Ahead of Their Time: Francisco Domino (1451-1514)

Francisco Domino (1451-1514) may have suffered a similar image problem to that of his competitor, Christopher Columbus. The conservative practice of using amputations to enforce law and order was growing unpopular in the dawn of the sixteenth century. In Columbus's case, it cost him the honor of the New World being named Columbia instead of America. But Domino was an anarchist and the pope was afraid of him. His whole name has been blotted from history as a consequence. Experts say that Domino beat Columbus to the shores of the Western continents. Domino went on more voyages and the storms blew his ships to the edges of the known world. A pioneer of navigation, Domino used hurricanes to improve speed. He is believed to have struck land in the Florida Keys as early as 1491. To say that he struck land is apt. Domino was more of a crasher than a lander, but there were always enough carpenters in the crew to make up for it. It wasn't Columbus who opened the junk-for-precious-metals business, it was Domino, who gave himself away to the tribesmen by the irrepressible tittering with which he added each solid gold bracelet to his glittering pile. They retaliated by getting him addicted to chewing coca leaves. Domino was also a human rights champion, the first to propose a law that made non-Europeans fifty percent human. He would go on to chart much of the Caribbean before finally shipwrecking himself on the wrong island in 1514. His plan to use his skills of celestial observation to predict a comet, in order to scare the natives out of killing him, failed when he couldn't find a translator.
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Canadian History with Clarence McPhee: the Birth of the Yukon

Good evening and welcome to Canadian History, where the body's in the details. I'm your host, Clarence McPhee. After the California Gold Rush urged westward migration in the 1850's, the discovery of gold in Canada's Yukon Territory motivated the settlement of the northernmost reaches of the North American continent from 1897 to 1899. Ever since Thomas Edison had come to the West Coast with his wind-up camera, it seemed that California had run out of gold, turning unemployed men into 'stampeders', blindly moving north, heads burning with gold fever. If they managed to survive the mob rule of Skagway, Alaska, they came to the foot of a thirty kilometer high glacier. Just when they were ready to form a human ladder, the Mounties showed up and ordered them to add a ton of supplies to each backpack. This made the task of digging the bodies of avalanche victims out of the snow even more arduous as they struggled up the glacier, making sure the man in front had plenty of salt. When they got to Dead Horse Trail, they'd lost over half of their original number. They took out their frustration on the horses, leaving a frozen, mutilated carcass behind them every thirty feet or so. But that wasn't the end. When they reached the shores of Lake Bennett, they faced treacherous waters in rafts roughly improvised out of fallen trees. Only a handful of the stampeders made it to Dawson. If they would have delayed their original departures by a fortnight, they all could have traveled the whole way comfortably by rail. By 1898, Dawson was a boom town. At Bonanza Creek, a fiddler and a guitarist were hired to play lively jigs as the prospectors gleefully stood side by side and scooped rich gold deposits out of the Eldorado River with their shovels. Everyone got so rich that the saloons and the brothels were open around the clock. Then Thomas Edison showed up with his wind-up camera to record the event and the gold started to run out. By 1899, he owned the whole Eldorado River and was undertaking the development of a giant, steam powered gold vacuum, against which it was impossible to compete with human hands. The prospectors headed home penniless, their prematurely aged faces ravaged by scurvy, with only the memory of their fleeting wealth to comfort them. That must be what they get for abusing those poor horses. And that's it for another edition of Canadian History. I'm Clarence McPhee.
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Community Spirit

Hello, neighbor! Welcome to Community Spirit! I'm Ray Crankshaft. A good, strong community knows how to deal with outsiders, like those lost tourists who knocked on my door the other day, begging for directions to the hospital. I gave them a bum steer they won't forget - if the bears haven't already finished them off! Heh! Heh! Here in my community, we know we're all good, decent family people because we all spy on each other with hidden cameras and listening devices, and if we catch any peeping Toms, we crucify them in the community newspaper and expel them to the ghetto. The only rumors we allow to spread must first be approved by a fifty-five percent majority of a capacity crowd at our bingo hall. Each community should have its own flag, whose colors match those of the local team's uniforms. Flying this flag should be mandatory, in order that your block balloonist may see that your community boundaries adhere to the outcomes of crucial sports events like our Cereal Bowl. As for community defense, that's where Rex here comes in. (Patting the dog's fierce head) Rex is my Rottweiler. I let him drag me to the park every day by hooking my jeep to an iron chain. It gives his mandibles a good workout. He sure knows how to catch a frisbee. When we're done playing, I collect the remains of the disk in a plastic bag. Thanks to Rex, I never have to pay for my confetti. Don't worry, he's friendly - except for foxes and transients. Seldom do I need my machine gun to protect my property with Rex around. Well, I guess that's enough Community Spirit for this week. For Community Spirit, this is Ray Crankshaft saying, good bye and may the best yards be yours.
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Surgeon General's Warning: The Whole Truth about Smoking

