The Peace Moonbeam Chronicles

May 9, 2008

Berkeley, California

Being around Scooter has become increasingly difficult since he's thrown his support behind that crabby old conservative, John McCain. Pepe and I have spent hours trying to reason with Scooter, explaining how McCain won't retreat from Iraq, raise taxes, give us free health care, etc. While agreeing this is probably true, Scooter claims the angry old albino is still better than either a "serial liar or racist ex-crack addict who wants to change things but won't say what things or how he's going to change them." Obviously, Scooter's been listening to too much talk radio.

Pepe and I planned to take him to the park for a Code Pink antiwar protest, figuring the protesters would be a positive influence and hopefully re-ignite Scooter's deep-seated hatred for the war and the conservatives that started it. Pepe picked me up at my place, then we headed to Scooter's squalid rental house. Upon arriving, both of us were amazed that Scooter had actually done some painting, picked up most of the beer cans and larger pieces of garbage, and even mowed the few patches of weeds and crabgrass he calls a yard. It almost looked respectable except for the gaggle of "McCain for President" signs in the front yard and the huge new flag waving from a piece of pipe he had duct-taped to the side of his house.

Not wanting to be seen anywhere close to the signs, Pepe honked the horn to alert the conservative pinhead to our presence. What happened next was like something out of an old "Twilight Zone": Scooter came through the front door wearing a suit and tie(!), and as bizarre as that was, it was his ghostly pale complexion and short, white hair that prompted Pepe to scream something in Spanish, throw the car into gear and step on the gas, leaving Scooter in a cloud of acrid blue smoke. With his usual dramatic flair, Scooter had transformed himself into a retarded parody of his candidate and idol, John McCain! In an effort to get his image out of our heads, we went back to my place and drank the rest of the afternoon.

Pepe is too scared to go back, so it's going to be up to me to somehow deprogram Scooter before he joins a country club, or something worse.

May 2, 2008

Berkeley, California

Something strange happened the other day. Scooter and I were hanging out at Pepe's place, doing some mushrooms and tequila while celebrating the absolute certainty that there will soon be a Democrat in the White House. Pepe had CNN on and we were watching Barack Hussein reply to the latest wacko statements made by his ex-minister. In rebuking the man Obama had recently referred to as a "father figure," Barack not only threw Dad under the bus, but backed over him repeatedly until all that remained was a putrid stain on the pavement. I thought this was a good move by Hussein, but Scooter evidently thought otherwise.

Obviously still pissed-off over Barack's firing him, a drunken Scooter angrily dismissed Obama's actions and said he hoped Hillary would "club him like a baby seal." This prompted an even-drunker Pepe to proclaim that "only a fool would think that a lying phony with huge calves like Hillary would ever deserve to be elected President." Over the next hour, these two pinnacles of political intelligence argued over which of their two candidates were the phoniest and most dishonest. Finally I had to diffuse the situation, as Scooter and Pepe were getting pretty worked up.

"At least either of them is better than some cranky old albino war hero whose only claim to fame is he's an honest centrist," I said, laughing. Pedro murmured in agreement, but Scooter just stared off in the distance, like he was in a trance or something. "Scoots," I said, "what's the matter?" He finally turned to me, and with tears welling in his bloodshot eyes blurted out, "I CAN"T DO IT, I HATE BOTH OF THESE FREAKING BOZOS! I'm...I'm voting for the albino..." He got up and left Pedro and I staring at each other in numb disbelief.

Later when I went by Scooter's place to see if he'd sobered up yet, I noticed he'd put a McCain sticker over the Hillary sticker he'd put over the Obama sticker. This was serious. I went home to think about what I could do to rescue my friend.

April 25, 2008

Yonkers, New York

OK, this was a weird week.

Scooter was totally despondent over being recently fired by Senator Obama. Drinking wine coolers like they were water, he became so obnoxious and surly I was ready to knock the snot out of him. At Cracker Barrel the other night he knocked an old lady into the ceramic cookie jars as he tried to get in front of her. When she protested, he smacked her across the face with one of those big strips of taffy, and got both of us ejected.

I decided the best thing for him to do was channel that negative energy into some positive protest, and as luck would have it, one of the most radical conservatives in the whole world had just arrived in New York - Pope Benedict XVI. We were off to Yonkers where we planned to picket the Pontiff at a big prayer bash/youth rally at St. Joseph Seminary.

We arrived early to get a good place on the sidewalk, and set up our pro-choice and pro-gay marriage signs. While we waited for the Pope to arrive, Scooter drank heavily and shouted anti-Pope slogans while I took a nap. Pretty soon the place was jammed with a bunch of hyperactive well-groomed Catholic kids and a bunch of news reporters.

Finally, at around 4:15 about a zillion police motorcycles roared up, followed by the glorified parade float that is the "Pope-mobile." As the Pope and his bodyguards came through the crowd, an extremely drunken Scooter hopped around and screamed like a maniac. Suddenly, in the midst of his profanity-laced rant, Scooter gagged a couple times then spewed like a pink volcano, finally collapsing in a fetid heap at the Pontiff's satin slippers.

What happened next was the weird part: the Pope pushed aside his bodyguards, fell to his knees next to Scooter, and placing his crucifix on Scooter's forehead, started chanting some Latin gibberish. Good grief, he thought Scooter was possessed! After thinking about it for a second I realized the old guy might be on to something. After several minutes of pious exhortations, Scooter slowly blinked open his eyes, looked up at the Pope with a sedate smile, then kicked the Pontiff in the nuts with both feet! Yikes!

Needless to say, the Pope's bodyguards beat Scooter unmercifully, then turned him over to the Yonkers police who continued to pound him with a spirited fervor usually reserved for pedophiles and mass murderers. Scooter's bail was set at $500K, and the whole story was stifled at the request of the Vatican.

All in all, we've maybe had more effective protests, but few this dramatic. It was a good day.

April 18, 2008

Somewhere in Pennsylvania

Wow, what a week! Who would guess everyone would go so crazy over Senator Obama's comments about the middle class "clinging to religion and guns" in their bitterness over the economy? I suppose the answer to that question would be "everybody." Even a retarded yak knows you don't diss the average hick American's guns or God, but what can I say, for all his charisma and charm, Barack Hussein basically has the IQ of a piece of toast. Fortunately, one only has to look at George Bush to see that intelligence isn't an absolute prerequisite to be President of the United States.

Our group quickly mobilized to shunt the negative effects of our candidate's well-meaning-but-moronic comments. The first thing I did was bring in my longtime friend and assistant, Scooter Van Neuter. Scooter's job was to put together a small town meeting in rural Pennsylvania where Senator Pinhead could interact in a folksy way with regular middle class Americans, thus showing he wasn't a foreign-born, Harvard educated, blue-blooded elitist politician.

Last night the Senator and I arrived at the town hall in Frackville, Pennsylvania. Scooter had done a good job selecting this little backwater dirthole and also notifying the press - you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting a reporter. We entered through the back door and Scooter took the Senator into the bathroom for makeup and a change of wardrobe. I went into the meeting room and took a seat.

Once my eyes adjusted to the glaring news lights, I about wet myself: The small group of townspeople Scooter had rounded up appeared to be illegal immigrants and transients! Most were holding Bibles, wearing guns, and all were dressed like they just stepped out of Hee Haw. Holy Moses smell the roses! When Senator Obama made his entrance wearing nothing but overalls, an NRA cap, and a huge rhinestone-studded crucifix, I almost barfed. While I understand the symbolism Scooter was going for, the outfit pretty much made Obama look like a hillbilly pimp, if there could be such a thing. Everything went downhill from there.

Thankfully, the meeting lasted just ten minutes, as only two "townspeople" could speak English and they were both drunk and belligerent. Senator Hayseed gave a quick speech about his childhood "growing up in the country," where his only companions were "My trusty six-shooter and Jesus Christ." The whole thing was a freaking disaster and we got the hell out of there as fast as possible. Just outside of town Hussein fired Scooter and me, then left us on the side of the road holding five dollars and an NRA cap.

