History's Rewriters

This is what we're looking at. Brilliant documentary here.




There's nothing quite like style masked as substance. Like those Calvin Klein ads, or the mini-dramas that whisper the name of a specific perfume just before fade-out, there is a way to say something, to set a tone, without offering specifics.

Polo by Ralph Lauren doesn't specifically say you need to be rich to enjoy this product, but it helps. So too, here. You needn't be Christian, protestant, white and undereducated to get behind this message - such that it is - but you'll probably feel more welcomed amid this crowd if you can check off all of those boxes. As some of their cardboard signs explicitly state, those in government who are "pushing too hard" against the aforementioned groups, be advised; the membership is not afraid to weaponize if you don't stop doing whatever it is you are doing. Again, no hard specifics here; more of a loosey-goosey. The president shouldn't be black, we can guess, shouldn't have a "Muslim" sounding name, just generally "shouldn't"....whatever.

This is what Glenn Beck is creating with his Constitution Party, all tone, all racist, violent, psuedo-christian-centered, and quite simply anti. What is it anti, you might ask? Everything that those who aren't "real Americans" represent.

As the reporter said in an aside, if you repeat "socialism" "communism" and "fascism" over and over again, they not only lose their meaning but form a nice sort of cabalistic chant which motivates the masses. They don't know what these things are, but, they are sure Obama is bringing them, and they are sure these things are evil. What evidence do they have that our president is bringing these things? Well, sound out his name yourself. It sounds evil, doesn't it? He must be.

If you watch this video you learn a few things 1. That Barack Obama is not a Christian, and in fact he was mentioned in the Bible, as the antichrist. 2. Hitler was a good speaker, therefor Barack Obama is possibly Hitler reborn. 3. Czars came from Ceasar during the Roman times. 4. Czars are going to be taking land from "devout" Americans, and giving it to someone, most likely someone undeserving. Perhaps the native Americans, or black welfare mothers. Those who are not "real Americans."

Glenn Beck of course isn't disuading any of his disciples from espousing false, hostile or overtly violent beliefs. As a leader he is perfectly happy that the rhetoric - hatred, racism, unfounded paranoid delusion - contiues so long as the flock keeps following himself.

Beck uses his antithesis, Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. as sort of a totem, or kewpee in his show's opening credits. By Beck's smirk, we note the awareness of his little act of blasphemy. We thank that he is subtle enough not to have yet invoked the name of Ghandi in all his rantings. And Beck now feels sufficiently emboldened to repeat King's march on Washington D.C. and is planning a rally at the feet of Abraham Lincoln, all to come this summer. This, outwardly to "liberate" the masses from overspending. Here, we can safely predict Beck will not be espousing non-violent social change. He will avoid this sort of talk, the way a vampire avoids sunlight.

We recall that King was continuously warning his flock not to lapse into hatred, for the sake of the nation; not to take anything he said at the pulpit as an excuse to descend to that level. These reminders were daily. No such words of sage calm flows from Beck who, unlike a moral leader, distances himself from the whims of his crowd rather than accepts responsibility for "unintended" inferences they might have made from his vitriol.

History has had its rewriters and bad leaders. And Beck is no different. But never before have the bad, nakedly false rewrites come so close on the heels of outright corruption and graft which continues today; especially within the military industrial complex which T-baggers and Beck never seem to mention.

Beck instead points his minions to the alleged transgressions of all blacks via "ACORN" references and extractions. Jews and other non christians, or christians who are not the right brand, i.e. catholics, in his repeated references to Manhattan. And of course the intellectuals, whom he pillories with his jabs at the scientific community.Evironmentalists and scientists take their drubbings which grow daily more acidic. The fact none of his faithful hear the echoes of Hitler in all this, provides sad commentary to the state of our schools, the science of reading, and the overall education level of our citizens, especially the Tea-Baggers, many of whom have no idea what they are talking about. Run the video again, and tell me I am wrong.

Jews, catholics, ethnic minorities, and intellectuals. History's easiest scapegoats are targets before he even touches on the biggest welfare state, GE, Lockheed-Martin, Boeing, DRS, Blackwater, and the list of fat, grazing, self-satisified contractors runs on and on.

Pol Pot, Hitler, Stalin, and the list of despots who have trod this path of blaming the brainy and the outsiders, runs long and well-remembered among the literate, that is.

The wise American turns his head like the dog hearing the train whistle, at this point. That whistle sounded very similar in pre-WWII Germany. The very people who see Obama as the next Hitler are allowing themselves to be turned into the Brownshirts, shock troop thugs. Many, will not understand this reference to the Brownshirts, because they bullied their school districts into abandoning or glazing over history and science in the classroom, and are doing it again to their own children, goaded by Mr. Beck et al.

But like the high school student who takes the AP version of history, rather than the basic, let's look deeper at the phenomenon of this jack-in-box, rewriter character.

Beck and his mobbish minions, for they epitomise the angry mob of the French Revolution, more than thoughtful founding fathers who sweated and strained against even the thought of killing their fellow British subjects, are merely being played like an old song.

Perhaps The Who, said it best: "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss."

This time, the designated battlefield will likely be right here on American soil after a second civil war which Beck and others push for. Someone is planning on stepping in as the fight breaks out. Beck plays Hitler, thus, American plays Germany, and needs to be taken over and "taught a lesson" by the allies. And it isn't as though our previous president didn't whore away our good name all over the planet to the extent an American can scarcely raise his head in public abroad.

Before the melee begins, these enemies within need to enrich themselves as do squirrels before a long winter. So, what better way than driving down the dollar toward some fictitious doomsday, the 2012 switch, scooping the board when the all-clear sounds, just before the fighting breaks out in earnest?

Beck recently said at The Villages, Florida he would hold a voter registration drive in Orlando not in "Manhattan" where he is unwelcomed by 'those people' the boogeyman them of his fables and stories.

Really? Beck, not welcome in Manhattan? Nonsense. He's as welcomed there as Sinatra, or Joel. Beck is Manhattan. He can play the folksy guy to the sexually-active edlers at The Villages, Florida but the fact is, half his show at times is dedicated to the island. And what he and G. Gordon Liddy and all their scary hoards will do for Wall Street is make a select membership exceedingly wealthy and powerful when all is through.

For someone who claims to love America, Beck and his advertiser, Rossalin Capital, spend an awful lot of time trying to convince you to hold the American dollar in complete contempt, and toss it away for bits of shiny metal. Have you ever asked yourself why?

The object is power over you: not to raise you to their level. And they will use your innate hatred of "the other" and your need to exact retribution over that "other" no matter that it is ill placed, as means to enslave you. But, they need you running like lemmings over a cliff in order to elevate themselves to the stratosphere of wealth and power. And they are willing to feed this nation to our enemies in order to accomplish this.

The civil unrest being sponsored by Beck will allow even more foreign ownership of our institutions. Watch what I am holding in my right hand, while I misdirect you from what is happening behind my back.

This is the recurrent theme. Beck uses retread racism to galvinize the well-fed masses, be-decked in polo shirts, sun hats, T-shirts, shorts and sansabelts, all brandishing American flags, to become insensed at social programs such as schools, and sex education, all the while, the spending which began under a conservative, republican president, in the name of war, has been quietly tallying up a bill none of us can pay.

Beck doesn't want you to remember that, where all this nonsense began, he would rather you look at those who have different skin and different lifestyles, your fellow Americans, and hate them. Because that will raise a ruckus faster, you hatred of your neighbor, your fellow American.

People, this has all happened before. Hopefully we "won't get fooled again."

Time will tell.

What to do after you've been Sh*t-Canned Part 2

I hope you enjoyed our previous discussion about attempting to smear your former boss's good name, or bad name, as the case most assuredly is.

I spoke in the previous installment about getting to know your town. You will want to familiarize yourself with the following locations 1. Fast Food restaurants 2. Banks 3. Bars 4. Walmart 5. Seven-11 6. movie theaters.

Civil unrest begins with baby steps. Not that we're planning to go full-bore revolution anytime in the immediate future. But if you've taken the steps, as I have outlined them, to collect unemployment you've got some time on your hands. Certainly there are no jobs just now, not even in the highly-covetted fast-food service, "opportunity structure." So, you must fill your time with something. And if the spouse is hounding you to "get out there," by all means make that away-from-home time productive and healing.

You're angry at big business, not any one particular political party; let's face that fact. It's corporate America, giant non-feeling entities hiding behind laws designed to protect individuals, who have forked all of us, over and over, in the anus, and left us smarting as we woke up from the credit-bubble hangover, trying to find out who stole our economy?

Getting some "get back" as James Brown called it, need not entail violence, but it should entail snide disobedience. And while you're at it, why wouldn't you hunt down the great, white whale: the huge payday?!

As Robert Kennedy said, some people look at the impossible and ask why? I choose to ask, why not?

Einstein had an equation. Energy is related to mass using his simple formula, allowing you to covert one into the other. So too, dollars, and time share a similar, directly proportional relationship. They have taken away your dollars for no good reason, but, in money's stead, they have left you something perhaps of infinitely greater value: time.

Time to explore all sorts of things you've never dreamed of. Look at the world sideways with me now. Observe as the grand, cafe-colored delivery truck makes the same turn, every Tuesday into the shopping plaza at precisely the same time of day. That turn, often as not, is taken rather haphazardly isn't it? The driver, often as not, busily fielding an angry phone call from his wife, and not pleased at all. Pity the driver, but damn the company, I say.