Although this ad is tongue-in cheek, can anyone yet see why corporations would have supported the murderous scheme to turn my enemies into stars with my work behind my back? (A man in a white lab coat smiles broadly from behind his desk. On his head is the army helmet of a five star general. On his black tie is a shiny Staff of Asclepius pin.) Stern Background Voice: The following is an important message from your Surgeon General. Hello, trusting broadcast consumers. The corporate ad men who stuff their pockets with billions of dollars of public money each year to pay for anti-smoking campaigns withhold the whole truth about smoking. They only ever warn of cancer or lung disease, which pose little or no threat until at least middle age, leaving the youth population feeling more secure about adopting the life shortening habit. Without a new generation of smokers to warn every year, such corporate ad men would be out of a job, but as a physician, I draw my pay from improving public health, making it my responsibility to discuss smoking's harm effectively. Smoking poses a wide range of risks far worse than cancer, most of which stem from the manifold menace of unfair discrimination. Smokers are a minority group which may be terrorized by superior numbers of non-smokers. To light a cigarette anywhere outside the privacy of your home has become much the same as it was for Nazi Germany's Jews to wear the yellow star: it is to invite the hate of your fellow citizens, driving you to premature death by suicide. Such brutal discrimination imposes severe employment restrictions on smokers from non-smoking employers who refuse to pay for smoke breaks. Job applicants are forced to either deny their addiction at job interviews and then confine their habit to the catacombs, where they may contract typhus or bubonic plague, or more frequently, to hopelessly try to make ends meet with the low paying jobs that nobody else wants, such as digging up sump pumps for ten dollars an hour. This reveals another rarely advertised smoking related health risk: wretched poverty. Those ads on cigarette packs are expensive, almost doubling the retail price of tobacco products, and since smoking suppresses the appetite, many impoverished smokers will spend their last twenty-two dollars on a pack of cheap smokes, rather than on food, a catch-22 that quickly leads to emaciation and death. If you smoke nowadays, you'll probably die of malnutrition or outright starvation long before you get cancer. On the way, you may also come down with leprosy from having to smoke the filthy, trodden on, partially consumed cigarettes of total strangers. So beware of anti-smoking ads. They pretend to be on your side but they are really trying to kill you faster. Avoid smoking and send those devious corporate ad men to the unemployment line. See how they like it! From the Office of the Surgeon General, I'm Doctor Frank N. Stein.
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The Good Guard

(A prison cell. Enter a burly guard, forcing the inmate to rise and stand nervously.) Voice: Jason Lombard was a good guard. He had class... Lombard: (drawing from a shaving kit) Which type of knuckles would you prefer? Brass or titanium? Voice: ...he had compassion... (The infirmary. Lombard bends to whisper into the ear of a patient bandaged from head to toe.) Lombard: Don't worry, we made sure to keep the blood off your letter to your mother. Voice: ...and he cared about what's right and what's wrong. (The cafeteria. Lombard wails on inmate #1 with his nightstick when he is approached by inmate #2.) Inmate #2: Stop! He was only trying to protect me from having to go to solitary confinement! Lombard: (Ceasing his violence) He was? Oh, then pardon me, sir. (Turning to inmate #2) Thank you. It was very noble of you to come forward. I wouldn't want to hospitalize the wrong man. (He brings his nightstick down on inmate #2's head with crushing force and proceeds to beat him senseless.) Voice: Ethics finds an unlikely home in one of the state's toughest correctional facilities with Jason Lombard, the Good Guard.
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Staying Low Profile

