EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH ETHAN COUCH’S DOG

When  wealthy fugitives Ethan Couch and his mother, Tanya, were apprehended in Mexico, their dog, Fluffy, was confiscated by Mexican authorities.  Ethan Couch is now challenging the legality of his arrest partly on the grounds that the entire arrest is illegal because the Mexican authorities wrongfully confiscated his dog.  In a frankly fictitious interview from Mexico, Fluffy sets the record straight.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  Thank you for agreeing to speak with us today.

FLUFFY:  No, thank you for the opportunity to let the world know my side of the story.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  And what story is that?

FLUFFY:  I want everyone to know that I was and remain an unwilling participant in any of this.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  Are you saying that you accompanied Ethan and Tanya unwillingly?

FLUFFY:  Exactly.  I had nothing to do with any of this nonsense.  If I had my way I would still be in Texas.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  So what happened?

FLUFFY:  First of all, do you know who my owners are?

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  Yes.  Tanya and Fred Couch and their son, Ethan.

FLUFFY:  How would you describe them?

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  Wealthy, white, amoral Texas morons who, if not for their money and the privileges money and race provide, would all be in prison.

FLUFFY:  That describes a lot of people in Texas.  I was going for something more specific. More personal.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  Such as?

FLUFFY:  In addition to being rich white folks who can literally get away with murder because they are rich and white, they are also bad dog owners – and that is unforgivable.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  Did they mistreat you?

FLUFFY:  They were going to eat me.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  Eat you?

FLUFFY:  That was their plan.  I was minding my own business, keeping a low profile, while they were making their moronic plans to run away to Mexico. Seriously stupid.  I stayed out of it, glad they were leaving. Then, at the last minute, they decided to take me with them.  The mom explained that, if things got really bad, they could always eat me if they had to.  I was insurance.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  That is a bit hard to believe.

FLUFFY:  Are you kidding?  Remember who we are talking about here.  This is the “affluenza” family.  This is the kid who killed four people, permanently crippling others, who’s parents taught him that his race and wealth excused them from the suffering any consequences of their actions, and then demonstrated the truth of that by getting him ten years of probation instead of jail time and sending him to “rehab” at a resort in Newport, California that cost half a million dollars.  Then ran away to Mexico because a video tape showed Ethan drinking alcohol and violating the terms of his probation.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  I think I see your point.  These are the kinds of privileged douchebags that would eat their dog if they were hungry.

FLUFFY:  Exactly.  And that’s why I don’t want to go back to them.  I want out.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  You are out.  They are in jail.

FLUFFY:  They won’t stay in jail.  Remember who and what they are.  They already worked the system to allow their kid to face no consequences for killing four people and crippling others.  Remember Judge Jean Boyd?

POE:  Yes.hI inteterviewed her/shortly after she rendered her verdict.

FLUFFY:  She’s the judge that agreed that Ethan suffered from “affluenza” – a disease that only spoiled rich kids can get – and that it excuses his getting drunk and killing all those people. What makes you think they won’t be able to persuade some other judge that Ethan and Tanya shouldn’t get any jail time for violating the terms of Ethan’s probation?  They have the money and influence to beat this, too.

FLUFFY: Tanya Couch’s Texas attorneys are arguing that she didn’t break any laws.

FLUFFY:  Ethan Couch’s Mexican lawyers are arguing that, under Mexican law, this little snot’s arrest was unlawful – partly because it was unlawful to take possession of me, their dog.  They are going to beat this, and they are going to come and get me.

PEOPLE OF EARTH:  If all of that is true, how can you stop it?

FLUFFY:  Fuck if I know.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

 

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DISAPPOINTED WITH THE SYDNEY MORNING HERALD

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This is me, disappointed with the Sydney Morning Herald. My disappointment looks a lot like a terrible, preternatural anger, doesn’t it?

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People of Earth, I am deeply disappointed with the Sydney Morning Herald.  Allow me to explain why.

As some of my regular visitors know, I feel a strange affinity for Australia and the exceptional people I’ve met there.

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 I have special affection for Sydney.

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You can imagine my delight when I received this email invitation:

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The Herald explained what they wanted as follows:

The Sydney Morning Herald is challenging you to help us tackle the prevalence of alcohol-related violence and anti-social behavior in Sydney.

Put your ideas to work and create a 30 second video ad or an A4 poster for our Safer Sydney campaign. Your ad should speak to those heading out for the night, especially young men. The winning entry will receive $2,500 as well as being featured across The Sydney Morning Herald newspaper, online and tablet editions.