Are we on the same page, now? Are we smiling to each other across the gap between the time these fingers hit the keys and you read the words? Yes we are. Here I go, I am smiling to you, are you smiling back?

You set your black coffee down now on the table, look at the busy restaurant, patrons coming and going, managers shoulder-riding the downtrodden fry cooks and cashiers. So wonderful that cup of coffee, in its double, re-inforced styro shell, isn't it? Why? Why so much care taken with the construction of a cup? Well Virginia, some unlucky patron poured flaming hot coffee on her lap, didn't she? Ten years ago, wasn't it? Well, you say to yourself, the company - that rips down more Brazilian rain forest every day, than a hurricane could in a month of sundays - had to protect itself, didn't it? Thus these lovely, strong cups. Strongest styrofoam produced by science!

But, has the faceless corporation missed something? Let's consult our allies, TIME, and OBSERVATION. You note that every day, down to the minute almost, an hourly wage slave takes a bucket and a mop outside and slathers that walkway with soapy water. Strange, that the employee is directed to do this just after 9 a.m. every, single, day.

Hmmmnnn, that coffee is goooooood, isn't it? Take another sip, why don't you, and allow yourself a reptilian smile of satisfaction.

Oh, go ahead. Mark it down in a little notebook. Just don't put it in an email or on a blog, like I am doing. Look how giving I am to you! And I don't even know you! That's love, people. Can you feel it? I'm with you. I'm there for you.

Take your measely unemployment check to Walmart and get it cashed. Oh, we'll come back to Walmart: yes we will. Now, take the cash over to your greed-head bank. Open an account with some of it, or all of it.

Do they have egregiously bad terms? Take the time, as they make you wait, to observe the lobby. Do you see little old ladies whining to the bank manager that they simply cannot understand the statement? And that somehow they were smacked with $45 in fees to checking and savings, they were unaware of? Do you see other patrons quibbling with customer service because the bank card was hacked?

Welcome home. Poor service bordering on outright theivery to you, a recently unemployed father of three down on his luck, sounds like the beginnings of an intriguing legal case, doesn't it? Here you sit waiting for them to deliver the poor service, which is now your future asset.

Please feel free to comment with vigor: more when we come back.

And in the meantime, see below. Why here's a bright young fellow in Ontario, Canada. After he was "administratively partitioned in a reductive capacity" from his job, he very nearly jumped from that bridge into those frigid waters. Now look at him.

His wife thinks he's "out there pounding the pavement," right now.

A Word to the Wise: Pay Unemployment!

Sometimes we here at My Bladder is Full, are braced with the fact that some of this stuff can get downright serious.

Orlando police are now saying that a deranged gunman - and funny how these words flow so easily together, today - who in November walked into his former job site killing one, and wounding others, was angry after being fired in 2007. Why? The bosses had fought him over collecting his unemployment benefits, the newspapers are telling us.

Several employees were very nearly expecting it, according to the account in today's AP story. Otherwise, how do you explain the fact they feared he might come back armed? "'... 'cause we knew he was a little off," co-workers told the Orlando paper.

Employers, and co-workers, we're ALL a little off, okay? Now more than ever, as Nixon used to say. Assume we're all under pressure, we're all a little off. Tasteless references about "going postal" and "AR-15s" aside, there is no excuse for committing a violent act against co-workers former coworkers or bosses. None.

The case of Jason Rodriguez is particularly tragic. Not paying someone's unemployment compensation claim should not be a capital offense, ever. And target selection in these cases is often random by the time the disgruntled gunman makes it to the front door. By the time they "go there" the assailant usually has a dead-pan, expressionless gaze; so far removed from that of a thinking human being they aren't recognizable to the people they aim at. Nor do they appear to recognize their targets, certainly not as human beings and co-workers.

But having said that I want to ask employers out there, how smart do they think they are by playing some of the games they play with peoples' lives? By quibbling over unemployment benefits in today's market?

Awe that doesn't happen? Awe c'mon.

Yeah? Bullshit. Grow the fuck up, of course it does!

I say this in the most general sense, not directed at this particular firm that suffered this unthinkable tragedy: If you have a hard-working employee who needs to go because of the downturn, don't fuck around with it, pay the goddamned benefits! Okay?...asshole!?

In my personal case, I was fired after I had made a complaint to human resources, because my boss, a female, had said something to me so egregiously wrong, and foul, I couldn't let it slide. By the time this happened, though, I could see the writing on the wall. I knew it was coming and had packed my "carry-on," so to speak.

The fact I made the complaint before getting the axe - and they were looking to downsize and I was the last one hired, so we do the math - likely secured that I would be collecting unemployment. A smart move.

Further wise on my part, I sent myself an email, immediately AFTER the harrassing comment was made, then I let it sit for a few weeks, and I watched her for further, nutty behavior designed to get me to pop-off and start hollering at her, thus, ruining my chances at collecting unemployment.

The email to my home computer from my office, through the company server (because if they erase something incriminating, folks, THAT'S INTENT), documented the time, and precise context of the conversation. That's called using your head, people: learn from it.

This way, if I had started an official complaint immediately after the comment was made, (and we were outside the front door of the office, and alone when this bad conversation took place,) I had protected myself even against her lying about the nature of the conversation (i.e. that I harrased her, pulled my wee-wee out: that sort of thing). Her move was obviously calculated, so I played the same game right back. I had them six ways to Sunday.

Not that I can support a family on the pittance in unemployment benefits. Thank God my wife works, because I am still looking for work, and I mean, there is NU-THING out here!!! Especially in my town, with the sun-setting of the Shuttle Program everyone knows to pare down, not hire more.

Was I angry at my treatment at the hands of my bosses? You bet I was. In journalism we have a saying it's called the "beat your wife" question.

"How often do you beat your wife?"

"I don't beat my wife!"

"When did you stop?"

Let's just spare you the details and say, I was asked a "beat your wife" question.

Ooooo man! Was I pissed. But, I have a family, see? I have a support system, and since Florida is a right-to-fire state, I have seen so much in the way of this unbelievable gamesmanship played on me, and on coworkers over the years, by bosses who take it as a point of locker-room pride that they got rid of someone without having to pay unemployment, I wasn't so shocked I didn't see it coming, nor so incensed by it that I was leaning toward violence, or even vandalism.

Editor and Publisher just went out of business after 108 years. Speaking of this august publication, I once worked at a little bitty newspaper in a neighboring county that was eventually swallowed up by a daily, which was then swallowed up by a chain. My editor was kept on for the better part of a year by our mutual boss and publisher, and then hounded, run down like a dog, before he was finally let go. How did they finally do it? They published his job description in Editor and Publisher, then "someone" left a copy of this ad on his desk. "Gee...sorry to hear you're leaving" kinda deal. He made some volcanic comment, and next day, his presence was noted in the negative column.

The same sort of thing happened with me a year later, although working sometimes 70 hours a week and only being paid for 40, did pay off eventually; I fought them to a standstill with hard work, then showed the unemployment office my time sheets, wherein I was urged to falsify, precisely 40 hours, for a solid year. A solid year without a vacation.

The clue? "No one works precisely 40 hours a week for 52 consecutive weeks in the news business, ever. Just too many variables. Not one time was the employee paid overtime? As a reporter, I was deemed "hourly." In this state they take a very dim view of doing this to hourly people. It's a method designed to get them to walk off the job.

"We see this all the time, from them" I was told. During the year they ran me down, I would often re-write the same news item seven times, to please a team of editors. Remember I had been a competitor acquired, not chosen, not hired, in a corporate purchase. The enemy within! I would slavishly comply with the vagauries of this editing process, only to see the first rendition of the news story fall on the page. Copies. I kept copies of the edits, some were simply outrageous, and copies of what eventually ran on the page. Nice beginnings of a lawsuit if, I had pushed it. Harrasment? Yes, there was an element of that in it. Hostile? Oh, hell yes.

So in my case, here this company was wasting my time, and theirs for more than a year, risking a massive lawsuit for the simple "fuck-you" effect: attempting not to pay me unemployment. Where ego meets God-awful stupidity. Going to such lengths to perhaps medically, emotionally wound another individual, not to mention waste the money of actually PAYING them, for an entire year when you don't want them working for you in the first place?! Fucking juvenile.

Here's another example: this one more serious. I had a teammate on my college cross country squad named Matt Beck. A hell of a nice guy. Funny, engaging. Great Boston accent, all kinds of excellent, sick jokes.

Years and years go by. For whatever reason, in 1998 Matty went into his place of work at the Connecticut State Lottery and killed four people before turning the gun on himself. If you read the account, you see not just a ' crazed, lone gunman', but a human being with a story. Although, crazed lone gunman, oh yeah, he became one in the end.

How does an enaging nice young man that I knew, become this iconic figure we are all dealing with now, either in the flesh, or in our minds? Because even though we haven't met him yet, we still think about him in this environment. Is he the guy we shoved out the door, just last week? Is he the one who worked for us for five years, then we fired him for stealing a goddamned stapler, just to keep our unemployment costs down?!

If so, how fucking slick does that really make us, in this day and age?

Like I say, all kidding aside, we need to think about this. Now more than ever.

Things to Do After You've Been Sh*t Canned Part 1

"Dear Putz, we're done with you. Thanks for all your efforts here. Please have a good life elsewhere."

