Monster Airways Announces Flight Delay!

Monster Airways regretfully announces that the "Monster Flight" will be Temporarily Delayed in its Arrival at this Blogport!

But it is still scheduled to arrive, and is currently, at this very moment, circling in a holding pattern, high in the Blogo-Sphere over your suburban backyard, so stop doing that! (The Monster Plane is supported only by a crystal clear plate of solid gold Blogoleum, the hardest substance known to man, except for my weenie!)

The Monster Flight is trapped in what appears to be a Blinding Snowstorm of Fine Ash Particles from Cremated Tunes, concentrated just above the Nation's Radio Towers!

When the Tune Pilot regains Visual Contact with this Blogport, he will try to land the "Monster Flight".

Good Luck! Keep your fingers crossed, and your Prayer Rug in the right compass direction! And remember, any landing you can walk away from, is a good landing!

Oh, you are a Passenger on this Flight, aren't you? That's right....just checking....yes....here it is....you have the window seat.... aren't you Lucky!

Signed,
Faint Bernard

Copyright (C) 2007. By Bernard Drums!

The Monster is Coming! Run for Your Lives!

The Monster is coming! What shall we do? Should we run? Should we hide?

What should we do, when the Monster Arrives!



Heavens to Betsey, you're running around like a chicken, with your head cut off!

Just calm down, and everything will be alright!



But it's a Monster! And it's Coming! I can hear its Footsteps. It has a Huge Carbon Footprint!

And its disrupting our lives! We have to RUN, NOW!



Yeah... Right... Wake me when it gets here, Mr. Falling Sky... What is it, some kind of Monster Bunny, with huge tits?

Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!

What's that ticking sound? Do you hear it?
Uh, oh, it's a Mental Time Bomb!

It's inside YOUR computer!!
If it goes off, it will spray your face with Sharp Mental Thoughts!
(I think it's called sharpnel)

Run! Get up from your computer now!
RUN!

KA-BOOM!!!!!

Are you there? ...You didn't run, did you?
Okay, this time I'm serious...

There's a Monster, just behind you, over your left shoulder. I can see him in the reflection of your screen...

Boo!

Scared ya, didn't I?!

Wouldn't It Be Loverly, If We Were All "Artists" and "Geniuses"?

Are You Happy With Today’s Music? Do You Like the Way Commercial Radio Uses Your Public Airwaves?

Read On, and Get a Taste of How Giant Corporations Abused Your Public Airwaves, and Helped Create the Death of American Music.

Achtung, Baby! Some definitions…
Holocaust – When Nazi Germany killed the Jews.
American Music Genocide – When Corporate Radio killed the Tunes.

Static… Fuzz… “Transmitting!” [echoey, far away Voice coming from deep inside your computer]
“…hiding out deep within the cyber-tunnels of the inter-Web, the Public Airwaves Liberation Front needs you to help strike down the Concentrated Corporate Power that has caused the Death of American Music! We are desperate to restore the Nation’s Music to better health, and we are willing to try using Bold Freedom, the new anti-corporate insurgent detergent, with crystal blue advanced corporate cleaning power! But we need your help! Fizz… Splink… Sklizzit… After reading this piece, with only a few minutes of time, and No Money, you will be able to Change the World, using just the Power of your Superhero Citizen Fingertips! Read on, and you shall see, how the power can be returned to the People, where it rightly should be…

Snerb… Spoink… Flizz… And to help us lead America back to a sunlit, melody meadow, to a shining Music City on a harmonious hill, I hand the microphone to my trusted co-leader, the beautiful, and earthy Amazon Queen, Omama Bin Rockin!”

[Cheers, applause]
“Hey Kids! Welcome to Bad Poetry Corner!”


BAD POETRY CORNER: MUSIC "LYRICS" AND RAP "NURSERY RHYMES". THE MYTH OF THE “ARTIST” AS “POET”.

I Wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener,
I Wish I was a Real Artist, too!
But if I can’t be a really Real Artist,
I’ll just say, “I Am”, the better to fool you!
HaHaHa! The Music Joke is on you!

How do you like the Emperor’s New Music Clothes?
Aren’t they Beautiful?
Even though he’s really stark Naked,
Standing in front of you?

Order up some more New Music Clothes!
Download them to your Why-Bother-Pod!
Buy buffoon pantaloon Tunes,
and my Stupid new music Shoes!

-by Stupid Man, the “Naked Emperor” cd, on Who Gives a Shit Records, produced by the Big Asshole

Quick, get the Nail Gun! I want to put a Nail in my Head! Oh, sorry, I meant a “body piercing” in my head! I hear it does wonders for your self-esteem, particularly if you have Low Self Esteem! I hear it makes the “New Music” even better!

I hear that if you do dance moves, and scream, and jump, and get drunk, that’ll make the new music better too! Maybe if the TV and radio tells me it’s good, bangs it into my head enough times, with an Aural-Visual Nail Gun, I’ll buy it too, and think it’s cool!

Maybe, since the music sucks, then in comparison, I’ll look really cool? Or will I just look like a Fool? Like a Tool, of the Music Industry School? Hey, this rhymes! Can I be a rapper too?

I’m glad I got that off my chest. I feel slightly better.


THE “MUSIC” AND ENTERTAINMENT BUSINESS

Two of the most overused words in the entertainment business, and improperly used at that, are “artist” and “genius”. Of course, since the entertainment business is based on illusion and hype, two polite words for saying fakery and bullshit, it stands to reason that the fakers and bullshitters would use words like “artist” and “genius” a lot.

Let’s start with “artist”. I have a real problem with that. Let’s see if I can sum this up for those impatient types who want the point immediately! The guy who paints my house is a painter, a house painter, not an artist. (Although his care and quality may imbue his work, his craft, with a level of artistry.) But Rembrandt, (not the toothpaste whitener, but the picture painter), was so good, his painting elevated him to the status of Real Artist. No quotation marks needed. He was the Real Thing.

