From: TruthMonger <tm@algebra.com>
Date: Mon, 4 May 1998 10:53:13 -0700 (PDT)
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: Happy Log - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
Message-ID: <354E00B9.15F3@algebra.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain


Happy Log - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
_________________________________________

  Watching 'River's Edge', I remembered why I prefer to remain
holed up alone in the BeachBoys' room while Slurping the Dregs
with a channel-changer in my hand.
  It seems that 'River's Edge' wasn't that movie about Paul
Newman being a logger--apparently that was 'Sometimes A Great
Notion.' Neither was it the John Holmes movie where he plays
Johnny Logg, 'Sometimes A Great Motion.'
  No, it turned out to be the movie that Dennis Hopper made
his comeback in, years after it was socially acceptable to
openly cheer the social outcasts in 'Easy Rider' or 'Rebel
Without A Cause'. Having neither social skills nor self-
contol, I cannot refrain from laughing or cheering not just 
in the 'wrong' places, but also in the 'worst' places...

  I can relate to Dennis Hopper's character, Feck, when the
head murderer in the movie asks him if he's some kind of
psycho, since he dances and talks with a life-size sex doll.
Feck replies, "I'm not *crazy*, man. I *know* it's a *doll*!"
  But knowing it doesn't stop him from...caring.

  I *know* I'm not supposed to hoot, cheer and laugh when
Feck tells the 'bad' kid, who murdered his girlfriend, even
though he didn't love her, about being justified in blowing
the brains out of his own girlfriend, because he 'loved' her,
and how he was being hunted and persecuted by a society that
didn't understand that his 'apology' was 'sincere', since he
really did love her, and about the 'unfairness' of Them still
wanting to *punish* him.
  I *know* that I'm supposed to act horrified at this sick,
demented bastard's outlook on life.
  But knowing it doesn't stop me from...sympathizing.

  Everyone wants to cheer for the socially acceptable 
'UnderDog', but no one wants to cheer for those meeting the
current-socially-agreed-upon-profile of the 'MadDog'.
  
  NewsWorld did an interview with Jerry Springer in which
they asked him how he could possibly justify the outrageous
format of his talk show as being of the least bit of 'help'
in solving the problems of his guests and society.
  Springer's reply was basically, "Buy a Clue. I'm the 
Ringmaster of a Circus."

  When Springer was asked about his 'descent' from being a
respectable member of the mainstream news media, to being
the uncontested Joker & Fool of daytime TV, he 'busted' the news media 
as being a bunch of shylocks who provide a modicum
of real news, surrounded by death and disaster in the lives of
people we don't know, and sticking microphones in the faces of
people who have been 'caught' dipping their dick in the wrong
bowl and gleefully screaming 'Gotcha!'.

  The Masses drive the Media, Entertainment drives the Masses,
and the Media drives Entertainment.
  Because we no longer gather in the public square by the 
tens of thousands, being whipped into a mass frenzy by the
emotive diatribes of the Fuhrer, we believe that we are
'different' from the Germans who wore their BrownShirts in 
public gatherings, rather than putting them on daily in the
privacy of our home, before screaming along in righteous
judgement with the studio audience of the 'Jerry Springer
Show', or cheering the black-clad ninja warriors on 'Cops'
as they kick in the doors of monstrous scum guilty of Felony
Dark-Complexion and Felony Inability To Afford A Good Lawyer.

  After deluging us with a flood of pud-pulling entertainment
cleverly disguised as news-coverage of Joey Buttafucko's
love life and plans to murder his wife, the smart-asses at
NewsWorld tease us with the question, "What was the name of
Joey Buttafucko's wife?"
  Huh? 
  Who the fuck cares? She's just some fucking bit-player
victim who gets a couple minutes of air-time in the midst of
the massive coverage of the actions, psyche and motivations
of the 'main protagonist' in an ongoing 'news' saga designed
to increase popcorn and soft-drink sales.
  The news media is well aware that 'the show is over' the
minute they ask the question that enquiring slimes *really*
want to know, which is, "What did it *feel* like when you
were sucking the life force out of another human being?"
(And the follow-up question, "Do you have any pictures?")

  Daytime Primetime Talk Shows fall all over one another to
schedule the guy who got his dick cut off with garden shears.
His 'fifteen minutes' gets stretched to the max, along with
a guarantee of future reruns.
  Let some woman get her pussy ripped out by a psycho, and
it is given quick, short coverage, during which the news
persons look at their shuffling feet, because a woman's
private parts are 'dirty' and she was probably wearing a
skirt that was too short. If a woman wants to make the big
bucks on the talk-show circuit, she needs to get her face
slashed with a razor, since women are supposed to look pretty,
but not supposed to like sex.
 (In Moslem countries, however, it is bad taste to give a
  large amount of coverage to a woman whose face is slashed
  with a razor, because the slut was probably wearing a veil
  that was too short.)

  Canada had a Real Life (TM) rendition of 'River's Edge' take
place in Flin Flon, Manitoba (?), where a bunch of teenagers
kept silent about the murder of one of their friends by 
another of their friends, for six months (?) or so, but it
didn't have Dennis Hopper in it, so there were no reruns,
making the details a little too fuzzy to really remember.
  Life doesn't *imitate* TV, Life *is* TV, but not as well
funded and produced. If you don't recognize this as being the
truth, it's because "You can't *HANDLE* the truth!"


  You gotta have a system...

  People instictively understand this, which is why I am
able to support myself with email spams titled, "How To Make
Big $$$ Sitting At Home, Licking Your Own Dick."
  Unsolicited Commercial Email and Political Parties run on
basically the same underlying concept, which is that Horatio
Alger can tell us any lies he wants, and put his dick anywhere
he pleases, as long as shit still runs downhill and payday is
still on Friday.

  Name the last two bills passed by Congress.
  Name the last two women Slick Willie dipped his dick in.
  News...give me a break...

  Am I supposed to feel 'guilty' about being some sick, sorry,
demented psycho weirdo for fixating on and relating to the
'wrong' imaginary characters and 'wrong' emotive issues that
are involved in a TV movie?
  According to my calculations, I still have over four hundred
unused Reality Avoidance Credits that I have earned by not
giving a fat rat's ass where Slick Willy's dick has been for
the last few years of news coverage regarding the size, shape,
smell and feel of Little Willie.

  My failure to become obsessional in regard to the travel
schedule of the President's dick is likely to work against
me if I find myself in the position of having to defend my
position as an EditWhore and ReportWhore for the Bienfait
Nutly News, when I find myself facing charges for the public
dissemination of a graphic image of a classic Greek statue
of a young boy whose petite, well-formed, beautiful, sexy
young penis...
   Where was I...?

  Sorry...
  I'm actually homophobic, but I got caught up in the 
arguments for the graphic being viewed as 'obscene' that a
prosecutor would be able to make if his personal experience
in the sick, twisted molestation of his own child and those
of others gave him a firm understanding of the danger that
is presented by Pornography Cleverly Disguised As Art.
  If somebody wants to compose a Bienfait Nutly News report
about the President's dick, I would be more than happy to
publish it and get my share of the billion-dollar giveaway
of Digital WaveSpace.

Beer break...molest 'em if you got 'em (tied up)...