Al-Zarqawi Shot Dead in "Iraq War"


One of Al Quaida's main honchos has been eliminated in yet another publicity ploy to get us behind the president. Bush's people have really put a lot of eggs in this basket, occupying not one but two headlines on the Yahoo homepage alone.

Of course I would feel slightly more impressed if I actually believed any of this war.

It's time I share with the masses what I've known in my gut for a long time now - that the Iraq War is a sham. I don't just mean we were led into an unjust war for made-up reasons - no - I mean it's 100% completely staged.



Think about it people - when was the last time you went to "Iraq"? Exactly. That's because it doesn't exist. "Iraq" exists only in the backlots of Los Angeles studios. It is the brainchild of a joint venture between the White House, Fox Media and Kentucky Fried Chicken, and it's purpose is to bolster support for the president, put us into a state of fear so that our civil rights can be eroded and just to generally spice up prime time news. (The KFC link is still being proven at this point, so I'll just leave that bit out)



Why do you think they chose a desert state, people? Why are there so many deaths there all the time? It's gang warfare, alright. But they ain't "Arabs".



Here is an exlusive photo, taken by one of Weezine's crack sources.
According to that source, the green man featured, "Al Greenfada"
was to play the villain role which ended up going to Ari
Shmechdel, whom you may know as "Al Zarquawi". Wise
choice, I think. Puppets are just too loveable to play villains.

Of course, now that Ari's character has been written off, we may be seeing more of Greenfada after all.

One of the outcomes of this whole bamboozle has been the upsurgence of money in Hollywood. With thousands of out-of-work actors finally bringing home steady pay, the studios being paid millions in hush money, and just the general "trickle-down" economics of the area, the whole film industry has been thriving.



While this was initially thought to be a bonus, (romantic comedies being the number one method of oppression in America), an unexpected result has been the ability for some of the studios to take some bigger risks. Like Brokeback Mountain. George Bush was recently overheard complaining to Cheney, "But Uncle Dick, you didn't never say they'd be 'lowed to make homo movies!" Cheney then bitch-slapped the president and sent him to bed.

Okay, I know that for some of you this is going to be a lot to digest. Undoubtedly, you've already been completely taken in by the whole media blitz, much like the original "Moon Landing" or "Baby Jessica in the Well".

And to those of you, I say simply - You're welcome!

UMMMMM . . .

Has anyone ever read the label on a bottle of Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap?


I did.

We're going camping soon and I think you can use it for dishsoap but just wanted to make sure. Instead of instructions though, there's a bunch of stuff about God and how we should all follow the Moral ABCs, which apparently include using a lot of soap.

Here all this time I thought my camp soap was non-denominational but no, Dr. Bronner's is very passionate about the "All-One", which sounds suspiciously like the diety worshipped in Walter Kirn's latest book, Mission to America.*



And it isn't just a little mention either. The entire label is filled with this teeny-tiny print that I bet most of us have never bothered to read before, and I'd say 90% of it is spiritual. Here is just a little sampling:

"Who else but God gave man Love that can spark mere dust to life! If you can teach each unforgiving minute, the Moral ABC that unites all mankind free, come hell, hate, ban, you'll enjoy God's spaceship Earth and do great work within it, and which is more my son you'll be a Man! A Man! All-One!"

I mean, this isn't just your regular loopy Christian stuff, this is like some Tom Cruise shit. Which is why I like it.

Stop by the comments section and wash your hands - we're giving out free samples of Dr. Bronner's Hemp Almond today.

* Walter Kirn is a gifted writer and I am not saying he stole this idea from the soap. Though it would be funny if he had. You should read his books, and decide for yourself.

A BEAUTIFUL MESS



What the hell is up with all these copycats lately? I'm not just talking about fashion (though obviously that bitch on the left should've gone home and changed). No, I'm referring to something much closer to my heart - plagiarism. It's becoming a national phenomenon, like avian-flu anxiety or those pink Uggs from last winter. And I'm beginning to find it just as disturbing.

