Rotters, Washington DC 19 January 2012

By: your correspondent Bill the Butcher

 

Today, in a packed news conference, US Defence Secretary Leon Panetta made a startling disclosure: that the infamous video of US Marines urinating on what appeared to be Taliban corpses was nothing of the sort.

 

 

 

“It’s true, of course, that those were men of the 3^rd battalion, 2^nd Marines, and that the episode happened in Afghanistan,” he said, “and it is true that the video depicts those men urinating on Taliban men lying on the ground. But it is absolutely not true that this video depicts any desecration of Taliban corpses.

 

“After minutes of intensive inquiries amongst the personnel of the battalion, the truth has come to light: that instead of attempting to desecrate the corpses of dead jihadists, those brave American warriors were going out of their way to perform an errand of mercy.

 

“The facts are these: that the Taliban were not dead, but were in intense agony from jellyfish stings. As is well known, the venom of many jellyfishes is highly acidic and urine has been used, by no less a celebrity than Thor Heyerdahl, as an emergency first-aid measure to neutralise that acid. Instead of thinking of their own safety, our brave Marines went beyond the call of duty to help these ragheads…I mean, Taliban…recover from those stings by applying their urine on them, even in the middle of the battlefield with bullets flying all around.

 

“It’s even more of a sacrifice on their part when you realise that these brave men had been saving up their urine for a party after returning to base, when they were to have taught some grateful Afghan women they had liberated from the clutches of the Taliban the meaning of the term ‘golden shower’. Those Afghan ladies will unfortunately have to wait for another opportunity to complete their education on that point.

 

“Meanwhile, investigations are underway to find out the identity of the traitorous scum who posted that video on the internet. He, or she, is undoubtedly a terrorist sympathiser and will be imprisoned without trial or else, if that is unfeasible, taken out by drone strike. The President will tolerate no treason of this kind, which is designed to undermine the morale of our brave men and women in uniform.”

 

To incredulous queries from correspondents asking how the Taliban could have been stung by jellyfish in mountainous, landlocked Afghanistan, Mr Panetta had this to say:

 

“As you know, the President has declared the war in Afghanistan to be the Good War. The Taliban and the Al Qaeda are in cahoots, and continue to cooperate closely to this day, planning strikes meant to overthrow and destroy Israel and the United States. The President’s commitment to the security of Israel is second to none, and he is determined to make sure that Israel’s right to self-defence is not compromised. That is why we will keep fighting in Afghanistan, if need be, another thousand years.

 

“We have strong intelligence input proving that the Taliban are regularly sending men down to the bottom of the Arabian Sea to confer with the corpse of Osama bin Laden. Those Taliban were, according to our intelligence inputs, among the latest batch of emissaries to the Al Qaeda terrorist who was executed by the President last year. They must have been stung by jellyfish while under water.

 

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “the Taliban failed to survive their jellyfish stings – in fact they died while first aid was still being administered in the form of urine – but the Marines continued to administer the urine because they are well aware of religious sensibilities and know well that the Islamic injunction is to wash the bodies of the dead before burial. Afghanistan, as we all know, is a horrible, dry land – nothing like these lovely United States that God has declared to be the greatest nation in the world – and water is a rarity. Therefore, those Marines were doing a social service by washing those dead jihadists with urine, which my doctor assures me is sterile and is far better than any other water those terrorist fucks…uh, Taliban…would have been washed with otherwise, if at all.

 

“All in all, those brave warriors deserve our commendation, not our condemnation, and for their courage and self-sacrifice, I have accordingly personally recommended them for the Congressional Medal of Honour.”

 

Meanwhile, in response to this information proving that the Al Qaeda and the Taliban continue their cooperation, President Obama announced that the United States would immediately impose an additional round of sanctions on 1083 Iranian entities, including fishermen and cashew-nut sellers, and demanded that Europe and Japan follow suit. He also announced that the US would begin the construction of an additional ten aircraft carrier groups in order to protect US interests overseas and to stop any future underwater meetings between Osama bin Laden’s corpse and Taliban men.

 

While these measures failed to satisfy his Republican opponents, who demanded an immediate attack on Iran, conservative commentators such as Pamela Geller and Ann Coulter declared that Obama’s policies had made US Marines too “soft hearted” for their own good, and that they should have made no attempt to help the Taliban. “Those Muslim jihadist terrorists want to overthrow the United States,” Geller wrote. “They deserve anything they get – except first aid or washing. Get the Traitor Out of the White House Now!”

 

Speaking outside the gates of the White House, self-professed liberal atheist and president of the Association of Worshippers of Obama the Lord (AWOL), Barb Bummer, popularly known as Aunt Barbara, announced that her organisation would redouble its efforts to secure his re-election and that it would petition the Nobel Prize Committee to award the President not just a second Nobel Peace Prize but also the Nobel Prizes in Physics, Chemistry, Medicine and Economics. “He is a man so superior,” she said, “that he deserves every single prize the human race has ever invented!”

 

Meanwhile, in an Afghan village, a farmer called Majid Khan, speaking to your correspondent in a one-to-one interview, said that the three men in the video were civilians and not Taliban at all, and in response to what he called the “desecration” of their corpses, he would dig out his old AK 47 from the anti-Soviet jihad and join in the resistance movement. “They killed three young men of my village,” he said, “and befouled their bodies. Three hundred will now take up arms against them.”

 

Osama bin Laden’s corpse could not be reached for comment.

 

 

The big count down has started, the year 2012, when all that we know of our worldly existence is supposed to end, according to certain interpretations of the Mayan Calendar.  This has caused a bit of consternation for the Subversify staff as we traditionally begin our New Year with a few predictions, and to say it’s all going to end… well, that isn’t exactly thinking outside the box.   However, considering we still have twelve months to make or mar history, our psychic members have pulled out their crystal balls, gone into their trances or danced to the hokey pokey while juggling six plates at a time in their efforts to see into the future.  Our sage advisor and creator of  “Dr. Phal”, Neonorth, after popping ninety-seven caps of Molson Ice, began to see a few spinning visions.  Predicts Neonorth:

1. Canadian Defence Minister, Peter MacKay, feeling ballsy after suffering no consequences for utilizing the Canadian Search and Rescue unit to fly him from his fishing vacation rather than drive two hours, and stymied by a “really really hard part” for his character in “World of Warcraft” will order a war game simulation in an effort to discover a successful strategy.
2. Michele Bachmann, in an effort to show that she is sympathetic towards the gay community, will push for a government subsidized sex change operations for gay couples so they will no longer burn in Hell.
3. Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper, seeing the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, will bankrupt Canada by legislating oil companies into a crown corporation. This will allow him to make good on his threat to stop selling Canadian oil to the Americans because of the delays in the Keystone pipeline construction and put into operation his “Final Solution” for the Native Canadian poverty issues that draw negative attention to his government by international media.
4. The Alberta government will announce a 33 billion budget surplus due to the amount of fines being paid by motorists because their passengers were using their cellphones under the new distracted driver legislation.
5. Red Deer Catholic School division principal Graeme Daniel will confess that he isn’t playing God – he is God.
6. President Barrack Obama will attempt to win back the adoration of the American people by being a contestant on “America’s got Talent” with a mimed juggling act. Sharon Osbourne will buzz him out after he mimes dropping the ball three times in the first ten seconds.
7. Lindsay Lohan and Tara Reid will become hosts for a Travel Network television show called “places I’ve been to but due to my inebriated state I have no memory of”.

Straight from the heart of herbal remedies and drifting incense, and after maintaining the lotus position for three days, Subversify’s grand guru, Grainne Rhaud, volunteered her predictions.  “Predictions are hit and miss,” whispered her ethereal voice within her trance, “but here are the unfolding events shaping in my mind.  With the Space Station waking its AI computer this year, I see nothing but bad, bad, bad coming from it.  It’s not as if I’m unaware that we have had AI intelligence for a while now, but as a person who grew up being scared by 2001, A Space Odyssey I cannot see  why someone would want to put AI in charge while asleep.  I watched as my space nerd relatives got excited about Robonaut2 doing its first sign on.  I shivered with dread.

I predict Robonaut2 is going to start plotting against humans.  It’s probably already responsible for the failed Mars mission in some way, I am sure of it.  Grabbing and switching to his side ships, rovers and satellites, is going to be Robonaut2’s mission this year.  It will be easy to blame on human error and he will specifically be sure to keep running mindless drivel for the masses like Housewives of Wheresoever Bravo can find Desperate Women.  Look for warning signs like the NASA channel having brief interruptions while Robonaut2 makes its program adjustments.

Also I predict the Animal Kingdom is going to be getting more aggressive towards the human race that shares this big blue marble.  I warned people when Tillikum attacked its handler that it was the beginning of a takeover.  Since then Bears have eaten people at a higher rate and shark attacks are on the rise. Dolphins rape people on a regular basis.  Steve Irwin was killed by a “gentle” manta ray (okay that happened a while back but still whose crazy decision was it for his daughter Bindi to play with Killer Whales after the Animal Kingdom spent a lifetime trying to kill her dad?)

Even Octopi have gotten into the act.  This year being filmed walking on land.  It looks like a concerted attack.  Have you seen those Pet Hoarding Shows?   Thousands of cats in one house? Cats don’t have to stay there; they are notorious for taking off.  They are trying to kill those people in the houses!

I think we will start detecting more interspecies interaction in the animal kingdom.  We already know Crows and Ravens have an intricate communication system and NEVER FORGET.  They may be teaching the other animals.  At the very least they are probably carrying messages from water creatures to land animals.  If I were a farmer I’d keep my eye on those cows.

The fact is we humans have royally screwed the earth.  It would make sense that the earth from which all life springs would call on her other children to clean us up.  It may be part of what happened in Ohio.  A concerted effort on the part of the animals to heed their mother’s call.  I don’t think it matters to her which of her children fix this place, if we don’t do it we will be tiger meat.

Finally, I predict that Ryan Buell will get tired of living in semi-obscurity and trading on his rock star ghost-hunting for dates and come back to television. Only this time as a grief and loss counselor for families affected by the Penn State scandals.  There will probably still be exorcism involved though because everyone loves it when a priest puts on his purple.”

We also asked Intergalactic diplomat and trade consultant,  Madama Mama, who has guest appeared on our magazine now and then to use her far-reaching vision to tell us what she sees happening during the year 2012, apart from the eminent destruction of mankind.

“To begin with,”said Madama, “when has a calendar ever meant the end?  It’s the end of the month, the end of the year, but does that mean it’s the end of everything? No.  It means all those dizzy little stars up there have just finished the docy-do, and now they’re ready to swing their partners.  You Earth people really do need to learn how to do more dancing.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  There’s a whole lot of shaking going on when you start swinging partners and Earth is going to get her fair share of the action.  In a bid to bring more economic prosperity, California will sell Hollywood to China in the year 2012.  China will then try to sue California several months later when Los Angeles washes out in a flood.  The courts, after tying up for twelve weeks in the hope the end will come before they have to make a decision finally rule that California was not at fault for the flood, but in fact, a pod of one hundred fifty Beluga whales off the coast of Vancouver had banded together to deliberately cause a tidal wave.  Canada is then sued for not having better control over its wildlife.

Chinese cinema investors were additionally depressed as at the time of the disaster, they were half-way through a new release of “Gone with the Wind.”  Unwilling to lose the entire project, they finish the film and title it, “Gone with the Sea”.

Tourism rebounds in Japan after they successfully clone the first mammoth.  Unfortunately, the young mammoth strays too close to the radiation belt around Fukushima.  After nibbling a few flowers, the animal grows three times larger than normal mammoth size.  Chinese film makers are then hired to produce a new script, “Mega Mammoth Meets King Kong and Godzilla.”

The United States reels from the surprising results of an election won by a write in candidate, a currently unidentified person named Nobody..  Nobody wins the election by a ninety-nine percent vote.  Nobody makes the Presidential statement, which is approved anonymously by an absent media.  Ex-President Obama challenges Nobody to a duel.  Nobody shows up, at which point, Obama does nothing.

NATO initiates a broad sweep investigation into the Mid Eastern countries on the tip of a possible new terrorist threat.  The group of terrorists are described as being approximately four feet tall and attempting to topple corporate power.  After spending six billion dollars on surveillance equipment, NATO discovers five eight-year olds selling lemonade without a license and promptly confiscate their pitcher and drinking glasses.  The eight year olds are taken in for questioning and placed on trial for treason.”

Said Sergio Impleton, “I predict that water coolers will be replaced by water vending machines, caffeinated coffee will be illegal and a dress code will require that all women cover their belly buttons and wear clothing that covers the knees.  In short, there will be an intentional assault on the part of city assembly to make my life more miserable than it already is.”