Frankly I guess we shouldn't complain, we signed on for "change" and walked away with folding money, which is more than we'd probably get from a Republican.

April 11, 2008

Chicago, Illinois

I have to say, it's nice being back to work! I owe Senator Barack Obama a huge debt of gratitude for putting me on his staff as his personal assistant - I'm incredibly jazzed!

At first I was unsure which Democratic candidate I was going to support. Being an ardent feminist, my obvious choice was Senator Clinton as she's a little more like a female than Obama, but Barack's vague similarity to an Afro-American trumped that, what with all the white guilt I rightfully carry. Plus I really like the idea of "change" and a "new tomorrow," and "uniting the country," and other upbeat stuff he says that makes me feel good. Sayings like that clearly illustrate he's the most qualified candidate to lead this country through troubled times, and on top of that he's got a beautiful smile!

My first day on the job with Senator Obama was last Sunday, when I accompanied him and his bitchy wife to their quaint South Side Chicago church. The Obamas, like myself, don't much care for the old-time judgmental Jesus, but are just crazy about the new enlightened Black Jesus who loves abortion but hates America, especially ruthless slave masters like George Bush. Amen to that!

Even though I was the only white individual in the church, I felt right at home except for the comments of "Kill whitey" and "Whitey must die," etc. (I don't hold that against the minister, he was just making a sermon point). The only real negative thing was the incident in the ladies room where at knifepoint I was force to give "reparations" consisting of my purse, watch, and shoes. Oh well, at least now I feel like I've done my part to undo the injustice of slavery :)

All in all, I think the service brought me closer to God, but also pretty much made me hate myself. I don't think I'll go again.

Next time: Report from the campaign trail.

February 10, 2007

Berkeley, California

Signs that the Bush administration has made this a not-so-kinder and gentler nation is evidenced by the recent arrest of NASA astronaut Navy Captain Lisa Nowak for attempted kidnap and murder. No administration has ever produced killer astronauts with the possible exception of Herbert Hoover's, but I'm not totally sure about that.

Anyway, so the story is this Capt. Nowak drove halfway across the country to Florida, wearing a diaper so she wouldn't have to stop(!), with the intention of kidnapping and possibly killing this other skinny chick who had been eyeballing this hunky astronaut fly-boy that Nowak apparently had the hots for. Talk about "Days of Our Lives!" Anyway, she wasn't successful and got arrested, charged with multiple felonies, and then released wearing some kind of GPS tracking thing. You think that's weird? What comes next makes that seem tame.

Just two days later back in Florida, famous celebrity Anna Nicole Smith, America's premier space cadet, is suddenly found dead in her hotel room. Capt. Nowak is nowhere to be seen, and the connection is simply too obvious to overlook. Speculation is that the gravity of Ms. Smith's enormous breasts possibly pulling in astronauts from the nearby space center simply made her too much of a threat in Capt. Nowak's mind, and you can figure out the rest.

What turns a decorated female astronaut into a killer? What makes a traveling killer astronaut wear diapers? What makes a diaper-wearing female killer astronaut kill other women who attract astronauts? The questions are nearly endless, but the fact remains: a space cadet is dead, the world waits for answers, and astronaut Nowak, wherever she is, isn't talking.

January 11, 2007

Berkeley, California

Even as an activist child of the 60s, I've never seen our country so divided over a war. Even with the other countless outside dangers facing our country, we are being held captive by a conflict that most of us didn't ask for, and are seemingly now helpless to stop. The worst part of this whole thing is that even after all this fighting, the end is still nowhere in sight. I personally worry that there will be no end, just bleak never-ending headlines every morning and ever-increasing numbers of Americans dividing into ever-distancing camps of opinion. Is there any hope for an end to this war between Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump?

Similar to Bush's merciless invasion of Iraq just because of years of UN resolutions violations, mass rapes, gassings, torture, etc., Trump stormed Rosie's ample shores over her insignificant remark impugning his lack of morality. Trump's response characterizing Rosie as a loser and hideously ugly, fat foul-mouthed dyke, although true, was not only terribly insensitive, but also an affront to fat ugly dykes everywhere.

It's not hard to see who's good and who's bad in this conflict:

• Rosie O'Donnell - hard-working, slender and beauty-challenged oppressed liberal butch lesbian mother just trying to make it in the world.
• Donald Trump - Disgustingly wealthy capitalist who rides around in a big polluting limo with his trophy wife bedecked in fur. Obviously attained his riches on the backs of the poor and disadvantaged. Has freakish gold hair featuring waves that have no apparent beginning or end.

With Scooter's leaving, I've reached out to Sunshine in an effort to put our past differences behind us, and fortunately she has agreed to come back as my assistant. As it turns out, she is a close personal friend of Rosie, and sent her a letter of support and a gigantic cheese cake from us to say, "We women and women-like beings need to stand up to the Donald Trumps of this world, and not go hungry while doing so."

I don't know how this battle is going to end, but I'm hoping that now the Democrats are back in power, maybe Nancy Pelosi can enact some powerful legislation to tax rich lesbian-hating dorks like Trump out of existence. We'll see who has the power then.

December 15, 2006

Berkeley, California

This week Scooter called to tell me he had gotten a temporary job through his cousin Ronnie, who is GM over at Westpark Mall. Because the regular mall Santa had come down with the flu, they desperately needed a stand-in. Scooter begged Ronnie for the job, even to the point of making a big scene in his office, crying and threatening to kill himself, until Ronnie finally relented. Scooter told me he was determined to bring a new degree of dramatic realism to the Santa Claus character. He was also excited by the prospects of scoring with some hot single moms. The fact he absolutely hates kids didn't seem to dampen his enthusiasm for the gig.

I have to admit Scooter really worked hard preparing for this job. Whereas most people would be satisfied with just being able to Ho Ho and merely look like Santa, Scooter decided to "go deep" into this character, and in his words, "Peel away the veneer of this jolly, yet tortured soul who drives midget slaves to manufacture luxury goods in a remote hidden sweatshop." Cool. He reasoned that in order to supply all the world's children with toys in just twelve months, Santa would have to be on stimulants, sleep deprived, and mercilessly driving his elves. It stood to reason the real St. Nick would have to be skinny, high-strung, and mean. Scooter felt his "edgy" Claus would be the perfect vehicle to showcase his dramatic acting skills, and hopefully get him some chicks.

I was at Westpark Mall last Tuesday when Scooter/Santa made his entrance. While the kids didn't seem too concerned, several parents were noticeably taken aback by Santa's gaunt appearance and hyperactive mannerisms. I felt Scooter's insistence that his "elves" wear leg irons to highlight their forced servitude was a little over the top, but that's just me. On a positive note, his politically correct costume featured a turban and Orthodox Jewish hair and beard. Finally a Santa for all people!

It was fascinating watching Scooter dramatically plumb the depths of this character as he maniacally coddled the children then berated them, all the time screaming at the elves to build more toys, while continuously popping diet pills and chocolate-covered espresso beans. The fun all came to an end when a terrified two-year-old peed all over Santa's lap, causing jolly old St. Nick to cut loose with a stream of profanities and jumped up so fast he flung the little rug rat over the velvet ropes and into the Hickory Farm's sausage display! In the ensuing fracas, Scooter took out the kid's charging 250-pound mom, two mall security guards, and cousin Ronnie with a six-foot fiberglass candy cane, before finally being dropped by an elf's two-fisted uppercut to the nuts. Wow!

Fortunately for Scooter, he was charged only with simple battery, but his cousin Ronnie was fired, and no doubt the mall will be sued for millions. In retrospect, I guess Scooter probably took the character too far. Just the same, I'm proud of his attempt to strip away the fantasy surrounding this workaholic midget slave-master. Scooter said it was the best job he's ever had, and easily the happiest 14 minutes of his life.

December 8, 2006

San Diego, California

There was recently an incident that illuminated the inhumane treatment of innocent creatures at one of the country's leading theme parks, Sea World. It seems that a captive killer whale at the San Diego park named "Kasatka" had pulled one of its trainers underwater during a performance in an apparent cry for help. It must also be noted that Kasatka had bitten other trainers before, further pointing to the obvious effects of abusive treatment suffered by the fish/mammal/whatever-it-is. Scooter and I knew we had to help this poor thing before it went crazy and killed everyone in San Diego.

