I'm A Sad Boobly Bear

Spent the day injecting Whitney Houston videos into my eyeballs.

She was such a talent.

It was such a waste.

God, she was beautiful.

Masturbated twice, symbolically ejaculating onto this magazine photo:



I imagined the microphone was my penis & Whitney was aching for it. Begging for it, saying "I will always love you."

For some reason I kept calling her Susan & she'd laugh & say "My name's not Susan."

God, I felt so close to her.

Then I improvised a tape loop of Kevin Costner's eulogy...

It felt so right the way he was still her "Bodyguard."

I loved that movie.

He'd should have fake fucked her...

Maybe shown a little tit.

Bobby Brown wasn't right for her.

She should have married Kevin.

Then she could have been "Whitey Costner."

Their children would have been beautiful & talented and danced with wolves into the new millennium.

The morning she died I went onto Amazon and bought her whole catalog.

Twice.

She needs to know that I'll never forget her.

I haven't felt this constipated since Michael died.

















Disclaimer: Actually, I don't give a shit. Whitney's death seems about as important as any other death in that day's obituary column.
But I live in a world that is completely and totally addicted to media.
It is our religion.
It is our friend.
It is the never-ending blather that keeps us enslaved to fear by attractively burying our fear under vacuous yet fetching attire.

Without it, all we would have is ourselves.
&, apparently, no one wants that.

Not to worry though, Whitney's everywhere these days.

Somehow it all seems fitting that here, in the land of the dead, becoming a corpse seems to be, by far, the best career move a has been pop star can make to reignite their faded glory.

Should it all become a little too TMZ for ya, you can mosey on down to the Secret Sun Ranch, where Chris Knowles turns his desire to fuck way above his pay grade:

"But she was mezzo like my mom and looked like an idealized version of my high school girlfriend (who I met at a Clash concert, of all places), so a mixture of the two was certain to be potent in my new life."

into one really huge load of complete & utter bullshit:

"I see yet another point put up on the Archons' scoreboard. I see an artist who people across the world could all agree was something special taken away from us. The only hope is that the work will live on, and that that signal continues to be broadcast until enough receivers get switched on."

Y'see, it was the Archons baby. They just didn't want Whitney laying down any more Sanyo commercials.



Chris goes even further out on a limb crafted from complete bullshit when he utters this bit of "deep" poop:

"I mean, it's perfect. The System destroyed a goddess and then partied atop her corpse. Take a good, long look at American culture, people. The cancer has subsumed the host."

Jesus, I wonder if this guy has idealized the breathing women he's actually inserted his penis in to, or does he save this level of gushing idolatry for the class of women who wouldn't fuck him on a dare?

I also wonder if this guy has been in a coma until now. American "culture" has always been a little smelly around the edges. And "the System" has always chewed up its idols & shat them out. That democratic mass of people Chris appears to love, but only through the buffer of the Internet, seem to love it too. Otherwise tabloids wouldn't sell. As much as Chris doesn't want to admit it,

WE ARE THE FUCKING SYSTEM.

Personally, I'd rather listen to an amplified bowel movement than one of Whitney's bland songs. All the musicians who were actual innovators who died penniless & obscure while this dizzy broad with her vacuous catalog of future car ad jingles gets to party herself to death...

That's the crime.

Needless to say, I love the Internet.

I love cold sores & prostate problems too.

Oh yeah, I really love people.

Preferably well roasted.

Law & Order

Interesting morning. Woke up to find a SWAT team & the Sheriff's Dept. at every door. I walked on to the porch & a big Sheriff's deputy stuck a photo in my face and said "Is Jeff here?"
In my typical erudite fashion I said "Should he be?"
The Sheriff repeated his query.
While rechecking the form with the Jeff's photo on it, I noticed that the address was 950.
My address is 930.

Understandable mistake.

If you're fucking blind.

There's this weird contraption in my front yard that some people know as "a mailbox."
On this "mailbox" are really big numbers that say

930.