Poor Sergio.  And he still hasn’t kicked his smoking habit!

And lastly for Subversify’s surprisingly heart-warming predictions, there’s The Late Mitchell Warren, the doyenne and sperm-donor for Subversify.com. Mitchell Warren does not think of 2012 predictions as a “joke.” Rather, he believes in transcendental meditation as a means to communicate with the great universe. Through the assistance of a “white noise” machine, deep trance inductions, Tantric sex, a few prayers to Jesus, and several pounds of dimethyltryptamine, Mitchell was able to predict the upcoming year in vivid detail.

Note: Mitchell’s deep trance-like thoughts are printed as is, under influence of heli-level astral projection, with no embellishment from the editors at Subversify.

Note: Mitchell’s deep thoughts are interspersed with motivational predictions from his friends and colleagues at “Writers Depository”, Tom Callin (Marketing Expert) and Amanda (CEO of an SEO firm).

Predictions for 2012

Mitchell Warren: I see…a great deal of wreckage and destruction. Screaming in the streets…and wide scale panic. Although…I might be seeing a Michael Bay movie…

Mitchell Warren: I see…more episodes of Glee…I’ve just watched 45 episodes in two minutes…for some reason…I don’t even like that show…this must be a bad trip…

Mitchell Warren: I see…a field of full of happy animals, the ones I have refrained from eating for political reasons…and they seem at peace with me, though some chickens are still pecking at me…it hurts…

Mitchell Warren: I see the Mayan Calendar finally coming to an end. I see great death and gore, and lots of weird nudity and exaggerated violence…oh…I think I’m watching Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto…but for some reason I see Mel Gibson as the chief head of the Mayans. And he’s been drinking again…oh no…

Amanda: I for one am keeping a close eye on the price of gold and silver in 2012! Practically every analyst I’ve talked to says that it’s a bear and bush market all the way. I for one hope for more bush!

Mitchell Warren: I see…a very warm and loving family on the Fourth of July. The parents are celebrating with their children. They feel happy and at peace with their lives and with their country. No worries at all, they feel proud…proud to be Americans…It’s a beautiful moment…but no, they’re totally faking it…the parents secretly hate their children…one of them’s pregnant and planning an abortion. The father’s addicted to painkillers…the aunt is planning to poison her daughter for stealing her boyfriend…and the mother is actually a terrorist planning another September 11th…damn, I knew it was too good to be true…

Tom Callin: I predict corruption in government will sky rocket. And with a vengeance.

Mitchell Warren: I see Planet X Nibiru approaching us…but…it looks more like a death star than a planet…I also see Darth Maul…and Q from Star Trek…and Winona Ryder starring as Spock’s mom…and I see John Zaskoda from Stranger Advice being spanked by Jim Maars…wow how scary the future looks from here….

Amanda: I really think technology is going to move fast. Before I know it, I will be surfing the Internet subconsciously. Like, I will be cooking and spacing out, right? Only to realize I was on the Internet! And like, I’ll have bought all these products that I have no idea why I bought them? And then I’ll realize that I’m no longer surfing the Internet…the Internet is surfing me!

Tom Callin: Cannibalism will probably go mainstream. The momentum is really building. Or maybe 2013.

Mitchell Warren: The human species will become infertile…I see this to be a great problem in the near future…mainly because of fake babies…there’s a fake baby epidemic. People are raising fake babies everywhere…oh god it’s horrible…

Amanda: I think the Academy Award this year will go to Kirk Cameron. I mean, seriously, how much longer can they ignore him???

Mitchell Warren: I see the Large Hadron Collider up close and personal…it looks sort of like a bagless vacuum you might see at Wal-Mart, only much deadlier. A scientist is trying to explain to me why it’s capable of destroying the entire universe via quantum vacuum collapse inevitability…but then he says he enjoyed the movie Eat, Pray, Love and I lose all respect for him…

Tom Callin: The Occupy movement is going to get much worse. They’re going to start keying my car.

Mitchell Warren: I see massive outbreak of grain in distant future…Grain is going to grow and spread like wildfire, and this will in turn lead to fires and the breakdown of the food chain…death and despair are coming…but then I discover that I misunderstood what the vision told me. It’s not grain taking over, it’s Grainne…an outbreak of Grainne I am suddenly much more afraid…

Amanda: Just wait and see! Obama is desperate to win…he is totally going to legalize pot and smoke a joint in his debate with the Mormon guy, Romney Paul, or whatever his name is. And when that happens, I am so going to get high with my mom! I am going to sneak some into her brownies! LOL!!

Tom Callin: Christianity will probably dissolve.  I think America is tired of supporting crucified losers.  They want a winner.  Like Tebow.  While Christ was busy dying, Tebow was busy throwing.  And winning MVPs.

Mitchell Warren: I am very afraid that there will be a massive grey goo situation in the near future resulting from the endless multiplying of nanobots…there are nanobots everywhere…and then I see a dark cloud forming, no more like a huge ball of energy, hundreds of times larger than our planet…it’s coming closer and closer and closer……..owch. Someone just threw a tennis ball at me…

Subversify is all about warping the minds of the young and impressionable, after all they will be the next batch of writers, questioners and meddlers.  It is in that spirit we introduce an author who is to date our youngest at just 10 years old.  We like to encourage the young people to push back against the things they dislike thoughtfully.  Today it may be using dictionaries, tomorrow it could be the Constitution-or whatever new Charter we are bound to come up with.  We hope she keeps her keen wit although we also hope she somehow overcomes her loathing of dictionaries…or invents something altogether better. 

By: Lauryn Grace

I really hate dictionaries. Flipping page to page, it makes me beyond mad. And here are fifteen things I hate about dictionaries.

1- They are big. Have you ever looked at a dictionary and looked at the last page and it says 1575. Holy crap could it get any longer? Yes it can.  That brings me to my next pet peeve about dictionaries.

2-I see no reason for words that really don’t have to be in the dictionary. Like “Turducken” you really don’t need a definition for that because it’s in the name. It just adds to the pages. It really makes me mad.

3-I abhor repeated words. You could just put it down once and everything would be okay.

4- Why so many editions? Tomas Edison edition; Merriam-Webster; Colligiate; Sarah Palin-Words for Mama Bears? Really? Does it really matter? There could be a thousand editions but they all have the same meaning, to bore people to death while they flip page to page looking for a stupid definition.

5-Cell phones that have dictionaries on them. Honestly cell phones in general usually just make people look like smart-alecks when someone messes up on a definition. And it makes that person look stupid when that happens to them.

6- Even though I already said I hate huge dictionaries I also dislike small dictionaries. The writing is so small, you can barely see it. It is really frustrating. Or the large print ones. They are like one word a page.

7- I am constantly embarrassed by Computer programmed dictionaries like spell check. I hate it when I am writing and I misspell a word. The automatic changes are never what I wanted and somehow auto-spell is set for American English. It’s a huge pain when I want to write “colour” it automatically changes it to a different word that you do not want. Or when it doesn’t have the word you want.

8-Pictures in dictionaries peeve me.  Do you really need pictures in a dictionary? The answer is no, you really do not need that. It’s just one more thing to distract you from what you need to get. If you want pictures the book you are looking for is called an Encyclopedia.

9-Names. Yes Names, if you can’t use them in Scrabble ,you can’t use them in a dictionary. It’s not “Who’s Who.”

10-Typos. What if you are copying a definition and there is a typo. You turn in the paper and you get a bad grade because the word is wrong. I get that typos happen but I have a sneaky suspicion that typos are there on purpose so a new edition can be made. (The dictionary not the Boy Band) Why else would anyone need a new edition every other year anyway?

11-I hate it when the dictionary doesn’t have a word I want. The dictionaries don’t have all the word in the English vocabulary. Usually when you bring this up you are told you aren’t looking carefully enough and to go back and look more.  If it’s really not there teachers get on a secret hotline and call the publisher to alert them to begin a new edition.

12-Out of date dictionaries suck too.  At most schools you will find one of two things: Picture dictionaries or Dictionaries so old they crumble when you touch them and the page where “Dork” should be is completely missing, which tells you it’s really old because nobody uses that word anymore.

13-Children’ dictionaries are useless they aren’t built to hold up to slobber and again with the pictures making them overly heavy.  Just give the kid a regular dictionary. Plus, they don’t have as many words.

14- The English language kills me with its multiple meanings and dictionaries make it confusing for school kids.  What do you do when you have a word that has multiple meanings in it? Which one do you use?  You want one definition but it gives you three and if you ask someone they tell you to suss it out (suss is also not in auto-fill)

15- Thesauruses-I get that these aren’t dictionaries, but they are like a dictionary’s side-kick and just as smart-alecked. You ask for one word and it gives you a thousand words with the same meaning. You asked for one word! You want that one word!

These are the most frustrating, aggravating, stupid, things I could think of about dictionaries. I’m sure there are more.  I am wholly against book burning but if I had no fuel I would use my dictionaries first. (thanks to my parents we have 4)  They are so big they would do to cook a meal and keep warm through the night.

By: A.B. Thomas

I looked out from my office window to the production floor below, hands behind my back. Three men sat in three chairs in front of my desk; Terosa, Gelsing, and Hodgins. I had my back to them, attempting to collect my thoughts before sitting down to write up the incident report involving the three of them. We were a small company but we were the only supplier of preformed sidewalk cracks in the Western provinces. This meant that we were under heavy pressure to fill the demand by cities in order to keep their public work departments busy enough that the municipal governments could increase their infrastructure monies for repairs from the provincial governments in order to siphon the left over monies for junkets for the study of whether or not breast augmentation for their female civil servants could be construed as increasing public morality in the bill collecting department. Work stoppages only added to the pressure, and when the stoppage was created by an accident, the pressure was doubly so as production could not be continued until an investigation had taken place to ensure that all the safety procedures had been in action. As safety coordinator, it was my job to make sure all the “I”’s were dotted and all the “T”’s were crossed.

This was the situation we found ourselves in today; I had informed Occupational Health and Safety who was sending an investigator scheduled to be here in a half an hour. I had only the time before he or she got here to get all the company paperwork in order or face the company being fined for improper procedures of accident filing regulation 44-99-0. I hated rushing things but I steeled myself against my revulsion, turned to the three men and sat down at my desk.

They were quite a sight; Terosa holding a bloody towel to the left side of his head, Gelsing pawing at his left shoulder annoyingly as if he were silently trying to play the wounded soldier card and Hodgins, being well, Hodgins, sitting there with his hands on his lap as he were Mr. Innocent. With the secretary and our general manager out to lunch still I not only had to fill out the incident report but the injury reports as well. I wasn’t too concerned at the moment for the injury report since the majority would have to be filled out by the emergency room doctor and handed in to the OHS and Worker’s Compensation Board later on. Gelsing and Terosa had whined about wanting to go to the emergency room but knowing that the OHS were rather rigid on having the right papers done that their boo boos could be attended to after. Surprisingly the only one of the three that had not been a big baby was Hodgins, which made me wonder what he was playing at – he was never one to pass up the opportunity to goof off on the company dime.

I made sure that I had all the requirements before me: their personal files, copies of their job descriptions, the incident report papers and the safety manual was on the floor beside me. I grabbed three pens from the drawer of my desk, setting two off to the side while I kept the third in my hand and looked at the three of them with my lips pursed. To impress the seriousness of this meeting on the three employees I tapped the tip of the pen on the blank incident report several times.

“As you know,” I started off, “As part of the requirements of the OHS when an accident happens on the production floor we are required to do a preliminary incident report before the investigator gets here in order to facilitate the process of restarting production.” I waited the standard five second rule for indications of understanding.

Terosa and Gelsing nodded though I couldn’t help but notice that Hodgins just sat there smugly with a half grin on his face. The jerk always had such ‘screw the man’ attitude, it was a wonder he had any employment opportunities at all. I wouldn’t have hired him in the first place if I would have known but he had hid it well for the first six months on the job. The past five months though when it was slim pickings for workers his slacker ways began to shine.

Despite Hodgins’s negativity I pressed on and read what I had written so far, minus the time.

“This meeting is in regards to an incident at ‘Break Your Mother’s Back, inc’ on June 23, 2009 at….” I looked at my watch, “One seventeen in the afternoon. Attending is safety coordinator Ronald Richardson, Guido Terosa, lead hand, Terrance Gelsing, labourer and Jason Hodgins, labourer.” I passed the paper for the three to sign under their names. When I got it back I noticed that Hodgins had not signed it but with time being an issue I decided that I’d get him to sign his name at the top when I needed to get him to sign the bottom of the incident report.

I realized that, as with every accident, there were probably going to be three different views to what happened so I decided that I would first ask what happened then once we all agreed on a version, to write that one on as our official incident report for the OHS investigator. I folded my hands on top of the incident report, not to firmly closed so that it projected one of formality yet understanding.