At first I thought it was funny, with that spoiled Harvard brat getting caught and then trying to lie her way out of it. I mean, it's "chick lit" after all - one of the main requirements is to be as generic and redundant as possible.

And I just found it sad when this guy at school stole several poems to compete in our dinky little school poetry slam. (Taking second place and walking away with a candy bar - which should have been MY candy bar!)

But then it happened to me.

It was unintentional, and the guilty party didn't even attribute the work to herself, (which as it was my writing obviously was a wise move), but to someone else. Who knows how she got mixed up - I'm sure there was no malice intended whatsoever, and in some ways this makes it a pretty mild case of plagiarism, though still, it hurts that I get no credit for the work whatsoever.

Incredibly, the woman who did this is an author herself.



Then Friday at work I open up a letter accusing one of our contributors (I work at a small literary magazine) of plagiarism. It was just a few lines of a poem,

Like a party dress
the night
fell at her feet
in a beautiful mess . . .

Or something like that. And I don't even remember who the authors' were, so in a way I'm plagiarising right now. (Except that nobody reads this).
Could this have been accidental? Maybe.
Maybe not.
Could several people have had the exact same image take form in their heads? Why not? Or, more likely, could one of the authors have gotten the line so embedded in his or her head they started believing it was their own?

Plagiarism, upon closer inspection, is no black and white issue. Like when I did my study on censorship, I'm finding it can be a very small, very personal act. Like repeating a joke, getting a laugh, and then forgetting to credit who it came from. No big deal, right?

What about describing something a certain way, like "She's as dirty as Paris Hilton"? Does this warrant a footnote? Or what if you're one of those really annoying people that quotes whole passages of things when the mood hits you?
Like maybe you're sitting out on the deck, sipping your pink Zima on ice and suddenly you're all

"So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay"

And then everyone else is like "wow, that's really beautiful man". And maybe one of them knows you're quoting Frost but two of them don't. Is this plagiarism?

It's a slippery slope, you know? I'd love to know what you all think - any personal experience here? Any ideas?

Sorry for the delay - I wandered into the comments section of The Daily Header and lost a couple days. The last thing I remember Smellrat was asking if I wanted a Helen Keller. Anyways, here's the poem that won 3rd place in the highly prestigious Vermont College Poetry Slam.


It's So Easy

feeling superior when
you live in this house.

The haze of strong pot
grown in closets, with love,
fills our livingroom where I know
loose-jeaned boys will sit through the night.

Moose barks at one who knocks at our door.
Shaggy hair will not hide
his mediocre dreams.
Condescending, I know.
But it's true.

They laugh too loudly at Caddy Shack
and at all the wrong times.
Cypress Hill fills the background
and they mistakenly think,
you can tell by the way that they sit,
that by listening they have become cool.

It's so easy to sit here
silently mocking
their narrow lives that fit
so nicely
down the mouth of a bong.

And here I sit
with my own friend
this screen.

We whisper like gossips over coffee
me in my ratty pink slippers and she
in her plastic and glass
who always understands me
and always laughs.

PARODY? PASTICHE? OR PERHAPS JUST PLAIN PASTIES . . .

I woke up Saturday morning not feeling so great. No, it wasn't the booze, though the lime-pink lemonade-rum punch did leave me feeling a little icky, more from the sugar I think than anything.

No, this was a Perky Boob Hangover. Too many perky boobs seen in rapid succession on an empty stomach, (theirs, not mine), is never a good idea.


We'd gone to Spielpalast Cabaret, and I have to say it was not what I'd expected.
In some ways it exceeded my hopes: a juggling act approaching genius more than clownishness, an operatic song and ballet worthy of the Met, and some satirical numbers that were original, funny, and thought-provoking.

Unfortunately, these moments were interspersed between long and not always well-edited numbers seemed designed solely to highlight the lovely assets of the women of the cabaret. Now, a certain amount of tits and ass is to be expected here, and indeed welcomed. I'm no prude - I appreciate the beauty of a woman's body. In fact, I appreciate the beauty of all different sorts of bodies, and would have welcomed a much wider range than was presented.

