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Click on the images to listen to a recent interview with the editor of the book “Alien Interview”:
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CONSPIRACY OF COWS
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“O conspiracy!
Sham’st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,
When evils are most free? (2.1.77)
Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds.” (2.1.173)
— William Shakespeare, from JULIUS CAESAR
Congress Honors 9/11 First Capitalizers
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WASHINGTON—In an act that many are calling long overdue, Congress passed legislation this week to honor those Americans who were first on the scene to profit from the tragedy of Sept. 11, 2001.
The so-called 9/11 First Capitalizers Act, which passed by a wide margin in both the House and Senate, is the first measure to recognize the utter lack of sacrifice on the part of those men and women who did not hesitate to put their own personal agendas above all else when it mattered most.
“It is high time we paid tribute to those who sensed the direness of the moment and immediately sprang into action on that terrible day, exploiting it for personal gain,” Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) said Tuesday. “These were the thoughtless men and women who selfishly showed us that in desperate times, the most callous among us will always be there to step forward and do whatever it takes to get a piece of the action.”
“They sacrificed their dignity and sense of basic morality so that others might one day give to them,” Graham continued.
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Developers currently constructing retail space on the site of Ground Zero are among those being honored.
The bill not only honors those who rushed to Ground Zero immediately to sell merchandise, participate in photo ops, or advance an ideological agenda, but also those who profited from afar by producing jingoistic songs and TV specials, or mentioning 9/11 in stump speeches as a way of scaring people into voting for them.
Among those Americans recognized were “United We Stand” T-shirt manufacturer Gary Tabano, country artists Toby Keith and Lee Greenwood, Halliburton CEO David Lesar, filmmaker Oliver Stone, former president George W. Bush, and 89 members of Congress itself.
After apologizing for the “needless delay” in honoring the shameless bottom-feeders, lawmakers confirmed the measure would establish a special fund for the 9/11 First Capitalizers, helping those individuals collect whatever funds and resources they somehow didn’t manage to rake in hand over fist in the hours, days, and months following our nation’s darkest hour.
“From Blackwater founder Erik Prince to the people who marketed those ‘Heroes of the World Trade Center’ trading cards, these Americans did things most of us can scarcely even imagine,” Sen. Bob Casey (D-PA) said. “And after all they do, they still somehow find time to sleep like babies every night.”
Also singled out for recognition were Ashland, OR resident Linda Banks, 48, who continues to trot out her maudlin, self-serving story of where she was on 9/11 every single time she sees an opportunity, and Canton, OH resident Geoff Markum, 29, who, soon after the terrorist attack, began replacing his favorite punch line, “That was worse than the Holocaust!” with “That was worse than 9/11!”
When reached for comment, a number of First Capitalizers were more than willing to step forward and share their heart-numbing tales of exploitation and greed.
“I’m no hero. I just did what any opportunist would do,” said World Trade Center leaseholder Larry Silverstein, who tried to collect double on his $3.5 billion insurance policy by arguing that the towers had been hit by two separate planes. “After all, I couldn’t just stand idly by and do nothing to benefit myself while the entire country suffered.”
Congress also announced that it would be dedicating a special plaque on the National Mall containing the names of all 12,554,310 Americans who eventually capitalized on the tragedy with their bullshit advertising, partisan rhetoric, forgettable novels, defense contracts, and all-around cheap, manipulative sentimentalism.
In related news, the White House announced this week that work continues apace on the multitrillion-dollar monuments to the exploitation of 9/11 currently underway in Afghanistan and Iraq.
AS TIME GOES BY
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“The world will always welcome lovers….. As Time Goes By …..”. (click to play the song while you read the story)
A sad and sensuous melody wafts in from the Really Old Oldies Station playing on the radio in the bedroom. The classic melody melts into the candlelight and steam above my sunken penthouse bathtub hidden in the clouds of a Big City Skyline.
Amber tendrils of her dripping hair draw arabesques on golden skin along the supple curves of her torso. Eyes half-closed, pouting mouth, she tosses her head toward me with a gaze that would light wet firewood. There is nothing in the world but her and me.
