Everybody’s working for the weekend.

I really and truly wish it was raining outside. I’m only happy when it rains? No. Well… yeah, a little, but that’s a whole other story. But, no, it’s fucking gorgeous outside. I look out the window and there’s some golden perfect sunshine shining and bathing everything in sweet illumination and a cool late summer breeze moving the leaves around. Fuck me, there’s probably even birds singing out there.

I’m looking out the window on this perfect and tranquil scene from work. I’m looking out that window and I’m thinking to myself, “Fuck me, that’s practically fucking picnic weather out there.” Of course, I’d never say that out loud because I’m way too manly for that kind of thing. But I could say it’s perfect weather for a hike or something ridiculous like that.

No, instead of frolicking on the breeze or whatever the hell else happy people do on happy summer days, I’m pondering what the hell is John McCain thinking? (Don’t worry, Colonel Tigh, winning isn’t everything.) Also, because we’re living in a material world and I am a material boy, I’m pondering, Sarah Palin: Hot or not?

Tough call. She’s got the Tina Fey thing happening, but really… She’s no Tina Fey. Nor a Liz Lemon. She’s probably not even as fun as a Lemon Party. Lemon Party! Lemon Partay!

Never you mind that Lemon parties always – always! – pale in comparison to a good Rainbow Party. Back me up on that, Benjie.

(Also, I have to wonder if Sarah Palin is her daughter’s baby mama? Baby Mama! Maybe it’s not a question of WTF McCain was thinking, but what was Sarah Palin fucking thinking? The Governor of Alaska appears to be the farthest fucking thing there is from being a feminist.)

Anyways, to celebrate (if you could call it that) wasting away indoors on such a lovely weekend, I thought I’d leave you with some links (eventually) and…

The BEST (so far) of the “favorites” of the Counterforce Youtube channel!

Just for those of you stuck indoors on a beautiful weekend, or a shitty looking weekend too, I guess, but have a decent internet connection. (Also, I have to fully admit that I pretty much totally comandeered the Counterforce youtube channel, but with suggestions and comments from my fellow Counterforcers, this post will probably be amended.)

Let’s start it with the first video favorited: Road House!

This is your brain… on drugs!

Triumph of the will!

Shades of Justice!

This is how we do it!

Juno and George Michael. And Jack Black. And Sean Connery. And Nic Cage. And Sean Connery again.

Remember when Siskel (was still alive) and Ebert kind of hated each other? (from here.)

The greatest opening to a TV show ever. And the greatest fight scene of all time. Also, the most mullet-ed thinking man’s action hero of all time.

It’s insane this guy’s taint!

If I can call you Betty, then you can call me Al.

Excuse me, princess!

Unbeatable Banzuke! (And sadly, I couldn’t find too many decent clips online of Viking challenge.)

R. Kelly (and Usher) versus Broken Social Scene.

(from here.)

And for Peanut: Fucking Tucker Max. And Check out my new haircut.

Music videos that reference films I like: “The Universal” and “To The End.” “Tell Me Where It Hurts.” And “Stuck On You.”

And a little Junior Boys/Godard mashup.

Say hello to your future. Say hello to the Obamatopia.

I don’t wanna Rock DJ!

Sexual Intercourse: American Style!

“My balls are connected to a satellite. If I put a condom on, it’ll muffle the signal.” And the cutest, spunkiest (no, no, not in that way, but I like where your head is at) condom commerical ever.

Television intertexuality and meta-reflexivity.

Nobody does it better!

The LonelyHill88.

Kat Dennings (who looks like an evil version of Hillary Duff.)

Tell me what I have to do to behave!

Sasha Grey and snakes.

Daft Punk!

The Legend Of Zelda.

A movie I want to see. And some WTF trailers: Max Payne. The Ramen Girl. Babylon AD. And this ridiculous piece of shit.

And Machine Girl and In The Land Of Women, too.

And some excellent movies as well: My Dinner With Andre. Nashville (Hey, I’m Easy). Kicking And Screaming. Elevator To The Gallows. The Passenger. Blow-Up. Barcelona. Annie Hall. And The Mirror.

Drunk History! Chemical Party! Blowjob Party!

(from here.)

Sadly, I spent one day at work watching this entire interview online with Richard “The Iceman” Kuklinski. He’s no Metal Fang, but still, that’s some creepy shit.

