Nowhere, AZ — Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I don’t care how any of you rat-bastards are doing in FarmVille and/or Mafia Wars; and, no, I don’t want to play. You’re all doped up on goofballs. What the hell is FarmVille, anyway?! Wait, don’t answer that. In this instance, the Crank is right—I can’t handle the truth.

What in God’s name is this thing called Facebook? I find myself in this virtual wasteland a couple of times a week now, but only out of some inexplicable compulsion akin to rubbernecking at an accident scene. Maybe I don’t want to be in a chat group with my dealer, my bookie, my ex-girlfriends, and my children. Call me crazy! (They often do…) 

Recently, the top of my Yahoo email page has been afflicted with a series of chat windows that have been popping up like social viruses. They’re also appearing on the side of my Yahoo email page, and, of course, the other side of my Yahoo email page. The only one I actually want to talk to is the really hot one on the right, who apparently lives right next door and is waiting to talk to me (I remain suspicious). In addition, I can also get ongoing updates from any number of people who I don’t care to chat with. No doubt they’re writing to share their FarmVille scores or send me a virtual cow. It is so heart warming to have so many ways to ignore all of you people!

I also get the same three dweebs that I don’t want as friends popping up all the time.

Facebook keeps going, “You have 72 mutual friends with such-and-such. Why the fuck aren’t you friends yet?!”

Of course, Facebook doesn’t drop the F-bomb, but it’s implied.

Hmmm, maybe because he owes me money and she’s a bitch! So why do I have to look at their faces every time I log onto this damn thing? Isn’t there a “Block Bitches and Pricks” button thingie? AHHHHhhhahhahhhhhahh!

Besides, I tried to become friends with Sarah Palin (really), and she denied me! Me! Mick Zano II. No one denies me! I’m bewildered at how 370,000 people are joining this thing every day. That’s way more than the Daily Discord! Leave it to the world to embrace suckage. Crap is king. Well, the Ghetto Shaman’s articles aren’t half bad.

Truth be told, I’m really not that angry – but Winslow says I need more “passion” in my work. He always liked The Crank best. OK, maybe not.

But, there certainly is some truth to my dismay with this strange forum on these internets, which I am told is a series of tubes.  My college friends – including many of the Discordians – had this great chat forum where the witty nonsense flowed like cheap beer at a kegger. Now, it’s like going into an empty house. No one is there. Everyone lives in this silly place where endless deranged and mindless people comment on unimaginably huge swaths of mundane nonsense (UHSMN). 

Here’s the kicker: when one of my friends actually says something profound, witty, or meaningful, no one comments. But if someone happens to post some inane status update like “I’m putting lard on the cat’s boil,” a wave of interested parties will emerge from this “series of tubes.” On a good day, “I’m putting lard on the cat’s boil” will draw anywhere from 3 to 6 people chiming in that they Like This Comment. Only one person commented on our latest masterful Photoshop wizardry, that Gandalf Balrog Obamacare thingie. (Hat tip: Sean.) The one person who did comment was asked to do so, by me, for the low, low price of one beer. 

I am going to put my theory to the test. This article will post long after my happy little experiment, so I am going to post “I’m putting lard on the cat’s boil” on Facebook and see who comments. I will resume this article in three days.  Here goes; may fortune favor the Facebook…

[fear and loathing in some coffee shop]

I’m back early (premature e-chatulation). I just wanted to let you all know that on Sunday at 12:48PM, I posted, “I’m putting lard on the cat’s boil.” That was truly distasteful; much like Dave Atsals’ work. I feel so dirty…

I would rather be actually putting lard on a cat’s boil than posting on Facebook, but my endless truth-seeking is a key characteristic of my fictitious persona. I will check back in three days and relay the results.

[fear and loathing in some coffee shop: revisited]

Before I left the coffee shop, I just had to check. Within one hour, I had a comment – from Winslow’s wife! No shit. So far one person Likes This. 

