23 January 2007

Back Again!

I am back blogging here again after being away for six months. I promise to keep posting here as frequently as possible.

So prepare yourself for a further ride on the von Waldenberg express.

19 August 2006

Avalon Girl

One of the most remarkable vocal performances in rock music history happens on Roxy Music's seminal single "Avalon" at the end of the song. Brian Ferry has finished lamenting poetically about a last dance with a lovely woman, and as the song's slow, sexy Samba beat winds down with a smokey sax solo, out of nowhere comes one the most beautiful voices in recorded music, wailing orgasmically as the song slowly fades out.

The singer was Yanick Etienne, and her beautiful and inspiring performance is probably one of the top five magical moments in rock history.

As Rick Clark writes, the act of getting Yanick on tape happened almost by chance:

Ferry had stayed up that Saturday night and composed what would be the lyrics to “Avalon.” Then, happenstance would provide “Avalon” with one of its most memorable elements: the interpretive vocal contributions of Yanick Etienne. Sunday was usually a down day at the Power Station, so the studio would let local Haitian bands come in to do demos when there wasn't much happening. It was then that Davies and Ferry, on a coffee break in the hallway, heard Etienne singing.

“Bryan and I could hear this girl from the Haitian band next door singing, and we thought, ‘Wow! What a voice! We've got to get her singing some backing vocals on “Avalon.”’ That was Yanick Etienne, who didn't speak a word of English. She came in with her boyfriend/manager and we described to him what we wanted and she sort of sang the choruses and the [word] ‘Avalon’ — the great sound that is on there. Then we said, ‘Can she try and do something free at the end?’ and we ran the end of the track and she did absolutely nothing. So I said, ‘No, we want her to sing anything that she would want to sing, totally free.’ So the second time we ran the tape, she sang exactly what you hear on the record at the end.

“Bryan then went straight out and re-sang his vocal properly, because he was so inspired by Yanick's singing. I remember Bryan's manager walked in the room and Bryan was just finishing his vocal. We were doing the playback and I'd never seen the look on his eyes before. He went, ‘Jesus f****** Christ! That is incredible!’ Well, we knew it was a really high point of the evening. I remember going, ‘Wow! We have really created something special here.’ That is how I felt. Then we mixed it the next day with Bob.

“It was one of those turnaround things, where the original track was just about to be thrown in the can. And then suddenly, we did a completely different version of the song that just made the record for me,” Davies concludes. “I thought, ‘That's it. That completes the record!’ I remember we had dinner a couple nights later, and I asked Bryan, ‘What are you going to call the album?’ and he said, ‘I'm going to call it Avalon,’ and I thought, ‘Yeah. Of course.’”

I first bought the album Avalon in 1982 and it has remained in the top tier of my playlist ever since. The entire album is a long, lovely, romantic state of bliss, and I cannot even count the number of times I have played it while making love or just lying in bed, staring into space as I contemplate the state of the universe.

And, most of all, when I hear Yanick Etienne's magical voice I'm taken to a place where few other works of art can take me. Moreover, it's such a lovely place that words fail me when I try to describe it. All I can say is that it is somewhere between heaven and the best orgasm I've ever had.

Just get the record and start the song "Avalon" at the 2:44 minute mark and you'll know what I mean.

30 June 2006

Support the Troops, But Be Wary Too

I'm an Army veteran who spent eight years with the Green Machine back in the Cold War. I love my country and was honored to serve it in uniform and do my humble part for its defense. I never participated in wars or combat, simply because during the years I served there weren’t any of great significance, other than the brief conflict in Grenada and the peacekeeping debacle in Lebanon, both of which happened at the same time in 1983. However, eight years of service in uniform as a professional soldier is still eight years of sacrifice and toil for my country, and therefore I certainly feel qualified enough, and have enough military experience, to comment with some authority on military matters.

Let me state clearly that our current, post-9/11, "I support the troops" collective mentality is nice and sweet, and for the most part the folks in uniform deserve this almost saint-like reverence, but there are also scary, moronic, thuggish, racist, and psychopathic bastards in the military who are about a half-step up the ladder from the murderous slime on death rows.

