Backroom deal.


Was there a ‘splosion? Kind of hard to tell around this place. If Bin Laden dropped by here, he’d probably say, “What the hell do they need me for? They’re kicking their own ass.” (Apologies to Richard Pryor.)

Just keeping it real here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, as you might expect. During these hard times, it’s the same story everywhere, right? Making the ends meet in the middle. We’ve got the ends, but frankly… no middle. And if the ends justify the means, which they almost NEVER do, well then… um…. okay, I lost my train of thought. But no matter. We are doing what we do, and being what we be. That’s what Big Green is all about. That’s why we’re aboard her. RISK… RISK IS OUR BUSINESS. (Oh, Jesus… now I’m quoting Star Trek lines. Someone call the doctor! And make sure he IS a doctor, and not a mechanic. D’oh!)

So much for Marvin (my personal robot assistant) and his experiment with industriousness. Turns out he’s lazy and shiftless… just like all those OTHER robots. [Ed. note: Mr. Perry’s opinions are his alone and do not represent the views of the administrators of HammermillDays.com, its parent company, Hegemonic Records and Worm Farm, Inc., or anyone even tangentially associated with Perry who may be afraid, very afraid of robots.] Actually, Marvin has decided to hang up the bomb-sniffing robot gig, which is just as well. I think he’s focusing more on show business now. I saw him trying a “Renegade Robot from Mars” outfit on the other day. (Circus is in town, I hear.)

That’s not the only experiment in money making going on here at the mill. Aside from yours truly, everyone in this dump is trying to turn an easy buck. Probably the most worrysome is the mansized tuber, who has decided to try his hand at being a music promoter. He can credit his experience with us as having built up some expertise in those fibrous mental tissues of his, credibly or not. I understand his first client is a band called “Logo and the Positioning Statement”. Hardly a challenging first try, frankly. Sounds like the kind of group that markets itself.  

Hey – I just found a quarter in the sofa. Probably many more where that came from. Or not. (So much for optimism.)

Going Dutch.

Aside from being the day of the Super Bowl, last Sunday was the 100th birthday of Ronald Reagan, apparently the patron saint of NPR, which ran seemingly countless stories about the “Gipper” all that week. (I hope they don’t think that will help convince the G.O.P. House to keep their already meager CPB funds in the budget. That won’t save you!) Missing from the many remembrances of RR were those who might not remember him so fondly- the Guatemalans, the Salvadorans, the Angolans, the Timorese, the Argentineans… the list goes on. I’ve long felt that Reagan had a profound impact on the American presidency and, consequently, U.S. society, though not in a positive way. Thanks to his presidency, for instance, we can never consider raising federal taxes on anyone under any circumstances. He heralded the arrival of the new jingoism that ultimately put us into Grenada, then Panama, then Kuwait, then Somalia, then the former Yugoslavia… and of course Afghanistan and Iraq.

Granted, they were not all his ideas. He was, like many presidents, something of an empty vessel into which various policy mavens and ideologues were able to pour their nasty ideas. Reagan’s son Ron has written of how his father showed the beginning signs of Alzheimer’s while still in office. I have known two people who had occasion to observe him for fairly long periods of time during his term, both of whom told of a man so cloudy minded he needed to be briefed on the basics every fifteen minutes by an extremely protective Secret Service. In that respect, his administration was run by the people around him, just as George W. Bush’s foreign policy was shaped by Rumsfeld, Cheney, Wolfowitz, and others. (If we get a president Palin, that job will be taken up by the likes of Randy Scheunemann. War with Russia, here we come!)

These people represent, in large part, the lasting legacy of any administration. I just heard Elliot Abrams – one of Reagan’s creatures – on NPR the other day. There’s a guy who should be languishing in a Nicaraguan jail right rather than commenting on the uprising in Egypt. They never go away. And likewise, the policies seem etched in stone. Taxes can never be raised on upper income people, even though they’ve been making out like bandits since Reagan time, while the rest of us have flat-lined. We will cut essential benefits for the poor, the elderly, and the ill before asking them to part with some of their ill-gotten gains. Does that irritate you? Thank Reagan.

Money hole. Hey, Hosni Mubarak has amassed something like a $45 to 70 billion fortune since Reagan’s first year in office. That’s about equal to the amount we’ve sent Egypt in aid. Not hard to see what our money has been buying. But at least the old bastard has been persuaded to retire. Good for you, Egypt. Welcome news in these difficult days.

luv u,

jp

Boom goes the dynamite.


No, Mitch… I’ve never been to Rome. Yes, I’ve seen pictures of the Coliseum, but I’m not sure where you’re going with this. It’s a nice thing in its place, but…

Oh, hi. Just having a word with Big Green’s mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, professor of interstellar astro-geology ….and explosives, apparently. (He’s got tenure at the school of hard knocks.) It’s endearing to see a proud father try to help his son. In saying so, I don’t mean to suggest that what Mitch is engaged in right now in any way resembles that wholesome impulse. No, no… that would require some modicum of sanity. I’m afraid Mitch is both attempting to help his creation, Marvin (my personal robot assistant), and blow his ass to kingdom come. Unintentionally, perhaps, but nevertheless… this is what he is attempting.

Let me ‘splain you. (Damn… I’m starting to talk like Tom Coburn at a confirmation hearing!) Marvin got himself a little gig as a bomb-sniffing robot over at the local Homeland Security training center, where people in space suits pretend to decontaminate children’s birthday parties populated by life-size plastic kids and a genuine layer cake. How’s he doing? Good as can be expected for a novice. You know how it is – you get your claws singed once or twice and, hey – you know better, right? That’s been Marvin’s experience. Never an overachiever, you know. I like to encourage him, particularly when it means he’ll be bringing home a few bucks for the housekeeping. (See, he also does the housekeeping. We’ve convinced him he should pay us for that. Long story.)

Anyway, Mitch thinks Marvin should be moving a bit faster in his training. So he’s begun to devise little problems for him to solve right here at home. One such problem – an explosive device of frightening magnitude – was planted in a broom closet just downstairs from my bedroom. Marvin defused it, fortunately… though I think it was a lucky break, frankly. (He stepped on it while sweeping out the hall and apparently pulled the ignition wire loose.) Next it was dynamite in the oven – enough to blow a massive hole in the side of our beloved abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. This is what prompted Mitch’s reverie about the Coliseum. (He thinks we could turn the mill into a tourist destination if it looked more like ruins.)

Not sure how this is going to come out, but you’re likely to hear. Just listen for a distant boom. That’s us!

Weird ass music since 1986