Obama Apologizes to Geico Cavemen for the Pleistocene Neanderthal Genocide (PNG)

by Mick Zano • August 4, 2009

Washington, DC – President Barak Obama spoke to a group of cavemen earlier today at a benefit luncheon at the luxurious Palomar Hotel. His mission was to smooth over some growing tensions over his administration’s failure to address the Neanderthal extinction issue. Obama said the accountability begins and ends with him.

“I apologize for not apologizing earlier,” said Obama. “In retrospect, I clearly should have apologized for this when I had nothing better to do than apologize for things. For this I am sincerely sorry.” Obama went on to say, “This apology is long overdue. In fact, it’s about forty-five thousand years overdue.”

The President is just glad that the world’s oldest inhabitants can finally find some closure to this dark period of human prehistory. Long ago Homo sapiens ousted their Neanderthal cousins, wiping them off the face of the Earth, in an act that Obama described as “rash, unjust, and inexcusable.” Obama would like to blame America for the Neanderthal’s demise since it is “likely to piss off the patriotards.” To end the press conference on a lighter note, Obama finished with a joke.

He apologized again for the heinous Pleistocene genocide against a thoughtful and peaceful race before adding, “Genocide may be tough, but my apology was so easy a caveman could do it.”

Obama’s attempt at jocularity sparked a violent riot amongst nearly all of the dining Geico Cavemen in attendance. The disturbance ended with twelve arrests and 47 injuries. President Obama regrets that his remarks were poorly received and hopes to re-establish strong ties with his cavemen constituents before his return to giving a shit, which is projected to be some time in early 2011.

by Mick Zano • August 3, 2009

My wife and I have spent considerable amounts of time and money in downtown New Hope, Pennsylvania. For those of you unfamiliar with this cozy little playhouse town, it’s well worth the stop. One weekend, while vacationing there, I even proposed to my wife (along with several other women who happened to pass at the time). We always try to hit New Hope whenever we’re within a hundred miles of the joint. Speaking of joints, John & Peter’s Place is a must. It’s a bar on Main Street that boasts 37 years of live music. There’s a wooden sliding door to the backroom where many a good band can be heard. But John & Peter have no shame, apparently. Neither do their friends over at Woody & Johnson’s just down the street (members only). New Hope has plenty of good eateries and a few good bars, but the town could use a brewpub, a better beer bar, a humidor, a Belgian bistro, and a few more women who will accept my advances, or at least not involve the authorities. But I’m not complaining, the hell I’m not. Get cracking on that, peeps!

Our trip started out typically enough. My wife and I took the New Hope ghost tour by lantern light, John’s Peter Place for a brew, and then caught a play. Ah, I remember it well. I was dressed as Gomez and my wife was dressed as Morticia Adams (or was it the other way around?). It wasn’t Halloween; we’re just not horribly well is the thing. The next day, our travels took a sinister twist, however. We decided to take an alternate route out of town. The road less traveled, as it were. It’s the kind of decision that prompts Rod Serling to step out from behind some bushes and say something like, “A traveling couple opt for some changes in their itinerary. Unbeknownst to them, their new destination now lies in one of the dangerously undercooked loins of The Twilight Zone.”

On our way northward and homeward, we agreed to do some exploring along the Delaware River. After some sightseeing, we hoped to arrive at the Ship Inn, just over the Jersey border, at or around suppertime. The Ship Inn is a great brewpub, by the way, that serves a mean brown ale. But what happened to the drunken clam appetizer, huh? But I’m not complaining, the hell I’m not. Get cracking on that, peeps!

We never arrived at that infamous drinkery. Mwahahhahahah…

OK, that’s not the scary part, except for those few beer connoisseurs amongst you. We did end up at the Witches’ Brew in Easton, where I managed to set my laptop on fire. The strange part, OK, the strange part for the purpose of this post, happened just north of New Hope, where we found ourselves on this tiny strip of land between the Delaware River and this old canal. The area was secluded, atmospheric, and thick with old oak trees. The place was daunting and had a heavy feel to it, not unlike my friend Jim Blob.

