Land of Malaise

The Trolls of Maine

2006-01-22T17:28:00.000-05:00

Being a very poor and busy person, I rarely travel, but had the recent good fortune to go to a land called “Kittery, Maine”. I almost didn't come back from Kittery, but that wasn't because it was beautiful, well, it WAS beautiful, but that wasn't why I almost didn't come back. You see, up in that area (right over the border of Maine), there live clans of trolls (that's my name for people who live near the border). Now, being a ranger in D&D, my hatred of trolls cannot be merely confined to gaming sessions, and so I have to “let the bird out of the cage” just as if I were in character (my character and I being one and the same), so when I got there, I let the local trolls know that I'm a BIG troll hunter from good ole Massachusetts and that I don't take no shit from those rubbery jerks. Now, naturally, the trolls don't like this and they start to get antsy, especially when I start going from house to house spreading the word and causing scenes in local businesses. I must say right here that it really burns my ass that they allow them to call the dwellings 'houses' and the trinket collections 'shops'. I mean what the hell, people live in houses and run shops, not trolls. Sure, they might approximate the behavior, but if they started clucking, would we call 'em chickens? Anyway, so I'm giving them a good run, when I start to sense an impending attack. At the time I was cussing out what they call an 'eight year old girl' (I call it a troll-ling) with my finger in her face and her back arched over a picket fence. Damned if I wasn't about to get her to lose her balance and impale herself on that fence when a bunch of the other trolls gathered around and started making threats. Now, I didn't play D&D for all those years and not learn a little something about courage so I stood my ground with my back to them and told them that I would deal with them once I'd had my fill of the sack of shit in front of me. I thought that that would calm them down, you know, waiting turns and all – civilized PEOPLE do that - but not this time. For no reason, they went into a frenzy and charged, wielding rocks, bats, guns and knives. I didn't even know they had the cranial capacity to use firearms... Anyway, I managed to take a few out with my trusty Swiss army knife, but I didn't have any flasks of oil and they kept getting back up. That and their numbers were too strong, so I had to make a tactical withdrawal. I barely escaped back into human territory. Well, actually, barely escaping was my fault. I lost them in some woods and was walking along a road when I came to a lobster place. Being in Maine, I had to stop for one, and while I was eating it, the mob saw me and started chasing again. I shouldn't have gotten a three-pounder because it really slowed me down. A piece of advice - running top speed and getting a lobster tail open isn't easy. Oh, and don't do what I did - leave the melted butter there, it's very hard to keep that little cup from spilling onto your hand and shoes when you're dodging and weaving. Finally, I lost them again, and being close to the border I felt safe, so I went to get a haircut. Unfortunately, as soon as I walked in, there were several members of the mob right there. Apparently, they had decided to rest up and get haircuts as well, and they recognized me right off the bat. Speaking of bats, that's what one of them hurled at the tempting troll target called my head, barely missing me. It crashed through the window and pegged an old troll lady on the sidewalk, knocking her into the street where a troll mobile finished her off. In the excitement, I killed two more trolls with a shard of glass from the window and jumped into the troll mobile, the owner of which was trying in vain to devour what was left of the troll lady I assume. Well, he was reaching under the chassis where she was crushed. Ha! No more boom-boom for her... Anyway, right as I was coming out of the Lil' Peach across the street after getting some smokes for the ride home, I saw that the trolls had organized a motor pool and appeared to be looking for someone. Not thinking that they would recognize me in the troll mobile, I started moseying for the nearest highway exit. Unfortunately for me, they were smarter than I thought and a chase ensued. I was making great time until the bridge separating me from freedom where there was a roadblock of troll enforcers waiting. I was planning on cruising through them when they managed to ram me off the road and into a nearby sewer terminus pipe. Before they could get to my vehicle, I dashed off down the pipe, and underground, getting over the border of Maine. I was free and Maine couldn't touch me! Unable to contain my excitement, I did the package dance right there. But… Then the CHUDS came at me...