[son of “fear and loathing in some coffee shop”]

Here are the results, in all of their glory: er, one comment. Now, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have posted this. I should have had one of my lamer friends post this—the ones who might actually post the fact that they are happily “putting lard on the cat’s boil” and feel compelled to share this tidbit of mundania with the masses. But, c’est la vie. No one believed I was actually doing this, and it’s almost funny – thus, it was rightfully ignored.

Now, let’s review: Sean Kelsey’s Photoshop masterpiece in the Daily Discord got one coerced vote that cost me a beer, while “I’m putting lard on the cat’s boil” garnered 100% more unsolicited votes, and quicker to boot. But wait, there’s more! Whereas I only have a few friends (sad, but true), the Daily Discord has gazillions of Facebook fans. OK, half a gazillion if you carry the one. So to beat you over the head with this: I trounced the Discord’s finest Photoshop joke in recent weeks—by 100%—with “I’m putting lard on the cat’s boil.”

Facebook is the work of the devil!

I think John Bender had Facebook in mind when he said, “It’s demented and sad, but social.” 

Don’t even get me started on Twitter…

My First Impression of Joining Facebook You all look, er…great!

Nowhere, AZ—Why does Burger King continue their clueless tradition of leaving off the cheese, unless requested, on any of their products?  If this sick and twisted tradition is allowed to continue, the Swiss will surely hit the fan.  I rarely partake in the fast food experience and when I do it is deemed a ‘relapse’ because I have sworn off the stuff several years ago.  But yesterday I drove my sister to Burger King because most everything else in town had closed.  She ordered the sliders for herself and we went on our merry way.  Fifteen minutes later, however, she found herself cheese-less in Arizona. 

In the last fifteen years I hit Burger King only a few times, and each transgression into transfatsylvania has resulted in the same cheese ordering dilemma.  Several years between stops and I invariably forget this sick custom, because the default-order for the rest of America is cheese please.

At Pizza Slut I can get cheese on my pizza and in the crust, at Taco Smell I can get cheese in the Gordita and melted into the taco shell.  And don’t even get me started on Chucky Sleazes. What isn’t the King getting here?  This has been their tradition for over fifty-years.  I like to think when I screw up something, that I would posses the wherewithal to correct the error within a half a century.

What argument could Burger King possibly have for leaving cheese out of the equation?  Are they trying to save us some calories?  If someone is going to Burger King and ordering a Whopper, they have already shifted from the Atkins Diet to the Fatkins Diet.  If you’re throwing care into the wind and ordering a five million calorie sandwich for lunch, who gives a shit about a slice of frigging cheese?

Where are the People for the Ethical Treatment of Cheese on this topic?  How much is the Burger Czar paying them off?  Have it your way?  More like, have it Mao’s way!

Over the course of my life, I have been to countless BBQs and cheese slices adorn the American hamburger from sea to shining sea.  I would say the hamburger is losing to the cheeseburger by a margin of five-to-one at my BBQs.  Sooooo, what compelled the cheese food Nazis to ignore the mandate of the masses?  The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the bun.  It’s like opening up the PB&J Hut and going jelly free.  It’s unconscionable!  It’s un-American…it will lead to socialism!  How will it lead to socialism, you ask?  Well, everything leads to socialism according to Fox News, so I’m sure there’s a connection.  After all, what could be more American than American cheese?  Wasn’t Monterey Jack considered for the sixth visage on Mt. Rushmore?  Isn’t string cheese theory unraveling the very mysteries of the universe itself?   

I don’t get it…even the Eat Cheese or Die state of Wisconsin is strangely silent on this topic.  Have they gotten to all of you?!  Is the Burger Czar putting pods under your beds at night that absorb your minds?  Well, that would explain The View. 

It’s an outrage.  

V for Velveeta!

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few cans of spray cheese for my next Burger King protest-mural.

Walking out the front door without a plan is my usual M.O. With no destination, I step into Limbo, walking on a whim. This method has lead to spontaneous creativity, synchronistic encounters, adventures, a handful of citations, a restraining order, jail time, and a liver the size of a Buick.