I suppose the cops didn't bother looking at my home's address, relying instead on their razor sharp cop-like instincts.

Just further fuel for my theory that TV always portrays cops as uber caring & competent heroes because that's the myth we ache to believe. Mainly because we've become a nation of big crybaby sissies.

The truth is that cops are probably as competent & caring as the rest of us. Which is pretty fucking scary when you factor in all those big fucking guns.

YEA AMERICA!

GO TEAM!

The Lighter Side Of 2000 Year Old Jewish Mythology

The Vatican's timing was ironic. While Roman Catholic bishops in the U.S. were trying to revive their moral and political clout last week by battling President Obama over contraception coverage and religious liberty, a papally endorsed symposium was underway in Rome on how the Church has to change if it wants to prevent sexual abuse crises, the very tragedy that has shriveled the stature of Catholic prelates worldwide over the past decade, especially in the U.S. One monsignor at the Vatican gathering even suggested the hierarchy had been guilty of "omertà," the Mafia code of silence, by protecting abusive priests.

The Roman forum was a reminder -- and the birth control clash is turning out to be one as well -- of just how much influence the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops has lost in the 10 years since the abuse crisis erupted in America. It hopes that its protest of a new federal rule requiring religiously affiliated institutions like Catholic hospitals and universities to provide no-cost contraception in their health insurance coverage, even if church doctrine forbids birth control, will help restore the bishops' relevance. They did win a partial victory last Friday when Obama, acknowledging the uproar, said those institutions would no longer have to pay for the contraception coverage themselves. But the President did not fully genuflect: The compromise will still oblige religious-based employers to offer the coverage, while their insurance providers foot the bill.

Seriously...

Iran could develop a nuclear bomb in about a year and create the means for delivery in a further two to three years, the US defense chief said Sunday, reiterating President Barack Obama's determination to halt the effort.

"The United States -- and the president's made this clear -- does not want Iran to develop a nuclear weapon," Defense Secretary Leon Panetta told the CBS program "60 Minutes."

"That's a red line for us. And it's a red line obviously for the Israelis so we share a common goal here."

Panetta maintained that US officials "will take whatever steps are necessary to stop it" if Washington receives intelligence that Iran is proceeding with developing a nuclear weapon.

Asked if that meant military action, he said: "There are no options that are off the table."

Panetta told the interviewer that "the consensus is that, if they (Iran) decided to do it, it would probably take them about a year to be able to produce a bomb and then possibly another one to two years in order to put it on a deliverable vehicle of some sort in order to deliver that weapon."

In a report issued in November, the International Atomic Energy Agency said intelligence from more than 10 countries and its own sources "indicates that Iran has carried out activities relevant to the development of a nuclear device."

It detailed 12 suspicious areas such as testing explosives in a steel container at a military base and studies on Shahab-3 ballistic missile warheads that the IAEA said were "highly relevant to a nuclear weapon program."

Iran rejected the dossier as based on forgeries.

The Islamic Republic has come under unprecedented international pressure since the publication of the report, with Washington and the European Union targeting its oil sector and central bank.

In his State of the Union message Tuesday, Obama said a peaceful outcome was still possible with Iran over its nuclear ambitions, but he declined to rule out the military option.

"The regime is more isolated than ever before; its leaders are faced with crippling sanctions, and as long as they shirk their responsibilities, this pressure will not relent," Obama said.

"Let there be no doubt: America is determined to prevent Iran from getting a nuclear weapon, and I will take no options off the table to achieve that goal," the president declared, triggering a standing ovation.

I've come to admire the continuum that is the American political landscape. No matter how the two "wings" publicly bicker and back bite, privately both parties collude to keep our national dinghy steadfastly on course towards the same shitty port.

Obama's Iran rhetoric doesn't appear to differ much from Bush's Iran rhetoric.

Of course, it's much more palatable when spouted by a "black Socialist liberal" like Obama, isn't it?

