White House Fence Jumper Squatting in East Room

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White House Fence Jumper Squatting in East Room

Washington, DC—The Secret Service is in hot water today as even more allegations have surfaced of a massive security breakdown. First, the public was led to believe the recent White House intruder only jumped the fence and made it to the front door. The story changed on September 29th when the Secret Service admitted the intruder made it all the way to the East Room. Now they are admitting the man, Omar J. Gonzalez, not only reached the East Room, but has been living there comfortably for several weeks.

Gonzales actually first scaled the fence on August 12th and has now claimed squatter’s rights and is refusing to leave. White House lawyers admit the situation is complicated. Since the Secret Service took so long to notice Mr. Gonzales, he does have some rights to stay. Under District of Columbia Law he can remain at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue for an additional 30 days at which time he can replace Vice President Joe Biden.

Republicans were quick to criticize the President. AM radio host, Rush Limbaugh, said, “I would have already used the Stand Your Ground Laws in conjunction with a bazooka on this hippie deadbeat.”

Ann Coulter was also quick to add, “I’m sure Mr. Obama has already offered his new roommate food stamps, medical care, and a voter ID card.”

Obama is considering using an executive order to have the man “clean the bathroom and then vacate the premises” but many in his cabinet feel this constitutes two executive orders, not one.

“I don’t care what the dude in the cabinet thinks,” countered Obama. “He should get the hell out too! What the hell am I running here, a Bed & Breakfast?”

Mr. Obama later admitted he is soft on trespassers and ended up taking Mr. Gonzales golfing. The President would also like to remind republicans that the outing was totally on the tax payer’s dime.
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Coalition of the Falling: Ebola Fed Ex

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Dr. Kwela Juluka

I have taken a turn for the worse after my visit to West Africa.  I have fatigue, headaches, and I’m bleeding out of every orifice in/on my body…and that’s just because I write for the Discord.  Actually, I shook hands with a previously infected doctor who attributed his recovery to his Christian God rather than to medical science.  Color me stunned!  With docs like that, Africa is in for a thrill ride on the exponential Ebola train to Shitsville, which I also believe is a Monkees’ song.

I am requesting that you use your resources to have me parachuted into ISIS territory where – before I lose consciousness and while equipped with several WiFi accessible GoPros – I might generously shake hands with the knife-wielding beheading guy known as “John”.  John might later kneel with his friends in a confined space and in obedience to his supernatural figment, spreading my molecular goodness to others, and on and on and on.  My sacrifice may be better than targeted nuclear strikes in affirming the world’s response of an aversion to slicing throats in the service of a political statement.

I have found that beer may be a cure for the Ebola virus, though I’m still crunching the numbers re: octane vs bleeding, but I do think I have enough time remaining to make the flight and drop to John’s doorstep.  I will forgo my next bar crawl to become part of Obama’s Coalition of the Falling. Please help me make this important meeting with John before I bleed out or get too drunk to take my case to him.  The Rolling Stones tell us “only women bleed”, but I beg to differ. In fact, I’m going through gauze like a dog goes through bones, like an Imam goes through verses, like a chef goes through garnish.  My existential nature demands more of me, and so I bleed on your mercy to help me turn the tide in Iraq – the right way!

Do you remember as a kid when you lit that bag of dog poop on fire and rang that doorbell? Yeah? Ding dong, John. I am that flaming bag of poop.

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Rise of the Radical Republican?  Boehner Inaction Figure Sold Separately

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Mick Zano

Despite the recent successes of some moderate republican candidates, I don’t believe it accurately reflects the larger political trend. The GOP will likely track further right and within a decade we will start hearing the words “radicalized republicans.” Bozo Haram? I know, I know, it’s like the time I commissioned a bust from that OCD sculptor, I’m getting a head of myself, again.

Andrew Sullivan would likely nominate my last statement for one of his over-the-top Moore Awards, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Sully doesn’t have to live in the trenches, like Arizona. Conservative types are becoming dangerously deluded. I’m predicting our future may well consist of the Clive Bundys of the world uniting, form of misinformed militias. I want a revolution too, but one based on reality. Sure I have my doubts about our future, but forgive me if I’m reluctant to climb into the bunker with the rest of the Schmuck Dynasty.

