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. More FGAQ . VO Regulars . other reads . heh heh heh . music . news & research
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Friday, February 13, 2004 |
Stupid Kid Captured
Welcome partiot99. It will take a few moments for your chat room session to begin….
partiot99 has entered the chat room
partiot99>hello?
Sadir>welcome partiot99
mohammed007>hey
partiot99>is it safe to talk?
Sadir>safe to talk? You mean what?
partiot99>talk stuff. INFO!!!
mohammed007>oh sure, it’s safe. We’ve got a firewall
partiot99>cool. U guys are cool? U the real guys? U Moslems?
mohammed007>You bet we’re legit. I was born Moslem. I’ve never even been outside of Iraq. Praise Allah. Ask me where I am right now.
partiot99>where r u at?
mohammed007>Iraq
partiot99>wow!
Sadir>what can we do for you partiot?
partiot99>I have secret info
mohammed007>Really? You sound like you are the man… what does your name mean?
partiot99>u no, a patriot, like a hero. I want 2 help all of my Moslem brothers escape from the yokes of…
Sadir>you spelled it wrong
partiot99>???
Sadir>you spelled patriot wrong. Your screen name.
mohammed007>he doesn’t have any intelligence
Sadir>yeah, I don’t think so either
partiot99>Do too!!!!!!!
partiot99>how do I change my name?
Sadir>you have to log out and log back in again
mohammed007>what you got intelligence on kid?
partiot99>im not a kid, im a soldier
Sadir>LOL
mohammed007>what you got intelligence on soldier?
partiot99>tanks
Sadir>your welcome
mohammed007>ROTFLMAO
partiot99>???
mohammed007>Ah, I think we know just about everything there is to know about tanks
partiot99>but this is all secret. im a crewman for the 81st… hold on, im gonna go change my name.
partiot99 has left the chat room
Welcome patriot99. It will take a few moments for your chat room session to begin….
patriot99 has entered the chat room
Patriot99> hello?
Jones>welcome patriot99
smith007>hey
Patriot99> who r u guys?
Jones>It’s us. We’ve gone deep undercover.
smith007>yeah. We turned the firewall all the way up.
Jones>cause we’re pretty sure that we can’t trust you..
smith007>yeah. I don’t think we can trust you with the People’s Secrets. You’re just a kid. Praise Allah.
Patriot99> im not a kid. Ive got documents!!! Whats ur email? Ill send them
Jones>I think it’s a waste of time, smith007
smith007>I know Jones, but lets give him a shot. Okay kid. It’s alqaeda@msn.com
Patriot99> no way!!!!!!
Jones>Way. Last thing the Feds would ever suspect…
Jones> Got it.
Patriot99> its good isn’t it? its good
Smith007> looks darn good kid. No, make that soldier. Looks great soldier.
Jones> that’s darn good intelligence
Smith007> How’d you like to meet our boss, soldier? I’m sure you’ve heard of Mister X. He makes great baklava.
Patriot99> that’d be cool
Jones> Okay Anderson, I mean patriot99… Let’s see… we have you located in Tacoma, Washington… that’s Elicott Street?
Patriot99>yeah. 1240 Elicott
Smith007> Cool. Mister X should be there before you can say ‘Praise Allah’
Jones>Pleasure working with you sir.
Patriot99> thanks
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5:57:24 PM 
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Thursday, February 12, 2004 |
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He was the bravest of them all...
How many roads must a man walk down, before they can call him a man? Lord, Lord. And how many times must a cannonball fly, before they are forever banned? (I'm thinkin maybe we can get you an answer on that cannonball question.)
You know, a man only has so many heartaches that he can bear, and so many teardrops that he can cry. There are only a finite number of rants that a bloggin man can type, Lord, Lord, but there are an infinite number of song parodies that he can write, and I'm gonna write me up one right now.
This is a story bout a car drivin man. A mans got to work cause a mans got to eat, and it is the lot in life of some men that they got to drive a vehicle for the sake of feedin up their family. But sometimes a man may pick up the wrong passenger along the way, Lord, Lord, and when that happens, then a mans gotta pay the price. Such is the story of Salim Ahmed Hamdan, who chose to transport a bad man from place to place.
Now in the spirit of that brave yet anonymous fellow who put a hole in Liberty Valance, it's time for me to play you a little song. Hellfire! I hardly had to change the lyrics at all! One two three...
When Old Osama rode to town the womenfolk would hide, they'd hide
When Old Osama walked around the men would step aside, aside
Cause the point of a gun was the only law Osama understood
When it came to usin' rocket mortars - he was mighty good.
From out of the East a stranger came with car keys in his hand, his hand
The kind of a man the West would need to drive a Chevy van, a van
Cause a ride in the front was the only ride Osama understood
When it came to settin FM stations - he was mighty good.
The man who drove Osama bin Laden
He drove Osama bin Laden
He was the...
<ring... ring...>
Scuze me.