Support the troops, yes, but also be wary of them. Most of all, be wary of their leaders all the way up the chain of command to the commander-in-chief, the President of the United States. Quite often, when honor and discipline breaks down in the lower ranks, the leaders are responsible for this breakdown.

Professional killing is a brutal enterprise, and the killers we train for our military forces are not all white knights and saint-like patriots doing their duty for Mom and apple pie. Some troopers dig the violence and killing. Many join the military hoping to kill enemies. Of course, this attracts an unsavory element that the military often allows to join simply because the services are so desperate for fresh recruits. The military would never turn away tough, physically and mentally qualified kids just because they have questionable morals or unsavory intellectual views. However, the military does disqualify anyone who appears to be obviously crazy or dangerous, and yet even then there’s a fine line between insanity and the kind of mentality that makes a good, tough, motivated professional killer.

So of course lots of vicious pricks and vile scumbags enlist.

For example, back in the 90s it was a known fact that there were alarmingly large numbers of white supremacists and former skinheads in Airborne and Special Forces. The military tried to weed out the worst offenders, but these kind of elite troopers are, by character and training, difficult to break under pressure or be forced to confess their sins, so a large number snuck through the dragnet. And besides, these punks make fantastic soldiers as long as they keep their repugnant views to themselves. That may be difficult for some of you to swallow, but it is true.

The elite units (airborne, rangers, marines, special forces, et al.) are, by their very demanding and often crazy nature, magnets for the more, how shall I say, psychopathic members of our armed forces. That is not to say murderous wackos comprise the majority of elite units, but they do exist in these units in larger numbers than is comfortable for polite society.

The elite units don’t want gutless and weak-kneed pussies, after all. They want men who can deal with massive amounts of stress, sleep, water, and food deprivation, and the most horrifying adversity imaginable, and yet still complete their missions successfully. It takes a rare breed of man who can do that, and maybe not always the kind who would fit in at your vegan cooking club or church social.

Quite often, having violent tendencies or an anti-social personality disorder actually enhances a guy’s chances of making it through the elite unit qualification process. Like I said, there’s a fine line between a psychopath on death row and a soldier who can kill effectively if ordered to do so. Just because a soldier kills primarily for duty, honor, and country certainly doesn’t mean he or she doesn’t also do this killing for pleasure. War is just organized murder, after all, and some people are better wired for killing than others.

Our current military service members bear little resemblance to the citizen soldiers portrayed in "Saving Private Ryan" or "Band of Brothers." The real World War II servicemen were humble civilians who volunteered or were drafted for a great war that required massive numbers of citizens to be quickly called up, trained, and serve in that ominous global conflict. Those men were not professional career soldiers; they were temporary soldiers—temps.

Our World War II temps performed brilliantly, of course, but the fact remains they were mostly amateurs filling slots (cannon fodder in many cases), not crack, highly motivated, and professional soldiers by any accord. Immediately upon the cessation of the conflict, nearly all of these men returned to their civilian lives, and while proud of their service, they were tired of the rigid military lifestyle, plus were horrified and humbled by all the killing and carnage. My father was that type of World War II temp warrior.

Truly professional soldiers, by comparison, have to be less psychologically affected by the military lifestyle and the horrors of war. If not, they wouldn’t have much of a career in the military beyond one tour of duty. Citizen soldiers and draftees tend to serve reluctantly; professionals serve willingly.

Our current military is peopled with this type of extremely fit and highly motivated professional soldier. This new breed sees military service as a career, not just as a duty to their country. This is especially true in the regular military (as opposed to the National Guard and reserve units, which, as we have seen in the Iraq War, aren’t too shabby either, but are still more citizen soldiers than professionals), and even more so in the elite units. The pay, benefits, and bonus and retirement packages are generous enough to retain large numbers of those who have served more than one tour of duty. Because of this high retention of the best and brightest troops, the upper ranks of the non-commission officer (NCO) and officer corps are filled with the best soldiers and military leaders in the world.

While our troops today remain citizen soldiers to a certain extent, our current military as a whole is more like the crack, veteran, war-tested, full-time professional mercenary forces of old that kings and princes paid handsomely to fight their battles alongside the monarchs’ less professional units that were comprised of subjects in their realms pressed into service involuntarily. These mercenary forces often made a huge difference in the outcome of battles. Sometimes they changed sides in the course of the same war. Their only allegiance was to better pay and the opportunity to rape and pillage the vanquished enemy with impunity once the battle was completed. Raping and pillaging was part of their compensation package.