This is what I think most british people sound like. This is what the brits probably think most Americans are like. And one of my favorite British shows is finally coming across the water.

And I’ve decided that through mostly watching clips of it on Youtube, that Extras might possibly be brilliant. If you don’t believe me, just ask: David Bowie, Ben Stiller, Patrick Stewart, Kate Winslet, Harry Potter, and Clive Owen. Or Ricky Gervais himself.

The absolutely greatest worst music video ever. It’s practically an assault on your nervous system.

The comments on this video of DMX cursing out a Miami judge litereally broke my heart over the state of race relations in America. But they also pretty much prove Godwin’s Law completely.

Opposites Attract” and Scarface and “Maps.”

Slow Jerk!

Ethanol Muffin. And “Merry Chipmunks.”

 

Loverboy. And Loverboy!

You can’t executive produce an executive producer.

Someone Great” and “The Overly Dramatic Truth.”

I like the way you work it. I’m about to bag it up.

Tongue” and “Jealousy, turning saints into the sea” and “Knockin’ the boots.”

Political unrest stabilizes society, yea.

“Like a pirate in the night, I will challenge your pussy to a fight!”

Black Books and Dylan Moran.

Flux” and “Love Is Noise” Expect me to review these band’s latest albums soon-ish.

In the event that you find certain sequences or ideas confusing, please bear in mind that this is your fault, not ours.

I’m not here to make friends!

If you got a problem with that, you can say it to my muthafuckin’ face or hit me up on the muthafuckin’ myspace.

The planet is in danger!

And it ends with Kate Bush (who, I have to say, I love more and more since I realized that she’s really just Carly Simon on quaaludes) and “Wuthering Heights.” If you don’t love this, then, as Pitchfork says, your heart is made of ice. And Kate Bush is ice skating on your soulless melancholy. With Big Boi. (Avoid the red dress version, if you can.)

Oops, wrong Palin. But he’s probably just as qualified to be McCain’s running mate. That said, here’s some miscellaneous mad linkage before I leave you to whatever your weekend consists of:

Maureen Dowd on Sarah Palin.

Black Cool.

The RNC is preceded by massive warrantless raids on peace protestors. Fucking shocking. Gustav might have something to say about all that.

This is my prediction for what the RNC will actually look like.

Japanese researchers eyeing e-skin for robots. Hmm. Uncanny valley, anyone?

Maybe the bro’s can start their own decade plus late summer sausage fest of a concert tour a la Lilith Fair and just call it COCK!

Fox Attacks: Decency!

What is your Obama tax cut?

Six things the Palin pick says about McCain. (#1 is: He’s desperate. No shit.)

In fact, here’s my quick impression of Colonel Tigh’s, er, I mean, McCain‘s (Or, McCrazyballs!) prospects:

Two shows that I’ve delved into the past few weeks are Gossip Girl and Mad Men, both in furious attempts to fully absorb the first seasons on DVD before the new seasons started. I’ve enjoyed the symmetry of the “girl” and “men” titles in the shows and all, but in my goal, I failed miserably with Mad Men (the new season started weeks ago and without me, though I record the episodes so I can watch them), but not because of it’s quality. In fact, it is the very definition of brilliant television, unfolding like a novel (almost a Joseph Heller one, at that) slowly and excellently. And Don Draper is The Man.

Gossip Girl‘s new season starts tomorrow actually and there’s a good chance that I will be all caught up and ready for it when it comes. This show is hardly perfect, and it does border on the signifigantly ridiculous, but so do I sometimes. Also, I like trash. But my bar was set pretty for trash intake with the brilliant Skins and sadly, Gossip Girl won’t ever reach (even with it’s cartoon villain of a male vamp). But nonetheless, it is a fun east coast remix of The OC and the woman are all physically perfect and the lead male character plays out almost exactly Seth Cohen. If he were a man. And not Jewish, I guess.

Well, that’s enough out of me. Go out and get a tan or whatever it is you do when it comes to “fun in the sun.” I’ll be right here doing… this. So, until next time: Regulate.

Edited to include: When I finally got off work and finally got home, it started fucking raining. FTW!

Does Barack Obama Have a Vagina Gap?

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!!!!11!!111one!!!!!!!!!!!

