Helen Thomas is vowing to 'kill herself'

Veteran White House reporter Helen Thomas has said that she will "kill herself" if VP Dick Cheney announces he is running for president. Thomas, a Washington reporter for over a century, and 3/4 dead already, has indicated that she would put a gun to her head, pull the trigger, and blow her brains out on national tv if Cheney runs.

This is not good. Suicide is an immoral act (even for Miss Thomas) and if she did this thing on tv, it would frighten young children, old people, dogs and fat housewives so much, that they themselves would drop dead as well. In addition, it would not stop Cheney from announcing his intentions, if indeed he chooses to run. Indeed, political pundits say that this would be an encouragement to run for office.

Word has it that Mr. Cheney would not respond to a Thomas suicide, but would look more favorably on a Howard Dean suicide, or perhaps a Hillary Clinton. Sources say that these two deaths would be more of a motivator. Of course, a murder/suicide of Bill and Hillary Clinton would cinch the deal. If that were to occur, Vice President Cheney would declare for the directorship...I mean presidency as soon as he could arrange for the disposal of his Italian mistress. It all depends on how happy certain events would make Cheney, as he is very depressed right now due to his enlarged prostate starting to make his bladder rotate backwards.

More to come...

New Planet Found! Filled With Pus!

It had to happen sooner or later, because those scientists just won't take their collective nose out of the telescope long enough to discuss the subject of planet limitation with those of us who think we have enough planets.

So...there is nothing we can do about it now. They have their planet. Let them feed it.

Click!

Jane Fonda Makes Poop On Anti War Movement

Jane Fonda, who was on the right side of history in her opposition to the war in Vietnam, now returns for Act II, running around the country, in what appears to be Arlo Guthrie's old bus, protesting the shameful debacle in Iraq.

All so far, so good. But Miss Fonda needs to take a long look in the mirror (I know that's tough at 67, but nips and tucks take the edge off) and ask herself, will her personal protesting of the war help the cause or hinder it?

Taking a page from her acceptance speech for "Klute" in 1971, where she said this is neither the time or place for political pitches, she said she would defer for the night. Perhaps the time to defer, in the best interest of the anti-war movement, has come again.

Jane Fonda will forever be known and hated by many as "Hanoi Jane". Her trip to Hanoi in 1972 was, as she now admits, wrong, and hurtful to those who had family either killing and dying over there, or as actual P.O.W.'s. It was so late in the war that I don't think it had a negative effect on the process of our removal from Vietnam. We were on our way out anyhow.

Miss Fonda's need to be a member of the wagon for peace and in opposition to our Iraqi imperialism is an honest and sincere attempt to help the cause. It will not. Going to Hanoi, sitting in a Commie tank for a photo op, and doing a Tokyo Rose on our prisoners there seared the soul of many anti and pro war alike. The highest of motivations, notwithstanding, no one likes one of us fiddling with the enemy, particularly when they have our guys in their camps.

Jane Fonda could, at this point, do far more for the cause by cutting a check. She will not help this anti-war movement with activism, no matter how pure her intentions. Do us a favor, Miss Fonda; don't muddy the waters of this waist deep in the big muddy.

Joe Postove

The Heat

I think the Space Shuttle took off today not so much because they wanted to visit outer space, but because it is so damn hot here on earth. NASA believed that Hell had come to earth and blasted the astronauts off today just so they could escape the heat. Nice government work, if you can get it.

The weatherman said that it would get to about 100 degrees today, but that it would feel like 115. Why doesn't he just say "115"? Is he wearing a mink lined iron coat out in the mid-day sun just to prove how hot he can say it is? Shame on him. Shame.

Norfolk has a nice stink to it in the heat of summer. A combination of...well you know all the things that Norfolk has. And with the Navy, make that a factor of 10. We stink very much, thankyou.

I'm so glad we have an indoor pay toilet here in my apartment building. It is very nice. And the management has added a nice stall for the hermaphrodite tenents which brings the total of indoor pay comfort stations to seven, one each for men, women, gays, trans, animals, aliens, and now the half man, half woman tenents who have been holding it in for some time now.

Thank God for liberalism. Stay cool, fellas. And remember your dimes.

jp

I Am Such A Girl

My cousins who are in their 70's just got their first computer, and I am in charge of forcing them how to understand how to run the thing. They think I am a genius because I know how to Google, and I can email like a fiend. I will do my best to never disappoint them.

Last night (early this morning) while on my paper route, one of the night people said that my brake light was out. Naturally I freaked because I thought there goes another 50 or 75 dollars down the velvety mink lined hole of the criminals who run the garage where I take my van. I tried not to brake all the way home so as to avoid raising the suspicions of any cops looking for some exercise to rouse themselves from their early morning donut stupor. I realize this may not have been the best course of action.