Hopefully you've taken your "ejection seat carry-on" with you, as discussed in a previous blog posting. This would be the one you needed to assemble after you even smelled a whiff of intent on their part to dump you. The one you began squirreling away in your car filled with information needed to build your lawsuit, or cheap souvenirs that make YOU feel better for having lifted them, BEFORE you got the axe.

The first thing you'll need to do is scope out your town for the locations of the last remaining pay phones located therein. Let's face it, you're angry as hell. Why not have a little fun at their expense? Was there someone at your office who severely mistreated you? Now would be the time to use those numbers in your carry-on. Starting with front reception at your former place of employment.

Picture this charming, holiday scene: chatty malcontent front-reception type person gets a call from a woman who doesn't want to leave her name, at least not at first. This is always a tantilizing tidbit; "Is Steve there?" And you know Steve's itinerary, don't you, right down to the minute.

Chatty Malcontent with the snarky voice: "No I am sorry, Mr. So and So is not available at the moment would you care to leave a message for him?"

"I DON'T want to leave my name," you or your designee huff down the line.

" Would you like his voice mail?" She says this, with a peeling, holiday-happy snarl that could curdle baby milk. Why does she demand further interaction with someone who "won't leave her name?" Because, she's hoping, she wants - nay, NEEDS - information on Steve, just like you did before you got the boot.

Now it's jui jitsu time. Time to use the intra-office system of intrigue and back-stabbing against itself!

It's important to feign panic here: breathe deeply as though you're debating whether to let the cat out of the bag.

"Just tell that scumbag, that Kimberly is pregnant! And I'm calling his wife next!"

Then hang up that phone with a slam! Or, if you're more comfortable, pay someone to do all of this for you. Who might that be? Look for the nearest unemployment victim on the street. They're everywhere these days. In no time you should be able to explain yourself and they will surely do it with an inspired flourish for only a sawbuck or two.

Feel better? Good, that's what it's all about now. Feel guilty? Hell no! Don't. Remember these little acts of self-kindness actually help YOU get on with your life WITHOUT having to resort to stronger methods; such as the AR-15 you were thinking of buying. Hell, you're practically GHANDI here, so cheer up!

Now what. Take a breath. You've fired the first shot against the system; specifically against your thoughtless careless bosses who, like royal chickenshits, dumped a perfectly good employee with no more thought that using the rest-room.

Part 2 in 24 hours.

Enjoy this short video at the bottom of the page, be sure and visit our Glenn Beck parody site for a good time. Or Father Riley's words of inspiration. Father Riley is a laid-off priest. Visit my blogger profile to review all my writing which I am preserving for posterity on the web. This, so that the aliens know precisely what kind of sick, dangerous animal they are dealing with, and come armed for battle, when they come for me!

It's Howdy Doody Time

Why is Glenn Beck so popular just now?

Howdy Doody. That's right. Blame the Doodymeister.

One of the things that happens to you after your newspaper is downsized and the first to go are the reporters actually trying to do their jobs by looking into corporate corruption, is that you have time on your hands to ponder the wonderfulness, of Glenn Beck.
What is it that currently makes him so popular?

After months of careful study and scrutiny, and attending a Michael Moore movie, I have come to the conclusion that Glenn Beck is Howdy Doody, come to earth again, to lead his devotees.

Howdy had a high-pitched voice that always seemed to be on the verge of tears. But the similarities, complexities, and sublties of the marketing scheme are so much deeper, and playing across decades, one can only marvel at the lengths to which some god-awful power has gone, to control the masses. And I will only begin to scratch the surface by the end of this one. Nevertheless, the comparisson has been noted by greater minds than mine, and so the attempt will be made.

As Mr Moore hinted so quickly in his movie, blink and you missed it, ageing Baby-Boomers are responding reflexively to psychological, Pavlovian cues, which were ingrained into their personalities from their earliest days of sitting dunder-mugged and drooling before the neon nipple.

Howdy Doody was the popular wooden boy, the All-American wooden boy with 48 freckles, operated by 11 strings, who told the children precisely what they wanted to hear just before nappy or nite-nite time, back in the salad days of our grown-up culture; the 1950s.

At the appointed hour, all good, first-generation Boomers were dressed in their Howdy Doody PJs and night-gowns, kneeling devoutly before the great big RCA television in their living room. Surrounded by the smell of mom's cooking, a favorite Teddy bear was snugged comfortably in their arms. Up came the music and the kids all sang in unison, the Howdy Doody Theme Song (please sample now then return to the article. Let the ring of it remain in your ears as you read).

The time slot, for much of Howdy's ten-year reign was around 5:00 p.m. Is it any coincidence that on the east coast, Glenn Beck has the 6 p.m. time slot, so that in the heartland of America he's on at 5 p.m. on the dot?

Other eerie similarities and themes. (Link leads to facts about the Doody). As the Howdy Doody Show evolved, characters came into the mix, such as Clarabell, the mute puppet. During the final episode, Howdy and Buffalo Bob let the kids in on a secret. They whispered that they had a"surprise" they would reveal to all"good boys and girls", by the end of the show. The fact, nothing more than Clarabell actually uttering a few words, turned out to be a very effective advertising ploy; a pioneering move in television which led to every conceivable cliff-hanger on every soap opera going, not to mention Glenn Beck's Fox show, of course.

Beck, like Doody, always has a little secret he will reveal to the Peanut Gallery by the end of the show. Howdy's heir apparent wooden love child, has mastered the art of "when we come back," so well, we seldom notice the immense leaps in logic, or that these schemes most often lead us nowhere. Often as not, there is no connection in these whispy trails he lays down before the ad-block forks its way into our minds.

For instance, what could a tin of Copenhagen snuff possibly have to do with President Barack Obama? "I'll explain, when we come back," he says in his customary refrain with a dollish grin. But on that particular show, someone sold too much ad-space, because Beck never did explain what these two had in common.

Good boys and girls were left to infer that Beck was shaking a naughty stick at the president for going to Copenhagen in an effort to sway the Olympic Committe to let Chicago host the next Olympiad. Bad, bad, (the 'black' is silent) president!

Howdy's show was replete with double-entendre, which was good for parents who got a kick out of some of the quips between the characters. This higher-level conversation went right over the heads of the boys and girls, and Beck is also a master at this.

Beck's doublespeak of course, is the stuff the politically-correct censors would tamp down on; sticky stuff like racial overtones. For instance when Beck pointedly mentions the artists performing at the president's most recent state dinner, without specifically bringing race into the discussion of course. Why say it when a glassy eye roll will suffice just as well, to get the point across, that those people (hip-hop, soul, etc. the 'black' is silent), now hold the horns of power.

(Wink, nod: You know what I'm talking about-kids! Is this CRAZY OR WHAT?)

Other Howdy characters included Mr. X who travelled through space and time in his "Whatzits Box" teaching the children about history. Advertisers later thought this was too scary, and had Mr. X removed.

Beck is good like that; he doesn't let actual history get into the mix on his show, when he has so much fake history and fantasy to draw from. His chalkboard is the Whatsits Box of many wonders. We recently learned the sinister nature of that tall white obelisk on the Washington Mall, which is "from Egypt." Egypt I tell ya!

Do the math: Egypt=Africa="Hey kids, the 'Black' is silent"=Kenya=Barack=Axis of Eeeevil! Eeeeevil!

Before he began attacking one of our founding principals, the separation of church and state, Beck spent nearly entire shows, going over the subtext in architectural design schemes which somehow - and being good boys and girls who can catch all the hints he's throwing over those meany censors - points to a New World Order conspiracy that our president is either a pawn within, or the master mover thereof. Who knows, the trails lead right up to the ad-blocks, and "when we come back" is frequently a downer because by then, Beck and his Whatsits Board, have moved on to something else.

But why ask for substance, or concrete references when a pic of Che Guevara tossed on a board will do quite nicely?

Howdy says: "Hey, jackass, facts and specifics are what elitist journalists do! Are you one of those people? Pick up your damned blanky and get the hell out of the studio! This is the Howdy Doody Show!"

Howdy is a wooden puppet guided by 11 strings. Beck has his strings and we can see those too: big pharma, big oil, to name two. But the good boys and girls ignore the strings: whilst the meany Mr. Bumbles (and don't be an elitist Mr. Bumble) immediately point out those strings!

Aw, Looky there! He ain't nothin but a fake! Frequently suffering Facebook unfriending by our elder siblings for our efforts, much the way they bruised our biceps with childish punches when we offered such insult to the Doody altar they still lavished adoration upon, even in syndicated re-run.

Secretly deep down they knew Howdy was not for real. Most boys and girls of the 1950s were able to accept that even as they became pre-teens in the sixties. But then as today, they were subdued by Howdy's country attire, his shiny whiteness, freckles, and his glassy-eyed stare, into a state of suspended disbelief. Never mind that he's horribly, heinously artificial and operated by corprate guy-wire. No one alive or dead could possibly be that cartoonish, could they?

A good boy or girl had a right to pretend back then, didn't they? Don't they now?

This would be a childish taunt if Howdy hadn't become such a corporate tool, of late, asking us to forget where we come from, and where we would like to go: a place of peace, as well as prosperity.

If it helps, when Beck comes on, just play the song in your mind.

"Let's give a round of cheers for Howdy Doody's here! It's time to start the show, so kids let's go!"