The Beast that is Malaise

2006-01-22T16:50:00.000-05:00

People are often plagued by the terrible juxtaposition of their abilities and desire to do something and the seemingly frequent result of nothing actually materializing. It's not because we are weak or cowards or even jerks, as I have often thought myself to be and continue to do so. Rather, there is a less salient factor at work which binds us inimitably to inaction, which, at the very core of this morass is a moral, social and spiritual poison as deadly as any we use to kill insects and protect our luscious corn fields.

Why is this such a deadly poison? Because not only can we not see it, taste it or touch it, we can't even name it. We don't know what it is or why it is, but we certainly see and feel its designs. Twice as deadly is the tendency of this poison to be able to kill in more than one way. Left alone, it will wither the soul. Realized and brought into the light, it causes frustration, anxiety, suffocation and the madness of inescapability.

The tragedy of it though, is that it is a prison for your mind, not your actual life. I'm reminded of Revolution Number 9 – you say that it's the institution, well, you know, why don't you free your mind instead. Yeah, right, think outside the box. When you're in the box, you can't realize being out of it, 'the box' is the set of rules which define the game, or life as the situation may be. This is the insidious waste of time to me. What will make me happy is something I can't define, and if life is just more of this, which is how I perceive it to be... I don't know. And, that's the problem. Uncertainty is like a wet blanket, trapping you, cutting off your air. To make it worse, there's a beast chasing you - time. Time bites at you with regret and claws at you with loss. Realization is the greatest pain God ever inflicted upon man. It is far more destructive to our health and well being than any other force which governs us.

Not even the desire for smoothie comes close, and as all men know, many have lost much in that struggle.

Odd Trends

2005-12-20T15:56:00.000-05:00

It is found, mainly by myself, that we engage in trends which we may otherwise have the sense to avoid, were it not for the machinations of others - namely "loved" ones, family, iron-willed co-workers, basically all of the people who piss on the fire of our souls to extinguish them. (I must comment here that I particularly detest that smell).

For instance, I used to go out with this girl who had some odd habits, but, because I had great affection toward her, I overlooked some things. We always overlook some things and hate others, no? I think the thing that attracted me to her most was that you could always see steam from her breath no matter what climate, season or setting it was. It drew some stares, yeah, but it was freakily cool during love-making - she would be all sweaty and her breath would be coming out and it would be like eighty degrees in the room - it was confusing and awesome. However, that was balanced out by her refusal to ingest any food or drink orally, it all had to come in suppository form. At first I was hesitant and would try to eat regular food around her, but she wouldn't have it, and so I was eventualy won over and began to insert my nutrients through my anus. Otherwise, the relationship was great. That is, until one day, I became constipated.

Thinking the usual modus operedi of taking a fiber laxatixe would work, I popped a few, got a good book and waited for the fireworks. There were fireworks all right. You see, when you reverse the natural order of things - i.e. food goes in mouth, comes out bum - things happen in an unnatural way. Pretty soon, rather than feeling dowward pressure, I started to feel the urgent need to throw up. Assuming the "pray and pay" position above the toilet, what happened next was a slow motion nightmare. With the sound of mayonaise being forced up a pipe, I was horrified as a huge, glistening log of crap began to ooze out of my pie hole. I was literally shitting out of my mouth. And, it didn't happen mercifully, either - I had to bite off the logs and swallow the remainder so I could snatch a quick breath before the next heave of evil. I will admit that I felt much better after, but it was not an experience I wished to repeat. She didn't understand my pleas to return to a normal diet, she said she'd been raised this way, putting food into her bum and puking up logs that would gag a lumberjack. It was basically over after that. There are just some sacrifices you can't make for love.

What!? Something serious?

2005-11-30T19:27:00.000-05:00

I frequently have a strong sense of irritation and wonder at the seemingly new phenommenon of people having a "midlife crisis" in their 20's - well ahead of the age we normally associate with this kind of crap. While for me, this pretty much makes sense because though a mere twenty nine, I have about ten years left at the outside, but for most of the other happy people who will live to be old, why suffer from revelations at thirty? Does it take people this long to figure out we're lied to about the "American Dream(c)" from the time that we're kids? Does everyone even go through it, or is it a reckoning for those who pursue money and ease only to find no meaning in them? I certainly like money, but have not pursued it as a goal, and still find myself in this "crisis", sans the cash. So, what is it, money or meaning? Money has no meaning in and of itself, and dreams ain't worth shit without the capital to get 'em off the ground, so where's the cake and how do I get some... Some people get around this by saying things like "I find meaning where I can" or "the journey is the reward" and maybe this works for them. Hey yeah, you know I'd love it if had a low IQ too, but to put our faith in spurious sayings that bipass the essence of the conflict only does a disservice to ourselves by basically saying 'you know, I'll put off thinking about that one until I'm dead, at which point you can't argue with me any more'. I don't know. Do you?