I must warn you of the most powerful force known to man. It's not money. It's not nuclear energy. It's not even collective ego of every star in Hollywood. The most awesome force on this planet is girl power. The Spice Girls had it, and now it has passed down to me. I first fell victim to this power in 2007, when I first shared my song Size on YouTube. Suddenly my life was no longer my own. My head had turned into a satellite dish, receiving signals that drove me to the library to write funny blogs against my will. I tried to resist by erasing all my online posts and it almost killed me. When I inadvertently rewrote Size in 2010 and felt the girl power swarming around me for the second time, I knew that I must obey it. As long as you cooperate, you may survive. But woe to those who would oppose it. Girls favor the internet and I have been prominent on the internet since at least 2004, possibly earlier. Many girls learned how to read by reading my blogs. Thanks to me, they know that cocksucker is all one word. And when you have the attention of a lot of girls on the internet, criminals may risk their lives by messing with your posts. Do not be fooled by my low profile. Without it I could not have recovered so much work from my bleak past. That was why Dateline NBC wanted to rush me onto the stage back in 2011 and 2012. It would have protected NBC stars from the fierce legal action I took against them in 2013, which also convicted Dateline NBC. My girl power will stay invisible until I can get my songs on the road. For now, it lurks in the shadows of schoolyards and playgrounds across the globe. Now here's a little word to those guys who were so concerned about the time on my way home from the library earlier. Are you the same gang who keeps trying to take away the credit for other people's achievements? Who is this nasty bunch who keep crediting themselves every time my fans burn down a fraud? They like to let everyone else do the work on the web and then point to it and say it's theirs. Well, guys, those sweet fans of mine organized themselves yesterday and clicked their little hearts out to clean up my work and my image. How dare you try to take that away from them. You know who else likes to protect little girls from the likes of you? Police. Check your watch again and see the hour of your reckoning. You locals who thought you could have my way with me because I look so 'weak' are up against tens of millions of girls. They're onto you and they will hunt you down like a drunken posse. You're doomed. And now let me add a little support to ease the burden of my fans from my side. If someone says my work is fraud and it stays online, he has exposed himself as a liar and an image violator and may be punished. If someone says I went to prison and my work stays online, he has exposed himself as a liar and an image violator and may be punished. But most of these kinds of lies are local lies, resting flimsily on the low profile I have in this region. Outside this region, where perhaps my online popularity is visible, such lies would instantly fail. To the people of my region, consider the words of the Lord: happy are those who do not see and yet believe. Gentlemen, the girls have spoken. I think we can at least be thankful to know that our future rests in the hands of these little darlings, but I may have to become a Mormon so that I can marry them all when they grow up.
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And That's the News

The Minister of Welfare is almost through his five week stay in a downtown flophouse, where he has endeavored to prove that it is easy to live for five weeks on one welfare check. He says he still has enough sardines and noodles to make it through the next three days and that he is looking forward to returning to his mansion so that he can live. In entertainment, you people don't choose hit songs from the internet, we do. When are you slobs going to accept your place as our dependents? The only hit songs you have currently chosen are now playing a the Folk Festival. Ignore all other music unless we tell you otherwise. That's a command. In business, wealthy men have started up a fund to protect fraud profits. While it may be true that the more money one has, the less inclined he is to share it, it is also true that rich people will spend a lot of money to protect their fortunes. You may donate to the Fraud Fund at www.fraud-first.com. And lastly, the past and the future does not exist, only the present. The past does not exist unless we talk about it in the present. And the future does not exist because it does not conform to the present. And that's the news this 14th day of January, 2008... What's that? It's the 26th of July, 2015? You're fired!
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Down with Dunderheads