At some point during our northward jaunt, we became lost in a rather desolate section of those Buck’s County badlands. The road we got stuck on was called Upper Black Eddy Road, just off of River Road. We had just driven passed a large structure on the right and Rod Serling puffing on a cigarette to the left, when I decided to take a moment to enjoy this strange and compelling parcel of woodland, and, of course, pop open another can of Big Jug Extra Malt Liquor. OK, not really. I just wanted to get out the map. Women typically can’t navigate, you see, and my wife is no exception. We were driving around in circles for about a half hour and my mascara was running. I only had one girlfriend who could ever use a map properly. Lola, I think her name was. Anyway, we pulled over and I decided to get out of the car. The area was strangely quiet, too quiet. After only a few seconds, I stepped back into the car, grabbed the map, and started the engine.

“What’s wrong?” my wife asked.

“This place gives me the creeps,” I said, and then immediately became rather adamant about finding my old girlfriend, Lola, and a new map (something not refolded ad infinitum by some origami sadist). Besides, I wanted some drunken clams, some brown ale, and some women to propose to during those few blissful moments when my wife is in the can.

An uneasy feeling crept into the core of my being. I had only felt something like that a few other times, most involving my ex, Lola, or undercooked pork products. Seriously, my wife can’t cook pork. She’s not Jewish, she’s just profoundly pork impaired (PPI).

In retrospect, she said it’s the only time I ever seemed spooked (I will leave the eve before my wedding out of this). Since adulthood, I only remember three similar spook-related-experiences (SREs). Two occurred in the presence of a guy named Shag, and the last took place in the heart of the Superstition Mountains with a guy named Pokey. Don’t read too deeply into this. A guy named Shag and Pokey; I know what you’re thinking, but we’re all straight. Well, Shag is iffy, but the rest of us are dead butch. Oh, how fondly I recall those summers up at PokeShag Mountain.

After much fear and loathing, we did eventually find our way out of that foul and terrible place and, once we arrived home, I pulled out a proper map and found the very spot where we had stopped. I looked online only to discover the piece of real estate we were poking about was known as the Devil’s Half-Acre. The Devil had originally wanted an entire acre, or so the story goes, but something about a really good fiddle player, Daniel Webster, and one bitch of a real estate agent and, well, have some sympathy for the devil, will ya?

A tavern is the only structure standing in the middle of Salem’s lot. It was built in the 1800s (by drunken demons I suppose) and was frequented by the workers who dredged out the nearby canal. The original owner was a questionable sort (not unlike our own Ghetto Shaman) and he was often in trouble with the authorities (not unlike our own Dave Atsals). Legend has it that the whole place is overrun by the spirits of the dead canal workers who died at the tavern during many-a-wild bar brawl (tragically just before happy hour). The losers of these fights were said to be buried somewhere on the grounds by the owner of the place. Apparently, there are all kinds of critters buried behind Farmer Vincent’s shitters. The Devil’s Half Acre is actually part of Solebury Township and how many souls are buried behind that dark and terrible place remains unclear. Mwaahahahah. Taverns don’t usually bother me, but taverns that no longer serve beer apparently scare the shit of me. If you’re really quiet in those accursed woods, you can almost here those spirits saying: Is it still happy hour? Are there free wings by chance? And, who the hell just broke that bottle over my head?

If you ever find yourself driving along that windy lonesome river road, dressed like Morticia Adams, go with someone who knows how to navigate, like Lola, and pop open some Big Jug Extra Malt Liquor for those thirsty tragic spirits of yore.

by Mick Zano • August 1, 2009

CEO’s NOTE: Dammit, Mick reports that those bastards at The Onion have scooped us (although I haven’t actually read it….wait, I can’t even find it. What the hell are you talking about???) but I’m running it anyway…

Washington, DC – The infamous Beer Summit designed to help smooth over Obama’s recent comments about the arrest of Harvard Professor, Henry Gates, did nothing of the sort. Professor Gates set the negative tone for the evening by ordering a Black Label. Officer Crowley wasted no time countering with a Blue (police officer) Moon (dropping my pants, metaphorically, asshole). President Obama could have opted to take the high ground, but instead decided to order an Extra Special Bitter.

Crowley then asked, “Oh, I see you like bitter beers, Mr. President, you should try Rogue Dead Guy Ale.”

