Thoughtless for the Day

Part of me (albeit a very small part of me…no, not that part, wiseasses) feels somewhat bad for writing about the Dracula Parade. This is because I not everyone is fortunate enough to live in Philadelphia and I know that many of you will spend the next several weeks weeping and gnashing your teething in abject misery at the realization of what has been denied to you by sheer geographic happenstance. Still, I have a duty - nay, I sacred obligation - to report the Truth (or, at the very least, my version of the Truth - Truth 2.0) to my reading public. Do you think I actually like posting Blair's Iiiiieeeeaaa-Letters? Of course not; but I do it because you need to know about whatever petty shit Blair happens to be doing at that moment.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, the Dracula Parade.

This year Vienna and I managed to gather together a contingent of about sixteen people for the parade and after-gig party back at the ol' Anonymous place. Anyhoo, so I'm standing on the sidewalk chatting with Dean's wife, Melissa, when the little girl in the picture above walks up to us and begins waging a verbal land, sea and air campaign to convince us to volunteer to man the costume of the Demeter, the ship that carried Dracula from Istanbul to England. Oddly, the map carried in the parade directly before the ship depicts Dracula taking the "overland" route.

To hear the little girl tell it, the entire parade would be a monumental failure if we didn't join her, the bough, in the boat. Look, if you'd had been there you wouldn't have been able to say no to her either. So Melissa was given the task of being the ships stern while I was assigned the duty of holding the Demeter's main(and only)mast.

Now that doesn't look so bad; does it? Well, what you can't see are two harnesses that I fitted out with: one to help support the boat and another, terminating in a soup can, which supports the mainmast…which, I forget to mention, is about fifteen to twenty feet high and weighs a good thirty pounds.

Under normal atmospheric conditions, marching that mast from Delancy Street, around Rittenhouse Square and back again would've been a laborious task for a man half my age. Saturday night's weather, however, was anything but normal. It was windy. It was very, very windy.

We had barely gone fifty yards when the wind found the sail and decided that it would make an excellent kite. By the time the parade hit Locust Street the full force of the wind upon the mast had gotten so bad that harness snapped and I was forced to support the mast with my leg. "I think we're entering Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner territory" I yelled to Melissa It was becoming obvious to even causal observers that the Demeter was serous danger of capsizing and perhaps taking a few souls goes with her. And at this point the ranks of the parade had swelled pretty impressively.

The only person who seemed oblivious to the ensuing chaos (although we were getting to brunt of the gusts, the Demeter wasn't the only thing in trouble: small children + large bat wings x gale-force winds = unintentional comedy) was the little girl at the bough of the boat. For the entire course of the parade, she would take four steps then dip and rise back up and take another four steps before dipping again. This made the ship look like it was actually weathering a storm at sea: Merryl Streep couldn't have done a better job.

And that's when it hit me. This little girl chose Melissa and I because she could tell that, no matter what, we're the kind of people who aren't going to abandon our posts and let a little kid down. If that little girl could go the entire length of the parade with braking character, then I could keep the wind from ripping that mast (now bent nearly in half) from my hands. That's why when one of the volunteers from Spiral Q Puppet Theater ran up to me and suggested that I chuck the mast I shouted "You can have this mast when you pry it from my cold, dead hands!"

Happy Halloween

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 08:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Once of the reason that I took a break from blogging is that I was becoming disparaged over what I'd like to post as opposed to what I feel I need to post. In a perfect world, the overwhelming majority of RATYHTL posts would look like this:
The Lives of Famous Whores

The "wolves' lair" - ancient Pompeii's biggest, best planned and most richly decorated brothel - yesterday reopened to the public after extensive restoration.

While this is great news, I can't help but think that the Archaeologists involved need to take the restoration to the nth degree by reopening the Wolves' Lair as a fully functioning whorehouse featuring the world's most enthusiastic "historical re-enactors". Shit Luther, one restored and functioning brothel could easily finance the excavation of Pompeii.

By the way, a friend of mine once told me that one of the best parts about visiting Pompeii and Herculaneum is seeing the horrified expressions on the faces of repressed Americans when then they see the erotic murals adorning the cities' walls.

PS. Don't forget to attend the Dracula Parade on Saturday night.

And now the Suburban Lawns with Janitor!!!!

OK, that's the kind of post I'd like to fire off. Here's the sort of post a feel a sort of obligation to publish:

The Law of Gravity

Here are two examples of how the shit flows down hill:

1) Wages haven't grown in years so workers have been giving themselves "raises" in the form of maxing out their credit cards. Another other way to for these folks to feel like they're getting a little something extra in their piggy banks is for them to vote for politicians who promise to cut their taxes (on little cut for the working class and one BIG ct for the wealthy). Of course, that means that the government has less money to do little things like, oh say, paying off the national debt. But that's OK, because we can always borrow money from China.

