was deeply religious. In fact, the audience seemed to be comprised almost entirely of her church's choir. At the command of cruel plantation foreman Mandel, these simpletons would launch into the "No Deal" song.

Now, the woman seemed confident that Jesus had placed a million dollars in her brief case. No, I don't think that she actually said "Jesus has placed a million dollars in my brief case", but the presence of that annoying choir and her tendency to talk about her church were tantamount to shouting "God wouldn't let me down."

Case after case was opened and low amount after low amount was revealed. Each time this was followed by another round of "hallelujah dancing" and stories about the woman's church.

Maybe it's the fact that, in the last few years, I've noticed a dramatic rise in the number of news stories about morons who think that the Earth is only six thousand years old, that Gays should have to right to suffer through marriage the way that straight people do, or that the Rapture is just around the corner, or maybe it was her "Jeebuz is gonna line my pockets' attitude, but I really started to despise this woman. And so did Vienna.

When "The Banker" made his first "call" offering the woman, who earns less than forty thousand dollars a year, over thirty grand, and the choir launched into the "No Deal" song, I know I was witnessing the unfolding of an epic tragedy. And I savored every minute of it.

I'll spare you the suspense: the woman, certain in her faith in a just and loving God, eventually turned down over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars for her brief case. She walked away with five dollars. As her family stood silent, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the event which had just unfolded before their eyes, Vienna and I danced around our bedroom singing a little song of our own. It was quite different than the "No Deal" song the woman's choir had sung earlier. Our song was called the "Ha, ha. Your God has abandoned you" song. The chorus, a paraphrasing of a quote from Seneca went "Ratio nos ducet non fortuna" which means "Reason, not fortune, will lead us."

I felt badly afterwards. For all I know this woman was a genuinely nice person. Deep down inside I know that what I was venting was a rage that many Atheists feel. All day long, I come into contact with people who freely talk about the churches they attend and their faith. They're not doing it to be jerks; in fact the opposite is true; they're just making polite conversation. I never talk about my Atheism. It's not that I'm ashamed, it's just that I don't want to run the risk of being "witnessed to".Shit Luther, if I had a nickel for every well intentioned Christian who has invited me to a viewing of The Passion, I'd be writing this piece from my private, jewel encrusted, submarine.

Tonight's contestant on Deal or No Deal is an effeminate doctor. I hope, for the sake of all the Fundies who might tune in, that he wins a million dollars and donates the cash to Planned Parenthood, The ACLU, and ACT UP.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 08:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)