The President countered with, “It’s a shame there are no doughnut flavored beers for our men in blue.”

Crowley then asked, “Have you ever tried a Negro Pendejo?”

Gates, through gritted teeth, corrected him, “I think you mean, Negra Modelo.”

The conversation went south from there. This reporter seriously doubts whether Pete’s Prejudice Porter from White Supremacist Brewery is even a real beer.

To add citation to injury, following the event, Sergeant Crowley pulled the president and professor over on their way back to the professor’s hotel.

“I had probable cause,” stated Crowley. “I was invited into their crib where they proceeded to crack 40s right in front of me.”

When questioned as to whether this action constituted entrapment, Crowley responded “When you see two of ‘those types’ in a limo, it’s usually a king-pin, a rap-group, or a car-jacking. No matter how you slice it, it comes up felony.”

Allegedly, Obama’s cocaine and hookers bribe fell on deaf beers.

by The Ghetto Shaman • July 31, 2009

Dear Ghetto Shaman,

I must admit to being a New Age newbie. What the heck is Chi? And what exactly is a super cosmic chakra cleansing invocation? I hear these crazy things bandied about in the course of my studies, but I must admit to being completely lost sometimes.

Bobby Tonelli

Kennebunkport, ME

Dear Bobby,

(or may I call you Bobert?)

You must harness your Chi. You must cultivate your Chi. At the risk of sounding like Dr. Seuss, Chi is the key, you see! You must make the Chi your pet, a Chia Pet, if you will. As for the super cosmic chakra cleansing invocation, I use prune juice, a warrior’s drink.

The Ghetto Shaman

by Dave Atsals • July 30, 2009

A friend and fellow Discordian, who would like to remain Mickless, recommended we all register on Facebook, and I hate him for it. I opened an account, a public one, no less, and thanks to Pierce Winslow’s great idea to use public accolades instead of our real names, well…let’s just say I’ve gotten about what I deserve. NOTHING. ABSOULTELY NOTHING. Facebook, or no, the expected herds of adoring fans have yet to materialize. The sexy blonde female stalkers have not overwhelmed my home page. In fact, I haven’t even had any hate mail. Nothing, nada, nichts. Worse yet, despite the endless spam ads assaulting my web searches, the awful truth is: there are absolutely no hot single women in my area waiting to talk to me! None! It’s all a lie! AHHHHhhhhhhhh! Distraught and disenchanted, I turned to the internet to search for my true popularity. Wikipedia’s search results for Dave Atsals are as follows:

Dave Stalls, my ass. I’m not a Query either, although I can belt out some show tunes when plied with enough alcohol.

My Google search for Dave Atsals resulted in this: did you mean Dave Astels? A few links to Discord articles also appeared, but who the hell is Dave Astels? Upset by this imposter stealing my thunder, I checked my real name. After all, Dave Atsals is a sobriquet like all famous writer-folk and escaped convict types use (or even those few people, like yours truly, that happen to be both). Again, my search revealed nothing—nothing but a few public court related documents.

I did have much better luck with my YAHOO search. Dave Atsals, pulled a lot of links to the Daily Discord, and that glory-seeking son of a bitch, Astels, was thankfully nowhere to be found. My real name was actually linked to an Obituary, not my own, of course, at least I’m reasonably sure.

I then decided to search the names of some of my friends and relatives, figuring this would make me feel better. WRONG. The search of my father’s name pulled 30 hits, my mother 10. Hell, when I searched my son’s name I got 15 pages of listings, and he hasn’t even been arrested yet. For Christ’s sake my dog’s name got two hits. Of course, that’s only because he bit my neighbor in the ass. Sorry about that, Dad.

I then searched for some other things. Famous Dave did not turn up any related articles, but I did spit out a great BBQ pit place that sounds worth a try, or perhaps a future franchise. Any investors out there? They even let kids eat free. Famous Dave is also a porn star with a 10 inch accoutrement; couldn’t possibly be me (famous Dave falls a little short).

My search for Famous Dave Atsals didn’t even reveal anything in English. But it did say “DO YOU MEAN FAMOUS DAVE ASTALS?” Screw him, and, no, I’m not a gay porn star either.