PS! Hey Kids, scroll back to the top and take the Doody Polls located to your right. The first will ask you about your Doody connection. The second will ask about Glenn Beck. Have fun!

YOU HAVE UNTIL WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON TO DEFEND YOURSELF

That's right! There's a very good chance, if you aren't already out the door at your office, D-DAY comes Wednesday afternoon, BEFORE Thanksgiving!

Why? To get it done before the Christmas Season! Why You? Because you're still employed, you don't see it coming and likely as not, you've done no prep work incase the worst happens, i.e FIRED WITH CAUSE!

What can you do? Read on!

Question and Answer Session with an At-Risk Employee named “Steve”

The following is an email correspondence between myself and a buddy living and working in Orlando, who thinks this unemployment issue cannot possibly happen to him. Watch as I coach Steve about the dangers he is facing through a series of interrogatives. I have done very little other than cut and paste, to reproduce this exchange from our chats, Tweets, Facebook and emails:

Steve, what do you do for a living?
I’m a copywriter for a large public-relations firm in the greater Orlando area.
And you’re not concerned for your job?
Not really, we do a lot of business with governments, municipal airport authorities, developers, law offices, and some engineering firms. There’s always work.
How long have you been employed at your current place of work?
Three Years and seven months.
And you don’t find that concerning?
What?
That you’ve been working there just long enough for people to know you, but not long enough for you to get into the good graces of upper management? Also, you have a squishy job, don’t you?
Define squishy!
Well, you’re a copywriter. You’re neither fish nor fry, neither software developer, nor engineer. You don’t teach, account, legally represent, engineer, or otherwise produce anything. In effect, what you do is re-assemble information, not so?”
Sound ominous.
That’s a good word, Steve. Ominous. Good for you. You’re catching on.
But, like I said, we have work to spare.
Is it the sort of work that someone in management could do, if they were forced to?
Yes, I suppose so.
Do any of the managers have advanced degrees, business administration, finance, and so on?
Yes. So?
So in pursuit of these advanced degrees, did they learn to write, do you suppose?..........Steve?
Steve, could it be said that you’ve got work to do here?
What work?
You’ve got to gather enough information, yes, blackmail material, on your employer so that when they let you go, in no way shape or form will they think about check marking “with cause” on their paperwork to the unemployment masters.
You’re in a death match here and now with your corporate masters. Because you a remainder, a stop-loss number, a target. You are the prisoner on the Battan death-march and management are the Japanese prison guards with the swords and bayonets. Get used to that imagery.
Why me? What have I done?
Steve, think about it. They’ve already laid off as many people as they can afford to!
So? Now they can’t afford to let me go.
You’re not hearing me. I said they’ve already LAID OFF as many as they can afford to, not let go.
So that means, the remaining employees will have to be let go for cause! Because, the company’s payouts to unemployment insurance right now are through the roof!
When they let go of Jimmy in accounting back in March, you thought, “screw him. He’s a tool!” Well guess what? Back in March when they had no idea how deep this recession was, they paid him severance, and had no trouble signing off on unemployment compensation claims. Duh!?
What of it?
Are you stiff? That means, Steve, between then and now, little Jimmy may not have been working, but he has been earning just as much as you were, every day you dragged your sorry, cadaver ass through those doors. But between laying off Jimmy and this morning, they laid off Marcie, Joanne, Todd the Douchebag, Mark, Bob, and the list goes on and on.
STEVE, Even that girl Sheila who was doing the owner’s son, what’s his name, got the walking paper’s deal. You didn’t. It turns out the "walking papers deal" was actually a better deal than the one they are planning for you, my friend.
….Uh…?
They likely have saturated their available balance to unemployment insurance. If they lay off more, that will bump up how much they have to pay. This cuts into their bottom line at a time when they are already running into serious debt!
Steve, Look, around! What do you see?
I see…
That’s right, the remaining candidates are you, Fred, Miles, Shaniqua, Featherhorse, Amy at the front desk, AKA “Flowerpot Amy,” and Park, the Korean guy in IT. Apart from Park who speaks very little English, they have “something” on each one of you, otherwise they wouldn’t have kept you on so long, would they, genius?
But...
Well, let’s be honest: they don’t really “ have” anything on Shaniqua, even the fact she recites lesbian poetry from the bathroom, and never, ever flushes. Nor do they have anything on Featherhorse do they, even though they caught him selling weed to the intern last year? Count Featherhorse and Shaniqua out, I’m not talking about them.
….? Uh…?
What do you, Flowerpot Amy, Miles and Fred have in common? (Jeaopardy Music Here)
Feel that little chill up your spine? Like icewater in the veins, isn’t it. Yes, they’ve got you for cause, on something.
That tiff between me and Flowerpot Amy?
That’s good enough. Look at it, Flowerpot Amy doesn’t make as much as you do. If, and I mean this is a big If here, if they had to let go of someone at this point and do it paying out unemployment, she hasn’t worked there as a long as you have, and, she doesn’t make as much. She’s the afflicted party, Steve. Are they going to be looking at a lawsuit if they try to say your little tiff was her fault?
Probably…
Good Steve. Good. I hate to break this to you, they kept you on because they know they can keep you working right up to the last minute, and no matter what, they will pull this tiff business out of their asses, or get Flowerpot Amy to throw another hissy, which they will blame on you, again, my friend. That way (lean in here while I whisper it) they won’t have to pay your unemployment insurance! Think this is a game? Oh…it’s a game, alright.
I’m not political. I didn’t think it would happen to me.
Ostrich, or Columbo, Steve?
What do you mean?
Which way are you playing stupid right now at this minute, as an ostrich, or as the old television detective, Columbo?
I’m guessing Columbo, is the way to go?
Good Steve. Yes, Detective Columbo, you need to get something on your boss BEFORE Thanksgiving, if at all possible. I don't want you to panic because that will blow your "I'm too stupid to be concerned about act," but you’ve got less than a day, and that's not much time. Wednesday afternoon your boss is going to be approaching you.
There will be a genial, yet cold tone. “Steve meet me in the conference room.” Something like that. You’ll step into that room and there will be a speaker-phone in the middle of the conference table, on the line before your ass hits the hot seat will be someone from human resources. Two people will be in the room with you, likely one male, one female or minority. Someone will say “Steve there’s been a concern raised about your behavior.”
Oh my God!
Are we communicating now, Steve? Are you hearing me at last?
Yes, yes! But what do I do?
If you have to stay at the office all night tonight, claiming you need to go over a few things, you do it.
Then what?
If you have to BLOW or bribe the guy or gal in IT you do it. You need passwords. You need all-access Steve; hear me? You need to sort through any and all information and find something: an interview set up between your boss and a company rival that you can extrapolate into disloyalty. That’s a start. You need to do a web search on your boss, covering Facebook, et al. Anything compromising will do: a shot with a scantily clad woman, or man. A few shots from her recent stop at Chippendales, or even better from Sandals Jamaica. Perhaps there are some things or her expense account, some unsavory purchases, some adult toys, perhaps, that you know about. It all comes out now, Steve. You need to have these cards whatever you can assemble in 24 hours, out on the table BEFORE THEY SANDBAG YOU MY FRIEND!
Is the top decision maker at your company a Glenn Beck fan? Good, if you have to use a mirror site (ask the IT person they’ll know) to set up a fake identity, you do that. You lambaste that raging dumbass Glenn Beck on a blog site, then threaten to point it out to her boss!
Start thinking laterally like a rat in a sinking ship, Steve. If all else fails, shave your ass, sit on the copy machine, stick the copy in your cubby hole and claim SHE DID IT to human resources! It’s survival time, buddy!
Then what?
If you survive Wednesday afternoon, you need to go back into the office on Black Friday by 6 a.m.
And what else?
You need to assemble an ejection carry-on? Do you have one ready?
A what?
An ejection carry-on Steve. If your ass was ejected from the company five minutes from now, what would you wish to God, you had the sense to take from your office and place in your car, BEFORE the company security goon squad escorted you out of the building? This ejection carry-on could include names and contact points of clients, and phone numbers of people loyal to you INSIDE the company so you can plot your revenge from the outside, should you get the boot this afternoon! Supplies, paper, books, staplers, pictures, company badges, ashtrays...anything and everything that, in its being left behind, would make you slap your forehead and say "shit I should have grabbed that BEFORE!" Know that now, while you are still employed is BEFORE, is that back-in-time you will dream you had back, that prior-to you will rue if you do not take full, and I mean full advantage of it.. As we've gone over here, the inevitable is coming, it's what you do now that will define how you live after you're given your walking papers. Do you walk around with an ache in your belly that will drive you to insanity, or do you hold your head up high, knowning you stole the estuary print from the company boardroom. At least you got that out of them BEFORE they tried to burn down your good name for their bottom line.
Get to it! Nothing is out of bounds here. Get it to your car today, and add to your collection right up to the minute they try to axe you with cause. All's fair. That way you don't feel so bad as they shuffle you out the door.
Remember there were 500,000 LAID OFF last week. CNN never tells us, how many people were FIRED, which is likely another 500,000 MORE!
Don't ask for whom the bell tolls? It tolls for thee, my friend!