John, you old kidder! You prank-making old son of a bitch! You really had us going! Only a maverick like you could put one over on us like this. But seriously, it’s Romney, right? Old Mittens’ll get your back with that cash money of his, take care o ‘Bama’s fund-raiser edge? Wait-what?

So, like, what are we giving it, like a week before Mrs. Palin and her creepy husband bow out and go back to hunting polar bears? Is this just McCain’s way of gracefully surrendering?

 

Eh. Maybe with Marco's dick.

Eh. Maybe with Marco's dick.

For being 150 years old, McCrazyballs is running one of the weirdest, most childish campaigns ever. His main attack angle is that Obama is popular, and, like, popular kids can suck it! Or something. I just wonder who Kkkarl Rove has in mind for 2012, since he’s obviously tanking this election in favor of the next one. Are there high draft picks for losing big that I don’t know about?

Edited to add:

“She’s (Palin) going to learn national security at the foot of the master for the next four years, and most doctors think that he’ll be around at least that long,” — Charlie Black, one of John McCain’s top advisers.

ZOMGWTFBBQ!

Time keeps on slipping slipping slipping into the future…

Talk about a slow news day.

Convention stuff, politics stuff, blah blah blah. A former teen star got arrested in an airport for, I don’t know, something or other. For Better Or Worse (I’ll take the “or worse” category there) is ending, Matthew McConaughey’s dad died during sex, and viropiracy is the new big scary. A blogger got arrested by the FBI for leaking new GNR tracks and Max Tundra is finally putting out a new album. Science apparently has no place in politics and the the key to fundraising? Guilt trips. Hey, if it can work for the Catholics, it can work for just about anybody, I guess.

So instead I want to talk about an article I read today about Neal Stephenson (above, who clearly looks like a skinny version of Rob Halford) and his newest book, Anathem, which comes out on September 9th, in the latest issue of Wired.

And as I write this, I’m also openly petitioning Benjamin Light to write a review of some Stephenson books for the site (and hopefully focusing on Stephenson’s magnum opus, The Baroque Cycle, a masterwork of steampunkery). He’s read more of them than I have so while I think we have the same appreciation for the man, his is deeper, by far. Also, I’m 3/4 through the so The Diamond Age, but it’s absolutely excellent so far. Stephenson is a smart writer with clear, playful prose and who is not shy about feeding you the big words in with the words you know along side the ones he’s made up.

The article, by Steven Levy, starts off telling us about a men’s history club in the Seattle area. The members gather once a month at their leader’s house to discuss a specific group from anicent history, past subjects having included the early Romans and Frederick the Great, but tonight it’s Vikings. One of the members is bringing some mead  and night’s dinner is meat cooked over a fire. The email invite to the members of the history club said this: “Damp will be the weather, yet hot the pyre in my backyard.” It was signed by Njall Mildew-Beard, Neal Stephenson’s alias for the evening.

Stephenson, who’s been called the “poet laureate of the hacker culture” by Salon, is a hard writer to categorize. Cyber punk? There’s shades of it, especially in his early writings, certainly. Trendsetting pioneer in the hacker mindset? Yeah, I’d say that everyone one of his books goes there in some way, and he’s definitely interested in the makings and breakings of code. But he’s also, as Levy’s article says, both a best selling novelist and a master of cult science fiction, even when it’s channeling itself through period settings.

Either way, I’ll put it simply: Snow Crash is an essential read for any and all. And with the way the internet and religion slips into our lives, it’ll always be topical. Haven’t read it yet? Get on it. Give me another two hours with The Diamond Age (which, at some point, will be a miniseries produced by George Clooney), a futuristic tale set in neo-Victorian Shanghai following the adventures of a young woman a nanotech book that makes the Kindle (fuck you, Kindle. Books will never die!) look like the silly piece of shit that it is, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to call it an essential as well.

Once the article finishes it’s lead in with the history club, the action moves downstairs to Stephenson’s workshop where we learn about his newest hobbies: Western martial arts (read: Medieval Times!) involving swords (he owns 12) and daggers, and metalworking. In fact, Stephenson joins shows the article his latest creation: A freaky looking helmet that he wears presumably to protect his head when he’s kneck deep in crazy swordplay.