Today I went to the shop (open on Sunday for the greedy bastards who run it and for girls like me who are afraid to fiddle ever so slightly with our car's works) and surprisingly the guy on duty, the one reading the newspaper, said it would be easy for me to change the brake light myself. And he actually showed me what to do (up to a point...he didn't go into the thing and give me an exhibition, but he was helpful). This was so cool and unexpected, that I skipped all the way back to my car, looked into the rear view mirror and said "beautiful, you're about to embark on yet another adventure". I didn't really skip (that would have been girlish and I feel female enough when I'm in a garage that I have to be a little rough and dirty. These days some people think that when they see a grown man skipping happily and merrily down the street in sweet abandonment of time and place, that he's a homo. Maybe I'm just happy. But I didn't skip. But I was ecstatic at the prospect of saving tons of money).

The garage man said I could pick up a bulb at any auto parts store (I knew that). The bulb cost 99 cents and I tried to get some idea from the auto parts guy what I was supposed to do once I was in surgery. He looked at me like I was an ignoramus (he didn't know me) and gave me a few snorts and growls about how easy it all was. I thanked him, and walked very manly back out to my van.

Once home, I called my friend. He's a cameraman, but knows things like how to check the oil of a car real good, and was the first one to tell me, years ago, that it was not necessary to drink your soda at the gas station, that you could get the deposit back anywhere that sold pop. So I figured he would know about this thing.

He drove over to my apartment. I was out front pretending to do something about the bulb when he pulled up. And like any girl, I let him do all the work. He didn't really know that much about what to do, but he looked the situation over and had me up and running in 10 minutes. I mean, he had the whole thing open and shut before I could shit in my pants. And I have the record on that.

Lessons learned? Try to be more like a man, Joe, when it comes to mechanical things. It is with no sense of achievement that I reveal that I lost my virginity before I knew how to unlatch the hood of a car. I learned how to be a man with women. I need to be more of a man with cars.

jp

The Secret Garden

If you're into life metaphors, or you would just like to see a wonderfully life affirming film, rent "The Secret Garden" with Margaret O'Brien, Herbert Marshall, Dean Stockwell, and a marvelous supporting cast.

The book (which I understood was a "girls" book when growing up) and the film have escaped me all these years, until today when I watched it via television off of the Turner Classic Movies screen.

It is fable, metaphor and dark tale all wrapped up into a story that promises tears and heart thumping wonderment that truth can be told. This film fulfills a contract with the viewer that while life may seem to be all falsehood, lies and deceit, that is not so. It is verity that courses through the veins and sometimes it is only a secret undone, or a truth revealed that can redeem life and restore happiness.

RENT THIS MOVIE!

Joe Postove


IMdB Comments

Toby

Sixty three she would be today.
But she died at twenty seven,
Forgetting just long enough
How to live.

Life feels itself.
But it cannot outwit death,
Who always carries the upper hand.

My sister,
Who, like my Mother, loved and nurtured me,
Forgot me too,
Just long enough to die her final death.

The one that would leave death alive
In all who she left behind,
We who are looking, always looking.

Bootless in the snow.

Joe Postove

Father Of T.V. Dinners Dies! Mourning Starts In 30 Minutes (15 For Microwaves)

The most important man in the world, Gerry Thomas,the inventor of the T.V. dinner in the 1950's has died. Without him, unmarried men throughout the world would have starved nearly to death, probably ending their lives face down in a chicken bucket.

Thomas gave us good, economical and tasty meals that required no preparation (except in the old days you had to take off the tin foil over the dessert. Perhaps that was a law in one state, like not removing furniture tags, and he just incorporated it into the whole line). You shoved them into the oven for half an hour, and then you had a glorious meal of chicken or beef along with a nice vegetable and dessert. You then placed it on another wonderful invention, the T.V. tray, and paradise reigned while you ate your meal, alone, in front of your television, as the world passed you by (outside my window. I lived near a travel agency).

T.V. dinners were only a short term deal for men, however. Once they found that certain woman, she would turn out wonderful home cooked meals for a few years. And then it was back to the T.V. dinners. But at least she ate them with you.

By the 1980's the dinners became more sophisticated, being microwavable and including a better variety of meats and sides. By the time 1980 came along, single men home from work could pop a Swanson Dinner in the machine and have a complete deluxe meal less than 15 minutes later.

And then we would pull out our trays, set up in the living room, and watch T.V. and eat alone. But cable made our lives worth living by then, what with wresting from Atlanta and such.

So long, T.V. dinner man. Your kind shall not pass this way again. But we shall be sure to remember the smell.

Joe

Stopped Clock Ticks Tocks

I criticize our president here on the blog incessantly and pretty unforgivingly, frankly because I think he's only an average mediocrity. And this nation deserves top notch mediocrities in our highest office.

One of the things a president is instructed to do by the constitution is name folks to the highest court in the land. Believe me, if I could find some way around this rule and get a real talent, like the Slurpie manager down at the 7/11 to do this, I would clap my hands, point a finger, and order him to do it. But the duty is George Bush's and he has chosen John Roberts (not of CBS news) to ascend to the Supreme Court.