Just because you can pick up a guitar, fluff up your hair, rub your floppy little lips on a mike, and make a CD, doesn’t make you an artist! A musician maybe, a singer maybe, a songwriter maybe, and maybe not a very good one at that.

What is the Standard that allows you to claim status as an Artist? Is it because you’ve decided to play, and you’ve sold something? Is it because you don’t want to work at Starbucks, or get a job in insurance? Is it because, “I can’t do anything else”? (If that isn’t pretentious enough to make you fart, nothing will! Actors use that one all the time.) Or is it because, your “art” has made money?

Or, how about this, (this one is rich), “When you’ve influenced the culture?” Or, this one, (the rock’n roll hall of fame loves this one) “When you’ve been part of the history, the evolution, of rock’n roll?”

Try this. Fake TV wrestlers have influenced the low IQ segment of our culture, and have been part of TV history! Shall we call a fake TV wrestler “an Artist”? Shall we send a fake TV wrestler to real Olympic wrestling next time?

Just when does bologna get to call itself steak? And when does Kool-Aid get to call itself fine wine? Is it when the record company wants to sell it to you, so the execs can get a bigger house, a bigger car, and a bigger, greedier, blonde?


I DUB THEE, “SIR ARTIST, KNIGHT OF THE MUSIC REALM”

For me, the title of Artist confers upon the person an awarding of excellence, and a title that shouldn’t be easily handed out, just because you’ve sold a lot of something. (As in, “Congratulations! You’ve just made a lot of very well made Crap! You are very Lucky there are enough people with low brain power in the World to buy your Crap! You are now, officially, an ‘Artist of Well Made Crap’!”)

“Here’s your gold framed Sales Record! You’re now Salesman of the Month! You sold more widgets and cheese puffs than anybody! Here’s a new Plaid Suit for you to wear, and a Big Stinky Cigar, and some Clown Shoes! Now go out and make some more Crap, the World is just waiting for more Crap from You!"

While Stupid People are happy to get Low-Grade Quantity, the word “Artistry” suggests a very high level of Quality. Einstein was an Artist, in figuring out the Universe. Watson and Crick were artists in figuring out the DNA Ladder of Life. The Wright Brothers were artists in figuring out how to FLY!

And you’re sitting there writing a little ditty, about breaking up with your girlfriend in high school, when you were 16. “Singing”, or screaming, in an unpleasant, out of key voice. Sporting a leather jacket with driving gloves, and wearing monster eye makeup with monster boots. With a bucket of hair gel on your hair, and a “sneer” on your oh so cool Stupid Face. Come on, dude, get real! You’re a Total Member of the Fake Image Bullshit Music Club! You might as well call up the Fake “TV Wrestling” Squad, and ask them, where can I join?

“Artist” becomes a denigrated, debased, watered down term, bandied about far too easily, and greatly reduced in value, and given to people who really don’t deserve it. It means giving the person the “royal title”, along with all the glory that goes along with that title, when they really haven’t earned it, and probably never will. Is Justin Timberfake an artist? How about Brittany “Broccoli” Spears? Shall we call fake TV wrestlers “artists”, and fake TV wrestling “Art”?


A NEW DIRECTION

Not only does the music and entertainment industry need an Enema, (as Jack Nicholson so aptly said in the first Batman film, ‘This town needs an enema!’), but we need a new category. How about, “Next up on the Playlist, a fine artist of low grade Crap, for low I.Q. People! Don’t touch that dial, we got more low grade crap comin’ at cha all day long! The Station with the Best Low Grade Music Crap! Low I.Q. people, Stay Tuned!”


In the meantime, instead of using “artist”, (I know, it’s so much easier for the radio dj’s to say artists, and it’s so nice to think we’re all supporting Art), how about using the word, “Musician”? I looked it up in my dictionary. It says, “A person skilled in composing, or performing music, especially a professional.” That just about covers it, doesn’t it? They’ve got some skill, and they’re performing.

The level of skill they have is left a bit unclear. They might suck, but they do have some skill, and they are performing! It’s a movable term, kinda like when movie reviewers, faced with the mountain of Crap that Hollywood has made in the last 15 or 20 years, will say, “It’s the Best Movie so far this year!”.

Try “the 885 most voted for musicians in the WXPN 88.5 countdown”, instead of artist. Not too hard, huh? That way, it leaves it open, and more democratic, about their true ability. They might be a consistently great musician, or an inconsistent good musician, or mediocre, or bad. That way, the rest of us can make our own judgments about their abilities as an “Artist”. Okay? Pretty please, with Sugar on Top? (Not now, Sugar, I was just making a point! Later… besides, my Viagra doesn’t kick in until… Sproing! Damn, I gotta start timing these things better. Oh, hell, I ripped my pants again! Sugar, will you come over here and take good, good care of this throbbing purple-red Monster? “Well, I’ll be delighted too, little old Bernardee! Anything for my little sugar oogums!”)

But calling them an artist right off the bat gives them the crown, the reward, the glory of the title, just because they’ve strapped on the guitar, and approached the mike! Terry Gross on WHYY FM does it best in her archive fund ad when she says she’s interviewed “hundreds of writers, artists, and musicians over the years”. Let’s try and do as well as Terry! There, that didn’t hurt, did it? (Splooosh! Thank you, Sugar, that felt just wonderful! “You’re welcome, Bernardee, any old time!)


ARTIFICIAL SUBSTITUTE, JUNK FOOD, “MUSIC” PRODUCT

Based on the increasingly poor quality of “product” that the entertainment/music business has pumped out over our “cultural landscape” over the past 25 years, the vastly increased emphasis on serving only the largest, and dumbest, market segment, and its increasingly negative impact on the hearts and minds of our people, I’d say the title of artist, and genius, is vastly overused.