This is often a lonely road, upon which we sometimes catch a flash glimpse of the perfect sanctuary.  The oasis…the archetypal hangout with lively atmosphere, inside art, outside garden, refined beverages, and characters all sizzling with inspiration.  Wit spews from the lips like rabid rivers of lava burning and drowning us dead and awakened into our dawning enlightened life (which is a nice way of saying, I get tanked and puke in the alley with the Ghetto Shaman).

It’s not the place, it’s the state of mind, and yet an establishment can institute an atmosphere, character, and quality that encourage this state of mind.

The true greatness of a coffee shop, brewpub, bar, or diner should be assessed primarily by its potential to facilitate cultural experiences that are spontaneous, dynamic, and profound. This intangible quality is the most important element of any hangout.

As a cultural facilitator, my job is to turn parties into art exhibits and art exhibits into parties. There are certain criteria to consider. The social etiquette should encourage a free flow through any and all social circles. Within the established hangout a person will feel comfortable to move about freely amongst different social circles. We are encouraged to follow our intuition. We can read or reflect alone, spontaneously jump into a conversation with strangers, or lead a naked conga line with the Wal-Mart midgets.

In order to stimulate the spirit of enthusiasm, an establishment should play good music that compliments the atmosphere, characters, and mood. They should also provide quality goods and services, and they should expel anything that inhibits our goals of dynamic cultural experiences (such as the, aforementioned, alley vomiting).

Electronic gadgets distract people from the possibility of authentic interactions. They have no place in social settings. I don’t even like to see cell phones in public. I once sat at a bar where two people on either side of me were both talking on their cell phones. I think they might have even been talking to each other!

Look people; if you want to isolate yourself inside the grid, please do it at home. I’m here to party. Take the television for example. There is no possibility to mingle amongst different social circles or spark unplanned adventures if everyone is hypnotized by the boob tube. Regarding televisions, I have two pieces of advice for all bars: 1.) unless you’re trying to be a sports bar, don’t allow any televisions onto your premises, and 2.) don’t try to be a sports bar.

Fifteen years ago, I vowed to never pay for cable again. This was the greatest decision of my life. Along with this choice, I have simultaneously taken steps to better tune my awareness to the spirit of authentic culture. Throughout these years I have continued eliminating electronic gadgets and machinery from my life.  Even my pacemaker is on borrowed time.  The Ghetto Shaman has offered to rip it out of my chest and offer it to the Owl People (very tempting).

Some have argued that my position is reactionary and irrational—like Zano’s—and will lead to a decay in my living standard. Certainly these technologies bring their conveniences, but at what cost?  Commitment to true art must take priority over comfort, social status, family, friends, and even my own biological survival (hoot, hoot).  So now, with no TV, no cell phone, no internet (not even e-mail), no car, no phone, no video games, and no electronic pocket massage toys (well, I haven’t given those up yet…).

What were we talking about?

Oh yeah, social inhibitors to dynamic cultural experiences.

Spatial limitation can also strangle the life out of festivities. Be careful to consider the feng shui of the place and encourage a flow that keeps the energy circulating. Time limitations also inhibit enthusiasm. This ‘last call’ experiment has proved to be a real bummer. Some of my best festivities don’t get full-flailing until dawn.

Has this ever happened to you? You are trying to get in touch with a friend, which, these days, doesn’t involve a phone call or a letter. Maybe you are going to go old school and send an email, instead of a text.

“Hey man, we are heading out to 151 for a few nights—the usual place. We will be BBQin, playing horseshoes, the whole bit. Do you think you can make it?”

They reply, “cool.”

As Chuck Noise recently pointed out, our communication window is quickly shrinking. We all know this, but that is not what I am here to discuss. What I am wondering is how far will the spill off from this cultural shift towards brevity go? In particular, how might it affect music in its various forms?

But in most respects it was merely a mobile stereo, other than the fact that I was now isolating myself from the rest of the world.  But, then again, it did help “the voices.”

In recent times, our options have increased. Music videos in some respects mixed our stereos with live performances. Now online services, such as U-tube, put a myriad of options at our fingertips 24/7, and as Tony Ballz is so happy to point out, it’s free! Still, this begs the question as to how, or if, this current trend of ADD-driven sound bites will effect music. How many times has someone posted a music video link in your email or Facebook page? Do you look at it, and if you do, do you bother to watch the whole thing?