As perfectly-toned asses were wiggled in the audiences faces, high-heel sculpted legs were paraded around without benefit of heads or indeed torsos, and most all speaking roles were performed by men, I found myself wondering, where is the parody here? Where is the satire? Exploitation by any other name still smells as foul.

In one particularly tired repartee of sexist folly, a skit in which a sexy female robot is presented to a couple, much to the wife's chagrin and the husbands just plain grin, a skit which started out quite funny I might add, in the end dissolved into a girl-fight and then, of course, girl-love.



I'm tired of the cliche of girl on girl for the amusement of men. I'm tired of women being used as amusement, period.

Looking around at the faces of women nearby, I gathered I wasn't alone.

From what I hear this tending towards misogyny is a new trend; Spielpalast used to offer a larger variety of body types and even skin-tones. They used to provide more satire and political humor, less titty-waggling and unabashed wriggling.

It's interesting that they've slid into the mold of societal expectations that they're supposedly rebelling against, isn't it? Is it a conscious choice; are they trying to be more traditional and less innovative? Or is it the subconscious pressures of society working small scale?

In any case, I hope they are noticing it. I hope they noticed the faces of the women in the audience, when they pulled their chairs around and stared, in a Dada-ist move, at the audience that they then mocked, both openly and maybe not so. I hope they noticed the women's faces then, in the yellow glow of light bouncing off the stage, confused and somewhat hurt at the parody of their bodies, their minds, their role in society.

I hope that they looked then, and not just when the house lights went up later, and we women in the audience gathered up our purses and our two dollar matches and did our best to, as society tells us, put on a happy face.

GET THEE UNDER 120 -
WHEN IT MIGHT BE TIME FOR AN EATING DISORDER

Okay - so you've heard again and again that anorexia and bulimia just aren't worth all the life-long body damage they can cause. But what do you do if you have tried all the dieting and excercise you can and you just can't get your shoulder blades to pop?

Sure, some beauty blogs will tell you it isn't worth it blah blah blah but let's face it, they're just covering their well-insured arses. As any girl over ten can tell you, there isn't much you're going to accomplish in life as a fat chick - and sometimes you gotta lose that weight by any means necessary.

One good option is lipo. Unfortunately, a lot of the more reputable doctors refuse to perform it on girls under eighteen (again with the insurance). This is so unfair because honestly, the older you are, the more elasticity you lose - better to get those unwanted pounds off now! If your mother is a patient, you may have better luck with this.

Another option is to contract an intestinal worm. Yes, this may sound yucky, but boy is it efficient. And low maintenance too! All you need to do is sign up for one of those "alternative spring break" weeks in Mexico or Guatemala and then walk around in your bare feet a lot. You never saw a fat native, now did you? Think about it!

Of course, these options aren't available to everyone, and that's when you have to consider extreme means. I want to stress here that this is not for everybody - girls who are already taller than 6 foot 1 and weigh less than a hundred pounds should really stick with diet and excercise.

Bulimia - this is a great way to go. You still get the fun of the pig-out, but with none of the pounds! All you gotta do is get intimate with that finger and just watch those unwanted calories pour out of you.

People may warn you about damage to your esophogus and bones, but they're probably old and have forgotten what it's like to be young and un-slender. And just remember, if you're fat, your never going to amount to anything anyways - so what the heck? Right?



Anorexia is really the more taxing way to go, as it involves really psyching yourself up, or down, actually. A good way to start is by reading this blog daily and really just digesting everything (no pun intended!) we have to say. Also, try going into poorly lit dressing rooms, trying on panties that are too small for you, and berating yourself in the mirror. Just see if you feel like eating after that!!

So there it is, girls. You heard it here. Sure, you may have psycological and esophogal scars to deal with later on, but if you're hot enough don't you think you'll have the health plan to deal?
Live large, eat little, and stay Totally Hot!