Although the term “evil genius” comes to mind. Adolph Hitler was good at that, not too long ago, as he wiped out the Jews, and their culture. What do they call that, “Cultural Genocide”? Is that when one group wipes out a culture? That couldn’t happen here, could it? How about Musical Cultural Genocide? That’s not happening here, is it? No? Phew! For a minute there, I was worried, but if you tell me not to worry, I won’t!

You can call it entertainment, or you can call it “individually wrapped slices of cheese food music product substitute”, but don't call it Art. And please don’t call them artists, or geniuses. Even if you do want to work with them again, find another way to kiss their Ass… just plant it right up there. Mmm! Yummy!

Not to worry, the Fashion Industry, another bastion of high intelligence, and High Art, says brown lipstick is “in” this fall! It must be true, because I read it in one of those New York “city-slicker mind-style” magazines, another mind warping, life sucking tool of the “Communications/Propaganda” Industry. (Hey, anything to make a living in NewYork City, the center of Culture!)

As a guy I once knew used to (redundantly) say 36 years ago, “What’s the ‘nub point’?” of all this? Here’s one point. Having the ability to entertain low brainpower people with low quality crap doesn’t make you an artist. Chisel that one on your tombstone. (But it might make you a trickster, a sham, or a “con artist”. And I would not consider Mr. Rogers, or Captain Kangaroo, artists either, as nice and beneficial as they may be.)

But you could be an amuser, an entertainer, a buffoon, an opportunist, a shrewd ambitious business man, a court jester, a monkey with a tin cup, but an artist? No, sorry, no way.

Members of the band “Kiss” qualify for all of the above, except, of course, the Artist title. Even though you may have enjoyed them when you were ten years old, or older, God forbid! The guy with the tongue? He’s basically just a clever businessman, who went into “music”, instead of dentistry, or blue jean sales. He may have made a nice living, and puffed up his ego, but what really did he contribute to the Planet? I know, I know, a lot of happy moments for little kids. The Kiddie Rock Star.

Avoid buying into the New York City-LA bullshit. Because that’s what it is, bullshit. But they want to hand it to you as if it’s the word of god, so they can eat at a better restaurant, and live in a big house. And because the camera makes them appear as if they are gods. The TV Camera Gods! Oooh! Bow down before their every word! Believe Everything they say! Because They Are On Camera, and you’re not!

Buy this, wear this, watch this, listen to this, act this way, look like this, and on, and on, and on. It’s like you’re a little idiot in the jungle, or the desert, and the High Priest makes a bowl of red powder flash into Flame, with a Big Puff of Smoke, and you all draw back and go, “Whoo, Magic Power! Yes, Massah, I’ll buy anything, do anything, wear anything, do whatever you say, just as long as you tell me I’ll feel better, and be More Important, and have bigger tits, and a bigger Penis!” And some big, bloated, greedy clever idiot, in NYC or LA, cashes a big check, as he screws up your mind, and messes with your head!

Instead, develop a mind of your own, if you have one, instead of letting them develop it for you. Do you want some dork in New Yawk City, or LA, who has to sit on an analyst’s couch, and who needs to buy a 20,000 dollar watch with sprinkles on it in order to just feel good about himself as a person, telling you how to live your Life?

Do you know how to tell the difference between the independent talk show hosts, (the ones with a bit of a mind of their own), from the ones who are wedded to the music machine, the ones that are sucking up to the industry, because they want to further their careers, and get to a higher level of talk show? The independent ones don’t say “artist” anymore when a music guest comes on their show. It’s only naïve unaware people, or the suck ups that buy into the record industry crap, that still use the term, “artist”. Check out the late night shows, you’ll see.


KORPORATE NAZISM, AND THE KOMMUNICATIONS KONCENTRATION KAMP (KKK)

Unfortunately, the radio DJs are under the thumb of their corporate masters. They soldier on, trying to remain chipper, but if they’ve wanted to stay in the business in the last 25 years, I’m sure they’ve had to bite their tongue many times as the Corporation lorded it over them. And of course, the Corporate Problem took a while to become clear, and grow into the Monster it has become today.

So every time you turn around, the DJs have to say “artist”, it’s part of the whole Bullshit Corporate Presentation. It’s part of the marketing crap that their giant parent company wants, the Mega Corporate Entertainment Racket. (Radio Exec, in hoody: “The better to sell to you with, my dear! It’s just me, Little Red Riding HOOD!” Snarl, Fangs, CHOMP! )

The DJs have no choice but to say what their bosses tell them to say, or they’ll lose their jobs. And the striving, ambitious media execs, who don’t give a Crap about the Public’s Needs, just want a bigger house, a bigger car, and a pat on the head from the Corporate Boss, so they can keep their job, and their blonde, gold-digging cow of a wife. Course, the exec and his wife deserve each other, just two “people” trying to get the Best Business Deal from each other, just like everything else in their “Life”.

For the DJ’s, it comes down to, what’s harder to say, “mortgage”, or “artist”? Not much choice there. Starbucks, and the Insurance Company Job, on the one hand, or the Studio Booth, with its diminishing satisfaction, and moral compromise? Hmm. Tough choice.

American Corporate Nazism, at its Best! American Korporate Nazism. Let that roll around on your Tongue for a bit. We’re seeing a whole lot more of that lately in America. How’s it Taste? Not too good, does it? A leetle bit Salty. Kinda gags you, and makes it hard to breath. It’s called the Corporate Cock. A lot of local, and big time network reporters, and major network news anchors, have that one jammed down their throats these days. Cough, cough, gag!

How does the Corporate Owner say it? “Just shut up, do what I say, and this won’t hurt a bit? And remember to swallow hard, when I come. Here, I’ll just hold the back of your head, so you can’t back out of the deal! There, that wasn’t so bad was it? And now, you get to make another mortgage payment, and eat for another week! What a deal! Oh, by the way, you’ll need a Kleenex! And buy your own!”