I guess this writing thing isn’t bringing me the fame and fortune I duly deserve. Plans are now in the work to gain fame the old fashion way, “on the cover of the Rolling Stone.” I can see it now. I’ll buy five copies for my 10 hits mother. Of course, the police news section is a far more likely spot to keep up with my antics.

I did find some relief when I searched for Pokey McDooris, and Mick Zano. Their names didn’t even pull up links to the Daily Discord. They did pull up some articles about tin cups, cell bars, and front steps, but that’s a whole other article. Oh, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I get a call from Mick Zano. Get this, he promoted me to marketing and sales manager about a day after writing this puppy. Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, marketing manager of the Daily Discord. Did you mean Daily Dischord? Screw you, Zano! Last time I listened to you I ended up with a storage unit full of Betamax VCRs. There is some good news amidst this pile of ego shriveling horse dung. Our old marketing manager is now working for Dave Astels. Good luck with that Davey. See you in the Obits soon.

by Sean Kelsey • July 29, 2009

Obama tells press, “Besides, who better to meet al-Gaddafi?”

by Mick Zano • July 28, 2009

Los Angeles, CA – The Los Angeles Police Department has uncovered evidence suggesting the Daily Discord’s own Ghetto Shaman was Jackson’s first spiritual advisor. The picture, depicted above, was obtained through the combined efforts of LIFE Magazine and someone who knows Adobe Photoshop. The Shaman allegedly continued to prescribe ‘herbal’ remedies to the pop legend, nonstop, since the early seventies.

“He’s definitely a person of interest,” stated detective Augustin Villanueva of the LAPD. “Let me be clear, we’re not implying there was any foul play here, but simple import/export transactions were ongoing between the two.”

The police know that copious amounts of Big Jug Extra Malt Liquor, Banana Red Mad Dog, and dime baggies of something containing trace amounts of THC were regularly exchanged between the two. A handwritten note from the Ghetto Shaman with directions on how to make hallucinogens from nutmeg and Ramen Noodles was also found at the Neverland Ranch, along with a pamphlet on something called Midget Reiki. Against all odds, the Daily Discord was able to arrange an exclusive interview with the Ghetto Shaman, who remains in hiding.

“I was in constant communication with Dr. Conrad Murray (Jackson’s personal physician),” claims the Ghetto Shaman. “I am innocent!”

He also wants authorities to know the two were coordinating their efforts to return Michael to the “real world.” The Ghetto Shaman insists that all of his techniques are designed to expand consciousness in a safe and effective way, using only a few household poisons. Pierce Winslow, CEO of the Daily Discord, would like to stand by his comrade during this difficult time period.

“Turn yourself in, freak,” said Winslow. “You can still send us your weekly column from the pokey…By the way, where the hell is Pokey? And where is this week’s post? I need it every THURSDAY. No postee, no payee, bitch.”

by Mick Zano • July 27, 2009

Beware! The patriotards are reconstituting themselves, like those tiny Terminator droplets that reform when you’re not looking. Patriotards are folks still confused and/or ambivalent about the Bush Administration’s legacy. And, to set things right, they believe all this country needs is President Sarah Palin. A recent Rasmussen poll, my main reason for this post, finds 42% of this country ready and willing to vote for Palin in 2012. Forty-two percent…this country…Earth, you betcha ya. And this number will only increase with another attack. One peep from Al-Qaeda and the patriotard hordes will seep out of the woodwork like, well, those Terminatorites. As Bill Maher put it, after the next attack we’ll tear up the other half of the Bill Of Rights and Toby Keith is president. This Rovian wave of nationalistic neurosis is the heartland of Patriotard Country. You still don’t understand the patriotard menace? Let me splain. No, that will take too long. Let me sum up…

It’s a free country (used to be anyway, before your last brainchild), so go ahead, vote for her. But finding a way to identify and track Palinites is important sociological research. We can call it the slow-jack. You see, waving an American flag doesn’t necessarily mean you’re patriotic. Patriotards, while waving such flags, have done more damage to our country then both reality television and ‘alternate side parking’ combined. I know what you’re thinking. How do you stay patriotic and intelligent, Mick? Well, that does seem to be the issue, doesn’t it? Patriotism these days seems to suggest an almost Sean Hannity-style level of denial. Let’s say, for argument sake, Christopher Hitchens throws his hat into the ring in 2012. Now, I don’t agree with a lot of Hitchen’s policies, but I would consider voting for him, in fact, I probably would, because he’s fiercely intelligent. He embraces the heart of entrepreneurialism, small government, fiscal conservatism, and would be keenly shrewd on foreign policy. He’s not even my brand but I clearly respect the model. Palin fans wouldn’t like him, probably don’t even know him.