The dilemma of an all-volunteer military in a democracy is simply this: on the one hand, an all-volunteer military is more professional, better trained, and more motivated than one comprised of draftees. On the other hand, this all-volunteer force is largely removed from the general population as a whole, and therefore doesn’t create a large, collective, nation-wide, we’re-all-in-this-together effort to fight our wars like there was during World War II, Korea, and even Vietnam. In those wars citizens from all walks of life either served or were related to or knew intimately someone serving in the military. Today few Americans have any bonds or ties with those serving.

The worst part of this is that, with our flourishing economy providing enough jobs to keep employment rolls high, coupled with the long, drawn-out war in Iraq, military service seems less and less attractive to the young citizens in our country who are capable of serving. So it opens door for more unsavory characters to join the military.

Back in the 80s when I served, the economy was shitty and good jobs were scarce, so large numbers of highly intelligent, motivated, and educated citizens enlisted. It was the golden age of the military. There was such a talent glut in the 1980s military that getting promoted to a higher rank was nearly impossible. E-4s in the 1980s military were probably as capable of leading as today’s E-7s. First lieutenants and captains back then were as capable as majors and light colonels today. And so forth.

I am not saying our military today is fraught with thugs and psychopaths or that the military was better in the 80s (and we did have our share of thugs and psychopaths in my day). But it is true that the enlistee pool from which the military gets it new members has shrunken and the quality has diminished.

However, the vast majority of those serving in uniform right now are citizens of the highest character and should be admired for the sacrifices they are making for all of us to be free and safe. But we have to be careful not to canonize our military to the point where we overlook the fact there are some scary bastards serving who do terrible things that diminish the honor of our armed forces and our country. We should be proud how much we embrace our warriors today, but we should also be mindful not to go overboard with this reverence.

Far too many citizens in this country, especially those who have never served in uniform, in their zeal to “support the troops” in this the post-9/11 world, often give far too much carte blanche to our troops, and forget that all armies, no matter how good or just the cause, commit horrible atrocities and war crimes, and the malefactors committing these acts must be punished. Furthermore—and this is where we have failed ourselves miserably in this current war—the uniformed and civilian leadership all the way up the chain of command should not escape retribution when the honor and discipline in the lower ranks breaks down in such horrible ways. Moreover, those leaders who encouraged illegal and immoral behavior should not escape punishment.

So, America, please support the troops, but be wary of them. Be even more wary of the leadership all the way up the chain of command to the President. Always. And this advice is coming from a veteran and patriot, not some shaggy, anti-war hippie or weak-kneed, lily-livered pacifist.

And now for something completely different.

Speaking of the 1980s, I'd like to present my favorite songs from the genre I call "Jheri Curl Soul." Jheri Curl Soul was music from an era when black artists still played in fully-formed bands and didn't just rap over background music created by someone else. While I do admire rap and hip-hop, I long for the halcyon days of the Jheri Curl Soul created by bands like Cameo, Midnight Star, the Whispers, the Time, Prince and the Revolution, Ready for the World, et al.

Nowadays the R&B charts are filled with rap, hip-hop, and watered-down, R&B-lite crapola. There are very few bands in black music like there used to be. Today's R&B music is driven by producers and marketing departments. I am not saying it's terrible, but it certainly lacks the diversity of sound that used to rule the R&B charts of days gone by.