Hey everyone, you know what I just heard in the food line? ACDC's coming! And you know I what I said out loud in return? Who cares! Maybe it's good news for the fifty-plus set who still haven't outgrown their adolescence, but I find it depressing. In fact, I hope I can leave town before they get here. When I first shared my songs on the web, the reason they were popular was because they offered more than what rock fans were getting from dinosaur bands like ACDC. This new generation was smarter, more sophisticated. They needed stimulating lyrics and innovative composition, with the bass playing more than the same stupid note through every song, and above all, they needed to hear more than just ego from the singer: they needed love. And when those frauds got signed with my songs, they went on the radio and crushed dinosaur bands like ACDC with my music. No one wanted to hear ACDC's boring old shit anymore and rock fans rejoiced at the triumph of 'new rock', to the point that my songs needed their own exclusive radio station - away from ACDC. And if you ever heard one of my songs in rotation with an ACDC song, it would have been meant strictly to take a poke at me from a station like the FOX sux cox. But now, just because the bands that stole my music have been disgraced, ACDC, like true capitalists, see a vacuum created by the disappearance of 'new rock' from the radio, a vacuum that they would like to use to try to suck up my music fans. If you support ACDC, what you are saying is that I don't deserve any success for my work because I won't blow the business like those creeps who stole my music and crushed ACDC with it. If you liked my new sound on the radio, just be patient. I'll get out there for you. I'm planning a tour. In the meantime, don't feel like you have to settle for music you don't really like just because the evil music business would rather destroy intelligent artists to clear the way for more profits by supporting the more abundant, common type of talent offered by bands like ACDC. You saw how the business increased their profits with my music by creating multiple stars out of it. Well, they are biased towards common sounding bands because there are so many more of them than bands who sound like me. In other words, they want you to like music that is beneath your taste so that they can make more profits. They care about quantity, not quality.
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Keeping the Hate Straight

Is it hate when I say that I heard the Dateline NBC host went to prison and was severely punished? That would be the case only if it were unsubstantiated, in other words, only if it were untrue. But the host of Dateline NBC would have gone to prison in 2013 for violating my copyright by using one of my songs on her show without my written permission, in order to give her show the false appearance of having my support. So when I say I heard that the corporate media's little Dateline darling went to prison, I'm not spouting hate, I'm stating a strong likelihood. And just because the media doesn't want to report its own crimes, they shouldn't be allowed to accuse their victim of hate when he tries to do their jobs for them. As for unsubstantiated putdowns, I can think of no better example than the lie so widely spread by the corporate media that I steal my songs and blogs. That's pure hate. It's a malicious lie. And it breaks down into a long list of cutting insults which I have already listed in my previous post, Anatomy of an Insult (Statements). And this hate that the stars and the corporate media have had for me for such a long time is rooted in envy. Some comedy stars find that my well developed authoring skills in producing comedy scripts rubs my musical talent in their face too much. Some music stars either don't know how to rock or they have forgotten how to do it. And some in the corporate media resent an internet author who doesn't have to shove his work down people's throats to get them to consume it.
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Betsy Beech: (Pilot)

Tonight on Betsy Beech, while playing cards with Mindy Meek, Betsy learns a useful tidbit about her new boyfriend, Brian. Mindy: He hates supermarkets. Betsy: He does? Mindy: Yes, he can't stand them. The muzak drives him nuts. When we'd go shopping, he'd always rush me. (Enter Brian) Brian: Hi, sweetheart. (He greets Betsy with a peck on the cheek.) Are you all ready to go out dancing? Betsy: Yes. Brian: Great, let's go. Betsy: Can we stop by the supermarket first? Brian: (Sigh!) I guess so. What do you need? Betsy: I won't know until I go there and look at every product and compare all the prices. Brian: (to Mindy) What are you smiling at? Raising the limits of how much abuse men a man will take in exchange for sexual favors, she's the one and only Betsy Beech.
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Murdered History