So if you want the big bucks, you gotta turn your head the other way: or up, or down, or whatever way your boss best likes it, right? Just sit back, relax, and enjoy it… being raped by the corporation! On a daily, and Permanent Basis. Don’t forget that mortgage, and the wife, and the kids. The Korporate Motto? “You gotta Serve Somebody, and it’s gonna be me! It ain’t gonna be the People, and it ain’t gonna be the Lord, it’s just gonna be… fucking… Me!”


THE NEW NAZI PROPAGANDA MACHINE

Der Kommunications Industry, isn’t it Wunderbar, oops, I mean, Wonderful!? Kinda like a Propaganda Machine. Hmm, where have I heard that before? Was it Germany, when Hitler killed the Jews? Or is it today, when the Corporate Monopolies killed the News, and Killed the Tunes? As they greedily search for the most efficent, Final financial Solution to the pesky Tune-ish Question, and how to kill the Jews, oops, I mean the News budget!

The Corporate Motto has become, “I vass only following Orders, from der Korporate Kamp Kommandant! Jawohl, my Korporate Leader! I vass just Paying the Mortgage, as I Dumped der Toxic Vaste on der People, und killed der Tunes! Ve must Maintain the Purity of the Profit, the purity of the on-air “Air-On” Race, hee-hee-hee, dot iss zo funni, I krack myself up!! I vill explain! Ja, und Auf Wiedersehen to you, too!

(The Aryan Race--In Nazi ideology, a white Gentile, especially of Nordic type. Think blonde, blue eyes, and Sweden. Everybody else gets fried. In today’s Radio Race, the Maximum Profitability of the Narrowest Playlist. As in, “Vee must maintain the Purity of der most Profitable Playlist, und vee vill make no exceptions for Quality Tunes! In fact, our job iss to Exterminate, as many Jews, oops, I mean Tunes, as vee kan! Sing Heil Hitless!”)

So, my friends… Pity the Poor Disc Jock, locked in his little Studio Box, playing with a shitty little Playlist, and stroking what’s left, of his Shriveled little Corporate Rock!

And if you call in now, we’ll pay you a shit-load of money, or give you a trip for two, so we can measure our Market. And you can “honestly” tell us, how Much you Love our Radio Station, and our short little list, of Crappy Tunes.

Hey! That rhymes! I really could be a rapper “poet” .


“THE KAPITALIST WILL SELL THE ROPE, HE USES TO HANG HIMSELF”. ( MARX OR LENIN… NOT GROUCHO OR JOHN)

If I hear one more talk show host, one more DJ, announce another “artist”, and out comes a guy that can’t sing his way out of a Wet Paper Bag, with a Mediocre Melody that takes a fast trip to Nowhere, with guitars that sound like the Key Grinding Machine at Home Depot, and wearing tattoos that look like a Skin Disease and Wacky hair gel, (with little sex kitten/teen girls at the edge of the stage, being paid to mouth the words, as if they really know this “artist’), and all of it backed by a Sleazy record exec with a cigar and the morals of a Nazi, and a sleazy “Music” company money machine that might as well be making taco chips, or pretzels, or highly toxic waste, I’m going to Throw Up!

Maybe we could video that, and you can call me an artist. Maybe I could take a picture of my ass, and you can call me an artist. Art is in the eye of the beholder, right? No Censorship here!

I’ll sell you a Framed Picture of My Ass, I’ll even sell you a Bag of Vomit! Let’s see, what’s my unit cost on the bag, and the picture frame? Yeah, this’ll work! Maximum Unit Volume, multiplied by the Profit Margin Per Unit, equals… Yep, Malibu Beach House, here I come! What do I care, if it Warps the American Kid’s Mind? I’ll be able to play golf, in Tucson, fo’ de rest of my life!

Give me enough Dollars, and I’ll Suck you off, and make you Holler! Cause I’m the Music Prostitution Man! And since it’s a Two Way Street, I hope you won’t mind, that I’m coming in your Mouth, while I Beat my Meat! Hold steady, now! Uhhh! Uhhh! Uuuuuhhhhhhhhh!

The Musical, Cultural, Transfer… is now Complete! I hope it was just as Good for you, as it was so Easy and Sweet for me!

Now let me just give my little Snake, a little Shake, so you get that last drop. You feel better now? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it! After a while, you won’t even be able to tell the difference between good music and bad! In fact, it’s already happening, or happened, right now!

Trust me! I’m the Music Prostitution/Network Monopoly/Communications Man! And I’m right here, on your friendly neighborhood, radio/TV dial, ready to be your Best Friend! Tell your kids to Tune In, I’ll be more than Happy, to Influence them, and Screw Them, anyway I can!

It’s Big Business, don’t you see, and we have a Right, to earn every Penny! Cuz I’m the Music Prostitution/Network Monopoly/Communications Man!

Signal High! My Music Leader! You are my Music Hitler!
Seig Heil! Und Heil Hitler!
We get our strategy and techniques, from Hitler’s Views!
Now let’s get down to business, and Kill some more News,
and shitcan those Quality Tunes!
We are the New Nazi Kommunications Industry,
and WE have the right,
to give you the blues.
Now shut up!
And get out of my sight!
We’re in Kontrol here!
NOT YOU!


‑‑Faint Bernard, August, 2006. On a sunny beach somewhere. Swill City, Sewage Island, USA. Or is it Utopia Island?

Ahgpo: “I think you’re in Dreamland! You’re standards are way too high! You have to lower your standards! That’s the only way you’re going to survive in this world! Get down here in the muck with the rest of us. Smear it on good! Oops, you missed a spot! Oooh, now doesn’t that feel better, right under there? Yeah! Screw the World! I wanna get my success, NOW!”

Devil: “Now you’re talkin’!”
Little Girl: “Mommy, who’s the debil?”