iPod Playlist: Jheri Curl Soul, 1980-1988

1. "Oh Sheila" by Ready for the World
2. "Attack Me with Your Love" by Cameo
3. "Controversy" by Prince
4. "It's a Love Thing" by The Whispers
5. "The Walk" by The Time
6. "Criticize" by Alexander O'Neal
7. "No Parking (On the Dance Floor)" by Midnight Star
8. "Ghetto Life" by Rick James
9. "Dead Giveaway" by Shalamar
10. "Word Up" by Cameo
11. "Look the Other Way" by Isley Jasper Isley
12. "Forget Me Nots" by Patrice Rushen
13. "Happy" by Surface
14. "Dirty Mind" by Prince
15. "Always" by Atlantic Starr
16. "You Are My Lady" Freddie Jackson
17. "Nite and Day" by Al B. Sure!
18. "Tender Love" by Force MD's
19. "Wild And Loose" by The Time
20. "Back And Forth" by Cameo
21. "If Ever You're In My Arms Again" by Peabo Bryson
22. "Love Come Down" by Evelyn "Champagne" King
23. "Don't Disturb This Groove" by The System
24. "Erotic City" by Prince
25. "You Can't Change That" Ray Parker Jr. & Raydio
26. "Rock Steady" by The Whispers
27. "The Rain" by Oran "Juice" Jones
28. "Give Me To Me Baby" by Rick James
29. "Be Your Man" by Jesse Johnson
30. "Shake You Down" by Gregory Abbott
31. "Dance Little Sister" by Terence Trent Darby
32. "Love You Down" by Ready for the World
33. "Candy" by Cameo
34. "Operator" by Midnight Star
35. "She's Strange" by Cameo

- Alex von Waldenberg III, 29 June 2006

25 June 2006

Pimps on Bikes

Although I’m working in the small, dumpy Midwestern town during the week, on weekends, instead of flying home to the East Coast (which is a long, complicated, and often frustrating experience), I get a hotel in the medium-sized, dumpy Midwestern city that is about a thirty-mile drive from the small, dumpy Midwestern town.

There’s much more to do in the medium-sized, dumpy Midwestern city, especially on weekends. That’s not to say there’s a whole lot to do here, but at least it has cafes, restaurants, and a few good book stores. While I’d rather go home on weekends, the hassle to get there often leaves me so exhausted when I get home that I’m too tired and burned out to enjoy being there. So this is a small but important compromise I’ve made.

This medium-sized, dumpy Midwestern city is like many other cities in the Midwest of this size. Its population is neither expanding nor deflating too fast, it barely maintains the already crappy infrastructure it has, and its economy has remained shitty since the American industrial collapse of the 70s and 80s, all of which keeps it in a perpetual state of mediocrity and mild depression.

By my rough estimate, I’d say the city has a 70:30 percent mix of whites:blacks, and since it’s the upper Midwest, they live together in a rather peaceful but suspicious harmony. It has a few fairly well off suburbs, an alarmingly low amount of middle class neighborhoods, and the rest of the place is a weird mélange of petite ghettos, tarpaper shack hillbilly enclaves, and trailer parks out the wazoo. Once again by my rough estimate, I’d say 60-70% of the citizens earn less than the national average. The place is a depressing dump, more or less.

There are five other cities of this size in this state that are exactly in the same depressing condition as this one. And this state, I might add, voted Republican in the last election.

Talk about shooting yourself in the foot.

So I just watched the great David Beckham score the winning goal for England in their victory over Ecuador, and to kill time before the Netherlands-Portugal match, I decide to cruise around this medium-sized, dumpy Midwestern city.

At first I was just driving around aimlessly, without much thought to where I was going. But after a few passes through the “ghetto,” I began to notice a rather curious and hilarious phenomenon I’d never seen before: pimps on bikes.

Now, I hail from a huge East Coast city, so I’ve seen my share of streetwalkers and pimps. The pimps where I am from consider their cars a point of pride, a sort of proof of their position in the pimp echelon in the ‘hood. The higher echelon pimps drive snazzy European and Japanese sedans or huge SUVs. The more modestly-ranked pimps drive used Caddies or SUVs. The low class pimps drive beat up and shitty cars that were shitty when they were new.

I noticed the pimps and ‘hos in this medium-sized, dumpy Midwestern city on one of my passes through its petite ghetto. The hookers were mostly young, chubby girls of both races, butt-ugly and clad in cheap clothes from Wal-Mart or some other god-awful bargain basement store. They ambled slowly up and down the main street of the petite ghetto as if they were searching for a lost contact lens. Every time a car passed them they’d look at the driver and nod, which, as we big city slickers know, is the hooker’s signal that her red light is on and she’s open for business. I have no idea what kind of sick or desperate bastard would fuck these pigs, but that's not what consumed my thoughts as I drove by them.