The Sadness Report

2005-11-22T15:03:00.000-05:00

As the three regular readers of this blog know, I don't post often enough, and frequently neglect mine creation. And so, in conjunction with the boot of life that often uses its pointy heel to moosh my testicles (which, don't get me wrong can be a very erotic experience, but only literally, not when used figuratively), I have decided that this is going to be my final entry. My life, that is to say the real one I have a tenuous grip on at best, has recently taken a turn where I will be building it up from scratch. In an impulse provoked in part by now lost love, I left my lucrative health care job and lost my apartment and possess few of the once vast resources at my disposal. I will continue to post on occasion, but this will be at hill-tv.com rather than here. Though I will not go into the details of the sad details and doubting of my own worth that has my desire to create at an all time low, take heart in the knowlege that LOM will continue, just elsewhere. Perhaps in the future I will update on a regular basis, but that won't be for some time, and it's not fair to keep people hanging on because I'm too much of a turd to buck up and keep going. However, since I started this serial, I will give the shortened version of the end of the Doppleganger story so that we may all have closure: The doppleganger continued on and off to be a miserable bane in my life, teasing and provoking me. He would show up at the mall, throwing stuff at me from the balconies, make fart marks in cake frosting at my friend's birthday parties for which I would be blamed and running up my phone bill with 900 number calls, which he'd have forwarded to my mother. One day, I could stands no more and asked him what his problem was and what he wanted. He basically told me he was after "the sonic jewel", whose powers he needed to suck away manually with his mouth. It bothered me because this was my private name for my, well... privates. Astounded and disgusted by the fact that my own reflection was insisting it wanted to suck me off, I demanded to know from whence he came and why such powers were bothering to interfere in the life of an otherwise normal and upstanding citizen. What he told me really "let my bird out of the cage" as the saying goes. Apparently, having caused a space-time rift with the completely indecent act I committed, I inadvertently exposed a deep truth about the condition of humanity and he was sent as the servant of higher powers as the consequence of that action. It was learned that day that the deepest desire of all people was to have a profound homosexual experience with themselves. This doesn't mean that all people are inherently homosexual, just that given the chance, most people wonder what it would be like to be fucked by themselves. Even if they won't admit it, it's true, and I guess it would be "profound" because who would know better what you like than yourself? How can I fix this? I asked him, and so, he told me. I think you know what he said, and though I didn't agree with it, the fact that the rift is contained and everything is alright speaks for itself. What a life this is, so full of wonder and socially awkward paranormal phenomenon... Well, I hope you have enjoyed, but for now, I must away. Thank you for your kind attention to an obviously disordered mind and I shall be back in the future, but for now I bid adieu. "There is a destiny which shapes our ends, rough-hew though it may be"