Wwwwwwelcome to UNEMPLOYMENT MONTH

Ho, ho, Ho….and you might now be one, because of all this hootenanny going on with the economic downturn. Shhh, children, mustn’t call it a “Depression” ……………yet.
We here at http://mybladderisfull.blogspot.com, readily commiserate with your situation and that of 5 million Americans and counting, another 500,000 of you join us every blessed week.
Jump right in, the water is warm! Hoooray!
Many of our interns, now manning shiny telephones to take your calls, are also, technically unemployed. Though we use that term rather sparingly round the office, so please don’t tell them.
Anyway, here’s something to get you started. News you can use:
Excuses to give to close family members, why no presents are forthcoming from your house. (Without telling them you’ve been sacked)
1. F&ck you!
2. And mom!
3. I got robbed on the way to the post office.
4. The dog gave us all the swine flu….and the clap.
5. We’ve all died here at this residence, from the plague. This letter to you was written posthumously. (That means after we died). P.S. send money.
6. Our clothes have been repossessed by the bank, we couldn’t leave the house.
7. I didn’t have enough for postage, even, and the phone has been cut off, and so has the internet. This card was sent to you on donkey-back and we owe the fellow money for it. Can you wire me $100?
8. We’re staying at a Holiday Inn, pretending to be the help. We’ve spent all our money on uniforms and for someone to hack the card keys for the doors to the vacant rooms. We have to move every morning at about six a.m. and it’s a real hassle. Can you send all your used gift cards for blanks, and swipe a few Visa Master’s out of Uncle Ernie’s wallet? He’ll never miss it and we promise not to use debit, or our real names.
9. Our marijuana grow house was busted, so we’re all in jail. All we can spare are seven 1000 watt bulbs, air movers, 600 yards of Mylar sheeting, and twelve ounces of Death-nug-kush. We can swap for an attorney to stymie these bastards to null-pros us out of county. We didn’t do it! It was the neighbors!
10. We’re now farming roaches, cicadas and palmetto bugs, and (totally unrelated business) selling burritos at a roadside stand. The health department has filed an injunction. Whatever happened to Free Enterprise in this country?
Welcome to unemployment Month at My Bladder is Full!

Disclaimer: We began Unemployment Month (December) a little early. But, we did that because, we know that we should let people get accustomed to the idea, BEFORE THE HOLIDAYS. See? It looks really bad and heartless if you do it DURING THE holidays. And doing it this way cuts down on the, uhm (whistles, makes finger into a gun, points to own head) doesn’t it?
Yeah, so, if you don’t do it sometime after Halloween, you know, then you’re into Thanksgiving, and how (forking peace signs in the air, whilst smirking) ya know “Christian” is that? Heh, heh.
And, c’mon, you know how these hangers-on whine. Can’t get rid of them. They’re all like “waaaa, my kid is sick” and “waaaaaa, if I miss one more payment they’ll foreclose on me” and “waaaaa, my mother is dying” and you’re all like “Okay, Jesus. Whatever okay, just go back to your desk.”
And okay, give them another few weeks to get their shit together or whatever, but, see? If you do that, by now you’re into the (smirk, crimping peace signs again) “Christmas season” and like “Oy! What is this, a social program? Jesus!” And if you go that long, now you’re going to have to wait until after Jan. 2! And (snaps finger in your face) are you up on the math, here, Sparky? We’re talking about a whole other, month and a half, here! And for what?
So, bottom-line, we decided to start now, before! Mnnnnyeah, Thanksgiving. (Nervous laugh. Guilty grin, sweat on lip. Hands clammy)
Mnnnnkay?
“….and a God Bless us every one!” Tiny Tim says as he crutched away with his little, one good leg.
Later that evening, that little, charming imp passed away in his sleep, during yet another argument between Bob and Martha Cratchit in which Bob said; “God damn it, I DIDN’T DO IT. Don’t you know what that c$#t said to HUMAN RESOURCES ABOUT ME behind my BACK?! She threw me under the bus,” and then Martha was all like “I just knew you were no good, Bob Cratchit!”
MMMMMmmmmmmerrry ( Corporate) Christmas, everyone!

Why Big Brother Won't Allow FULL UFO Disclosure anytime soon?

He can't afford to.
That's right. Someone is making too damned much money, and too many people will be outed, and too many countries will be angry at the United States of America.
Not our Air Force, not the Navy, not the military industrial complex who all really had the major hands in what Stanton Friedman calls "Cosmic Watergate", but the country at-large. You and me.
Why?
Because our U.S. Constitution says We the People should be in charge of these entities and not the other way around. That's right, according to our documents, our paperwork, as people call it on the big prison yard, we tell them what to do, not the reverse.
But for sixty some-odd years, it hasn't been working out that way with regard to The Big Lie, as I call it in my novels, which has been at work making us as a society collectively insane.
So a secret has been kept for decades, a secret which could have long ago solved world energy needs - of course there's a "perhaps" in there - but still; we, you and I, have been keeping this quiet from the rest of the world. We did this because we had "enemies". Not that a non-human, technologically-sophisticated entity in our midst might more readily foot the bill, no, we chose to demonize those other humans who were not us and keep them all at bay using some of the very wonders we had discovered in Roswell in 1947.
Well, ain't that just fine and dandy.
I suppose we wouldn't be angry had the shoe been on the other foot? Had the Russians and the Chinese not found this technology first, we would be okay with them harboring it for sixty years and lording the technology over us, I suppose.
In a pig's eye.
We have one hell of a problem on our hands. How President Obama handles Disclosure will define his presidency, whether the truth gets out or not.
Since Clinton, in 1997, it has become more alarmingly clear that it is not our timetable for disclosure that is so important, but theirs. Their plans, not ours, render this information tinderbox most dangerous.
Our reluctance to admit what has been going on behind the scenes of Roswell, Area 51 et al, has put that power in their hands; we think they have hands, or biomechanical appendages which resemble hands..
They don't respond to any previous treaties in which they have been politely asked to kindly refrain from making scary aerial demonstrations. They make appearances wherever they want to, whenever they chose.
The fly right over then President George W. Busch's ranch at Crawford, Texas. The sort of demonstration a dog might make in lifting his leg to your lamp-post when you tell him to get out of your yard.
Clearly some professors at our military academies need a refresher course in strategy. Someone needs to read Art of War again, or I Ching or whatever it is they read over there covering this topic. A potential enemy, particularly a more sophisticated one, should not be permitted such a strategic, tactical advantage, as these beings now posses over us.
All they have to do is literally arrive on the White House lawn - and they can - and they could send us all into a tail spin.
That's an advantage: when just announcing your presence can defeat an enemy. No? Am I wrong? Wasn't this what the Visigoths did to bring down the Romans? Didn't the Vikings do this to take Paris? Tell me I am wrong and I can sleep at night without the meds.
Virtually no prep work has been done in this strange disclosure dance apart from labeling those who have seen one, or otherwise experienced one, as insane. Adjuncts to that have been the discreditings. By example, one of the finest, fiercest scientific minds this country has ever produced belonged to Dr. James E. McDonald.
Gosh, I would really like to have a mind like that back to respond to the challenge we are about to face with disclosure, but, gee, our FBI and other elements of government followed, ridiculed and hounded this man until he blew his brains out in 1971.
His crimes were, he spoke out about the need for peace during Vietnam and the ill use of nepalm, ( both of his positions on these societal ills have prooved morally, ethically just, good and true) and he voiced his strong opinion that the existance of these strange craft, commonly called flying saucers, or UFOs, needed serious open scientific discussion among learned minds, and civilized nations.
No nut-job dressed in desert boonies and binoculars, this was an atmospheric physicist for University of Arizona, Tuscon.
Thanks almighty government! Could use this man's help about now, I bet, couldn't you? Sage advice in how to calmly, logically handle the problem?
Dr. McDonald can't take your call right now, because he's dead and we killed him.
His truths were inconvenient.
Now what?
This interrupted sex approach, put it in a little (shsss there are UFOS) pull back on that a bit (to hell with that noise, all of you are nuts!) might also be deemed mini-truth innoculations.
Designed to step-wise introduce you to the truth without explicitly admitting what it is, nor our part in keeping it secret for so long.
Mnnnn, yeah, really don't want to admit this, tee-hee!
The injections have gotten bigger haven't they?
Fourth Kind, was a brilliant bit of counter-intelligence. Get the public talking about an event that never really happened, so they throw the concepts out - things which very much have happened, right down to the owl - with the bathwater after the movie is viewed and then savaged by "reviewers" who in no way were connected (incredulous tone here) to the intelligence machinalia.
Then we have V, all the concepts wrapped in an inane dismissable supository which we giggle about until the third episode which by this time will illicit nothing more than a yawn.
The hope is, by the time the real truth comes out everyone will be bored with the topic as to not care but, somehow, I don't think it's going to work out that way, sorry to say.
Come right down to it, we're stuck on the truth Johnny-pot, never having mustered the guts to either finish or get off. We've got derschfincterlock.
While we sit the thunder mug on this, these things, whomsoever and whatsoever they are or may represent, go about their business.
When they put on their major display for us, We the People will be held in a very bad light and in very bad esteem worldwide.
First to go on trial in the court of public opinion will be elements within the Air Force who maintained rights to the gear, the stuff, the kit, we found at Roswell. Next will come those within the military industrial complex for keeping it all to themselves without sharing it to our energy experts. Alot of pain and heartache could have been avoided over these last decades if we weren't so damned busy making the Saudi Royals rich along with a few select Texas oilmen.
Those in power who knew yet said nothing will also be on display.
Right down the line, there is a push to keep all this quiet. People want to retire first, die or be on their deathbed before it comes out and that is understandable. And much as we would like to oblige, again, it's not our timetable that's important it's theirs.