Hovering in the background, perched on bikes, were the hookers' pimps, mostly tubby African-American fellows clad in the ubiquitous ghetto "gangasta" uniform seen all over America: an oversized white t-shirt, retro basketball jersey, baggy shorts with the waistline sagging down below their ass, and a baseball cap turned sideways; all they'd need is a big red ball on their nose, big, floppy shoes, a little honking horn, and a bottle of squirting seltzer, and they'd look like circus clowns.

In my city the pimps also hover in the background, but they park along the main hooker street or one of the side streets that intersect it and sit in their fancy—or shitty, depending on their status—pimp cars and keep watch over their employees as they listen to rap music on a car stereo blasting so loud that the bass line can be heard on Mars. Here in this medium-sized, dumpy Midwestern city, the pimps hover around their 'hos on bikes.

Pimps on bikes? Now I’ve seen it all. I'm sure Superfly and Huggie Bear would be ashamed to see this low-class pimp practice.

Maybe these are environmentally-conscious pimps who are trying to keep down the hydrocarbon emissions of their snazzy pimp cars that are parked back at their pimp pads. Maybe they are fitness nuts. Or maybe the recent rise in gas prices has forced pimps to cut back on their operating costs. All I know is that the sight of pimps on bikes made me laugh so loud and hard that I nearly crashed my rental car.

I wonder if the pimps on bikes in this petite ghetto in this medium-sized, dumpy Midwestern city have their way to measure their position in the pimp echelon. Perhaps the more successful pimps ride around on fancy Italian racing bikes. Perhaps the ones in the middle of the pecking order ride around on mountain bikes or Schwinn ten-speeds. Maybe the ones having only one or two extremely butt-ugly hookers in their stable ride around on beat-up Huffys they stole from a retarded paper boy.

I wonder what kind of protection a pimp on a bike can provide for the whores in his stable. If a john gets a little rough with a 'ho, does her pimp on a bike ride by with a jousting lance and crack the john in the head with it? Do pimps on bikes perform drive-by shootings like the cowboys in The Wild Bunch did on horses?

And what's next? Pimps on skateboards? Pimps on rollerblades?

It’s just too funny!

- Alex von Waldenberg III, 25 June 2006

24 June 2006

Small Town Values and My Most Excellent Sex Life

The summer has begun and I’m still stuck in this small, dumpy Midwestern town. Each successive day the weather becomes hotter and more humid, and each successive day I grow wearier of the time I’m spending here. My only entertainment comes from the World Cup, screwing the daylights out of the three women I’m seeing here, and waiting each Sunday like an excitable child for the newest episodes of Deadwood and Entourage on HBO.

This small, dumpy Midwestern town has three restaurants—not including the fast food joints—and another four decent bars, so I’m not completely bereft of food and drink. The bars’ denizens are mostly of redneck stock, but are certainly nice enough folk and much friendlier than my peers back on the East Coast. However, the bar banter is quite a few steps down the intellectual ladder than back east in my big city neighborhood. I grew up in a similar small, dumpy Midwestern town like this one, so I’m not unfamiliar with this petty redneck patois, but in the last few weeks I’ve been longing for the snotty, urban high-brow conversations of my peer group.

The two major social pathologies in this small, dumpy Midwestern town are ignorance and boredom. People here have few cultural outlets, plus are largely ignorant of the one they’re missing. The almost choking prevalence of all this ignorance and boredom leads to all of the following social ills: drug and alcohol abuse; rampant divorce rates and broken homes; unprotected and frivolous sex practices (leading to far too many illegitimate births and STD infections); spousal abuse; child molestation (in this small, dumpy Midwestern town, for example, the police nabbed 18 suspects in an Internet child predator sting).

Interestingly, the divorce and illegitimacy rates in this small, dumpy Midwestern town are appallingly high, which is kind of funny because the rednecks here think of themselves as more decent, pious, and wholesome than their urban ethnic (black, Hispanic) counterparts. While I agree the violent crime rate is considerably lower here, not much else is better, morally speaking, than you’d find in South Boston, Brooklyn, South Philly, or West Baltimore.

These rednecks are deluded to believe their morals are better or of a higher magnitude than their urban ethnic counterparts.

