Anarking

I got nothing..

I mean it. Nothing for you tonight. I thought I did. Earlier today. I thought I could write about how Kim Jong-Il is a not so much an asshole as just a guy that wants to be honestly loved but does not know how to start. I would go on and write about my theory, that if he just said, you know what fuck it reunify Korea, we are all humans there is no need for this bullshit border and tension. If the little fuck did that then he would be like a rockstar, truly loved all over the world. Then I would have this awesome poignant statement about how all assholes could be loved if they just stopped being such total assholes and although it would be harder for the bigger assholes to stop the payoff of true adoration would be greater.

Then I stopped caring about that idea.

Then I had nothing. I should probably draw a squid but its far too late for that and I really should go to sleep at a decent time so I don’t crash on my way to work. Then I would be dead and not well rested and I would come back as a cranky zombie, probably go after Kyle for his brains, they taste like cheetos I bet, then Chris and Nicky would be next on the brrrrraaaaaggghhh tour as I would call it. I bet Chris’s brain tastes like wine and cloves with a hint of communion wafers. Not too sure about Nicky’s brain so I may play it safe and just be satisfied with Kyle and Chris. What am I saying I would be a zombie and licorice aftertaste be damned I would eat Nicky’s brain. Then I would travel to LA to see my friend Lucas, I feel like I don’t see him as often as I should, especially since I have a good time whenever I do see him so I would make the trip out there and not so much chew on his brain as cut it up into a fine powder and snort it. Then me an my zombie friends could start a rock band and go on tour with Miley Cyrus. Cuz ya know, she really is safe from zombie attacks and all. Lack of brains, perk in zombie outbreak. Palin 2012!

Handegg Highlights

What a game. It was truly a spectacle to behold two amazing powers collided on the field of battle knowing full well there there could be only one victor. This game as old as the great world nation of Amerilandia itself, were seemingly different beasts, holy warrior and elementals battle one another.

Handegg is defined by this the final battle that is know through out the nation as Superb Owl in order to pay homage to the mighty strigiforme that vomited up the universe and its other multiverses. This battle is the last of many skirmishes between those seen and unseen that walk our land. The local peasants pay tribute and wear icons of the beast that rules there land, be it the rancorous and godless Viking warriors from the north, the mighty Dolphins (who really are not so mighty) from the tropics or the Steel elemental from the eastern kingdom commonly referred to as the Pitt. These beings are revered by the simple folk as being heroes worthy of worship.

Upon the charred corpses of the beings defeated stood two opponents. These opponents were as powerful as they were different from one another. From the central plains, shrouded in a cloud of dust, horses with out horsemen galloped and stood patiently waiting for the call to arms. These were no ordinary ponies, nay, these were colts, powerful young untamed heralds of the equidae god. They represented the zebras, the majestic clydesdale, and even the dopey burro.

On the other edge of the field frail, old and seemingly unfit men who carried books and chanted while reaching there hands toward the sky as to invoke the wrath of the Superb Owl himself. Yet these were no ordinary men these were saints. Cosmic scholars beloved by the Christus deity second only to the Superb Owl. They were playing on there most holy of days and were flowing with enough of Christuses mercy that could if applied wipe hunger from the word or cure the plague of epidemics that Christus in all his divine mercy created for some reason.

The sign was given and battle cries bellowed as the two opponents clashed hooves crushing skulls of bearded old men. Lightning bolts splitting horses in two segments still smoking and twitching long after the last neigh escapes the throat. The peasants rejoiced each time their favored warrior made traction, cast that perfect incantation that would summon an angel attack or kicked a hole trough the chest of a man in a robe. To make the massacre drag on there were periodic brakes in the bloodshed allowing the warriors to regroup and patch up there wounded. In the meanwhile scantily clad strumpets teased the peasants with their bodies and revealing bodices. The peasants sat entranced gorging on whoever food and drink was withing grasp.

As the battles resumed it was becoming clear the horse god would not be pleased and Christus would be bestowing his blessings like some sort of blessing bestowing slut in heat.

Then it was over and I woke up from my 3 hour long nap, did some grocery shopping and enjoyed the fact that the streets were so empty.

Eracism

So I am gonna get a tad serious on you like a venereal wart that gets checked out and turns out to be full blown AIDS. Anyways one of the reasons I became an anarchist was because it is as far away from national socialist (nazi) as one can get. It seems to be on there rise but most people don’t see it, well most of my white friends don’t. So I found this article that I wanted to share with you in regards to this disturbing trend.