2. If Bush's drive-by shooting of Habeas Corpus didn't tip you off that America is now officially a third world country, this should:

WASHINGTON (AP) -- The White House said Friday that Vice President Dick Cheney was not talking about a torture technique known as "water boarding" when he said dunking terrorism suspects in water during questioning was a "no-brainer."

Despite having endured Ice Capades, I am not an expert on torture. However, I think it's pretty unlikely that if an interrogator is dunking a prisoner's head into a bucket of water it's not because all of the good glasses are in the dish washer.

Of course there are a few stubborn little brown folks who may not confess to whatever we said they or someone who looks like them did. In this case, we may have to dunk their wives' heads in a bucket. Remember, we are NOT talking about water boarding. The United States does not torture! That's why it's perfectly acceptable to hold a the head of a man, his wife, or for that matter his children, in a bucket of water until America once again commands the respect of the world.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

If you ask me, it's not Michael J. Fox who forgot to take his pills but Rush Limbaugh. Come to think of it, didn't it seem like Ronald Reagan was playing up his Alzheimer's towards the end? You know, so he wouldn't go on trial for selling arms to Iran. To those people who oppose stem cell research ...

I can only say SHUT THE FUCK UP WHEN BIG PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT SCIENCE! I don't give a shit about how you caught that ball that won the big game or how chewy your tollhouse cookies are or how many times you've taken your grandson fishing. You might be a nice person but you couldn't even fill Rick Santorum's microscopic jockstrap with what you know about biology. If you think the earth was created by your invisible friend roughly 6,000 years ago then you should seriously consider voicing your opinions about what scientists should or shouldn't be cooking up in Petri dishes.

In other news: The latest Aid or Invade has been printed and posted to my ever-growing confusion. By which I mean that I've come to the conclusion that nobody, including my editor, actually reads AoI. Each month AoI drifts a little farther away from Earth's orbit, yet no one in authority at the City Paper (Assuming, of course that someone actually is in authority at the CP - I mean, they keep sending me checks so somebody's gotta be green-lighting this shit) has ever asked me to take it down a notch or two.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Where have I been? Why did I suddenly abandon my posts? What ever to Richie Cunningham's older brother, Chuck? You'll have to wait for the answers because we've got a bigger fish to fry like it was Ethel Rosenberg: Blair's October E-Letter is here Be warned: This E-Letter is long. It's insufferably long. And the narritve is about as coherent as a fever dream, so I'm going to break it down into two separate posts with an intermission in between.

I love the fall [of Western Civilization]; it is my favorite season. I must admit, though, I'm a wee bit frustrated ["a wee bit frustrated"??? When did Blair turn into a fuckin' leprechaun?] at the moment. It has been in the 80's all week here in Texas. It is the middle of October, for goodness sakes! [OK, I know I'm treading into Lou Dobb's territory but somebody's gotta do this: IT'S CALLED GLOBAL WARMING YOU STUPID WHORE!!! And everyone else on the planet, including that little fly-covered kid Madonna just Kinta Kunte-ed outta the Third World, has heard about it!] (By the way, I'm sorry this E-letter is late again. One of these days I'll get on top of life. Nah...probably not. [Oh, so Blair likes it on top? Maybe next year she can play the Lilith Fair?]) Anyway, I'm ready for [tight]sweaters and [suspicious]fires and [hot girl-on-girl]snuggling. This season is supposed to be over by now, what's up with that?! [What is up with that? Honestly, Blair, I don't have the slightest fuckin' clue, so you'll just have to settle for one of those stock Fundie answers that you people love to hand out like so many Jack Chick tracks: It's the Lord's will. "Why is it so warm in October?" It's the Lord's will. "Why is that biker gang raping Grandpa with a tire iron?" Well Billy, it's the Lord's will. If you've ever visited the Burn Unit in a Sudanese hospital for orphans then you've witnessed the miraculous glory of God's will.]

