Arts & Culture

Deceased Mime Appointed White House Press Secretary

by Mick Zano • June 5, 2014

Critics of the president feel this is yet another barrier and that the decision shows a disturbing lack of seriousness. Senator John McCain (R-AZ) voiced his objections today, “The Obama Administration ran for office on transparency and they are making a game of charades out of this important function.”

Obama responded to the Senator’s allegations with more of his patented-aloof-smugness (PAS). “It’s not going to be anything like charades,” said Obama. “This is going to be more like a professional version of charades. It’s simply part of my evolving position on the role and function of our Press Secretary. In the past, when I’ve tried to explain something honestly it gets misconstrued and spun to the point of absurdity. Thus Carney’s mandate to pretty much shut the fuck up. This is the next logical response to our nonsensical media. Sometimes decipherable syllables would slip out of Jay’s mouth and I won’t have any more of that. The American people deserve better.”

The White House is denying rumors that other candidates for the position ranged from Obama’s dog, Bo, to his teleprompter, Bo Bo, to even a Madame Tussauds’ replica of Helen Keller’s dog.

by Mick Zano • June 2, 2014

Ten Children Vanish During Jackson Cirque du Soleil Performance

Many involved with the show are blaming the spirit of Michael Jackson for the missing children. Jackson, who has yet to pay a single night’s admission, allegedly haunts the production night-after-night like a modern day Phantom of the Oprah. Yes, he’s reportedly bugging her too.

Michael Jackson’s phantasmal presence is only increasing on the set and many performers are blaming him for the disappearances.

One performer told The Discord, “He’s always whispering choreographic suggestions in my ear. It’s like, dude, move on to that big production in the sky already. It’s annoying as shit.”

Another nameless performer begged the question, “Why are children even allowed in Vegas? Shouldn’t there be some kind of an age limit for Sin City admissions? I don’t wear a lot of clothing on those trapeze if you follow. Look, if you bring your children to Mandalay Bay, show them the aquarium and get them the hell out of Dodge by sunset, otherwise please keep in mind their organs go for top dollar on eBay.”

by Pokey McDooris • May 15, 2014

The evidence is conclusive. All of today’s best minds have reached a consensus that the current administration is demonstrating totalitarian tendencies that clearly violate its constitutional limitations. If these totalitarian tendencies are not addressed, we are in jeopardy of experiencing rising lies, increased tumultuous social storms, and global warring that threatens to destroy our republic. Dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria.

But even when confronted with all of the obvious evidence, there is still a significant number of pseudo-rational individuals who deny the totalitarian over-lording that operates from within our government.

What is this evidence?

Let’s start with the IRS scandal. Oh, I can hear the deniers now: “This is all just manufactured lies from the racist right-wing conspirators who slander poor President Obama because they’re all jealous of how good a job he’s doing.”

Just humor me. Starting back in 2010, the IRS began flagging applications from groups with political references in their name like “we the people,” “take back the country,” “tea party,” and “patriot.” Strictly bi-partisan, of course. When Lois Lerner was asked if the IRS had targeted liberal groups, she said, “I don’t have any information on that.” Why thank you, that’s very helpful. Now, these flagged groups were given a more rigorous review than those not flagged. Former IRS commissioner, Douglas Shulman, initially denied that his agency was targeting conservatives. “Why we would never dream of doing such a thing.” Then he promptly retired.

The recent information that Congress has finally obtained from the IRS shows that after the “flagged” groups provided their information to the IRS, 1 out of 10 was subjected to auditing. That’s ten times the rate of the average citizen.

The message is loud and clear–be careful what you say and who you support. The big question remains: is the IRS auditing connected to the White House? I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that they have drones and don’t even have sufficient wall insulation. What we do know is that the former IRS commissioner, Douglas Shulman, visited the White House (at least 147 times) more than any of the most trusted members of the President’s cabinet. Shulman initially spoke words inconsistent with reality (lied) about the targeting, and Louis Lerner at the Congressional hearing has so famously refused to answer questions on the matter. I know what you’re thinking, “What difference does all that make now?” I don’t know, but that brings us to our next piece of evidence.

The Benghazi attack took place on the nine year anniversary to the World Trade Center terrorist attacks, yet for many months after the attack had taken place, a large portion of the American population believed that the attack was caused by “a heinous and offensive video.” Now listen up you deniers, even if the people who attacked the Benghazi base were angered by an anti-Muslim movie, SO WHAT! Why does our administration feel compelled to seek an excuse for people who commit acts of violence against innocent people? When if I started killing people after reading “a heinous and offensive parody website?” Would I be justified? Well, in the case of the Discord, maybe. Would the website be at fault? Would it be accurate to report that the “offensive website” caused the violence? People, the answer is “no.” There is no excuse for unprovoked violence, so when our President and his helpers make these kinds of excuses, they embolden such violence and weaken our security. And that’s my job.

After Salman Rushdie wrote The Satanic Verses, what if our leaders had reported that the 6 million dollar price placed on Rushdie’s head was caused by an “offensive book.” Well, make no mistake about it, that’s how Islamic fascists saw it–they were justified to kill Rushdie for his “offensive book,” just like they were justified in attacking Benghazi because of the “offensive video,” and they were equally justified in attacking the world trade center because of the United States’ “offensive foreign policy.”

There is a current trend in our culture to embolden irrational rebellion. For example, I’ve noticed that many public school teachers have been taught flawed methods for addressing defiant behavior in our youth. This method is played out something like this: “Now Johnny, what have we done to make you so angry? Why do you want to tear up your homework and throw it in my face? Now, if you keep attacking the teachers, you won’t earn your stickers and prizes.”