Doppelganger - Part the Second

2005-10-18T17:50:00.000-05:00

“Am I seeing this”? I gasped, not realizing I was thinking aloud. “Oh yeah there, pancake, you know I’m real” came the eerie response. Now you may wonder why I’d describe this response as “eerie”. Well, for one, I was getting a rude, but conversational response from a mirror while sitting in the dark, and secondly, it was [eerily enough] my own voice, with perhaps a slight overtone of trying to sound spooky. For the moment, I played slug and did nothing. The silence pierced my ears like knives, and time seemed to pass so slowly I distinctly felt my heart beat backward. “Oh, for god sake, just look” he said, annoyed. When he broke the silence, I jumped so hard I had to clinch my ass because a very curious turtle wanted to see what was going on. You know the saying “I almost crapped my pants”? Well, this was the real thing. There’s a saying I live by – Don’t be afraid of cowboys, be a cowboy. I didn’t have any chewing tobacco in my mouth oddly enough at the time, but I did have some cheese-its that had been sitting in there since this ordeal had started, and they’d become a pretty good consistency. I gave a good old tough guy tobacco spit, which of course looked like a tracer round, and turned nonchalantly toward the mirror. I saw a silhouette that looked like me, but the posture was a bit off. “Oh stop it” he hissed, “turn on the light... or, should I”? I scrambled with the lamp cord next to me, but my fingers fumbled as if the dentist had been at them with his needle. Finally, gaining purchase, I yanked the cord so hard it broke off, the light blared on, the shade going askew and throwing light at bizarre angles, and basically just not helping to make the situation any less creepy. And there he was. What I saw indeed looked as though it were a perfect match of me, save for the fact that he had a pig nose. I don’t mean a little bit turned up like a snotty kid nose, but a really obvious huge pig nose. It was sick, it had big zits all over it and everything. That and his eyes looked like huge blackheads, and every time he breathed, they’d pop in and out just a little bit. It was like he had macaroons for eyes. I tried to think back to Sunday school for some clue to a way out of this, but they never let us talk about the good stuff. A loud tapping of glass snapped my attention to my left, and there he was, in the reflection of the glass of a large picture of my mother. His face was slightly transparent over hers. “Ooh, Mr., ooh, come here and give me a nice wet lickity kiss” he said in a crummy, mocking tone, licking his lips and making kissie-poo noises. “Leave her out of this” I shouted, batting the picture aside. It smashed through the window, flying into the night.

The Errant Cow

2005-09-13T16:32:00.000-05:00

I was walking down the hall at work today when a sight I do not normally spy attracted my atention. I seems as though a local cow had wandered into the building and was causing some havoc, turning over linen carts, leaving fart splatters on important papers, chewing people's balls - basically all of the things cows are not supposed to be doing. I thought "wow, how did this brown cow make her way in here and start wrecking up the place without attracting any attention"? Then I noticed that this cow was no ordinary dairy heiffer. This one had a jewel in her head from which she was shooting beams of green light. Normally, light isn't that scary (save for maybe when laser beams are coming your way), in fact, many people find it comforting, or mood-enhancing or make black light posters look wicked. This light was different, though. It seemed to either be causing explosive, bloody diarrhea in everyone it touched (which I gathered was fatal) or it levitated money out of people's wallets once they were incapacitated. Now I was majorly confused. What the hell was up with this cow and what did it want with money? Since I had just gotten paid, I was determined that this gastropod wasn't getting my hard earned cash. I needed that money to buy candy and bullets. Ducking behind a corner, I desperately searched for a weapon to use against this cow of doom. Spying a whip lying on a dinner table, I snatched it up just in time to turn and come face to face with the cow. Now, it is a well known fact that cows can smell fear, or, they can cause fear and then smell it, which in either case makes them nuts for blood, particularly armpit blood. Not wishing for the cow to eat my armpits, which were slatherd with rather expensive old spice, I cried out, "spare me, I'm Irish". This caused the cow to pause, as it's pretty obvious I'm not Irish but French. As I raised the whip to strike at its soft, dewey eyes, hoping to maim them, I was taken aback by a deep and somehow soothing voice that was uttered from the cow's thick, satisfying lips. "You lied to me" she said. Suddenly, eveything seemed to be bathed in soft light, like an Eliabeth Taylor commercial. "And so you must perish as all of the others have, for you see, I am the lamb of God sent to punish the wicked." "Punish the wicked"!? I stammered, but I work in a hospital and help the sick, how can I be a wicked person"? "Oh-ho" said the cow, "that means you're wicked cool and so being thusly wicked, must fall before my green spook-o light, whence the diarrhea will take you." Putting up my hands I implored "please, at least let me show you my one redeeming project that may at least grant me some clemency in the terrible void in which I am about to be tossed." "Very well" said, the cow, "but any trickery shall earn you a most gruesome violation before you die." That kind of confused me because I wondered how a cow could violate a human. Don't get me wrong, I've thought of it before, but this situation had me all shaken up and so nothing really came to mind. Under the watchful eye of the death cow, I led her to my office, hoping to play the only card I had left. Unbeknownst to her, during my lunch breaks I'd been working on millions of tiny but vicious mechanical sharks no bigger than a skin cell, which I kept in a jar on my desk for just such an occasion. We entered and I told her "you see, I have always had a fascination with the very most ambrosial aromas that can be experienced, so that I may find the height of sensation, thus bringing me closer to god." Here", I said, opening the jar of what appeared to be innocuous gray dust "I'm sure you'll find the experience most invigorating." The cow sniffed deeply, drawing some dust into her nose. "I smell nothing knave" she spat, and you shall suffer. "No, no no" I protested, you must not have smelled enough, here, try again." Again the cow breathed the dust deeply. "Now you're just pissing me off" she hissed, pointing a hoof at me. Before she could take a step, a look of absolute horror and utter confusion swept over her face. I can't even imagine what those little sharks were doing, but it probably didn't feel too good. She opened her mouth to say something, but a gush of blood cut off her cries in a gurgling scream. I smiled and crossed my arms as I watched her turn gray and then fall to dust. Then I picked up the phone and called housekeeping to bring up a broom and dustpan. Once she was all cleaned up, I went home to get ready for a date with a beautiful senora I'd met a few days before.