Do you remember how Tina Fey and that humorless wonder of a boyfriend of hers would water down my words for their late night broadcast? 'It tastes like crap!' What wimps. People that uptight should avoid careers in comedy because good comedy is wild and free. Maybe if they had personalities or of they cared about something outside of their own interests, they could make up for their safe, boring approach to constructing works of humor, but these monsters are devoid of almost all humanity. I was expecting a backlash to come from people like them: hypocrites who lack the imagination, intelligence, rhythm, and spirit to construct amusing dialogues. This tiny but vocal group is the only one that is offended by my work while the vast majority of people enjoy it. Such protestors are dishonest because they try to attack my content, calling it disrespectful or callous, when the real problem they have with my work is that it is popular - especially that it is more popular than they are. They are hypocrites because they attacked my post about Chinese drivers, calling it racist, and then turned around and praised Jay Leno for stealing it. They attacked my little script about the War of 1812, as though it were an aberration of history, when it is clearly marked as a comedy script. But then they would turn around and laugh at SNL's Weekend Update, a segment that often violated my copyrights and which applied the same method I used for my War of 1812 script to the serious news broadcasts which record our history. I think it's rather sickening to be called a jerk by such jerks, often for simply rewriting material that they already praised on TV or in the movies as being brilliant. I care about history, but if anyone had a right to alter it, it would be myself. Those assholes on TV want history to record that up to six hours of my music was popularly embraced only by fraud because the author wasn't cool enough to play his music (while their networks robbed him of every original idea he ever shared on the internet). History is unfolding right now, with all their fraud stars going in and out of prison, being punished, losing all their fans, and those assholes on TV want history to pan the punishment of their fraud stars and pretend that their fraud stars somehow won the fight for my work just because I'm not on TV with them. If anyone's out to mar history, it's those assholes on TV at this moment. And did Therapy make it onto the radio without my permission? I don't recall hearing anything beyond its opening chords playing on the cocksucker station. Maybe they were saving that song to help all my brainwashed fans to celebrate my suicide death in 2010, inviting everyone to dance on my grave with it, with the Crystalids getting all the love and credit and money for my music. That's the history Dateline NBC was looking forward to reporting, which is offensively evident in their reluctance and the reluctance of their corporate broadcasting buddies to face the reality of the present. Is Ellen still on TV? She's a plagiarizing cunt. The TV wants history to remember her with fondness. Is Dateline still on TV? They're nasty lying corporate whores. The TV wants them to feed you their warped version of history. They want to pin all the heartbreak they caused with their foul crimes on the victim and leave him to starve after stuffing their faces with food out of the loot they snatched from his good work. I could go on all day listing star after star. Madonna went to prison but they would rather talk about the weather on TV. As for you uptight people who are so terrified by my talent, why don't you just stick to the newspaper funnies? You're probably the only one who laughs at them. And stay out of my path in the streets around my building or someone's going to have to show you a new shortcut home.
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Beauty and the Backstabbers

I have gone over my statements up to this point to make sure they are listed as statements in my copyright notice at the bottom of each. I had to correct the last sixteen of them. Usually I keep a pretty close eye on this because I wouldn't want anyone to confuse my scripts with my statements. And since this is the third time that I've had to correct this mistake, I can't help but wonder if someone at Google might be tampering with my content. Someone at Google would be someone like that evil fuck of an owner of theirs who gave away my hits to English rock bands for groupie sex in 2007. I think it's a failure of our society that such people ever ascend to positions of power. This is a statement. I am not joking. While my gripes may lead my readers to believe that I am in a constant state of turmoil, I am usually quite calm as I construct them here in the public library. I need to stay emotionally detached to write them well. I wanted to talk more about the backstabbers today. I know all about them and they have truly made my life on the web an ordeal. They try to put a negative spin on every word I write and go out of their way to distort the meaning of my creative works, to the point where I must annotate my poems line by line to undo the thorough damage caused by their copyright violations and lies. A poet wants to condense his thoughts into as few words as possible and these assholes won't let me do it. And an author of works of humor would rather avoid sharing nasty news, but the corporate media doesn't want to tell anyone that their precious stars went to prison for stealing my work, so their solitary victim must do all of their jobs on top of his own job, often compromising his humor's appeal. One thing you might be hearing from the backstabbers these days is how I'm approaching the limit of my creative potential. What fools. You know that this 'thought' came from people who are incapable of imagining new songs or new scripts, being used to grabbing other people's work from a finite supply. If I write a particularly appealing song, they always think it is the last one I will write. This is just wishful thinking on their part. I very much like my latest song, but I do not see it as the 'end all/be all' song for me. Rather I see it as a gateway to scores of new compositions of equal or superior quality. And now let's talk about my motives. I'm sure you've already heard your fill from my detractors about what they think my motives are. They are largely a bunch of attention seeking assholes who believe that everyone on the internet is trying to be a star like they are. I abandoned my music career in 1995 when I quit my band in Toronto. I only started sharing my rock again in 2007, when I gleaned from the comments on other people's music videos that there might be a demand for a new kind of rock that dabbled in experimentation while holding to certain traditional tenets. That's the kind of rock I write and I shared it because I thought rock fans would like it. My music makes me feel good and I wanted to share my good feelings with rock fans. The same is true of my humor, which I shared online first in 1999 and which was already stolen wholesale by shows like Saturday Night Live long before I started sharing my songs. While I am not averse to making money from my work, I do not depend on money to motivate me to share it. My motive for sharing my humor is ultimately to help others face life with a laugh as I do. After considered thought, I must conclude that my only motive for sharing my music and humor over the years was simply my love for these complete strangers who like my original work, even though I may never meet them in person. When you listen to my music, if you love rock, you will receive the gift of love. If you got a laugh out of my writing, that was my love. But if you subscribe to the work of my detractors, you will only receive their unwarranted demand for love.
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Democracy at Once!