Many of our elected officials have been taught these same flawed methods for addressing the defiant behavior of our mortal enemies. This method plays out something like this: Now Abdul, what have we done to make you so angry? Why do you want to burn our flag? Is it Zano again? He is thoughtless some times. If you keep killing our ambassadors, we’re gonna have to cut off your billions of dollars in aid.”

Now, I want you all to open up your minds real wide. What if…I know this is gonna sound crazy, but what if Benghazi wasn’t just an overcritical movie review (thumbs way down)? What if the Obama administration, along with the CIA, knowingly crafted a false narrative in order to cover up the real happenings at Benghazi? No, really, I think it’s possible. I also think that, just maybe, the CIA was shipping arms from the facilities in Benghazi to al Qaeda mercenaries in Syria. Yeah, I know that it’s against the law to provide weapons to known terrorist groups, but sometimes I think that the President doesn’t care about the law. Why did the administration lie about the terrorist attack? That’s a good question. I think that if all the information was uncovered, it would have jeopardized President Obama’s chances for re-election. Yeah, I know that would have been dishonest, but I think that maybe President Obama is not really as trustworthy as he appears.

Oh yeah, and I don’t think that Fort Hood incident was really ‘workplace violence’ either, and what happened at the Boston race was more than just an athletic injury. And the incident at the last Discord Christmas party was not just…well, that was workplace violence.

by Alex Bone • May 8, 2014

Route 66.6, AZ—These days I bike almost everywhere I go and my laptop always comes with me, even if my bicycle tires are pumped full of thorns or the weather’s so bad the mailmen stayed home. I’m talking about the place where my insult-resistant rubber hits the road. I have only lost one laptop during my backpack travels. But please don’t mention “The salad dressing incident”—it still gives me P.T.S.D.D. (Post Traumatic Salad Dressing Disorder).

Another thing that can give you P.T.S.D., the real DSM-V version, is making the morning commute on a bike. The first thing I would like to point out to all combustible engine drivers is that I didn’t live all these years, grind through a world of BS, keep my bike serviced, just to die under your tires this morning. No, this isn’t a slam on your driving—just the opposite. I’d rather deal with a reckless driver that just races by than someone who slows down, but doesn’t stop. Like he thinks I’ve never seen an oncoming car before and wouldn’t know what to do. Yeah, maybe, just at the right moment I’ll decide life isn’t worth living and dash myself under his tires.

Another thing that motorists need to realize is this: when I’m on a bike, everything is a road. If I did what I do on my bike while driving a car I would make the national news…every morning. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line or at least a wavering line…um, and sometimes after happy hour a very wavering line. I ride as the crow flies, after happy hour.

There is another way riding a bike can save you money and that’s at the grocery store. You can’t buy too much food at once if you have to hump it over a hill in a backpack after working all day and commuting ten miles. Should I buy potatoes or whip cream? I don’t need whip cream, but it is soooo much lighter and fluffier. Hmm… And, I know you wanted some prime rib, honey, but rice cakes were on sale again.

As if risking your life is not enough, you can also get flack from the cops. This once happened to me:

“Sir, we heard someone riding a bike was committing crimes.”

“Um, if I call in and say someone driving a car is committing crimes, would you stop every car?”

Everyone wants to avoid that DUI ticket, but think about it, I can’t kill people on my bike no matter how fast I ride and believe me and you’re really safe after a few beers because my speed markedly decreases. So bike riding seems like a safer bet for all involved. I got pulled over the other day and the cop says:

“Sir, I want to give you a sobriety test.”

“Cool, I got a great idea for one. Why don’t I ride a bike, uphill, while carrying all these groceries?”

There is another eternal question that comes up when you are riding. Am I a loser because I’m facing the elements while others are coasting by in style? Or, am I a righteous kick ass winner, because I motivated to wake up twenty minutes early and will be staying in better shape, while helping the environment, and even saving a few bucks?

Now ladies before you answer or sneer at that fella you see bike riding, remember a few simple things. First, that guy is fighting his beer gut during his commute. Perhaps even more important is stamina baby, stamina. Who’s going to be better in the sack? The guy risking his life to pump through the miles or the guy that takes the elevator to the second floor at work? Yeah, I’m talking to you, Zano. Kidding, he usually insists people come down to his office.

So does saving money and the environment all while increasing my health make me cool? Or, are you still pissed to see a biker breaking all the rules that you wish you could? Just remember, if we bikers tick you off, you had better stay in your car. If you mess with us we’ll kick your lazy fat ass and then ride over it—during a sobriety test while carrying our groceries.

by Mick Zano • May 6, 2014

R.V. Krugan Adds Painting to "Thrown Shoe" Collection

“Erect not a monument in my honor, sing not the hymns of my feats, for if my deeds are truly worthy my name will transcend and endure.”

— Unknown

Rinaldo Vincent Krugan (1940- 20014) is an overlooked figure in American history and an even more overlooked figurine in the New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ziggy Horowitz sculpted the six inch figurine of Krugan as a tribute to a man who: “exudes both inspiration and well-gin.”

When Horowitz was asked why he decided to make the statue of such a great man merely six inches, he explained the piece was created during his Neo-Pipeurian period, wherein he shared an efficiency in Soho and was forced to carry out all of his work in a drainpipe under the sink. He blames the second nose on the statuette—situated where the right ear would normally be—on the chemical cleansers that were stored there at the time. His last great work, depicted above, is of all the famous leaders people threw shoes at. Krugan gives no other explanation for his motivation behind the work, except to say, “The piece speaks for itself.”