Dear Totally Hot,
I think I might be unlikeable. My boyfriends' friends always say hi to him when we go places but it's like they ignore me or something - almost like they don't know I'm there. What do I do?
Invisible in Indiana

Dear Invisible,
Haha. Men. Can't live with 'em, can't possibly live any sort of meaningful existence without them. Invisible, you are in the interesting position of having a man and yet being unhappy. This does happen sometimes, but the good news is the answer lies within you.
If you want his friends to notice you, you're going to have to walk that line between girl next door who's already dating my buddy and hot vixen I cannot resist. To do this well you need several things - a hot body, a demure yet fetching personality, and of course the right products. Have you thought of trying Lipsmacker Just Smacked Lipilluminaters? They lend a girl that pouty, I need to be punished look. Or how about a dab of Britney Spears' new scent, Bitch in Heat?
With a little help and the right attitude, you'll have his friends noticing you in no time! And that means you'll be Totally Hot!
TH

For Christmas this year my sister gave me a Joel Osteen Live Your Best Life Now desk calendar. I don't love the responsibility of tearing a new page off every day, but when I remember to do it there's always a little piece of Joe's wisdom to help me on my way. He likes to accompany these tidbits with passages from the Bible

See, now this is just plain bad advice. And did you read the Bible bit? It's like he's saying you're wretched if you don't smile. And yeah, yeah, I've heard that thing about the chemicals before but I've tried it and it doesn't work and the truth is there are few things in life more wretched than a fake grin.
I like this page though, because it's a good peek into what goes on in the minds of these fake grinners. It helps me to have compassion, which is never a bad thing. I'm going to take this opportunity to add my own piece of advice.
When you come upon a person who obviously has no joy but is smiling like a fool anyways, don't feel scorn, feel pity. They are doing this to escape God's wrath. If possible, do a little dance or tell a dirty joke, anything to help them smile for real.

Long Live the Bee!

How come we don't honor the bee more? I'm pretty sure that without bees, we wouldn't have blossoms. Or fruit, or flowers, or vegetables and lots of other beautiful things. They go around all day, busy like nobody's business, just to make everything happen in this totally poetic way.
I guess maybe as far as they know they're just collecting pollen for their hive, for their queen, who if you hear some people tell it they really worship and serve but you have to wonder how begrudgingly.
Do they even know what they leave behind?
What if humans are doing the same? In our mad dash to grow up, eat, shit, work, drive a car and all the rest, are we leaving behind beauty, without even realizing it?

by Noel Fricke

This is one of the last drawings Noel sent my way. Isn't it awesome? I love how with every new thing she creates I can see her life in it's lines. She is so honest as an artist, and I really love that.
Hopefully she will be sending more artwork for us to use on this site; maybe you could post some comments here encouraging her . . . .

Self-Righteous Manifesto of the day:


Cinco de Mayo is tomorrow, a favorite day for barbeques and margaritas. Here is my request: before you eat your fabulous burger and corn on the cob or your potato salad or perhaps your salmon with steamed spinach and paella with goat cheese and grapes, take just a moment to thank those immigrant hands that helped feed you.
Whether you are for immigration reform or not, please accept and appreciate the fact that much of what we eat is made possible by sun-darkened brown hands.

They are the cowboys that herd the beef, the pickers who load tomatoes and cucumbers into fifty pound baskets on their backs, they package beans and rinse turnips and they do it all for very very little pay, just so they can try and make a better life for their children.
Some citizens think they are stealing these jobs away, but would they like to slave all day in the hot sun, would they like to spend twelve hour days in a dank-smelling factory with no health benefits, making less than minimum wage? No? Well then shush.