Our first order of business was to settle an argument concerning the correct name of this fish. Scooter insisted this type of whale is called an Orc, but I know for a fact an Orc is one of the creatures in the video game "Warcraft." I was calling it an Oreck, but Scooter correctly pointed out that an Oreck is a brand of vacuum cleaner. Ultimately, we settled on "whale" or "mammal/fish."

After considering the logistics, we decided against rescuing Kasatka, as we probably couldn't get it into Scooter's Suburban, and even if we could, knew there weren't enough of those little hanging pine tree air fresheners in the world to mask the fishy smell that would be left behind. Our only option was to somehow comfort the beast and give it the means to cope with its situation. After reflecting on his own struggles with depression, Scooter came up with a plan that was realistic and certain to work: we would utilize the wonders of modern medicine, and give Kasatka and friends a low-level dose of Ritalin so they could successfully cope with the rigors of theme park life. I can personally vouch for what this wonderful drug has done for Scoots, why does a whalefish deserve less?

Our friend Pepe was able to use some of his connections south of the border to get us 900 pounds of generic Ritalin and some dynamite fresh herb. We smoked the herb as we loaded the bags of pills into the Suburban, then headed for Sea World. Once there we donned fake "fish trainer" outfits we had made and dumped the pills into carts Scooter had labeled, "Big fish food." A security guard waved us through the rear service entrance and we made our way unhindered to the main complex of giant pools.

Under the watchful eye of the clueless security guard we shoveled the "food" into the water, then returned to the truck for another load. In only 30 minutes we distributed all 900 pounds of pills into the several large pools. Allowing for dilution, I scientifically calculated this whale dose was approximately equivalent to a human taking two pills every day. The neat thing was that since the mammal/fish can't leave the water, they would get this constant supply of happiness for days or even months. You could almost feel the calm fall over this cruel facility as the pills dissolved into the depths.

Just as we were leaving, something big broke the surface of the water, a loving Kasatka had come up to thank us! Scooter crouched down by the edge of the pool and reached out his arm to pet the gentle leviathan. Suddenly the overgrown carp lurched out of the water and clamped onto Scooter's hand like a bear trap! Scooter's high-pitched screams of, "GET THIS M/F OFF ME!!" echoed through the night as I grabbed my shovel and started tomahawking the bloodthirsty bundle of blubber like a Comanche on crack. Finally Kasatka released Scooter's bloody hand, then slowly rolled upside down like a capsized tuna boat. HOLY OVERDOSE! As I noticed several other whales bobbing to the surface tits-up, I reflected on how I was never very good at mathematics and measuring. I snapped out of it and noticed Scooter had grabbed his shovel and was beating the comatose whale in the general area where he figured its nuts were. I pulled Scoots away toward the exit and we fled the scene.

Thankfully, all the fish didn't die, just some of them. The good news is that Kasatka survived and now seems very relaxed in its environment, hardly moving at all. Thank God we were able to help this poor creature.

Swim in peace you big M/F, swim in peace.

December 1, 2006

Berkeley, California

While there are plenty of conservative evils in our society that demand protest, lately there's one that eclipses all others. After ignoring this menace for too long, Scooter and I sprang into action this week, devoting all our energies and talents to confronting and destroying one of this country's biggest threats. Of course I'm referring to that evil juggernaut of right wing capitalism, Wal-Mart.

We chose the biggest shopping day of the year to pummel this "bargain bully" - the day after Thanksgiving, or "Black Friday" as it's come to be known. Scooter, as usual, prepared our protest signs ("Wallmart=DEATH, I dont 'heart' Wallmart") while I engineered our strategy. My plan was for us to get there early, so we could set up right in front of the doors. I had some local small retailers (the worst victims of Wal-Mart) supply me with coupons worth tens of dollars to give away to the arriving shoppers, which would effectively divert most of them to these stores and cripple Wal-Mart's sales on this most important shopping day of the year, sending ripples of fear throughout the giant chain.

Scooter and I pulled up at the neighborhood Wal-Mart before dawn and took our position directly in front of the main doors. We displayed our signs and sung some cool protest songs as the people started arriving in numbers. We noticed most Wal-Mart shoppers are the same people you see on "Cops," except most of the men had shirts on and weren't drunk enough yet to start beating their flabby chain-smoking wives. I started handing out the free coupons, but for some reason nobody seemed much interested in 10% off organic incense or 15% off macrame checkbook covers, and not one person left. A 500-year-old security guard made Scooter pick up all the coupons the people were throwing down as they hurried into the store.

In a final desperate attempt to keep these misguided dupes from entering the store, Scooter and I made a human chain in front of the doors. After regaining consciousness, we went inside to buy some Band-Aids, and not only were they on sale but Scooter found and bought a Toshiba VCR for like $20! I came across a George Foreman Grill for almost half price and a Sonicare electric toothbrush that was almost free! I can see why liberals hate this place, the whole setup is geared to make you shop out of control, and we did.

There's no doubt Wal-Mart sucks, and after these big sales are over, we're resuming our protest.

November 24, 2006

Berkeley, California

Happy Thanksgiving!

This year I had so many things to be thankful for I could hardly count them all: the Democrats stormed both Houses, Iraq war going from bad to worse, Republican Senators and Evangelists exposed as pedophiles, homos, and druggies, and many others. I was so looking forward to celebrating the holiday with my family, but unfortunately they were all busy and couldn't make it. Also, my new assistant Sunshine quit Monday and stole $300 and my new clock radio. I was depressed and resigned to spending Thanksgiving alone.

I woke up Thursday morning to somebody repeatedly playing "Shave and a Haircut" on my doorbell and by the time I got to the door I was ready to drop-kick whoever it was into the next century. I flung open the door and there in front of me wasn't the pair of Jehovah's Witnesses I was expecting, but Scooter! My initial reaction was to turn and run, but I noticed he didn't stink and wasn't wearing a beard, so I just stood there and asked, "Are you Scooter or Kareem?" He replied, " Mohammad sucks, call me Scooter," and then I broke down in tears and hugged him tightly. As we both sobbed in tender embrace I suddenly became aware of the fact he was kind of humping me, so I kneed him in the nuts and went to the kitchen to start preparing a celebratory feast.

Once Scooter was able to get off the floor, he joined me in the kitchen. As I prepared the turkey, he told me all about his stay at Guantanamo and how the other inmates turned on him after someone noticed in the shower that he had been circumcised. Oh oh! From that point on they accused him of being an Israeli spy and tried numerous times to kill him. In a stroke of genius, he pasted pages of the Quran all over his body, so they couldn't harm him lest they damage them. Brilliant! He was released after renouncing his faith and ratting out some of his former friends. He said he was sorry he tried to kill me, and I knew he meant it.

We drank lots of tequila and cooked up a storm. Finally, late that afternoon everything was done and we sat down to eat. When Scooter asked to say a prayer of thanksgiving, I marveled at the life-changing transformation he had obviously undergone. Unfortunately what followed was a rambling, drunken intonement giving thanks for his release from prison, turkeys, tequila, me, puppies, his mother, gentle rains, and some other stuff I don't remember. After downing another shot of tequila he continued, beseeching God to send hellfire and damnation on all the jihadists in prison that tried to harm him, and also on that girl he met at the convenience store who turned him down for a date yesterday. He was in the process of asking God for the bloody dismemberment of his old gym teacher when I cut him short, as the food was getting cold and I was losing my appetite. Everything was delicious except for the green bean casserole Scooter made, as it had a distinct smell of ammonia and contained his wristwatch.

I couldn't be happier Scooter is back and no longer a Muslim. Even with the Dems yanking us out of Iraq there's still plenty to protest, and with Scooter's artistic ability and my brains, we can, and will, change the world.

November 17, 2006

Washington DC

After six years of Republican lethargy, we Dems are moving forward with bold plans to fix this country. The American public asked for change and we're going to bend them over and give it to them, fast and hard!