R.V. Krugan rose majestically from his humble beginnings as a Beverly Hills playboy to capture the heart of the art community. Some say he even invented First Friday, which he called First First Friday (FFF). Krugan’s autobiography From Jags to Bitches remains a tragic one. His moods throughout his life became ever more unpredictable due to a genetic nose disorder, which by the end of the sixties would leave him smelless. Despite Krugan’s olfactory handicap, he continued to write and paint during the mid-70s but by the 80s he turned to literature.

“Literature, the highest of all arts, is arranging words in certain ways that capture ideas and stuff, like wonderfully worded things…”

The Krugan Foundation later regretted not being able to fit that entire phrase onto his tombstone. The beginning of the end came early for Krugan when at Mann’s Chinese Theater (1957), during the premier of the movie The Beginning of the End he stood up while a giant grasshopper was attacking the leading lady and shouted, “This theater smells like an outhouse!” This offended the star of the film, Peter Graves, who punched Krugan on the chin. Krugan realized after the melee the true culprit was his nose. After the incident a rift formed between Krugan’s nose and his chin, which to the untrained eye appeared to be his mouth. The chin refused to be seen with Krugan’s nose which the artist claims delayed the unveiling of his self-portrait indefinitely. To teach the nose a lesson he got a nose job and had his nose sealing envelopes for minimum wage, a task much more suited for his mouth.

Krugan, like DaVinci before him, excelled in almost every field into which he delved. The one notable exception was gym class. He was obsessed with staying in shape, but his seven and a half feet of awkwardness made this difficult. In his younger days, he almost died of grass inhalation during a high school field day event. His overzealous wheelbarrow partner had not noticed that for nearly three hundred yards Krugan had not been keeping up with his hands. Krugan often remarked how that day marked the beginning of his nose problems.

In 1966 he was almost nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for his work with early psychotropic medication after being the first to make El dopa into a nice white wine sauce for chicken or fish. In 1968 his career took a turn for the worse, however, when practicing reverse psychology he backed over the country’s first psychiatric group house. This was to set back community mental health ten years, and did nothing for his fender.

Krugan is best known for his abstract scrap metal rendition of At the Water Hole with the Greaseweasels. This provocative metal creation propelled him onto the world stage. Unfortunately it was also the leading cause of tetanus at the Art Institute of Chicago, until, upon Krugan’s request, it was lowered into a vat of gelatin. Some believe his pointillism technique matched the skill of George Seurat, though their perspectives greatly differed. Whereas Seurat recommended standing back 12-15 feet to enjoy his Sunday afternoon on the Island of Le Grande Jatte, Krugan suggested viewing all of his work at the British museum from the nearby Tate Gallery—incidentally, so did his critics.

In recent years, Krugan began painting a variety of objects with his tongue in a style he calls Lick Nouveau. This genre includes such works as Light Socket 911 and Metal Pole in Winter (see 911). Although, Krugan’s critics attest the latter is more reminiscent of post-impressionism. Krugan, considered a Belgian surrealist, mastered the style so completely that it wasn’t discovered until years after his death that he was actually Scandinavian.

Art would play a major role throughout Krugan’s life, until he “threw the freeloader out” and went back to dating women. In 1996 Krugan was commissioned to hand paint the labels of several wineries in the Bordeaux region of France. The unopened bottles stored there are said to still be increasing in value to this day.

Krugan’s personal life during became quite turbulent and he often blamed his nose. He spent the majority of the 90s working endlessly on a book entitled How to Get Published, which never did see print. He returned to the front page of all the tabloids in March of 2002 when he started dating Freya, the mythical Norse goddess of beauty. After Krugan’s announcement of their engagement, people began to question his sanity and thought Freya could do better. Upon returning from their weekend honeymoon in Valhalla, Krugan became a recluse. Near the end of the festivities, he allegedly offended Thor after playing Ride of the Valkyries on a 25¢ kazoo. The next morning his only defense was that he was “hammered”. Ironically, this was also his punishment.

Neighbors alleged that when Krugan finally snapped he was yelling something about the psychic gigolo who knew he was screwed, before he jammed a salt and pepper shaker violently up his own nostrils screaming, “Nose of day smell upon me no more!”

When the police arrived Krugan’s mansion lay in ruins and his nose was nailed over the fireplace mantle. The aged artist resolved to give the nose to the great-great-granddaughter of the woman Vincent Van Gogh had fallen in love with. It is believed she still possess Van Gogh’s famous ear. Krugan, always thinking of his contributions to art, reasoned a few more noses and eyes and she’d have a Picasso.

I had the honor of interviewing R.V. Krugan shortly after his death. He revealed to me for the first time how he had extracted his proboscis. He graphically explained that, like removing a bad tooth, he had tied one end of a string around his nose and the other end to a door knob and gave it a good slam. Krugan spent the last ten years of his life in a Psychiatric center, convinced he was a sweater. He spent most of his time folded neatly in his dresser drawer or writing long diatribes denouncing the use of harsh detergents. When asked about his statue at the Met, he chuckled, and said, “You can’t even say Ziggy missed it by a nose, after my little incident he was two noses off the mark.”

by Pokey McDooris • April 21, 2014

Pinning down your logical fallacies, Zano, is like playing Whack-a-Mole with a Q-tip, on acid, while surfin’ the web on an outdated Blackberry, while trying to sign up for Obamacare—early on in the enrollment period—and throw in some more acid…but worse.