“You know this is all Obama’s fault, right? Want a can of chick peas, fella?”

I can hardly wait. Time to reiterate: I’ve never been a huge fan of the Dems, but I would rather see Michael Vick head of the ASPCA or Ray Rice head a domestic violence taskforce than see a republican president in 2016. My total liberal shift, at least vote-wise, has nothing to do with Democrats.

Ideology check: If, with the aid of a stool and the Hubble friggin’ telescope, you still can’t see some scant reflection of reality, you may be a republican.

The Foxeteers hate this president and they will likely hate the next several and, lest we forget, they’re the ones with most of the guns. You say you want a revolution?  …well, you know, we’d all love to see the Rand.

Why hate Obama? What are the specifics? All we ever get are kernels of drivel from this Scheissgiest of theirs. Do you hate the successful implementation of a version of the Romney healthcare model? Do you hate having the best economic recovery in the west? Do you hate avoiding ground wars in the Middle East?  Hint: attacking ISIS may cost another trillion, while Obamacare is thus far cutting healthcare costs. There’s nothing remotely fiscally conservative about fiscal conservatives. Someone get Paul Ryan a calculator.  Atlas Buggered?

Summary Alert: Bush’s faults were of the San Andreas variety and Obama’s of the fictional variety.

What’s most disturbing is how even our president is forced to factor in this rightwing hysteria and fantasy into his algorithms. This is part of why he’s starting to falter.  San Andreas falter? This week we find nearly one in four Foxeteers want to secede from the union, here. Nearly one quarter of the country! And this group is not going to settle down after losing more elections. They were created out of fear and propaganda as part of a rightwing ratings scheme and at this point the damage is done. I predict republicans will have several opportunities to realign themselves with reality but they will miss all of these windows.  Defenestration Nation? Sultans of Squeegee?  Sorry.

People are in the middle, Zano. They’re not as polarized as Fox and MSNBC would have us believe.

That may have once been true, but no longer. Republicans are ready for a revolution. They don’t understand or acknowledge any of the real challenges our nation faces—with the exception of islamofascism, which they overhype—and they have no idea how we got here. 2000 to 2008 has been plucked from their collective hippocampus like some political lobotomy. Electro Conservative Therapy?

Our real problems remain: The growing disparity of wealth, overpopulation, pollution, the failure to shift to sustainable communities and energies, and the perils of accelerating climate change. These will all go unnoticed until it’s too late. Oh, and wait until our radical friends start bombing mosques. That’ll help. The Blather Underground?  Bozo Haram? Did I use that one already? How about Ailes-Qaeda? No? Okay, I’ll work on that one.

Of course the left will go lefter, but I‘m cool with that. Oh no! …thoughtful social libertarians! People who don’t worship the Koch Brothers, people not as ready to placate Wall Street or invade the wrong country! People who want to at least try to save the planet. Nooooo, everything will go to pot! I wish.

Hint of the Day: big business will be just find in the 21st century, but you won’t be.

It’s almost fanatical how today’s conservatives rail against any truths that might surface. Whack a maxim? I attended a Tea Party Express rally once, here, and yikes. Since that evening I have been patiently waiting for the inevitable collapse of the Republican Party. I called for reform for over a decade before giving up. We needed a healthy GOP to help balance the budget, to help reign in spending, to improve Obamacare. We’re getting nothing from this clunker, so it’s time for the scrap heap.

Why, during a time when the GOP may claim both chambers of congress can you talk about the right’s inevitable demise?

First off, they haven’t won anything yet. I broke from guru Nate Silver when republicans had an 85% chance to take the Senate and it is now down to 65%. Never underestimate their incompetence. Look, if you’re only pandering to white, old, angry, uneducated males, I’m afraid your future is tenuous at best. But don’t worry, so is everyone else’s. If The GOP wins the Senate it will only prolong their demise. I don’t have the patience, so I’ve used the Zano model to ensure the Dems hold on. Hint: it involves a headless chicken, burning sage, and some pin cushions.

“Political conservatives are the greatest threat to the nation.”

—President Barack Obama

This should be hyperbole, but I’m afraid it’s not. Someone immediately posted on Facebook, “How is this statement defensible?” Uh, read Zano. Just remember where you heard it first. Believe me, masses of delusionally misinformed, sociopathic citizens will eventually spell our demise; they’ll spell it wrong, of course.

