Advertising to Idiots

There's gold in your television. Unfortunately, you are not a gold miner, you are the gold mine. Face sad fact, friends. You wake up, go to work or school to prepare to go to work, then you leave work with paper which you can exchange at the company store for goods and services.

You can't kill a deer or raise crops. You are utterly dependent on commercial entities to feed you, clothe you, bathe you and help you live through it all. For this, you are worked mercilessly. It's a new level of serfdom. It's state sanctioned slavery.

You can't pack up and go into the woods. You are hooked into the system. Your choices are limited. You can play the game and hope to make enough money to buy out of the wage system, or find a way to subvert the system.

As an agent of the system, I must explain to you that the odds don't favor you at all. Then again, I am part of the system now. I only tell you this to make you feel worse about your existence. I want you to feel empty and alone. I want you scared. I want to taste the salt of your tears.

I'm on top. I'm in cotrol. You are not. I am. That's simple. Even as you read this, notice how you react. You want to call bullshit, but you wonder for a second if I can help. I can, but I won't. For a second you wanted to think you didn't care, but now you want to call bullshit again. You are pathetic.

Yes, you.

You still don't understand why you can't win.

Again, I can help, but I won't.

Okay, maybe a little. If you want out, I can tell you what the door looks like.

Pay attention to your thoughts. Watch where your thoughts go. See what you do to avoid thinking at all. Get a notebook. Write down unedited thoughts. What habbits do you fall back on? What makes you mad? Who do you dislike and why?

Now, swallow the bullet and admit you are lying to yourself. You are killing yourself. It's not our fault, but see it. You are mad at yourself. You are mad that you have to work all the time and that you're not allowed to play all day. Inside, there is a petulant child crying over a broken toy.

Oh. You didn't want that sort of help?

Alright.

You are so awesome and everything is fine. That better? You are so cool and everyone envies you. The world respects you. You are valuable. You are unique, special. Horray for you.

Ahhh. Now that it's about selfish you, do you feel better?

Why are you reading this? Why do you come here?

Isn't there something better you could be doing right now?

BATMAN: The Review

The Darl Knight
a matinee review.

Going to see a movie for five bucks costs less than it does to drive there. So, I broke my own rule and went to see an overhyped movie in the cinema. I was entertained for just over two hours. That's $2.75 an hour. Not counting small soda at 3.50. Don't ask me why but soda always tastes better at the movies.

The venue was a small, out of the way place calle Flagship Cimenas in New Bedford MA. Stadium seating, middle middle row. Not too crowded.

Now the bad news.

Although the movie was not terrible, the writing was shakey. It's not the plot itself that causes problems, it's the dialogue. Preachy. Faux new age enlightened crap that has no place in a Batman movie. Batman seems more of a gravely voiced philosopher than a crime fighter, that is, when he's not trading one liners with everyone on camera.

Even Heath Ledger's slightly remarkable performance is marred by a few clunkers. Speaking of, let's put to rest the notion that this movie lead to his overdose. No. Unless there's something I missed, he's merely acting insane, not going insane. He's in control of his craft. If anything, drugs made him nutty enough to pull off a Joker, complete with stolen affectations from Jack Nicholson's version (the incessant lip smacking for one).

Is it a good movie? Mmmmm. Okay. Worth a matinee price. Sure. A masterpiece?

Well, superfriends, I regret to inform you that this is yet another in the long line of superhero movies that jumped under the bar. Having Just watched Batman Begins two nights ago, I can honestly say I liked that film better. It's unfair to compair a sequel to the original, but with all the promises, that's where I was lead. And disappointed.

The Run Down:

Christian Bale is flat. The costumes are great except the bat suit. Ledger is successful, but not eternal. The plot is jumbled, loose and based on tricks you see coming a mile away. It's gritty at times, but spoiled by lukewarm sentiments about liberty, freedom, heroism and life that just don't work. This movie seemed like it had guts at some point, but was neutered by the censors and stuffed with lessons and meaning.

In short, it gets a 'bah'.

Well, now time to wait for the Watchmen.

The Lost Gnome

Interview with an Athiest

Murk: So, you're an athiest?

Athiest: That's right.

M: When did you realize this?

A: Well, it's hard to say. I've always been somewhat skeptical. I guess what tore it was the appalling lack of evidence for a higher power.

M: Lack of evidence... what about the complexity of the universe and how its laws are inviolable? Who put the laws there?

A: It certaintly wasn't a higher power. (laughs)

M: What evidence do you have that it isn't a higher power?

A: Oh! You made a mistake. You can't prove a negative. Can you prove Mickey Mouse didn't put the laws in place?

M: Mickey Mouse is a cartoon.

A: Exactly. So is this fictional higher power. A human creation made up to give humans something to blame when things go wrong. Designed to provide false hope so humans don't strive for change. Opiate of the masses.

M: You want me to prove God isn't Mickey Mouse?

A: No. It's just... okay, I was being glib-

M: I think God would agree with that.

A: No, stop. You're not addressing the issue here.

M: What issue?

A: That god is a hoax used to control weak minds.

M: No, I think that's television.

A: What?

M: Well, no one listens to the Church anymore, so they use television to control us.

A: Who?

M: Them.

A: Who is this fictional 'them'.

M: Well, you brought them up.

A: I did not.

M: Then who is using God to control us?

A: You're missing the point.

M: No, I've got it. Aliens are using God to control us, and the Church is now using TV and therefore the Church has become 'them'.

A: Okay. Show me one tangible piece of evidence for the existence of God.