The liberals should give the Pres a pass on this one. Roberts, although distinctly conservative (according to my car radio) does not apparently breathe fire and chop off the heads of hippies (both which are illegal...except the fire part if you do it at home, only for barbecues). The left should get take what it can live with, and be thankful Bush didn't send Cheney and Rice to dig up Bob Bork and sex him up with a new 21st century look, and twirl him around for another go in front of the judges.

John Roberts will be acceptable to the rightwingers. He's anti-abortion (but he has that trick philosophy that will allow him to live with it...if not "Roe" itself) and other than that he could swing with Castro and the right will allow him.

We libertarians will continue to stuff our money into the mattress...

Get Your Pap Smear(ed)

Today is "National Pap Smear Day" (or "Schmear" as they call it in New York) and I want to encourage our women readers to go out and get one. This is an important thing and you must understand that...even though...ok, I don't know what a Pap Smear is. Just jot that down in your book there of things Joe does not know.

OK. Now tell me, is a Pap Smear a procedure where some type of medicine is applied to the ladies "pap", or does the doctor smear "pap" onto the lady (with her complete cooperation) to alleviate some kind of dire condition?

This is an important day, and, girls...take it seriously. Have your ??? smeared with a half a gallon of pap or smear your pap today. You'll be glad you did. And, truthfully, I don't think it makes that much difference. But I am not a doctor.

By the way, there must be a male thing that we can take off on. Like...like, say a coffee enema. Why would a man waste good coffee on THAT? And are you allowed to add cream and sugar to your most personal of enemas?

Now the men and women are even.

JP

My Conversion To Catholicism

Wherever you are, stop what you're doing and pray for Norfolk, Virginia. The home of the world's largest naval apparatus has a temperature of 95 degrees today, and only God knows what it is in the shade, because I'm not stupid enough to go outside and sit under a tree. The thermometer says "95", but I'll bet the "feel like" temp is more like 97 or 98 and thus is killing us.

I'm so desperate that I am considering ditching my Judaism and converting to the Catholic faith just to get a priest to put his cold clammy hands along my supple body and make me. That's probably going too far, though.

I could turn the air conditioner on, but mine is a 1934 model from W.T. Grant's and runs on pureed horse shit. I'll be damned if I'm gonna pay the prices they're asking down by the stables for pureed H.S. Besides, once one of the horseshit air conditioners really gets cranking, it cools the air ok, but it smells like shit.

I wonder if the 7/11 convicts would mind if I ran naked, willy-nilly (and I rarely do that anymore) back through the Slurpie works slopping my head with all the flavors and maybe filch an ice cream sandwich to eat during a rest period.

It's so damn hot. And being of unsound mind, I have few options (see above).

I guess I'll just go to the movies and sit in between the décolleté of a fat lady. It's always been real cool there, and I may try that again.

More heat reports, as they kill us off, one by one.

Joe

I Am Not A Professional Writer Man

You could probably tell that, huh? Yes, it's true, I don't do this for a living. If I did, I would be doing it for a deadening. The nice thing about doing a blog is that there is no pressure to turn out competent copy everyday. The bad thing about it is that you don't have to turn out competent copy everyday. It's a two way street. I found love on a two way street (but lost it on a lonely highway). I'm learning, in my amateur status here on the blog how to fill up space. I'm a space hog man! Fuck the content! Just fill it up with letters and those little things that go between them. Oh, the punctuation.

My good friend, who is nice enough to look over my copy sometimes, told me about the ellipses. I know that one ellipses gives you 3 dots and another gives you 4 dots, but the minute she told me which was what, I forgot. But I LOVE ellipses! ... .... ... ... .... I even came up with my own five dot ellipses ..... It signifies nothing. My friend is a teacher and has a mean big red pen. She's so nice, but the pen is scary, so I try not to invoke its rage.

Look at this...I've written two paragraphs (could have been four, man). And look at all of the neat things we've shared together on today's blog. Now I shall take to my bed and rest my bones, because I have to watch tv later. I have to. It's already on.

joe

The Tournament Of World Power

We Pray Peace,
And Act War.
Beat our swords into plowshares?
Ah, but the world has closed to old ideas.

Lay down your arms soldier,
For who are you fighting for?
And for what?
And why?

The Tournament Of World Power
Is now into overtime.
And the players tire.

But the coaches move us,
With the pep of a teenager's drive and intellect,
Oblivious.

The blissful oblivion of conscience undone.



Joe Postove

Short Men More Prone To Suicide?

There was a report on the CBS Evening News tonight about how short men may be more prone to suicide than longer men. This is understandable from a number of vantage points. First, when the man kicks the chair out from under him, a short man's legs, being fat and stubby, will tend to pull the rope tighter around the neck, thus cutting hangtime in half.

Also short men tend to fret so much about their shortness and fretting leads to worry lines, which in turn cause deep wrinkles, which a short man, usually being poorer than a long man, doesn't have the money for plastic surgery to correct.