Edward G. Robinson, (at Mt.Sinai): “Hey, Moses, get out of here, you’re bugging me! Can’t you see I’m working on the next Golden Calf? Take your Stone Tablets somewhere else! Hey you, in the booth, Cue up the Next Track! “Now ain’t that sweet, come on girl, take off your clothes, and show me your Meat!” Yas Suh, dat be a Guaranteed Gold Hit Single!! Let’s beam dat one straight into de black and white community right away!”

EMT: “Quick! Call Emergency Rabbinical Services! We have a Critical Case here!” “Hello? Hello? Can anybody hear me?” Busy signal. “Quick, give him the defibrillator!” Ka-Chunk! Ka-Chunk! “Anything?” “No, Nothing” “Damn! I think the Patient’s dead!” “Are there any Vital Musical Signs at all?” “No, none at all” “Jesus!” “Oi-Vey!” “I think we killed him.”

Ahgpo: “Bad Doggie! You pooped on the carpet! When are you going to learn? Let’s ask the Rabbi, and the Preacher Man!”

Crotchety Old Man: “I’m telling you, there ain’t no such thing as the Golden Rule! It’s all Humbug! Fuck the Golden Rule! It’s he who has the Gold, Rules! Now go to sleep! You’re botherin’ me! Goodnite John Boy!” “Goodnite Pa!” “…Is the alarm system on?”

“Tweet-tweet! Tweep-tworp!”
Canary in the mine shaft! Canary in the mine shaft! Thweep! Bonk!
Selmer Fudge: “Poor wittle Wabbit! He’s dead! I wonder what killed him?”

At the International Entertainment Gold Mine Shaft Corporation, President Irving U. Goldmine: “The most influential industry in the Nation, and first we lobotomized him, then we killed him! What a Shame!” (Puff! Puff! Big Cigar.) “What’s for lunch?”

Weasely Assistant: “Golden Goose Pate”.

Moment of Silence

Ahgpo: “Do you think a Policy Solution could Fix This?”
Pahg: “Ahs don’t rightly knows, Freeze Bone, but it sho’ might Help! Let’s sleep on it, and maybe, just maybe, it might come to us in de mornin’.”

Ahgpo: “All right , Pahg.”

Pahg: “Yooz sleep goods now, Ahgpo. And let me jus shuts off dis here light so weez be in dee Dark!”

“Okee-dokee!”
“Okee-dokee to you, too!”

“Goo’nite, Pahg.”
“Goo’nite, Ahgpo.”

“It sho is dark in here”.
“It sho is, I can’t see a thing!”

‑‑fadeout, bernard


Copyright © 2007. by Bernard Drums!
All rights reserved, including the right to look you straight in the eye and say, “You can’t handle the Troof!”

Legal Disclaimer: Any resemblance to reality, is completely fictional.

Now is your simple and easy Chance to be a Superhero Citizen, just as I promised you!

Using the Magic Power in your Superhero Fingertips, go to http://www.senate.gov/, and type in your state and zip code. This gives you your two United States Senators. (Yes, Street Fightin Man, you get two Senators to screw you!) Click on his or her contact tab, and in their email message box type in the following message. [ I’ll give you a short 3 sentence version, or, a 5 sentence longer version! Your choice!] Do the same for your Congressman or woman, at http://www.house.gov/.

Then sit back, and pat yourself on the head, and say “I am a Good Doggie! I am a Citizen Superhero! And I can Change theWorld!”

Here is the 5 sentence version.

Too few companies own too many radio and tv stations, and newspapers in America. The result is poor quality music, poor tv entertainment, and under funded, low quality news reporting. Media ownership concentration kills excellence, diversity, and democracy.

Our democracy is in danger, because our citizens are kept in the dark by poor quality news reporting, and democracy depends on well informed, voting citizens.

Lower the media ownership concentration levels, set better public service benchmarks for radio and tv license renewal, and force the companies that rent our Public Airwaves to serve the entire nation better!


Here is the short 3 sentence version:

Too few companies own too many radio and tv stations, and newspapers in America. This media ownership concentration kills excellence, diversity, and democracy. Lower the ownership levels, and force the companies that rent our Public Airwaves to serve the entire nation better.


Phew! Are my Superhero Fingertips tired!

If your senator says contact the FCC (Federal Communications Commission), you write back and say the FCC website is poorly designed, and keeps citizens in the dark about their decision making process and their exact upcoming schedule, (another stonewall between the citizen and his/her government… keep ‘em in the dark, make it harder to speak up!). You tell your senator to put pressure on the FCC, and work for you! That’s his job, to represent you! He is your Representative, and your Public Servant!

Now, pull back that Superhero cape, adjust your red Superhero tights, and Fly my friend, FLY! Express your unique citizen You-ness, and together we will feel the Power of our Super We-ness!

Remember, as Abraham Lincoln said, “it is the government of the We-ness, for the We-ness, and by the We-ness!”

Now, go to your email window, fling it open, and YELL at the TOP of your LUNGS: “I’m SICK and TIRED, and I’m NOT going to take it ANYMORE! I’m SOMEBODY! I’m a POWERFUL, and THROBBING, CITIZEN WE-NESS!


For more fun, visit culturedrums.blogspot.com

The full, technical address is http://www.culturedrums.blogspot.com/. The shorter address should work in your browser address slot. Don’t use a search engine slot like google or yahoo, it will just say “no match found”. Once your there, click the teeny weeny little black arrows next to the months, for other stories! Enjoy!

Music, Monopoly,and Democracy. It's Your Life.

3 Piece Thought McNugget, with Extra Pause.
Irritated, But Not Sure Why.


[At the Mental Drive-in, at the Mental Order Window, staring at the colorful mental pictures on the Thought Menu, at either “Burger Think!”, “McDoubts Y’All?”, “KFC-Kentucky Fried Concept!”, “Wonders!”, "Thoughtful Bell", “Piece 'a Whut?”, and the reformed, more racially sensitive "Denials"]

“May I take your Order, Please?”, asked the Burger girl in her burger bungle hat.