I’m just gonna focus on whacking one mole at a time. Let’s start with your absurd claim that we are entering the Age of Atheism. If our country really is entering the age of atheism, then how do you explain the American people electing such a devout Christian as Barak Obama? Remember his words, less than six years ago, while he was running for office, and he was asked his opinion about gay marriage; President Obama answered, “I personally believe that marriage is a union between a man and a woman; and as a Christian, I believe that marriage is a sacred union between a man and a woman.” If we were truly becoming an atheistic nation, would we have elected someone who publically professed such a traditional faith? (This is called ‘irony’.)

You claim that all cultures eventually tend to shift toward liberalism and that atheism is potentially an evolved worldview. Name one evolved atheistic culture in the history of humanity? Atheistic liberalism is equivalent to brainwashing. It was brainwashing when Stalin did it; it was brainwashing when Mao did it, it was brainwashing when Castro did; it was brainwashing in Lesbos, that Greek island inhabited by all those beautiful…wait, I kind of get that. But it’s brainwashing now.

Just to prove my point, let’s take a look at Little Johnny’s atheistic education.

“Little Johnny, we know that your foolish parents have taught you that there is an invisible Creator called God–just like they taught you about that silly Santa Claus and his cohort, the Easter Bunny–so we’re here to teach you that you’re parents are ignorant fools. You see, Johnny, the consensus of expert scientists agree on the fact that human beings are mere complex apes that arose from random chance mutations on this tiny speck of a dust called Earth. We’re just circling around a sun as one of billions in this vapor fart-cloud of a galaxy that is but one amongst billions of others galaxies in this black empty universe. Essentially we popped into existence, like one of those breakfast cereal elves.”

Yes, we know how to snap, crackle and pop Little Johnny into shape, so that he will be best equipped to compete in the modern day economy. Oh, he feels a little pressure as his brain is pinched tight until the juice drips to fit the bubble. “So Little Johnny, you’re feeling depressed and stressed from the standardized test. Well, the doctor can prescribe you the THC ‘chill pill,’ and we’ve got the federally funded ‘munchie break’ between breakfast and lunch. Oh, and it’s a bummer that we’ve eliminated recess, but you can burn off some steam in Sex Ed. with our state of the art ‘hump dummies,’ or head over to the cross dressing, same-sex fondling room. You don’t know where that is? Right passed the transgender and metrosexual restrooms. You see, Johnny, it’s best that you explore the full gamut of your sexuality so you can come to an educated decision as to your sexual orientation.

Atheism’s time is over, but some ideas don’t die easy. Zano assures us that our society is becoming Atheistic, and I agree…that our society is being brainwashed by the dead ideas of Atheism, Darwinism, Communism and Overt Zanoistic Hedonism (OZH). Although, I did have fun at that one party, but then I had to spend all Sunday in confession.

Look, atheism has never made an affirmative claim, it merely denies the existence of a theistic God and an intrinsic purpose to life. Modern atheists speak with such arrogance when confronting those silly superstitious people who read their Bibles and talk to their invisible God because of their fears and inadequacies. What modern atheists don’t tell you is that the scientific evidence over the past century points clearly in the direction of theism.

When an atheist use to ask, “Where did the Universe come from?” They would reply that the universe is “infinite, and has always existed.” This was called the ‘Steady State Theory,’ and this theory was held by many within the scientific community. I say ‘was held’ and ‘was called’ because no reputable cosmologist holds that position today, because the observable evidence has proven this theory to be false.

The Hubble Telescope has shown humanity that the galaxies are moving away from each other with increasing speed. Cosmologists mathematically plot the movement backwards to a “singularity point” where all matter was on top of each other –13.74 billion years ago. Thus we now have scientific proof that the first three words of the Bible, “In the beginning…” are in fact true, and truth-seekers are compelled to ask if the fourth and fifth words of the Bible are also true. And let’s not forget the dedication page, To my Loving Wife, Barbara. I admit that part of the Bible code has not been cracked.

Recent scientific investigation has uncovered the structure of DNA and it’s far more complicated than Darwin ever imagined. Unlike mere molecules, DNA actually stores information. Nowhere in nature has matter been found to ever give rise to information. Information comes from intelligence. This discovery of the complexity of DNA has led many scientists to question the theory that proposes “origin of species” and “natural selection” and “random chance mutations.” Dr. Fred Holye says “bio-materials with their amazing measure of order must be the outcome of intelligent design.” Anthony Flew said, “The findings of more than 50 years of DNA research have provided materials for a new and enormously powerful argument for design.” That’s starting to sound a lot like hate speech. Thought police alert. Hey, what happened to that grant money? But I have tenure. Hey, I even voted for the metrosexual restrooms?

Even Richard Dawkins started changing his tune: “I suppose it’s possible that you might find evidence for that (Intelligent Design) if you look at the details of biochemistry, molecular biology, you might find a signature of some sort of designer.” Oh, but Tricky Dicky Dawkins can’t leave any hope that this ‘sort of designer’ is the first cause intelligent Creator of the cosmos that many of us refer to as God. No, no, Dawkins clarifies, “Well, it could come about in the following way. It could be that at some earlier time, somewhere in the universe, a civilization evolved, probably by some kind of Darwinian means, probably to a very high level of technology, and a form of life that they seeded onto perhaps this planet.” Oh, that clarifies things Dr. D. It was space aliens who intelligently designed life on this planet.

