Hello, uncle fucker.

Hats off, friends – Uncle Dick Cheney, president of these here United States, came to my home town this Friday to do a fundraiser for a local GOP geek who’s running for an open seat in the House of Representatives. The visit has generated a range of reactions, from expressions of delight at what an honor it is for Utica to host such an illustrious guest (like that nice general Pinochet… oh, and Mrs. Pinochet!) to a fair-sized protest march and rally (see www.creepyveep.com for details). Personally, I’m glad that this 300 pounds of condemned veal in a gray suit (as Gore Vidal so aptly described him) is going out of his way to endorse the Republican in this district’s first truly competitive congressional race in a quarter century. Cheney is a political leper, quite frankly, even less popular than his mutant ninja boss; a clip of him saying what a great congressman Ray Meier would make is just the kind of free advertising the opposition needs. 

Many people ascribe a kind of satanic darkness to this bloated object, but I have to say that I agree with Alex Cockburn on Cheney – he’s largely a fuck up, and thick as a plank. I mean, when has he gotten anything right? If it weren’t for the fact that there is, in essence, no opposition party and that the corporate press is a pack of subservient curs, Bush/Cheney/Rumsfeld would have been out on their incompetent asses a long time ago. As it is, the vice president is now probably the most despised politician in America. Pity he’s running the country, really. I mean, the guy is so lame that even Vladmir Putin — VLADMIR PUTIN, for chrissake! — got a laugh line out on him the other day. I always think of that day down in Mississippi when Cheney was doing a post-Katrina photo op in his shirt sleeves and some guy shouted, “Fuck yourself, mister Cheney!” Probably the high point of his presidency… I mean, VICE presidency. Well… I suppose that would beat Bush’s high point — catching a big fish in his private pond. These boneheads could wreck the entire American empire simply by strolling through it. 

Speaking of the empire, things are really going septic just lately. If some kind of imperial order does exist, there is currently no one at the helm. Israel is pounding the living hell out of Gaza and Lebanon at the same time, while Hizbullah (in Lebanon) is vowing all out war on Israel in retaliation. They are, of course, a Shi’ite organization, and attacks on them will ripple through the majority population of Iraq, as well as Iran, Saudi Arabia, and elsewhere. Probably 100-150 million Shi’ia Muslims in the world, and I can’t think that very many of them are happy to see clerics’ homes being flattened and their children beheaded by Israeli munitions. Our official response? Israel has the right to offend itself. Did I get that right? Oh, yeah… a good offense is the best defense, right? So our way of helping is by lecturing the victims. That’s the stuff, Bolton. You tell ’em. 

This is getting pretty scary. That’s all I’ve got. Hang in there, folks. And keep your heads down. 

‘Neath a southern moon!

Is that a southern moon or a northern one? Little hard to tell from this perspective. Everything is relative, relatively speaking. I even have relatives in my band. Matt Perry – my brother. Little known fact. Oh, and John White… brother-in-law. Kazow – now you know. 

Okay, so anyway. Big Green has embarked on its very special GET ME THE HELL OUTA HERE Tour 2006, after much discussion of logistical considerations, much debate, much…  too much… pain in the ass nattering over every detail, our great space cruiser finally lifted off, hours behind schedule. Like 400 hours. (That’s actually days behind schedule, but we’ll call it hours.) Well, like I said, there was a lot of preliminary bullshit. Ship’s manifests to manifest. An entire complement to compliment. Orders to be put in order…. I’m telling you, these things take time. The important thing is, we sailed off into the heavens with all of us on board, and just minutes behind the arrival of the bailiffs at the door of the semi-deconstructed Cheney Hammer Mill. (Close shave!)

Many people have asked (don’t ask how many… just trust me) about the spacecraft we use (I’m telling you, it’s more than a few people… lots of people, okay?) when we go on these interstellar tours — how does it work, what are its origins, etc.? Well, for those of you who are just dying to know (and you know who you are), we drive a reconstituted stunt model for the original Jupiter 2 spacecraft used in the Lost In Space television series of the 1960s. No, it doesn’t run on “deutronium” fuel, as that ridiculous show suggested, any more than Dick Nixon ran on cottage cheese and ketchup (beyond a certain point). Thanks to the efforts of our chief science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, the phony J-2 is propelled by an eludium positron star-drive with a maximum range of 7500 light years between refuelings. Now that’s economy. Don’t know how it works exactly, but when it’s idling it sounds like this:

….Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa Pocketa….