“Republicans endanger civilization.”

—Nancy Pelosi

Only we can destroy ourselves. Bin Laden knew as much. If only Bush had been half as smart as that bastard.

“I know we’ve become used to this – and the press has found a way to write about the GOP as if they are not a reckless, know-nothing, post-modern fantasy machine. But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t remain capable of shock and anger at this pathetic excuse for a political party, at the unique idiocy of this party of the right in the Western world.”

—Andrew Sullivan

Obama has had some missteps as well as some moments of brilliance, but republicans only have one thing on the agenda, another Benghazi hearing. Hell, I never understood the first fifteen. I want to debate the perils facing our country and our planet—the one I have to live and blog on.  If republicans want to storm the Bastille—oh, wait, too French (insert your own metaphor). I don’t care what they want to do, I don’t want any part of it.

Okay, Cleetus, hand over the chick peas, but first I’m going to tell you a little story about Keynesian economics and the series of unfortunate events that led us to see if it could work.
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Is Dropping Ebola Victims on ISIL Brilliant or Diabolical?

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Is Dropping Ebola Victims on ISIL Brilliant or Diabolical?

Washington, DC—President Barack Obama is expounding his plans today, in hemorrhage and diarrhea filled detail, to “wipe out” ISIL. The U.S. military will begin to transport final-stage Ebola victims from Africa to the Middle East, en masse. These “volunteers” will then help the forces of good by plummeting thousands of feet before exploding and hopefully infecting the forces of evil.

President Obama told reporters today, “I am calling these brave warriors my Coalition of the Falling. You can’t destroy ISIL through any conventional military strategy. Certainly my shit-show of a predecessor taught us that much, but I have some pretty cool tricks up my sleeve. And sometimes these tricks involve dropping a steady stream of Ebola Infected Nigerians from planes like rocks, or E.I.N. Steins as I call them. Hah, hah. Sorry, it’s a German joke.”

U.S. Generals are supporting the idea of relocating those suffering from the final stages of the Ebola virus onto ISIS-controlled bases and towns. “It’s just crazy enough to work,” said General McInerney. “Many are calling this innovative form of disease transmission, Smashogens, but I call them Splatriots. I have to admit I never liked this president, until now.” The General may have added the words, “You go, girl!” but that part of the audio was muffled.

Critics claim this may well increase the spread of Ebola to innocent victims, but Obama said, “F ‘em. Sure it could spread to the wider Middle East and the five rational beings who live there, but who cares? Yeah, I’m sure life under ISIS without a head would have been truly wonderful for that sane handful of people. Besides, we passed out leaflets that clearly stated, if you’re standing next to an ISIS member, please don’t. They had their warning.”

When asked about the inhumanity of pushing people from planes to their death, Obama said, “The hospitals across Africa are really grateful we took these folks off their hands, you know, so they can concentrate on not saving the next group. Thanks to the magic of Obamacare and big Pharma, we are giving these folks enough opiates to pickle a moose. This will be the last ride of their lives so it’s win win!”

Republicans are calling for Obama’s impeachment, but only because that’s really all they do. This tactic is actually impressing the McCains and the Grahams of the world, who may have actually said to the President, “You go, girl!” but that part of the audio is muffled.
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Obama Creates Coalition of the Good Luck With That

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Mick Zano

I thought I understood the Obama Doctrine, until now. More disturbing than the prospects of Iraq Part Deux is this: a recent poll indicates Americans would prefer a return to a Bush-style Doctrine, here. If this is true, do you remember Bill Paxton’s character from Aliens? Game over, man!

For anyone who wants to retry the Bush Doctrine, how about we book you the Fallujah special? It’s sort of a Motel-6 after the blast. Most rooms come with a fire—not a fireplace, just a fire. We’ll leave the fight on for ya’. Boots on the ground? How about a boot up your asses? I realize we’re all short attention spambots these days, but if we forget every historical lesson, every time—between the couch and the flippin’ fridge—why do I bother with all this [*********] blogging?!