Do you ever feel that way in life? [Nope. And you're talking to a man who once made it halfway though a marathon of House] Maybe you feel stuck in the perpetual preschool or terminal teenage years [or continuous cult-like Christian confinement]. Then again, you may be experiencing a season of life where the heat is so hot that you fear the Lord will not be able to save your tears in a bottle because they evaporate in the furnace of your circumstances the instant one attempts to pool on your bottom lashes. [Um, Blair... you might want to let Dylan Thomas be Dylan Thomas. You're more like Marlo Thomas meets John Thomas]

Perhaps, you are sure you are living in never-ending winter. Everything has died: hope, dreams, a relationship, possibilities, or maybe it isn't exactly dead but it is buried so deep beneath the bitterness of cold reality that you no longer have the strength or breath left to dig your way out from under the avalanche that rolled over you. [Now we know why the suicide prevention helpline asked Blair to stop volunteering]

In whatever unrelenting season you find yourself, may I remind you that just as surely as I know autumn will eventually come to Texas [Along with scientific literacy and the rudiments of personal hygiene], I know your current season will someday give way to milder temperatures? How do I know this? For one thing, God's creation reflects His glory. I guess you could say, you can see His nature in nature. [Yeah, I guess I could say that. It would be an asinine platitude, but I could say it. ]

Psalm 19:1-2 tells us, "The heavens declare the glory of God [Well, I do declare that Mr. Gawd is so handsome he's giving me the vapors.], and the sky above proclaims his handiwork [I always told God that watching The New Yankee Workshop would pay off.]. Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge. [Sure. Whatever.]." I grew up in Texas and there has never been a year when autumn didn't show up[But there were a few nights Blair's when dad didn't come home]. I've grown up with the Lord and I've never experienced a season that didn't eventually pass [Like a gall stone]. "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever." [That's only because New Diet Jesus failed in several key test markets]

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." You matter to God. He has time for you and has ordained time for you. Look up, friend. I see cooler weather and a cozy Comforter in your future. [Shit Luther, the Weather Channel doesn't use this many meteorological metaphors]

God has been turning my little world upside-down these days [Translation: God = Meddling Fucker]. The other night I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. I was lying there, extremely busy planning, plotting [?], fixing, controlling, calendaring, writing, and worrying. After what felt like hours I silently cried out, "Lord, please quiet my heart. [You heard her, Jeebuz!] I have to get some sleep." He answered with, "I will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on me, because he trusts in Me." [I almost don't have the heart to tell Blair that it was her husband, Steve, who whispered that in his "God voice" just to get her to shut the fuck up]

Of course, there was my answer. I immediately hopped out of bed, grabbed a stack of index cards, fired up my computer, squinted into the screen, and searched for about a dozen [Hardcore MILF sites] Scriptures I could keep handy to remind myself that my primary responsibility is to wait, rest and trust. He will take care of everything; the rest is up to me. I chose a verse I already had memorized and fell to sleep meditating on that promise. [When I can't sleep I watch softcore porn on CineMax. That'll put anybody to sleep]

The next morning I woke up and the oppressive fog which had been clouding my vision for weeks had lifted [Yeah, I get that "oppressive fog" too when I eat lima beans]. In place of the darkness was fresh light of revelation. One-by-one, God pointed His finger to areas of my life and turned them inside-out [God played "stinky finger" with Blair? Gross.]. I figure the best way to illustrate what He's been doing is to point out His fingerprints in three examples.

Ministry [No, not the band] - For fear of digressing to whining[too late], let me just say that I'm pretty covered up with work [and fire ants]. New math or old math, it doesn't add up ["and my abacus is broken"]. There aren't enough days on the calendar to accomplish all that needs to be done before people start getting mad at me.

I thought I was responding in faith by declaring, "I will do the best I can do, as responsibly as possibly, after that God is going to have to do a miracle." My tender heavenly Father gently corrected me with, "You've got it backwards, little one. It never has, or ever will be, about the best you can do. Every time you sit down to write or stand up to speak I'm doing a miracle in the first place." [God, as depicted by Blair, is a first-rate asshole]

To drive home His point [He covered me with boils], over the following days He required me to walk as if I really believed this truth [If I could walk that way I wouldn't...]. Time after time He offered me a choice, would I seek Him first and trust His "enoughness" [I think Colbert owns that word] or would I lamely and proudly insist on offering Him my b[r]e[a]st[s]. Would I choose to "waste precious writing time" obeying His agenda to linger with my husband over a cup of morning coffee, come home from the library long enough to cook and eat dinner with my family, pour my heart out in my journal, lie still on my closet floor without even praying, or attend Bible study with my friend as much because I need her as I do Him? ["lie still on my closet floor" ??? That's odd behavior for Courtney Love let alone Blair.]

God is more than enough. Not only is the writing getting done, but there is even leftover resource [in the 'frige]. It isn't about me being enough. Will there ever come a day when I finally learn this lesson for the last time?

Parenting - For the sake of brevity, (I know, too late for that, huh?) [Fuck you], let me put this bluntly. I've done everything I've ever written about in any of my books [and a few of the Marquis DeSade's], and it will not be enough. I really hope I didn't just push you over the edge of the cliff you've been considering jumping off of because of your utter sense of failure as a parent in the first place [Now drop and give me twenty you worthless maggot!]. Hang on to my hand for a minute. Believe it or not, this is actually good news.