Because these small, dumpy Midwestern towns lack the ethnic diversity of large urban areas, their exposure to people of differing races, creeds, and sexual orientations is highly limited or nonexistent, so their attitudes toward differing people are largely skewed negatively by this lack of exposure. They cling to the stereotypes and fail to grasp that all lower class Americans are in the same boat, more or less, and suffer from the same social pathologies in more or less the same numbers.

Ah, well, enough complaining. I’ve drunk three pints of Labatt Blue and its 4:24 in the morning. I just finished having a rather naughty threesome with Cassi and Jenni, two local girls who tend bar and are both twenty-something divorcees with kids. The girls are passed out on my hotel bed, clad only in their panties. They’re both hot. Why they want me is a big mystery, but I could care less to solve it as long as they keep coming here for fun. This night started at the bar where they work; I believe a large quantity of SoCo & lime shots were consumed, and the next thing you know they're in my hotel room, kissing me, kissing each other, stripping for me, letting me spank them...wow. If I sound somewhat pleased with myself, I must admit I am.

This small, dumpy Midwestern town has lots of sexy young women in the same boat and Cassi and Jenni, and they all seem to enjoy having filthy dirty trysts with strange men from out of town. I’m also seeing a divorced 25-year-old hottie with two kids named Shelli (I seem to have cornered the market on slutty, divorced girls whose names end in ‘i’ and who have two kids). Shelli tends bar too, and is a great chick, but her life is so complicated and cluttered that it would be impossible to expect much from her. Our time together has been great despite the fact we both know it’s just a summer fling until the project I’m working on here is done. But, oh, is she a hot girl! Imagine a much skinnier Drew Barrymore and you have Shelli. Plus she has great taste in music. And a deep, sultry voice that drives me wild.

I’m not bragging (well, I am, but so what!), but this year has been especially brilliant, sex-wise. I’m about as tubby as I have ever been, I haven’t worked out since last fall, and yet somehow—and don’t ask me why—women seem to like me this year. It started New Year’s Eve and I haven’t looked back. I haven’t been this successful with women since I was in my 20s. And it just keeps getting better; you should see the two hotties lying on my hotel bed right now. I shit you not.

Before I left my cozy East Coast home for this extended business trip, I broke up with my very beautiful, very sexy, very naughty 22-year-old girlfriend. I’m 43, and dating a girl young enough to be my daughter was equally hot and perplexing and creepy. She was a great girl, very sweet and sexy and bubbly, and the time we spent together was amazing, but in the end I felt like I was fucking the daughter I’ve never had. I know that sounds creepy—and it is—but I’m weak when it comes to sex.

So here I am, sitting at the desk in my hotel room in this small, dumpy Midwestern town, with two freshly-fucked hotties passed out on my bed, and despite the fact I hate it here, I’ve managed to make the best of things and have some fun. My last threesome was in 1986 in Greece with two sexy English babes, Wendy and Carol, so I'm a little out of practice. Threesomes are not really my thing, but what the fuck, it was their idea, and who am I to pass up hot sex?

I’m a weird fucker, no doubt about it

I’ve returned to anonymous blogging simply because I enjoy the complete honesty that hiding behind a fake moniker affords me. When I first started blogging I used a pseudonym, then decided to blog under my real name, but in the end I loathed the self-imposed restraints I placed upon my blog’s content because I used my real name.

So buckle up and enjoy the ride.

Here’s my iPod playlist of the week:

Music for Cuddling

1. “Linger” by the Cranberries
2. “Avalon” by Roxy Music
3. “Baby Come Back” by Player
4. “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star
5. “Running Up That Hill” by Kate Bush
6. “Unfinished Symphony” by Massive Attack
7. “Soft Rains of April” by a-Ha
8. “I Just Wanna Stop” by Gino Vanelli
9. “Sign Your Name” by Terrence Trent D’Arby
10. “Between the Sheets” by the Isley Brothers
11. “How Can I Fall?” by Breathe
12. “I Love You Anyways” by Travis
13. “Been Around the World” by Lisa Stansfield
14. “Always Love” by Nada Surf
15. “No Ordinary Love” by Sade
16. “It’s My Life” by Talk Talk
17. “You’re The Best Thing” by the Style Council
18. “Home Ain’t Where His Heart Is (Anymore)” by Shania Twain
19. “Killing Me Softly” by Roberta Flack
20. “Song for Whoever” by the Beautiful South
21. “Hysteria” by Def Leppard
22. “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran
23. “Being With You” by Smokey Robinson
24. “Holding Back the Years” by Simply Red
25. “Kissed By A Rose” by Seal
26. “Truly Madly Deeply” by Savage Garden
27. “Heartlight” by Neil Diamond
28. “Daydream Believer” by the Monkees
29. “Last Goodbye” by Jeff Buckley
30. “Ain’t No Woman (Like the One I Got)” by the Four Tops
31. “Waiting for a Girl Like You” by Foreigner
32. “A Little Respect” by Erasure
33. “Reasons” by Earth, Wind & Fire
34. “Just Around the Corner” by Cock Robin
35. “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye
36. “Lotta Love” by Neil Young
37. “So in Love” by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