Why do patriotards insist on the lowest common denominator? Why not find someone to champion your views who isn’t dating Cleetus the “Slack Jawed” Yokel. I am petitioning the American Psychological Association to add a Pervasive Patriotard Disorder to the new DSM-V in hopes a viable treatment can be developed.

If you support Sarah Palin you are simply a Fox-only-watcher (FOW), or, well, the other option is even less charitable. Look, I have nothing against Sarah Palin. That’s just a banana in my pocket, really. I don’t mind idiots; I just don’t want any more for president, thanks. People say, Mick, you’re afraid of her because she’s popular. Whaaa? I’m afraid of people in their forties going on sixteen…especially ones with aspirations to be president. But let me make this perfectly clear: the media hasn’t duped me into despising her; she’s just obviously petty, inarticulate, and her politics, what can be gleaned of them, are pathetic. I based this determination not on the media’s coverage of her, but on the strings of unrelated words spewing out of her mouth that she calls sentences.

The most recent patriotard pet peeve (PPP) about Obama involves all of the czars he is currently appointing to head everything from the auto industry to the porn industry. I always wanted to be a porn czar. Obama is simply continuing Bush’s expansion of power. This isn’t algebra, folks. Czars are answerable to no one but the President, so Obama can avoid congress and those pesky cabinet posts by appointing as many as humanly possible. The patriotards cheered on Bush’s czar power for years. So it’s OK when your guy spawns this evil precedent, but now you cry foul? Anyone who passed civics class can tell you it’s too late once you let the czar out of the Kremlin.

Obama is the most powerful president ever. He’s an Uber President. Look, let me borrow a Crank-style analogy to help. If someone gave you a Dodge Viper on Inauguration Day, are you really going to jump back into the Ford Escort for four years? Please… Let him take these new executive powers out for a spin, will ya? Torture some bad guys, hire some death squads, maybe even appoint me as porn czar (I work cheap).

Now here’s my plan to restore order: “Know Soap.” Obama can clean up on the way out. Now hear me out on this. The only thing this democracy still has going for it is term limits. If he does actually leave office when he’s supposed to, he could throw the keys to the Dodge Viper into the Potomac on his last day in office. Restore order on the way out. It’s brilliant! This way he gets to have fun and we get our Constitution and our Bill of Rights back at the end of his term. Not much of our country will be left by then, of course, but not much of it’s really left now. It’s just the patriotards haven’t gotten the memo yet, is all. Hint: they’re a little slow.

Now to keep the Crank a little less cranky, there’s another end of the spectrum. If you think Nancy Pelosi is doing a bang up job, welcome to the libertard club. I agree with the Crank on the danger of libertards (another sure sign of the apocalypse). The Crank feels most people are in themiddle of these two extremes, but I see it differently. I think Karl Rove ordered everyone behind door number one, or door number two. His politics of polarization worked far better than even he could imagine. Americans now side with one group of developmentally disabled politicians or the other. I think there are two countries, and I don’t like either of them. About 42 percent of the country consists of patriotards, 45% consist of libertards, and 12 percent are hopelessly ambivalent. Who’s left, you ask? Yes, I’m talking about the Transcosmetic Party! We need more integral voices. The fighting one percent! The army of integral thinkers…onward Wilber soldiers!

Oh, and Barak…I know you want to go on this joy ride of yours for awhile, but please stop riding the collective clutch. A second stimulus? Stop. Please, just try male enhancement products.