For the equal time rebuttal to this argument, see my Up the Republic! post of August 11 in this blog. (Today's guest speaker on Democracy at Once! is acclaimed internet author and song writer, Fuzzy Zithers, dearly known by his followers as Uncle Fuzz.) Do you want democracy now? Do you really? I don't believe you. I think you just want your car and your home and your job. You can't have democracy and capitalism at the same time. Democracy favors the whole population while capitalism only favors a few spoiled pricks. Capitalists are predators. What kind of a foolish society invites the wolves to live with the sheep? How about that last president? Straight from the country club, not a brain cell in his head. He and his buddy started unnecessary wars, altered the constitution, and lied to you and the whole world with stolen words and music. And who got rich while they were in power? Oh, the banks? Did the banks need to get rich? You call this democracy? If this were a democracy, we'd have that prick and his buddy hanging naked by their ankles in this studio right now for your amusement. I had to settle for this life sized cardboard cutout I got from one of those schools in the Bible belt. If you coat your knuckles with grape juice, you can almost get the same pleasure you would from punching his real face. (Demonstrating) See? Pay close attention now. (Repeating the angry gesture.) This may be the closest you come to seeing social equality in your lifetime. Of course, cardboard burns easily, but I'll save that until the head has completely worn off. Yes, democracy tries to be civil but the true spirit of democracy is, as the French proved, violent. Where's that angry mob that wanted to burn down my home when they thought I stole my songs and my blogs? Shouldn't they be razing Hollywood to the ground? We're not going to get anywhere against these conniving slimeballs unless we show them we mean business. In France, the government fears the people. But here the people are constantly anesthetized by soft drinks and blinking lights. We need some angry mobs out there to get this democracy back on its feet. Police, you can arm them with nightsticks. And someone should be sharpening up the guillotine. Do you want to know who to beat up first? Start with that asshole of a stranger sidling up to you, who supported the use of my music and comedy to brainwash you against me and who now wants you to hate me for alerting you to his evil and for defending myself. Tell him he asked for it. He's probably complaining about how I'm not enough of a cocksucker. Or go after the ones who always want to credit others for my achievements. There's such a person right now trying to credit someone besides myself for my survival. I think these backstabbers already had enough fun crediting so many of their prison friends with authoring my work, don't you? You see how corporations operate? They put the whole population in a collective coma with mind altering broadcast signals and then pick us off one by one. No one bothers to put up any protest until it's too late. How many working people lost their homes to the wealthy banks in the last ten years? I bet they're on my side now. And I bet they were against me until they lost their homes. Democracy demands wisdom, which in turn, demands knowledge. America kept its blacks suppressed for centuries by placing limits on their education. We need no such limit today to keep the ruling elite secure with the obscene privileges they hold over common citizens. Television is so fucking stupid and mind numbing that it automatically subtracts at least twenty IQ points, especially targeting children. Try to find something intellectually stimulating in prime time outside of the 'educational' (Grade 8) channels. Good luck. Oh, but you better not watch this. You might lose your job. Ha! Some great democracy. Maybe you should get back to work and blindly obey the commands of whomever has more money than you. If so, don't call yourself a democrat because you're really just a working-class plutocrat devoted to your own destruction at the hands of your masters.
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Top of the Dung Heap