By far the most urgent need is to achieve victory in Iraq. As we discussed earlier, the only way to achieve this victory is to leave as soon as possible. Some prominent Democratic leaders have called for pullouts within four to six months. Are you kidding me? What are they waiting for? For Halliburton to make MORE money? For MORE innocent Iraqis to be photographed playing "Twister" naked in prisons? I say everyone out by Saturday, last one leaving kill the lights.

One thing Bush hasn't understood is the fact that just the act of having soldiers over there in these Arab countries has turned zillions of formerly peaceful Arabs into terrorists. I know for a fact that if I saw Arab soldiers down the street from my house, I'd strap on bombs and go blow them up, or at least try to cut their heads off or something. I've done some figuring and with the Dems' proposed "Forces Leaving Early Expeditiously" plan (FLEE), I calculate over 378.3 terrorists will not be created every week we are gone. These men and women will instead most likely become professors, doctors, and nurses. Also, without Halliburton around, the Iraqis can create their own companies to do whatever Halliburton was doing, and the billions these companies earn can build malls and water parks and stuff. Result: happy Iraqis working at high-paying jobs, shopping and having fun, not blowing things up.

As expected, the Republicans are crying a river over our plans to exit Iraq gracefully with dignity, but no big surprise there - you'd cry too if someone took away your oil wells. The biggest whiner is the Iraqi government itself, "Oh boohoo, our government will collapse, hundreds of thousands of people will die in sectarian violence, Muslim extremist groups will take over, blah blah blah." Oh please, over here we're battling for stem cell research and tax hikes, fending off Evangelical homo-drug addicts, etc., and you're complaining about a few heavily-armed over-stimulated camel jockeys? Give me a break.

When it's all said and done, there's nothing wrong in Iraq that the ACLU couldn't fix, and the sooner we send some lawyers over there and start suing the crap out of the troublemakers, the quicker that rat's nest will become civilized.

Troops out, lawyers in, build water parks. All better.

November 10, 2006

San Francisco, California

Woohoo! We kicked the war-mongering neocons to the curb! Rumsfeld is toast! Congratulations have been pouring in from all over the world. Shiite cleric Moktada al-Sadr, Hugo Chavez, Hamas, numerous officials from France and the European Union, North Korea, Iran, Syria, and others all herald the outcome of this election as a great thing. Domestically, the Communist Party of America, the Socialists Party of America, The Council on American-Islamic Relations, the NAACP, and many other progressive patriotic groups are also trumpeting these elections as a turning point for America. I've never seen such an outpouring of love and support from our friends!

Sunshine and I have been celebrating for two days straight here in San Francisco with friends and local politicos including future Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi herself! At a party Thursday night I spent over three hours with this likable little liberal leftist, and had the opportunity to get a sneak preview of her vision of enlightened change for our country. To say I'm excited would be an understatement!

First and foremost, I asked her how quickly the Democrats were going to press their plan for victory in Iraq. Nancy said as soon as they think up a plan, they were going to ram it through. When questioned further, she said she was pretty sure their strategy would probably involve some sort of rapid retreat as soon as possible. "Our goal will most likely be an orderly and dignified exit like we did in Vietnam, only hopefully without the millions of people being slaughtered after we leave," she said, and after taking a long bong hit added, "I'd also like to see some sort of punishment for at least those troops who wantonly discharged firearms or disrespected Iraqis while in their country." Mrs. Pelosi also expressed a desire to slash defense spending while using the money saved to institute a welfare program for disenfranchised and/or pissed off Muslims abroad, a move sure to erase the deserved hate many Islamic extremists have for our country. After several more bong hits, I started getting a little creeped out when I realized in the smokey light she looked just like Michael Jackson, but I digress...

Probably the most exciting thing Representative Pelosi divulged was a plan to reinvigorate the pro-choice movement by introducing legislation to allow federal funding for abortion into the ninth trimester. Anybody who's ever raised a two-year-old can appreciate this effort to give women the right to choose. I personally would have gladly aborted my one-year-old if the government would have footed the bill. Also, I feel Mrs. Pelosi's desire to raise taxes on those wealthy individuals earning more than $30,000 a year, while giving those under that level total tax relief and certificates for free Church's Fried Chicken, truly exemplifies the spirit of the Democratic Party and makes me glad I'm poor. Unfortunately, her wish to burn churches and publicly torture George Bush, while admirable, probably won't happen. Hey, we can all dream.

Happy days are here again.

November 3, 2006

Berkeley, California

OMG, here we liberals are, cruising to an easy victory in recapturing both Houses, when John Kerry attempts a joke about Bush's stupidity. Unfortunately his own complete and total lack of intelligence negated his ability to tell the joke properly, and next thing you know the whole country's pissed off. That's just great. What is it with this guy, can't anybody in our party make him shut up until after the elections?

Look, we know John is an all-American hero for the part he played in turning public opinion against the Vietnam war in the 70s. We appreciate the fact that he's constantly brought to light the evil deeds of our military, and campaigned for pulling out of this war after he mistakenly voted us into it. He is obviously a man of integrity and honor, but every time he opens his mouth in the last couple of years, the conservatives have had a field day and the Democrats lose votes. Please, somebody make him be quiet until we get some people into office.

Everything had been going so well: Many of our candidates have been talking about "faith" and "values," words that really juice the hicks in middle America and NASCAR country. Of course all our candidates have been hammering Chimpy McHitler on the Iraq war, and just like in the 70s are starting to build a general feeling of hopelessness and despair in the American public that we can't win. Another winning strategy has been to point out how bad our economy is. As strange as it sounds, this has actually been working pretty good! It's kind of like saying, "It stinks in here" - even if it doesn't, half the people think they smell something. Fortunately, many of our supporters aren't exceptionally bright, so when we tell them the economy stinks, they smell it :)

The Democratic National Committee correctly identified that the sound of Nancy Pelosi's voice made people want to slit their wrists, so they told her to be quiet for the last several weeks leading up to the election, and she has. The same with Ted Kennedy, Howard Dean, Charlie Rangel, Barbara Boxer, Harry Reid, Chuck Schumer, Al Gore, and for the most part, they've clammed up. I understand the DNC even insisted that Ted Kennedy not drive anyone any place until after the polls close. But what about John Kerry? Is it too much to ask that the official boat anchor of the DNC zip his pie-hole for ONE FREAKING WEEK? If something like this happened in the GOP, Karl Rove himself would neuter the offender with a pair of nail clippers.

Where's our Karl Rove?

October 27, 2006

Berkeley, California

Well, it's looking like Squid's not coming back from North Korea in the foreseeable future so this week I've been interviewing assistants. While there have been a few semi-decent prospects, for the most part I've been subject to an endless parade of clueless morons, punctuated by the occasional ignorant pinhead - I guess the excesses of the 60s and 70s weren't kind to many of my generation. I can't help but think that conservatives don't have this much difficulty finding reliable help, but I may be wrong.

I limited my search mainly to socially-oppressed types - gays, lesbians, transgendered, minorities, etc. Thankfully Berkeley has lots of these people, but for some reason many of them were kind of difficult to deal with. For example, most of the gays, lesbians, and transgendered people I talked to expected me to also give their boyfriend/girlfriend/transgenderedfriend full benefits or would feel discriminated against. The several minorities that I've interviewed were fairly nice but seemed to resent the fact that they would be working for a white woman and alluded to the possibility they would sue the crap out of me if they perceived I was not respecting their cultural heritage. Also they stole some ashtrays and stuff, which didn't sit well with me at all.

In the end, I was most impressed with my old friend Sunshine, an extremely sturdy, transgendered child of the 60s like myself (except for the transgendered part). Sunshine's affiliations include: National Federation of Democratic Women, PETA, Code Pink, Green Party, ACLU, Rainbow/Push Coalition, NAACP, Amnesty International, Communist Party of the United States, National Education Association (NEA), Greenpeace, Sierra Club, Common Cause, National Abortion and Reproductive Rights Action League (NARAL), Planned Parenthood, and National Organization of Women. Plus she can tune a car and fix a toilet.