Oh, and I will be submitting my resume for porn czar shortly. Open your minds real wide.

by Mick Zano • July 25, 2009

Flagstaff, AZ – The Lowell Observatory has discovered an impressive binary, D-cup, star system just thirty miles south of their Mars Hill location. Business is booming since the observatory shifted her historic Clark telescope toward the sun bathing escapades of one Kristy Felldorfer of Sedona, AZ.

Professor Nicholas Steiger had this to say about the new events calendar: “She usually flips on the hour, so her twin binary system is viewable at 1:00, 3:00, and 5:00 PM.”

This attraction is highlighted by a dual aureole effect, tantalizingly cresting at the poles. On alternating hours, 12:00, 2:00, and 4:00 PM, the full moon appears over the southern horizon to the roar of some horny astronomy enthusiasts.

Professor Steiger admits to playing more with his Polaris since the recent change in venue, but as Steiger put it, “Take my wife, Pleiades.”

Steiger then laughed at his own joke to the point of choking.

One of the Observatory’s second year interns, Duane Rufus, had this to say: “Finally, a heavenly body worth tracking.”

Rufus is considering the implications of an even closer encounter with Ms. Feldorfer and is planning an away mission this fall. The Observatory hopes to boost gift shop sales with color photo spreads of what astronomers have come to call the Kristy Felldorfer Experience. Is this just the beginning for the Fantastic Voyeurs? Professor Steiger’s latest empirical article Turn that Hubble, Putz, onto those Bubble Butts has met with mixed reviews.

by Mick Zano • July 23, 2009

Philadelphia, PA – The Daily Discord’s CEO, Pierce Winslow, would like to reassure our readers that “there is an end to the Michael Jackson gags, I promise.”

Although, Mr. Winslow is grateful for the frenzy of recent activity and material related to the pop stars untimely demise, the Daily Discord is no longer accepting Michael Jackson related faux articles at this time. Winslow reported to the press today that the articles in-stock should all be posted by mid-to-late October, barring anything unforeseen, or as Winslow put it: “a really funny one comes along that I just have to post.”

Mr. Winslow would like to apologize for many of the recent submissions, which he describes as “displaying considerably poor taste.” Mr. Winslow would also like to apologize for the next several months of Michael Jackson related articles, which he describes as being “er,…displaying considerably poor taste.”

by The Crank • July 21, 2009

Dear Andre,

This is a rebuttal to your posted verbal diarrhea on July 16th regarding, among other things, that child cancer patient recently in the news. Let’s start by saying, AHHHHHHHHHHHH! I would like to follow that point with a brief ARRRRRG! BLLLARRRRRG! Whew. Now I’m on a roll. You had me for one paragraph, the first one, I loved it. Then you lost me, big time. You see, there are times when people have to be saved from themselves. Mickko comes to mind when he tries to BBQ (can you say “Fire Marshall”?). Let’s start with that cancer kid. He is a child, and having been one, albeit many moons ago, I can tell you that a child can not make a conscious decision. I could not make a conscious decision until I started my meds in my mid-thirties. You may never make a conscious decision, based on your last paragraph.

There are many types of parents in this world, Andre, and some are better than others. I assume, or rather hope you don’t have any children, ‘cause if you do, I will need to alert the authorities. That cancer kid’s parents have him brainwashed into believing what they believe, just as my mother had me brainwashed into believing that I was actually a reincarnated gopher, who needed to stay in the yard under some leaves for the better part of my childhood. OK, in my case it may have been a good decision, but in general it is bad form. Seriously, my mother had a rather large impact on my life (not to mention my ass). I still crap my pants when I see a large wooden spoon. What she didn’t realize was that I crapped my pants upon seeing the spoon, knowing the intense pain to follow. Pavlov calls this Negative Reinexcrement.

So when she came up to me holding that big fucking wooden weapon in the air saying “did you just crap your pants?”, well, it was a self-fulfilling poophecy: Instant HotPocket. I call that point my “number two.”

Stupid decisions are OK, I suppose, when you make them for yourself, but not when you are making them for a child. She was wrong, and so are you.

Now, getting back to you, if I want to go to a bar for a beer or five, I don’t want you sitting next to me going all afterburners on me with your Lucky fucking Strikes. Bite me. Take it outside. It’s a stupid decision for you to smoke, but “stupider” for me to inhale your decisions, while I’m trying to kill my liver all quiet and peaceably like.