After that bizarre little introduction, we dive into sexy business time: Anathem, Stephenson’s 9th book, which, at 960 pages, is his longest yet? (Oh, did I not mention that you could not only kill a fly with the average Stephenson tome, but probably a rat or a small cat as well? Cause you could.) The hotly anticipated book is set on a different planet, one with 7,000 years of it’s own history at Stephenson’s disposal, and deals with the split between two different aspects of it’s civilization: the indulgent majority of the population, addicted to shopping in megastores and gambling, trashing the environment, and getting lost in a web of fast food and evangelical religion (Sound familiar? the article asks), and the minority, a highly educated monastic sect of big thinkers who pride themselves on being away from the mundane general population and have devoted their lives to the study of time.

A good deal of the book was inspired by Stephenson’s involvement with the Long Now Foundation and their main project, the Millennium Clock. Long Now is a private group, founded in 1996, who devoted themselves to preserving our long term cultural institution and, as Wikipedia says, seeing itself as the counterpoint to today’s “faster/cheaper” mindset and to promote “slower/better” thinking. The Millennium Clock, also called the Clock of the Long Now is designed to be a mechanical clock that keeps time for 10,000. I guess you could say that means that Long Now has a big picture way of looking at things, so much so that they propose recordign digits with five digits, such as 02008, rather than four, or 2008. The article details how Stephenson learned of the clock and how he got involved with Long Now very well, but I’ll add that Stephenson also briefly worked as an advisor to Blue Origin, a rocket science firm, and currently works part time with Nathan Myhrvold’s Intellectual Ventures as an inventor. Also, to wind down from a long day of inventing and writing amazing thought provoking hypernovels, he dabbles in cryptography and writing code, you know, for fun.

The story of the monk type figures in the novel, defined by their almost religious devotion to studying and worshiping and protecting their super clock from the unthinking beasts of the world at large, almost servers as a meta comment on Stephenson’s fans and the author himself. “It’s really about the difference between people who can sit down and focus their attention for a long period of time on something complicated in a patient and steady way versus people who never read anything longer than a sentence or a paragraph and who get very impatient if you try to go on at any length,” Stephenson says.

Stephenson concedes one foot on both sides of the materialistic vs. intellectual debate, Levy’s article tells us, but he finds himself more interested in his own special theme, our society’s secret war between the Long Now and the now. “When I’m working on a book, I need to be uninterrupted, a long-attention-span kind of thing. On the other hand, there are a lot of things in my life that are important and keep me communicating over email. It’s harder for me even to read books than it used to be, and there’s obvious irony there.”

The article, while pretty unsatisfying as a Stephenson profile is extremely titillating (speaking as a hungry fan) about the new novel, which is obsessed with the study and measurement of time, while also being quite timely in it’s parallels to the here and now in George W. Bush’s America. Science and religion have become blood enemies, The Hills has become a viable television show, and using your brain for rational thought for longer than a few minutes at a time has practically become seen as disgusting. “I could never get that idea, the notion that society in general is becoming aliterate, out of my head,” Stephenson says. “People who write books, people who work in universities, people who work on big projects for long periods of time, are on a diverging course from the rest of society. Slowly, the two cultures just get further and further apart.”

So true is practically hurts.

I want to go into much more on Long Now and the Millennium Clock (especially the fact that Brian Eno produced a CD of chimes inspired by the Clock of the Long Now) and really, just a Stephenson profile of it’s own, but time and space are a factor there. Instead, I just want to leave you with some links here and there, and not forgetting to mention that the book comes with a CD of 7 tracks of music inspired by book and the world within it. Time is apparently a theme of the music on the disc and each track is apparently a cappella weird shit. Take that, Bjork.

Alright, that said, go give Neal Stephenson a look. It’ll be worth it, I promise.

And in the world of politics and the convention and all that blah blah blah, Hillary said “Unite!” but also said, “Hey, you know, if this whole Obama thing doesn’t work out, there’s always me in 2012.” Bill Clinton also said “Unite!” but reminded us that he was awesome. John Kerry was zzzzzzzzz with one or two decent cracks at McCain, but still zzzzzz. Biden was all like, “You like me, you really like me,” and McCain supposedly has picked his choice for VP, but won’t tell us until Friday, which is his birthday. Wish him a happy one, if you get the chance. He’ll be like 100.

Melissa Ford loves Counterforce

Seven famous penises in history.

Pollutants cause birds to sing tainted love songs.

A one-legged hooker was killed in Brooklyn after a john hit her over the head, causing her to fall backwards out of her wheelchair and slam her skull against the wall, cops said yesterday.