Or perhaps work towards immigrant rights, and agree that it would be nice for these human beings, actually it is the only decent possible thing for these hard workers to have the same rights as any citizen working in our system.
Our economic system is a giant pyramid scheme and these people are at the bottom. Actually, we have put their relatives back home at the bottom by exploiting workers in other countries more that we can begin to imagine. or maybe we just don't want to. And then those that reap the benefits of the upper tiers have the idiocy to complain? Please.
I'm not saying not to enjoy your Cinco de Mayo fiesta, because god knows we all need a good time now and then. But maybe before you take a bite, before you take a sip, think about the immigrants, living in shacks (yes, shacks) who made your meal possible.

Now how does that taste?

Dream of the day:
I was a princess. I was pooping in front of everybody to show them how it was done.
Then, the boy all the kingdom called "Beaver" came up and told me how because I was given preferential treatment he had to do all the crappy jobs. So I said I would help, because I was just that kind of princess.
He took me to a ladder and pointed up and said, "that paint needs to be chipped away". I went up the ladder and started. It was topply, and I didn't have any tools. I had an idea that a big part of the reason Beaver was being asked to do this job had to do with his dramatically protruding upper teeth. He had braces on them, but they were still a fine tool for stripping paint.
Then my sister, who wasn't my real life sister came over.
She was flirting with the chef in a rather unappealing manner and I got the feeling it wasn't going to last much longer between them. I don't know where the chef came from.
Later, I went to the bar. I don't think I was still a princess, but I definitely still felt out of my element. I drank too much (which would never happen in real life, ha ha) trying to feel at ease, and instead woke up the next day with a vague feeling I had either really made a fantastic impression on people or really made a fool out of myself. There was a fuzzy memory of starting an impromptu jam session with a bunch of people, where I was stomping and humming while the waitresses were trying to clean up around us and I remember it seemed really awesome at the time but found myself wondering the next morning (still dreaming here) if in fact I had any rhythm or melody whatsoever. And also I had accepted a job and had to be ready for it immediately.
The job was given to me by one of the guys at the bar and involved a pregnant suit and the ability to dance. Other than that, he said we would just have to see how it went. He took me to the mall.
That's where it kind of fades out, though I remember I was never quite sure if I was doing a good job in my new position. The guy who was my boss, who was Mexican (random), said I would be okay, but he seemed distracted. I wasn't sure if I was working on commission, or what.
Then I woke up.
Post your dream below!!

Travel Tip of the Day:
If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to put a heavy-duty conditioner in your hair. Sometimes I think the air there is almost as bad as LA. That's a huge overstatement of course. A huge compliment completely undeserved by LA. At least San Francisco has some ventilation - the fog is like a big scrub brush every day.
See, the problem with this blog thing is that even when I write crap like the above paragraph I'm likely to press Publish Post, simply because it's right there. Quality control is tough when you're impatient and the button to be done with this is right in front of you.
Also, if you go to SF, go to Good Vibrations, the best vibrator store you will ever see. It's woman-owned and a mix of very nice women and men operate it. I once got some latex
Okay. That paragraph is over.
One last travel tip for SF: People will try to sell you on the idea of renting roller blades. This is insane. I'm wary of driving my car down some of those hills, thinking that maybe the back end will reach that perfect angle and finally flip me over forwards so that I'm careening upside down through China Town and towards Fisherman's Wharf. And you know, I can't afford to park there.
So don't do the rollerblade thing.

Photo of the day:
Here I am!

Lament of the day:
I sure wish I had packed a cheese sandwich instead of the peanut butter and jelly. You know, they always say it's the things you don't do you come to regret, and in a way that's so. In that I regret not making a cheese sandwich.

Tip of the day:

Never begin a short story (or a long story for that matter) with the line,
"God I was angry with Mother".
If you disagree, then post it here because I just don't see how it could work.

Ron's joke of the day:
There was a little boy in the shower with his Grandma.
"What's that, Grandma?" he asked.
"Why, that's my beaver", she replied.
Several days later he was in the shower with his Mom.
"What's that, Mom?", he asked.
"My Beaver", she replied.
"Oh, I get it," said the little boy. "Grandma has one, too, except hers must be dead 'cause it's tongue is hanging out."

Har har har.