The Doppelganger, Part the First

2005-08-24T14:01:00.000-05:00

Everyone has problems. Some people are stupid. Some are fat. Others are just a waste of space and resources. I have a different problem, though.

I have a doppelganger.

How, oh how, though, did you get this evil hanger on, you say? Well, the short answer, is “I made a big god damned mistake”, while the long answer, in three parts, begins as follows:

One time I was sitting at my couch, watching TV and I was engaged in a “self-examination” I believe that everyone who has one does, but does not talk about – namely searching out, examining and popping acne deposits on my scrotum. Now, the act is, in and of itself, due to lack of willingness to acknowledge it, an act which does not technically exist, as it is one which is certainly never, ever allowed to be seen firsthand.

These are all of the happily secret habits of people committed only when one is alone and certainly out of the sight of others, basking in the total security of immunity from detection. We all do them, whether we care to admit it or not. Even a partial list is far outside the scope of this discussion. It makes me happy though. It reminds me we are a beautiful dichotomy of parts – a mind capable of such exquisite feats of intuition and creativity, made up of such a brutish, base menu of cheerily animalistic organic components with their own symphony depravity.

None the less, this act, while out of the sight of others (save for perhaps an undetected, very determined passer-by), was executed in front of a mirror. Now, it is a little known scientific fact that when things which do not technically exist occur within the gaze of a mirror, they create a sink of energy which may bend space itself, allowing planes of existence to touch, sometimes in a whispering kiss, other times with the crash of galaxies. Mirrors are a pretty big responsibility, more than many people realize. Why do you think the penalty for breaking one is seven years? That’s a mighty stiff fine for a moment of clumsiness. For god’s sake, it’s like handing out A-Bombs to chimps.

But I digress. The dwelling (my hip, private apartments) shook as though a train passed close by, and green, really Crayola green lightening flashed in the windows. It was eerily quiet. I laughed because I thought it was a sign on good luck, and smiled, expecting to see some really cool and personally rewarding phenomenon. A lot of merchandise from China is green, and everything there seems associated with good luck, so I had no reason to believe this green signaled otherwise. As I looked about disappointedly, I realized that in the corner of my eye, I could see my reflection in the mirror was not moving. That was not cool.