[The word insightful removed by the editor]

The ONLY glimmer of insight from the Drudgelands in the last decade was this shift away from Fox’s Chicken Hawk Syndrome. Obama’s recent soiree into stupidity has me flummoxed and I’m rarely flummoxed. Is Obama caving to public opinion? Are there too many morons on both sides of the aisle offering advice? Is ISIS more of a threat than they seem? Will the McMillian Pub management lift my recent ban from their establishment?

I just went off on Hillary’s foreign policy, here, and now Obama is doing this shit?

“He committed himself and us to a victory we cannot achieve in two countries we cannot control with the aid of allies we cannot trust. And, worse, he has done so by evading the key Constitutional requirement that a declaration of war be made by the Congress.”

—Andrew Sullivan

I am not freaking out as much as Andrew, because drones, special ops and air strikes will continue to be necessary in the Middle East for a long, long time. And I’m, frankly, fine with that. But I do not want to arm anyone, save maybe the Kurds, and no significant boots on the ground. Advisors and special ops, maybe. But no arming Syrian rebels! Broader air strikes will need to occur with someone else’s boots on the ground, but whose? As predicted, Coalitions post Bush will be tough and Obama’s is going to be meh at best. Maybe he should call it Coalition of the Good Luck with That.  For all intents and purposes, we’ve been alone since about 2004. And the GOP keeps knocking justice from 30,000 feet. Today it’s all we’ve got. Thanks.

Dear Mr. President,

Of course your generals want to play with all of their toys. That’s what generals do, but it doesn’t mean it’s the best overall policy. Every intervention thus far has created even more radical splinter groups. Thankfully you held your ground on those boots on the ground, but you cannot afford to screw up, sir. Arming Syrian rebels is dumb.  Saying we’ll wipe out ISIS is dumb. Leave dumb for those who have already mastered this adjective. The first hint that your plan was dumb was the resounding bipartisan approval it met in Congress.

Sincerely,

Mick Zano

P.S. I want the sweater I knitted you back.

We have a rare opportunity to completely marginalize the batshit right. So get it together, sir. I do not, circa 2016, want to see a republican president denounce ISIS and then start a war with the Egyptian Goddess of Love.

Earlier today, President Perry ordered air strikes that laid waste to the Egyptian step pyramid of Zosar. Outside of the remains of the Third Dynasty structure, Perry asked Defense Secretary Cruz, “WTF? Why didn’t she come out?”

The various militias in the Middle East should not get any more of our toys? They end up using them against us. The Onion nailed it: Obama Vows To Split ISIS Into Dozens Of Extremist Splinter Groups.  See, I thought spoof newsers were just smarter than republicans, but if we become the overall experts and authority on everything… (gulp). I would say Big Gulp but then Mayor Bloomberg would confiscate that last sentence.

No one has ever said, “Hey, Zano you’re the voice of reason.” People have said, boy”, if you’re the voice of reason, Zano, we’re in big trouble.” We are in big trouble…

I could actually understand folks seeking a third viable option or party but returning to the Bushies for guidance is like asking Marion Berry to guard your stash. To take one more step beyond, everyone is looking to Mitt Romney for answers. This cannot be overstated enough: Republican chicken hawks are the assholes who got us here and today they are arguably even less insightful. I watched what every republican said on foreign policy in the last two primaries, and besides Paul 1 and Paul 2, they don’t have a sliver of an inkling of a quark of a grasp on reality [editor not touching that one.]

“Foreign policy, the interventionist critics claim, has no place for nuance or realism. You are either for us or against us. No middle ground is acceptable. The Wilsonian ideologues must have democracy worldwide now and damn all obstacles to that utopia. I say sharpen your knives, because the battle once begun will not end easily.”

—Rand Paul

Rand Paul has some foreign policy sense, which disqualifies him from becoming the republican nominee in 2016. As Congressman Todd Aiken reminds us: when someone has a brain, the GOP has a way of shutting that whole thing down. Republicans are only taking applications from those promising to amplify the disparity of wealth and rule the rest of the world with an iron fist. You know, part Hoover part Hitler.

Someone recently noted Eisenhower’s exit captures the essence of the Obama Doctrine. I agree.

“I’ll tell you what leadership is… It’s persuasion — and conciliation — and education — and patience. It’s long, slow, tough work. That’s the only kind of leadership I know — or believe in — or will practice.”