I've known Sunshine ever since she was Ernie Finkelstein. I met Ernie at UC Berkeley in the early 70s and was immediately impressed by his social sensitivities and superior decorating skills. We spent many a night doing bong hits, discussing liberal philosophies and makeup tips while he braided my hair. When he bravely took the step to finally become Sunshine, I was there to lend comfort, support, and my underwear. I treasured the symbolic gift of his castoff "winky" he gave me after his final operation. I kept it in a box for many years until Scooter found it and ate it one night thinking it was a date.

I think Sunshine will make a perfect assistant and bring something new to my efforts to promote foreword-thinking ideals while defeating the paralyzing conservatism that's crippled our country. The fact that she can add a porch to my house is just icing on the cake. You go, gir...transgendered person!

Dear Readers,

I thought I would share the following letter I received from Squid who is now living in North Korea and calling himself "Jimmy Jong-il:"

October 14, 2006

Democratic Peoples Republic Of Korea (DPRK)

Dear Imperialist Lackey Moonbeam,

I just wanted to send this letter to tell you I'm well. Actually not just well, but flourishing in this worker's paradise! The progressiveness our Dear Leader Kim Jong-il has brought to this utopia is simply awe-inspiring. It's everything we have worked toward in the U.S. but have failed to accomplish.

In this country there are no divisions between people as there are no social classes, just one and equality for all. We even all wear the same clothes (although Dear Leader and I have more than one set and ours are not woven from cadaver pubic hair). The standard of living here is far better than I had been told. My palace is absolutely beautiful with large, comfortably decorated rooms and a swimming pool to die for. Your place is a dung heap compared to this and Dear Leader's crib makes mine look like a rat-hole! Sure, there are some marginal shelters/cardboard boxes around here but even in your bourgeois nation there are people who don't care about fixing up their houses. Laziness is truly worldwide and I have to admit there is an incredible amount here, but one can't force people to take pride in their shelters/holes/etc. if they don't want to.

Contrary to the lies fed to you by your government about food shortages in the DPRK, if anything, there is too much food here! My own Sub-Zero refrigerators have so much stuff in them, I can barely close the doors! And I'm not talking about Hot Pockets and junk like that, I'm talking lobster (really big ones!), crab, fillets, fresh fruit, etc. I'm even toying with the idea of binge/purging so I can eat more food and not get full. I think a lot of people resort to this here as I never see fat people, or even slender people, just really, really thin and somewhat athletic-looking people. Dear Leader says this is also due to his patented compulsory exercise program in the weapons factories. I guess Dear Leader and myself should join them as frankly we're getting more than a little pudgy! Maybe the bulimia thing will help me.

By now you've heard of the glorious achievement in our struggle against our enemies. I myself pushed the button that set off the powerful "People's Bomb Jong-il Boom-O-Matic Round-Eye Eliminator(TM)" nuclear device. No doubt Bush and his allies are wetting themselves with this mighty display of destructive DPRK superiority! You know, Kim Jong-il designed this bomb on a cocktail napkin at lunch the other day. Are there any limits to his talents? The answer is no! Anyone who can invent the game of golf one minute and a nuclear device the next is blessed with intelligence not of this world. We love him.

Anyway, Dear Leader has promised me a pony and I think I'll stick around for awhile till it comes. As for my stuff, you can have my stereo but I'd appreciate it if you could send my bong collection, some seeds, and a fork.

Best Regards,

"Dear Cousin" Jimmy Jong-il

October 13, 2006

Berkeley, California / DPRK

Surely everyone knows what went down this week with the North Koreans threatening to test a nuclear device, as well as the patience of the rest of the world. Kim Jong-il has been saber-rattling for years but this new development forced me to take whatever personal action I could to divert this nuclear threat.

I asked my new assistant Squid to come up with a plan and the result of his efforts was genius and daring: Drawing upon his Asian looks, college acting experience, and a distant relative in South Korea with North Korean connections, Squid would present himself as Kim Jong-il's estranged distant cousin, and after gaining his trust would use his powers of persuasion to get Kim to turn away from nukes in favor of dialog with the rest of the world. With our current pathetic administration unwilling to even talk directly to Kim, this inside track, while a long shot, seemed to be our best hope of effecting change in a non-violent manner.

After an afternoon of in-depth study of North Korea and its leader, Squid was off to South Korea where he would travel by land to the Democratic People's Republic Of Korea (DPRK). Through his connections, Squid had been able to get word to Kim's administration that he was a distant relative of the Dear Leader, had just been released from prison in South Korea, and was returning to his North Korean homeland, a place he had been taken from as a child. Evidently Kim went for it and reportedly had people expecting "Jimmy Jong-il" as Squid was calling himself, at the border crossing.

Long story short, Squid was able to get through the checkpoint and was met by the "Dear Leader" himself! After much hugging, crying (Squid can act with the best of them), and gift exchanging (Kim gave Squid a city, I think), Kim and Jimmy Jong-il were driven away in a limousine surrounded by troops. Wow, it worked! Within a day there were giant posters of Squid hanging in downtown Pyongyang with the inscription, "Dear Cousin," and he was seen accompanying Kim at several important functions. Squid's plan to appear to be mute as a result of torture received at the hands of the imperialist enemy made it easy for him to conceal his inability to speak Korean, and his resemblance to the little toad Kim seemed to leave little doubt that he was a family member.

Unfortunately things didn't work out as I had hoped. Within a few days, international news reports showed Squid using angry gestures and crude drawings to convey a threat of nuclear annihilation against the United States. Other news stories showed him and Kim Jong-il meeting with scientists working on the nuclear weapons program, reviewing troops, and playing tennis. I assumed this was an act until reports came out of North Korea that Squid was living in a mansion with about a dozen beautiful women, and torturing "enemies of the state" for amusement. Oh crap.

In spite of the world's best efforts, not to mention my own, the nuclear test was carried out, and what's worse I understand Kim gave Jimmy Jong-il the honor of pushing the button that set the damn thing off. That's just ducky. I'm telling you right now, Squid has got a lot of explaining to do when he gets home.

October 5, 2006

Washington D.C.

Oh man, the Republicans have caught fire and are spiraling to earth in a cloud of smoke and desperation. Good. Congressman Mark Foley, honorable pervert representing the great state of horniness, was caught sending nasty instant messages to a minor male page. It seems that this member of the Moral Majority was actually a flaming homo, hell-bent on perverted hot monkey sex with as many males as possible, especially young ones. Disgusting. It's hard to believe this party keeps trying to quash gay marriage when they're all gay themselves. What sense does this make?

I'm starting to think all Republicans are masochists. Every time one of these bozos gets drunk or exposed as gay, they're shamed into the next century, but when a liberal does the same thing, it's good for certain re-election and major street cred with their voting bloc. Why would any politician want to be labeled as a conservative? Do you really want to go through your life without having illicit sex with young girls and boys, not getting drunk and/or stoned, lying about your war record, or drowning people in your car? Of course not. At least pick a party that will reward you for your behavior.

Anyway, this cataclysmic news event apparently triggered an outpouring of repressed memories from my new assistant, Squid. Amid uncontrollable sobbing about feeling "used and dirty," he produced some transcripts he had just typed of an instant message chat he had several years ago. When I saw the initials of whom he was communicating with, I almost blew chunks! An excerpt:

GWB: wuz happenen :}>

Squidboy: Nuttin.

GWB: how old are you?

Squidboy: 16.

GWB: can I molest you

Squidboy: I'm not that kind of boy, loser.

GWB: I want you so bad

Squidboy: Bite me, perv.

GWB: thats my strategery

My goodness! I couldn't help but feel Squid's pain as I read the damning evidence of homo passions possibly running amok at the highest levels of this administration. No wonder Squid has always seemed a little traumatized, he'd apparently been almost sexually abused by the leader of the most powerful country in the world, or at least someone with the same initials. Of course, Squid couldn't remember if those were the exact initials, but he is sure there was a "W" in there somewhere, and this was all the proof I needed that the neocons have pretty much all gone "light in the loafers." Shocking!