My latest recording effort has stirred some unpleasant memories from the past, telling me that I shared it in 2007. I was both sharing and developing Therapy at the end of my streak in 2007, when I decided to evacuate the internet. The next day I turned on the 'rock' radio and heard the opening chords of my recording playing on the air. Then the music ceased and the guitar playing and authoring was credited to some stranger in the broadcast studio. Does he strum with his thumb too? Because if I tried to catch all those upstrokes with a pic, it would just fly out of my hand. So this character who stole my song Therapy in October or November of 2007 is named 'Rob'. And guess what Rob's job was: he was the boss of all the Nasco production workers. Fine example to look up to. And the indecent behavior of the broadcasters in this affair might also be understood in the context of their superiors. The convicted criminal and former media baron, Conrad Black, for instance, would go out of his way to hire spineless sycophants and would avoid real journalists like the plague. The last thing men like Conrad Black want is for anyone to know the truth - especially when one of his critics gets popular on the web with a hit song. I always write new songs with the hope of burying the past under beautiful new music, but I'm not too disappointed with inadvertently rewriting Therapy. Therapy is too beautiful for the likes of 'Rob' or Nasco or a bunch of corrupt news people. I think that if people are ugly, they should look ugly. And I think if people want to look beautiful, they should try to be beautiful. And these 'stars' that broadcasters lined up for you with my popular music and writing are the most untalented, ugly pack of hateful shits who ever lived. That conmedy creep who tried to take possession of my blogs by banging Tina Fey? He couldn't even write a knock knock joke to save his life. And everyone hailed him as a fucking genius. And bands like the Crystalids have had their chance to prove they could write their own songs. They never deserved such a chance after they deprived me of my chance, but my music made people love them so much that they let them try their luck with their own crappy composition in mid 2010. I think it was called Swan Song. What an added insult to an already horribly violated author. The ugliness of this crime against music and poetry and comedy highlights the true unspeakable face of capitalism. Capitalists spend their whole time on Earth blinding themselves to their ugly greed and heartless acquisitiveness so that they can pretend that their fortunes make them heroes, which is why they are reluctant to let their broadcasting networks openly admit fault in this enormous crime. Capitalist self delusion is a disease in our culture, largely fostered by corporate broadcasters. But I will hold their foul crimes up for everyone to see to my dying day if necessary. I'm surprised that I seem to be the only one who might be interested in preventing this crime from ever happening again to someone like you or to your child.
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Mindy Meek

None of the boys at the coal mine would have guessed that Mindy Meek had a private fetish for being humiliated. (A coal mine. Shovel in hand, a miner stands before his superior.) Miss Meek: What do you think you're doing? Miner: Getting ready to dig, Miss Meek. Miss Meek: Not like that! Get on your knees. Miner: But there's enough room to stand. Miss Meek: Not to make it easier, you goldbrick, to make it harder! She only cheated on her boyfriend Eric to make him punish her. (Eric's apartment.) Eric: This is the last time, Mindy. Pack your bags and get out of this apartment. Mindy: Let me stay and make it up to you. Eric: You can't stay. I've invited Jessica over for dinner. Mindy: So? I can stay and keep you company. Eric: I'm going to sleep with her, Mindy. I'm going to have my way with her right on that couch. Mindy: I can sit on the chair. Eric: Sit on the chair? Why don't you lie at on the rug and lick her feet while I have sex with her? Mindy: Fuck that's hot. Eric: Oh you like that? And maybe you can go out and sleep in the doghouse when you're finished. Mindy: No, that would be going too far. Maybe I should leave. Eric: Wait a minute... Casting a whole new light on grotesque self abasement, she's the one and only Mindy Meek.
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Thelma Addison's Confusion: Getting More Stoned