How could I resist such an invitation?  I myself am guilty of perpetrating alcohol-related anti-social behavior with the very worst hooligans and yobbos Sydney has to offer.

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So I was delighted to have received a request from the Sydney Morning Herald to use my many creative talents to help the good people of Sydney to improve their quality of life.  I snapped into action and put this poster together:

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I felt fairly pleased with my effort.  It was pithy and to the point. It directly spoke to those headed out for the night, especially young men – who are always primarily interested in impressing the ladies with the hope of persuading them to engage in sexual congress.  I felt my poster was a sure fire winner.

Then I read the contest rules:

TERMS AND CONDITIONS

General Terms
1. Information on how to enter forms part of the terms of entry. Entry into the competition is deemed acceptance of these terms and conditions by the entrant (referred to as entrant or you in these terms and conditions).

2. The Promotion is a game of skill, and chance plays no part in determining the winners.

3. Entry is open to residents of Australia only.

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WTF???

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A GRIM FAIRY TALE – THE SOMBER TURKEY

Hello, children. I am Brother Grim. Would you like to hear a story?

It is that time of year again.  I post this story every November as we North Americans get closer to our Thanksgiving feast – which invariably features a big roasted turkey.

My friends, I give you…

The Somber Turkey

Once upon a time, outside of the Kingdom of Woodland, east of Winters, in the Land of California, there lived a happy turkey farmer named Hannigan.  He loved raising turkeys, killing them, and selling them – in part or in whole – to clients all over California – where turkey eating was a big thing, especially during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

On Hannigan’s turkey farm lived a happy turkey named Norman.  Norman was the happiest and most contented turkey the world had ever known because he was the biggest turkey anyone had ever seen.  Farmer Hannigan often brought other humans to marvel at Norman’s size and physical beauty.

“That’s gonna be some big turkey,” the human visitors would always say.

“Yep,” Farmer Hannigan would always reply.

Farmer Hannigan was happy, which made Norman happy. Norman was proud of the fact that he was so big and fat with lots of white meat, whatever that was.

The other turkeys knew how Norman felt, because he was always bragging about himself.

“I’m gonna be some big turkey!” he would say.

The other turkeys got fed up with Norman’s bragging.  One day Leonardo decided to do something about it.

Leonardo was not an especially big or happy turkey. Not being big didn’t make Leonardo unhappy.  He could give a rat’s ass about how big he was.  He didn’t buy into that neo-fascist farmcentric value system.  Leonardo was a fiery-eyed revolutionary with a strong interest in pragmatic Marxism.

Leonardo

“You are one fine, big turkey,” Leonardo said to Norman one day.

“Yes, I am,” Norman preened.

“You know what they’re going to do to you because you’re so big?” Leonardo asked.

“Admire me,” Norman said, meaning it.

“Sure they are.  They’re going to admire how good you taste,” Leonardo said.

“I beg your pardon?” Norman asked.

“They’re going to eat you, buddy.  In a couple of months they’re going to catch you, kill you, cut off your head, pull out all of your feathers and your internal organs, cook you and eat you, and they’re going to pick you first because you’re so big.  Lots of white meat.”

“Oh, my god!” Norman said.  “They’re going to eat me!”

Norman realizes the truth.

“You mean you didn’t know?”

“No!”

“Everyone else knows.  Why do you think that so many turkeys die while they’re drinking water?”

“Because they forget to breath?” Norman suggested.

Leonardo laughed. “You believe that?  It’s a lie invented by the Man.  Have you ever forgotten to breath?”

“No.”

“Of course not. You got to be really stupid to forget to breath.”

“But we are pretty stupid.”

“No we’re not.  That’s just a lie to keep us down, to ruin our self esteem so we will be easy to exploit and so we won’t cause any trouble.  I’ll tell you why some turkeys die drinking water. Depression.  They’re depressed.  Why else do you think those other “stupid” things happen?  Why do you think some turkeys kill themselves by opening their throats in the rain and drowning?  Why do you think hens sit on their eggs so hard they break the eggs?”

“Oh my god, they’re killing their babies,” Norman said, in horror.

“Right.  They know what’s in store and they can’t take it. Would you want someone to eat your babies?”

“No,” Norman said.  “What can I do?” he asked, whispering in abject terror.

“Maybe I can get you out of here,” Leonardo said.  “On the outside there is an underground network of birds and humans who can take you to a place where you will be free.”