Alas, as publicly happy as we libs are about the Republicans offending their constituents, behind the scenes we're disgusted by their creep into the homo/pedophile/deviant fabric of society. We've worked too hard to establish ourselves in these areas and won't concede them (and the accompanying votes) to the GOP. If they want to do these things, let them become Democrats.

Note to my faithful readers: Immediately after writing the above, I checked myself into an undisclosed rehab center for treatment of various dependencies and personal problems. It goes without saying I'm clearly not responsible for this story.

EXTRA: By popular demand, here's an example of Squid's beautiful poetry:

"Fall"

by Squid

Morning light filtering through

bark-covered tree branches covered with dew.

Squirrels running to and fro,

like they have no idea where to go.

They scamper in and out of their homey huts

tightly clinging to their little nuts.

Now the last flowers of summer fade,

like they have been sprayed with a can of Raid.

Oh fall, your winds are frosty and cold,

sometimes making my nipples bold.

We gayfully celebrate this time of year

as we anticipate chugging Octoberfest beer.

September 29, 2006

New York City, New York

I came to the Big Apple this week to protest against that neocon bastion of right wing propaganda, Fox News. It's one thing for this network to be the mouthpiece of the G. W. Chimpy McHitler administration, but when they dare ambush the greatest and most beloved president this country has ever known, it's go time, baby. My friend Squid and I were prepared to stand with William Jefferson Clinton in the face of this attack and our presence in front of the Fox studios shouted to the world that we were ready to rumble.

In case you were in a cave and didn't hear what happened, Chris Wallace interviewed Clinton on Fox News Sunday. Supposedly this interview was to be partly about Clinton's Global Initiative campaign but before Bill could even get his bearings, Wallace ambushed him with a question about why he didn't grab Osama Bin Laden when given the chance a couple times. What followed was a forceful, impassioned, finger-pointing vintage WJC rebuttal, the likes of which we have not seen since he was asked whether he'd had "relations" with that lying tramp, Monica Lewinsky. In short, he made mincemeat out of Wallace.

It's not a big news flash that Clinton passed on grabbing Osama, we all understand that and frankly don't really care. The problem is the extreme hypocrisy of the right-wingers, like when they fault Clinton for not returning a call requesting approval to snatch Bin Laden until after the President finished his round of golf. The conservatives claim to enjoy and respect the game of golf but when it's WJC playing, they expect him to break all rules of protocol by making a noisy phone call while on the course in the company of his fellow players, something they would never consider. Typical double standard.

We've lived for years with these irrational attacks on the character of Bill Clinton from conservatives. The simple fact is any red-blooded American male would gladly play "hide the pickle" with a chubby, big-breasted Jewish girl, or enjoy an undisturbed game of golf on one of our nation's beautiful golf courses. For the conservatives to claim they wouldn't do the same is dishonest and hypocritical, and we're not going to let them get away with it any longer.

After standing outside the Fox studios for a couple hours, Squid and I were confident we had accomplished our goal of shaming the network, so we went to a Yankee game. Mr. Clinton, we, and just about every college professor in this country, stand with you sir.

September 23, 2006

New York, New York

I went to New York City this week so I could protest against Bush, and show support for Venezuela's President Hugo Chavez and Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as they all arrived to speak at the United Nations. These foreign leaders epitomize the strongest challenge to W and his attempts to conquer the world, so I wanted to cheer them on.

Imagine my excitement when I was invited by a very influential Democrat to a private cocktail party held to honor the visiting presidents at a very swanky New York hotel! I wish Scooter could have been with me and seen these two defenders of truth, as well as some of our country's most prominent Democrats. Someone said George Soros paid for the whole thing, but whoever did, they didn't scrimp: Cristal champagne, caviar, lots of little bean burritos for Hugo (he eats like four at a time), and copious amounts of goat potstickers for Ahmadinejad and his uni-browed entourage.

The evening was very enjoyable. After more than a few drinks, both presidents captivated us with their uncanny and hilarious impersonations of Bush. Hugo got things rolling by walking around like a cowboy and in broken English shouting, "Wares dose evildoers?" while we all cracked up. But it was Ahmadinejad, or "Jad Man" as he asked to be called, who brought down the house when he grabbed a butter knife, pushed Hugo to floor, and acted like he was cutting his head off while shouting praises to Allah! It was pure comic genius, and Senator Kennedy laughed so hard he blew vodka out his nose. Yeehaw! The moment was somewhat spoiled when Howard Dean, jacked up on tequila, got lost in the moment and viciously started kicking the crap out of Hugo until the president's bodyguards pulled him away. After Joe Biden explained that Hugo wasn't really Bush, Dean calmed down and was later found passed-out in a hotel dumpster.

Things really kicked into high gear as the Dixie Chicks rocked the house. Away from his country's mullahs, Jad Man wasn't afraid to cut loose on the dance floor. The Iranian Dance Machine dirty-danced with Hillary Clinton while Hugo got down with a solo hip-hop routine that pretty much consisted of him doing the robot and grabbing his crotch - not technically brilliant, but he moved well for a large socialist.

All in all it was a great party and we all had a good time. Far from being hostile toward Americans, It was obvious the two presidents were very fond of their Democrat guests, something vividly illustrated when I accidentally walked in on them passionately cavorting with Nancy Pelosi and Barbara Boxer in the upstairs bathroom. I was glad to see that they don't just talk a good liberal game, but live it in the spirit of that greatest leader or all time, Bill Clinton. Oh that our president Bozo were half the men these guys are.

September 15, 2006

Berkeley, California

As you know, Kareem/Scooter has issued a fatwa against me and has already made one attempt on my life. This has made living under the same roof very stressful, but I need his rent money. In spite of sweeping the house for explosives and booby traps constantly, Kareem and his two fellow jihadists have managed to carry out several more attacks against me. The other day, while salting my meatloaf, the top of the shaker came off and dumped the entire contents, leaving my meal ruined and me badly shaken. Later, when I started my car to go shopping, everything went crazy - the radio playing Arab disco music at full volume, windshield wipers flying, turn signals flashing. I almost had a heart attack which was no doubt just what the little towel-heads were hoping for. Probably the most savage attack involved a bucket of water placed over the bathroom door. Thank God I spotted the pools of water they had spilled setting up the ambush or this could have been the big one.

I decided to go on the offensive. As I prepared to smear dog poop on the pages of Kareem/Scooter's Koran, I found several pieces of paper tucked inside. One featured crudely-drawn diagrams outlining a plan to hijack several aircraft and fly them into my house! Also, there was a letter from a local flying school notifying Scooter he didn't qualify for a federal grant or student loan. The last piece of paper was similar to the first, only showed the airplanes with no wings, and each bearing the initials "SS." If I could figure out what airline this was, I could hopefully save my life and countless others, not to mention sending Kareem and his swarthy little friends to Guantanamo for eternity.

The next morning, my worse fears were realized when Kareem and his two buddies were each picked up by separate airport shuttles. I wanted to notify the authorities, but had no idea what flights the three would be on. I desperately went through Scooter's bedroom looking for further clues. The only suspicious things I could find were some wrappers for Mexican fireworks, and receipts for paintball guns purchased at Sports Authority. I called the airport and gave them a description of the three terrorists and the weapons they would be carrying. Then I grabbed my crystals and prayed to the gods that Kareem and his hairy little friends would be caught in time.

My prayers were suddenly shattered by the sound of squealing tires and numerous explosions outside! I jumped up and ran to the window just in time to see a Super Shuttle van careening wildly down the street, being racked by numerous explosions inside! Suddenly, the van veered across my lawn, and headed straight for the house! Oh crap!  The last thing I saw before diving for the hallway was Kareem at the wheel, screaming at the top of his lungs as explosions erupted all around him! The crash was deafening as the van smashed through the living room wall and slid to a stop in the kitchen amid a shower of sparks and explosions.

I managed to make it to the door just in time to see another Super Shuttle van careening toward me, also racked by explosions, and coming from the other direction, yet another van, fully engulfed in flames, and heading straight for the Taco Bell! I dove for safety as van #2 swerved through the yard and crashed into my bedroom. Over the sound of exploding fireworks I could hear someone I identified as Kareem/Scooter's little terrorist buddy pleading for "doe-eyed virgins" in a freakish, high-pitched squeal. His voice was finally drowned out by the sound of exploding fireworks. I staggered to the yard and collapsed in shock.