It is true that short and long men tend to have the same size heads and bullets would pierce them about the same, but short men have smaller brains which enable the bullet to dominate more once shot into, thus causing death about five minutes earlier.

Not all short men are suicidal, however. I myself am only about 5 feet, 8 1/2 inches tall. But I have a nice paper route, have good table manners, don't lick ladies on the first date, have a pretty nice rear end, like Jack Benny, and would kill a communist for fun if I had to defend my country from Cuba or North Korea. So I'm pretty safe from the bugga-boo of self immolation or other kinds of death at my own hand.

I do the best I can with the little I have to work with.

Joe Postove

The Space Shuttle Makes It!

Of course they never took off, but I would count that as a win! The attendent at NASA said today that high gas prices and the lack of novelty giveaways at outer space stations (free glasses, gum, condoms) has dampened the resolve of the astronauts to fly through space like Peter Pan and other fairies, and to come home the heroes they surly are.

You have to understand that if the space shuttle was even able to turn the engine over, then NASA would have have called that a success, and called the troops home. Oh, if they only could!

The real reason given for the delay was that one of the ladynaughts forgot her diaphram. Heaven knows what she would want that for out there? God Forbid! I heard somewhere, that it is easier to cook eggs on a diaphram in outer space...or that's at least what this girl said.

So we look to another day, when NASA can get some bodies out there and get them back the same way they left. Fairly retarded.

Good luck spacemen!

Joe

Miss America...There She Goes!

It is with a great deal of sadness that I report that the Miss America pageant, unable to find a home on one of the regular networks (no one watched it last year) is moving to cable, to the "Country Music Network"! She will die in a few years, run over by a train, after being released from prison, where she was not treated for her alcoholism. At least that would be in keeping with the cowgirl image Miss America will project once she's ridden around this rodeo circuit a few times.

It would be better if she went to radio, rather than the beer brawling hicksville of CMT. Not that I dislike country music. I've worked at country radio stations, and it is great music for suicides and rapists. And I do have a weakness for Hank, Jr. But tarting this grand old dame down to this one horse town just to keep her alive ain't worth the spit from an old saloon whore. Or thatabouts.

Once CMT starts running the pageant, they're going to make changes. The swimsuit competition will be replaced with skinny dippin' out by the cement pond. The winner of that will get a free barrel to wear for the rest of the show. Judging the girl's talents will consist of having Walter Brennan and Richard Boone slap them around for free drinks. Then in the final humiliation, the 10 who make it to the last round will dance on top of the poker table to the strains of "Camptown Ladies". The winner will be the one who doesn't get killed by one of the drunks from the cattle drive just out of town.

This will not be your mother's Miss America. What great institution will next go this route?

Lawrence Welk?

Joe

Thank God I'm Alive!

I was almost killed in a pretzel related traffic accident this morning while pulling out of the 7/11 (damn them to hell, btw) parking lot. Not killed so much as really almost creamed by a car, broadside. Thankfully, I was only smudged, with a shmutz of chocolate from my donut alfrescoed on my lips.

I had just bought my breakfast, after finishing my paper route a little early. Whenever I do get it over with early, I enjoy throwing any extra papers I may have, hither and thither, over and yawn onto the porches of people who do not subscribe to the paper. Hopefully, one day, a young woman will respond to the paper clanking her screen door, and come out in one of those delightful nightys that Dorothy Lyman used to wear on "Mama's Family". Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

So I reached into my bag of sandwich, candy bar and pretzels as I drove out of the 7/11 lot. My eyes trained on the road, spying for oncoming traffic were diverted down to the bag where one of the pretzels had hooked itself onto one of the others. You know, like pretzels do. But this was different. I was driving. I know I should have stopped and unhooked the pretzels from each other. That would have been the safe thing. But I felt that my 30 plus years of driving would carry me as I attempted to untangle the pretzels and continue into the street.

That would have been the wise thing to do. But I was over confident. And therefore was nearly killed. Dig this:

OBITUARY

Joe Postove, of Norfolk, news boy for the Virginian Pilot was killed today as a car smashed into his while he was trying to untangle a couple of pretzels.

There will be no service because of his stupidity. Postove, 48, leaves a sandwich, bar of candy, double chocolate donut and an open bag of pretzels. Those wishing to honor his memory should watch out when they eat and drive.

The moral of this story?

When dining at 7/11, eat in the store. No matter how nasty the criminal clerks are. Over by the Slupie machine is a good place. It's good and sticky there, so your stuff won't slide away.

Joe

Good News About Kate Smith!

Good News About Kate Smith!

Click on the clicky.

Good News About Kate Smith!

Defending Your Life

For the first time in several years, I just watched one of my all time favorite films "Defending Your Life" by Albert Brooks. Brooks makes a film every few years, when he feels like it, and none of them have been smash commercial hits.