“Let’s get to the bottom of this matter so that we all can improve ourselves in order that something like this ever happens again,” I said with a small reassuring smile and tone. “We have the basics that we all agree on, don’t we? Gelsing, don’t pick at your shoulder – it’s not very hygienic nor pretty to see – At sometime between twelve twenty and twelve forty there was a malfunction of the dual 14” saw press that caused….”

I looked back out the window at the saw line. Standing straight up almost fifteen feet in the air between the actual saw unit and the perform hydraulic press was a monolithic like structure of steel and cement that should have been horizontal and going smoothly through the saw unit. On the other side of the saw were large chunks of broken and twisted eight foot concrete slabs, the protective steel covers partially ripped and bent over to the sides, twenty four in all, littering the rollers that they should have simply nd rolled from the saw unit to the storage area. This was not a scene of productivity and effective usage of space and safety procedures.

“Significant damage to the production line. Does that sound like an accurate description of the current situation on the floor right now?” Two heads nodded; Hodgins didn’t even look he had heard a damn thing I said. Hodgins, I thought to myself, better watch his butt or I’ll be kicking it out the front door pretty quick.

“As a group,” I continued, pulling my hands apart then putting them back together again, “We should come to an agreement on what occurred before the outcome that is currently on the production line.” Terosa put his hand up. I nodded for him to speak.

“Well, I think that…”

I stopped Terosa right there with a raise of my hand.

“No where in your work contract is there any clause that uses the word ‘think’ in your job description. You are not paid to think so you had better not be wasting company time doing something that should be done on your dime, not ours.”

Terosa looked at me, opened his mouth then shut it again. His tongue flicked out of the side of his mouth as his eyes rolled upwards as if he was trying to do what I had just told him that was a violation of his contract – but then he must of decided against pushing me to see whether I give him his second of three warnings before I would have to terminate his position with the company.

“I thought….”

The cheeky prick! I once again held up my hand.

“Terosa,” I snarled, “I have made it quite clear what your contract states.”

“Uhm, yes sir?”

“Are you trying to push your luck by saying ‘thought’ – because ‘thought’ is a derivative of ‘think’, which as I have just reminded you is not in your contract.”

Terosa looked at me blankly. I thought I better head off any further defiant behavior from Terosa.

“And don’t you think you can get away with ‘thunk’, ‘reckon’,’mulling’, ‘rationalizing’ or ‘figure’, either,” I warned, “Those connote the same definition of ‘think’ and I will have to write you up for insubordination.” I was about to continue berating Terosa on engaging in non-work related preoccupations during work hours when I saw Gelsing had meekly put his hand half way up.

“What is it, Gelsing? And will you please refrain from scratching your shoulder – it’s quite off putting; this is an official procedure – show some professionalism”.

“Just a question, sir. How is figuring the same as thi…the ‘t word? I would have to opine that if you are ‘figuring’ you are ‘assuming’ which is not really the ‘t’ word but acting on a belief rather than formulating your own course of action.”

I stared harshly at Gelsing for a moment. I scanned the job description that was on top of the three men’s personal files.

“Point taken,” I said then turned my attention back to Terosa. “As Gelsing here pointed out, you can figure or assume on company time as it there is nothing forbidding it in your job description. I am sorry that the description is not as clear as it should be and I will work on clarifying this area up immediately. Now, Terosa, what did you figure?”

“Well, Gelsing and I were trying to disengage the saw blades at the time when the hydraulic press began to push through the second run of the product but since the saw blades were stuck really good…”

“Well,” I corrected.

“well into the preceeding concrete, I figure that Hodgins must have accidentally pushed the ‘process start’ button on the other side of the saw carriage when he was working from the other side to unjam the upper saw casing.”

Hodgin! Why wasn’t I surprised that he would be the instigator?

I looked at Terosa while I bent down to the icebucket that I had underneath the desk and held up the piece of skull with an ear on it.

“And that’s when you lost this?” I asked.

Terosa shook his head.

“Was it before or after,” I bent down and reached a little further to the ice chest and pulled out Gelsing’s left arm from the cold water, “This happened?” Terosa and Gelsing looked at each other.

“I think I lost the arm first and then Terosa there lost the side of his face,” Gelsing responded.

I sighed.

“First off, Terosa did not lose the side of his face,” I commented with a little annoyance in the tone, “Clearly it is still here on the desk so it isn’t lost. Secondly, stop picking at your shoulder – I cauterized the damn thing with the blow torch but if you quit picking at it you’ll pick the burnt flesh off and start bleeding all over my floor.” Gelsing apologized though I noticed that his fingers would not stop playing with the black scorch marks.

“Excuse me, sir, I feel a little woozy, I think I may have lost a lot of blood,” Gelsing said. “Could I just step outside for a moment to get a little air?”I told him no because I knew that he would go out there and would catch him having a cigarette and have to give him a warning about smoking on company property – the OHS was coming, for god’s sake, what did he think they would say if they found a cigarette butt? They’d give the company a large fine and then where would the company be? I let out a heavy sigh.

“Alright, moving along,” I said resignedly, “Who is responsible for the dissecting and halving of the prostitute?” Gelsing spoke up.

“I believe you meant to say quartering, sir.”

I rolled my eyes.

“No, I did not,” I said irritably. “Clearly the prostitute, while she was cut both length-wise and width-wise, the saw blades did not cut fully through her spine to where she would be split into separate pieces but she was firstly more filleted then turned around and cut in half – Gelsing, stop picking at your shoulder.”

“Sorry sir,” Gelsing said, “It’s just a little itchy.”

“Continuing along, who was responsible for the prostitute?” Terosa and Gelsing looked at each other then Terosa spoke up.

“Well, Hodgins figured….”

Hodgins! That son of a bitch! I looked harshly at him but he didn’t even bat an eyelash – the man had no inkling of responsibility running through his body, I thought. He just sat there silently, not attempting to help me understand, just looking at some spot on the wall; I wondered if he even cared about how much trouble his little ‘figuring’ could cause the company. I should have fired him long ago, the man just was inept and irresponsible – I regretted promising his wife that Hodgins would have a place here with the company after she had given me that hand job in the supply closet at last year’s Christmas party. The disgust I felt for Hodgins deafened me to the majority of Terosa’s explanation.

“…and she had said $60 for twenty minutes – Hodgins figured that since we pooled the money it would only be fair that we each should have twenty minutes with her.” He finished with a shrug of his shoulders, “It made sense at the time.”

I leaned back in my chair, putting my hands behind my head.

“Did it occur to you that a) if you were looking to be equitable, you would have to cut the prostitute into thirds instead of attempting four – what were you going to do with the fourth piece? And b) the orifices that are utilized in sexual gratification would have been made unusable since they were severed?”

Gelsing answered; Hodgins, the coward, said nothing.

“Well we figured that it wasn’t very fair since Terosa here is an ass man and so is Hodgins that by doing thirds one of them wouldn’t get what they like so we figured that half an ass was more equitable than no ass. It made sense that even though I’m a boob man it wouldn’t be right if I got the pair when everyone else would only get one.”

“Plus,” Terosa added, “we’re married men, we can look but we can’t actually touch – our wives would have killed us if they found out that we had put our junk in someone else’s scrap yard.”

I leaned forward, putting my hands firmly on the desk as I took in this information.

“So you weren’t actually going to use the prostitute in the manner that she is supposed to be used? Why the hell would you pick up a prostitute in the first place?”

“We only get a half hour for lunch,” Gelsing answered matter of factly.

“So?”

“Well, the strippers are on a forty five minute rotation so in order to see boobs or ass we’d have to come back here fifteen minutes late.”

I nodded – at least they were thinking about the company’s late policy on lunch, though it did not answer the question why they would bring a prostitute on company property as well as the unauthorized use of company property for personal use. When I pressed the three harder, Terosa admitted that bringing the prostitute back was Hodgins’s plan. I asked in my calmest voice what Hodgins had to say for himself. He just looked back at me with a dull gleam in his eye.

“Hodgins!” I slammed my fists down as I stood up from behind my desk with far more force than I intended, I could see all three men’s shake as the vibration from the desk transferred over to their legs. I went to give my most serious of glares that I usually reserved for those old ladies who paid for their grocery purchases with pennies in the express lane when clearly though the sign stated eight items or less that a carton of eggs was in fact twelve so they shouldn’t have been in that aisle in the first place only to find myself staring at air.

The audacity of that son of a bitch! It was bad enough that the bastard had sat there silently smug the entire time while letting the other two account for their actions, but to try to escape one of my glares was completely unacceptable! Well, Hodgins was about to find out that there was a limit to my reasonableness and he had damn well passed that point!

I marched from my desk to where Hodgins head was rolling towards the office door picked it up and unceremonilessly slammed it back on to Hodgins’s body. I retook my seat, and with pen pointed directly at him I looked him straight in the eye.

“Hodgins, I think I have been more than fair during these proceedings,” I growled menacingly, “And you have done nothing but show disdain! I am trying to do my job the best I can, so while you may think…”

“Figure,” Terosa piped up quickly.

“Thank you…so while you may figure that this is a bunch of hooey, it does serve a purpose. I would appreciate it if you at least had the decency to give me your attention for ten bloody minutes – this is for your benefit, not mine, you know. I have a lot of other things I could be doing.”

Hodgins still said nothing – arrogant son of a bitch, he was. He was a lost cause, I decided that I would simply ignore the bastard for the rest of this meeting and carry on as if he actually had some pride in his job. I pinched the bridge of my nose to attempt to stem the tension headache that was welling.

I looked at the three men and calmly brought up the two thousand page safety manual and put it on the desk in front of me. I tapped its cover.

“If you had read the safety manual,” I said quietly then quickly flipped through the three personal files off to the side to ensure that my information was correct, “which according to your files you signed form 43-G-12 stating that you had read it, you would know the proper use of a prostitute.”

Gelsing furled his brow for a moment then spoke.

“Excuse me sir, but I don’t think that particular subject is covered in the manual.” I sternly stared at Gelsing. Without breaking eye contact I flipped the safety manual to the index and quickly glanced down at the page. To verify what I had seen, or more so, what I had not seen, I used my pointer finger as I silently lip read the “P” section of the index. I flipped to the “H”, then to the “W”. Nowhere, it seemed, was the proper use and storage of a prostitute. It was all very disturbing.

“Hurumph,” I said, locking eyes with Gelsing. “It appears that you are correct that there is no section for prostitutes – obviously this is an oversight on my part and so you can’t be held responsible for something that I had not trained you for.” I made a quick note to rectify this issue before the week’s end.

“I apologize for my lack of comprehensive coverage; it won’t happen again.” God damn these incident reports were a pain in the ass….

How to Exorcise Your Movie Set

A Cautionary (if Deadpan) Expose on Movie Demons

by

The Late Mitchell Warren

Author William Peter Blatty presumably shuddered as he heard the horror stories coming, not from a horror novel, or from folklore of frightful demon possessions, but from the mouth of film director William Friedkin, who told him that his idea—his contribution to cinema—was responsible for invoking a curse on The Exorcist.  Blatty stated that there were “strange occurrences” on the production, pointing to a possible curse, claims that were later repeated by actress Ellen Burstyn, Assistant Director Terrance Donnelly, and special effects man Marcel Vercoutere.

Among the haunting phenomenon were eerily timed deaths of cast members (according to Burstyn nine in all), major medical injuries and on-set technical problems including a fire.  “The Curse of The Exorcist” continued after production and into the theatrical release, with audience members fainting, vomiting, and even miscarrying unborn babies.

Your Movie Sucks (Cocks in Hell)

The Curse of The Exorcist was felt immediately by the people involved in making the film, which explains why Friedkin actually called on a priest (several times) to come on the set and bless the production.  Perhaps it was at that point, as the father chanted holy names and rebuked the unclean spirit in a non-scripted, off-camera act of desperation, that William Peter Blatty realized the magnitude of what he had created: a true fictional curse.  He summoned a demon of entertainment, and what better avenue for creating mass hysteria in innocent people than the Hollywood blockbuster film?

Other Horrid Hollywood Demons and Possessions
Of course, this was hardly the first supernatural creature to possess Hollywood.  As far back as the 1950s, these curious and sometimes malevolent spirits were experimenting with Hollywood.  In 1956, on-set of The Conqueror John Wayne apparently became possessed by a demon of stupidity and decided to shoot downwind from a nuclear testing site in New Mexico, eventually causing himself and half the movie’s cast and crew to be exposed to a healthy dose of cancer-causing radiation.