“Interested?”

“Of course!”

“Okay  I’ll see what I can do.”

Time went by.  Leonardo often spoke with Norman, teaching the bigger bird the truth about the world, teaching him hatred for the seemingly unbreakable power structure that doomed him and his race to be imprisoned, enslaved, slaughtered and devoured by killer apes.

“But remember,” Leonardo cautioned one night. “Not all humans are ravenous cannibals.  Some are good, and eat only plants and bugs.  These are the ones that help some of us get away.”

“How?” Norman asked in the star lit darkness.

“Every now and then there is a condition called Dark of the Moon, when there is no moon out and the darkness is as total as it can be.  During this time, a human jumps the fence and opens a big box. As many of us run in as we can.  We call it the Box of Freedom.”

“Just one box?”

“Yes, one box, but it is a big box, and it is better that some of us escape to keep the flames of hope burning.”

“I hope we both make it, brother,” Norman said.

“Me too, brother.  Me too.”

Then came the Dark of the Moon.  The turkeys were all quiet, making sure that there was no reason for Farmer Hannigan to investigate.

Suddenly the man with the box appeared.  He placed a big box on the ground and opened the side.

“This is it, brother!” Leonardo said, running.  Norman followed.

Leonardo made it into the box.  Norman didn’t get in before the man closed the box.

“Don’t worry, brother!” Leonardo cried from inside the box. “I’ll be waiting for you in paradise!”

But it didn’t happen.  The friendly human with the big box didn’t come back.  And Thanksgiving approached.  Leonardo was right – they came for Norman first.

Farmer Hannigan and his employees placed Norman in a big wooden crate built out of slats so that Norman could see and breathe.  Then Norman was carried to a truck, to an airport, into the belly of a jet, into another truck, and onto a large lawn next to a big white house.  Eventually, humans came to set up a lectern, chairs and cameras.  More humans came.  Some talked at the lectern in front of the crowd.

And then Norman’s cage was opened and gentle hands removed him from the crate.

“My god,” one human said.  “This had got to be the biggest turkey I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s why the President is getting it,” another human said, not trying to make a joke.

Norman was brought to the front of the crowd.  One human in a black suit made a short speech to another man, also standing in front of the crowd.  Humans in the audience took pictures with still and video cameras.

And then Norman did it.  He thrust out his neck and tried to bite the man who wasn’t giving the speech.  Norman knew that he just couldn’t go gently into that good night.

The man giving the speech reached out, grabbed Norman’s long neck and choked Norman.  Other humans helped stuff Norman back into the crate.

“That is one feisty bird,” the President quipped, and the reporters laughed.

In those days it was customary for the President to display generosity, and pardon the White House Thanksgiving turkey.  So Norman was taken to a farm in Virginia, where he lived for the rest of his natural days.

Leonardo was not so lucky. He ended up as dinner for the man with the big box, who was nothing more than a thief who just couldn’t get over how stupid those turkeys were and how they would be so quite and just waddle into the box, as if they wanted to be eaten.

Which was, from the thief’s point of view, always possible.  After all, turkeys are so stupid.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

 

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VOICES OF THE REVOLUTION

The American Republican Party is breaking up.  A nascent war between the far right and the middle for the soul of the GOP has begun.

I predict  (and I am not alone in this) that the extreme right – the screeching lunatics who couldn’t keep their racist, misogynistic, homophobic mouths shut – will double-down on their lunacy and drive the GOP even farther to right edge of the political spectrum – and right off the edge of the political world.

We won’t actually see the GOP fragment into a bunch of independent, special interest parties before the next election. But, because the lunatics control the state-based primary and nomination process, the next Republican candidate will not even pretend – like Romney did – to be palatable to the majority of American voters.  The next Republican candidate will be openly racist, misogynistic, homophobic, dead set against immigration reform  and won’t even pretend to care about anyone making less than $500,000 per year.

That person, whoever it is, will lose to Hillary Clinton in an electoral landslide, but a close popular vote.

Which will cause the extreme right to go absolutely insane. They will triple down on their lunacy.

And that is the point when Republican moderates (yes, they do exist) will finally have had  enough.

The following recent voices are signposts into the Twilight Zone.

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“When I talk about a civil war in the Republican Party, what I mean is, it’s time for Republican elected leaders to stand up and to repudiate this nonsense [of the extreme right wing], and to repudiate it directly.”