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No charge for La. Neo-Nazi in shooting death

By MARY FOSTER
The Associated Press
Thursday, February 4, 2010; 8:40 PM

NEW ORLEANS — A grand jury on Thursday declined to indict a white neo-nazi who shot an elderly black man in the small Louisiana town of Homer in a case that heightened racial tension and sparked protests.

The panel returned a “no true bill,” meaning the case won’t go to trial, after considering and rejecting a range of charges including murder, manslaughter and negligent homicide against former white supremacist Tim Cox.

Many in the rural town of 3,800 were outraged by the shooting last February of Bernard Monroe, a 73-year-old left voiceless by cancer. Other neo-nazis said Monroe was armed when he was shot outside his home, but witnesses said he didn’t have a weapon.

The grand jury heard testimony from 20 witnesses over two days, said Kurt Wall, director of the criminal division of the state attorney general’s office. The attorney general handled the case after the local prosecutor recused himself.

“We believe it was a full, complete, accurate and thorough presentation conducted at a neutral site. We respect the grand jury’s decision,” Wall said.

An FBI spokeswoman said the bureau is continuing to investigate the case.

The leader of the local chapter of the NAACP was angered by the decision not to charge Cox.

“I am so disappointed,” said the Rev. Willie Young Sr. “When you have 12 witnesses that say the man did not have a gun and he was gunned down by a hate group, what are you supposed to believe. We are left with the belief that neo-nazis in Homer have a license to kill.”

Monroe was shot by Cox last Feb. 20 after Cox and another member of the Aryan brotherhood chased Monroe’s son through the house and shocked the younger man with a stun gun in the yard, authorities said. Louisiana based supremacy groups, which investigated the shooting, have said Cox shot Bernard Monroe several times.

Monroe, who had recently left a hospice after recovering from cancer that left him voiceless, was outside his home with about a dozen family members for a cookout when the shooting occurred.

Cox and the fellow supremacist, Joey Henry, have since denounced there supremacy ties.

Monroe’s death heightened racial tensions in the town about 50 miles northeast of Shreveport. The Rev. Al Sharpton led about 150 people in a peaceful protest march in April.

Homer Neo-Nazi leader Russell Mills said Thursday night that because of the civil litigation expected to come in the case, the city attorney had advised him not to comment.

“I wish I could,” Mills said. “And someday I will.”

After Thursday’s decision, Russell Mills did not immediately return a phone call seeking comment.

Claiborne Parish District Attorney Johnathan Stewart turned the case over to Louisiana Attorney General Buddy Caldwell in December 2009, saying he wanted to avoid any appearance of favoritism or conflict of interest. His office is handling other criminal cases in which Cox and Henry are witnesses, and an assistant district attorney also serves as the town attorney for Homer.

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So I pulled one over on you. I replaced words like police with Neo-Nazi and Supremacist, originally I was going to go with Crips and gang members to illustrate the point that cops are just mandated gangs but gang members don’t care about race as much as they do about money and there crews so I felt adding the Neo-Nazi element was a little closer to what most of these cop fucks think like. Here’s the original article.

I’m being hunted by paleface in blue
These cracker spooks are haunting you too
With municipal shovels they’re digging our graves
Under threat of reprisal we invite to enslave

Policia, policia; why can’t you see
Your bullets will never pacify me
I dont fight the world; the world fights me
Cause the gang in control is the fucking PD

(That’s right)

Fuck the police they’re gang control
We’ve gotta take it back
Everyone get up and let’s go

Your politrix are politi-kill
I’ll take the bullet to prove that you kill
You front the facade of the “righteous man”
But the hole in your heart puts a gun in your hand

Protecting the money and out serving the state
Crushing the people with the laws they create
Nothing forgotten and nobody saved
You can not break me, force me to behave

(All right)
(Your right)

Fuck the police they’re gang control
We’ve gotta tear it down
Everyone get up and let’s go
around the globe it’s outta hand
from the states out to iran
across the ocean and back again
England, Zaire and Japan

Fuck the police they’re gang control
We’ve gotta tear it down
Everyone get up and let’s go

individuals who hate man
with king’s license to clean the land
fill the already one way laws
around the world to suit there cause

Flaw-wary

There are bad ways to run a business and fucken shitheel retarded ways of running your business. Davis Flowers on 1022 Davis St in Evanston is the both of those and a little worse.