You see, now, that the genetic evidence cannot be suffocated inside the stifling straightjacket of Darwinism. These atheists theorize about space aliens–that’s their God, anything but the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Okay, Ricky, I’ll humor you. Let’s say that life on Earth was intelligently designed by Evolved Space Aliens–then who or what designed the life that became the Evolved Space Aliens?

Crickets….crickets…and more crickets…followed by doubletalk, distraction, chit chat about the weather (global warming, no doubt), and change of subject. On this question, I have yet to get any coherent response by the proponents of the ‘Space Alien God’ (SAG) Theory.

This brings me to my last point–the discovery that the conditions for supporting intelligent life is so very, very rare. The earth is indeed a very lucky (or very blessed) planet. When cosmologists first realized the vastness, diversity, and scope of the universe, most assumed that life would be common. After all, our galaxy alone contains billions of other stars. Our galaxy is one of billions of galaxies in the known universe. Scientists assumed that out of so many known planets, there must be numerous cases of life at least as intelligent as ours. As Carl Sagan once stated, “The available evidence strongly suggests that the origins of life should occur given the initial conditions and a billion years of evolutionary time.”

Well, recent discoveries have found that the universe is actually very hostile to life. Life is fragile and requires numerous narrow and specific conditions to be met to make life possible. Our planet Earth has just the right location in just the right kind of galaxy. Our planet is just the right size with a large enough moon, and it orbits at just the right distance from just the right type of star. Our plate tectonics are thin enough to shift, but thick enough to be maintained. Our atmosphere contains just the right combinations of life-nurturing gasses. Yes, the more we discover about the conditions in our own galaxy and in other galaxies in the universe, the more it seems as though the origin of complex life is indeed miraculous.

So what of the numerous reports of UFOs that we hear of in the popular culture? When Carl Sagan extensively studied the details about the large numbers of modern reports of UFOs, he called it pseudo-science. “Think of how many other “explanations” there might be: time travelers, demons…tourists from another dimension…the souls of the dead…each of these explanations has been seriously proffered…” “The least likely explanation of UFOs is the hypothesis of extraterrestrial visitors by intelligent beings…”

Atheism led to Darwinistic ‘origin of species,’ ‘natural selection,’ and ‘random chance mutations.’ Darwinism led to genetic engineering and social engineering, which lead to Nazism’s ‘Superman’ and Communism’s ‘totalitarian state’. Now Darwinism’s foundation is undermined by the evidence, which suggests an intelligent designer; so Atheists seek another kind of designer ‘god.’ This god will play the part to give everybody what they want. A soul-travelling pure spiritual being of higher consciousness, a remotely-viewed psychic channel to the Akashic field, or an anal-probing alien from another spoof news blog. I hate those. Choose whatever god best fits your orientation…uh, and the right bathroom.

by Mick Zano • April 8, 2014

Havana, CU—Cuba is hailing a clear victory today after a ceasefire was called for all hostile Tweets between the U.S. and Cuba. Communist controlled Cuba claims the U.S. has inadvertently triggered the Twitter Wars in a crass attempt to undermine their government. Since Cuba has declared victory Republicans are jumping on Obama for his lack of social site prowess.

	RNC @GOP
As usual Obama is bringing his MySpace to a Twitter fight. #obamaIsNoKennedy
10 minutes ago

6 Retweets 2 Favorites

Here’s what transpired on Twitter earlier today:

	Cuba Feeds @cubafeeds
Stop the Tweet Wars now! Good oceans make good neighbors #justSayin
9 minutes ago

26 Retweets 12 Favorites

	The White House @whiteHouse
OMG! LOL! So cute, Cuba can now use hashtags. #justSayin
8 minutes ago

14 Retweets 9 Favorites

	Cuba Feeds @cubafeeds
Uhh, and we have better hash too. #tagYoureShit
7 minutes ago

3 Retweets 2 Favorites

“The shroud of the social site has fallen. Begun the Tweet War has.”

—Yoda D’Kana

by Tony Ballz • March 19, 2014

Many years ago, I had a huge black and white cat named Tux who stuck with me through some lean times. He was the first of several felines that I successfully trained to do their business outside instead of in a litterbox. He was a good cat.

That winter was a rough one. Money was scarce and none of us were eating well (or often), including ol’ Tux. One cold morning, I got up and walked into the kitchen to find my path blocked by the cat, who bore an expression on his face and a note in his voice I had never seen or heard before. He looked me straight in the eye and said:

“Oh, so you think you’re heading to the toilet, do you? Oh no no no no no, hang on a second there monkey man, you ain’t going NOWHERE without feeding me THIS INSTANT right now. RIGHT. NOW. No, don’t try to pet me, I ain’t playin’ that game today.

“Listen, we have an understanding, you and me. You sleep in the bed, I sleep on the couch. You wake up and feed me, I eat. You leave and do whatever the hell it is you do all day, I take a nice eight hour nap in the yard, maybe climb a tree or chase a bug if I’m feeling ambitious. You come home and feed me again, I eat. We spend some quality time together: you get high and watch Star Trek and The Simpsons, I sit in your lap and allow you the luxury of scratching my ears and basking in my very presence. You sleep in the bed, I sleep on the couch. Pretty basic, really.