In the beginning… was the Command Line.

Jipi and the Paranoid Chip, a short story by Neal Stephenson.

Aaron Sorkin to write a movie about the founders of Facebook?

David Duchovny has a sex addiction problem? When is that really a problem? I mean, really?

Chuck Norris has a video game for your cell phone: Bring On The Pain. I just hope you have 911 on speed dial before Chuck kills your phone.

(I’d love to make a Chuck fact joke above, but I just can’t do it after being reminded of those Norris/Huckabee ads from the primaries.)

Shirley Manson really is in that horrible Terminator TV show.

How does it feel to die?

Oh, and cats that look like Hitler. Or, kitlers!

MGMTTime To Pretend

Lily Allen - Guess Who Batman (Fuck You Very Much)

An Ode to R. Kelly (down low, nobody has to know)

I decided that my inaugural post to Counterforce, on this historic week, in which pizza loving Barack Obama accepts the presidential nomination from the Democratic National Committee, this is the perfect time to talk about the most influential black man in my life, a man known to you all as Robert Kelly.

obama bites into his candidacy, and into pizza

The first time I fell in love with Mr. Kelly was as a pissy little 18 year old liberal arts freshman. I was home for break and my brother was singing acapella to his classic song, “Feelin’ On Yo Booty” (off of what I feel is his best work, TP-2) and I insisted the song was fake. How can this be, I said? How can a song exist that is dedicated to uh, feeling on someone’s booty, in such a blatant way? I was very wrong, my dears. Oh, so very, very wrong. The song was REAL and it would worm its way into my punk rock girl heart of stone, previously dedicated to listening to songs about being sad, being pissed and not drinking. I learned the joy of songs about being in the club, getting drinks purchased for you, and having a man truly appreciate your posterior.

ice-t & coco would like to invite you to a costume party at their house.

He starts the song, telling you that he is “for real, no doubt” and that the DJ is making him feel “thugged-out”, a feeling I’m sure is quite pleasant. The rest of the song is a dedication to a woman’s booty, and to feeling on it, but that this feeling, this dalliance in the middle of the dance floor is short lived, since he will be taking off after the dance. Lest you think Mr. Kelly has a one track mind, in the middle of the song, he gives recognition to those who’s birthday it is, to those who have their own jobs, and to those who have some cash. He encourages you to celebrate these facts by putting your hands up but then again reminds you, that “players want to play” and that he will be leaving after he does this dance with you.

He can put his hands up.

He can put his hands up.

The next R. Kelly song I fell in love with was “Fiesta”. Perhaps I was attracted to the spanish word; I am of Latin American heritage after all. It is a celebration of the highest status one can hope to achieve in life: VIP (NSFW link!). In the song, we learn about the different types of alcohol commonly consumed in the VIP, namely Cristal (known in the song as Cris), Hennesey (or Henny), Moet (or “Mo”) and my favorite, Tanqueray, to which we are encouraged to add a little “juice to”. Personally, I prefer tonic, but who am I to question a man who “pops Cris on a daily base” and “has honies all up in the place”? Truly a vision of a life we should all aspire to.

a usual night in the VIP

a usual night in the VIP

No discussion of Mr. Kelly’s body of work can be complete without a mention of what I’m sure is the culmination of years of work and study: the Trapped In The Closet rock opera. It would be impossible for me to even begin to describe the pathos, drama, excitement that this story is. We begin with R. Kelly waking up in a bed that is not his own and the chaos that ensues when her husband comes home while he is getting ready to leave. R.Kelly hides in the closet and well..the story goes on from there. I enjoy this rendition of it, with each character played by a SIM:

Last, but certainly, certainly not least, we have…Real Talk. It’s a song that’s burned itself into my conciousness, and a phrase that I use daily, multiple times, when saying something that I need you hear, that is so honest. In this song, R. is having a conversation with his girlfriend of 5 years who has apparently seen him hanging out with some girls in the VIP section of the club, a place we already know he frequents. He insists nothing was happening, asking her if “DID YOU SAY THERE WERE OTHER GUYS THERE?” and then prompting her, as many boyfriends have asked me to before not to listen to the advice of my friends, or in his cutting words, to those “jealous, no man having ass hoes anyway” ; they know nothing of the intimacies of their relationship, since they “don’t eat with us, don’t sleep with us, and what they eat don’t make us shit.” Indeed, Mr. Kelly. Indeed.