If, however, you enjoy funny, personal, and meaningful commentary on life and how to use it well, rent this movie! Brooks, along with the extraordinary supporting cast of Meryl Streep, Rip Torn, and Lee Grant take you on a trip to "Judgement City" where the freshly dead review their life and are either sent on to a higher state of being or sent back to earth to try again.

The nexus or focus is how well one confronted his or her fears while alive. And if done sufficiently well, then you move up. If not, then you get another chance. Some of the people in Judgement City have had 20 or more tries at it. Eventually, if you just can't seem to face life and liberate yourself from fear, you are thrown away.

This is a great and an extremely funny film, with an ending that would move the crustiest cynic among us. Along with "Mother" and "Lost In America" this is among the best films in recent years. And "Defending..." is a classic that will generate laughs and tears from generations not yet born.

Albert Brooks is one of the GREAT filmmakers of all time. Rent this or almost any other of his work.

Joe Postove

Failure Vs. Success

I was thinking about the difference between failure and success as I did my paper route this morning. Oh, how I fear success! That seductress who comes to me, only to bray to the world just how ugly I am. Creepy with hypnotic eyes, out only for my already withered soul. Withered from trying to capture the thing that frightens me most.

But I want it. The satisfaction of work well done and the money to dig a hole to hide from my hovering bitch. Success is complicated. It is the thrill ride where you are never "this tall" but you get on anyway. On the other hand, failure is disgrace. But it is also relief. Failure means never having to top yourself. Failure is a warm bed; even if the warmth is your own pee. Failure is loose shoes. It is that warm, moist place where you are most comfortable with you. You can't go wrong with failure. You're already there.

In theory, failure allows you the possibility that you will get better. Success is it. Time to move along to the next challenge. Failures don't see it that way. This time you may succeed. And as Curly Howard said "if at first you don't succeed, keep on sucking until you do.

And so, a tip of the hat to the world's failures. Without you guys, it would be mighty cold out here.

Joe

Take It To 'Em...And Bring It On!

Once our leaders were caught in the lie of why we went to war (WMD...we must be nearly the stupidest people on earth when it comes to believing our minders. Uh huh, uh, huh...yes sir, let's move!) the presidents moved from one bogus premise to another. Now it was "we must take the battle to them, before they bring it to us". So where are we now?

Fifty folks died in London yesterday. Seems to me that the bad guys are working with their own chessboard, and goddamn us. Gee...maybe their strategy is to bring the war to us AND kill our guys back home in the new capital of death, Bagdad. It's a twofer!

I don't know how dumb you are. But if you believed the first lie, that Saddam had WMD's and if we don't get him now, we're screwed, then you're just an average moron and you are excused. If you believed anything that our chiefs said after you knew them for the lying dogs they are, then I don't believe you can read or understand concepts, and thus I won't waste my time.

If London is part of "us", then they have, at their leisure, brought the war back to us. Presidents BushCheneyRumsfeldRice should choke on their lies.

At least Bush dosen't have that damn smirk on his face so much now. Even he cannot escape the realization that the rivers of American and British blood that now flow unceasingly from Bagdad to London are on his hands.

So...we took the war to them before they could bring it to us. I wonder what the Iraqi heads and arms and other body parts blown apart would say about that. And now the Londoner's.

So far the only heads rolling are the ones detached from their bodies in the blasts from Iraq to the UK. The bosses have too much invested to change direction now.

The war may be in Iraq right now. But the terrorists have shown that they can move the battle anywhere they choose.


Joe Postove

London Calling: Those Who Lurk In The Strength Of Shadows

After the attacks in London today, our leaders will attempt to convince us, again, that we should be ever vigilant in the fight against terrorism. Terrorists, however, need not explain (to us) why they fight. Or why they specifically wage war on the west, because each one considers himself a king in the jihad (only with great expectations would one commit suicide in the name of God). We don't need them to explain why they do what they do. It is easy enough to understand. But we need more independent analytical thinking and less lazy political mindlessness, if we are to remain a free and safe nation.

Understand this: this is entirely political. It is only because what they think is not properly interpreted for the average American couch potato that we continue to bravely fight for nothing. Except the deaths of our poor young men who will forever believe that they are defending our country. I feel so sorry for them.

We pawns are reassured by our presidents and prime ministers that we can and must go on with the day, despite the doom, but then are warned that we are at another level of heightened alert. And New York begins to look like Jerusalem. Everyone's packing.

Today's terrorist is not just a bomb throwing anarchist. There is no vague philosophical movement to "tear down the state" or "destroy the capitalist system". These people are disciplined, programmed, malevolence defined, and they know what they are doing and know how to do it.

Maybe if this was blind hatred; even blind hatred directed towards the west and how we live our lives, we could handle it. Our leaders have stopped, I think, trying to impress upon us that they hate us because of what we are; that our dissolute western lifestyle is so offensive to them, that the only response can be bombs and airplanes. We simply will not buy into that anymore, the longer this period goes on and the stronger the terrorists become. The insurgency in Iraq is not growing and welcoming in foreigners because we drink beer and watch porn.