“I’ll have a 3 Piece Thought McNugget, with extra pause.”

“Would you like a Mental Shake, and French Lies with that?”, chewing her gum thoughtfully.

“No, I’m on a Thought Diet. I want to be Mentally Slim for Summer. If I get too thoughtful, I might be unattractive. I want to make sure my thoughts fit in.”

“Do you want sweet and sour thought sauce, or mild thought sauce?”, she asked, with a determined stare.

“Sweet and sour.”

“Do you want the Happy Meal, or the Sad Meal?”, this time with a look of sincere concern.

“Do you have any Angry Meals?”.

“No, we’re all out of those. We had a big run on them this morning. But we have a substitute meal called, ‘Irritated, but Not Sure Why.’”

“I’ll take two.”

“Pull up to the window, that’ll be 400 dollars.”

“What? 400 dollars? You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m serious. It’s all due to the rising cost of Mental Health Food Insurance. We are a “fast food for thought” restaurant, with very quick service, you know! Not only do we fully cook our thought burgers, so you won’t get any “franchise acquired” thought infections, we also guarantee that our prices won’t go up more than 20 percent a year!”

“And what’s important to remember, is you can always get an appointment quickly, even if your total appointment time with our food physician, or our meal dispensary technician, never lasts longer than 10 to 15 minutes! Our mental food physicians are highly skilled in diagnosing, or misdiagnosing, your mental food problems in the shortest, and most profitable period of time!

And it’s also important to remember that you could always get an appointment, even if you can’t afford the appointment, in which case, we’ll help you sell your house! Besides, 400 dollars is only the price of one month of insurance coverage! It’s a steal!”

“Where’s my Change?”

“There is no change, unless you’re prepared to become politically involved, and that’s too hard. Change involves thinking, and thinking is hard, especially if you’re stupid.”

“Oh”.

As Scooter sat in his car, the engine humming, he opened the Thought McNugget Box, and the Aroma of Three Fresh Thoughts floated upward! Hmm! What would they be this time?

He took a bite, and the first thought exploded inside his brain with a flash! It said, “Can you have True Democracy, if Lobbyists control your Congressmen and Senators, as if they were Domestic House Pets?” Then the thought immediately went away.

Scooter picked up the second thought McNugget, and popped it into his eagerly waiting mouth. There was a pause, and then an emerald green flash. The thought appeared through the colorful flavor, and it said, “Can you truly have a Free Press, when just a few Giant Corporations control all of the newspapers and magazines, and all of the TV and radio stations?” Then the thought disappeared!

He quickly picked up the third Thought McNugget, and wolfed it down. There was a rumble, and then Bang! The thought jingle-jangled through the empty, but cluttered, office corridors of his bear trap mind! It said, “Can you have true music competition, when just a few powerful entertainment corporations control the music that gets selected, and played?” The thought slowly faded…

Then Scooter heard a little Voice inside his head, kind of echoey and ghostly, like in the movies when they want you to know you’re hearing the actor’s thoughts. It said, “They don’t want you to know the answers to these questions, Scooter, My Little Friend!” But why? And then it came to him. The better to eat you with my dear. I’m Little Red Riding Hood, and they’re the Big Bad Wolf! The more they keep me in the dark, the less I know, the easier it is for them to eat me!

And then the Voice said, “Now run, run all the way home to Grandma’s house, because we’re gonna eat her too! Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!”

Scooter folded up the paper Thought Box, and threw it on the floor of the car. He started the engine, and drove out of the parking lot, and headed home to grandma’s house. He was irritated, that’s for sure, but not sure why, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He turned on the radio, but didn’t hear anything he liked, so he snapped it off. And then, as he drove off into the late afternoon golden sunset, for some strange reason, he felt that there had to be a Policy Solution, to the questions the Thought Food had put in his mind.

As the sun began to fade, he was briefly silhouetted against the window and the sky, and he looked sorta like that Native American Indian, Chief What’s-His-Name, in the TV commercial years ago, with a tear rolling down one eye, as thoughtless people littered, and threw trash out on the land, and never gave a thought, to the negative effects of their crime. Chief Who’sa Whatsie, with all the trash blowing across the beautiful land.

Then the sun faded completely, the sky went black, and Scooter had to snap on his headlights, and try to find his way home, in the cold, the dark, and the damp.


Signed,
Scooter (Little Crazy Squirrel)

Copyright © 2007. by Bernard Drums!
All Rights Reserved, including the right to think about my weeny whenever I want!

I Hear the Drums Speak!

But What Are They Saying?

Sing in Broadway Voice: “It’s OFFICIAL! It’s Official! It couldn’t be any less Superficial!” Bernard is NOW, a World Wide Internet “Common Tater”! A talking Spud! With Butter! And salt. Hmmm! Yummy! And beady little eyes!

Now I’m gonna get my 15 minutes of FAME! Tick… tick… tick… Splorp!
Damn! Are they up? Quick, hit the Snooze button, or the Floozy Button! I want 9 more minutes of Fame!
Bam! Bam! Bam! There, that should keep me famous for a while longer!

Reporter: “Do you think we could get Chief Talking Thunder to come out from his Tee-Pee?”

“Absolutely not! The Chief is in Deep Talks with his brother, Chief Thunder Cloud, and with his distant cousin, SisterChief Big Moon Bottom! And he is contemplating her Moon, I mean, her Bottom, I mean, the Moon, and her wonderfully full Stars! But he will come shortly, because he is preparing a Big Speech for his Tribal Brothers!”

Reporter: “Am I a Tribal Brother?”

“Yes, My Son, and Daughter! We are All Tribal Brothers!”

Reporter: "But what Tribe are we?"

"The Human Tribe, my son! Or, as they say in New Yawk City, the 'You-Men' Tribe!