Recommended listening for the full Robert Kelly experience: Leave Yo Name, Ignition, Bump & Grind.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…

Tonight marks the real beginning of the democratic convention, and really, the serious beginning of the campaign at large for President of the United States.

About fucking time.

I don’t think I’m alone in being more than a little fatigued by the two plus years of primary season eye gouging, especially as we got down to the bitter, bloody end. I mean, Hillary vs. Barack? Either way, we would’ve gotten a viable candidate out of those two.

But it’s Barack and him running against McCain seems like an incredible no brainer. For starters, McCain looks half dead already. Or, at least, half crazy. And secondly, do you want a man who doesn’t know how many houses he owns to have his finger on the button?

Tonight’s the kick off of the Democrat’s convention at the Pepsi center in the mile high city with Michelle Obama doing the honors of speaking in prime time, selling her husband’s story to us. As if you could actually still be undecided. (And the people who have a problem with Michelle, I really don’t get you. Aside from the “For the first time in my adult lifetime, I’m really proud of my country” misspeaking, which even then, you need the last part of that quote for some context: “…because I think people are hungry for change.”)

But starting tonight, we get what I like most about the conventions: Transforming the candidate from a normal schlub of a politician into ultimate literary hero, the protagonist for a new era of American promise and security and freedom and righteous blah blah blah. I doubt you’ll hear too much about our current President, the most unpopular ever in American history, or why we shouldn’t elect someone that’s basically of his ilk, but you’ll get the start on why Michelle’s husband is our guy. There’s nothing natural about these conventions at all and every single second is carefully scripted, so I’m hoping for a level of majesty that only Roth or Faulkner could deliver. Starting tonight we’re going to hear the best of the best of anecdotes from young Barry’s life, presented to us as the humble first few chapters of the Great American Novel.

And I’m excited about it.

In 2000, it worked (for me, at least) with Gore. He was transformed before my eyes from a middle ground type politician into the New American Science Hero. And since then, he’s only taken that role and ran with it to become one of our most respected elder statesmen of the party (winning a fucking Nobel prize will do that kind of thing for you). I would’ve been more excited to see the un-aired Spike Jonze video there as well.

In 2004, it didn’t work for me so much. Kerry… eh. My reaction to Kerry getting the nomination was the same as my (and The Light Brigade‘s) reaction to Biden getting the second slot on this year’s ticket. “Oh, hey, John Kerry’s the nominee? That’s great cause zzzzzzzzz.” (Although, I did find the Biden thing slightly interesting if, for nothing else, the fact that Biden wanted McCain to be Kerry’s running mate four years ago.) With Kerry, I was more than a little put out by the overly crafted Swift boat stories of Vietnam heroism (You’re no JFK, buddy), and can only dread what we’ll get from the McCainites at their convention.  And Edward’s “Two Americas” speech was an interesting but flawed rough draft of a speech that just didn’t reach the higher levels that I imagine he thought it did.

In fact, the most impressed I was in 2004 was with Theresa Heinz-Kerry. Yeah, she came out looking like she maybe just popped a muscle relaxer with a glass of champagne beforehand, but still, to me, she had the sound bites. And she had the story that worked. I probably would’ve voted for her based on that speech. Here’s an excerpt from her speech: “I learned something then, and I believe it still. There is a value in taking a stand whether or not anyone may be noticing and whether or not it is a risky thing to do. And if even those who are in danger can raise their lonely voices, isn’t more required of all of us, in this land where liberty had her birth? In America, the true patriots are those who dare speak truth to power.”

Good stuff, man. Too bad her husband’s a fucking joke.

Oh, and I get home just in time to see Edward Kennedy’s speech. It’s definitely a democratic convention now.

Hopefully this snafu on the unity issue with the Obama/Clinton camps will get taken care of and the proceedings get more focused (Although I wonder how much of the tension is left over from the Obama camp throwing in with the Kennedy’s months back in an attempt to crush any growth in the Clinton dynasty power monster). I think Hillary would’ve been a good running mate and maybe should’ve at least been vetted for the sake of saving face. But nonetheless, I don’t think anyone really expected her name to end up on this ticket. Except for maybe Bill.