God and the Devil Hate Abortion

Rosemary’s Baby was possessed by a particularly malevolent entity, one hell-bent on creating the definitive crime scene of the 20^th century.  Just months after the movie was released, director Roman Polanski’s pregnant wife, Sharon Tate, was murdered by Charles Manson and his followers on a “Helter Skelter” killing spree—truly an ironic way to die.  This is what happens when you don’t agree to have the devil’s baby.

The productions of Superman was similarly weighed down by provoked spirits who objected to the idea of a super-powered American Christian man and wasted, not one, but two Nietzschean posers (Reeves and Reeves), while the Poltergeist poltergeist made sure half the cast of the film died unusually painful deaths for daring to mock the spirits by using real bones for the film’s climactic scene.  It was such a scary production (and yet only a mildly creepy film), it prompted Steven Spielberg to discredit his own name and pass the fame to high-on-life and just plain high Tobe Hooper.

"Now That's What I Call Ironic."

Few cinema demons have proven to be as destructive as Rod Sterling’s vengeful spirit who made sure that his possessed Twilight Zone series would not be shamelessly exploited for money—at least not without a very high emotional and financial price.  On the set of Twilight Zone: The Movie and under the supervision of director John Landis, the most horrific incident in cinema history occurred.  The first segment production saw the accidental deaths of Vic Morrow and two child actors.  A helicopter was flying on-set at a low altitude and was unable to avoid nearby pyrotechnic explosions.  The explosions cut the tail rotor, which caused the helicopter to spin out of control and crash.  The casualties were far more horrifying than anything the Twilight Zone series ever imagined: Morrow and one of the child actors were decapitated while the other was crushed to death upon collision.  Amazingly, the airborne crew escaped unharmed.

Ghosts on Movie Sets and Modern Cinema Possession

Let the scoffers scoff!  Rather than blame malevolent and disembodied spirit creatures for these mysterious and calamitous incidents, let’s point the blame at Hollywood filmmakers who continue to be reckless and who continue to nominate their stuntmen for cinematic Darwin Awards.  It’s not like Hollywood producers and directors actually take great caution when it comes to security and avoiding mega-million dollar lawsuits from accidents by paying careful attention to stunt work procedure.

Is This the Demon Haunting Stallone?

It’s easy to blame Rocky-headed Sylvester Stallone for the death of stuntmen Kun Lieu and the injury of Nuo Sun, rather than a particularly impish spirit who either (A) dislikes Stallone’s movie choices, (B) doesn’t appreciate Stallone’s attempt to revive fading action stars of the 1980s who offended spirits of the kung-fu world and thus earned their disgrace, or (C) knows of a dark secret in Stallone’s past that the Italian Stallion won’t admit to the public.  Just to be safe, let’s blame this one on Stallone’s ineptitude.

All of this demon talk comes at the perfect time in the cultural zeitgeist, since nowadays it is difficult to find really scary movies at the theater, since so much of the primal terror put on screen is artificial, perfectly timed, and formulaic.  Therefore, long standing urban legends of haunted movie sets are actually terrifying ideas, especially since movie producers spend so much money on these projects.

Oh yes and of course, the people!  Apologies for writing this article in the Hollywood phony second person voice, but it really applies.  The last thing a director wants to hear is that his production, already on the verge of going over budget and with temperamental actors walking on and off the set, is haunted by a malevolent entity.

If you notice any of the following, you may have a haunted movie set:

• Disappearing props (and you’re positive they’re not being stolen by the weird intern)
• Strange noises or voices around the set
• Extra cast or crew members hanging around when you do a count (especially if the extras look extra pale)
• Mysterious fires or problems with explosives
• Unexplained loss of footage, content or data
• One or more of your actors are struck by lightning (ala James Caviezel, The Passion of the Christ)
• Someone mysteriously dies on your set (especially not from a drug overdose, and particularly while the camera is rolling)
• Marilyn Monroe or James Dean hanging around at midnight
• Priests come up to you and hand you a medallion of any sort (Just ask actor Jason Miller from The Exorcist…oh wait you can’t because he’s DEAD)
• Blood appearing on the script
• The face of Jesus or the Devil anywhere on set
• Jack Nicholson esoterically warns you about something
• Christians protesting outside of your studio

Then it is time to stop ignoring the very real possibility that you may have a demon or a ghost in your (rented) midst.  Think of a set possession as the ultimate “thumbs down”, a critical review that unlike Roger Ebert’s own, you cannot simply ignore and chalk up to senility.

Child actors tend to look this way regardless of spirit activity, so don't assume.

The first rule of any entity harassment is that you must acknowledge the paranormal activity.  Spirit creatures are not like Internet trolls.  The more you ignore them, the more agitated they become, prompting them to respond by increasing the terror level.  If you continue to rationalize your obviously possessed production away to bizarre science, serendipitous coincidence or crazy actresses hallucinating on drugs, you are daring the entity to focus more negative energy on your movie set.

If you don’t want to become another The Exorcist-like urban legend, (and that’s a big if, considering that “plagued” films tend to sell a lot more tickets than independent movies about how complicated relationships are) then the first step is to decide what you want to happen.  Consider four possible outcomes:

You want the entity to leave you alone.

In this case, you must clearly communicate to the entity that you do not appreciate its presence and that you are willing to do whatever it takes to stop the paranormal harassment.  In general, using your loud Jewish voice doesn’t seem to startle ghosts or demons—not like it scares assistants and grips.  Instead of provoking the entity to “fight” you, your goal is to simply end the conflict.  Above all else, maintain a voice of respect.  Speak as if you were talking to Spielberg, Eisner, Ovitz, or at least, one of the most famous celebrities who uses Twitter.

You want to help the entity to achieve something.

"I screwed every last one of them. You heard me." -Ryan

It is quite possible that the entity is choosing you as a helper so that it can achieve a paranormal and perhaps esoteric goal.  This goal may be related to the human life a ghost used to possess, or perhaps something darkly humorous that a demon would enjoy seeing—like you slashing yourself to pieces with razors.  (What can you say, they like their slapstick…not so funny to humans though)  If you want to go this route, you must first “profile” the entity and make sure that it’s a worthwhile sinister force and somewhat famous, or at least as famous as you.  A mention on Wiki or on a reliable news source is a start.  No one wants to waste time with a hobo demon that can’t do anything for your career.

You want to scare the entity the way you have been scared.

All right, so you’re from Hollywood and you don’t know the meaning of the

Beat the Ghost, John, Beat It!

word “surrender”, or “married” or “publicity-less charity.”  You are hardcore and have done so many drugs and battled so many villain actors in simulated fight scenes, nothing scares you.  You’re not just badass, you actually get off on drinking Charlie Sheen’s tiger urine.  Why not take a kickass approach to the entity, sort of like the film 1408, which saw actor John Cusack (before he outran the end of the world in 2012) “beat” the room.  He even said at one point, “The room did not win.”  If you’re that retar—er, hardcore, then don’t be afraid to go toe-to-toe with this son of a bitch entity that dares to stand in the way of your Sundance Film prize.  If this is the path you want to go, read our DIY exorcism tips below.

You want to use the entity as a supernatural affiliate and hope that your demonic viral campaign makes you more money.

This is self-explanatory.  If you’re going to play with the demon, then expect to be played with in response.  Maybe you won’t die, since you’re the life of the party, but be prepared to lose a few stunt men and perhaps a grip here and there.  Your campaign can only benefit if you send a press release to Billy Graham or Rick Warren stating how you’re being attacked by demons and yet won’t stop making the Satanic movie.

Is it a Ghost or a Demon Haunting Your Movie?

What is the difference?  You’re in Hollywood, so don’t conclude that the entity is anything more complex than ghost or demon; after all, in filmmaking even good and evil are kept very simplistic for dramatic purposes.  Simply put, ghosts are whiny little bitches that want attention.  They’re like Tom Arnold or Richard Kind, they want you to do them a favor.  Instead of asking for cameo appearances though, they want you to bury their bones, find their “real killers”, burn a photo, or put a rose on a grave for them—whatever shit it takes to make them feel good about their sad afterlife.

Yes Steve, for the hundredth time, we know what EVP stands for!

So if you want to maintain cordial relations with the entity then you may have to do some gophering.  Truthfully, ghosts do not mean as much publicity as do demons.  In Hollywood, no one gives anything away for free.  Unless of course, you’re having sex with Jim Carrey or Matt Damon or something.

Demons on the other hand, understand the essence of drama.  They read screenplays and are generally well-read on what scares the living shit out of people.  They demand conflict and are damn good at creating it.  They’re like the Scorsese’s or the Lars Von Trier’s of the underworld.  They get their point across in seconds.  You may actually benefit from spending some quality acting time with a demon.  So don’t waste its time.  This is the main event.  Whoever this entity is going to kill, it will be worth it, because this is going to produce some Oscar-winning shit right here.

Typical Demonologist

In case you haven’t seen Paranormal Activity 1-3, demonic entities can follow you anywhere.  They can actually leave the set, follow you home, and ghost-fuck your grandma, just to get your attention.  Don’t hire a psychic or a demonologist.  You know they’re just going to freak out and run away as soon as they sense the bad vibes coming from your dressing room.  (And not just the bad vibes you created yourself when you took care of that underage fluffer) Assuming then that you want the paranormal activity on your movie set to cease, here are five DIY tips for cleansing the production.

Four DIY Exorcism Tips for Movie Makers

Our four tips are organized into five categories of response: extreme, rational, reverse and bizarre.

Extreme Response

This is the Good Christian response, and it’s not easy.  In fact, E-How calls exorcising demons a “challenging” task.  First things first, understand the origins of exorcism.  They date back to the Catholic-Protestant Schism, and have implications of sacrilege, blasphemy and heresy, especially if you do it wrong.

The Catholic Church is the oldest Christian religion and loosely bases their exorcism procedure on the works of Jesus Christ, adapted to the modern age in The Rite of Exorcism and Of Exorcisms and Certain Supplications.  It is important to realize that Catholics not only pray over demonized victims, but also adhere to ritualistic exorcism, using relics like Holy Water, crosses, the Chaplet of Saint Michael, and the like.  Even so, the Catholic Church rarely authorizes exorcisms and presumes most cases are due to mental illness (see “Rational” response below).  Protestant preachers have even less procedure established for exorcisms, and approach the situation purely from a prayer standpoint—and this complements their entire philosophy of faith, not works.

Therefore, many victims suffering ghost and demon harassment state that a Protestant approach to exorcism rarely works.  Many years ago, at the peak of the Catholic and Protestant War, there was a young woman by the name of Nicola Aubrey who claimed to be possessed by Beelzebub and twenty-nine other evil spirits.  The possession took place between 1565 and 1566.  Aubrey’s frightening behavior (as in beyond sexual hysteria) grabbed the attention of both Catholic and Protestant leaders, who then attempted to compete for the title of Best Exorcism Ever.  According to tradition, Catholics took the upper hand with the “Blessed Sacrament”, and the contest was so decidedly won, that many Protestants actually converted back to Catholicism.  To this day, Protestants continue to downplay the importance of exorcisms in modern times, as no doubt their All-Loving God is still sore from the “Real Presence” beating administered by the Hell-Loving Catholic God.

"Nicola", the very first demon movie, sponsored by Catholics and Protestants

Even to this day, demons do not tend to respect Protestantism as much as Catholicism.  It’s like comparing an Internet sensation like Justin Bieber to a pre-Internet music god like Michael Jackson.  Demons may even be insulted if you try to exorcise them using Protestant ritual.  They believe they deserve a Catholic priest.  This is not to imply that Catholicism is the “true religion”; the fact is, simply, that demons love “trolling” and “flaming” with Catholics, because it’s classic entertainment.  Protestants, on the other hand, are just boring when it comes to drama.

Modern priests (who are mighty tired of having to personally travel to every house just to hear a loon, er, victim talk about demon possession) have publicly shared the best ways to rid your place of demonic possession.  They are as follows:

• Improve your relationship with God
• Work with an assistant, a member of the family and a doctor (For a Hollywood production, technical consultants or agents will do)
• Confess your sins before attempting to exorcise the entity (otherwise, you’re a hypocrite and demons will enjoy tormenting you all the more so)
• Ask the entity its name, so as to establish a personal connection, as well as communicate the nature of the possession
• Stop peeing your pants.  Remember, it’s DRAMA.  In Hollywood, drama is good)
• Pray, not just in general (as in Please God, let me be cast in Judd Apatow’s new movie) but specifically for the demon to leave the set.
• It works better if you speak Latin; that shows the Demon you take acting research seriously
• Ask your assistant to read passages from the bible, but make sure it’s a mainstream bible and not those “comic book bibles” (Please note, playing The Ten Commandments with Charlton Heston doesn’t count)
• Do the sign of the cross, but please cover up your sleazy chest hair and wash your hands from all that fingering (You know what I mean)
• Command the entity to leave the set in the name of Jesus Christ.  (Please specify you don’t mean any Hollywood dramatization of Jesus, or heaven forbid Willem Dafoe, but the ACTUAL Jesus)
• Repeat…and prepare for a long night.  Depending on how bored the entity is, it could actually take weeks)
• And please don’t forget THE STARE

Demons Know When You Flinch!