In hindsight, I should have been able to figure out Kareem's plan. Originally the terrorists were going to take flight lessons, hijack airliners, and fly them into my house. Not very original. When they couldn't get financial aid for flight school, they had to go to plan B: hijack the vans that take you to the airport, set off a large cache of whatever explosives they could buy, and crash the vans into my house. They obviously hadn't anticipated the difficulty of driving a speeding van and simultaneously pointing a paintball gun on the passengers while lighting a sack of explosives. As a result, all three Islamo-imbeciles had prematurely set off their fireworks causing one to lose control and crash into the Taco Bell.

Listening to Scooter screaming for Jesus while the police savagely beat him and his little friend with flashlights, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. Maybe he deserves a second chance.

September 8, 2006

Berkeley, California

Thank God I was able to thwart Kareem/Scooter's suicide doll-bomb attack on the "It's A Small World" ride at Disneyland. Choosing not to expose myself, I simply replaced the explosives with Play-Do in the doll's bomb vests. As it turned out, Kareem and his little friends still had a good time at Disneyland even without blowing anything up, although one of them fell out of the boat while placing the dolls and ended up with a nasty infection from the water. Good.

A few days later, I had a very bad feeling in my gut when I saw the jihadists in my back yard trying to get the Play-Do to explode. That evening Kareem was extremely cold and condescending to me and it was obvious he had figured out what I had done. When I walked by his bedroom I also noticed he had mutilated my photo and written, "DIE DIE DIE" in red crayon across its tattered remains - not good. I was now afraid and knew I had to be vigilant, or die.

When I woke up the next morning I found a VHS tape beside my bed with a grape jelly-smeared Post-It note that said, "watch me," so I did. The five-minute video consisted of a masked figure draped in a robe (obviously Scooter wearing one of my nightgowns), standing in front of a poster of Louis Farrakhan, reading a "fatwa" threatening me with a horrible death as an enemy of Islam. Masked guys on either side of him jumped up and down while waving curved swords in the air. While frightening, the impact would have probably been greater if the swords weren't clearly the plastic "Aladdin" ones sold in about every gift shop at Disneyland. Near the end of the tape as Kareem was passionately giving thanks to Allah, you could hear somebody fart, the morons standing beside Kareem dropped their weapons and started giggling, then Kareem approached the camera and cursed just before the screen went black. Very professional.

I carefully inspected the house for signs of booby traps or explosives and was relieved to see that everything appeared normal except that my camcorder was left out on the coffee table next to some bread crusts and was absolutely covered with grape jelly fingerprints. I heard something outside, then saw a shadow go by the window and knew I had to get the heck out of there before these crazed fanatics carried out their threats to harm me! I ran for the garage and jumped into my car, turned the key, put it in gear, and hit the garage door button. My heart was pounding.

As I backed out of the garage, I suddenly saw something that made my heart stop: several fresh mounds of dirt beside the driveway, and three shadowy figures peering out from behind a bush! Oh crap, they had planted IEDs (improvised explosive devices) just like they do in the Middle East, and were waiting for me to drive by so they could blow me to pieces! Bastards! Thankfully I figured it out before reaching the first one, and jumped from my car and ran to the neighbor's house while frantically dialing 911 on my cell phone. The cops were there in minutes and immediately arrested Kareem and his gang, but not before stun-gunning the crap out of the little hairy one when he brandished his plastic sword (that part was pretty funny).

I wish I could tell you the police and federal agents savagely beat the little Islamofascists with flashlights then shipped them off for life to Guantanamo, but that's not the way it worked out. Unfortunately, thanks to the heavy accent and severe hair-lip of the terrorist leader advising them, Kareem had purchased, wired, and buried IUDs next to the driveway. According to the authorities, burying birth control devices is not illegal in California so they just wrote Scooter a warning for being stupid and left. Now I'm more afraid than ever.

September 1, 2006

Berkeley, California

As most of you know, Scooter has converted to Islam and is now going by the name, "Kareem Bakr Gilad." The changes that have come along with this conversion are a mixed bag. On the positive side, he no longer curses like a sailor, has quit drinking, doesn't spend so much time with Pepe, and in general seems very spiritual. On the negative side, he treats all women badly, calls everyone but his fellow Muslim friends infidels, shuns soaps and perfumes, wears weird clothes, is constantly on the floor praying, and of course is wearing that retarded-looking fake beard.

Kareem/Scooter spends most of his time with some guys he met at the local mosque, and as I've mentioned before, they are a fairly unsavory group. Most afternoons they're sprawled around Scooter's bedroom, jabbering, drawing crude diagrams, and screwing around with chemicals and stuff that look dangerous to me. Speaking of Kareem/Scooter's bedroom, you should see what he's done to it - he's replaced his Farrah Fawcett and Star Wars posters with ones of the Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and that pinhead Iraqi cleric Muqtada al-Sadr. Creepy! I also noticed he'd put black electrical tape over the naughty parts of his Playboy foldouts stapled to the walls, which I considered to be a good thing.

Anyway, after receiving several large parcels from Iran, I had a strong feeling Kareem and his buddies were up to something, so while they were out I decided to snoop around his room to see what it was. Here's what I found: 20 Middle Eastern dolls, authentically dressed, right down to the burqas for the women, 20 doll-size bomb vests, several bricks of something labeled "explosives," a bunch of timers, numerous interior photos of what appeared to be an amusement ride featuring zillions of colorfully-dressed dolls representing different countries, a souvenir map of Disneyland, and finally, some Disneyland season passes. What the heck did this mean?

That night at around 2:00 AM it hit me like sledgehammer - they were obviously planning a doll suicide bomb attack on the "It's A Small World" ride at Disneyland!  HOLY POPE-ON-A-ROPE!! After collecting myself, I marveled at the evil genius of the scheme: As Kareem and his buddies travel on the ride, they would place the terrorist dolls among the coalition-country dolls, their little bomb vests wired to the timers. Along comes Mr. and Mrs. Everyday Americans and their 2.4 kids and BOOM! our little allies in the war against terror are blasted to pieces by the jihad doll bombers while the stunned American families are traumatized into the next dimension! Brilliant? Yes, and terrifying beyond comprehension.

Hey listen, I hate this country as much as any liberal, but blowing up Disneyland crosses the line. I'm going to have a talk with Kareem/Scooter and his swarthy little friends. A very serious talk.

 

August 25, 2006

Berkeley, California

I knew this week was going to suck when Scooter came by Monday morning wearing a ridiculous fake beard, nightshirt, weird little hat, carrying a Quran, and asking to be called "Kareem Bakr Gilad." Oh great, Scooter had become a Muslim! Evidently after doing a bunch of mushrooms with Pepe Saturday night, he'd had an epiphany that his life was meaningless - something frankly I would have to agree with. According to Scooter/Kareem, after Pepe left he was watching a CNN news story about the Middle East which showed Muslims whipping themselves bloody in a religious frenzy , and he knew then that Islam was the key to his fulfillment.

Scooter said that night he dreamt that a glowing figure resembling the genie in the movie "Aladdin" told him to turn away from the sins of this modern life. He instructed him to change his name, grow out his beard, avoid soap and perfumes, memorize the Quran, pray towards Mecca five times a day, and kill Jews. By Monday Kareem was doing all the above except he hadn't killed any Jews yet, but had successfully developed a strong dislike for Yiddish and those little caps. I couldn't believe what I was hearing!

Right in the middle of explaining to me why he had to wear the fake beard (he can't grow facial hair), Kareem's watch started beeping, he grabbed an old door mat out of his bag, and after carefully aligning it on the floor, fell on his knees and started rocking back and forth while wailing a tune and words that I later determined to be the Macarena. I'm no expert on Islam but I do know Muslims are supposed to pray toward Mecca, and when I asked him why he was praying toward Tokyo, he said he was just "going the other way around the world" which actually made sense to me. All in all, Kareem's worshiping was just bizarre, and his loud and frequent farting while doing so could only have lessened his effectiveness at communicating with any deity you'd really want to know.