“Come on man, that video was almost three minutes long, I don’t have time for that.”

Thanks to the punk movement, the eighties saw the invention of the incredibly shrinking song. Where the rock dinosaurs thought bigger was better, punkers could get a whole song belted out before Keith Moon could dig his drumsticks out of the woofer. In 1983 Poison Idea put out the album, Pick Your King. It has thirteen songs and is less than sixteen minutes long. Now, it seems the current trend in punk is for longer dirge songs, but we’ll see how long that lasts. Will some of the newer modern bands, which have members that grew up on text messages and My Space, create a new style of mini-music? Five years from now, will we be hearing mega short sound bite songs?  Just like the little twenty second diddies that I can check out on my cell phone or blast from my Face Book page and then quickly move on.org.  In an age where no one has the attention span to even bother to call a friend, when text messages will do, will music also tread down this Twittered path?  On a related example, this post was originally the length of War and Peace, until Winslow got a hold of it. 

I could be way off on this, but if you are listening to your middle school daughter hum some half minute tune, a few years from now, remember you heard it hear first.

• Problems on the double,
• Try to burst my bubble
• Chaos all around
• Feet never touch the ground
• (4 second guitar solo)
• I don’t know why
• Fingers to the sky
• I might as well try
• Before I flippin die.

“Sorry Mr. Bone, but that song is a little longer than what we are looking for. If you can trim it down to half that size, maybe we could work out a deal.”

Today, Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner captured a werewolf, drinking Pina Coladas at Traders Vicks.  On the tenth anniversary of having his head blown off by CIA operative Van Owen, Roland was out stalking through the night, when he came upon a werewolf whose hair was perfect.  Roland knew instantly it was, Mr. Bad Example himself, the werewolf suspected of ripping out Jims’ lungs.

This werewolf broke all of the deadly sins, rampaged several Marriotts, and doing his best Lon Chaney impersonation killed Du Koo Kim while disguised as Boom Boom Mancini.   His worst crime, the raping and killing of little Susie on prom night, he later made a cage out of her bones.  Mr. Bad Example, for many years, was living in splendid isolation, hid away at Detox Mansion, raking leaves with Liza, and cruising the ocean with Mutineers.  He made the trip to Trader Vicks, not being able to pass up a few drinks and the Bi-Polar women in leather and lace, as he heard Johnny strike up the band.

Roland aimed his Thompson gun; he didn’t say a word.  The werewolf disappeared in the muzzle flash of Roland’s Thompson gun.  Having barely escaped with his life, the wolf immediately called his father to send in Lawyers Guns and Money, claiming there was disorder in the house. 

“Dad,” he screamed, “Get me out of this!”

His request fell upon deaf ears, however, due to turbulence in Moscow and the noise from Mohammad’s Radio.  Distraught, the bandanna wearing werewolf threw himself against the wall, and laid his head on the rail road tracks, waiting for the Double E.

Attempts to sedate the werewolf were unsuccessful as he blurted, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead”.  While praying to the Hindu Love Gods, he threw his lit cigarette into in open container of alcohol.  He was in the house as  it burned down, making plans to search for a certain girl, with a Raspberry Beret, and maybe find some things to do in Denver when you’re dead.

In memory of genius singer-songwriter Warren Zevon

“Enjoy every sandwich!”