They hate us for what they believe are good reasons. We do not have to agree that they are good reasons, but we must accept that they are either putting their lives on the line, or simply ending them as suicides, because they too have a cause. There is no vacuum here.

They hate us because we have taken the force of western might to their world. The west is targeted because we believe they cannot behave, and only through a Middle Eastern version of "Manifest Destiny" will our world view succeed. Do you possibly believe that we can conduct ourselves imperiously and not be hated by those who see themselves as the subjected? Can we conduct wars, extract oil, and enforce forms of government on people and nations without some reaction, from some quarters?

I will refuse to fight for oil.

I will refuse to fight for Israel.

I will refuse to fight for Iraq.

The terrorists have no interest in fighting for it's own sake.

Let us remove ourselves from this maelstrom. NOW!

Joe Postove

Broken Toilet Seat 1931

The wooden toilet seat in the bathroom of my apartment finally broke and I'm afraid to call the landlord. "How you break toilet seat, dumbass"? He'll reluctantly send his plumber up here to replace it, and another man just to throttle me.

I don't know how to handle a wooden toilet seat. Sure it fit real nice, and except for the splinters, I could fall asleep with my dinner tray slung around my neck, so snug I'd be. My cousin told me that if you look in the tank of a toilet it will indicate the date that it was built. In my last apartment my toilet was born 9/11/51, fifty years to the day before the attack on America. Of course the man who made the toilet then couldn't have known what would happen. Like now, we can't tell from our toilets what will happen in 50 years, or even 15 minutes.

But back to my current commode, I think it was built in the thirties, because it looks very sad and my shit always seems to look like Franklin Roosevelt. That's no comment on the greatness of the man, just that he, perhaps, looks like shit. Mine at least.

For now, I'm just placing the two wooden pieces together and dooing the best I can when I feel the need. I will eventually call the landlord. I can't hold it in too long. Who do you think I am, Richard Nixon?

joe

THE NUDE ARTS

I wanted to write a story. So I needed a subject and a bunch of words. I’d go over to the computer, sit and magically release these words through my fingers into the keyboard, passing them through the hard drive, and out on the screen in order to make a story. I don’t have that here. So you think I’m writing a story about not writing a story, and that’s my gimmick. That’s not a bad idea for a story, but that’s not the one I’m telling today.

You see, I set down a certain amount of time each day to write. Sometimes I polish old stories, other times I sketch out new ideas. Today I come to you nude. As naked as the day I got caught running out to the mailbox when I was twelve, because I was too lazy and fat to put on my pants. It was a rainy day, and no one was home, and my pants were so darn tight I preferred to go about naked when alone in the house.

I saw the mailman drive up to the box in his truck and leave our day’s letters, any one of which could have been an answer to my submission to Mad Magazine. Everyone had gone that Saturday, leaving me luxuriously alone with Dick Clark, a full ice box, and comic books galore to devour as well. Why should I wear my pants? I felt so comfortable in my own skin, and so tightly wound in my clothes, that I never lost a chance to practice my new religion of nudism whenever alone. I was a twelve year old nudist, and proud of it.

Not that I would ever tell anyone about it. Are you insane? I suppose, looking back, that I was not an Orthodox nudist, since I would never reveal my body (even the top) to others. I was fat and unhappy. And the little bit of happiness I could gleam from life was to be able to be alone with my ice box, comic books and television, all the while nude, nude, nude. I hated the clothes that choked me. I hated the choking that clothed my essence. When the others were out of the house, I was King. And when I was King, I was naked. And I was lovely.

I had learned to love myself, even as I was changing from boy to woman to man in the context of the fat that enveloped me. Certainly my bosoms made it difficult at the country club; of which mom insisted I attend pool in the summer. But home alone, I rhapsodized in my nakedhood. With Diet Pepsi’s, peanut butter sandwiches, comic books, and unlimited television in my bedroom, I was the ruler of a vast universe; my naked self, whom God had blessed with a forgiving bent. With no clothes to constrain me, no people to look at me with disgust, and the freedom to pursue my life’s work of comic book reading and television watching, I was the Nude Prince, no…King, I said King earlier, and I’m staying with that. The Nude King! I proclaimed myself, to myself. Certainly reality could interfere if I allowed myself to answer the doorbell or phone. But I ignored them both. I was the Nude King of the Naked World, and I was marvelous.

So let’s make this the story. It’s true and has the added benefit of being nasty because it’s about my nakedness, which I’m sure you believe I should be ashamed of. And I was. But only with the prospect of others seeing my stuff. Alone, I was proud of ability to control my world, as long as others stayed out. Naked, armed with good food, comic books and television, you had better watch out. I was impenetrable. I could not be stopped.