We love our palatable bullshit here in Porky Patriot Land. We gobble it up with gusto.
We don't even mind if our diet of tasty bullshit ends up having all the substance of a Breatharian barbecue. We quickly file it in a folder marked "What,Me Worry?," & then dispose of it in the nearest trash can.

Just witness how quickly we've forgotten the Cold War.

Anti-Soviet rhetoric was as bullshit laden as anti-Iranian rhetoric. For 50 years we were seconds away from annihilation at the hands of evil Russian Ahmadinejads wielding thousands of nuclear tipped ICBMs.
Yet, as early as the first days after 9/11, Bush was able to sputter about how "our oceans no longer protect us," as if all those Russian ICBMs never existed.

From what I can see, Iran is a much more efficacious threat than the Soviets ever were, simply because an Iranian boogie man would be easier to stomp into paste should it stupidly over inflate itself & believe our Iranian marketing team.
After all, that's how we like our "enemies" these days, isn't it? More talk than walk, with all the threatening substance of a movie villain.

Only 330 Shopping Days Till The Ahpuch Torch The Mall

16:4 And the third angel poured out his vial upon the rivers and fountains of waters; and they became blood.

A drone pilot hobbyist in Dallas stumbled across a river of blood coming from a large meatpacking plant. The small drone plane had a camera equipped, which captured images of the red river, suspected of being made of pig blood from the plant.

AH-PUCH is the Ruler of MITNAL or Level 9 of the Underworld: the deepest and nastiest department of Mayan Hell.

Identified by the Aztecs with MICTLANTECUHTLI, the grinning God of Death, AH-PUCH is also known as God A, the first of the ALPHABET-GODS.

AH-PUCH likes to surface at night and skulk around in really scary mode. A putrefying corpse with an owl's head is his favorite outfit. Wishing to look the part he uses the eyes of the dead to add the finishing touches to his headgear. One of his nicknames is 'The Flatulent One', which is not something we care to investigate further.

The Flatulent One

For some reason AH-PUCH often has bells tied to his hair, but he is not being cute. What he does when he homes in on a victim is worse than you need to imagine...

There is only one way to escape his attentions. Howl! Shriek! Moan! Scream! Give it your best shot. Sound utterly convincing. AH-PUCH will then assume you are already being dealt with by some of his lesser demons. He will stop outside your door to sigh "Ah..." and pass by with a grim smile.

But AH-PUCH, the Lord of Death and Patron God of the number 10, will get you in the end. He uses MUAN, the evil bird of bad tidings, as his messenger. To this day the legend persists that when an owl screeches, someone nearby will die. If you hear a hoot, take a deep breath and count to 10.

Beware!!! The Flatulent One Can Even Make His Own Eyes Water

Meet The New Year, Same As The Old Year

In honor of Wal-Mart's adoption of AC/DC's Back In Black as their TV ad background music, I thought the lyrics needed an update. (BTW, I'm not insinuating that the original lyrics were much to begin with.)

Back in linens
I sure ain't winnin'
I'm much too fat to do any sinnin'
Yes I got a wide caboose
And a credit card noose
That keeps me hangin' like a flypaper fly
The wife forgot her purse now I'm gonna cry
I got 9 kids
Their undies got skids
And they're using all the TP & it's drivin' me wild

'Cause I'm back
Yes, I'm back
Well, I'm back
Yes, I'm back
Well, I'm back, back
(Well) I'm back in Wal-Mart
Yes, I'm back in Wal-Mart

Back in the back
Of a '72 Cadillac
I wanna put a bullet in some rich boy's Lexus ass
Yes, I'm in a fix
& I got ticks
They've given me lyme disease & my balls really itch
Cause I'm back on the track
And I got plumber's crack
Nobody's gonna get me on another shopliftin' rap
So look at me now
I'm just passin' gas
Can't push too hard or I'll be browning my ass