Don’t panic!  The noise you are hearing in the background is simply the sound of our social institutions collapsing outright.  Newsflash: America is going to change and change in a big way.  Our politics, our media, our language, our culture are all slipping into a deep dark crevasse (luckily, plenty are now forming on our glaciers to accommodate).  Our money is becoming meaningless, and we have discovered the root of all suffering, besides Oprah.  Another stimulus package?  Are you kidding me?  How many times are they going to hit the economy with those shock paddles before it’s time to shut off the defibrillator?  But, that’s the bad news. As promised, here is some good news:  our politics, our media, our language, and our culture are all slipping into a deep dark crevasse.  How is that the good news, Mick?  Have you seen our politics, our media, our language, and our culture lately?  They make Keith Richards look like Jack LaLane. I say good riddance (to our culture, not to Jack LaLane).  Enough is enough.  I am sick of being lied to (by our media, not by Jack LaLane; he makes a mean juicer).  If I wanted this kind of abuse, I would stay home nights and weekends. The Clear Skies Act gutted forty years of environmental control, the Coalition of the Willing was coerced, and I need a bucket of Dramamine to make it through something called ‘the No Spin Zone’.  And don’t even get me started on the ‘Patriot Act.’ By now our forefathers must be, as the Crank puts it, whirling feverishly in their mausoleums.

What kind of fools do they take us for?  Oh, those worked?!   

Damn, we are stupid.

Well, in the immortal words of Roger Daltrey, “We won’t get fooled again!”

King Obama is only a horse of a different color.  He sucks.  There, I said it.  That was kind of liberating.  I am very proud we elected him as a people.  But Obama is going to start Bushing us from a whole different angle is all.  He hasn’t given back the One Ring.  His policies only look more constitutional.  It’s all smoke and mirrors.  Long live the Banana Republic!  How can he really be working to save the economy if he’s on TV 18 hours a day?  What is this, White House reality television?  We just need a Blue Room web cam.

In the immortal words of Roger Daltrey, “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.”

And if I have to start agreeing with Sean Hannity on ANYTHING, it’s Carradine time.  If I’m going to go, it’s going to be with my nuts tied in a, well, it’s not going to be anything like that, actually.

But, as promised, some good news: there are things we can do to make this transition more enjoyable.  Screwing comes to mind.  Seriously, we do have more power than we think.  We are the people, after all, or at least the part of the people who can still pull ourselves away from our video games long enough to vote.  Just how long does the pause button on my X-Box last anyway?

 I predicted 9/11 would be the last time we, as a country, would be on the same page.  But that’s America’s problem.  We the People still have our towns.  I moved to one of those recently. A town that I hope might remain a town because it has been around for a couple of hundred years.  It’s survived everything from fires, to Indian attacks, to seventies Shatner horror movies.  OK, the real reason was for the three brewpubs, but, now that I’m here, I have learned a lot (other than about the brewing process). The Native Americans think this area is sacred and, perhaps more importantly, they know where to find all of the edible bugs. 

Did you know that cricket ichor can have equal amounts of protein as certain fortified yogurts?  Bug I digress.  I think a recent blog by Ana Kamentz hits things right on the head:

“The current world recession won’t lift by resuming the path of endless growth and mounting debt.  A profound global reorganization has to take place so that we put a fair value on the natural resources that underlie our unprecedented prosperity.  The leap toward a sustainable economy will be realized when each of us wakes up to the reality that you are the economy, and the economy is you.”

See?  I am not only the people, I am the economy.  I am also the walrus, koo-koo kajoob.  On weekends I’m the pinball wizard.  Hell, I’m Rick James, bitch.  But back to being the economy for a moment. As the economy, I would like to announce that all Happy Hours will be extended to 24 (void where prohibitioned). 

With crisis comes opportunity.  For this next phase of human existence, depending, of course, on just how bad this whole thing gets, we should think twice about nearly half of our current job occupations.  Jobs designed to screw with our fellow man should be eradicated.  Not by a law, but by our own moral code.  Jobs in the lamprey family need to be scrutinized.  Policies that require enough paper to empty an entire deciduous forest need to be nixed.  Death to bureaucracy! If your job is a negative karma carn-evil, it’s time to start job hunting.  No longer should we put these people on pedestals.  They are vampires, sucking the life from our friends and neighbors.  Currently, we hold these people in high esteem.  We call them successful.  Successful at what?  How many old ladies can’t get their medications as their drug reps drive by in Porsches?  I’m not talking about a socialistic redistribution of wealth, that’s Obama’s gig, and hardly integral.  I’m talking about common decency actually taking hold amongst our business practices.  I know, it sounds hard to believe. Heck, it would never be possible unless the current system was collapsing outright. But did I mention that our current system is collapsing outright? Again, here’s where that opportunity comes in.  I mention it here now so that we learn from our mistakes as we restart some of these processes anew.  I use the drug rep example, because the other day four drug reps pulled up to my facility in a limo with a pile of catered food. The driver was polishing the limo in front of our clients who were despondently milling outside of their weekly “so your life sucks” group.  Yes, I ate the food, and, yes, I listened to their spiel, but I couldn’t help but think: there are some advantages to the coming collapse.