American Bandstand came on at twelve thirty on Saturday and the girls in their tight skirts and sweaters, bumping and grinding, were looking out from the television at me thinking just how beautiful I was. I could dig it. The looks on those girls faces when I would drop my towel or perhaps just wave it in front of me and give them just the biggest thrill was worth ten million dollars. I counted it up. If I were to remain naked every Saturday afternoon for the next fifteen years and do nothing but watch American Bandstand, I would make over ten million dollars. You do the math. Running around naked was not only fun, it was profitable.

My mother was a good cook. And there was always some leftovers still happening in the refrigerator from the previous week’s dinners. Good cold meat loaf, or chicken with rice, or maybe even some steaks still nice and crisp, in a holding pattern in the box, waiting for me to come get her. On Saturday’s I didn’t have to worry about clothing and messing my pants trying to hide food in my pockets, as would be the normal case on a weekday. Weekdays were hard, let’s face it. To stuff meat loaf or chicken in my pockets, so no one would know I was eating extra would often leave me a smelly boy. But Saturdays, alone and naked, with just my TV girls and Dick Clark looking on were different. I could take a plate, like a human being, from the cabinet, and load up on goodies to take back to my room. Who the hell cared how naked I was? Dick Clark didn’t have a problem with it. My girls, licking their lips, I’ll bet more for me than for my plate of delicious food were happy the way things were. No one here was going to ruin a good thing.

Except Bruce. He was my next door neighbor. Pretty fat and disgusting too, he had the distinction of being able to pick his butt and eat an orange at the same time. And we were friends. I liked Bruce and he liked me. But he didn’t understand the concept of down time. And I guess that was pretty unknown to most twelve year olds in 1968. Bruce didn’t realize I needed my solitude. That this was the only day when I could have the entire house to myself. The only time when I could indulge in the nude arts, eat until I exploded, and read comics on the toilet. He just couldn’t understand. So when the doorbell would ring, I knew it was Bruce. Also he would shout my name loud enough so that I do believe that even my American Bandstand girls could hear him. He wanted me to come out and play.

If you are among the chosen few to have read the above paragraphs, and understood the concepts therein, you would know what I mean when I say, “play”. Why in the world would I want to play? You mean catch or watch you pick your butt, or something else really fun? Gad, man! I have an ice box full of personal food, girls on TV who can see me and feel as home with my nudity as I, and comic books enough to choke even the greediest whore. And you want me to come out and play?

Nuts. What could I do? I wasn’t going to be taken away from my delights, so I did what any other all-American boy would do. I would turn the sound down on the television, eat quieter, so that my smacking sounds were held to a minimum, and hope he would go away. And come back some other day. I had a schedule to keep. I would hunch up so that even my shadow could not be seen from outside the house. I knew if I stepped on the floor the wrong way, or moved about on the bed in too fat a manner, Bruce would hear a squeak of a floorboard or the squeal of a bedspring and my entire day would be shot. If nothing else, I was polite, and if I felt Bruce or someone at the front door knew that I was in the house, I was obligated to pull my pants on, wipe the grease from my face, skip down the stairs like some dumb fairy, and breezily open the door with great expectations on my face. I would pretend that I was happy to see the interloper.

But of course I prayed, so hard and with a nod to Jesus (while staying true to my Jewish God) that I could be quiet enough so that Bruce or some other bore would give up and go away. And usually they would. And I could go back to my great Saturday life of unlimited nudity, limitless food, television so intoxicating I thought I was a God, and my wonderful solitude; where I was master of my universe and king of my castle.

Try it sometime.

Harry Browne Libertarian Candidate For President

Harry Browne, the Libertarian candidate for president in 1996 and 2000 is one of the great thinkers on the subject of human liberty today.

Would you take a few minutes and check out his take on the "Fourth of July"?

Have a good day.

BURN THIS LETTER!

joe

Happy Fourth Of July

Tomorrow is Independence Day. Be a man and show us how much you love what this country stands for. Go downtown with me and BURN THE FLAG!

The Congress is on the way to passing a constitutional amendment to carve out an exception to the 1st amendment. The constitution, bit by bit, is being gutted. Whether it be by judicial fiat, or phony political patriotism, this free nation is melting before our eyes, in the name of security, fairness or "love of country". I leave it to you to name the lazy premise upon which our leaders have wrenched away the liberty the founders established.

What a shame too. I feel we're on a little tugboat waving goodbye to the Statue Of Liberty, as we sail backward into the old world. Say bye bye to China as they outclass us economically and eventually militarily. See there, junior? That's the old continent of Africa. They got smart about half-way through the 21st century and adopted radical, boisterous free markets when they discovered that capitalism had been the unknown ideal the whole time.

And over there, to the left, is Cuba. When the old man died in 2005, the people there threw communism over and went wild for freedom. Real liberty, with newspapers, internet, neat stuff and most of all, the rediscovery of the self. The right to live for one's own sake. Yes, even the Cubans eventually got it. In fact, so many nations, all over the world studied what we Americans used to be; a nation with free markets, private property, freedom of expression and a love of liberty so ardent, that we might have exploded with all that freedom, if we hadn't ripped it to shreds ourselves. You see, we took it all for granted. We thought we were great because we were America! We forgot that we were America because we were free.