As for your next brain fart: “If I want to smoke marijuana and veg out on the couch watching psychedelic movies, let me.” This is also problematic, in that someone has to work two jobs, probably your mother, cause you’re still living on her couch at nearly forty, I would guess, so you can “veg.” Or worse yet, it’s your wife, and she is secretly seeing a divorce lawyer. Hey, but look at the bright side, she’ll be the one who has to pay the legal fees, right? You may do as you wish in our great society, but you must do so on your own. When you start involving others in your little “Neverland,” it becomes a problem.

Time to get off Sugar Mountain and find a friggin job.

Welcome aboard, Andre. Oh, and don’t go crapping your pants when you see that old Discord gorilla pic.

Yours Unruly,

Goomis

by Mick Zano • July 20, 2009

L’Aquila, IT – At the G8 summit on July 9^th Russian President Dimity Medvedev unveiled his own vision of our new world currency. He feels paper should be discontinued and our universal currency should be buttons from old clothing. Buttons, according to Medvedev, would ensure an end to our global recession and would “symbolize the start of our global depression.” The President believes we need to “stop fooling ourselves” and that we should start developing some realistic goals for our shared demise. Medvedev also reportedly agrees with Mick Zano that bug ichor is an excellent source of protein.

by Mick Zano • July 18, 2009

Los Angeles, CA – Dr. Conrad Murray is admittedly denying claims that his prescribing practices contributed to the pop legend’s recent death.

“This is America,” said Dr. Murray, “everyone is on downers.”

Dr. Murray believes that Americans have built up an incredibly high tolerance to benzodiazepines and pain pills.

“It’s in our water system for crying out loud.”

The doctor believes the old med regiments just weren’t making a dent in our neurotic noggins.

Dr. Murray went on to say that, “Higher doses make any beer consumption extra dangerous, or in Michael’s case Big Jug Extra dangerous.”

When the Discord’s own Bald Tony pointed out that Jackson’s BAC was zero and that the Big Jug Extra reference was merely a cheap Discord yuck-yuck from an earlier faux article, Dr. Murray refused to comment. The doctor does hope that his stock in Astra Zeneca will not suffer for the incident and hopes the drug rep luncheon is still on for Tuesday.

Furthermore, Dr. Murray sends his condolences to the Jackson Four and added, “If you don’t sue, bitches, you can have my script pad.”

by The Ghetto Shaman • July 17, 2009

Dear Ghetto Shaman,

Your attempt at a “sequel” to His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s The Art of Happiness is truly appalling. The Fart of Crappiness is an affront to all Buddhists. Actually, it’s an affront to all people! You have missed each and every major point of Buddhist mysticism. If I ever run into you in a dark alley it will be a true test for me to ‘harm none.’

Gary Kissel

Monroe, LA

Dear Gary,

Indeed, at the heart of all Zen lies a staggering contradiction. I am such a contradiction. No I’m not. See? Hope this helps.

The Ghetto Shaman

by Andre Gadner • July 16, 2009

There is one thing, well WAY more than just one, that annoys the hell out of me about our “faithful” and “allegiant” United States Government. First off, I personally consider myself patriotic, as long as the government does the right thing and doesn’t tell me what to do. They don’t know what’s best for me! Why does the ever-so-powerful-&-liberating U.S. government think they can dictate my lifestyle? Shouldn’t ordinary people be able to make our own decisions without organizations like the FCC, Child Protective Services, NAACP, ACLU and a host of other acronym-laden organizations (ALO) getting in the way? Hell, we can’t even make our own decisions in the comfort of our own home anymore. And it seems like every decision we do offends some dipshit organization or another.