Lifting a leg above the water, she rests her foot on my shoulder, stroking my hair and neck, tickling my ear with her pinkly painted toes. She makes me smile idiotically, yes, please-do-it-ically. I tilt my head to meet her foot with a submissive animal twitch that lets her know she’s my master.
Her leg bends slightly. A rivulet runs down her leg, melting into the canyon between her thighs. Her heel nestles next to my throat as she massages my temple with her toe. I lift my hand out of the suds to blow her a bubbly kiss. My eyes follow the ruffled waves as they ripple on the shores of her ample, island breasts. Tiny bubbles swirl and burst beneath her nipples like a tiny, iridescent fireworks show.
Slowly her caresses shift, her slick skin slithers on mine, the tip of her toe traces my chin, the contour of my lips. My eyes loose focus as I submerge myself in sensuousness. I nibble at her perfect toes, tickling with my tongue. She giggles, then laughs out loud. That sound! If it was food, I’d gain a hundred pounds!
“Oh, baby…” My voice is a horse whisper. She whinnies and lets her arching foot slide down my pecs. Her toes dig into my skin, her sole rests on the wild pounding in my chest — she can feel it! Very still, she listens to my heart with her delicious toes. It’s pumping! Out of control, like some menacing machine! We both know where the blood is going now…Shadow, I love you. 
She bites her lower lip. Her breathing quickens. Like a female Captain Ahab, she lowers her boat urgently into the bubble bath scented waves to hunt for the great, white sperm whale.
“Oh yeah, baby. Lower away!”, I say, urging her on.
As the keel of Shadow’s boat rides on the waves of our passion, I hear, in the back of my mind, the voice of Gregory Peck intoning Herman Melville’s immortal words:
“The whale, the whale! Up helm, up helm! Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug me close! Steady! helmsman, steady. Nay, nay! Up helm again! He turns to meet us! Oh, his unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart. My God, stand by me now!”
The perfumed waves mount into a frothing tempest and splash onto the bathroom floor. My Moby Dick rams and hoists the shuddering bow of her sensuous ship until her timbers creak and moan, and then explode, giving way to screams!…the same, impassioned screams that have summoned the wandering souls of humanity into the next generation of baby bodies since the Omniscient Creator orchestrated the first primordial conception of homo sapiens in the dim mists of…
“Bbrrrrriiiing! Bbrrrrriiiing!”
I opened one eye slowly and carefully lurched my aching head up off my desk. Oh, (Bleep)! I was dreaming again! A very moist dream. For the third time this week I’d fallen asleep in front of my computer monitor. I felt like “Johnny Dollar, PI”, in the old radio program I used to listen to when I was a kid, except for the fact that he had an expense account because he worked as a claims investigator for some big insurance company.
I have a lot of expenses, but I didn’t have any accounts. Every time Johnny walked around a corner somebody hit him on the back of the head and knocked him out. He spent all of his time trying to figure out who did it and why. Usually, it was because of some women he was mixed up with. You think he would have learned to stay away from corners.
“Bbrrrrriiiing! Bbrrrrriiiing!”
The (bleeping) phone was still ringing! My answering machine picked up the call. I heard my cleverly conceived marketing message start to play as I looked foggily at the sign painted on the opaque glass of my office door:
The Un-existential Detective Agency of America (T.U.D.A.A.) !
“We dig up the truth for you”
SAM SHOVEL – Proprietor and Public Dick”
____________________________
Excerpt from Chapter One of THE BIG BLEEP, a novel by Lawrence R. Spencer
Webcam 101 (for Senior Citizens)
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There is definitely TOO MUCH TECHNOLOGY in the world. Only 150 years ago Americans we were writing letters with a quill pen by candlelight and riding horses for transportation. When the people in this video were teenagers, communication was done by handwritten letter and an operator-assisted telephone call. How did we jump from that into the an electronic society in 3 generations. Evolution? NOT!