—Dwight D. Eisenhower

I understood Bush’s blunders during each tragic misstep because, like My Pet Goat, he was a pretty easy read. Obama is smart, so it’s much harder to glean all of his longer term strategies.

“Halfway through this President’s second term, negotiations over Iran’s nuclear program have, at last, a realistic chance for success. Russia’s recent aggressions in eastern Ukraine may end in an uneasy truce. The gains have been unshowy and incremental. But when your aim is to conduct a responsive and responsible foreign policy, the avoidance of stupid things is often the avoidance of bloodshed and unforeseen strife. History suggests that it is not a mantra to be derided or dismissed.”

—David Remnick

Our neocons have taught us all only one thing, just how ineffective and tragic a poorly conceived military campaign can be. What would republicans actually have done between 2008 and 2014? I have never seen a group blather on about nothing for so long since my last existential Meetup group. Saber babbling?

So to all of you know-nothing Obama blamers, I don’t know what our President should do about ISIS and neither do you. I would not want to be in his golf shoes. But in 2003 Bush had a clear and easy choice to make on Iraq. He made the wrong one and that’s why we’re here. That is called a fact. Bush’s Iraq War was an intelligence failure, just not the kind you think. But has Obama jumped the shark on this one? And, can anyone really get away with comparing a war to an old Happy Day’s reference? These questions and more will be answered, same blog time, same blog station.

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Giant Joint Image “Worth Its Weed in Gold” to Discord Photoshopper

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Giant Joint Image "Worth its Weed in Gold" to Discord Photoshopper

Most Discord staffers believe image license agreements are “the work of the devil” or could represent “a slippery slope to bestiality.” Keep in mind, most Discord staffers likely smoked a similar joint to the one depicted in the stolen image prior to this fictional interview.

The Discord’s permanent intern and PhotoShopper, Mick Zano, said, “Eureka! I have arrived at the Promised Dispensary! I can stick this giant joint in the face of Obama, Boehner, the Pope, Batman, Beyonce, the possibilities are endless. This image alone could keep my family in beer and coffee for the next two months.”

Zano’s Photoshop statement was later downgraded to Elements as Mr. Winslow apparently wouldn’t spring for the full Photoshop package. The Discord staffer later admitted he doesn’t even have Photoshop Elements, or a family.  He does all Discord images in a sort of Fortranesque Etch-a-Sketch. Actually, Zano just makes shit up, which makes him perfect for the field of spliff…er, I mean spoof news.

Mr. Winslow would like to remove the word “perfect” from that last sentence and replace it with an image of a man passed out in a urinal.
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Danzig, Black Sabbath and Jesus

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Tony Ballz

Step into the Wayback Machine, Sherman, and set those dials for the glory daze of Flagstaff’s punk scene, about ‘93-‘94ish. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Life in The Mothership with me, Dave N, and our rotating third roommate wasn’t all dance parties, cheap drugs, getting loaded with touring bands, casual sex with high school girls, and running down O’Leary street naked in the snow.

Many an evening found us sitting in our tiny living room, staring into space and bored out of our skulls. Money was scarce. Prank phone calls (in the days before caller-ID) were always dependable cheap fun, but after you’ve dialed the Village Inn and asked for the hair pie twice in a week, what’s left?

We had plenty of music, but the lack of visual stimulation was usually the issue. Cable TV was a luxury and the VCR worked about half the time. The internet didn’t exist (in Flagstaff, anyway). Dave and our friend Clea were aficionados of bad ‘80s movies, and I was fortunate enough to work in a store that had plenty of them for rent (free to employees, of course).

Fully enjoyable was the double feature of Grease II (starring Adrian “The Zmed” Zmed and the screen debut of Michelle “The Fife” Pfeiffer) and The Pirate Movie (featuring Kristy McNichol, the guy from The Blue Lagoon, and the onscreen rape of both Gilbert AND Sullivan), the pain set in around hour three of the Swayze film festival but that blind boy sure plays a mean guitar, I tell you what.

And when all else failed, there was good ol’ broadcast television. Yep, wrap them rabbit ears in aluminum foil and off we go. Flagstaff used to have TWO local stations (and we never thought in a million years BOTH of them would disappear): channel 2 was an NBC affiliate with Flag’s only local newscast (and we never thought in a million years we’d be living in a city without a local newscast), while channel 13 was a proud member of the Trinity Broadcast Network, known to us heathens as The Jesus Channel.