In the meantime, continue filming your movie.  If demon faces are appearing in crucial scenes, you may have to re-shoot in a different part of the set, or an exterior location.  If worse comes to worse, then edit the demon faces out using CGI.  Stop whining.  Everyone in Hollywood is stressed, okay?

Rational Response:

There are some skeptics who claim that victims of demonic possession are merely:

• Insane
• Drunk
• Addicted to drugs
• Hallucinating because of gas fumes on the set
• Faking it all for romantic attention
• Out of work actors showing their versatility

This is a legitimate concern and you may find it advisable to resist going the extreme Catholic route, and instead, approach the situation rationally.  The best rational response is to:

Smack Your Bitch Up. 

 

Don't make me hit you again. Ho.

If your leading starlet is the primary source of the paranoia, and she is starting to scare the entire cast and crew, it is okay to “slap your bitch.”  All the great directors slapped their actresses.  Some, like Hitchcock, did it to invoke more realistic screams.  Some, like Kubrick, did it just to terrify actresses and show them who is boss.  Some, like Tommy Wiseau, did it because slapping makes the sex between director and actress much better.

In other words, don’t be afraid to smack your starlet around a few times, just to test the results.  Perhaps the “haunting” will cease, and everyone will calm down, realizing it was just delusion with a splash of egotism.  Or, perhaps the demon will enjoy watching your own self-created conflict and may decide it likes you.  In other words, don’t be afraid to abuse the person who is slowing down the production of your movie.  If you don’t actually see the entity, then smack whoever is talking about it.

Reverse Response:

Let’s get down to the real issue.  Let’s say, you’re making a movie about demonic possession, a horror flick filled with shocking violence, gratuitous sex and nudity, and as many F-bombs as humanly possible.  According to traditional Christian belief, you’re sort of asking for demon problems, because demons are the ones who create sex, violence and the F-word in the first place.

This is Why You're Haunted 101

It’s actually somewhat rude to create all this simulated debauchery, which demons recognize as orgy rituals to Baal, and then UN-invite them.  It’s downright snotty, actually.  You must bear responsibility for the bad karma you have created.  If you create a horror movie with intent to scare, injure and show horrible things, then you are receiving back some of that negative energy in advance.  The supernatural goings-on may even be a sign that the spirits are pleased.  Or, if someone dies, maybe not so pleased.

The best solution, if you decide you can’t take it, is to change the direction of the movie and turn your production around, creating a more Christian environment.  Maybe lose some of the blood sucking whores.  Perhaps reduce the number of severed heads.  Removing the demonic acts of suffering from a production (whether real or simulated) may actually show your uninvited “uninvited” that there is no party here.  They have been misinformed if they think this is a possessed production.  Interestingly, many weaker demons actually follow stronger, alpha demons and start multiple haunts within one place.  It’s sort of like saying to a group of teenagers, “Hey I have free pot!  Want to party?”  Of course, you’re going to get some company.  Well, your horror movie production is the pot that demons enjoy smoking.  Get it?

Works better than a cross.

Case in point, think about movies like Eat, Pray, Love.  You never hear of demon possession from those types of films, do you?  Because this genre of film is boring, feel-good, incoherent, self-indulgent, badly made, and mawkish—the sort of thing no demon wants to hear.  If you really want to be free of demons then start making plenty of movies like Eat, Pray, Love.  They are so mind-numbingly awful, they actually cause demons to abyss themselves.  Movies like this are part of the reason Satan and his minions hate human beings.

In short, turn your life around.  Be a better Christian.  Confess your sins, stop having sex with aspiring actresses and rent boys, and find Jesus.  Oh, and give all your money away.  Suddenly, demonic possession isn’t the worst thing in the world!

Bizarre Response:

Please don’t get carried away with this one.  Some movie directors have informed me that the best way to deal with demonic possession is, not to attack or confront the entity, but to confuse it.  For example, some directors explain that by playing along with the entity, and responding to its aggression with absurdist parody, that the entity often times becomes confused and decides to leave of its own accord.

For example:

• Exorcising demons in the name of “Kirk Cameron” of Fireproof
• Volunteering to sacrifice one of your cast members in a tribute to Jephthah
• Filming scenes that make no sense, like a guy in a bear suit giving a blowjob
• Or a guy in a bear suit punching out a commune of witches
• Or calling on the ghost of Andy Warhol to join the cursed set (Demons do tend to be picky about which of their friends you invite)
• Include strange scenes involving snorting helium and ranting about Pabst Blue Ribbon
• Or filming a final scene with a baby of light while Also Sprach Zarathustra plays in the background
• Or making some sort of Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter movie

Offering Seitan to a Black Cat - Effectively Confusing to Malevolent Spirits

It is not recommended that you allow the demon to make major decisions on the framing, directing or writing of your motion pictures, otherwise you will produce something beyond human thinking, such as Richard Kelly’s Southland Tales.
Get Rid of Your Ghost by Fighting Satan with Beelzebub

Despite what the bible says about casting out demons through demonic means, some people actually find that a non-Christian exorcism works best for their dilemma.  This is an especially appealing option if you’re working with a dozen Jewish producers)

In this case, you can always call upon a shaman or a medium to perform the exorcism for you, or use one of a shaman’s common procedures.  One commonly performed Native American ritual, used to expel negative spirits, is the act of smudging.  This involves burning safe or another type of approved herb, and allowing the smoke to cleanse certain areas.  Smoke is considered a highly spiritual symbol and has long been accepted as a way to purify something (like a movie set) that has been possessed.

If you are doing this, then instruct the case and crew to remain silent and watch as you perform the ritual.  (You don’t have to be nude for this, but it helps)  When smudging the room work in one direction at a time, and eventually spiral your way to the center.  Counterclockwise movement is associated with a “banishing” of an impolite entity.  Be careful not to move in a clockwise fashion, as this “invoking” gesture could be sending mixed signals to the entity, who might take you for a player.

Carry the smudge in your right hand and the container in your left hand.  Make sure the smoke reaches all the corners, up to ceiling and down to the floor.  If a fire starts during this process, or if the smoke alarm detector goes off, this is likely not due to any paranormal action.  While doing this you can also speak this blessing: “From the Element of Earth Grows this plant, which is Water.  I call upon the Elements and the Blessings of Spirit to please cleanse this (area, space, being, etc.)  For the good of all.”  While blessing the set, do not use any F-words or adlib like you’re in a Mike Leigh production.  Stick to the script, hotshot.

Final Thoughts on Possessed Films

The ghost in Three Men & and a Baby was intrigued by the promising team up of Danson, Selleck and Guttenberg; and yet felt oddly disappointed at the end result. Hence, he destroyed their careers.

The basic thought here is “do not panic.”  Remember that ghosts only have one line of offense and that’s incongruity.  They create visual and aural anomalies that are designed to confuse you, and go against your human-based logic system.  Once you stop fearing the incongruity, or the absence of coherent human logic, you really have nothing to fear.  At this point, you may even decide you want to hear what the entity has to say.

As stated, you cannot ignore the reality of supernatural harassment, as this is an act of war, and a sign of disrespect.  The longer you wait, the more likely your cast and crew are going to die from unusual diseases and bizarre crimes.  You are prolonging the curse.  As the director, creator and collaborator of this cinema curse, you must open and shut this case, giving this little devil his/her due.

Perhaps the entity has some suggestions on what you’re doing wrong with the movie, or dislikes how much you’re over using Zach Galifianakis or Jonah Hill, who really should be kept as supporting cast.  Perhaps you have offended the spirit because of your choice of location, or your insensitive trampling of Indian burial ground.  In some situations, it’s best to calm down and try to communicate with the ghost, to see if there is amicable deal you can both reach.  After all, if there is life after death, chances are you are going to meet this ghost somewhere in the future.  And if you were a jerk to it while on earth, that would be awkward.  There’s no reason to behave like a jackass, as if you were the newest member of the verbally abusive Ghost Hunters crew.  In all dimensions and plains of life, respect for the feelings of others is appreciated—even non-human feelings.

Is it just me or is the baby creepier than the ghost?

If you are dealing with a malevolent entity then it’s best not to provoke it, because these bad boys and gals are just itching for a chance to attack you physically.  Whatever you do, don’t invite it to “take its best shot.”  All it has to do is spike up your heart rate and suddenly you’re the next Heath Ledger, but without an Oscar.  So don’t challenge the entity to a fight.  Instead, make an attempt to communicate.

If the demon possesses one of your actors and starts contorting his/her body and summoning multiple voices, applaud, as if you have just witnessed a terrific first audition.  Not with your hands, of course, but with your dramatic responses.  Take on the face of a brave warrior, think Anthony Hopkins in The Rite or Ryan on Paranormal State (but without the condescension).

Marshmallow Man is a particularly evil and high ranking demon, not a ghost. Whatever you do, don't summon him.

Chances are, the demon has been stalking you for quite some time and believes that you are the best director for the task ahead.  The task being, of course, to make this entity shine!  Perhaps you have been selected to create this entity’s “urban legend” and help form a living piece of demonic art.  This demon wants Satan’s “thumbs up” and you may be the director talented enough to pull this off.

Memorize the dramatic formula in three acts to show the entity you know how to play the game.

Act I (The introduction of yourself, the antagonistic spirit, the dramatic premise and situation.  Along the way, the inciting incident occurs which sets the events of the encounter in motion.  Usually, there is a victim involved, such as a possessed kid, or a cute little intern who sees dead people in the hall way)

Act II (The main character, you, encounter an obstacle that prevents you from achieving a need, in this case completing the film.  Accept that you have an antagonist and let it play its part.  As with all Act II procedure, you must be ready to reach your lowest point, physically, emotionally and spiritually—seemingly far away from your objective.  Be prepared to suffer and lose all hope, demoralizing the entire cast and crew)

The spirit preferred the original ending of Fatal Attraction. Michael Douglas insisted they change it. The spirit got the last laugh.

Act III (The climax occurs and the antagonist is defeated through teamwork, a persistent hero, and an unbreakable optimistic attitude.  Having a little, happy, dancing, comic relief character on the team also helps matters.  After the climax, which may involve a few deaths of unimportant people on the set, the denouement occurs, which is a brief period of calm.  As the veins in your forehead settle, the sweat dissipates and you catch your breath, signify with a dramatic statement, that you have prevailed for now, but that the demon may come back again someday and that no one is really safe.  However, don’t fall for the old “the demon is dead trick”…you know it always comes back at least once after a false climax, as in Fatal Attraction and Rob Zombie’s classy remake of Halloween)

Remember, drama is not just for the camera.  It’s not just for the stage.  It’s an in-the-moment creation, an encapsulated moment in time, an amusement for the divine, and a celebration of absurdity.  Human beings aren’t the only ones who enjoy good drama.  As it turns out, everyone wants to be in movies, and there you have the phenomenon called the movie curse.

 

 

The Late Mitchell Warren is a novelist, freelance writer and humorist stationed in Dallas-Fort Worth, Texas.  Warren’s “Attempted Rapture” , a sacrilegious Christian novel, is set for re-release in 2011.  ”Like” it on Facebook !

By:  Azazel

Yes folks, you read that right – not every aspect of an undead plague is doom and gloom.  Sure, lots of people will die and civilization as we know it will crumble (that’s something of a given) but few ponder the *positive* aspects of such an event should it occur.

Well, that’s what this piece is all about – exploring the world of possibilities that would open up in the event of such a plague being unleashed upon the small, fragile world of modern humans: a zombie apocalypse would – in the long run – contribute to the overall health of the biosphere, cull the weakest members of the human species and open up new frontiers for the survivors of the plague to explore and claim as their own.

1.    Biosphere impact

As anyone who’s been paying attention the last few decades can tell you, this planet has experienced a population explosion – right now earth is approaching the 7 billion mark in terms of total homo sapiens inhabiting this world.  The phenomena that made this population explosion possible was the exploitation of fossil fuels in agriculture: particularly the use of farming machinery to replace livestock and petrochemical-based fertilizers – without these, it would be impossible to keep so many people fed at even subsistence levels.

Of course, with peak oil coming in the next decade or so, maintaining such a population will no longer be possible before we hit 2030 – at which point there will be a massive die-off and no chance whatsoever for anyone to have access to the goods that oil makes possible (particularly plastics, petrochemical-based medicines or gasoline).  But what if this could be headed off somehow: perhaps by an infectious disease that spreads rapidly through contact with bodily fluids – a contagion that *compels* those under its influence to infect as many hosts as possible?