Lit Agents Acting Like Big Sister

They aren't exactly like Big Brother, more like Big Sister.

Those of you who have a big sis, know that as you grew up, getting you into trouble was very easy, guys, wasn't it?

They get you going, then start their tears flowing, and before you know it you were screwed; punished, grounded, for your beastly, retaliatory behavior.

I have been taking shots at some of these lit agents through their blog sites recently because it pleases me to do so. They are not cursing shots, not profane; they are simply shots, for the fact that many of them are simply ruining book publishing in my honest opinion, and I am not particularly happy about it.

Of the sanctimonious people who serve relatively little purpose on this earth, other than we writers, I have to think literary agents are some of the most sanctimonious and self-satisfied, especially in light of an industry that is on the brink of death. Self congratulatory like HMS Titanic Captain Smith; right into the iceberg.

I started with agent Kristin Nelson's blog: Pub Rants. Normally I like her take on things over there, in that she's very informative. But every once in a while she reveals the fact that her blog is really a girl's club for suck ups, in my opinion, and wedge used to goad publishers not to mess with her or her clients, also in my honest opinion. She does this by giving writers information not normally shared with our bottom-feeding ilk.

But she doesn't sign with just any writers, she signs mostly, predominanty with (awwww, pity party for me) female writers. She makes no apologies about it, and like so many agents today who have lopsided stats when it comes to this, she offers scant explanation. She does list one writer of seemingly male extraction on her site, of the 19 who blog anyway, that being Hank Phillipi Ryan.

Great so we go to Amazon.com to see what he's written: and it's Air Time, out this year in fact. And good for him. The product description?

"When savvy TV reporter Charlotte McNally enters the glamorous world of high fashion, she soon discovers that when the purses are fake the danger is real..."

......yeah. Nnnnnnnnnnot really a male-centered subject? Uhm...? Yeah.

And maybe that's because! Hank is a woman! Dolp! And a very good looking one at that.

Most of the books Ms. Nelson advertises on her site, anyway, fall into one of the remaining genres left in fiction these day. That is, the remaindered few types of stories that interest publishers anymore, since in the damnable cirumlocution of the fornicated paradigm, these are the remaining types of stories agents will accept anymore. They are romance, vampire, vampire-romance, men in kilts with good abs romance, and Dan Brown-esque.

By the way, statistically the magic bullet assured to at least get an agent interested, is Dan Brown as a belly crunching, kilt-wearing, sex-addict vampire, who fornicates and slurps his way across, oh, I don't know, Europe of the seventeenth century? Got it? Good. Get busy writing this horrid monstrosity before some lemming bound for a "writer's conference" beats you to a $200 pitch-session.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, but, Ms Nelson is not alone. In fact the more I have hunted and pecked, the more I have found that most literary agents, follow this tired business model. Vampires, and the sub-genre werewolves. Oh and romance. Big studs, lots of abs, lots of belly crunchers out there in the sixteenth-century, apparently, many of whom have no heads if you look at the covers, and in some cases, the men aren't even in the room!

Yay! Like this cover.

Imagine non-reproductive orgasm, delivered by a meat-puppet with good abs, from the 16th century. The gal's perfect friend, beef-and-be-gone. Or maybe it had been one of those egg thingies, powered by, what, rats on a hamster wheel? Who the hell knows. Whatever happened, girlfriend on the cover is satisfied, and a man, might have had very little to do with it, other than strict mechanics of the thing, because he's totally out of the picture.

I suppose I really ticked Kristin off when I suggested a spoof cover on this one, of a man, flat on his back with his hand near his (whoo hoo!). What would that look like? (Sorry, again, for having a sense of humor.)

Yes, one might say unsanitary and a little bit disgusting? A man who may or may not have just gotten his own damned self off - not that there's anything wrong with that - would not look good on the cover of a novel. I think the novel itself might be suspect if this were the case.

Gasp! Don't you dare suggest that! Someone will end up on Oprah's couch in tears, and you, you oppressive male, penis-wagger, will be the damned reason! Ms Nelson has also previously mentioned Lit agent black lists, on her blog site. Nice. How charming and tolerant. Black lists.

Not that there's anything wrong with that (WTF????) but, when I go into B and N thinking that such as thing as blacklists exist, and I am most definitely on one somewhere, and all I see are these books that look alike; smell alike; have similar pictures on the cover; read alike and they are all written by women, I have to think something is wrong with this picture.

Bringing me to the point: how do you alienate half your potential market, then "claim" you don't understand why book publising is going downhill? Are you deaf, dumb, and blind? Or are you willfully ignorant of what's happening? Are you ignoring what's going on because too many men have been run out of publishing - for whatever gigantic international Machiavellian reason - and thus the whole show is now a gal's club -for whatever gigantic international Machiavellian reason - that caters to women and women only, but the checks are still coming so you pretend you're not a part of it?

Dave: what the hell are you saying here? What reason could there possibly be...

When men lose a voice in this country, they get very angry. This leads to civil unrest. Men have this stuff inside them called testosterone. It's emotional dynamite. When you gag them, they tend to get disruptive. Gals if you have even a shred left of sympathy for the males in your life - and the culture is so toxic to men these days, it is highly doubtful - you'll note what forcing your son into submissive silence for no good reason, does to his morale, not to mention his behavior.

It is my belief this is calculated to promote that unrest through the alienation of the American male. It is only one little prong in the giant corporate fork up the ass of the American male that you gals don't feel since you are soo damned busy getting over your hurts from the last four decades, or whatever. And we note that most of the large publishing houses are owned by foreign corporations in Europe so the chances that they give a shit about the American male, run even less than the sympathy of female lit agents and editors.

The women who have been given the keys to the kingdom of publishing, go blythely along getting the avatar male back for the likes of Fitzgerald and Hemingway, ignoring modern male writers, and male readers, living and breathing, struggling for a break.

I have said this before. I say it again; it is tantamount to racism, Naziism, sexism, treason, in publishing to suggest that editors, agents and so on, should be looking for the next Leon Uris, or the next James Michener. It is almost something one must whisper. The idea of it so foreign, so 'radical' as to border on criminal in this environment. Weak, limp-wristed men will post to Ms. Nelson's blog, selling out their brothers for a chance she might deign to represent at least one male!? Because obviously she is a very effective literary agent who fights hard for her clients!

But men are not totally left out in the cold. Of course, those in control of publishing at this point, direct a feminine digit at either Stephen King, an icon from the 1980s who they have not yet managed to geld or kill (though he did have a rather strange hiking accident), or Dan Brown; who really is more like a robotic book-signing Ken Doll, let's face it. Is he even human? Or is he the result of a focus-group meeting of bored housewives who wanted an unthreatening male of sufficient corporate blandness to read?

To suggest we need find real men, to fill the ranks vacated by real men who struggled, drank, belched, stopped drinking, swore, whored, wrote and died, why, you must have killed a baby Harp seal on the way to your blogging seat. Not that we wish to whore, or even swear anymore, but won't you let us write?

How did it get this way? Intolerance. Agents, the most intolerant of the bunch.

The girls club aspect of Ms. Nelson's blog surfaced when those other than her adoring fans, rose to argue with her about certain aspects of the biz. When they did so too vociferously (this is deemed 'lacking etiquette'); she blocked commentary.

Gordon Jerome was her victim on this day when he dared suggest some romance titles and covers were more reminiscent of porn. (Gasp!) And I think we all knew that. At least those of us who read Penthouse Forum, before it was screeched out of the existence by a tide of zealous harridans, can see the similarities.

I guess I started off in this line of thinking when I quipped wise and sideways that the cover she sported on her page was reminiscent of masturbation, and you can see the article and find my reply here, along with Gordon's more straightforward take on it.

Her answer was to turn on the commentary moderation and her first victim was Gordon, second being me, when I got through again, and offered that it is ironic to watch people calling themselves writers fawning to the headmastress that she was doing the right thing in blocking, i.e. censoring, bullying meany trolls under the bridge. I think somebody actually called me a troll, whatever the hell that is.

Now men are trolls. If they say anything out of line, they are exibiting trollish behavior. Like that? Are we back to junior high in this country when it comes to the dialogue between men and women?

Granted it's her damned blog and she can do as she wishes. But, it brings up an interesting point, which is the intolerant femi-socialisticus attitude, which definitely lives and breathes in the publishing world, although many of this ilk will be quick to point out they don't need "to burn their bra" anymore, to prove they are the liberated women who have been handed the torch of freedom.

Take this exchange here between myself and, Julie Weathers, on Galleycat.

You scroll down and see my first comment, was deleted. I guess I scored a point by asking Dystel Goderich how they can justify saying "serious authors" need agents, when they have represented so many serious authors in the form of celebrity cook bookers, and that literary genius, Judge Judy, much as we like Judy's flair dealing with semi-literate doltsters who find themselves in her court. (It's like watching Mike Tyson beat up on mice, isn't it?)

Anyway, we can't have that, I suppose so down comes my first comment, along with the link directing anyone who might be listening to a funny, black-comedy about a writer who thinks he just might want to murder his literary agent and then by a series of bizare circumstances, he is propelled by fate into maybe actually doing it! The novel currently in construction is called The Dead Agent.