Just pause for a moment, if you will, to imagine the brilliance one last time of a Hillary presidency, with Bill as the First Gentleman, getting up to all sorts of crazy hijinks in that big ol’ White House. And then, after they leave office, I could pitch you the great husband and wife detective show of all time: Mr. and Mrs. President! Move your ass over, Nick and Nora.

Anyways, Michelle Obama’s speech is about to start as I write this and I’m ready to see how this novel begins.

I direct you also to This Recording’s excellent pieces on the potential future First Lady.

Cindy McCain: The very definition of angry hate fuck.

If I was to play a game of Marry, Fuck, Kill with Cindy McCain in it… Well, I don’t think she’d get the Marry nod.

In other news, Ana Lucia is coming back to Lost! And nobody is that excited.

We’re getting closer to them firing up the Large Hadron Collider.

I could probably make mention of American Idol getting a fourth judge, most likely to tune out some of Paula’s outbursts when she’s “tired,” but I honestly don’t give a shit.

Someone wants Cher to play the Catwoman in the next Batman movie. Yeah, sure. This, after Robert Downey, Jr. disses The Dark Knight. Oh, and some people have too much time on their hands for photoshopping. That image of Kristen Bell, while hot, creeps the shit out of me.

Jon Stewart rips the media a new one.

Canada remains happily mediocre.

Redheads and cats. Even Mark Twain knew what it was all about.

Betty Draper = Grace Kelly.

You’ve got the greatest athletes in the world all together in one place. What do they do? Sex!

Also, vagina couch!

Santogold feat. Andrew TroubleI’m A Lady

Fatal Flying Guillotine

We here at Counterforce recognize there are many reasons to fear tomorrow. Terrorists living next door, government agents listening to your phone calls because there are terrorists living next door, climate change, Bravo’s never ending parade of reality competition TV shows based on the pastimes of homosexuals and the hags who love’em, a possible McCain presidency, a possible offspring of Madonna and A-Rod, a possible Bravo reality TV show based on Madonna and A-Rod raising said offspring (sure to feature lots of underwear swapping). We also realize that some of you might need your worst fears assuaged and advice on how to cope with these coming atrocities. Well, we’re sorry but you’re a big boy/girl and you’re just gonna have to learn how to deal with it.

We’re sorry, that was mean. We’ll tell you what, to make it up to you we have invited world renowned Zoologist, European playboy and World Champion Gitin’r Doner, Occam Razor, to write a weekly column on what you can do in preparing for a Post Peak Oil World, titled What You Can Do in Preparing for a Post Peak Oil World. Occam suffers fools lightly and will not be taking any questions at the end of each column.

One day a long time ago all these French lady fishmongers were sitting around bitching and moaning how high the price of bread was. Finally someone tired of listening to them squawk on and on endlessly told them to do something about it or shut the fuck up. So they probably squawked on and on endlessly about whether they should take that person’s advice, and after a coffee klatch or something they decided they were going to do something about it. They had it in their mind that the hoity toity of France had shacked up with all that bread in the suburbs of Paris, Versailles. So they strapped up and marched on Versailles with the aim of gafflin’ that bread.

Once there they started a lootin’ and a shootin’. They made it to the royal palace and captured two of the guards, beheaded them, and stuck their heads on pikes. That’s pretty hardcore, especially for French people. Then they called for Marie Antoinette and she said something about eating cake, which the mob found fairly cliché so they all pointed their iron at her, but she didn’t fake the funk, so they left. Personally, I think they just got tired of looking at Kirsten Dunst’s janky ass mouth. Marie Antointette then went on to live a long happy life, I’m pretty sure.

I mean really, it was her or Kirsten Dunst.

I mean really, it was her or Kirsten Dunst.

Well now, as we have discussed there’s a time of hurt on the horizon even worse than hedge fund swindles, housing market collapses and Jennifer Anniston and John Mayer break ups. I really thought those two kids would last, they seemed so in love. James Howard Kunstler’s The Long Emergency details the many ways us US Americans have mishandled our resources since the WWII. The end result is a sense of entitlement that has been marinating several generations deep. Chief among them the real American dream, no not home ownership (though somewhat related), but that you can make a dollar out of 15 cents. Through environmental degradation and obscene labor practices the Industrial Revolution in America was actually geared towards the manufacture of things of worth, the automobile withstanding. Soon people didn’t want to break their backs in the ole broom factory when they could go to college and become a systems analyst. So they did, and then they bought their kids Howdy Dowdy shit, or something. I dunno, I’ve missed the last two episodes of Madmen.