- Alex von Waldenberg III, 24 June 2006

16 June 2006

Idiot-In-Chief Bush and His Nutty Worshipers

The beautiful thing about my country, and the rights I am granted as a citizen of it, is that I can publicly call our President, George W. Bush, a silly, half-retarded cocksucker, and afterwards I’ll have no fear of secret police crashing in my door at 3 am to arrest me, incarceration without due process, or any other police state intimidation tactic to vanquish the free expression of thoughts and opinions.

The scary thing about my country is that a majority of its citizens elected a silly, half-retarded cocksucker to be President.

The problem with Bush isn’t that he’s a moron; anyone with a shard of enlightenment in his or her thinking, anyone with even a small amount of common sense, anyone with just a little grip of reality, can plainly see he’s a fucking twit. The problem is that the Jesus freaks, right-wing kooks, and other creepy fucktards in this country take this raging twit seriously and consider him to be a “good” man and a “good” leader. That’s scary.

How many times has a serial killer been caught and his neighbors seemed shocked by his creepy secret life, even going so far as to say he seemed like a good guy, nice, quiet, a good neighbor? By day John Wayne Gacy was a nice neighbor, a pillar of the community, and by night he was kidnapping, raping, torturing, and then killing young men. Ted Bundy was a well-liked, hip, and cool law student and up-and-comer in Seattle by day, while at night he terrorized single women all over the Pacific Northwest, raping and killing over thirty of them in a short period.

My point—exaggerated though it may seem—is that people are shitty judges of character for the most part.

Sure, maybe Bush is a nice, sweet, good, and pious man, but his actions as President have been destructive for the citizens of this country. He is the most incompetent commander-in-chief this country has ever had. His domestic policies have been as destructive as his foreign policies. Yet his most ardent followers have granted him almost pope-like infallibility, as if, despite his massive failures, he’s not responsible for them. They barely—if at all—acknowledge his failures.

And when he stands before the cameras and microphones and starts babbling stupidly like only he can do, those of us with any modicum of enlightenment simply cringe and cower in shame, or worse, become so angry we can barely stand to lament over how horribly this babbling half-wit has led our country the last five years.

The right-wing gasbag pundits and Bush worshipers bitch all the time about this Bush-hating frenzy by the enlightened progressive types in this country. Well, you simple-minded cocksuckers hated Clinton for much weaker—and often baseless—reasons than we hate Bush, so what’s your fucking point? Your hatred of Clinton was marked mostly by the utter speciousness of most of your complaints against him, coupled with the completely irrational logic that drove your hatred. That he was a fairly good President—especially compared to the madness of your King George the Half-wit—is further proof of your insanity and complete lack of living in any form of reality that makes sense to even the most nose-picking, booger-eating, ass-scratching, retarded five-year-old.

Watching the rabid right-wingers further marginalize themselves with their insane and irrational defense of Bush, even when all the facts and evidence available prove beyond a reasonable doubt—even to the aforementioned nose-picking, booger-eating, ass-scratching, retarded five-year-old—of his ineptitude and destructiveness, is both a humorous and also frightening experience.

You just have to wonder this: will this all end ugly, or will we be able to transfer power in this country without bloodshed and violence? Will the wackos on the right concede political power in the upcoming elections when they lose badly?

I think the right-wingers are all gutlesss cowards, so I am hopeful it will be a peaceful exchange.