M: Here.

A: A rock?

M: The processes and resulting composition of that particular piece of granite is so complex that the combination of all human minds and all computers cannot recreate this exact rock. In fact, they cannot create any ammount of granite. Yet this blind, random universe you claim to live in created millions of tons of it.

A: It happened that way because when the universe began...

M: I want hard evidence that the universe had a beginning.

A: What?

M: Maybe the universe is eternal.

A: No reasonable scientist thinks that.

M: No reasonable theologian thinks their isn't a higher power.

A: Science is based in provable fact.

M: Science is based on observational information which is flawed.

A: You have a better idea? We've used science to create tangible results, like nuclear fission, microwaves, radar, space travel. Science works repeatedly and experiments can produce consitent results.

M: Oh. Results. Hmmmmm.

A: What?

M: Well, what if science provides the results and God provides inspiration, comfort and the framework to get results. Science is explanation of HOW to get results. God is the explanation of WHY consistent results can be achieved. Human beings used science to discover the laws of the universe. What put those laws in place?

A: Science is working on that. One day there will be an answer.

G: Can I believe in God until then?

S: You can believe whatever you want. It doesn't make it true.

God: That depends on the definition of true.

Science: Semantics.

God: Well, humans use words to communicate, so everything comes down to semantics. By your reasoning, truth cannot be found in words.

Satan: Let's take a break.

God: So, science is a human contruction based in words, which contain semantic arguements with flawed observational 'truths'.

Satan: Don't put quotes around truth. You make it seem like my truth is less than yours.

God: It's just words, right? What's the harm? Science sucks and God rocks.

Satan: Now you're just being obtuse.

God: Why do you care so much about this? If you don't believe in God then fine. Why does it bother you?

Science: Because you're spreading ignorance.

Gosh: I'm not. Personally. I'm just having a conversation.

Shaman: No. You're trying to tell people things that aren't true. You're confusing them.

Glok: No. It's a simple thing. God exists. Accept it or don't.

Socks: No.

Guards: Fine. But don't tell me what I can and can't believe.

Sars: Just stop teaching it in the schools.

Gurk: I'm not.

Arts: Not you specifically...

Murk: Okay, everybody out. I want a word alone with Athiest.

Athiest: You drugged my drink didn't you?

Murk: Yeah.

Athiest: Asshole.

Murk: Shut up, this is the best part....

Bordering on Awesome

I've had this thing hanging about my palatial estate for a few years. It's kind of like an arial servant or something. It's way out back past the corn field and the old well, near the access road I built for the servants. I pass it y whildst riding my tractor from time to time.

One day, I stopped and asked its name.

"Rock Hudson," it said.

"Now stop that," I said, "What's your real name?"

"If I were to give you my real name," it said, "Then you'd be at liberty to command me."

"Indeed," I said. "I'm guessing you won't tell me."

"Nope," it said.

"Twenty questions, then?" I offered.

"Sure," it said.

"Liberal?" I asked.

"Yes," it said.

"Spectacles?" I asked.

"Yes," it said.

"Bachelor?" I asked.

"No," it said.

"Ghost of the Angry Veteran," I said.

"Fuck," it said.

"Go wash my car," I told it. So, you see...

Liberal. Spectacle. Not Bachelor. = Angry Veteran.

So

I was walking though the Hindustani Section of Westport, looking for bargains as I'm want to do on Wednesdays, and who should I see sitting there in the central tile mosaic square? You know, the Square with the Seven Fountains and three story water clock?

I SAW the Angry Piper. He was playing chess against one of the natives, and he wore his dour face of distracted hatred.

"Dearest friend!" I shouted, sweeping away all the pieces on the board and slipping the native a crisp dime. "You look glum, little guy. What's wrong?"

"First," he said, extending his middle finger, "that's for ruining one of the finest chess games I've ever played. Second," here he cleverly held up his second middle finger, "My sheep got into a radish patch and now all of my newly woven kilts smell like cocktail sauce."

"Delicious," I said, "But I see your points. Do they burn?"

"Aye," he said, "Twas a good crop of strong black angus radishes. They burn indeed. But it's not all bad," he said, donning what would never pass for a smile, even in the Crimea. "My hut was robbed by robbers who plundered my goods, ate my food, and soiled my best woman. They left the wine and ale."

"That's good," I said.

"Napes," he shook his head, "They pissed in 'em. And they shat in the bread. Not on top of it. No. No. They tuck it way inside, third bite you get cold turd in the back of your throat and the doctor says he wants to wire your jaw shut in case of thrush."

"Look," I said, sitting on his lap, "I'm not an optimist, but I'm not quite a fatalist. So when life gets bad I keep one thing in mind."

"What's that then?" he asked, brightening up.

"You always have it worse than me," I responded.

"Cheers you up?" he asked.

"It does," I said.

"Alright," he stood and placed me on my feet, "I'll buy you an iced cream to eat and you can watch me get Scottish Carnival Style Drunk."

"I've got a few hours to kill," I admitted, "Can I rap you about the head with my cane?"

"Honest you can," he smiled.

And so, my shopping curtailed for the moment, we set out. It was two hours before I told him the population, being largely Muslim, did not serve alcohol. There were many a happy misunderstanding in between.

"I shoulda learnt my lesson," he said. "First," he said, "Never go on a bender with a sober man in tow. And second," second middle finger, "...go fuck yourself."

I waved as he sulked his way off into the sunset, growing smaller as my story ends, and I thought to myself, Murk old bean, you are the world's greatest asshole.

It made me smile.