TBN was founded by professional clowns and hypocrites Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker in the 1970s, and by the 1990s it was a flourishing industry, with dozens of affiliates all over this great Christian white-bread country of ours.

Dave and I would watch The Jesus Channel for HOURS and hours. It was our best entertainment value. We never got tired of the constant barefaced greed and arrogance, the bad music, bad hairpieces, bad makeup, bad sets … not to mention all the variations of TBN’s core message: “If you don’t want to go to hell, SEND US YOUR MONEY NOW. That’s right, God can be bought. Heaven is on sale. Eternal paradise is only a personal check away.” All you had to do was pretend these people weren’t real and it was more yuks than Saturday Night Live.

Dave always got a kick out of the fact that TBN’s logo sort of looked like the cover of A Night at the Opera by Queen. When the logo flashed on the screen, Dave would hold the album up next to the TV and we would laugh and laugh. Good cheap American fun.

The televangelists could get really grating, but it was a good night if we caught one of the faith healer yoyos who would bring up a member of their hillbilly audience afflicted with rickets or the gout and SMACK ’em upside the head to drive them Commie demons out. That will be $500, please.

Far and away, our favorite comedian on The Jesus Channel was a guy named Jeff Fenholt. He stood out from the other sweaty child molester types on TBN. Everything about him screamed aging head banger. He was well into his 40s, with a moon face framed by a curly blond rocker mullet. He looked like he belonged behind the counter at Guitar Center ringing up a strap lock and a dozen picks while cranking some Yngwie.

The Holt’s dubious claims to metal authenticity were: a) he played you-know-who in the original 1971 Broadway production of Jesus Christ Superstar (true, although his understudy Ted Neeley landed the movie role), and b) he was the lead singer of Black Sabbath for about two weeks in the mid-1980s.

This was refuted by Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi, who stated he and Fenholt worked on some demos for a proposed Iommi solo album during a Sabbath hiatus, but that Jeff was never an official member of the band. Fenholt claims Sabbath manager Don Arden (Sharon Osbourne’s father) told him otherwise, and apparently that was enough for him to name drop Black Sabbath whenever possible on the air.

He had a “sexy” feud going on with some Wiccan priestess in Wisconsin. He would say her name and growl into the camera: “I’m coming for you, baby. Oh yes, I am.” He made a big deal out of actually flying to Wisconsin with cameraman in tow, but she went: “(Ding!) Restraining order!” and that was that.

Whether or not he was actually in the greatest heavy metal band in the world and renounced their hell-bound ways for a life filled with Jesus, one fact was inarguable: Jeff Fenholt was a douchebag.

One night Fenholt announced he and his Christian metal group (who never appeared with him on TBN, hmmm …) were touring and spreading the Good Word, perhaps even playing in your neck of the woods. We laughed and said wouldn’t it be great if The Holt was coming here? Then they showed the tour dates, and there it was: Flagstaff, Arizona. Dave and I stared at each other open-mouthed.

“No F^#ing way!”

[word “fucking” edited by the editor]

“Dude, we’re going.”

“Oh HELL yeah, we’re going.”

It should probably be mentioned at this point that Dave and I were singular in our passion for TBN and all things Fenholt. Most of our friends didn’t get it. “How can you guys WATCH this crap? OK, once in a while for a laugh, but EVERY NIGHT?” JRo would hole up in his room when we had it on. Clea gave it a shot, but couldn’t hack it.

Luckily, Primitive Tribes frontman and armchair anarchist Sasha Davis was cut from the same cloth as we, and was just as excited at the imminent arrival of The Man Himself to our shit town. Between the three of us (and several 12-packs of Olympia), a plan was hatched: on the day of the event, we would amass a battalion of local punks, get rip roaring drunk, righteously march into wherever the show was, and scream out the most obnoxious offensive blasphemous profanities imaginable at Mr. Bigshot Mullethead Jesus Rocker Guy and let him know THIS was the face of Flagstaff and that he sucked a big hairy gorilla weiner and so did his band and so did everyone at TBN.

Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

About a week before the showdate, fliers started popping up around town:

“LIVE! Former BLACK SABBATH vocalist JEFF FENHOLT!”

There was an eastside address and a photo of The Holt’s face leering maliciously at you through his curly blond mullet. Absent were the following words: God, Jesus, holy, church, Christian, Trinity Broadcast Network, and douchebag.

It was laughable, and we laughed. Did this guy think we were total rubes who just fell off the turnip truck and that we would be fooled by his clever ruse and show up expecting a rockin’ good Satanic evening and instead be hit BLAM! with the Lord’s healing power? What a dick.

I tacked a flyer up on our living room wall and The Holt’s glowering mug was immediately defaced with bloody fangs, whited-out eyes, a forehead pentagram, and a speech balloon reading “I Y Satan”. Again, we were REALLY bored.

The first seed of doubt was planted when I rode past the address on the flyer and yep, sure enough, it was a church. Dave and Sasha didn’t care: “Great! It’ll make our blasphemy more blasphemous. And hey, you grew up Catholic … haven’t you always wanted to be drunk in church?”

I had to admit I did.

The next seed of doubt came during our futile attempts to get ANYONE interested in coming along. “Uhh … you’re going to go into a church drunk and HECKLE some guy? Have fun.”

The great day finally arrived, and I raced home from work to find that our army of drunk punks consisted of: me, Dave, Sasha, Clea (our driver and always a good sport), and special guest Mario, undisputed king of the Flag Fiends, worshipper at the altar of Danzig and all things unholy, and future local musician. Oh, and our fuel consisted of a single 12-pack of Olympia between the five of us (did I mention we were really broke?).

These days you can get a pleasant conversation out of Mario, but back then all you got were two or three mumbled words and a silent devilocked glare through a haze of cigarette smoke. I believe on that fateful day he had just stopped by our house to see what was going on and Dave and Sasha hornswaggled him into coming along. The two of them could be quite persuasive.

We polished off the beer and piled into Clea’s little Toyota. The final seed of doubt was finding the church parking lot PACKED full of cars, and the thought “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea” flew across my mind. The church’s doors were wide open but no metal, Christian or otherwise, was emanating. Posted at the doors were the Sweater Zombies, and their eyes lit up at the sight of us.

“Hey! Thanks for coming! WOW! Here, let us get you seats DOWN IN FRONT!!!”

“NO!!!” we all shrieked. We told them we could find our own seats, thank you very much, and stepped inside.

The church was pretty full. I estimated the mean age of the crowd to be about twelve. They all turned around and gaped at us. I flashed back to my Catholic school days and thought, these kids probably have to be here. Well, they don’t HAVE to, but it was STRONGLY SUGGESTED by their parents and teachers that they attend.

The Holt was at the lectern and his spiel barely missed a beat. Some of the kids started giggling, but Fenholt ignored our arrival and spieled on, drawing the little ones’ attention back to him. The guy was a pro.

We stood frozen at the back of the church. Where was his band? We didn’t see amps or a drum set or any equipment normally associated with rock and/or roll. Just an altar, candles, the tabernacle that housed the Body of Our Savior … church stuff. This was unquestionably the last place on Earth I wanted to be. I said goodbye to the remnants of my two beer buzz.

Dave led us to a spot along the far right aisle, about halfway down. We tried to be inconspicuous, but it was impossible. Anyone who didn’t know we were there before did now, and the giggling started again. The first one in the pew was Mario and you should’ve seen those kids scoot.

Fenholt kept ignoring us. I can’t recall one word of his speech, but I can make a pretty good guess as to its content.

We were obviously the hit of the evening, or rather Mario was. He was definitely the only one present with a leather jacket or devilock. Kids kept turning around and whispering and giggling. Dave and Sasha were nonplussed. Clea and I were a bit shellshocked, but kept straight faces. Mario was slouched so far down next to me he was almost horizontal. He looked like he wanted his body to implode upon itself and collapse into a pile of smoldering ash.

After about ten painful minutes, Clea whispered:

“I need a cigarette.”

I whispered back, “I’ll join you.”

I told Mario what we were doing and the three of us stood up and tried to walk over Dave and Sasha. They decided they needed one too. As we all filed out of the pew, Fenholt stopped mid-spiel and addressed us directly:

“Aw come on, where are you guys going? You don’t have to leave!”