Here’s a perfect example: the thirteen year old cancer patient in Minnesota who had to RUN FROM THE LAW because the LAW didn’t think it was right that the mother and child decided against potentially lifesaving treatment. Um excuse me! Since when is it OK for other people to tell me what is right and good for MY CHILD!? The last time I checked the U.S. Constitution makes a rather big deal about separating church and state. In fact, our forefathers weren’t happy until there was an ocean between the two. You all saw this recent abomination on the news. This child’s religious beliefs are that no life saving measures need to be taken when there is a life threatening injury or illness. The least we could do for a thirteen year old boy is to respect that. But no; some asshole didn’t think it was right that the boy’s parents allowed this and obtained a court order to force him into treatment. WHAT THE F—PEOPLE?! Now the boy and his mother are on the run from the law only to return and face a media storm that now involves the ACLU and all kinds of children’s rights organizations claiming that the boy’s constitutional rights have been violated. But get this, they are on the side of the law!

Grow a brain, folks! This boy made a conscious decision, with the guidance of his mother to avoid treatment and enjoy what was left of his life. Can’t we as “civilized human beings”, as we describe ourselves under mostly false pretense, just respect the decision and sympathize with the fact that maybe the chemo wouldn’t have worked and he may have lived the remainder of his life in illness and pain? Can’t we as “civilized people” just get out of the way and respect people’s decisions? I would be willing to bet that the jack hole that took it to court in the first place doesn’t even have kids. If (s)he does, I would also bet that they haven’t been through this with their children and therefore have no idea just how hard it is without the interference of some selfish, disrespectful, potentially atheist “patriotic” dick head. It’s just like someone who doesn’t have children thinking that a simple spank on the ass when a child screws up royally is child abuse and “CHILD ABUSE BREEDS CRIMINALS!” Again I say grow a brain, folks! Learn the difference between discipline and abuse and come talk to me about how to handle my child. I was spanked as a child; most of us were. I’ll bet that 98 percent of that ‘abusive’ generation didn’t grow up to be criminals. Well, I did, but I’m a bad example.

For crying out loud, the U.S. Government has turned into a bunch of sissies. This is why I am a Libertarian. I want to make my own decisions. Have you heard we’ve had over one hundred years of psychotherapy and the world’s getting worse? If our behavioral health experts are so damned interested in ‘measurable outcomes’, how about looking at your own track record, libertards?!

Oh, and I should be able to smoke in a bar (most bar patrons are smokers). BUT NO; the U.S. Government, in their infinite wisdom, caters to yet another group of sissies who can’t stand the smokers and, presto, there’s a law banning it. How about this idea: GET OUT OF THE BARS IF YOU DON’T LIKE THE SMOKE OR QUIT COMPLAINING! It should be up to the owner of that bar. He bought the damn thing. It’s his joint. Don’t even get me started on joints!

Anyway, the point is: government, get out of my life. If I want to smoke and “waste my life away” let me. Maybe I have a family history of cancer? My father never smoked, yet he is dying of lung cancer. My 80 year old grandmother, who died in 1996 of natural causes, smoked for 60+ years and was perfectly healthy when she went. If I want to allow my child to decide against chemotherapy, let me. If I want to smoke marijuana and veg out on the couch watching psychedelic movies, let me. These, among others, are decisions ONLY I can make for myself. Now, if you will excuse me it’s time to spank something, spark something, dose on something, and skip my damn chemo.

More rants to come…

by Mick Zano • July 15, 2009

…or he’s going to break my other elbow

by Mick Zano • July 14, 2009

She is Having Mitt Romney’s Love Child
Press About to Release Fact: She Really Can’t See Russia from There
Busy Planning Hunt for Levi Johnston from Her Chopper
Higher Calling Marijuana Related
Needs Time to Finish GED
Needs Time to Spell GED
Lost in One of McCain’s Mansions
New Business Venture Involves a Bridge for Sale in Brooklyn
Tina Fey Threatening A Big Movie Deal
Can’t Regroup After the Death of Billy Mays

by Mick Zano • July 13, 2009

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.

by The Ghetto Shaman • July 11, 2009

Dear Mr. Shaman,

My life has been a series of hardships. I fight pain every day. I’m a burden to my kids…what is the meaning of life? Where can I find some relief? If I don’t get some direction I’m just going to take all my medications and be done with it!

Jack Guernsey

Garfield, NJ

Dear Jack,

You have reached the desk of the Ghetto Shaman. I am out drinking, humping, or having profound spiritual insights with younger women (involving leather). Your email is important to me. Next week if someone happens to ask the same question, I will be happy to answer it.

The Ghetto Shaman