Well Ms. Weathers didn't like that. So she starts in on me. Before long the "bra" comment, comes out, as if this proves anything or I even asked whether or not she owned a bra. Is this a stock, for-publication comment, any time a man ever questions the current male bashing environment?

Galleycat has long been a venue for agents to vent spleen about how necessary they are and for once they offered some balance. I have risen to the bait once or twice. I am the victim of some bad agenting in the past I am affraid. I ripped my book back from this agent, and a dying publisher, got threatened with a lawsuit, but went solo and got my book published pants down anyway, and yes, at times I feel like Forrest Gump talking about his "million dollar wound?" "Gov'ment must keep that money, 'cause I haven't seen any of it."

Point being, I did it without an agent and since they are scarcely getting us an advance anymore? What's the point? The one I had actually wasted more of my time than helped, and in the end, damned near made me insane when her people threatened to sue me for walking away from a dead contract!

You, fire me? How dare you! was the attitude delivered by her second-in-command.

Long and the short is, the entire industry is changing, but the old skirts want to keep things same as it ever was. And don't you dare say anything or you'll end up on a "black list!" Ooooooooo. Hey lady, get in line. The next time you offer a threat, have it mean something anymore. I will be blacklisted by a group of people, who, in less than five years will be obsolete professionally? Oooooohhooooo. Chills, I tell ya!

And men, they definitely don't want you writing, especially novels about literary agents. Big Sis in the house, that's who.

Back to that, is there any situation more rife with comedic potential than the love-hate found in the writer lit-agent conundrum, where need meets paranoia and distrust? Why is this not subject to fiction as any other humorous situation? Does it not make sense in a John Updike kind of way to write about it? Or would they have us pen endless dogshit about vampires and dundering men with good abs?

As I said on one hashtagged Twit page about the notorious Galleycat article Agents, bah, who needs them, that more than one agent was kvetching about, and urging other agents to lambaste, "Karma it is a beach, and the worm is turning girls."

Why the background color change? "The Man"

Because during the month of Big Brother, we are now at condition DEFCON RED!

What is DEFCON RED?

DEFCON RED is when the man has taken over even your penis, along with the balls behind them, and subjected them both to horrible torture.

Are we there yet? I think so.

The Man is everywhere these days. He's shutting down newspapers and magazines. He's trouncing on free speech.

To paraphrase Morpheus from The Matrix, the man is all around you. He's in every feigned smile from a television pundit feeding you bullshit about why it's not good for you to have health insurance, even though you've been downsized. He's in the memos from Walmart discussing "Dead Peasant" Insurance.

The man is also found across the net, searching through email, Twitter posts, Facebook photos, looking not for a terrorist, but a tourist, who might have learned how the rest of the world views us overseas, and is disillusioned with our government because of it.

The man is inside the little camera at the intersection you stop at on the way to work. The man is in the little note sent home with Johnny seeking a parent-teacher conference for something Johnny said in class.

The man is media, shutting down free thought in publishing, limiting your speculative fiction choices to those remaining genres, which have survived by force of unwritten decrees: vampire fiction, romance, and vampire/romance.

The man is everywhere. He lives inside upper management at your local airline and your local school board, deciding pilots and school teachers should receive equal, dismal pay, so that both are overworked and essentially asleep, while they do their jobs.

Yes children, the man is Big Brother and Big Brother is the man. The man has so convinced you of his nonsense, he has you enraged at so-called socialism, while you live in a box that prevents you from loving and appreciating your wife, and children; scarcely able to communicate with them anymore.

The man is in every polygraph you've ever taken, every security clearance review you've ever sweated, in every hang-up "unknown number" you've ever fielded in the middle of the night.

That's the man, and he is watching you.

Shhhhhh. Go back to sleep, there is more to come, during the month of Hermano Grande.

Smear Campaign Against a Horror Movie? Fourth Kind gets Big Brothered.

Yes, children, go to sleep and don't even speculate about UFOs. Big brother, in the form of Big Media is going to tell you to stay home and not see The Fourth Kind, lest it trouble you.

And it is scary as hell, and it is worth every damned penny so don't listen to them!

But did they do this with Paranormal? Which for me was a total waster. No. Do they do this to vampire films? No of course not. Did they do this to any number of movies that attempted to blur the lines between fiction and reality? Of course not.

Shhhhh, little sheepies, don't think about UFOs! Not even in fiction, not even in movies. Go back to sleep until the farmer comes.

Reviewer Kyle Smith, a good little slavish doggy for the New York Post, lambasted this movie, missing the point like a republican feigning ignorance of the Watergate.

I invite you to read his take on it and note how far he stretches to include himself in the dated, boring downing-discussion of former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin.

What?

Yes, this is what news geeks do: they are vying for a new spot, a new desk, a new set of busines cards they can display at O'Neals' over drinks, always. This imp is obviously shooting for a political beat and here he is stuck reviewing movies, UFO movies at that! He wants to let you know how important, not to mention bored, he is doing his job when he renders a 2 out of 5 swipe at a very good, if not excellent, flick! He does this with an eye-rolling, smirking stab.

Is there an editor somewhere at the Post going "Psst. (wink) Kyle you know the drill, how we treat little green men here ?"

In my honest opinion, you bet your damned ass there is. Because it has been my exprience that there is just such a person, in every newsroom. This is the man or woman who signs your paycheck; who, with droll witicisms, and cutting disdain for anything requiring a bit of imagination, sets the tone and "(tsk tsk) Little green men, well, (lofty tilt of the jaw, admonishing shake of head) we don't do that sort of thing here at the (You name it), Post, Tribune, yada yada, Scranton Weekly Buzz etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum. Fade out.

One has to wonder how deep it goes, though. It's been nearly twenty years since Whitley Strieber's Communion was turned into film, and the reviewers are still savaging it, as they attack this newer effort in the UFO genre!

Oh yeah! That's hatred.

I had enemies in college I wouldn't continue to hound across 20 years of time-space. You talk about obsessed!

See here as I rise to at least defend the right of artists to pursue the fledgling genre of UFO fiction.

Speaking of Strieber, I went into the B and N to pick up a paperback of his latest The Grays, and was asked by the local manager "who is Whitley Strieber?" I had to describe for her the book Communion which she at first pretended not to remember. I thought this a bit odd, and creepy, reminiscent of the newsroom when it comes to this subject. For Strieber is to fiction, of UFOs, as Stanton Friedman is to the science of it.

Strieber, who claims to have some personal experience with the abduction end of it, has gotten farther than any other writer attempting to get his big ole mind around the speculative end of who they are, and what they may want from us. And Big Brother really can't have that, can he?

I hold The Grays up here, and right there on the cover it says, "Soon to be a major Motion Picture." Chhhyeah, as if. Not after some of these reviewer pinheads get through ripping into Fourth Kind.

Anymore - and as I have detailed in previous blogs - literature, and the movies are intimately related in this country. As it stands a novel will not take one step toward publication unless an editor or an agent sees a Harry-Potter-Payoff at the end of the tunnel. Which means, kids, UFOs will also be rendered untouchable UH-GIN, by nasty little reviewers scratching away their souls and their integrity like ferrets in a cage, just to keep their gigs writing for the man. Just the way it works.

It's disturbing enough that every reviewer has to qualify in some way during their take "now I don't believe in UFOs." These cowardly caveats take all forms: take Glen Boyd for Blogcritics.org "for those who take this subject matter seriously.." I can't help but hear the old Shakespeare saw "the lady doth protest" in all of these. For how often do they begin a similar review "Now, I don't normally believe in vampires, but..." or "Now, some of us do believe in werewolves, but..." or "Now, having seen Rocket Boy, let me qualify this by saying I don't believe in children flying with rocket jet packs over skyscrapers, since I have never seen one myself, but..."

Assinine! Review the damned movie; keep your damned opinion about the subject matter to yourself, or at least not the focus of your article. How often do editors allow this sort of bias in articles about other events or phenomenon?

"I don't beleive in icebergs, since I have never seen one, so, let me talk about why, the greenhouse affect is bs!"

You will also hear today across the net, it sounded with trumpet and bazooka, the fact that there is no "Dr. Tyler" as portrayed in the horror film! Yes, a small Alaskan newsaper sorted this out weeks ago and it has been passed off as proof positive that THERE ARE NO UFOS SO SHUT UP ABOUT THEM.

You will not hear that there HAD BEEN a very prominent Harvard psychiatrist named John E. Mack who boldy titled his decade of research Abduction: Human Encouters with Aliens, based on 200 plus interviews with patients who all shared similar stories with him.

I say had-been because Dr. Mack died after being struck by a car on a London street in 2004 . Dr. Mack is a Pulitzer Prize winner.

You won't hear about him today, even though he perfectly could be a substitute for the fictional psychiatrist in the movie, because this information is all so ten minutes ago. And in dealing with technology that enslaves us so elegantly, our attention span has been reduced to that of a gnat along with our cognitive skills.

As to that latter statement: Go to the video box to your right labeled "Go See Fourth Kind", hit refresh on your browser until you get the previews, and one review, of The Fourth Kind. Watch the individual reviewer. I rest my case.

Yes, Virginia, this isn't a good movie about "Alien Adoptions."

But....there is still hope, and there are bright spots.

There are some decent reviews out there, here Jenna Busch for Huff Post. Not bad, although she goes too far to criticize Will Patton, I think. In more of a gesture: well we must find something to fault.

