Monday, October 16, 2006

John Bolton's Pilgrim's Progress

The Wolf Is Off the Greyhound
I got off the...let me see, how can I put it...god-damn...bus travel!...Jesus, I hate Yahoos, you know, I can love ‘em if they’re pretending but most Yahoos I hate are for-real Yahoos--no hope for them, ya know what I mean? I’m not supposed to HATE. That’s what I was taught as a little open mind. “Love One Another” that's what I was taught--even the Beatles, who I’m not a fan of so don’t get me started, but those goofball Liverpool musicians, bar musicians, I know a million of them--hell, I’m one of them--bar musicians, which is what all American entertainers from way back started off as, bar musicians, with your stage dependent on folks with tons of troubles and angers or having affairs, looking for affairs, people all hormoned up, you dig? And that’s who bar musicians face every night. Most of ‘em Yahoos. But what I’m sayin’ is the Beatles--I’m mean, I’m tryin’ to say again--bar musicians arise out of the Yahoos--dig? and the Beatles at least after they got some fame at least understood about Peace, Tie Dye, and lovin' one another--"Make Love Not War!" But that was too hippy for the Yahoos, even though hippies at one time were little Yahoos--their parents certainly mostly Yahoos, even the educated ones--those who voted for Nixon--nobody could put the nix on Nixon--he did it himself--remember, "I am not a crook," which in Amurican politicalese means, "Damn right, I am a crook and that's all I've ever been and what the hell are you people, you workin' class hicks, gonna do about it?" We IMPEACHED HIS CROOKED ASS, that's what We the People did. Gerald Ford, remember he couldn't chew gum and walk at the same time, pardoned Nixon's ass, but dammit, he was IMPEACHED. Then the Repugnicans tried to IMPEACH Slick Willie because he LIED to CONGRESS. That was their grounds for IMPEACHMENT.

Georgie Porgie, our current never-elected president and first "president" ever appointed by the Supreme Court--that well-balanced din of second-story, ambulance-chasing, hack lawyers who know about as much Constitutional Law as the rest of us--is a rich Yahoo, and I tell ya, he don't know how to do anything but lie so therefore he gets immunity from being tossed out on his ass with a voice vote. These are Yahoos and you don't have to read Jonathan Swift to understand what a Yahoo is, but it might help--read the great Gulliver's Travels--that's where you find a whole Yahoo civilization and culture--or read Tom Moore's Utopia and listen to Raphael Nonsenso as he discusses his travels around the Island of Utopia. Here's a poem by the Island of Utopia's poet laureate, Mr. Windbag, who just happened to be Raphael's sister's son:

Lines on the Island of Utopia
by Mr. Windbag

NOPLACIA was once my name,
that is, a place where no one goes.
Plato's Republic now I claim
To match, or beat at it's own game;
For that was just a myth in prose,
But what he wrote of, I became,
Of men, wealth, laws a solid frame,
A place where every wise man goes;
GOPLACIA is now my name.

[the pun above is on the words "utopia" meaning "not place" and "eutopia" meaning "well-place"]

I just thought I'd throw this in.

I got off the god-damn bus in a snowstorm in Richmond, Indiana, sitting abutt to the Ohio border. I knew Richmond as the place where Jelly Roll Morton had recorded back in the 1920s; it was hard to believe that such a burg once had a major recording studio. Desolation. Nothing but fields and factories. Mostly fields. Covered with snow; earliest, the local Yahoos said, snow they'd seen in many a moon. It was cold too. Though hot with hotheads, young Yahoos, drinking heavy, cursing like sailors, driving damn fine autos around like young lords, dukes, and earls--though they're poor as hell really. Just east of Indianapolis--a scary part of the US of A for a wolfman like me. Indiana scares my brains, and I was just at its doorstep.

"When's the next flight back to New York City?" I asked a local yokel. "Flight? What the hell's that? You just got off our airline at our airport. You got to go on in to Indianapolis to get one of them thar aeroplanes. The aeroplane was invented right across over them fields thar in O-hi-ah." It was snowing so heavy I couldn't see dick shit across any of them thar fields--you could barely see them thar fields.

Yahoos everywhere. Don't dare mention being anti-war anything; don't mention not believin' in Jesus Christ, he's their personal savior, whatever the hell that means; don't mention that you live in sin with your girlfriend back in New Yankee City and your girlfriend is a beautiful black women--nope, don't mention them thar thangs in Indiana. I don't wanna go back to Indiana--though, hell, the University of Indiana has a hell of a fine music department; David Baker the jazz eccentric teaches there, or at least he used to.

I'm finally back in NYC. I'm listening to this Brit pianist playing Charles Ives's Piano Sonata #1. Oh the joys of Ives's music; even a Brit with EARS can dig Charlie at his best; this guy, Philip Mead by name, put out this double CD playing Ives's most contagious piano pieces, The Concord, yes, and the #1 I'm listening to as I type this; also Study No. 1 Varied Air and Variations, which Ives subtitled "for Ears or Aural and Mental Exercise!!!"--such intriguing music. I could just listen to Ives--with maybe some Lennie Tristano and Oscar Peterson thrown in for chunks of thrilling breaks--how about some Jaki Byard in there, too, the rest of my sordid life--"We shall come rejoicing bringin' in the sheaths"--you'd better bring in the sheaths or you don't eat; you don't eat, you don't survive.