Hello? Heh, heh. No, you're not... Shit... Oh. Well, howdy there, Johnny boy... Uh... Okay... I'm dropping the accent... Right now, okay. Sorry, Mister Ashcroft. Your call was unexpected. Yeah, I mean yes sir, I did think it was kind of funny. No, no, that's just the name of my blog... Weblog. No sir, it's not a treatise. No sir, I'm not glorifying anything. Well... Well... Not intentionally sir. No... No, you're right, I don't have any personal knowledge of Salim Ahmed Hamdan... No, never heard of him until yesterday, and I just thought it was kind of funny that bin Laden's chauffer was in Guantanamo Bay... No... No... It was in the newspapers... No, all of them. Hell, I just read it in the News in Brief section of the Chicago Sun Times. I wish to God I'd written about the Garfunkel pot fine now... Yes sir. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and pot, very funny. Can I use that? Okay... Okay... You know, I haven't even posted the Hamdan piece yet, and I was wondering how you... Yes sir... Yes sir... You're right. It is none of my business.... Yes... Okay... I will. My nose is clean... Yes sir... Will be clean.... Okay... Okay. Bye bye.
Sorry folks. Where was I? Okay, one two three...
When Art Garfunkel came to town all the drug dealers smiled, they smiled,
And when Garfunkel hit the deli his sub would be high piled, high piled
Cause the bowl of a bong was the only law that Garfunkel understood
When it came to scorin high grade reefer - he was mighty good.
From out of the east... |
12:52:24 PM
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Sunday, February 08, 2004 |
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Growing Old with the Band |
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I spent Tuesday night at the State Theater in the fine company of the most enigmatic band of all time, the fabulous Residents. It was not my first time.
Way back in the mid-to-late seventies, commercial radio had reached its nadir. This was a time when – comparatively speaking – the Eagle’s were the bomb. The only good stations were the black ones, where P-Funk was kicking ass and taking names. The major record labels had cut back to a trickling of new releases, the theory being that no record should be released that didn’t have the potential to go double-platinum.
This had a marvelous consequence. Small market and college radio stations rebelled and began playing obscure and low budget product. Idiosyncratic Zines popped up everywhere, just like web sites did in the late nineties. Everybody started making their own records, including relatively untalented individuals like yours truly. Suddenly, I found myself on playlists around the country, right along side legends like Pere Ubu, The Cramps, and The Slickee Boys. And of course, the Residents.
It didn’t last long. The major labels, smelling a new market, promptly stepped in. Whoops, there go the Talking Heads. Whoops, there goes Richard Hell. Suddenly, the game – once again – was to get signed. By 1982, I knew it wasn’t going to happen for me. I had recently made my best single, but by now, no station was interested in giving it a spin. After all, the majors now paid the bills.
I hung it up and got a ‘responsible’ job, but the Residents never did, issuing one fascinating disk after another on their own Ralph label.
And here we are, twenty years later, with the Residents having just released the best work of their career, the haunting ‘Demons Dance Alone’. No one cares. No station will play it. No one will review it. Very few people will ever hear it. The Residents have no powerhouse backing. And they are old.
The stage at the State Theater is wide and open access. I stand by the lip of the stage and look up at the lead singer. He is anonymous, but his voice is not, strong and eccentric as thirty years ago. He is only wearing a partial mask tonight, and from my vantage point I can see much of his face. The eyeholes let me peer in, and I can see that that his eyes have sunk deeply into wrinkled skin. He looks ancient, but he can’t possibly be. I remember when…
For thirty years, the Residents have held onto their mystery, but tonight they at least open a peephole into the fourth wall. During their third rendition of ‘Mister Wonderful’, the old man sits and tells a story. It is a college story from 1965, and he has met one of his idols, the Godfather of Soul, at a gas station. After providing directions, James Brown reaches out and shakes his hand. “That,” he says, “was the best day of my life.” And then the music rises back up, with the melancholy phrase “That would be wonderful” greeting each new couplet. He sings from a sad reality. “If I had a major label / and a way to pay my bills” (that would be wonderful)… “If my old friend Snakefinger / hadn’t had a heart attack” (that would be wonderful). It was wonderful.
The show continues for another twenty minutes. The old man is right in front of me, near exhaustion. He is close enough for me to touch. I watch the sweat literally pour out from underneath his mask, and know that he has given more of himself tonight then he really has left to give.
The Residents are nearly dead. Long live the Residents. They are old but they have persevered. By not giving up, they have succeeded, much more than they will ever know.
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10:38:24 AM
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Thursday, January 29, 2004 |
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At the Mall
[under the influence of Iraq & too much Monty Python]
Man: Pardon me, Miss. I’d like to buy a good scaring.
Clerk: Aww, you’re looking for the Fear Factory, aren’t you? They’re all the way down at the other end of the mall.
Man: This is the House of Emotion, is it not?
Clerk: Yes it is. Good day, what can I do for you sir?
Man: Well, as I was just saying, I’m interested in a good frightening. I was wondering if you could scare my socks off.
Clerk: Fraid we can’t do that sir. Not in our inventory.