Lawyers, real estate agents, bankers, credit card peeps beware! I don’t think next time we should embrace such nonsense.  That’s not saying all people from those professions are evil, but what I am saying is that all people in those profession are evil.  OK, not really, I know some great drug reps.  How else could throw my annual ‘Bucket of Xanies Party?  Thanks Eric!

People often think that I’m pessimistic, and really, it couldn’t be farther from the truth (like Dave Atsals’ articles).  Sure America’s screwed for a while and that will, no doubt, have massive implications for all of us. But materialism is not the only perspective.  Most can’t even comprehend a perspective beyond materialism.  When does a parent ever say to their child “follow your heart, do a job that has personal meaning to you, learn for the sake of learning”?  No one.  It’s not valued (like Dave Atsals’ articles).  All parents look at the bottom line monetarily.  Yet all societal yardsticks are ultimately bullshit and those yardsticks are about to be turned on their heads.  Comfy stuff is nice, but it’s not necessarily why we are here.  This dimensional plane of existence is not designed to operate from our recliners and we may soon be forced out of those recliners if we hope to survive.  Try starting in small ways.  Lob your remote control a little farther each time across the living room rug and then retrieve it.  Rinse, lather, repeat. 

Sure the future is uncertain, but I’m not going to have a breakdown over it.  My stress levels are damn low.  Xanies baby!  Whereas I haven’t exactly prepared for the future from the canned goods/bunker perspective, I have prepared in other ways (Krispy Kremes, check).  Heck, I have enough books around to last me several decades and as long as I don’t break my glasses like Burgess Meredith at the end of the Twilight Zone episode, I’ll get by. 

Recently one of my very anxious clients (oh, wait, now as per the PC police they must be referred to as “consumers”, which, by the way, really pisses off our eating disorder “consumers”). Anyway, great kid, but he’s definitely the neurotic Illuminati-type client, oh wait, consumer.  He is scared shitless of the future.

I told him “look, there’s always been a T-Rex outside the cave, or a group of Huns over the fortress walls.  It’s part of the human condition.  How we respond is the point.  Besides, there’s always the chance the T-Rex will eat all of the Huns (gotta love creationists).”

As Joseph Campbell tells us, the monster fades in the wake of the Hero with a Thousand Faces.  Some will be quite immune to the massive upheavals ahead.  If he’s not already in jail, Pokey McDooris comes to mind.  Tai Chi, meditating, reading, writing poetry, and exploring the inner dimensions of the psyche have little to do with mainstream American culture.  Why he has to do all these activities naked is my complaint.  The Ghetto Shaman also comes to mind with his weekly Mojito Midget Reiki, oh, I can’t…  He should be in jail.  But certain people out there on the fringe are, in some ways, ahead of the rest of us.  I would also like to apply for Advisor to the Integral Warlord and will be submitting my resume.

We need to do what the Discord is doing: think globally, act jokeally. 

Who needs Obama to preach mutual respect and mutual goals when we can practice this in our own towns?  We should go grassroots all the way.  Simplify.  A nationwide Xanax taper wouldn’t hurt either.  Who knows, maybe we’ll even bring back the family dinner.  Who could forget Grandma’s Soylent Green Stuffing?  Less Xanies and more community interconnectedness!  We can work together and develop systems that work on a smaller scale (like Dave’s brain).  Now, if you will excuse me, I have some work to do.  The going rate is 487 crickets for a pint of lager around here.