He still totally owns.

He still totally owns.

Point is, US Americans got leather so soft. And spoiled, spoiled rotten. Let me ask you a rhetorical question that I expect to have answered, when you encounter a spoiled child with a sense of entitlement who is used to having nummy nummy High Fructose Corn Syrup Aid all the time, and you tell them that the Mexicans and Arabs can’t produce anymore High Fructose Corn Syrup Aid and the Africans will only sell what little High Fructose Corn Syrup Aid they have to the Chinese and the Russians will never in a million year share the last remaining reserves of substance of High Fructose Corn Syrup Aid with that spoiled child with a sense of entitlement, what do you think that spoiled child with a sense of entitlement will do?

I’m going to assume you said throw a fit. Kicking. Screaming. Banging their head on the floor and then eventually coming at dear ole Mum with a knife. So it is only natural that a nation full of spoiled children of all ages with a raging sense of entitlement will react no differently when the life they know can no longer run without that sweet sweet oil. They will be a lootin’ and a shootin’ and placing heads on pikes. Which means you the reader will have to be prepared how to deal with the angry mobs, and that’s what we will discuss in this article. After all, the point of this column is what you can do in preparing for a Post Peak Oil World, that’s why it’s called What You Can Do in Preparing for a Post Peak Oil World.

I was almost there, manne!

I was almost there, manne!

The plan of attack is to hide amongst the unwashed (we’re talking literally in the absence of proper infrastructure) masses. While hopefully at the end of this column’s run you will be fully prepared to live well adjusted lives, you cannot live in complete isolation and you will have to interact with what remains of society once in a while. The easiest way would be to adopt some retarded sob story about how close you were to realizing the American dream. Phrases such as “Some future, huh? I was this close to finish paying off the Denali, I was totally going to hop on a flight to Vegas and bet it all on red. But unfortunately Southwest went out of business mid-flight and I crashed landed on this mysterious island that demands sacrifices.” will totally help you fit in with the others… who aren’t as well prepared.

They key thing that will you need to do in order to fit in with the torch and pitch fork wielding set, is how to either properly disembowel or behead someone loosely associated with present day authority or aristocracy. I got this lesson from Remarque: always aim the blade for the stomach, if you aim too high your blade will become stuck in the ribcage and that will slow you down and perhaps piss off the group of former real estate agents and home furnishings salesmen you’re raiding the gated community with. Beheading is simple, it’s much like laying a good hit in football, aim for several inches behind the neck, so that when you make your fatal blow you go through the neck, and a sound like wailing winds could be heard, but if you mess up you could have that happen to your own, which… would… be… ridiculoussssssss…

Protect your neck.

Protect your neck.

Well there you have it, the easy steps for survival if you have to come out your compound to hunt down rabbits and find yourself in the presence of an angry mob ready to lay siege on Piedmont.

Next Week: Beans, rabbit and maize: The dietary choices you must prepare yourself to make in a Post Peak Oil World.

Those Worthy of Scorn: James Dobson

 

I'm not saying he likes little boys.

I'm not saying he likes little boys

You know why? You fucking know why? Cause sometime back in the day, Benji’s mom read from “Dr.” Dobson that the best way to keep the younglings in line was to grab them and squeeze them by the fleshy part of the shoulder. Some kind of Blessed Vulcan Neck Pinch shit. So that’s what Yours Truly had to put up with in his formative years, getting squeezed. And a lot of that was my Moms, but that was James D. doing the squeezing too. That’s reason enough to hate the fucker right there, but on top of that he’s also your poster boy for pompous, pious right wing evangelical assholes too. I could link to some shit, but Dobson ain’t worth the effort. (editor’s note: fuck it)

He’s got a magazine called “Focus on the Family,” a bullshit little rag that trojan horses all of its religious proselytizing under the guise of good parenting advice. Parakeets gotta shit somewhere. Motherfucker wrote a book called “What Wives Wish Their Husbands Knew About Women.” Seriously! Most left-leaning folk wouldn’t mind giving this Doc a cockpunch if he crossed their paths, but me: I ever see this dude IRL, I’m going straight for his goddamn shoulder.