Did you know that our asshole "shoved on us" UN ambassador, an idiot named John Bolton, is a true backwards asshole (meaning he's had cosmetic surgery that put his asshole where his mouth was and vice versa)--backwards meaning this fool misses living in the Dark Ages when people ate and believed in natural value in their own shit--which is where his politics come from, that and he was head of his College-Boy Knuckleheads for Barry "Dress Up Like a Native American and Do War Dances Around Daddy's Big Department Store in Phoenix" Goldwater's terribly unsuccessful presidential campaign against Lyndon "Mr. Bullshit" Johnson--"I need those britches made where my nutsack hangs free...."--a loss so bad it almost wiped out the Repugnican Party. Only Ronnie Raygun, who got himself elected Governor of California, stuck to his John Birch Society guns as a true-blue NeoCon after Nixon got the shaft (one dumb ass that Raygun) (California is one of the biggest home bases of gaggles of true Amurican Yahoos there is in the world--only in California could a steroid-freak whose father was a Nazi policeman in Nazi Austria, where little Herr Swartzenegger was born so he can't be "president," become governor --though I'm sure the Wild Yahoos of Cal-ee-forn-y-yah would vote for tit-feeling and ass-grabbing, former marijuana smoker, too, Arnold were the NeoCons to get an amendment passed in Congress allowing the sons of former Nazis (and I apologize to my dear friends, a couple of them, who are the sons of former Nazis--I'm forced by my past to be blunt about this subject, though I intend my comments on Arnold Swartzenegger to be satirical) to be president of the US of A. That would be a fitting triumph for the NeoCons--I mean a real Nazi as president.

But this Bolton nut's agenda demands a war with Iran, the home of his spiritual bogeyman, the powerless president of Iran, who represents to this scared girly-man Bolton a representative of the rise of Islamic madmen intent on wiping Christianity off the face of the earth--and believe me, these creeps care little or nothing about Israel and the Jews, they hate them both though unfortunately their actual Neo-Con Call to Arms was written by a couple of warped Jewish fellows, former left-leaning rather Trotsky-itish college boys who got under the strange tutorlege of a real old Trotskyite, Leo Strauss, at the U of Chicago, a John D. Rockefeller university where Lenin and Ayn Rand could teach side-by-side. John Bolton--look at that obsolete moustache he sports--he looks like Harry Mudd from the old Star Trek --is really not a true Neo-Con. He's just a plain ole raving maniac Conservative. Plus he's a member of that Yaley gang that runs us through Pappy and Georgie Porgie--skull and bones Yale--son of a Baltimore fireman--went to Maryland prep schools--read that as "all white" private schools--I betcha! He goes back to when Unka Dick and Rummy Rumsfeld were doin' their voodoo with old Pappy Bush--Rummy was defense minister or whatever the hell his Fascist title is now back in them days, too. These political buzzards have been around since Raygun's day--I mean Unka Dick has had 5 heart attacks and still he lives on to do more harm to the world--for his own gain--why would a man who had had five heart attacks still get kicks out of haunting this country--he's already dead--he's a walkin' dead--Jesus, he's scary--why doesn't he just take off on a perpetual duck hunt? He makes absolutely no sense when he speaks. He reminds me of Mr. Potter in Capra's Wonderful Life. That great old actor--a Growler salute--a tipping up of a growler of ale, me laddies--Lionel Barrymore--what an actor! and I don't say many nice things about actors--even about actors being actors.

Getting out of Indiana has made me crazier than hell--I'm on a tumbling, flailing arms, wild-eyed, yodelling dance around my apartment, a Le sacre du printemps dance, a spinning dance like a drugged up Whirling Dervish. You like the poet Rumi? Would you like to whirl your troubles away? It's really a beautiful ceremony--I see it as dance and not religious mumbo-jumbo, which it is--sunni or later you're gonna have to sufi it. (Oh, god, I apologize for so stupid a pun; I'm a reformed Yahoo; my civilization is in my wolf half.) Let's do a little whirling:

Did you know that this year, in February, this fool John Bolton was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize? That's right; our UN ambassador who literally despises the UN and who was shoved up our asses by Georgie Porgie, our never-elected "president"--the only ever president appointed by the Supreme Court, himself--I mean this Bolton boy has had his nose up the NeoCon's old bloody asses since the days of old Jesse "I Hate Kneegrows" Helms; remember that old hillbilly disc jockey turned politician? Jesse said he found Johnny Boy Bolton an asskisser first-class, a notch or two deeper in the crack than most brown-nosing Neo-Con altar boys--"I think I'm movin' Johnny Boy's nose out of my ass and around front to the head of my firm," old Uncle Jesse once chortled to Mark Foley.