- Alex von Waldenberg III, 16 June 2006

12 June 2006

The New Republicans

I’m sitting in a dumpy bar in a small, dumpy Midwestern town, I’m surrounded by dumpy, grammar-challenged, chain-smoking rednecks, and of course, like Jane Goodall studying apes in Africa, I’m quietly, stealthily—almost invisibly—listening to and observing the dumpy rednecks in this dumpy bar in this dumpy Midwestern town.

My dumpy redneck subjects are discussing the so-called “defense of ‘traditional’ marriage” issue, another phony right-wing distraction to divide the USA over an issue that really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but is a perfect distraction from the right-wing failures with the economy, the war in Iraq, and just about every other goddamned thing they’ve fucked-up since they’ve been running all three federal government branches. Admitting failure or even a smidgen of fallibility is completely beyond the capabilities of these right-wing cocksuckers, so pointing fingers at phony demons to distract their drooling followers is their method of damage control.

Right-wing leaders and their sneaky shitheel spin merchants learned years ago that the lumpen, couch potato idiots who support them are easily distracted from reality simply by making them feel superior to what can only be described as the “easy targets” of their ire: minorities, gays, atheists, liberals, the French, environmentalists, and so on. The right winguts and their drooling followers just love to hate. It’s their raison d’etre, as those French people would say.

Take these dumpy rednecks in this dumpy bar in this dumpy Midwestern town. They are not handsome people, these dumpy rednecks, nor are they erudite, articulate, or even interesting. They’re in fact fat, annoyingly stupid, glaringly unhealthy, unfashionable to the point of high comedy, and flat-out butt ugly beyond any reasonable measure of ugliness. Their intolerance, ignorance, and unattractiveness are like horrific disabilities with which they are afflicted. However, truly disabled people possess much more self-awareness of their afflictions than these dumpy rednecks.

Only in a dumpy place like this can a dumpy moron who works a shitty and underpaid, utterly mindless job at Home Depot sit at the bar, drink shitty Bud Light beer, and badmouth unions. Somehow, miraculously, this uneducated, underemployed, barely-living-above-the-poverty-line slob with no health insurance has been convinced he’s a Republican. He’s in the same boat as the poor blacks and Hispanics he complains about and to whom he feels superior, yet somehow—somehow—he’s been convinced he belongs with the country-clubbers, gated community dwellers, and other economic elites who are the real base of the Republican Party. He believes in the Republican dream of the “unfettered” free market, you know, the same one that uprooted the factories that used to pay great union wages in his dumpy little town and sent the jobs to some filthy sweatshop in Mexico or China, where the same goods can be produced for considerably less and get sold—cheaply! —at the Home Depots and Wal-Marts where he and the other denizens of his dumpy town now toil for shit wages and zero benefits.

Does this dumpy slob blame the free market for his fucked-up fate? Hell no! He blames unwed nigger welfare mommas, illegal immigrant spics, taxes, liberals, atheists, faggots, and no prayer in schools for all of his—and America’s—problems. And, oh, how he badmouths unions! They’re greedy! They’re destructive! Pay no mind to the fact that American corporations placed the self-interest of their stockholders above their workers, their communities, and their country. Unions used to represent the economic self-interest of slobs like this, as the Democrat Party still does. But shitbird votes Republican.

This dumpy slob is now repeating the Republican hate message of the day, which is the defense of traditional marriage. The right-wing spin machine is promoting the idea of a Constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage. Pay no mind to the fact heterosexuals have already made a complete fucking joke of the institution of marriage. What’s the divorce rate for my generation? Fifty percent? Or is it higher? I forget. All those broken homes out there certainly don’t give me a warm and fuzzy feeling about the institution of marriage. Can homosexuals really fuck up the institution of marriage any worse than it already is?

Hell, this slob here has been bitching about his three—three!—ex-wives and his goddamn child support problems all night. But goddamn if he’s gonna let them queers and rug munchers experience three—three!—disastrous marriages like his, let alone one! Hell nosiree! Why, if we let queers marry, the next thing you know people will wanna marry their dog or some ten-year-old kid! Talk about a slippery slope! The Bible clearly states, “Honor thy father and thy mother!” It don’t say nothin’ about honoring thy queer daddies. And then there’s polygamy; we don’t want that!

Yeah, he’s a Republican.

- Alex von Waldenberg III, 12 June 2006