Yeah, I know. Mitch says they all do that. It gets us where we need to go, that’s the point. 

But there are more reasons for using the J-2 than mere economy. Frankly, it’s jolly comfortable – like an RV in space. What’s more, it’s supremely robot-friendly. What with Marvin (my personal robot assistant) as an important member of our contingent (as far as the cyborgs of the galaxy are concerned), this is a prime consideration. The J-2 has a customized magnetic “lock” pedestal built for automatons – old Marvin just steps in there, throws a switch, and he can stand through 40 g’s of forward thrust without pegging a single dial. (That’s how a robot spells comfort, my friend.) The man-sized tuber has his customized terrarium on the lower deck, and even Big Zamboola finds plenty of room to bounce around in the engine room / power core area. What the hell, we’ve got a crew that defies simple definition, if you catch my meaning. Not just any interstellar craft will accommodate them all. 

Anyway, so here’s the plan: We arrive on Neptune this weekend for a couple of pick-up performances, booked at the last minute by Posi-Lincoln, followed by a showcase on Uranus sponsored by Loathsome Prick Records, then it’s off to Kaztropharius 137b for our triumphant return. By that time, hopefully, we will know where the hell else we’re going. (Keep watching that FAX machine, Lincoln – those signed contracts should be coming through any time now!)

Long shot.

As you know, the North Koreans launched their deadly ICBM this week — the one our entire political office-holding class has been obsessing about for weeks on end. Turns out the missile that was supposed to be capable of reaching the U.S. couldn’t even make it to North Korea. Essentially the same thing happened back in the 1990s – dud missile makes world headlines and puts NORAD on high alert for a fortnight. Why is this treated like a credible threat to our very survival? Yes, North Korea may have nuclear weapons, but what the hell are they going to do with them? Even if that long-range missile worked, they couldn’t put their nukes on it… and even if they could, firing one at us or our allies would be like firing a pistol at a machine gun nest — a “suicide weapon” in the truest sense of the phrase. It is strange that we tend to behave as though we are threatened by these impoverished societies when, in fact, it is we who pose an existential threat to them. And we’ve demonstrated our willingness to attack without provocation.

Unfortunately, this tendency towards jingoistic alarmism is unlikely to change should Congress flip back to the Democrats this year, or if a Dem is elected to the presidency in 2008. There is a bipartisan consensus on this idiocy such that the party that’s out of power is always pushing the ruling party towards more extreme measures. Just as Kerry criticized Bush in 2004 for not hitting Fallujah hard enough, mainstream Democrats regularly chastise the administration for being too soft on Iran, North Korea, Syria, etc. Everybody wants to go for the “tough” guy routine – it’s a no-brainer in an election year (quite literally). Some of the stuff I hear Hillary Clinton saying is enough to make me want to picket her office and burn her publicity photo. You’d think a Senator would feel it less necessary to hew to a reactionary line in a state that’s one of the nation’s most liberal. Trouble is, she really believes that trash she’s talking, aging Goldwater girl that she is. 

When you’ve got support for the Iraq war at well below 50%, you have to wonder why so many Democrats are avoiding the issue like a new strain of the SARS virus. Why is a conservative Dem like John Murtha among the only ones saying anything substantive about this conflict? My guess is that they’re looking around the next electoral corner. They, in essence, are still trying to inoculate themselves against being on the wrong side of a victorious campaign, just as they tried to do during the 2002 election. Many, I’m sure, still believe in this war in as much as they think it is a worthy cause that’s being ineptly handled, rather than a bankrupt enterprise that is bad for Iraq and bad for us. About the only ones who still love this war are Dubya’s crew and Osama. 

Hey – both need recruits, right? 

Weird ass music since 1986