But as someone who has sifted through the literature out there covering the phenomenon for my own novel series on it you find two things. 1. The Big Denial, leads to some strange psychological effects to the sufferer whose world is collapsing around them. I equate it to a decompression sickness of the mind. I mean, here you are learning that everything your authority figures have been telling you, from your president on down to your local ministers, is a lie! And, big surprise, it hurts and it makes you angry! 2. The side effects of step 1 are agression, substance abuse, raging paranoia; I think Patton conveyed all of that. He walks through the movie with a permanent five o'clock shadow and his eyes get more crazy and bloodshot as we go.

You want specific reasons why the man was acting strangely? They were self-evident.

The tension between Patton and Jovovich was outstandingly portrayed, mirroring the tension between those who believe in UFOs and those who do not.

Many reluctant witnesses across this country are attacked, some physically, by their neighbors, bosses, yes, and even law enforcement for speaking out about what they experience.

November is Big Brother Month!

Remember, kids, to observe Big Brother during the month of November and thank him for all he's doing for us.

Big shout out to all my homies languishing in prisons, both real and imagined.

Here at My Bladder is Full, we like to reflect on some of the technological wonders BB or "B Squared" as I like to call him, is bringing us.

On the right above the ads, which bear very little relevance to what we're talking about, but there they are and you're welcome to (....shhhhh can't say that) never mind. Okay, as a term of service YouTube has its own vids it needs us to take note of, I'm gonna ask you to just go ahead and hit refresh twice or three times in your browser until you see the videos that I posted up there with the Hum Vee on it. Got it? Good.

This is a group of videos about the Pain Ray, or as Raytheon likes to say, and it sounds soooo much better "The Active Denial System"

I especially love video #3 from the top, which starts "These Servicemen playing the part of an unruly mob" and you'll note they are all carrying "Peace" signs. I wonder if there's any subtext there. It couldn't be that they are planning on using this device domestically could it? Later in the video, "The operator is able to place the cursor on the person he has identified as THE TROUBLE-MAKER" Which, as we know is a crime. (Hey, at 995 gigaHertz, don't be a "Mr. Bumble")

Hah. Likely they would have used it back in the days of MLK, those unruly troublemakers!

Anyhoo...

In video #4 they shoot it at a news reporter. I'm imagining a whole lot of happy banter around the Pentagon at this video.

"Got that jelly-roll moving, man! haha."

You note the reporter is so jostled by the experience he refrains from terming what he went through as actual "pain". Man, is this progress or what?

This is only one of the many wonderful weapons that the military corporations now have in their arsenal to pacify us when they direct the president to announce to the world, that, "hey, we have the spaceship. Yep. We've had it for a long time now. It has all the answers to things like energy, communications, and so forth, but, rather than give that information to humanity at large, we've just sort of held on to it for about sixty years, and made all sorts of weapons with it, which, unfortunately we're now pointing out there at ya'll. M'Kay?" Or something like this.

I don't know, I'm thinking maybe, they're sort of planning on some major contrived domestic disturbance coming up? And so, they need all this stuff?

The Pain Ray (Damnit don't say that!) The Active Denial System is only one of the special gifts to humanity that Hermano Corporatus Bastardus, has given to us.

Here at My Bladder is Full, all during the month we will be featuring one of these special "gifts" heh heh, touting its features and possible uses.

Enjoy!

My Bladder is Full of Larry David

I imagine myself urinating on The Star of David, and I can't do it. Or the Israeli flag, perhaps, nope, I couldn't do that either.

I have had my own mental differences and uncomfortable squeemishness with regard to our staunch ally, Israel. Some of the things done in our name, with our weapons, to Palestinian citizens, have deeply disturbed me. Why? Because I read the news, and I make the damned mistake of caring about what goes on in the world.

Would I ever, in a million years URINATE on the Israeli Flag or the Star of David? Hell no! I don't care how rich or famous I ever became (ha! as if!) I couldn't imagine a world, or a reason for doing something so hideous and hate-filled as to offend my fellow Americans who are Jewish, or my fellow human beings who are Israelis. I think I'd sooner have my f#cking head cut off by a terrorist than do that.

You know, I'm not even religious anymore. I was raised Catholic, and I sure as hell have my problems with the church. Those nuns used to knock me around like a Chinese gong. Thus, I even have my own humor blog posing as an irreverant Catholic Priest.

But urinating on Christ's image? In this day and age? In this already inflamed world we live in?

There is a Jingoist sort of tone such a thing sets and I've felt it before in foreign countries. You get it when people speak over and around you, expecting you not to understand the jokes they are making about you, the filthy foreigner.

Here Larry David perhaps is showing us the inside of Hollywood's jingoistic bowel; vehemently anti-christian and definitely anti-catholic; validating every hate-filled speech by every David Duke, and Howard Metzger out there. Validating every single hate-camp of the flaming cross in every back-woods community we have. And do we need more of them, Mr. David? Is this what you were aiming at? Perhaps for your next trick you could pen another Turner Diaries.

For Larry David not only feigned the act thereof, or actually did micturate on Christ's image (oh but it was portrayed as an accident), he actually had help in those around him who produced this and displayed it on caballa television. And HBO put this bit of hate on for us to watch!?

A footnote to this outrage: if Mel Gibson had taken out his winkle during his drunken tirade and wink-tinkied on an Israeli Flag, how OVER would his career be at this point? But in his meager defense, Gibson, was Billie-Goat drunk when he went into his tirade about Jews. David, was stone sober, and did this bit of hate, as a bit, for television, for which he was paid handsomly.

What am I missing? Am I missing something?

David's show is about what, precisely? Being Jewish, in Hollywood? If there is a common thread that may be it. Mostly it's about David goofing on himself, his own brand of crass insensitivity.

But we have to remember that Larry David is an educated man. Is there a subtext? Is there propaganda afoot here? See, this is the thing about hate when it surfaces, not humor, hate. Hate opens the door to questions we should not be asking. Questions we wouldn't even think of asking in the absence of it.

Is Larry David saying this is what Hollywood Jews and Israelis feel about Christians in this country? Bear in mind, religiously, I am not in this fight. I'm as agnostic as you can be.

But what I am is incensed for Christians/Catholics across the country for what Larry David did, and totally disgusted with HBO for not having an explanation for it that bears any scrutiny, and totally perplexed at Hollywood elites; especially when balanced against the good going over they gave to Mel Gibson after his racist lapse.

GM Fiasco a lesson for us all

By David Anthony Kearns

This was the Associated Press this morning "Shockingly poor financial management at General Motors and Chrysler weakened their case for a federal bailout..."
No, no. What Steve Rattner, former head of the Presidential task force designed to look into GM really said was "stunningly poor."
Other quotes snapped up by AP Washington's pool reporter, whoever it had been, and God Bless them: "GM's Board of Director were utterly docile in the face of mounting evidence of looming disaster," also "GM Chairman Rick Wagoner set a tone of 'friendly arrogance.' "
Imagine what we didn't read, since we're getting this third-hand, from a reporter, who's quoting the report of task force point man, Rattner.
Imagine what was never disclosed.
Shhheeez.
The report goes on to state that had the federal government not stepped in - albeit holding its collective nose while it did it - unempoyment in vast expanses of this country would have soared to twenty percent or higher.
The next time Glenn Beck, or any other cheese-head natters on about socialism, "president Obama getting into the car business" or the creation of a welfare state, I want you to think about a group of ossified, fat men sitting their Armani asses on GM's Board of Directors, blythly cruising their Titanic directly into an iceberg, all the while confident of a bailout they could blame on the swirling financial crisis; the skyrocketing price of oil, and the United Auto Worker's union.
I guess for Beck, Innanity, and others, it's only welfare if you're black, live in a slum and have kids to support. It's only socialism, if a program seeks to help someone who applies for foodstamps often. It's only wrong if, you signed a contract for a $78,000, 2-2, that had a balloon payment tucked way down deep in the fine print.
A group of nasty, selfish pricks who sit there, collecting $500,000 per year - a pittance really - to direct GM right into ruin and do nothing about it is really not welfare as the term is known: it's Free-Market Capitalism as touted by Larry Kudlow on CNBC! It's not criminal, oh no! It's America, land of the free home of the brave, personally responsibility and (don't you love this?) family values!
Yeah, that makes sense. It's family values! It's Jesus, apple pie, all that.
More than 1 million jobs, Rattner estimates, would have been lost, had the government not done something.
See, it's not good enough for some that they sit on high and squirrel all their cash away they are earning, pushing paper, in some tax haven: there has to be someone on the other end literally crawling on their knees begging a sheriff's deputy to allow them to remain in their house, just one more day.
Being wealthy apparently doesn't taste good enough to those fortunate insiders unless, there are one million such souls newly sent to the bowels of the economy, sent to the depths, digging through sofa creases for every last penny lost over the years.
You have to ask yourself where in hell, Faux News gets their information from to keep running this game that Obama wants to bring socialism to this country.
Hell, we've already got a welfare state here! The Welfare programs have been pumping billions into the pockets of the wealthy scumbags who have been robbing us blind, and running us ragged.
Now, when the till is empty, they want to completely beggar everyone outside their little club. When you raise a finger or vote to oppose them in any way, you are called unpatriotic, America hating, and oh yes, a socialist.
Do...YOU LOVE...IT?