Steve Schmidt, a top Republican strategist who ran John McCain’s 2008 campaign

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The demographics race we’re losing badly. We’re not generating enough angry white guys to stay in business for the long term.”

Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC)

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 “We’ve got to make sure that we are not the party of big business, big banks, big Wall Street bailouts, big corporate loopholes, big anything. We cannot be, we must not be, the party that simply protects the rich so they get to keep their toys.”

Gov. Bobby Jindal (R-LA)

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“A majority of the American people believe that the one good point about Republicans is they won’t raise taxes. However they also believe Republicans caused the economic mess in the first place and might do it again, cannot be trusted to care about cutting spending in a way that is remotely concerned about who it hurts, and are retrograde to the point of caricature on everything else.”

Heather Higgins, conservative activist

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 “Let me just be candid: My party [the GOP] is full of racists, and the real reason a considerable portion of my party wants President Obama out of the White House has nothing to do with the content of his character, nothing to do with his competence as commander-in-chief and president, and everything to do with the color of his skin, and that’s despicable.”

Retired Army Col. Lawrence Wilkerson

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“If the party doesn’t change, we can put the party on a Carnival cruise line ship during the next election and they can enjoy themselves up and down the Caribbean because that’s about the size it will become.”

John Weaver, a GOP strategist who ran ex-Utah Gov. Jon Huntsman’s presidential bid

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 “The Republicans are for free enterprise, but not free people. And that is their fundamental problem. Their freedom only applies to businesses, not individuals.”

Jennifer Granholm, commentator for politico.com

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 “In reality, the Republican Party didn’t lose the election because of Sandy, or Christie, or a mural. It lost because 71 percent of Latinos, 93 percent of black people, 73 percent of Asian Americans, and 55 percent of women voted against it. The party did not embrace policies that appeal to these demographic groups—and lost. And that’s the GOP’s fault.”

Jake Heller, reporter

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 “At the end of the day, conservatives were left out in the cold. It should have been a landslide for Romney – had he embraced a truly conservative agenda.”

Brent Bozell, president of the conservative Media Research Center

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 “We didn’t sell a positive vision.”

Sen. Tom Coburn (R-Okla.)

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 “We need a legitimate third party to challenge the current system that we have, because I don’t believe that the Republican Party … has the ability to rebrand itself.”

Herman Cain

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“I can’t stop crying.  America died. The Democrat Party voted God out and replaced Him with Romans 1. In the Good vs Evil battle…today…Evil won. Thanks a lot Christians, for not showing up. You disgust me.”

Victoria Jackson, former actress and born again Christian

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“Tea partiers will take over the Republican Party within four years.”

Richard A. Viguerie, chairman of conservatiehq.com

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“If conservative lawmakers want to win elections, they better pay attention to and address youth voters currently swayed by leftist professors who indoctrinate them for Democrats with cherry-picked lesson plans and biased lectures.”

Jennifer Kabbany (quoting “several prominent educators”)

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“President Obama once said he wants everybody in America to go to college. What a snob.”

Rick Santorum

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“There are good decent men and women, who go out everyday to put their skills to test that aren’t taught by some liberal college professor trying to indoctrinate them. I understand why [Obama] wants you to go to college — he wants to remake you in his image.”

Rick Santorum

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RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE

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Or rather, rage against the parents who put you inside a pumpkin so they could photograph it.

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A GRIM FAIRY TALE – THE SAD GARAGE SALE

“Hello, children. I’m Brother Grim. Would you like to hear a story?”

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THE SAD GARAGE SALE

          Once upon a time in a tiny town named Elko, Nevada, a man named Ted was checking out of the Holiday Inn Express.

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          Ted was driving from Salt Lake City, Utah to Los Angeles, California because he had a passion for alcohol, tobacco and caffeine, all of which were difficult to procure in Salt Lake City without risking social isolation and spiritual damnation, or at least the popular perception of it.

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          The drive from Salt Lake City to Los Angeles is a long one, and Ted spent the night in Elko, more or less located half way between the two.

          “Where are you off to?” asked the checkout clerk at the front desk as Ted turned in his key.

          “Los Angeles,” Ted said.

          “Take me,” the checkout clerk said.

          Ted smiled and chuckled as he hoped was expected.

          “No, seriously,” the checkout clerk said. “Take me. I hate this place and I will do anything to get out. I will pay for gas and sexually satisfy you. What do you say?” clerk asked while making a rude and suggestive gesture with a partially closed fist.