The Terrible Accident

2005-07-15T18:27:00.000-05:00

Have you ever borrowed some one else’s pants and then had a terrible accident in them? This happened to me recently with a pair of my father's pants. I was going out for the night a few weeks ago and all of the pants I had were either for work or really weren’t up to snuff for the night life, so, while he was out, I snatched his snazzy leather pair from the laundry hamper and trotted off thinking that I’d just wash and return them the next day. Like many things that seem like a good idea at the time, this thinking was to prove to be incorrect. You see, I'm a bit bigger than he is, and while I looked mouth-watering, his pants squeezed and pinched me like an ill-fitting boot. Even more unfortunately, the past time in which I was about to engage was none other than rumba dancing, that ass shaking, super splits, salsa-esque form of recreation that requires at least a modicum of comfort, stretch and flow in the clothing. Being that Spanish culture was the theme for the evening, we started out with burritos and beans at a local ristaurante washed down with copious amount of Tequila. The fare was delicious, but it would later prove to be disastrous. A bit later saw us at the Club del Marco where we hit the dance floor with the type of vengeance normally reserved for acts of hate and destruction. We shook and bent and slithered about madly, all the while, the juices of the liquor and beans building into an internal crescendo of whose revolting consequences I would soon be made horridly aware. Just as I bent a lovely senora over my knee and let her feel the heat of passion on my lips, before they could touch, the zipper on the pants failed and opened a chasm in my crotch, exposing the tighty whities beneath. Against the black leather it looked as though I had an enormous, milky eye between my legs, but this was for the barest instant as the button, which could no longer bear the strain, popped off like a champagne cork and struck the senora directly between her own legs. She screamed, turning away as a small spot of blood appeared right where her privates were. As if that weren’t embarrassing enough, before I could take even the smallest step, I felt a rumbling that brought my pupils to pinpoints – they were baaack! Like a dam bursting forth with its sluice of water and chunks to consume all in its path, the beans did a reappearing act, showering out of the back of my pants, which were tight enough that the stream came out in an arc so wide and high it looked as though I had a glistening brown fan fluttering behind me. The shit literally hit the fan at this point, sending coffee colored rain into drinks and open, laughing mouths (soon to laugh no more). Burning with shame, and realizing I’d probably wounded the senora in such a way that she would never again know the pleasures of a normal orgasm, I ran from the club pushing aside the excrement dotted onlookers who’d gathered around the spectacle unfolding on the dance floor. Now, I hadn’t brought my car (we’d taken the bus – the senora was very environmentally conscious), so I was forced to wait for the next public conveyance with my crotch hanging asunder and smelling of a Frenchman. What happened on the bus is a blur, though I know there was quit a bit of pushing and shouting involved, and I think I was on the ceiling at one point, but eventually I made it back home. Deciding that if he couldn’t censure anyone for this crime if he didn’t know who had committed it, I simply hung the pants back up in the closet dripping as they were, thinking that he’d most likely blame my mother anyway. Now you’d think that that would be the end of the story but then you don’t know my father… Not too long after the “incident” my father came into the kitchen and loudly insisted that we all go out to dinner together. A few minutes later when we’d all assembled and were ready to depart, we saw my father coming down the stairs - wearing the stinking, encrusted pants as if nothing were amiss. As he descended he boasted about how much he loved these pants and that he wouldn’t think of going until we’d all tried them on and done a little dance in them, each in turn. I was horrified, as was my stunned family who stood with mouths agape, but perhaps to assuage myself of suspicion, I boldly stepped forward and shouted that if anyone were to be forced into such a situation, I would be the first to volunteer. Smiling maliciously with his green teeth and crossed eyes (yeah! Green teeth! Amazingly I’d never noticed just how ugly he was before) he slowly peeled the pants off with a crunching sound and handed them to me. They sat warm and heavy in my hands for what seemed like an eternity before I looked up. At this point, I noticed he wasn’t wearing any underwear. His fat piece had been rubbing up against the inside of the pants the entire time! Before anyone could react, I dropped them and in one smooth motion I’d learned at the local karate studio, darted forth and snatched his penis right from his body, balls and all. He looked at me with sickened amazement for a second before sliding to the floor as massive blood loss overtook him. Everything was deathly quiet, time didn’t seem to pass at all, no one moved or breathed, not even the clock ticked... Then my mother screamed, so I backhanded her.