Stay Tuned for Part Two in which the good news is revealed.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"...Alton Verm will stare at a title like that the way a chipmunk stares at an electron microscope."

- That guy over at You Are Dumb

OK. OK. I know that just about every wiseass with a computer and ten free minutes has posted about Alton Verm's one-'tard campaign to rid the world of Fahrenheit 451. So, under normal circumstances, I'd just mention the story in passing and move right along to speculating on the "scratchy" qualities of Lisa "Blair" Whelchel's undergarments. However, the Verm affair (as future generations will undoubtedly refer to it) revolves around two things at the heart of RATYHTL: Irony and Books.

The ironic part isn't very hard to miss. What is somewhat difficult is keeping a running total of all of the elements of irony involved. Sure, there's the obvious: Alton Verm (William Faulkner is kicking himself in his grave for not coming up with that name) got it into his uncluttered head to have, Fahrenheit 451, a book about book burning, banned during Banned Books Week Add to this the fact that A) Verm has never read the book in question and that B) one of Verm's chief complaints is that one of the books burned in Fahrenheit 451 is the Bible. Multiple that by one of Verm's other complaints about the book "talking about our firemen" (I've never been to Conroe, TX but you're going to have a hard time convincing me that the book-burning firemen of Ray Bradbury's tome on the firemen of Mr. Verm's hometown).

Now, take all of the above and raise it to the exponent of the following quote:

"With God's name in vain being in there, that's the number one reason,"
- Altom Verm (Internet Comedy Staple)

Among a myriad of other things, Alton seems unaware of the original meaning of "taking the Lord's name in vain" (Again, I've never been to Conroe, TX but I'm getting the feeling that Jews are about as plentiful there as shaved twats at a Sarah McLaughlin concert). Among the Hebrews "taking the Lord's name in vain" meant invoking Yahweh's help in trivial matters. Have you ever seen a football team pray to God for a victory? Sure you have. Well, according to Jewish Law (and as everyone knows, all lawyers are Jewish) that entire team along with their coach, water boy, cheerleaders, booster club, hookers, and bookies are taking the Lord's name in vain. That's why football is played with a "pig's skin" in order to keep Jews from ruining the game.

Of course, some might be so crass as to point out that if Mr. Verm is interested in protecting his daughter from offensive literature, he should be made aware of that fact that on the library shelves of nearly every school in the country can be found a book which contains a particularly brutal passage in which a group of men attempt to rape a man as he visits a city. Not wanting to have his ass-cherry burst, the man gives his concubine to the horny crowd who spend the entire night raping the poor woman. In the morning, the man loads the woman onto the back of his donkey and takes her home: where he promptly dismembers her

Tune in tomorrow for part two of the Alton Verm saga.

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

Sorry I didn't post last night but I was busy working on some new software. In case you haven't hear, Netflix is offering a million dollar prize to anyone who can revamp their recommendation system. I haven't quite worked out all of the bugs, but I think you'll agree that the money is as good as mine:

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

In my family there are only two holidays: Halloween and Getting' Ready for Halloween. That's why I my posts might be dropping off for a day or two at time over the next month. I want to make this Halloween as much fun as possible before Christian America forces a bill through congress outlawing both Halloween and fun.

For those of you who might find the above thought(less) overly dramatic, I offer H.R. 2679: The Public Expression of Religion Act which was recently passed by that emporium of talking sphincters collectively known House of Representatives. What makes this particular piece of legislation so loathsome that I would take the time on a Sunday night to write about it? The bill (if it passes in the senate) will "deny attorneys' fees in a civil action against a state or local official for deprivation of rights where the deprivation consists of a violation of a prohibition in the Constitution against the establishment of religion." Got that? Let's say that your tax dollars are used to erect a giant bleeding Jeebuz statue on public land between your city hall and courthouse. You sue to have the statue removed (and shoved up James Dobson's ass). You win, but thanks to H.R. 2679 you can't recoup your legal fees. Luther, close that window; we're getting a chilling effect in here.

Fortunately, my congressman, Bob Brady, voted against H.R. 2679. Click here to find out how your congressman voted. If he or she voted for the bill (Like Congressman Mark Foley of Florida did. Foley is a man so concerned with religious freedom that he attempted to take his holy staff and ram the fear of Gawd into a sixteen-year-old former page.), you should really drop him or her a line reminding them of what complete morons they are. I suggest you begin at missive with a simple "Shame on you".

And shame on all of us for allowing such a asinine piece of legislation to get so far.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 09:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)