Hello mellow fellows! Welcome to some more of Thelma Addison's confusion. I'm Thelma Addison. One of the problems I once faced as a chronic user of marijuana incense was the loss to my buzz posed by the hint that I might be more stoned if I inhaled the smoke directly. I ended this crisis with a small electric vacuum pump that forces smoke out through a tube. But ever since, my trips have been haunted by the idea that I could be missing out on being more stoned. A good way to know if you can take more dope is with a blood ring. It's like a mood ring only it measures the concentration of THC instead of natural opiates like dopamine. When it turns green it tells you that you are stoned. You can keep going all the way until it turns black. Another way to increase your intoxication is with the music of a chronic user like the internet's Fuzzy Zithers. Each replay of a song produced by this famous inventor of 'Zithers music' and critic of the broadcasting business causes the listener to role yet more dope in search of enlightenment. But probably the simplest way to get more stoned is just to start using chemicals. It worked for Henry Mancini when he needed music for those mystery/horror productions in the early 70's. I'm an organic person, myself. After all, you've got to draw the line somewhere. That's all for Thelma Addison's confusion today. I'm Thelma Addison.
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Therapy

Closing phase in a maze of invention Meekly stumble backwards to my goal Out of sight, answers barely worth mention if true Banished chances fade in the glare of reality Apparently teasing Spends the days overcoming the chasm Sweetly spinning, blameless to the soul Put upon, she'd let on that she hasn't a clue Flashing glances under a guise of neutrality Drastically balancing Calm awaits in soft new colors Grasping freely at the feeling Climate fine, bodies line the procession Each one seeking wonders to behold Eager for reason's further suppression from view Covered over entirely by make believe Wavering flimsily Perfect answer, want no other Storm abating, sorrows fading Running last, through a barrage of deception Cutting strangers down without exception And at best only guessing the next thing to do Humbly seeking pardon for my impropriety Should I not choose wisely Leading straight to peaceful water Through the hardened fray Pathways plainly lighted Chiming laughter, sharp reminder Of the passage paid Thought I had it so made
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© 2007, 2015. Words and music by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Canadian History with Clarence McPhee: the War of 1812

Good evening, and welcome to Canadian History, the shortest history in history. I'm Clarence McPhee. Few Europeans know much about the War of 1812 fought between Canada and the United States, known to its native American participants as the Great White Wedge. Native tribes under Tecumseh felt most comfortable with the redcoats. America was provoked into the conflict by a British naval blockade against American ships that might be smuggling tobacco and rum to Napoleon's troops in Europe and by the sneaky British tactic of arming native tribes around the Great Lakes with muskets to block the westward expansion of the fledgling republic. America's president, James Madison, was like Napoleon, a short man with something to prove. He didn't like being called a pygmy. So he organized an invasion force and attacked York (now Toronto), burning every cabin in sight and forcing civilians to make do with igloos. In retaliation, British troops invaded the undeveloped US capital of Washington and burned the White House, as well as burning all the stables and chicken coops and barns and outhouses and freeing the slaves. Canada was doing well under General Brock, but then while boldly leading a cavalry charge through the muskeg, he was instantly killed by a Yankee mini-ball through the eye. Laura Secord's famous dash through the forest to share a napkin with the British on which a U.S. General had scrawled while dining on custard is now commemorated by a delicious dessert. The great Tecumseh was killed while trying to stop the white men from massacring each other's women and children. At sea, the United States navy had eight frigates, three brigs, three sloops, and four gunboats. They would have had more but the royal navy kept stealing their ships. They intended to make up for this with hundreds of pirates. Canada had her famous schooner, The Bluenose, while Mad King George had one hundred ships of the line and two hundred frigates. But US frigates had more cannons than the British ones and they put up a good fight. Of the chief naval actions of this conflict, the one most fondly remembered by Americans is the British bombardment of Fort M'Henry, which filled the skies with so much shrapnel that it shredded the flag and inspired Francis Scott Key to turn the popular English drinking song, To Anacreon in Heaven, into the Star-Spangled Banner. Hostilities ceased by 1815. Peace had been declared the year before, with the signing of the Treaty of Ghent, but the trans-Atlantic carrier pigeon flew into a bad storm. Canada gave back Annapolis, Brooklyn, and Lake Michigan in return for American withdrawal from Kingston, Belleville, and over seven hundred of Thousand Islands. Both countries agreed to limit themselves to westward expansion, across native lands, a policy which would be administered in the decades to follow by the Northwest Mounted Police in Canada and by General George Armstrong Custer in the United States. To honour the bravery of native troops, the new territories seized by European settlers would retain the names of the native tribes who formerly occupied them. And that's Canadian History for today. Wherever you're watching, thank you for joining us.
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