'Cause I'm back
Yes, I'm back
Well, I'm back
Yes, I'm back
Well, I'm back, back
(Well) I'm back in Wal-Mart
Yes, I'm back in Wal-Mart

Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back
Well, I'm back, Yes I'm back
Well, I'm back, back
Well I'm back in Wal-Mart
Yes I'm back in Wal-Mart

Hooo yeah
Ohh yeah
Yes I am
Oooh yeah, yeah Oh yeah
Back in now
Well I'm back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back, I'm back
Back
Back in Wal-Mart
Yes I'm back in Wal-Mart

Outta sight

My Computer Is An Overpriced Bullshit Shovel

"Rogue" journalist Gary S. Bekkum has finely cracked the exquisitely crafted 911 nut.

A CIA document, based upon input from four military sources, predicted that a pilot from the Mideast, with a name that sounds like "Jerry, Gerard, or Geraldo," will "fly to Washington D.C. with the mission of crashing into the U.S. Capitol Building."

The CIA document is of interest primarily for two reasons:

There is the prediction of an event:

An "aircraft", will "fly to Washington, D.C. with the mission of crashing into the US Capitol building."

There is possible identification of the pilot:

The pilot, "not in the country as of 12 Dec 83, foreign, perhaps Iranian, speaks English and perhaps French ... Name may be or sound like Jerry, Gerard, or Geraldo."

The art of remote viewing is far from being an exact science. What is presented in the CIA document appears to be an analytical summary and interpretation of raw data provided by the viewers.

Ziad Jarrah (also sometimes spelled Jarrahi), is a name that might be considered to "sound like Jerry, Gerard, or Geraldo." Jarrah, a foreigner from Lebanon, was not Iranian, however at least one passenger on Flight 93 identified the terrorists as "Iranian looking." Jarrah was of Middle Eastern origin and spoke both English and French.

There you have it. A vague psychic image vaguely given 18 years before the 911 boom-boom-apalooza can now be classified as a "prediction."

I'm convinced.

I do take issue with the "name" angle though. I believe the psychic spies were much too accurate as paranormal paratweeters to make such an obvious gaff.

I postulate that the psychic spies were spot on with their name info. The spy in question quite obviously knew that the real mastermind behind the future catastrophe was a trio of terrorists. In other words, a veritable 3 Stooges of destruction.





Of course, these two are obvious choices given their long history of inflicting intellectual terrorism on generations of TV & movie watchers. The true mastermind was much more insidious & devious, going as far as having himself declared legally dead 6 years before the 911 attacks occurred. It was a brilliant gambit well played.

I give you the brains behind the day that changed America's diapers:



Now, to anyone familiar with the accusations that the Grateful Dead was a creation of U.S. intelligence, this won't be the least bit shocking.
Unsurprisingly, Jerry had also spent many years inflicting aural terrorism on masses of hippy wanna-bes too stoned to know that they were listening to one long subversive & horrific audio nightmare.

I know, from personal experience, that anytime I was forced by circumstance to listen to Jerry & his pals noodle on & on & fucking on, the only desire I was left with was the desire to blow shit up. Preferably the audio device that was exposing me to the musical horror that was causing my ears to bleed.

I can't help wondering what other Garcia programmed time bombs are just waiting for ignition.

After all, it's one small step from this:



to this:



Then again, given the amount of gray hair in that first photo, it might even lead to this:



It doesn't really matter though, does it? They're all terrorists. The tea drinkers & the Wall Street walkers are mirror images of the same ungrateful mob mentality that found a nightly home with Jerry & crew.

So take a friendly bit of advice children, be careful out there, the Internet conspiracy river is deep & muddy & there are many hidden currents that will suck you right in & right under.

&, whatever you do, don't ever ever ever eat this shit:



MK Ultra has apparently developed a bitching sweet tooth since the 50s.




BTW, thanks Gary. You're "rogue" journalism is definitely a valued asset much used here at DickCentral.™

Keep shoveling dude.