Reporter: “Kill the lights! We gotta wait for the Chief ! One hour dinner break!”

Signed,
Little Thunder


© 2007. by Bernard Drums!

Real Legal Disclaimer: This masterpiece is a work of Fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Fake Legal Disclaimer: Extreme caution is urged when using the information and exercises contained in this fiction. If medical problems appear or persist, the reader should consult with a health care professional. Erections lasting longer than 4 weeks should be reported to the authorities immediately, because you might be a sex offender! Or call a pharmaceautical company, and ask for the “Special Studies Department”, and request to speak with the “Head” Mistress of Busyness and Assministration.

Down Boy! “Aw, gee, what a Party Pooper! I can see a lot more from Up Here! Uh, oh, Here Come dee Tunnel! Sploosh! Eeee-Yowww! WATER RIDE! Oh, BOY, let’s put her in REVERSE, and DO THAT AGAIN! I’m really wet now! But it’s so soft, and warm! Back this Bad Boy up, Sonny, and let’s do it again! Man, this is just like Night and Day!”

LAST WORDS of JESUS. The Crust of Fiction, and Redirection, of Jesus' Body of Words.

Was Jesus Crustified in Heart Clogging Transfact, to Save You from Seeing Your Hate-filled sins?

[Stage Directions. Jesus, hanging on a large cross, on the right side of the stage, with arms out stretched, and head hanging down, in dim light. His followers are at his feet, near the front and center of the stage, on their knees. Blood drips from the nails in his hands and feet, making a spattering sound, on the ground. Low murmurs, crying, and occasional wailing can be heard. Moments before dying, in anguish, pain and tears, Jesus begins to speak.]

Jesus: “Remember, my children, love everybody, show compassion, express kindness, and be understanding… oh, and one more thing, before I depart, remember to hate gay people, fags, queers, fudge packers, homoes, lesbians, dykes, carpet munchers, liberal “Demoncrats”, and anybody who isn’t a true Republican and a fanatical believer in Jesus!

And don’t forget to hate Asians, or are they finally accepted now? But hate them anyway, because they work hard, and study hard, and get good grades, and make the average American look like an idiot!

And keep on hatin’ those black people, with their goofy rap music, and their never ending base drum thing! Will they ever not be hated? Its gotta be the color difference. People will always hate and fear something different, and the color thing makes it too easy to spot them, set them apart, and mark them as a target for hate. It makes it a hell of a lot harder to “blend in”, when you’re a chocolate chip in a white cookie. But I’d vote for Barack Obama in a heartbeat in 2008 for president of America. Too bad all politicians aren’t as smart and clearspoken as he is.

But points off to the rest of the “brutha’s” for shitty rap “music”, sideways hats, goofy baggy clothes, and the refusal to “get wid it” on standard spoken english. No, “ebonics” and “ghetto speak” are not “clever adaptations” to reduced circumstances, they are just “reduced ability”, stemming from reduced circumstances.

[The crowd erupts in applause. A “right on” is heard from the side of the stage. Some one yells out, “You tell ‘em Jesus!”. And a female voice is heard to say, “You go girl!”. Jesus pauses, and continues speaking.]

And remember to especially hate Jews, who are responsible for my death and all the world’s problems, and don’t forget Mexicans, and Guatemalans, and Eskimos, and anybody who doesn’t look like a “real” White American. Icelandic people are okay, because they have cute reindeer, and eat fish, and they are white, like snow. And Norwegians, Danes, and Swedes are also okay because they have reindeer too, especially on their sweaters. As soon as people start gittin’ a little “toasty” looking, that’s when you want to start hatin’ ‘em. Got it? Or a funny nose. That’s a tip-off, too!

[A Hollywood film director, director of a movie about Jesus, runs on stage, and yells, “Cut! That’s a wrap!”. Jesus yells back, “This is not your movie, now get off my set!” The crowd claps, and jeers in the director’s direction, shooing him off stage. Jesus continues.]

And remember, hate fat people, and more Jews, and poor people that want a raise in the minimum wage, (can’t they just eat macaroni and cheese, and soda pop, and peanut butter on white bread, and live in a tent?).

And hate lazy people that can’t afford health insurance, who have the nerve to get sick, and then want the same coverage their senator gets! (A senator is sort of like a Roman God, who doesn’t have to live like regular people. His primary concern is “incentifying” rich people to get richer, so that yachts will float higher, and a few pennies will trickle down to the rest of us. And also trying to turn Social Security into a Wall Street “stock”, that will go up and down, up and down, and up and down! That’s brilliant, hand over all our money to greedy, lying assholes on Wall Street! Why not just call the Mafia, or mail it to the criminals in our prisons?)

Get real, if you can’t afford the health coverage, it’s not my fault! If your little Johnny gets sick, then he deserves to die! This is America, the “work ethic” society, there are no free lunches here!

America is the richest country on the freaking planet, and we didn’t get rich by mollycoddling you lazy people with the right to see a doctor! What, are you nuts? You don’t have the “right” to healthcare in the RICHEST FREAKIN’ COUNTRY ON THE ENTIRE FREAKIN’ PLANET! What, are you crazy?

I may have preached compassion and love, but it sure didn’t extend to “Socialized Medicine”! It’s bad enough that we have greedy, sick, older people sucking away all our money through “socialized” Medicare, and grabbing their “socialized” Social Security retirement checks every month! Where’s your Historical, Ancient, American Individualism? Where’s your Family Values?

You’re supposed to go out and live in the woods, in a log cabin! Grow your own food, make your own clothes, pull your teeth with a pair of pliars, and perform surgery on yourself with a wood saw and a hammer! That’s Rugged American Individualism! Every man an Island! The survival of the richest! The weak die out! Not this namby-pamby “I want affordable health care” crap!