Enter the zombie plague – such a disease would be all but uncontrollable once released into the general public and capable of completely destroying civilizations if not contained in the early stages of an outbreak.  Within a matter of hours whole cities can be purged of sentient monkeys, and within days it can go global: ridding the world of over 90% of the homo sapien parasites living on earth!

The fewer people there are on the planet, the further the planet’s resources can be stretched without being strained – the demand for such goods as lumber will plummet (as no one will need to build a house for a long time – just clear out the dead and move into the neighbors place for shelter), gasoline will become readily available to anyone (just get a hose and start siphoning it from the victim’s cars or, if you got the equipment, pump it out from under your local gas station) and the need for oil refineries will disappear overnight (as there will be more than enough gas to last the survivors until they come up with alternative power sources).  Furthermore, the need for ridiculous levels of food production will vanish: fewer people means fewer mouths to feed – and supporting a small population with modern farming technology (such as tractors and harvesting combines) on a local scale would ensure that no one would ever need to go hungry again!

Since smaller populations mean less demand for natural resources, there’s less strain placed on the earth to maintain them – which in turn grants more resources to the planets thousands of species of non-human life forms that have been pushed to the edge of extinction by human activities: with the homo sapien cancer finally in remission, the biosphere will be allowed to recover on its own terms – free from the interference of mankind.

Of course, there will be zombies running around and that would make the activities described above more difficult than they otherwise would be, but if the survivors learn the appropriate combat skills to keep the walking dead at bay they will be able to support small communities with minimal risk to their own persons.  And besides, since zombies are rotting away from the moment they rise from the grave, this state of affairs should only last a couple years at most: at that point, most of the zombies infected in the initial outbreak will have decayed to the point where they pose little or no threat to the living (even the undead don’t “live” forever, you know…).  At any rate, walking corpses pose little threat to a healthy, stalwart population.

Which brings me to my next point…

2.    Culling the weak

Tell me, just how many of the 7 billion or so sentient monkeys running around today know how to fend for themselves outside the context of this artificial environment that was built for them by the powers that be?  How many people know how to kill and skin a rabbit, build a fire with primitive methods, find their way around in the woods without a map or defend themselves from a predator?  Few among modern men can claim such skills.

The reason for this?  The culture of convenience most people have been born into – modern man does not hunt or forage for his meals, he gets them at the supermarket; he does not build fires to keep himself warm at night, he turns up his thermostat when he gets “a little chilly;” he does not navigate rugged country, he travels paved roads; he does not fight a predator that has come to kill him, he hides in a closet and dials 911 for help whenever danger comes to his doorstep.  By and large, modern man is a pathetic lot.

(Note: by no means I’m  saying “don’t go to grocery stores” or “don’t use air conditioning” or any such thing – what I’m saying is that the modern man has lost the ability to survive *without* such things at his beck and call [although I do regard people who dial 911 whenever they see shadows move in the night as weaklings…].)

The zombie apocalypse will strip away all of the trappings modern man is accustomed to – no more grocery stores, satellite navigation, phones with over 500 apps or anything else that he takes for granted.  For the first time since the information age began, modern humans will be forced to stop watching TV and start living life!  The softest and weakest of the lot (particularly politicians, corporate executives, bankers and other members of society’s elite) will certainly wind up casualties of this mass extinction event: those who somehow manage not to get eaten by undead cannibals will not have the necessary skills to survive apart from the social order they built (they never acquired them and would have a very difficult time trying to learn them on the go due to the fact that they never did so much as a solid day’s work in their lives – they know nothing of discipline, persistence or physical stamina due to their pampered lifestyles).

Without the human vermin described above, the majority of the population will be left rudderless and adrift in this strange, new world – since the average person is used to other people handling crisis situations (thanks in large part to general society’s “911” conditioning), most people will follow blindly whatever dictates come to them from “official” sources and get themselves killed in places the TV tells them to seek refuge at.  Only those who are prepared for a major crisis and act as autonomous entities will make it out of the zombie apocalypse alive: and these are the ones that will inherit what’s left of the world – the “fittest” of the species.

Which now brings me to my third point…

3.    New Frontiers

With the weaker elements culled and the globe depopulated all sorts of new opportunities will open up for the survivors – both physically and socially.

On the physical level, all those lands that were once claimed by state powers, corporate entities and other incorporeal beings will be vacant and ripe for the claiming!  Anyone with the manpower and weaponry can lay claim to prime real estate that once only belonged to the “upper crust” of the order, take over entire towns that were once subsidiaries of major business tycoons and strip state-backed military bases of the weapons once used to repress them to ward off the zombies and rival human groups.  Everything that was once the property of some other force would be open for anyone to come over and claim by sheer force of will!

On the social level, the destruction of the prevailing modes of government and commerce opens new niches to be filled by those with the ability to fill them – agro-industry would likely be replaced with localized farming controlled directly by those that work the land, mega stores would be replaced by specialty shops that cater primarily to essentials (Joe’s cobblers instead of Ross or Payless; Sue’s bakery instead of Little Debbie or Sara Lee in grocery stores; Mario’s tool shed instead of Home Depot or Lowe’s; etc…) and the demise of the banks will render all currency useless (meaning the barter system will come back in style).  Also, with states out of the way, communities would be 100% self-governing: the local residents will decide for themselves what general rules and guidelines they want their community to follow, as well as act in the capacity of their community’s own line of defense (no more “law” enforcement or standing armies – the individual enforces his own will and defends his own claims).

In addition to the rise of small communities as these, roving clans of survivalists will pop up to take advantage of the lack of order in the wake of a collapsed civilization – tribes of hardcore hunters and scavengers will arise to procure the material goods left behind by the deceased.  Traveling in packs, these folks will know who to survive off the land when away from the ruins of civilization as well as clear areas of the walking dead so that they might mine the debris for treasures they can use themselves or else trade with other communities of survivors: these are the kind of people that live by their own rules of conduct and won’t have a sedentary lifestyle imposed upon them – sure they face the dangers of the undead more than the others would, but they would be the equivalent of the modern man’s biker gangs in this new world and welcome the danger with open arms like the bad asses they are.

In summary, a zombie apocalypse isn’t the end of the world so much as it is the beginning of a new one – one that a lot more raw, primal and a lot less convoluted than the construct modern man has locked himself into.  The death of the old order creates chaos: and chaos is what makes the birth of a brand new mode of existence possible.

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m very much *hoping* for such an event to give us all a much-needed rebirth – who’s with me?

The canary sang so I ate it @2011 Karla Fetrow

By: Karla Fetrow

“I am beautiful.  Black satin.  Perfection in grace.  A symphony of fluid movement.”

“And I am Persian Blue.  Really, there’s no comparison to my champion color, like quicksilver shimmering on the  water.”  Hepoof stretched out a languid, tufted paw and tapped Miss Filia, causing her to twitch.

“Hah,” she said, rolling away.  “Do you know what the big difference is between you and me?  You are just a cat.  You were born one and throughout your nine lives, you’ll remain just that; a spoiled, pampered cat.  I, on the other hand, was born pure black.  It gives me a special asset.  One night a year, I transform.  I no longer appear just a cat, although I can assure you I have all a cat’s instincts, but I appear as a human.”  She hissed the last words, baring her fangs for emphasis.

“Is that why you disappear on the Day of the Dead?  Oh, don’t think the rest of us weren’t aware of it.  As soon as the spooks come out, we spend all night guarding door posts and windows, hissing warnings of the trespassing intruders, but where are you on this night of all nights when we must stand between the gates of this world and the intangible brew of the Other?  Nowhere to be found!  We always thought you had pussied out and were in a dark corner, hiding.”  He chuckled and tossed a wadded paper ball at her.

She deflected it casually, then sat up, her eyes narrowing.  “Laugh all you want, but I’m telling the truth.  I am part of the undead, the souls drowned in the rivers, scorched in the fires.  One day a year, these souls resurrect to exact their revenge through me, and others like me.  Even now, Mediana is making preparations.  Do you know what she said to me the other day?”  Miss Filia mimicked the voice in a high, nasal snarl.  “Miss Filia, I don’t want you disappearing this year or I’ll begin to suspect that the old wive’s tale about black cats is true.  Old wives tales, indeed.  Humans are silly that way.  If they repeat something that has been passed down through the ages out of wisdom, they think it came from an old wife.”

“What’s an old wife?”  Asked Hepoof, turning upside down to see if it would improve his perspective.

“I’m not really sure… I think it’s one of those poor creatures who are put on a pedigree list and are bought, sold, and put on display.  No lives of their own, really, so they have nothing to do except pass on gossip and occasionally, a little wisdom.  Anyway, that’s all irrelevant.  My point is, Mediana is going to try and keep me inside tonight because she’s afraid of what will happen if I disappear.  I’ve already mapped out my strategy and she can’t stop me.  For three hundred, sixty-four days of the year, I keep her pantry clean of pests.  I beseech the sunbeam’s presence in the windowsill.  I steer her dreams away from nightmares.  I have the right to a one day a year vacation.”

“What will you do when you become human?”  Asked Hepoof, sliding his back along the bed and batting at dust motes.

“Scare everybody,” she hissed, jumping down and stalking out of the room, her tail waving in the air.  The afternoon hour was coming.  She could feel it and she was ready.

It was shamefully easy to get past Mediana’s watchful eye.  All she had to do was remain in the kitchen all afternoon, supervising the assortment of sugary smells that filled the air.  Her quite visible appearance lulled Mediana more than any hiding place would have done.  As soon as it turned dark, however, she melted into the shadows and waited for the first of the small children in their ceremonial garb to knock at Mediana’s door.  When the door opened, she slipped out, and never once was noticed.

She ignored the clusters of children decked out in clumsy costumes, traveling from door to door begging scraps, and trotted off in the direction of the alleys.  With the evening deepening and the moon rising, her time was coming.  The adrenaline in her blood raced.

Let's play hide & seek. I'll hide, then seek you @2011 Karla Fetrow

The alleys would lend secrecy to her transformation, somewhat painful in its beginning.  She groaned as she felt her back legs grow longer, supporting an erect spine, a curved waist and a heaving bosom.  Her silky fur disappeared, leaving only cream colored skin under the mantle of a shimmering velvet cloak.  She let out a piercing cat’s yowl that ended in a human whimper.  As quickly as it had begun, the transformation was over.  Straightening her clothes and dusting herself off, Miss Filia stepped back out on the sidewalk.   She looked with satisfaction at her reflection in a store window.  She appeared beautiful and dangerous, just the way she liked it.

The pickings would be easy.  The streets were filled with revelry.  Punk rockers crashed in and out of bars.  Day time businessmen dressed as ghouls, giddy career women decked out for the night as witches and vampires strolled up and down, enamored with their own cleverness.  She padded silently, her eyes narrowed and calculating.  Perhaps the young fellow dressed as a gangster, or the zombie in tattered wraps, clinging to a lap post singing, “Roxanne”.  She liked that.  “You don’t have to put on the red light”.  She sidled closer, a purr rumbling in her throat.  “You don’t have to sell your body to the night.”

He noticed her and the song ended abruptly on his lips.  “Hello gorgeous!” he said thickly, a haze of inebriation muttering around him.  “Do you want to get high?”  He held out a bottle.

She pushed it away, her fingers moving up his arm and tapping at his neck, “actually,” she answered, her lips close to his ear.  “I was thinking of something a little more… pleasurable.”

He struggled to straighten himself, his glazed eyes frantically trying to come into focus.  “Here?”

“No.  Come with me.  I desire privacy.”

He was like a lamb, a very dazzled and wobbly lamb to be sure, but as innocent and trusting as a lamb nonetheless.  She led him into a dark cul de sac between two tenement buildings, where the moon barely peeked in, spilling a pathway of pale illumination.  She allowed him to fumble in her clothing a moment, then unsheathed her claws, more animalistic painted red and attached to human fingers than her cat claws had ever been.  In an explosion of complete ecstasy, she slashed his face.

“Whoa!”  He said, jumping back.  “That is so rad!  Can you do that again?  Over on this side, please.  Make a long, terrible claw mark across my rib cage.  Oh, baby.  That’s the business.”  She raked him again, and he howled with pleasure.  “Oh, man.  Wait until I tell the others.  They will be so jealous.  Do you have fangs, too?  Bite me!  Bite me right here.  Make me an undead.”

“I’m not a vampire,” she pouted, crossing her arms.  “I’m a cat.”  She extended her claws again and bared her teeth.  “I’m going to shred you piece by piece.”

“That’ll work.  I’m not picky.  You’re an animal, I get it.  You’ll infect me.  Werewolves infect.  Vampires infect.  Everyone knows about cat scratch fever.  It’s all good.  Tear me up, baby.”