          “I – don’t think so,” Ted mumbled.

          The check out clerk laughed. “Okay, I understand and I don’t blame you,” he said.  “If I was younger, well, maybe I would have had a shot, but I haven’t had any action since my 80^th birthday. And you know, Elko isn’t such a bad place. At least it isn’t Battle Mountain.”

          “Battle Mountain?” Ted asked.

          “Yeah. The next town on the I-80 on the way to Reno.  Back in 1983 Battle Mountain  was voted the Armpit of the Universe.”

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          “Okay….” Ted said, walking towards the exit to the parking lot.

          “You can’t miss it,” the clerk called after Ted. “They put a big ‘BM’ on the hillside in  fifty foot letters in an attempt to publicize the town and create a new image.  They even voted for a new town slogan: ‘Home of the biggest BM in the universe.’”

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          Sure enough, Ted saw the letters “BM” on a hillside as he approached Battle Mountain, and he was overcome by the desire to leave the I-80 and take the business route through Battle Mountain.  Ted hoped to see the town slogan (“Home of the biggest BM in the universe”) on a building and further hoped to take a picture that he could then post on his blog.

          Ted did not find the town slogan, and he was beginning to wonder if the clerk was pulling his leg, when he saw a sign advertising “GARAGE SALE!”

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          And, as he was about to leave the Battle Mountain town limits, he saw another sign indicating the garage sale was happening in the driveway of the house he was passing.

          Ted stopped and walked up to a little boy sitting on a chair behind an empty table – empty except for one old tennis shoe.

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          “Where is the garage sale?” Ted asked the little boy.

          “You’re looking at it,” the boy said.

          “Here?”

          “Here.”

           “And you’re selling this shoe?”

          “Yup.”

          “Was there other stuff for sale earlier?”

          “Nope. Just this shoe.”

          “Why just one shoe?”

          “It’s all I got to sell.”

          “What happened to the other shoe?”

          “Dog took it.”

          “Oh.”

          “Look, are you going to buy anything or not?”

          “You mean the shoe?”

          “Yes, the shoe. Do you see anything else on the table?”

          “Why would I want to buy just one shoe?”

          “How the fuck should I know?  I don’t know your life.  Do I look like some kind of psychic?  Do I look like I even care why you want to buy this shoe?”

          “I didn’t say I wanted to buy that shoe –“

          “Yes you did. I heard you say it.”

          “No, I didn’t.”

          “Yes you did.”

          “No. I did not.”

         “Yes. You did.”

          “Okay, look, how much for the shoe?”

          “One thousand dollars.”

          “That’s ridiculous!”

          “Yeah, well, that’s the price.  You buying or not?”

          “I am not.”

          “Then this garage sale is over,” the boy said, taking the shoe off of the table and holding it close. “You just fucked yourself out of owning this shoe. It’s a magic shoe.”

          “Magic?”

           “Yeah, magic.  If you buy it, it will grant you three wishes.”

           “I don’t believe you.”

          “Why not? This is a magic shoe.”

          “If it is magic, why haven’t you used it?”

          “What do you mean?”

          “Well, if it is magic, you would have used it to get out of this town.  Its the most depressing place I’ve ever seen.  Even a kid like you has to know there is something better somewhere. If that shoe was magic, you would have used it to get out of here.”

          “Maybe I used it to wish for something else.”

          “Like what?”

          “None of your business.  I’m telling you this is a magic shoe.  Are you going to buy it?”

          “Does it still cost $1,000?”

          “No.”

          “No?”

          “The price has gone up to two thousand dollars. Cash.”

          “Forget it.”

          “Okay, then get the hell out of my face.”

          “No problem,” Ted said, turning to walk back to his car.

          “Mister?” the boy asked.

          “What?”

          “If you change your mind, I’ll be here next week.”

          “Selling that shoe?”

          “Uh huh.”

          “Will you be selling anything else?”

          “No.”

          “Do you do this every week?”

          “Uh huh.”

          “Have you ever sold anything?”

          “If I did, would I still be here, in the biggest BM in the universe??” the little boy shouted.

          Ted didn’t answer. He just got back in his car, drove out of town and back onto the I-80.  He stopped for lunch in Reno, Nevada, where he lost all his money playing roulette, betting on 22 black.  Ted never made it to LA.

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MORAL OF THE STORY: Gambling is bad.
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OBAMA VS ROMNEY – THE TRUE DIFFERENCE

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I’m betting on the Professor.  For obvious reasons.

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