You’re supposed to gather round your children, as they lay sick and dying (from not having affordable health care of course), and comfort them as a family! That’s family values. If your little Johnny gets sick and dies, you say ”It’s God’s Will!” in a big boomy Voice. And if you get sick, or get old, you go live with your family, in a closet, or the garage, or the spare bedroom right next to mom and dad, so everybody has to hump in Total Silence, no squeaks or moans! That’s Family Values!

You don’t go out and sponge off the rest of us, expecting a free lunch, and being a freeloader in society! You work, or you die! That’s the deal here, you see? If you didn’t save enough pennies for your medical care, then you just get to go to Heaven a little sooner! What, you don’t think I know what I’m talkin’ about? Hey, I’m Jesus, for Christ’s sake!


[Some claps, some moans. A Voice from the crowd says, “Hey, Jesus, I agree with you in principle, but, I got this really weird bump on my neck, and I was wondering if you could look at it, or maybe heal it?” Jesus waves a nailed hand, and says, “I’m not helpin’ anybody that don’t have an insurance card, and right now I don’t see you havin’ one. Now, get lost, I’m busy!” He raises his thorned head, takes a deep breath, and in a Broadway Voice, and with a Smile, breaks into song, accompanied by the pit orchestra.]

And don’t forget to Hate! All those Uppity, Unsubmissive Woman! All over the world! That want to participate in Life, as if they were actually half the human race! [Jesus taps his foot]. I mean, come on! There’s a limit to how far you should take, [pause], this “human rights” thing. Human rights, bloomin’ kites! Whatever happened to good old Subjugation, and Oppression? I mean, slavery worked, didn’t it? Didn’t it?

[The band comes to a screeching halt. Silence. A second or two of pause. And then Jesus continues, in a snarl.]

There are days when I just really, really want to oppress somebody. Squash ‘em like a Bug! Go ahead, make my day! But watch it! I‘ve got the Power and Authority of God behind me, so better not cross me! (heehee, cross me, get it?) Christ, almighty, what’s a guy gotta do around here to get some Respect, and laughs, anymore?

We really have to bring back the good old “Bad Times”, when pretty much everybody got screwed, except the King, and he could screw anybody he wanted. I think he had the right to any virgin in the kingdom! Yep, those were the good old days! Gone, but not forgotten. You just don’t have any idea how hard it is to be Me, having to always come up with New and Innovative ways to Hate people! The job just about kills ya! HaHaHa! Ha!Ha! Cough!

[Jesus hangs his head for a moment, a rasping sound coming from his throat. A voice from the crowd says, “Jesus, jesus, that don’t sound too good!” And Jesus says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be alright, but I could use a Lozenge!” Cries of “lozenge” go up from the crowd, and shuffling as people look in their pockets. A pause, then Jesus continues]

And if you want to add anybody else to my “Official Jesus Hate List”, you just go right ahead! And if anybody doesn’t believe in me, that’s right, YOU HATE them too! And make sure you get my name spelled right, that’s “Jesus”, spelled J,E,S,U,S, with a Capital “J”, because now that you’re gonna be hating people in My Name, I want to make sure you spell it right! We want to be very clear about who it is that’s telling you to Hate! Okay? It’s me, and my partner, God, we’re the hate mongers, and we’re in charge of this hate business!

And one last thing, feel free to hate ANYBODY you damn well feel like hating! This is a Free Country, red, white, and blue, and we have the right to hate anybody we like!

And one very important thing. Anybody who doesn’t believe every word that “You Say I Said”, you Mash ‘em, like a Bug! Got that? Any hatin’ words you wanna put in my hatefilled mouth, you just go right ahead, and I’ll be as proud as your Father!

And when your damn sick and tired of Hatin’, then Goddamnit, go ahead and Hate Some MORE! Remember, the only Cure for hate, is More hate. Don’t bother to think about it, just Do It! Do you think your little pea brain can understand that? Do you think you can carry out my Simple Orders, like good Little Idiots? Good, now get to work Hatin’! Your job is not to think, your job is to hate! Now come on, get with it, chop-chop! I wanna see some Action Here!

[The crowd comes to its feet with a roar of cheers and applause! They begin chanting, “You’re number One! You’re Number One!” After a minute, Jesus waves down the applause, and says…]

Okay, I’m done with this. Can somebody get me down from this cross? This “Dying for Your Sins Thing” is gettin’ tiresome, and frankly, with your track record, you just aren’t worth it anymore! You know what it is about you that’s such a Pain in the Ass? You just take way too long to learn. You only want to learn the Hard Way. And even then, the lesson doesn’t stick.

That’s all folks, say goodbye to Jesus, that’s me, I’m the Son of God!
Now pass the hat, dammit, I want all your spare change! We’ve got some Hatin’ to do down here on Earth! And we better get busy! How the Hell do you think we’re gonna pay for all this Hate, unless you cough up some more dough?

[The stage goes black, and the curtain falls. Off to the left, a small spotlight opens and two shadowy figures appear, one large, one small, wrapped in blankets, the large figure holding a candle.]

Pahg: “Is this what they call a ‘Crust of Fiction’?”
Ahgpo: “Eyes don’t rightly know, Cornweez, but it sho be lookin’ like it might be. It could be, then again, maybe it ain’t! We sleep on it, and check our toes in de mornin’. How dat sound to you?

Pahg: “Dat sound mighty good to me! I like Crust! But what’s a Fiction?
Ahgpo: “Well, sometime it True, and sometime it ain’t. It all Depends.
Pahg: “Oh”.
Ahgpo: “Nitey-nite”.

Pahg: “Do you think my toes will know?”
Ahgpo: “Maybe, maybe not.”

Pahg: “Will all my toes be there in the Mornin’?”
Ahgpo: “De should be, ifin you still gots all ten.”
Pahg: “Thank you, Jesus!”

[The candle, and the spotlight, go out.]

Copyright © 2007. By Bernard Drums! All rights reserved.