Outside of his poor personal hygiene, moronic outfit, and referring to me as an infidel, I'm almost getting used to Scooter being a Muslim. Something I'm not getting used to are his new friends, though they did thankfully enlighten Scooter to the fact the name he chose means "Exalted Young Camel Hump." Anyway, a more surly group of young men I've never met, and their endless fascination with airplanes and virgins gives me the willies.

I sure hope this is just a phase Scooter's going through.

 

August 18, 2006

Crawford, Texas

I received an invitation to join Our Suffering Mother Of Perpetual Peace And Publicity Sheehan (OSMOPPAPS) at the new Camp Casey down in Crawford, Texas. Apparently Cindy purchased some acreage not far from Chimpy McHitler's ranch and she was anxious for me to see it and join her reinvigorated peace vigil, so I hopped a plane for Texas.

In all truthfulness, I was slightly underwhelmed by the new spread. For one thing, it's not that close to McHitler's ranch. For another, it's pretty scrubby land, dotted with only a few crappy tents, several smelly Porta-Potties, and handful of protesters that appeared to have been left out in the sun since Woodstock. The PA system sucked, and the only music was supplied by a cheap boom box. What's worse, the only press on hand was a few kids from the local high school, and I suspect they were there just for the pot.

I hate to sound so critical, but what's the deal with our supporters? Is there some unwritten rule that only really ugly people can protest this war? I remember back during the Vietnam war protests how we were all so young and beautiful. Everywhere I looked at the camp I saw these same people with exactly the same hairstyles and clothes they had 35 years ago and I have to tell you, a fat 60-year-old balding guy with a stringy ponytail decked out in tie-dyed t-shirt, golf shorts, socks and sandals just doesn't look right. Add a fanny pack to that picture and it honestly makes me want to puke, I'm sorry.

Anyway, it was nice to see Peace Mother Sheehan (PMS) again and especially nice to see that her continuing liquids-only fast had apparently not taken too bad a toll on her health. In fact she not only looked extremely healthy, I think she had gained a few pounds since I last saw her. Weird. Later I saw her preparing her dinner and it all made sense. I don't think I've ever seen anyone puree an entire eight-pound Honey Baked Ham with Stove Top Dressing, candied yams, Jello salad, and carrot cake, but she did and then drank the whole thing. Yummy! The other day she was rushed to the emergency room, but it wasn't because of dehydration as the news reported, but because of an errant piece of lobster shell that got stuck in her throat while drinking her seafood dinner. Luckily, she was okay.

I was ready to leave after a few days as there really wasn't much going on. One can only do so much chanting, singing, playing dead, breast and genital exposing, drum beating, body painting, weeping, etc. for peace, and by Thursday I had reached my limit. Besides, the camp's herb was obviously locally-grown and tasted like a burning tennis shoe, and I would rather die from intestinal blockage than ever again step foot in one of those fetid Porta-Potties. Woodstock was like a stay at the Four Seasons compared to this dump.

While I appreciate all PMS has done to stop this war, I'm not coming back without a motor home.

August 10, 2006

Beirut, Lebanon

How could I vacation while bloodthirsty Zionists were again attacking helpless oppressed Arabs? I flew to Lebanon last week to do whatever I could to help the Hizballah freedom fighters defend themselves.

After an uneventful flight, I arrived in Beirut and immediately was driven to the front lines where I joined a crack squadron of Hizballah soldiers bunch of smelly guys in dirty t-shirts carrying guns. After being somewhat roughly forced to don a burqa and serve lunch to the troops, I had an opportunity to interview several of them. I wanted to hear of the pain they had lived with all these years under the brutal Israeli occupation, and how they had been driven to this point of conflict due to the intolerable treatment and oppression they had endured. Unfortunately these men were all from Iran and Syria, so they couldn't really tell me what I needed to know. They did say, however, that it's common knowledge throughout the Middle East that Jews are lousy tippers, and for that reason alone need to be eliminated.

After they made me do the laundry (how do they get those prayer rugs so dirty?), serve snacks, belly dance, and dig some foxholes, my captors comrades presented me with a special honor they called the "Infidel's Reward" - I was chosen to fire some rockets at Israel! I knew this was a very special honor since women over there aren't usually allowed to mess with mechanical things, so I was very grateful. They took me about a block away to the backyard of this little house, where under a big tarp was a launcher loaded with a bunch of rockets mounted on the back of an old truck. After making some adjustments and showing me where to stand, they told me to count down from 100 and then push this big red button. I noticed once I started counting, my fellow fighters took off running back to camp like they were being chased by Bigfoot. Strange.

At zero I pushed the button and the rockets blasted into the sky. All the fire and smoke scared the crap out of me, but after rolling on the ground and extinguishing my flaming burqa, I realized I was okay. I stood and gave the thumbs up sign to my friends down the street but they were nowhere to be seen. Right about then I heard something whistling overhead and the next thing I knew, there was a deafening explosion and I, the rocket launcher, the yard, the little house, and most of the surrounding neighborhood went flying through the air. After coming to and rolling around to extinguish what remained of my burqa, I decided I'd had enough of this war, even if it was for a good cause. I ran for my life.

I sure wish my Hizballah soldier friends would have told me that the Israelis have satellites and stuff which see those rocket launches, but I guess it slipped their minds. Later I heard the whole group took an express train to Paradise courtesy of an Israeli Apache helicopter gunship, and to tell you the truth, I wasn't that upset.

July 7, 2006

Washington DC

I'm very weak but will try to do my best to fill you in on this week's activities. As you may have heard, Peace Mother Sheehan (PMS), as well as the biggest and brightest stars in media and politics, gathered in front of the White House to fast for an end to the Iraq war. Among those in attendance were Susan Sarandon, Sean Penn, and the Reverend Al Sharpton. I knew there was no way I could sit at home while these brave patriots were starving to death, so Scooter and I flew to Washington and joined them.

How wonderful it was to hook up again with Cindy! Although perhaps a little pastier and "horsier" than the last time I saw her, she nevertheless seemed energized as ever to stop this hopeless war. Monday night we prepared for the fast with peace songs, chanting, smoking herb, playing bongos, exposing our breasts and genitals for peace, and finally, a gigantic Mexican dinner thoughtfully provided by Brother Sharpton. Afterward we did bong hits until bedtime, then rested for the daunting challenge ahead.

On the Fourth we awoke to the sounds of a large press contingent setting up to report our dramatic self-sacrifice for peace. It was just like the "old days" last year when Cindy was the darling of the mainstream media. Just being surrounded by the likes of Sean and Susan made us feel invincible, and we knew this time we were bringing the troops home, no matter how many Iraqis had to die in the aftermath. Many well-wishers had also gathered, and their words of encouragement helped us through the day.

While flag-waving imbeciles shot off fireworks Tuesday night, we gathered together to sing protest songs, followed by the always dramatic "Lying Around Like We're Dead." A nice added touch to this powerful "street theater" was Scooter, wearing his George Bush mask, dancing over our bodies while laughing maniacally - that is until he accidentally stepped on Sean Penn's nuts. Penn, probably irritable from extreme hunger, beat Scooter viciously with his large peace symbol necklace until several of us pulled him off. The rest of the night was uneventful and the very picture of non-violence and harmony.

It's now been several days and some of us must be close to death. Although our spirits are strong, the lack of food is taking its toll on our bodies. Our leader, Peace Mother Sheehan, is probably suffering the most, having lost over three pounds, and now looks almost exactly like Sea Biscuit. I thought I could see my own ribs sticking out but later realized it was just the hash pipe in my pocket. Probably the only one of us who has held up well is Reverend Al, as he's remained effervescent as always. When he rolled over last night I could see why: he had Hot Pockets sewn into the inside lining of his suit coat, and a big bag of Gummi Bears tucked into his slacks. I agreed not to tell Cindy in exchange for two pizza Hot Pockets and $100 cash. Hey, I'm no idiot.

More later.