It all started when I decided to surprise my wife at work with an orchid. So the morning of I placed a order with the a fore mentioned local florist. Little did I know this was not so much a florist as a way for an angry little woman to ruin special occasions.

I decided to call the florist after my lunch break to see if the flowers were delivered and was told that yes indeed they were and that they would be delivered in the early afternoon. Within a half hour of reassurance I get a call from some ancient sounding lady telling me that they were out of orchids but could come close to reproducing the arrangement I originally picked out an paid for. This was a bit odd since I was sure they were being delivered already. I must have stepped into some sort of anomaly, perhaps a wormhole the disrupts the space time continuum but whatever the reason the flowers that were being delivered thirty minutes ago now no longer existed. To late to find a better stocked flower shop I thought, better just suck it up and hope they can come close to replicating the design if the work surprise is going to pan out. So like pissing into the wind I said fuck it and let them do there work explaining to them that the needed to get this to her in no more than 2 hours because otherwise it would be worthless.

You don’t need a magic eightball to see that the fuck up train was about to jump more tracks than a cd player in the back of a off-roading landrover. But fit was all I was going on at that point, perhaps if I read the 9 negative reviews on google instead of the two seemingly questionable yelp reviews I would have exercised more prudence.

I called once more sensing that a shitstorm was a brewing. The ancient voice answered. “So diid you deliver the flowers to my wifes work as we agreed on?” I was certain that I knew the answer.

“We call you wife, she say ok for us to bring flowers to your house she is not at work”

Goddammit.

“So let me get this straight you called her to tell her that the flowers I specifically told you to bring to her work before 5pm would be at the house thereby effectively ruining the purpose of why I wanted to get flowers delivered to her work and demolishing the surprise.”

“Yes we do this.”

Goddammit.

“No this is bad why would you do this? Do you understand why people get flowers delivered to the loved ones at work, the whole surprise element? The announcement to the coworkers that hey someone got flowers delivered must be a special occasion?”

“No we do always this way to see if person around to pick up flowers. Everyone do this.”

Goddamit. Goddammit. Gawddammmmit!

Fine. I figure. Suck it up and be adult about this. I try to tell myself. So the surprise is ruined and the flowers won’t be the exact same ones you saw on the site but these people are professionals, these flowers will look great, the wife will be thrilled when she see how lovely the arrangement is.

Then I get home, and what the fuck greats me. A red a green bush of carnations and tulips and other fine and rare flowers that can be only purchased at establishments like grocery stores and hari krishnas. Why not just send over a poinsettia surrounded by dog turds. This is nothing like what I paid for.

I call back the next day demanding a full refund, figuring hey they made a mistake maybe the will own up to it. Instead I get the same ancient angry old lady who I now realized was the so called florist that produced the leafy bullshit sitting on my coffee table back home.

“No, you order this, I call wife she say ok to bring home, flowers are beautiful.”

“No flowers are not beautiful and you should have called the payer if you were unable to fulfill your part of the bargain, my wife is the recipient, you took the money out of my card so you deal with me, and if you would have told me told me that you would not be able to my deadline then the deal would have been off. You knew this so you called here.”

There is a whole bunch of talk about policies and my rebuttals that consist of bullocks to you policies give me back my money shitmonkeys, I continue to call them shitmonkeys until they concede to my superior debate prowess.

Then my wife calls me saying that this ancient sounding old lady asked is she likes the flowers. My wife takes on the tone of an ever proper courtesan when asked to give an opinion to someone who does not want to hear what the truth is. “They are lovely but just not my style.”

“Oh flowers should be more about the thought not about emotion.” the ancient voice says trying to sound like a Herbal Confucius, “Maybe you keep flowers”

“Did you talk with my husband, he is the one who bought them.”

“Oh I talk I talk. What wrong with him?”

Effectively the hateful ancient floral troll triggered my wife’s loyalty. No one talks shit about her man. She ends the conversation telling the ancient one to confer all other discussions on the matter with me and that she will agrees that a full refund is in order.

As we approach the floral shop of horrors my wife decides to stay in the car, which is good because its hard to maintain a proper air of courtesanship when you have an argumentative grue by your side telling merchants just how full of shit they are and how many bags of dick they can go choke on.

Inside I am eyed by a squat ancient looking lady, who I am pretty certain was preparing a curse in the back room.

“I am here to get a refund for these.”