“So, what is your major malfunction here? IT IS TIME FOR ME TO EAT. NOW. I can’t even go outside and catch a rodent to nibble on because IT’S THE MIDDLE OF FREAKIN’ JANUARY. Why do you hate me? You know, I bet if I kept trying I could open one of those cans myself and it would save you a lot of … hey Hey HEY just what do you … oh go ahead just step over me, go right ahead, you asshole. Enjoy that piss, think I’ll go shit in your headphones. Meow, motherfucker.”

That account may be slightly embellished, but it’s pretty close. In response, I attempted to access whatever primitive wavelength cats and humans communicate on and told him:

“I’m sorry, cat. You’re right, I am an asshole. But you’re wrong if you think I hate you. It won’t make you feel any better, but I’m hungry too. More than anything, I wish I could make you understand this: when I leave the house, I have to go this horrible place called “work” where they treat me like pond scum and systematically chip away at my dignity and self-worth day after day after day. Whenever they feel like it, they give me a little white piece of paper that I exchange for little green pieces of paper which I then exchange for food for you and me. Well, they don’t give me that little white piece of paper until Friday, and today is Monday.

“But we do have an understanding here, so as soon as I’m done in the bathroom I’m putting on my boots and three layers of clothes and trudging through the snow to Safeway, where I’m going to shoplift some 9-Lives for you. Nothing with egg, I know. That’s right, I’m risking jail time so you can eat. I’m placing your needs before mine. That’s because I love you, even though you can’t love me back. I’m OK with that. I’ll be home in an hour or so, please don’t shit in my headphones.”

———————————————-

I’ve been warned not to write this.

It was suggested that people might hate me for stating my opinion on this subject, but I don’t care. Hey, life would be dull without some turbulence once in a while. That being said …

PETS ARE NOT PERSONS.

Your dog doesn’t love you, and neither does your cat. Or your hamster, ferret, snake, goldfish, parakeet, or pet rock.

Love is a complex emotion, and there is only one species on this earth whose brain is developed enough to invent such a thing. Guess who that is?

What your dog feels towards you is not love, it’s a combination of several emotions, including obedience and affection, that do not add up to love.

Does a pig feel love? How about a dolphin? Ridiculous questions, right? Well, pigs and dolphins are smarter and more evolved creatures than dogs, so wouldn’t it make sense?

Now, I have no doubt that you love your pets. I love dogs and cats too. But we are HUMAN BEINGS with great big brains. We can do all sorts of things animals can’t, like fly airplanes, do calculus, play the xylophone and create nuclear warheads. WE CAN DESTROY THE EARTH and Rover can’t even figure out how to use a doorknob and thinks the vacuum cleaner is his enemy.

Do dogs and cats feel happy or sad? Certainly they do. Anyone who has house-sat for a friend can recognize a dog’s mopiness when his master is gone, as well as the elation when he returns. THIS ISN’T LOVE.

Here’s a scenario: You have two dogs, Homer and Marge. When they go into heat they copulate, and Marge has a litter of puppies and they’re one big happy doggie family. Now, let’s say one time Homer hops the back fence and goes roaming around the neighborhood. He runs into Fifi who is also in heat, and she commences with the usual “Hey there big boy, check THIS stuff out” business.

What does Homer do? Does he think, “Wait a minute … sure this li’l cutie wants to get down right now, but I’ve got a perfectly lovely mate back home. Heck, she’s even the mother of my offspring! This is not a good idea. I’m sorry, pretty lady, but I’m going to stay faithful to my wife.”? Does the GERM of this thought even enter his head? Does he even remember Marge at that moment? Is not getting it on even an option?

Of course not. Homer operates on mostly instinct, and the scent coming from that female is overwhelming to him and his ONLY thought is “Oh hell yeah baby, this shit’s happenin’ RIGHT here RIGHT now in the middle of the damn STREET, in front of God and all the neighbors, I don’t care. Cars are just going to have to drive around us.”

Let’s take this one step further and say that after these two are done and Homer says “Sorry babe, gotta go” and returns home, what does Marge do? Does she say “Whoa there buddy, where have YOU been? Let me smell your crotch … I knew it, it’s that bitch Fifi down the street, isn’t it? Oh, you ASSHOLE!” and slam the bedroom door and lock it and lay on the bed crying? No, she doesn’t.

Now go ahead and plug people into this scenario instead of dogs. That emotion/thought process that causes the male to turn down sex with an attractive female who isn’t his wife is called LOVE. His libido is telling him to go for it, but love is canceling that command. Likewise, the betrayal Marge is experiencing that causes her to cry on the bed is also rooted in love. Animals do not possess it. They don’t get jealous. They don’t stalk their ex-girlfriends. The only thing that can override instinct is training, and no one’s figured out how to train an animal to love yet.

“Well,” you say, “they feel the dog version of love.”

No, they don’t. “The dog version of love” is something humans invented because we WANT dogs to love us back. It’s easy to love pets because they respond to it so unconditionally, as long as you’re feeding them. There’s no strings attached. You don’t have to take them to stupid movies or pick up their soiled underwear or listen to their crappy music or spend Thanksgiving with their moronic family.

If you’re in a bad mood and your dog senses this and jumps on your lap and licks your face, you feel better and say: “Aww, thanks boy!” It really does cheer you up, but this is all going on in YOUR head, not his. He’s just reacting to your bad vibe and desiring of your affection (or more food).

Let’s say your dogs are running around the yard playing with a ball. A friend calls and asks what you’re doing.

“Oh, I’m just watching my dogs play soccer.”

“Really?”

“Well it’s the dog version of soccer, but yeah, they’re definitely playing soccer.”