So back here in real time, we can watch in wonderment and stupid amazement how we lost it all, or be brave and stand up for liberty.

This is a one time offer. It may not come around again. So tomorrow, show us how much you love our country:

BURN THE FLAG


Joe Postove

African Loan Forgiveness (Or The Art Of The National Scam)

I have said in a previous post that I am sympathetic to the plight of the wretched African today, and approve of canceling their loans.

Today we will all watch "Live 8" and not send in money (Bob Geldof said not to, so I'm just doing what he says) but rather to become better acquainted with the situation in Africa, and how our collective consciousness' may be raised.

As the valley girls said in the eighties "gag me with a spoon". And may I add, if you're gonna gag me, just go ahead and shove the spoon all the way down my throat, if you just want me to lap up your shit and stop thinking and simply idolize Brian Wilson, et al (who I do by the way) and just groove on the music. I would turn that spoon around and upside down, but this is a family friendly website.

Africa needs help. The people there are in danger of decimation from perhaps everything than can go wrong with the human condition, and canceling their debt to us is not at all unreasonable.

But while they dance on the grave of the United States Treasury and look to a world where they can start fresh (oh Lord, would I like to start fresh....move to Africa? NO.) I just must advance a couple of ideas that could avoid this situation from happening again (after all, Bob Geldof won't live forever).

Would the introduction of a smattering of capitalism, the real thing...not the state version which cripples economies and allows for graft and corruption seen on continent wide scales (and Africa is a mighty wide continent) help or hurt these people?

Would that esteemed economist Brad Pitt (who was just on MTV reminding us to be white about all this) consider what a chain of 7/11's, a couple of Walmarts and, hell, maybe even a few "Stucky's" could do for this dying mass of humans. Would the African people, who can be as smart and productive as the chances they are given, scarf up those 2 dollar an hour telemarketing jobs, and making 100 dollar tennis shoes for the Black community here back home? Of course they would. The gotta eat. And the introduction of the marketplace to the dark continent (and it is mighty bleak there) would help take this 16th century mess of deathly proportions tippy-toe in to the 20th century (give 'em time for the 21st, man) and maybe we need not have to listen to the same old pleas 20 years from now.

If the Chinese can dispose of the ideology of Mao Tse Tung, and backward nations like India and even Russia around the world can learn about the advantages of freedom, then there's hope for Africa.

Keep the money. But I'm cutting you off...now. Go out and create your own free markets. And we will help you do that too. I know what it's like to need help.

ALL WE ARE SAYING IS GIVE FREEDOM A CHANCE!

Joe Postove

Sandra Day O'Connor Retires...Joe Postove (Me) Ascends

I realize the primary concern in selecting a new Supreme Court Justice is firstly, whether it will be a dude or a chick. And then once we have a sex, then the president will turn to ideology. Will he/she be a plain right winger or a member of the Flat Earth Society so conservative that she is in danger of falling off by the right side of the world...somewhere near Singapore I think.

Let's dispense with the pretense and get to it. I want the job. I have read the constitution, I understand what it means, and I look pretty good in black. Plus, I'm a Jew. George Bush can't go wrong with a Jew, since his crowd snickers when we are mentioned (I've heard them) and naming an Israelite to the Bench would be a nice sop to the Jewish Lobby (there is one...don't think I'm a bad Jew for pointing this out, but we'uns have a political class that looks after our stuff).

But...I am a Libertarian, BIG "L" and voraciously in pursuit of freedom for me and my fellow man. I picked up the habit when I was hiding from my family on the roof of our apartment in Santa Monica, CA and the only thing to read was some Ayn Rand books. She turned my head around so many times, I thought I was Jerry Mahoney! (may he RIP). She taught me the MORAL basis for capitalism, and individual freedom, and the idea, that no teacher in high school or college ever mentioned, BTW, that I have a right to live for my own sake.

My own what? Said the folks to whom I preached my new found philosophy (I was about 23). "No, Joe, you're being taken in by this selfishness crowd, and this country is based on the concept of neighbor for neighbor and sacrifice to the general welfare". This lead to many arguments where I used the word "bullshit" millions of times, but also caused me, over these years to become even more committed to the values of individualism and the idea that our system was outfitted by the founders for the express purpose of minimizing government and maximizing liberty. And the state could be so tiny, you could fit it in one of George Bush's anal cavities.

I know freedom. And I don't compromise (contrary to "conventional wisdom", compromising one's position on important issues and values is NOT a positive attribute). I'd be willing to sit up there on the court and wait them out, one by one, as the oldsters die off and the new justices come aboard.

I'm not saying one libertarian on the court can bring great change immediately. But, man could I fuck up the government. And until the day comes when Libertarians take power (in order to dissolve it) bringing the federal government to its knees sounds pretty sweet.

So here I am. I'll wait here by the phone.

Joe Postove