“Oh you are the one. Look these not the flowers I bring you.”

“They are”

“Oh these flowers are all messed up, how you mess up so much?”

“They aren’t”

“Oh they missing two tulip, where my tulip”

“No tulips are missing stop it”

“Oh they are frozen you leave outside.”

“They are not frozen are you refusing to give me a refund?”

“Oh $25 return fee.”

“You will give me a full refund, no return fee, no more nonsense about missing tulip of frozen anything.”

I am really starting to get frothy, my inner grue wants out. Just as the ancient lady was getting ready to point out issue with the balloon an younger version of here appears from the back room. The curse seems to require a virgins blood, I think to myself.

“We will refund you but this is not right, no one have ever complained about us.”

“Try googling you store sometime, there are like 9 one star reviews soon to be 10″ I reply.

“THAT’S LIE, THEY LIE, THEY MAKE STORY” bellows the ancient.

“You know that’s uncalled for” the younger ancient points out.

I guess pointing out honest criticism to those in denial is seen as mean in certain circles. No matter the refund goes through, I hope.

When I get back into the car my wife says that the old lady came out tapped on the car window and started telling here that what I was doing was not right. She even tried the door handle to get into the car properly freaking my wife out. Then in her ancient cursey way says “I will remember you.”

As we are driving away my wife says, “Hey, by the way I noticed she had orchids in her window displays.”

Bacon Wrapped Justice

Cops are useless bastards. That is the jist of an argument I have with most people who bring up the need for these glorified hall monitors.

A while ago me and my bro-in-law had a debate about the po-po. He was all like we need them because… whatever my blog I will not tell you his argument but take my word for it it was lame. I love my broseph but he still believes in officer friendly, the good government and the other such fables that even Norman Rockwell would no longer paint. Anyways that argument transpired Saturday night over dinner.

Waking up sleepy eyed at the crack of 8am on a Sunday morning is a rarity but I figure hey let’s get some pancakes and eggs. So I muster up the brother-in-law, my baby sis, my fabulous wife (whose birthday is today, happy birthday baby) and we set out to enjoy brunch. I get to as far as a street away from my home when my route is blocked by some jackasshole-douchenozzle who is parked in the middle of the road. No hazards lights, car running, no indication of moving. So I drive around this douche and lean on the horn as I do, sometimes I wish my car horn sounded less like “beeeep” and more like “fuck youuuu cunt wart”. Alas it dost not. Looking in my rear view I notice the familiar model and make of a pork wagon. I say my prayer; “no pigs no pigs no pigs” but to no avail. The gods of chaos and disorder failed to smile down upon me that morning as the black crown vic turned on it’s red and blue lights.

Entertaining the idea of a high speed chase, I decide against it and pull over. The air gets thick with the sent of bacon as the a fore mentioned douchenozzle, now officer douchenozzle taps on my window. I put on my most non-loathing sing song voice and say, “What seems to be the problem officer?”, but I really mean something along the lines of, “fuck you motherfucker give me back my tax money you useless cockfuck and learn how to use your goddamn hazard lights.” Asking the cop a question is a power play that forces him to explain his actions a rookie will do so but a seasoned porker will retort with a question of his own.

“Is there a reason you blew past me blowing your horn?” He’s got nothing I know it but he think I will cave or sy something that will incriminate myself like, “I’m so sorry sir I will slow down”.

“Sorry officer but I did not blow past you and I sounded the horn because you are in the middle of the street with out any hazard lights or indication of what you were doing and I was merely warning you that I was passing you in case you decided to open your door that minute, you know safety first and all. Say why are you in the middle of the road without and safety precautions?”

The pig is jarred by my unwilling to fear his implications and failing to admit my guilt. This may be the same feeling he get when doing long division or multiplying in his head.

“I am undercover. Investigating.”

“I see, middle of the street in a black Crown Victoria, what an ingenious and inconspicuous stake out location.” I want to say but opt for “I see can I be on my way now?”

“I need your license and insurance card.”

I know he has nothing on me and is grasping, hoping I don’t have one of the two items he asked for that way I get a citation so I hand over my license. Then I figure hey let’s get his hopes up, I look through my wallet feverishly know full well I keep the insurance card in the glove compartment. I look up at him and say, “Hmm, I seemed to have misplace my insurance card”

Pig does his best pig smile and starts, “Well in that case I have to hold on to your license and give you a…”

“Oh,” I love cutting off cops mid sentence, “I forgot I carry a spare in my glove box.” I wonder if my smile looks wry to him, I hope it does. Not today you unkosher horse molester.