The announcement that Michael Jackson died on June 25, 2009, has taken this country and the entire world by storm. However, the Discord’s own Cokie McGrath has uncovered evidence that Michael Jackson really died in a pyrotechnic accident while filming a Pepsi commercial way back in 1984. Apparently the character we have been seeing is really an animatronic facsimile of the pop star now dead for 25 years. An anonymous source in the Jackson entourage was quoted as saying “We simply could not keep the thing working any longer. The MJ-2 has constantly been breaking down for years. We’ve had to rework just about everything: the skin, the hair, the hands, the ears, and just look at that nose; we never did get that thing right. We pretty much had to cover up one part or another all of the time. Sometimes we even had to resort to using duct tape just to hold the figure together for public appearances. Finally the thing suffered a catastrophic failure; apparently it won’t run on Demerol and Vicodin.”

A sampling of the efforts by the Jackson entourage to keep MJ-2 functioning over the last 25 years

It would also appear that malfunctions were not limited to physical breakdowns. According to our contact the unit suffered from many behavioral issues. “Oh geez, there was that whole “blanket” incident, and the device seemed to go nuts around young boys, no pun intended. It was very erratic from day one, but boy could it dance” stated our contact, now dubbed “Deep Shit”. Reports indicate that the figure was built by George Lucas’ Industrial Light and Magic, the group that brought you such annoying creatures as Jar-Jar Binks, the Ewoks, and Carrot-Top. “We had hoped to get another tour out of the MJ-2 but it just couldn’t hold up. It was a primitive model. While we still haven’t perfected the product, we have had much more success with our more recent productions like Amanda Lepore, Pamela Anderson, and Joan Rivers.“ stated Roger Guyett, of ILM. “We’re not sure if we’re going to be contracted to replace the MJ-2 with something more robust, but we have designs on the table. We could probably pull together a resurrection tour in late 2010.”

Other celebs replaced by ILM in recent years

Dear Daily Discord:

My name is Muhammad Al’ Hussein, Sharia High Cleric, Cleveland, Ohio.  Today I read your Zionist propaganda, Newly Discovered Seuss Manuscripts Are Troubling.  This is more than troubling! In fact, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your infidel armpits!  Dr. Seuss converted to Sharia, and his true name became Al Hamze Mohash Mahmood Al JeSeuss (under pain of death).  These books you list are forbidden under Sharia law.  They give Sharia childs bad thoughts, not unlike your American sitcoms.  Your Zionist Conspiracy ideas is why true believers hate the Great Satan (aka, parts of Akron).  Go to local Sharia Library and read Sharia-Approved Al Hamze Mohash Mahmood Al JeSeuss childs books:

Top Ten Sharia-Approved Dr. Al JeSeuss Books

1. Mr. Brown can Mujahideen! (Can you?)
2. The Lion in Zion
3. Oh, The Places You Cannot Go!
4. Horton Hatches a Jihad!
5. Daisy Beheaded Mayzie
6. There’s a Saudi in my Audi
7. Shop with Pop (or a Thousand Lashes)
8. The 500 Burkhas of Basheera Mohammad
9. Rocks in Locks (The Complete Sharia Stoning Book: scratch and sniff edition)
10. Sharia Mariah!  The Twatva I Should Fatwah!

These books are good Sharia books all written under close supervision of respected Sharia Clerics.  Dr. Seuss’ name became Al Hamze Mohash Mahmood Al JeSeuss after he insulted the prophet Muhammad in his Zionist book The Lorax.  I can assure you this Lorax does not speak for the trees, or the Suni’s, or the Shiites.  Let us never speak of him again, or may Allah rip out your spleen and feed it to a mountain goat.

This reminds me of a childhood game when one group of playmates would all circle around a second group and say, “Glory be to thee, Allah.”

To which the inner circle would perform the ablution and recite aqama in all its glory.

Then, amidst this inexplicable connection with the great mystery, we would stone the shit of our friends in the middle, such fun.  It brings me back, back to a very primitive emergency room.

And if you continue your Zionist reporting, don’t forget that Mr. Brown can Mujahideen!

Muhammad Al’ Hussein

High Cleric

International Sharia Law Allah Mosque (FAS: Fuck Akron Society)

Cleveland, OH