Dave turned, looked at Jeff Fenholt and said loudly:

“Oh, we’re just going for a smoke, we’ll be right back!”

It was one of the funniest things I had ever heard him say and I started cracking up. The impudence in Dave’s voice triggered something in those kids too, and the whole church erupted in laughter as we trooped up the aisle wearing stupid grins.

As we exited, I heard Fenholt trying to get his captive audience back, saying those guys came here expecting some heavy metal, but the REAL heavy metal is God’s … blah blah blah. I thought, tomorrow these kids are going to have some great stories to tell their friends who couldn’t make it (“Dude, you should’ve been there, it was AWESOME!”).

Outside, we lit up. The Sweater Zombies had followed us, and they ran the Divide And Conquer. Dave and Sasha each had three or four of them buzzing around. Dave sounded like he was making some headway with his bunch:

“TBN and the Church always want your money, but look at all that expensive jewelry and stuff they wear. Doesn’t the Bible say ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit’ and ‘The meek shall inherit the earth’? You know, Jesus and the Apostles were dirt poor. They were fishermen and carpenters, they weren’t rich …”

“Hey … you’re RIGHT!”

We found out that Jeff’s band couldn’t make it, but out of the goodness of his heart he decided to come anyway and, you know, just TALK to the kids. What a guy.

I smoked and tried to put on my best “don’t come near me or I’ll kill you” face, but one of them spotted me, smiled widely, and approached with outstretched hand. About 3 steps in, his hand fell and so did his face.

“Hey, there’s a …”

I followed his gaze and observed Mario with his back turned to us, in the classic “man about to have a piss” stance.

“… restroom in the …”

Too late. All conversation stopped, and we listened to Mario pee for a few seconds. The Danzig skull logo stared hollow-eyed at us from the back of his jacket. The expressions on the faces of the Sweater Zombies were priceless. I was shocked, but I felt like applauding. The words “all right” may have passed my lips. Dave, Sasha, Clea and I met each others’ eyes and the same thought ran through all our heads:

“YES!!!”

It was perfect. Mario didn’t actually relieve himself ON the church, just by a shrub planted next to the front doors, but the effect was the same. I don’t know if his intention was to make it a big sacrilegious thing, he probably just had to take a whiz. Nevertheless, it was a fitting comment on the evening’s events. The last word, so to speak. I only wish The Holt could have seen it.

Our cigarettes were done and so was Mario. The sweater Zombies nervously invited us back inside.

“I’m not going back in there.”

It was Mario’s voice, and he wasn’t mumbling. The words weren’t loud, but they were quite clear. His statement was not scared or angry, it was matter-of-fact, like “It’s raining today”.

I decided I had had enough as well. I also realized at that particular moment I needed to smoke a bowl more than I ever had in my life. I asked Clea for her keys and said we would be hanging out by the car.

Our group split up. Mario and I walked to Clea’s car and got inside. I looked at him.

“Wow. That sucked.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in silence. I loaded a bowl and puffed away. A short time later the driver’s side door opened and Clea got in.

 “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about Dave and Sasha?”

“They’re staying. They said they were having fun.”

“Oh.”

As we drove away, I had a mental image of a group of Sweater Zombies in front of the church the next morning holding crucifixes and one of those incense things on a chain, uprooting the tainted shrubbery (to be burned and its ashes scattered) and dousing the ground with holy water.

Apparently after we left, our punker friends Chris and Matt showed up at the church drunker than hell and implored Fenholt to heal them of their alcoholism. It almost made me wish I’d hung around.

I lost my taste for the Trinity Broadcast Network. Seeing that those people actually existed kind of killed the humor.

In 1997 it was revealed that in the late 1970s, Jeff Fenholt was a “boy toy” of the late Gala Dali, widow of Salvador. In her declining years, she was notorious for having a stable of young male lovers, setting them up financially in exchange for sexual favors. She paid Fenholt with several of Dali’s paintings and a million dollar Long Island house. Gala was in her 80s, Jeff in his 20s.

The resulting brouhaha caused Fenholt to disappear from TBN for several years. He eventually made a triumphant comeback, his sins forgiven and his mullet shorn.
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