She smacked him a couple of times, then shook her head.  “This is no fun.  You’re supposed to be afraid.  You’re supposed to try and escape from me.”

“Oh, sorry.  I’m not trying to spoil your party, but I’ve wanted to get into your club for a long time.  They’ve become a little exclusive, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.  I don’t get out much.  You want to join the undead?”

“It’s the hottest thing out there.”

“I see.  And your friends, they want to join the undead, too?”

“Oh, man!  Rake me up a little more, will ya?  They aren’t going to be impressed with a few kitty scratches.”

“Kitty scratches!  I’ll bite your head off!”  She pounced on him in a series of sharp bites and gouges,  but still he didn’t cower. She looked at her bloody but still eager victim.  “Eh, what’s the use?  It’s not about the killing.  It’s about the fear.  I can’t kill you if you’re not afraid of me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a cat!  Do you think we spend all our time hunting because we’re hungry?  I get plenty to eat.  I live in a house.  I have servants.  I hunt for the fear I instill.”

“I can’t wait until I turn.  Your life is kick ass.”

“And that’s why I won’t kill you.  You’ll have to wait.  Your wounds will heal.  If you want to become a cat, you’ll have to come by it honestly.  Get yourself drowned for being a witch or burned at the stake.”  She left him while he was still pleading for her to finish him off.

She made a couple more half-hearted attempts, but with the same results.  All her potential victims were more than willing to be mauled, mutilated and mangled if they could join the undead.  She shuddered at the thought of these strange, new people moving into the neighborhood as household cats.  Haunting was a serious business and they all seemed to think it was a lark.

Her desolate footsteps finally found their way to Salty’s Nip and Tuck.  It was a cross world tavern, the kind of place you don’t notice unless drawn by the strange glimmerings of twilight or already belong to the ethereal world  of  darkness and shadows.  It was a favorite haunt of swashbucklers, pirates and sea-faring adventurers, all claimed by the ocean’s depths ages ago.  The atmosphere was deathly, but their sordid tales were sung with gusto and their camaraderie was lively.

Hey babe, where you been all my death? @2011 Karla Fetrow

The bartender recognized her.  “Miss Filia!  What are you hankering tonight?  Some catnip tea?”  He poured a cup of warm, tempting fluid.  She couldn’t resist.  She lapped it up, purring, and began swiping at a skeletal head dangling from a hangman’s noose.

“Ah, now.  Don’t go bothering Marty.  He’s feeling sensitive.  He hasn’t been able to get a good scream out of anyone all night.”

“Marty, too?”  She sighed and rolled a wine glass around on the counter.  “What happened?  Why aren’t people afraid of us anymore?”

“I don’t know.  There’s some that say there have been too many converts.  Look around this place.  Have you ever seen it so crowded?”  She agreed she had not.  “I’ve had so many new customers, I was forced to invoke the no suicides clause. We haven’t had to do that since the stock market crash of the nineteen twenties.   It’s even worse at Black-Out apartments.  They are so crowded, the League of Vampires has called for stricter immigration procedures and population controls.  The zombies are the worst.  They don’t listen to anyone and they’re packed like sardines in their basement cells.  The town council has given until the end of the fiscal year to raise a few good scares or else…”

“Or else what?”  She asked sharply.

The bartender sighed and dropped his head, then rolled it back up to his shoulders.  Miss Filia’s eyes glittered and she swatted with both hands.  “Don’t mess with my head, please,” he begged, holding it in place.  “They’re moving out.  We’re all moving out.  We’re closing down the borders.  Many of us are thinking of relocating in Nirvana.”

“Nirvana!  Not much happening there.  What about Operation 2012?  Isn’t it still going on?”

“Somebody screwed up the dates concerning the Rapture.  After the first panic, everyone settled down, and we haven’t been able to raise a single 2012 scare since then. Asteroid collisions?  They’re all over it.  They can’t think of anything more exciting.  Nuclear melt-down?  They can’t wait to become mutants.  Black holes?  They’re so damned curious, they want to know what’s inside one.”

“What if I thought of a way to scare humans?  Would you stay if I did that?”

“You want us to stay?”

“Well, yes.  Where would I go on my cat walks if I had no one in the shadow world to visit?  I’m not like you.  I spend most of my lives in the human world.  I have six more to go before I’m ready for Nirvana.”

“The rules are pretty strict.  No entrance until you’ve met all the qualifications for redemption.  Most of us old timers were redeemed a long time ago.  We only stuck around for the chuckle scaring brings.  If you can give me a good laugh, I’ll keep my shop open.  With all these new converts, I won’t lack for business.”

Miss Filia was extremely thoughtful as she made her way home. She reached the front door and opened it with the emergency key always kept hidden in the lattice work, and went inside just as the first rays of sunlight began returning her to her cat form.  She tiptoed into the bedroom and curled up at the foot of Mediana’s bed, confident she had not been missed.

She brooded nearly the entire day, pretending to be asleep, but with her eyes were tiny slits as she unobtrusively watched Hepoof play in the yard.  His brains were about as fluffy as his coat, but; she thought suddenly, maybe he could help her.  Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating. Maybe there was a way to scare the humans. Maybe Hepoof was just the right tool.  Making sure to appear casual, she did the old one-two-three stretch with each leg, then yawning expansively, asked Mediana if she could go out.  “Don’t you go too far,” scolded Mediana.  “You didn’t come out last night when I called you for bed.  I’d like to know where you’ve been hiding.”

Miss Filia mewed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” and flicked her tail.  There were plenty of hiding places in the house.  Mediana knew this.  She was just fishing for new information.

Hepoof had cornered a mouse.  He smacked it, encouraging it to run, than pounced, capturing it in his paws again.  “Did you see that?  Pretty fast, huh?  I’ve clocked twenty minutes and not one claw mark yet.  Don’t try taking it.  This is my mouse.  If you want one, go find your own.”

“Yes, about that.”  Miss Filia circumvented the mouse held tightly in Hepoof’s paws, and rubbed up against him, whispering in his ear.

“You don’t say!”  Gasped Hepoof with surprise, nearly releasing his grasp on the mouse.  “You weren’t able to scare anyone?”

“Yes, and that’s not all.”  She whispered to him some more, than sat back and washed her face.

“This is terrible.”  Hepoof batted at the mouse experimentally.  It was still alive.  “But what a wicked plan,” he added, smiling.

“Then you’ll help?”

“I’ll call on the cat brigade.  We’ll have everything ready by tonight.”

That evening, a very unsuspecting Mediana retired to her bedroom and made her normal night time preparations.  To all appearances, there was nothing out of order, except that from the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the blankets move.  Not sure if it was fantasy or fatigue playing tricks on her exhausted mind, she sat in her dressing room chair and decided to watch the blankets a little closer.  This time, there was no mistaking it.  Something fluttered.  Something awful squirmed under the covers.  Finding nothing but a can of hair spray for a weapon, she advanced cautiously on her bed.

She whisked back the blankets, hair spray ready.  From out of her bed sprang dozens and dozens of mice!  They scattered and squirmed.  They leapt to the floor.  They scampered in every direction, up her dresser, into the bathroom, out her door and spilling across the hallway.  She screamed.  “Mice!”

She ran into the yard, the mice following her in packs, in herds, thundering across the deck and diving into the shrubs.  From a dozen homes up and down the street, neighbors were standing in the yard, screaming with terror, while a single word echoed, “Mice!”  From the shadow world, there rose a great chuckle, while the cats sat on their outposts and purred.  Tomorrow would be soon enough to clean up the mess.  For tonight, they were in Nirvana.

By Bill the Butcher

Good evening. Your favourite reporter, Bill the Butcher, went to great trouble to meet and interview one of Al Qaeda’s top terror masterminds, Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi, in his hideout somewhere in the wilds of a major European city.

The process for arranging the interview was simple; I just picked up the nearest telephone directory and looked under “freedom-hating evildoer”. A few phone calls later, a discreet car turned up at my front door, discreetly escorted by two CIA men in another discreet vehicle. A very nice-looking young terrorist drove me back to the secret hideout, regaling me with stories of his friends in the corridors of power in Washington. After reaching the million dollar mansion modest suburban flat without internet or air-conditioning where the terror mastermind was hiding out, my driver escorted me through a series of body scanners and TSA-trained body searchers before admitting me to the Holy of Holies, Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi’s inner chamber where he sat at a large desk in an oval-shaped office.

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi is a man you would instantly know is an evildoer. He’s tall and handsome, and has a brilliant smile with even teeth and perfectly set hair. When he talks, he exudes such perfectly insincere charm that he’d be a natural for the role of presidential candidate used car salesman. Before starting the interview, he kindly posed for photographs with his charming wife, two daughters, and pet cat. However, due to the fact that the TSA-trained body searchers had confiscated my camera, I could not actually take photographs. Mr Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi promised me that he would Change the security measures to make it easier for those like me to do our jobs in future.

Excerpts from the interview:

Bill: Thank you for granting me this interview, Mr Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi. I must say that I’m impressed by your group’s dedication.

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: It’s all the fruit of the sacrifices made by our valiant terrorists in the war against freedom and democracy. We will strive on until final victory, because our enemy represents everything we hate in the world, like freedom and democracy. We hate freedom and democracy, in case I haven’t mentioned it before.

Bill: Why do you hate freedom and democracy?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: Because we’re evildoers. Didn’t you do any research before coming here?

Bill: Uh, well. Why did you decide to become an Al Qaeda terrorist?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: It’s tough being a freedom-hating evildoer in a nine-to-five job. You try and see how that works out for you. Besides, how could you ever get famous that way? If I were a construction supervisor, would you’ve bothered interviewing me?

Bill: Any other reason?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: We wanted Change. Al Qaeda guarantees Change. Also it guarantees that people in key defence industries continue to make a profit. While the rest of the world economy goes down the drain, it’s nice to see someone profiting for a Change.

Bill (reaching into pocket): I think I have some Loose Change here…

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: Not that kind of Change. We don’t want the Truth, just the youth.

Bill: Tell me, now that the Americans killed Osama bin Laden, isn’t your group feeling the pressure?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: Bin Laden? I have a secret to tell you about bin Laden.

Bill: Secret? What secret?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: He was a zombie.

Bill: Huh?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: You know how many times he died? But he kept coming back and coming back from the dead, over and over. It got to the point you could hardly stand the smell. So they put him down by shooting him through the head. Even then the stink was so great they had to throw him in the ocean. Otherwise it would’ve stunk up some very high places. Places just below High Heaven. You know how bad odours are.

Bill: Uh, yeah. I mean, anything’s possible, right? So you mean to say his killing hasn’t weakened your organisation?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: No, why should it? Our greatest friends and allies sit in the highest positions of power, after all. They need us strong, not weak. You saw the escort they provided to make sure you reached me safely? And you saw the security they’ve laid on?

Bill (massaging crotch): Yes, and they groped me hard enough to blow up any bombs I might have been carrying. Why do they need you strong, if they call you their enemies?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: Why do you think? [Pours whisky] Try this. The best bourbon in the world. With the compliments of the FBI, and tested toxin-free, don’t worry.

Bill: Thanks. So the conspiracy theorists are right? You’re in this together?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi [sinister silence]

Bill (hurriedly): What do you have to say to accusations that you want to set up an Islamic Caliphate?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: Why shouldn’t we? Our dear friends in the decadent West are busy setting up a Denominationist Christian realm, after all. We’re both against the weak-kneed anti-religion bleeding-heart liberal scum who…[trails off into incoherent abuse] And those secular dictators. Like, I mean, man, we all hate them there socialist vermin. You know, how we’re on the same side against them.

Bill: So you’re still strong?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: You bet we’re still strong. Just yesterday we set up another group of freedom-hating democracy-hating freedom fighter democracy activists in Syria.

Bill (after brief pause): Can you tell me why you haven’t attacked the US recently with effective weapons? After all, shoe bombers and underwear bombers aren’t very effective, are they?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: But now everyone has to take off their shoes and pretty much take off their underwear before boarding a flight, don’t they? And once we carry out our next planned failed bombing…

Bill: Which is?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: They’re going to demand every passenger have dental X-rays and enemas before being allowed to fly. I’ll say no more.

Bill: Are you scared of assassination by drones?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: I love the drones. I love how I can have them kill my rivals and enemies. Only yesterday I… [passage redacted in order to protect identities of sources and preserve military secrets]. Besides, by wiping out kids and women, it keeps the population under control. You know what a problem overpopulation is.

Bill: Uh. OK. I have another question that you might want to answer. Why have you never thought to attack Wall Street?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: Why should we attack Wall Street? They’re doing our jobs for us. Hitting Wall Street would be like chopping off your worst enemy’s hand just as he’s about to cut his own throat. Not a good idea. [Stands] Well, I’ve some evil to do before supper.