When you take Rover for a walk and he sniffs all the places other dogs have peed, is he just logging on to the dog version of Facebook?

When you and Rover play fetch, is that the dog version of the 10 Minute Workout?

As long as we’re making shit up, we can probably find an animal parallel to nearly everything people do. You know, howling at the moon is just the dog version of opera singing.

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I think the problem’s roots lie in cartoons. The anthropomorphic beasts striding around upright and cracking jokes in those old Disney and Warner Brothers reels caught the public’s fancy, and why not? They were clever, sarcastic, lovable creatures without a care in the world who consistently outsmarted the doofus humans who were always trying to keep them down. They were cool.

Don’t you wish bunnies could play the banjo? I do.

Didn’t you want to help the coyote catch the roadrunner and snap his little wiseass pencil neck in two? Of course! Beep beep THIS, fucker.

Wouldn’t it be sweet to do bong hits and tequila shots with Kermit the Frog? Hell yeah!

Did you believe in Snufulufugus? I did.

Was Big Bird a lesbian? Think about it.

Remember when Elmer Fudd blew Daffy Duck’s beak off with a shotgun and Daffy had to pick it up and snap it back on his head? That was funny.

Is Fozzie Bear the George Carlin of the animal kingdom? Probably.

Doesn’t the comic strip “Marmaduke” suck? Yes, it does.

Worse than “Garfield”? That’s a tough one.

Don’t you want your dogs to wear fedoras, smoke cigars, drink whiskey, and play poker? Sure, you do. The image is almost irresistably cute. Even the crustiest old fogey would smile at that.

I would love to see a dog and cat band rockin’ out on guitars and drums while dressed up like KISS, that would be awesome. I’m not buying music lessons for Ol’ Roy and Mr. Mittens, though.

by Tony Ballz • March 3, 2014

Prescott, AZ—1970s pop stars The Captain and Tennille have called it quits. On January 23, 2014, keyboardist Daryl Dragon was served divorce papers by wife Toni Tennille at the couple’s Prescott home, effectively ending their 39 year marriage.

The duo were at the forefront of the “soft rock” movement, epitomized by the #1 singles “Love Will Keep Us Together” (1975) and “Do That To Me One More Time” (1979), as well as a half dozen other top ten hits. They were staples of 1970s television, even hosting their own short-lived variety show.

Over the last few weeks, The Captain And Tennille’s website had been deluged by supportive emails from all over the world. Here’s a sampling:

“They split up? Really? Oh thank you Jesus, thank you. I hope their divorce is drawn out and full of absolute misery. It might begin to approximate the misery they’ve inflicted upon humanity. What a couple of assholes. I guess love DIDN’T keep them together, hah? Ya get it?”

– Mrs. Arlene Muckenfuss (Barfing, England)

“Finally, the woman of my dreams is free! Oh Tennille, my Tennille! I can’t wait to feel your silky thighs wrapped around my … huh? She’s how old? SEVENTY-THREE? Aw shit, the hell with that. Anyone have Anne Murray’s number?”

– Pastor Emerson Bigguns (Jockstrap Junction, Iowa)

“Seventy-three? And he’s seventy? He probably cheated on her with the night nurse at the retirement home. One of ’em is gonna croak within five years, why didn’t they just run the clock out? I swear, old people suck. Guess love DIDN’T keep them together, hah? Ya get it?”

– Hugh G. Rection (East Jesus, Oklahoma)

“Wow, thirty-nine years. Just couldn’t hang on for one more, huh Tennille? ‘I don’t want anyone thinking I stayed with this loser for forty years, fuck that.’ What a heartless bitch. What’s she gonna do now, join a sexy grannies club?”

– Doug Niedermeyer (Faber, Illinois)

“I’ve worked in a dentist’s office with piped-in music for fifteen years and I swear to Christ, if I hear that goddamn “Muskrat Love” with that stupid chittering synthesizer ONE MORE TIME, I’m going to stab myself in the eye with a lobster fork. I guess love DIDN’T keep them together, hah? Ya get it?”

– Mrs. Louise Fussmucker (Prostate Heights, Michigan)

“They’re divorced? Good. Screw them and their ‘We’re still married’ bullshit. And screw them for writing “Love Will Keep Us Together”, I could fart out a better tune in my sleep … what? Neil Sedaka wrote that song? Well, screw him too. I hope the three of ’em roast in hell. Guess love DIDN’T keep them together, hah? Ya get it?”

– Mother Teresa (Inner Congo, Africa)

– Mohandas K. Gandhi (New Delhi, India)

by Mick Zano • February 26, 2014

Tucson is an interesting town. I immediately got a sense of the local color here, which is beige. All color in Arizona, local or otherwise, is some derivative of beige. Upon pulling into town I was greeted by a man yelling out of his car window, “Pick a lane, asshole!” and I thought, “Wow, I’m home.”

In comparison, Phoenix is akin to some giant retirement community. I think over the years all the freaks were driven south and I mean that lovingly (the under-cactus railroad?). After only a short time wandering the streets I decided it was time for a follow up to my Best Guinness in Vegas Revealed feature, as a bartender from The Hut explained, “Tucson takes its beer seriously.”

But first an important cultural observation:

Nearly every couple in Tucson had a homeless/mentally ill panhandler following them. It’s as if everyone had already paired off, into threes, or as Arizona calls it: the Jan Brewer Model. I eventually found a nice free couple and started babbling to them about ancient aliens, the Rothschild family and alternate street parking. They seemed appreciative and I made a fast buck.

