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12/18/2005: "T'day, my baby's gone away [WHATEVER]"
Io Saturnalia! Which also happens to be about as far as I got with
celebrating the first day of Saturnalia: shouting "Io Saturnalia" at
my neighbors. They've come to expect this sort of behavior from me, so
they basically smiled back, waved and wished me a happy "whatever".
It's the same reaction Alberto Gonzales gets whenever someone says,
"Hey, betcha didn't know it was my birthday today" and he gets that
wild look in his eyes and says something like "You know who else has a
birthday today? Kylie Wylde! You know, from Rub the Muff 3 and
Summer School Sex Kittens ."
Technically, I guess that I can be excused for my lack of preparedness
for Saturnalia by the facts that A) I have never celebrated it before
and B) some of the Saturnalia rituals that I found on the web were,
frankly, more than a little New Age-ish and, therefore, rather silly.
Attention Wiccans, Druids, Mormons, and anybody else in a peasant skirt:
whether you call Him Saturn or Cronos, He is not interested in having His
holiday turned into a backyard version of Woodstock (Woodstock 99, maybe;
but never the original Woodstock). Honestly, I'm not quite sure just how
Saturn wants us to celebrate Saturnalia, which gives me the freedom to
celebrate it any damn way I please. Of course, with freedom comes
responsibility. The more freedom, the more responsibility; therefore, I
propose that we all collaborate on some acceptable guidelines for
Saturnalia. Here's what I have so far:
1) Figure of Saturn (Cronos). Why? Because I happen to have one. Also,
because it really helps to have a representation of the God whose day
you're celebrating. Maybe this thing'll catch on and we can all look
forward to decorating our lawns with figures of Saturn.
2) On December 17th, bind Saturn's feet with yarn or string or whatever.
On December 24th, just before midnight, unbind Saturn and shout "Io
Saturnalia", then expect a visit from The Man.
3) There should be some sort of special Saturnalia snack: maybe some sort
of cookie. I'll get back to you on this one.
Well, that's all I have; so, I'd definitely appreciate your suggestions.
Remember, Christmas started out on a small and without the advantage of
the internet.
Hmmmm…"…with freedom comes responsibility. The more freedom, the more
responsibility…" That, of course, is one of the guiding principles
behind Existentialism. The other day I was listening to Radio Times when
someone called in and asked Marty guest, who had written a book about the
relationship between John Paul-Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir to define
Existentialism. Personally, I think that every guest on every talk
show should be asked to define Existentialism. Maybe then I'd pay
sixteen bucks a month to listen to Howard Stern. "Wow baby, those are
some big cans. Would you mind defining Existentialism for me?" Then Robin
laughs on cue.
Thank Cronos that Marty's guest's definition of Existentialism and mine
matched up pretty well. I can't tell you how happy this made me. If I'd
discovered that I misunderstood Existentialism, I would've felt like
Kevin Kline's character in A Fish Called Wanda, who's convinced
that the central tenet of Buddhism is "Every man for himself". Anyhoo,
here's how I've always explained Existentialism:
Rule Number One: There is no God.
Rule Number Two: Don't be sad about there not being a God, because this
greatly increases your amount of freedom.
Rule Number Three: Before you get worked up about all that freedom you
just pocketed, you should be aware that with freedom comes responsibility.
The more freedom you have, the greater the responsibility you should be
shouldering. If someone is living in a Dictatorship, Theocracy, or working
for Wal-Mart, then their Level Of Responsibility (LOR) is about a 2 on a
scale of 1 to 10. While your LOR may vary depending upon which state you
reside in, your race, religion, sex, sexual orientation, income, and
whether or not you subscribe to cable TV, most of us have a LOR of about
8.5. That means that we all should be responsibly for trying to make life
on this planet…well, at the very least, tolerable.
Remember that definition of Existentialism. Not only as a reminder that
you, as someone to whom much freedom has (at lest for now) been granted,
have a duty to your fellow passengers on this little, blue ball o' mud,
but also because it may get you laid some day. And nobody got laid more
often than Jean-Paul Sartre. OK, maybe Picasso got laid more than Sartre.
Both men were five-foot-one. Hey, I'm five-foot-one. No wonder my wife
won't let me go to the store by myself.
I'll be honoring Sartre this year (and Picasso, next year) with a very
special gingerbread house. Trust me; you'll wanna keep checking back in
for pictures of that.
* Sadly, Leilani isn't around to celebrate her birthday. It seems that
she developed a case of Agoraphobia so severe that, one day, she punched
a hole in the wall of her apartment, crawled inside and suffocated.
RATYHTL wishes her the peace in death that she never knew in life.
Seriously.
A Special Saturnalia Message For George W. Bush:
Hey asshole! Take that red crayon that you were just using to color in all
the blood in you Big Book of Foreign Policy, go to the calendar and circle
Friday, December 16th, 2005. Do you know why this date is significant?
Because it's the day on which you officially crossed the line, fucknuts!
It was on this day that America learned (via the New York Times, who
fucking sat on the story for a goddamn year) that, following 9/11, you
authorized the NSA to spy on Americans with obtaining a court order.
Translation: you wiped your ass with the Bill of Rights. The very same
Bill of Rights that brave Americans were dying to protect in the rice
paddies of Vietnam while you were sucking hobo cocks for coke money in
the Louisiana National Guard, you piece-of-shit gopher hole rapist.
Consider yourself put on notice, you obsequious bitch, that I'll be
dedicating the rest of my life to seeing that your name becomes synonymous
with miserable, shameful failure. I hope you live a long, long life,
rim-lapper, because I want you to see December 16th turned into a National
Holiday on which school children spit on your picture and Americans of all
races and social classes gather together to talk about what a dick you are,
fuckface. This is what people who piss all over everything that America
stands for, everything that I hold dear and would die to defend, get. Fuck
you! Oh, and for, if not actively encouraging then at least helping to
create the sort of atmosphere in which the Pentagon felt free to spy on
anti-war protesters, were going to erect statues of you in every town
square in the USA. And on each of those statues they'll be a plaque which
will read: "George W. Bush - America's Biggest Asshole." Then, every year
on December 16th we'll pull those statues down and every town bum in every
town from sea-to-shining-sea will give a speech about the time you blew
him coke money.
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. When you eventually die, alone and insane,
don't count on being buried in hollowed ground either, knob-polisher. Your legacy
will be a day on which all Americans curse your name, zoo-voyeur, and
promise never to allow someone who despises the principles on which this
country was founded as much as you do to hold office again.
PS. Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! You un-American hobo-sucking
coke-snorting Constitution-raping piece of rat shit!