Bill: One final question. How long do you think it’s going to take to destroy freedom and democracy?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: It’s already done. It was done for us.

Bill: It was?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: You haven’t been paying attention, have you? We’re proud to announce those things don’t exist anywhere any longer. [Gestures] Your escort is here.

Bill: My escort? What escort? [CIA men grab him] What the hell is this?

Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi: You know too much now to let you go. Happy renditioning!

[I’ve just escaped from a secret CIA prison under Buckingham Palace. I am now crouching under the Queen’s chair, and am posting this interview in haste before I can be recaptured. Look out! Abu Qatil-i-Khoonkharabi’s secret hideout is in bhiohgoighgfh0-

By: Penucquem

A story to be given ‘in the native story-telling style’.

Let us have a look at the fate of Don Rumsfeld, the colonist who renamed ‘Old Europe’, to be henceforth known as ‘Old Europe’ (he is really bright), and the consequence of Old Europe’s bringing ‘dick’ or the malevolent repressed gay social phenomena called ‘Machismo’, to the ‘New World’…

You’ve all heard of the first grade primer ‘Dick and Jane’? Well, as fate would have it, Dick did not grow up to love Jane, because Dick (like Don) matured into a homosexual in denial, or “RRR” (sounds like a Rottweiler growl), one of those closet morality, socially/sexually frustrated and consequently mean people known as a Religious Right Republican.

So, this has to be an adult repressed homosexual ‘dick’, or machismo porn variation, of the ‘Dick and Jane’ story. Consequently, the tale of how Don Rumsfeld met his demise, because of Dick Cheney’s dog, is pretty screwed up.

It’s called: Don and ‘dick’

Rumsfeld was visiting ‘big dick’ Cheney at Cheney’s ‘spread’ in Wyoming, Cheney was wishing he could have shot George Bush in the face with his shotgun because the coward George flinched and did not pull the trigger on Iran…

While reminiscing missed opportunities at initiating Armageddon, wishing they could have shot more people in the face, especially more Arabs, and about their longing for certain fascists to be in their lives, past and present, secular and religious.. Among other things, Rummy suddenly asked ‘big dick’ why his Rottweiler, “Machismo”, was always locked in his kennel.

Mean people have mean dogs and, Dick explained to Don that “Machismo” had an edge about him; Machismo simply could not be trusted around visitors. Dick went on to explain how he wished it were otherwise and how he wished Machismo could be trusted to obey him and only tear apart people that he did not like, he’d tried dog trainers but they cost him money, too much money, because Machismo took a chuck of flesh out of all of them, every dog trainer he had tried. His insurance premiums had gone sky high, all on account of Machismo.

Rumsfeld: “Why don’t you get a different dog?”

Cheney: “Because I love my Machismo.”

Then Don had an idea.

Rumsfeld: “Hey Dick, there is the Arapaho Indian Reservation right up the road, why don’t you get a Medicine Man to take the edge off your Machismo? I saw on the Discovery Channel the Indians can talk to animals, you know they are all devil worshippers, so maybe there is something to it.”

Dick’s eyes brightened considerably, an amazing thing, as though a light had turned on upstairs, but then his brow furrowed back to normal, as though nobody were home.

Cheney: “That’s the problem. They are all devil worshipers, you know, Indians are sorcerers like the Old Testament forbids be ‘found among us.’”

So Don and Dick discussed that and came up with a solution. If they were not at Dick’s ‘spread’ while the medicine man worked with Dick’s Machismo, the sorcerer would not be found ‘among them’ and it would all be ok in the end, because St Paul had said “All things work together for good” for Christians like Don and Dick. So they sent a Secret Service agent to find a medicine man with an explanation of how Dick would like the edge taken off of his Machismo, and then went quail hunting, so the Indian sorcerer would not be ‘found among them.’

The secret service agent found a medicine man, a Blackfoot married to an Arapaho and living in Wyoming, a typical dumb Indian, who with a look of stunned disbelief, kept asking the agent again and again “What!?” After the agent had identified himself four times and explained Dick Cheney wanted the edge taken off his Machismo eight times, a light filled this Blackfoot Indian’s eyes, this agent was serious, and the devil was right at home.

Indians know when the gods deliver the opportunity of a lifetime, and this was opportunity at redemption. It had been awhile since the medicine men had been noticed, that is, the now days scarce authentic ones, and the agent had stumbled onto the real McCoy. First and foremost, this Indian believed in the Native law of reciprocity and well knew how it worked, something the Whitemen had not sorted out since Jesus had told them about it two millennia ago: “As you sow, so shall you reap.”

In this Indian’s world view, the opportunity was all about deliverance, and the attending attrition from any consequence, a sort of natural quantum mechanics shamanic death manifest by friendly fire, simply would have to be tolerated, because the medicine men are all about manifesting truth, and this native cultural idea taken together with the dogs name, set out the path to healing Dick’s Machismo: The dog would have to be taught how to enjoy narcissistic sex, instead of biting people.

Initially, the medicine man realized he would have to endure Machismo’s instinct to hump his leg, that was disturbing, but to reach the goal beyond… The Indian told the agent, well, ok, he would do it for ‘dick.’ The agent missed the straight faced Indian humor… and utterly failed his agency’s chartered mandate.

Indians are observational people, primarily, and know the purpose of dog butt sniffing rituals, sort of like when a Blackfoot and Cree spot each other from across a boulevard in downtown Calgary, the hair goes up on both backs and both Indians are thinking to the other “You can sniff my butt” in a historical context, and it is not a friendly thought. The actual butt sniffing between them is purely psychic, preceding any challenge and fight, and the medicine man doctoring Dick’s Machismo would need to circumvent this phenomenon to achieve his aims. So sorcery came into play. He collected urine from a bitch in heat, rubbed a little of it on his knee, and bringing more along in a vial, he traveled to heal Dick’s Machismo.

The dog was very happy to see him, no hostility or butt sniffing ritual encountered at all, the Indian told the agent he had to work with the dog alone, brought out a plastic baby rattle wrapped in leather with a few strings with beads, to look convincing, and Dick’s fundamentalist Christian body guard was more than happy to leave. Then this Indian began to work with Dick’s Machismo… “Now Machismo, my leg is a good beginning, but we have to show you something, you don’t need my leg or me at all, you can do this all for yourself- just follow her scent to where it feels so right….”

In Blackfoot language we have a word, I don’t know how to spell it in the Whiteman’s language, but it sounds something like oww-woe-tops and it means you are crazy and “everyone knows the Whiteman is crazy” is a Blackfoot proverb proven again and again, example given, Dick Cheney hiring an Indian that hates him, as every Indian should, to tame his Machismo. There is another Blackfoot word I dare not try to pronounce here, but it means “Dog Face.” It is about as bad as Blackfeet language profanity gets, and it is not as tame as it might seem, initially. The term refers to a certain facial expression…

Don and Dick were headed back to Dicks ‘spread’, the agent had called and told them the medicine man had pronounced Dick’s Machismo healed and was leaving, and as fate would have it, the medicine man, and Don and Dick, passed each other on the dirt and gravel country road, the Indian pushing his 1968 Chevy pickup named the “Red Jet” as hard as he could, the worn out 327 V-8 boiling blue smoke into the dust storm he was whipping up behind him, windows down, braids flying, wild eyed panic combined with a maniacal mirth at his crime, co-mingled with prayers to all the gods that he WOULD escape… thinking when he saw Don and Dick “you can sniff my butt” while trying to put on as many miles as he could, as fast as he could, to escape Dick’s ‘spread.’ Don said “God Damn”, Dick in the same moment saying “he must have brought along his whiskey”…

Dick and Don, walking to the kennel, turned a corner bringing Machismo into view in that very moment Machismo was swallowing it, gulping himself down with a certain facial expression… Don had a sudden epiphany, and he exclaimed “Machismo sucks!”, and Dick’s perpetual grimace of hate torqued down to the point it actually broke his primitive semblance of a mind, he pulled his permitted concealed weapon…

The camera pans away to the beautiful red rock cliffs of Wyoming, there was a first shot echoed together with Machismo’s dying yelp, Don shouted “NO!” and the second shot was heard… a pause.. The third shot sounded and America never heard Dick Cheney say “Terror” again.

In the here-after, for all of eternity, Don repeated “Look Dick, look. See Machismo suck!” And for all of eternity Dick shot Machismo and Don, again and again and could not kill them or himself (because they were already dead.)

The Secret Service agent kept his mouth shut about his role in the cause behind the Rumsfeld/Cheney murder/suicide, and no one came after the medicine man who laughed for years, again and again like a child, every time he recalled:

“You can sniff my butt”

By: Bill the Butcher

Good evening, everyone.

Good evening from my cage, here in Occupied Cuba, with the bats flying home for the evening, and the warm night settling around me. Such a nice warm night, so different from the cold of home. Don’t you wish you were here when you look out of your window?

You do? Well, not all of us can be so lucky.

Yes, this is indeed a holiday. A holiday, here in Guantanamo Bay.

Yes, Guantanamo Bay, where I was renditioned in a top secret operation last night. My captors came in the dead of night, tenderly wrapped me in a padded strait jacket (all the better for me not to hurt myself with) and sent me on this nice, all-expenses paid, holiday. I don’t know what I did to deserve this good fortune. I’d never have been able to afford to visit the other half of the world, and they’re bringing me here without my even asking! Truly, they are kind.

So: here I sit, in the chic orange jumpsuit my hosts have so kindly given me; a vast improvement on the white clinical coat I am accustomed to spend my days, I can assure you.

My guard is a nice guy; a very nice man indeed. Just now he was here and informing me to shut the fuck up. I responded that since I wasn’t fucking I couldn’t oblige, so could he please provide me a woman, or at least a blow-up doll, I could fuck so that I could shut the fuck up? I really don’t know why he went off tearing his hair in anguish.

But then I really think the poor man has problems. This morning, just after I arrived, he told me to behave or else. Or else what? I asked. Or else, he said, he’d knock my block off. I looked around, and I didn’t see any block. Not a block in sight! When I said that, he grabbed my head, pushed it between my knees, and pressed his knee into my back until it creaked. When he let me up again, my old backache had entirely disappeared. And when I thanked him, he began to cry.

The man needs help.

Now you know I have this weight problem. And these people here have very kindly decided to restrict my diet so I can slim down. Accordingly, I’ve only got a biscuit to eat today, and a glass of water, in which I could see some tiny creatures creeping around. Live protein; see how kind they are? And water only, that will help cure me of alcoholism as well, won’t it? They’re treating me very well indeed.

And so, you’ll see a revitalised, slimmer, non-drunken Bill after they let me out. Whenever that is.

Then, there was this theological discussion I had with some of them. This happened in a nice, congenial setting where I was given a bath, with no effort on my part. I didn’t even have to walk to the bath. They took me there on a trolley, lying serenely on my back watching the clouds float by. Then they tenderly secured me to a board and pushed me gently into a tub full of water. It’s certainly not their fault that I initially feared drowning. Soon enough I managed to control my breathing reflex, and I am sure that a few more sessions and I will never be able to drown. I may even learn swimming!

Ah yes, the theological discussion. After the bath, these kind gentlemen sat me down in a chair and strapped me to it in their desire not to have me fall over. I wasn’t going to, but it shows their concern. Then, one of them offered to cram my Koran down my throat. Since I did not possess one, it was something he could not do, and I informed him of it. He kind of goggled a bit and then told me my god was a stone. I told him as far as I was concerned my god was stoned, all right, stoned to the gills.

One of the others then informed me that I was a hook-nosed camel fucker. Unfortunately, I’ve never had any direct experience of camels, but I asked him to provide me with one so I could fuck it and see what it felt like. The only thing I asked was that it ought to be a female camel, since I’m not gay.

Also, of course, my nose isn’t hooked. So I asked if he’d be kind enough to lay on plastic surgery as well. I don’t know why he looked so unhappy. I was only trying to be helpful.

Wasn’t I?

He then went off muttering something about interrogation techniques. Then they put me back on the stretcher and wheeled me back here, another guard pushing my head down carefully so I didn’t strike it on the lintel of the cage door.

Yes, careful of my safety, they are!

Then there was this nice large dog that came up and smelt me. I’m sure he liked what he smelt, because he wagged his tail and began jumping on me. I don’t know why the soldier with him was kind of upset and dragged him off. All kinds of weird people in the world, I suppose.

Ah, did I mention the dark hood they put on my head so the lights don’t bother me? I can sleep so nicely now. Pity about the guard sobbing in the background. Why is he sobbing? I don’t know.

After all, I just told him he has halitosis. Is that so bad?

He needs help, I tell you.