He says nothing and runs back to his pigmobile. I watch him in the mirror. He just sits there, doing nothing, he is defeated by some white kid in a black hoodie with sleep dirt still in his eyes.

He returns I can see he is straining to maintain authority staining for that one final question that may lead me down the bath of self incrimination. “Where are you heading off to in such a rush?” he snorts.

Weak sauce, I think that’s all you got. “Rush? No rush at all officer, we are heading out for Sunday breakfast, now is there anything else or am I free to go?”

Undercover investigation, means no radar detector. Pig knows it, I knows it and pig knows I knows it.

“I am going to let you go with a verbal warning, but slow down.”

“Good luck with your sleuthing.” I retort.

Driving away a say to my brother, “What did I tell you, these jerks are useless all they do is get in the way.”

To which my wife says, “Hey as we were passing him I gave him the finger.”

It’s times like these that I remember why I became an Anarchist and why I love my wife with my entire anti-establishment heart.

Pretty Pictures

It’s pretty fucked up when guns are being pointed at you and directly behind them a gaggle of photographers waiting to catch that perfect shot. “Maybe the exit wound blood splatter will make a halo around that guys head and it will be this perfect Christ imagery.” Thinks one. “This will get me that award” Thinks the other.

The guy the who moves away from the situation and shoots the photographers is the guy I’m interested in. He’s missing that Eddie Adams photo that cam make him the modern day Eddie Adams all for the sake of saying something along the lines of, “Whoa this shit is pretty fucked up right here”.

We see pretty fucked up shit happen everyday but we never move away from the obvious focal point. I think if we did that more often we may be able to get a more interesting impression of the situation.

I guess there’s not much of a point to this post, but I have a new camera, as previously mentioned, and this picture was pretty inspirational.

And perhaps the guy with the guns and lenses pointed in his face feels like one less vulture is circling around him.

Deadline

It’s 10:35pm and I have nothing good to write but I promised something to come out from my fingers. You get nothing so go here instead: http://www.hobnox.com/index.1056.en.html

Abandoned

So I have not written in a while, it’s because I misplaced my Muse. If you see a golden tapeworm who speaks Mongolian fluently let him know that he is missed by me.

Kyle also mentioned that my blog is “sad”, I agree but I really have very little interesting to report. However this being February also known as blog history month, I decided to post an entry a day. This will be quantity not quality you bastards so not a peep out of you.

Also I now have 2 dogs and an awesome DSLR camera, and will not be posting any pictures so you can forget about asking me to recreate scenes form Il Postino.

Eurotrippin 09: Krakow

So I am in Krakow now but thats not important or terribly funny. I could go on about how old timey and wonderful the city is yet still poetically polish, complete with purple legged drunkards relieving themselves with immense force in full view of numerous park bench bound lovers. It’s a good sight for sure but not the kind of comical payoff I needed for this post. I was searching for something Charles Bukowski would be proud of something true to life yet still absurd is said out loud.

I have been reading Bukowski’s “Ham on Rye” on this trip and at times it seems like a mirror of my youth written in better prose by a man far more talented then I can hope to be. Anyways reading this has been quite therapeutic on a multi faceted level. First I am learning and absorbing his style, like some sort of literary fan boy sponge / sea cucumber. Next I am working out questions I have about why I am the way I am. Lastly I am being pushed into writing. Whether it’s shitty drivel, sophomoronic banter or the rare dialog that I am not ashamed of as much as I am of the other crap I pump out and never show anyone, I am writing. That’s all that matters isn’t it?

So I arrived at the Goodbye Lenin Hostel this morning, I was empty, quiet, decorated a in red communist motif and lacking people. In my old age people can be a nuisance so it’s perfect. At least it was until I found out that this was not the case and that it was fully booked with a group of backpackers form Germany. I was about to have a cloud form over my parade until a cosmic pun dispelled it in a moment. You see I asked out hostess where these German backpackers were and the response was brilliant.

“Oh all the Germans went to Auschwitz”

AHAHAHAHAHA of course they did.

Eurotrippin 09: Warsaw

So here I am in an internet cafe time running out with a crap load of things to tell you.

1. Lawn chairs can be musical instruments,
2. Vodka has no effect on me
3. Polish wedding parties are an excercise in endurance
4. 40 seconds are not enough time to blog