Ground Rules:

I don’t rate on the six Guinness pouring principles. I rate on taste and taste alone, and I am not going to mention those establishments that didn’t make the cut, because that would be completely Maloneyious of me. So without further a-brew, onto our Guinness winners (in reverse order).

Number 10: O’Malley’s

Drinkable, but let’s move on, shall we? Had I had more time in this town, this one would have likely been dropped faster than some psychedelics with Hunter S. Thompson at the Fremont Experience.

Number 9: The Shanty

Fourth Street Tucson has a variety of cool enough sounding bars, but unless you like country and western, or Coors and Budweiser, keep moving. The closest bar on Fourth Street to my hotel, however, The Shanty, poured a decent pint of Guinness. The place allegedly has a pool table and a nice patio, but I was only able to find one of these. (Hint: don’t try shoot pool on their patio. They hate that.)

Number 8: The Hut

This place spared no expense having a giant mo’ai transported all the way from Easter Island. That’s dedication. It’s a great tribute to Guinness, as I believe the mo’ai acquired the original Guinness recipe from the leprechaun’s after storming St. James’s Gate during the Alamo. Did I mention I failed history?

Anyway, The Hut is a great beach-bar-themed joint and they pour a pretty darn good Guinness.

Number 7: The Hotel Congress

Whereas I love this hotel, I didn’t have any hope for a winner here. The bartender poured my pint in about 11-seconds (and not into an imperial pint).

“Because our Guinness pours go to 11!”

—Nigel

Being quick on the draw is important in the old west, but not so much when we’re talking about a proper Guinness pour. Despite this fact, it was a surprisingly good. It reminded of the Orlean’s in Vegas. Full story here. Beginner’s luck? A fresh keg, perhaps? Not sure but it was only one staircase away from my room and any hotel with four bars in the lobby gets a Zano four star rating. Coincidence? No.

Number 6: Mulligans

This joint is not downtown, but it wasn’t too far from my conference so I decided to venture Guinnessward. Sure beats going to a conference. As the barkeep poured my drink, I thought, wow, she’s letting this Guinness settle nicely and then I realized, wow, she just forgot to top me off and abandoned my drink entirely!

So I eventually walked back over to claim my beverage and then her cohort, in charge of table deliveries, proceeded to spill half the foam onto my seat. It was like the passing of the baton—near the end of an Irish barcrawl. This method may work well in porn, but not so much during a Guinness judging contest. I kid the help. The Guinness was tasty…well, the part I didn’t sit in.

On a side note:

If this is my boss reading this, I went to the conference.

If this is my probation officer reading this, I wasn’t drinking.

Number 5: The Red Garter

The Red Garter is the kind of place I spent most of my undergraduate work frequenting. The Guinness was poured into a pint glass, not an imperial pint, but it was still a force to be reckoned with. I later heard the Red Garter is always steep competition each year at the perfect pint competition.

But Are They Sithing the Point?

WTF? Even Lucas’s Imperial pints aren’t imperial!

Number 4: The World Beer Market

I ran into Kiva somewhere and she suggested I hit her alma mater, the World Beer Market. The World Beer Market was an arduous journey from my hotel room, aka, across the street. The pour there was very creamy and it tasted like a winner, but there was a bitterness that began soon after the initial sips, a bitterness that kept this puppy from the medal round. I’ve had this happen before, but I’m not bitter about it. It was still a damn good pint.

Number 3: The Frog & Firkin

This is the view from my Guinness, well, were I to fall from my chair and pass out on my back—which, incidentally, I did while snapping this picture. Nothing says Guinness like palm trees, well, if you’re an idiot. The Frog & Firkin has a great draft selection and it’s a wonderful place to enjoy a great pint. Kudos! This establishment earned its medal round status. These last three are all winners. Mmmmm Guinness!

Number 2: The Auld Dubliner

The sister bar of this Tucson pub scored 4th in my Vegas Top 10 feature, here, so I kind of figured it would be a contender. I do like the layout of the Lake Las Vegas Auld Dubliner better. This place has the football cranking and was set up more for the college students over at nearby U of A.

Key point: People should really consider my needs when opening businesses. It’s amazing how often this doesn’t seem to be the case. This can likely be attributed to their keen desire to stay open.

To Clint’s credit, though, he beat out his Las Vegas brethren. I have been to the Auld Dubliner in Vegas several times but I think his pint is a step better. On a related brewery note, Clint talked me into trying an Iron Maiden ale, a limited edition type thing:

It’s a good beer, but as far as novelty UK beers go, Monty Python’s Holy Ale wins that contest.

“All right, we’ll call it a draw.”

—The Black Knight

Oh, and this very beer helped me catch a ghost in my haunted Hotel Congress feature, here. Onward to our winner. Come, Patsy!

Number 1: Bumsteds!! Bumsteds!! Bumsteds!!!

Doesn’t that beer look good? I want to head over there and get another one, right now! The beer depicted in this picture wasn’t the winner. I went back to tell Andrew the good news and he bought me a pint, which gives me a diabolical idea…hmmm. No, I wouldn’t do that…well…maybe. This pour was truly one step above the competition. Bumsteds is hidden deep amidst Tucson’s Fourth Street rabble, but I had gotten a tip they poured a mean Guinness and it turned out to be the hot tip of the trip.

Congrats Andrew! In the immortal words of Douglas MacArthur, “In war there is no substitute for victory!”

No wait, the other one, “I shall return!” In fact, maybe next weekend.