The Invisible Threat

2005-07-13T11:38:00.000-05:00

You must remember that there are ghosts around us all the time, watching us while we eat, while we sleep, while we drive in our autos – all the time. What they want varies from ghost to ghost. Some are just curious and want to see what’s up. Others want us to consume endless amounts of refined sugar (it has been estimated that ghosts comprise the leading cause of the obesity epidemic in this country), and yet others want us to do myriad things like spend too much money, waste electricity, pass gas in someone’s face, make glib remarks and speed. They are a powerful force indeed. Oscar Wilde once said “I can resist anything but temptation”, a brilliant recipe for dispelling the powers of ghosts (actually it is a little known fact that he was one of the greatest ghost fighters of his day and the inspriation for the film "ghostbusters"). Have you ever noticed that people tend to have many bad habits when they are young, and then “chill out” as they get older? Why is this? It’s because they are following the simplest rule of trickery – by giving in to the ideas and temptations ghosts are putting in their heads, the ghosts lose interest and leave the person alone, thus freeing the intellect from their depredations. People “lose interest” with time not because they are tired of an action, but because the ghost making them perform that action has. It’s simple math:

People – Ghosts = What ever you’d want to do if ghosts weren’t bugging you all the time

Now, you may say: “but what if I’m doing something and it’s not a ghost, but me who wants to do it”? I’d answer something like this: “That sounds suspiciously like ‘creepy ghost talk’ to me. Listen, put down your bong and your Ouija board and face the facts. Ghosts will be an invisible part of our lives until proper legislation is passed. Get involved. Call your senator. Your representative. Ask them what they are doing to protect you and your family from the influences of spooky ghosts.” Just try this simple action. I think you may be surprised by the results!

Paid for by the Council for a Ghost Free America

Inescapable Truth

2005-07-12T14:51:00.000-05:00

One may ask that with that ails this world, why would someone intentionally go out and add yet another seemingly depressing site to an already bloated media, crammed with degenerate sex and endless commercial lures? Because my dear friends, I have taken it upon myself to become an agent of truth. We believe what an insidious higher social and political order wishes for us to believe. We base our identities on mutable principles and shifting philosophies. And, much like the frail human body that cannot exist in the brutal reaches of space, nor can the human mind exist outside of necessary ideological constructs. We suck eagerly at the teat of lies keeping us comfortable and safe, we suck at them until the tit turns purple and prunes, unable to keep up with the pace of our ravenous appetites. This rapacious engorgement has led to an inevitable decline in the quality and believability of certain common lies as well as the decreasing potency of the mass opiate known as “Hollywood”, allowing pieces of the sinister understructure to poke through. People have always had a fascination with the idea of being controlled in such a way that we don’t even know we are being so led. Many brave and hardy souls have lain the ultimate sacrifice on the altar of truth in search of the source of this fascination, but every time they have produced something of merit, they are either conveniently “disappeared” or are slain in highly suspicious “accidents”. A good example of this is the movie “They Live”. Did you know that this was no science fiction romp but a true story? That’s right. The proof is in the construction of the film.

Consider: Why is it that parts of the movie are out of synch or seem disjointed? The movie was not shot as an entertainment piece, but as a documentary, with many sequences actually consisting of stock footage. Why are there so many scenes of Roddy Piper where he doesn’t even seem to be trying to act? Again, this movie was a documentary filled in with later studio-shot footage to fill in any gaps and paint a more complete picture as a vehicle of truth. Roddy didn’t seem to act because what he was going through was real! Every moment of terror, every realization that something was amiss was being captured with a live camera. Do you think someone would let their car window get smashed? I don’t think so. That guy was pissed, and that was a real fight. Oh come on, I’ve seen Roddy Piper in other movies, how could he do that if this one was real? And what about the director and crew? No, you “come on”, jerk. Every film Mr. Piper starred in was completed before T.L. aired. Ask yourself, do you see him in any films or shows anymore? No way. He’s already been recycled into breakfast cereal. As for the crew, according to the police report, they were all found in a mutilated state. One detective was quoted as saying “it looked as though they were turned inside out”. Apparently no autopsy was performed because the coroner’s truck was mistakenly rerouted to a pepperoni factory and they were never seen again. Unless you think there was a runaway thresher on the loose that night (highly unlikely), the culprits are fairly obvious. So much for your point of view.

When I found this information out, I slept with a crucifix for weeks. Then I remembered aliens aren’t afraid of crucifixes, except for those ones that shoot acid. But then, I suppose everyone would be afraid of an acid-shooting crucifix…