Man: Oh, I understand. Listen, price is no object to me. Look here my good woman, here’s a twenty for you if you’ll just double check… I’m sure you have something frightening.
Clerk: Well, I’ll just take a look under the counter then, maybe there’s a little something you’d fancy back here…. Doo dee doo doh, doo dee doo doh…
[The shop door is suddenly flung open, and three Cardinals rush in with swords above their heads]
Cardinals: ROOOOO!
Man: My goodness. I didn’t expect this.
Lead Cardinal: NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is suprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise.... Our two weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our *three* weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope....
Man: Stop it, stop it right now. You’re turning this whole thing into a farce.
Clerk: You didn’t like that?
Man: It’s not a question of liking it or not, is it? They certainly did surprise me, I’ll grant you that. [Cardinals turn and skulk away] But I’m not here for a surprise, am I? I distinctly told you I wanted a good frightening, and at this point I am not the slightest bit afraid,
Clerk: Not the slightest bit?
Man: Not the slightest bit. My predominant emotion at the moment seems to be one of impatience. Now listen, I’m a bit rushed for time, and I would appreciate it very much if you would hurry up and throw the fear of God into me.
Clerk: I see. You’d like a little something in a nice religious awe, then.
Man: I want you to frighten me. I want to be jolted, panicked. Terrify me, woman. Frighten the bejesus out of me. Horrified is the word I’m looking for, I want to be petrified with fear.
Clerk: I’m sorry. You want the Fear Factory. Other end of the mall, take a right beside the Orange Julius, you’ll see it.
Man: This is the House of Emotion and you can’t frighten me?
Clerk: Well, that’s not really an emotion is it? Fear, I mean. More of a response, I’d say. You know, fight or flight, all that. It’s an anticipation or awareness of danger, like if I were to try and kill you. Here, now, take this card. This is for the Fear Factory, it’s at the…
Man: Other end of the mall.
Clerk: Right beside the Orange Julius. Ask for Saddam.
Man: Will he try to kill me?
Clerk: He might.
Man: He might? Now see here, I want a good scare. What good is ‘He might’?
Clerk: It doesn’t matter as long as you believe he will.
Man: This is a mall! In the middle of town! Full of people. Just how am I supposed to believe he will?
Clerk: Now that I can help you with.
2/14/03 |
7:33:09 PM
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DARKPROFITS
Many people are searching for info on Dark Profits today, and at first I was not sure why. I couldn’t log into their scary website at www.darkprofits.com either, and I’m guessing their traffic and their bandwidth are miles apart. They apparently sent out another mass mailing today which has people trying to hunt them down and insert a funky boot up their posteriors.
I wrote about Dark Profits a few months ago, but those notes have since been swallowed up… Here is the part that I know. Dark Profits is a closed organization that I am thinking is related to marketing, and it’s a good guess that they may be primarily involved in the seedier side of web commerce. At any rate, if you visit their site, you will find a lot of private forums, a notice which states that they are no longer accepting new members, and practically no other information. They are well positioned to become an urban legend, and have been unsatisfactorily noted in debunker site Snopes.
Snopes doesn’t really have much information about Dark Profits itself. It's all third person. Their information consists primarily of a couple of 'well-known' ‘Joe Jobs’ directed at DarkProfits. (A joe job is defined as ‘an attempt to pin blame on an uninvolved third party by forging messages in their name’.) In other words, an attempt to get people pissed at Dark Profits. But why? Why would you get pissed at a faceless, nameless organization? Possibly if you got an email that outraged you.
Take a look at this piece, which if memory serves me well was sent out about a year and a half ago. Now to me, this piece seems ridiculous, what with it’s offer of liquid heroin and gay slaves (plus free, a pack of 2 CDs, with best selection of child pornography.) But to the right sort of person, your Bill O’Reilly type who sees the internet as the most unfortunate and lowly of necessary evils, this letter could cause serious mind blowage.
Much more effective, I think, is this mailing, which rouses fear of credit card theft and trouble at the office. This is a classic beauty of a credit card scam, and it’s a fair bet that whoever was behind it scored at least a few good numbers.
Now, here is an interesting piece of info. Snopes is not the only one buying into the ‘Joe Job’ line of thinking. Either I’m missing a few marbles, or the rest of the world is. (What are my odds?)
People poke around, investigate, google, and they come up with more link from darkprofits.com which says, in effect, ‘it wasn’t us’, about as satisfactory a response as you would get from asking Dick Cheney if he was in cahoots with Big Energy.
Check this from The Rantmaster’s Weblog.
Googling 'darkprofits' got me an interesting link. According to this, this spam was not sent out by Darkprofits.com at all but by a disgruntled member trying to get them in trouble… A second link turned up that this issue has already been investigated, both by the ISP that hosts Darkprofits.com, and by the FBI. Apparently, they've been up to this for even longer than I was aware of.
Well, okay, it looks like Darkprofits.com is in the clear.
Mmmkay. But who and what are Dark Profits? AHROOOO!
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7:30:56 PM
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