"Patty Melt" by: MHD

I say we leave the Gulf Coast destroyed and film a bunch of post-apocalypse movies down there. Or better yet post-apocalypse documentaries. I want to see people in dune-buggies attacking tanker-trucks filled with drinking water. But for real, not pretend. Oh wait, that's going to happen in 50 years anyway.

Right now there are 436 people per square kilometer of arable land in Algeria. In 55 years there will be 872 people per square kilometer. That's assuming that the amount of arable land stays the same in Algeria. But of course there will be less, becasue the Sahara Desert is growing and Algerians pollute the hell out of their water supplies. So it will probably be more like 1000-1500 people per square kilometer of arable land.

Then the wars for water start. Enter dune-buggies stage left.

Maybe we can poison Hugo Chavez and blame the Russians like we did all those other guys.

I want to know who killed Andreas Baader, Gudrin Ensslin, and Ulrike Meinhoff in their prison cells. I never bought that whole hid a gun in his record player for 2 years and then killed himself story.

I want to take Black Fatima out on a date. I want to buy her a new mink stoll and help her drug a few teenage Chechen girls into suicide bombers. I want to prove she doesn't exist. She really doesn't, the Russians made her up.

I want Russia to leave Chechnya alone. I want to visit Libya. I want to walk across the Sahara Desert and play Jarre's "Lawrence of Arabia" theme on my MP3 player when Cairo first comes into sight.

I want to work at a think tank.

Originally posted on December 1, 2006 on Myspace.

"Dharma for Darfur - A Rant" by: MHD

Restraint, constraint, straight-jacketed hollow-point pops into your brain through a fore-head dot India ink style while kiddies finger paint snot smears where mommy can't see and an old man strains to pea-brained scheme up a flag-pole, standing at attention with one hand on his heart and the other chokes life from a gold ingot being stolen Auric style - "No Mr. Bond I expect you to -

Dye your hair again it'll make you look younger generation weened on Dr. Phil meth-lab pseudo-science cooked up in a kitchen out of anti-depressants and ritalin riddling his brain pan fried and delicious can't find a fucking job in this townies messing with cadets school shooting bullshit train our kids to kill Ender's Game gone haywire to hotwire the General Lee for a joyride through movie remake mania as long as it's a high-def fifty-two inch ramrod up the ass like you're at Lexington and Concorde killing Redcoats for representative democracy and Republican Federalism and low-cost dvd's with special extra 2-disc bonus features that'll blow your mind and your dick...

...on this commentary track just keeps talking on and on about the fucking 3rd Best Boy and the Grip and that time they helped the Darfur refugees for twelve whole fucking hours so they could get the perfect shot at sunrise and how great it made them feel to hold that starved child's hand when the sounds of the blanks going off in Leo's AK scared her into thinking the fucking warlords were coming back to finish the job that killed her fucking mother and sister, grandfather and cousin.

But hey, that was one long day on location and this lame-ass fucking story on a 3rd Commentary audio option on the fucking Little Shop Of Horrors' 35th anniversary deluxxe dvd is more important to most of us than kiddie raping Congressmen and legal torture and the double-standard of female sex predators getting a slap on the wrist when they diddle a student driver run him off the fucking road I'm in a hurry here and now trying to breath life back into the comatosed consciousness that has a Ted Nugent stranglehold on this Desperate Housewives agenda item for our next meeting -

We need a show to make fat girls feel like they belong in this confusing culture of mixed message plane crash out your anger at the government shoot up a school little house on the prairie magic-time.

Gotta get the Laura Ingalls Wilder flowing, gotta get the Mork and Mindy going, gotta bring back Barney Miller, gotta make everyone feel warm inside, like they aren't the only ones who hate their lives, who work hard all day just to get shit from the kids and suicide bombs and stingrays jumping out of the water to over-throw the topsy-turvy world of man ruling stingray - they're taking it back like we should be - cover your heart and open your eyes.

Originally posted on October 20, 2006 on Myspace.

Meaningless

Stuck under a ton of rocks, bones crushed, life leaking out into the cold wilderness, and all he can visualize is the evil green guy from Pinwheel whose name he can't remember.

Him and the Dozers from Fraggle Rock making sugar glass for Lee Majors to fall through into a dozen wedding cakes made by Queer Eye for the Blind Guy.

He can wiggle his toes and twitch his nose, the rest of his motor functions are kaput. He tries to think of music to distract himself from the pain, but can only think of crap songs by Winger and Nelson. Now as his vision blurs he hears laughing like...

Hours later he wakes, a wolf eating his guts out and all he can do is replay the episode of Dukes where Luke loves the Russian acrobat or that movie with Magnum PI and the jewels in WWII or that other one where Travolta and Mandel go to Russia to teach swing dancing or some such...

Originally posted on August 11, 2006 on Myspace.