A Nobel Peace Prize for this psychopath who definitely would choke his old mother to death for a shot at moving his nose out of Georgie Porgie's unwiped ass around to the limp head of his unelected business (known as "the firm" among the closeted elite)? He was nominated for the Peace Prize because of his firm stance in standing up in the UN and calling those towelhead Eye-ranians what they are, "Liars! Dogs! Sinners! Abominations! Human-animal hybrids! With Weapons of Mass Destruction! And hating Christians, wanting them destroyed!...and our precious Chosen Ones, wanting to massively destroy Israel!...oh dear God we must stop this Caliphate from spreading, my brothers and sisters!" And old J0hnny Boy Bolton is stark-raving mad about everybody but us having Weapons of Mass Destruction but he's had this agenda against Iran (remember, these same fools got Iran to hold those hostages until after Raygun was elected after peanut farmer Jimmy Carter had bungled badly a rescue attempt--remember?) for a long time and he's determined that we invade Iran just like we did Iraq, even though Iran just like Iraq is not a threat to us--except if Johnny Boy gets his way--and it's Georgie Porgie's way, too, folks, and old Unka Dick's way--he is spreading that Iran-has-weapons-of-mass-destruction manure all over the place--and this is certainly what Paul Wolfowitz (no wolf of mine) intends in his writing up the Neo-Con plan of action--Bolton is already calling our invading Iran World War III. Oh glorious WAR. WE must have WAR. The warmongers need it in order to feel powerful; in order to get their nuts off. Look out, Iran, these perverts are coming in your back door NOW! These fools.

Let's take a look at the nuclear elite again: 1) the Good Ole USA; 2) the Noble Mother(f-er) Russia; 3) the Chosen Ones of Israel; 4) the once best British servants ever, India; 5) hey, good ole Coalition of Fools member and Bin Laden protector, Pakistan; and now 6) the People's Republic of North Korea--they ain't got no food to eat but by God they've got Weapons of Mass Destruction--er, ah, thanks to Unka Dick Cheney, right? Hey, come on, folks, with a nuclear club like that, what have we got to worry about? Shit, the human race will soon be over--as soon as John "All Balls No Brains" Bolton gets his holy wish and involves us in a war with Iran, which is exactly what he's doing now--setting things up in the UN where we will invade--or hell we already have INVADED IRAN. Sorry, I'm spastic over this. I'm going out back and growl at this sad big moon that follows me just over my head everywhere I go, even Indiana.

WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR. Can we support three wars at once? Georgie Porgie says we have to. Unka Dick says we have to declare war on Iran. It's in his set of Tarot cards.

Hey, guess who's back, too? Why it's old war crimes "guilty Jew" Henry Kissingass, still wanted in Europe for war crimes--another old dunce who has trick jived his way through Conservative parties and hottied around with hot Repug babes and socialites--Henry considers himself a ladies man the same as Nazi Arnie considers himself a ladies man and Hitler loved little underage girls and dogs. Perverts all of them! Into jail with them all.

A cry in the dark. IMPEACHMENT. That's the way to wipe our nation's ass clean of these dingleberries. IMPEACHMENT.

Oh well. It never works, complaining about politics and politicians. They go on having their way, Dumbocrats, Repugnicans, Greens, Naderites, they're all after the same thing, the easily gained power you get by even just dabbling in politics. I mean the Yahoos are stupid as hell; they'll vote for anything as long as it's lying their way, all lies are righteous, F truths--shit those are for those atheist scientists--WE NEO-CONS DON'T BELIEVE IN SCIENCE-- UNLESS IT IS THE SCIENCE OF WAR! The science of old Ed Teller. Remember him?

'Scuse me while I toss back this vial of liquid plutonium.

for The Daily Growler

Why the Wolfman Got Off the Greyhound
We've heard Scott Ritter all day on the pacifist radio stations warning us that the Neo-Cons are fixing to get us involved in a war with Iran that will not only wreck our economy, wreck the economy of Israel as well, and more scary wear out our army--our army will be fighting on three fronts, Afghanistan (where they are losing), Iraq (where they are losing), and coming up Iran, where they will definitely lose--and so will Israel, who Ritter says are the instigators behind wanting the US to attack Iran. It's one big asshole mess, folks. A war with Iran will certainly bring nuclear weapons into the Big Picture--remember that old teevee show put out by the U.S. Army?

We are in trouble, folks. The thinking people of the US better get their asses into masses and march against these "death wish" fools or we gonna be selling pencils and apples on street corners with huge sores all over our bodies as we waste away into the cesspool of oblivion--not us Growlers, however; we be movin' to the Island of Utopia.

franny & zoe, thetwoheadedgirlreporter
for The Daily Growler

The Daily Growler Quote of the Day:
"...a man with about as much mental agility as a lump of lead, or a block of wood, a man whose utter stupidity is paralleled only by his immorality, can have lots of good intelligent people at his beck and call just because he happens to possess a large pile of gold coins." Raphael Nonsenso, in Thomas More's Utopia, Book Two.

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