I have produced a monument

This is no mere term paper, folks. This is a document. I have written 40 pages in the last 3 days. I'm done. aaaaaaah.

Barack Bans Bundling

I finally found a good reason to vote for Obama. Last Friday the Democrats in the House systematically neutered their lobbying reform bill. They took out almost every meaningful part of the bill that would change the way lobbying works in Washington. It was heartbreaking, actually. Some people in my office fought very hard for this bill, and they were very hopeful that it would be passed.

Alas, it is business as usual in Washington. One lobbying technique that especially sucks is called bundling. I’ll let Mr. Obama explain:

“Under current campaign-finance rules, an individual lobbyist is limited to writing a personal check for a maximum of $2,300. But that's where the bundling starts. A lobbyist can collect check after check from other individuals and deliver the entire bundle to a candidate for office. Sometimes those stacks contain $20,000, $100,000 or even $250,000. As the rules stand today, lobbyists have to only report their own contributions -- not the money they've raised from others.”

This is from an Op-Ed he wrote in the Chicago Tribune today. He goes on to explain why lobbying sucks and concludes with this:

“To set an example in the 2008 presidential election, I am refusing to accept campaign contributions from registered lobbyists, political-action committees, and I won't take contributions bundled by lobbyists. I'm also reporting any contributions that are bundled -- whether it's from a small-town doctor or a chief executive officer. If we can open up the system and pull aside the curtain of secrecy, then we might be able to start changing the way Washington works.”

Well would you look at that: someone’s running for President and trying to set a positive example for others. I don’t care anymore that Obama seems to lack substance. I’d rather he have no substance than to get into office full of substance bought and paid for by corporate America.

The Drumbeat Begins

Frak

According to some viewers who don’t see fit to comment, I overuse the word ‘fuck’. This may be true. I will pledge hereafter to stop fucking abusing this word. Although the word is fairly versatile, I’ve been relying on it mostly in the form of an adjective. From now on I will only drop the F-bomb as a verb, and an exclamation of frustration.

To compensate I’m doubling up on my use of the words “asshat”, “cocksure”, and “Uncle David is a sandy vagina”

Dear Abortionists, Pagans, ACLU, Fags, and Dykes:

Thank you. After your last collective effort to destroy America, you’ve been laying low. I completely understand. If the Reverend Jerry Falwell called me out as the people who caused 9/11, I’d be laying low too.

But now you’ve come back with a vengeance, haven’t you? Six years later, you heathens managed to piss off God again. Which brings me to my point: the death of Jerry Falwell by apparent heart attack has made me a religious man.

After all these fucking idiots have been claiming that 9/11 was an act of God, that the Virginia Tech shootings were an act of God (you’ll have to thank Fred Phelps for that gem), that Hurricane Katrina was an act of God… well, I’m starting to believe he’s got his hands dirty quite a few times. You must be asking, “why didn’t God send a hurricane into San Francisco? Wouldn’t that have taken care of the Gay Menace?” Well, that would have been a good strategy. Apparently, though, God saw it fit to really gum up the traffic there instead. I guess road rage is God’s warning shot. Bottom line: If God can see fit to send hurricanes and tsunamis gallivanting about to serve as His wrath, he obviously chose to stop Falwell’s heart too.

You see, as a God Warrior it is Falwell’s duty to do his bidding: stop the pagans, gays, lesbians, and abortionists (NOT A WORD) from being allowed to continue doing what they’re doing. God hates freedom. It’s as simple as that.

But Falwell has been incredibly ineffective in his mission. He hasn’t really escalated the culture war into actual war. He never took the hints from God. 9/11, Hurricanes, Volcanoes, and Roseanne’s spot on The View were obviously His way of saying, “HEY. Could we start slaughtering the heathens yet? I’m bored.”

Falwell’s heart attack is clearly a sign that God was displeased. Falwell displayed nothing more than impotent rage, and what He really needs right now is a badass, homophobic gladiator.

So to the gays, pagans, and doctors of the world, I would like to say thank you. By persisting in living your lives the way you see fit, you have been the catalysts for Falwell’s replacement just as you were for the WTC’s replacement (Freedom Tower!!!). I’m really excited to see who’s going to step up to the plate.

Keep on sodomizing and baby killing!


Love,
Neil (not gay)

Keep Arms Inside the Car at All Times

As some of you may know, when I was a child I thought I could act. In fact, I had some modicum of success with this, which culminated in my role in the straight-to-video kids movie Here Comes a Roller Coaster:



You can read some reviews on Amazon of this masterpiece.

Enough backstory. Yesterday at work I was stewing in my own collective boredom juices because my boss had gone home, and I had run out of things to do. The director of my entire division walked by and saw me sitting there reading an article that one of our lobbyists had written.

"Do you have nothing to do?"
"Good observation, Captain Obvious," I replied as I tried to communicate my seething rage via body language.

"You want to write a letter to Congressman Markey from Massachusetts for me?"
"Have I ever told you how awesome you are?"

She waddles back into her office to collect some materials I should address in my letter, and comes out to present me with Markey's bill that we're writing to him in support of.


That's when it hits me. The bill is The National Roller Coaster Safety Act of 2007. Well fuck me... something I have a background in! There's not really much of a point to this post except to say that my life has ultimately completed an Irony Loop-de-loop. I think I'm preparing for the Existential Corkscrew next, and I'll probably die somewhere during the second to last Hairpin Turn of Failure. I hope this ride will at least go fast enough that I'll get to feel some breeze on my face.

Also, during my research of various deaths at theme parks over the last 10 years, I have learned that Disneyland is in fact NOT the happiest place on Earth. Kids are getting fucked up there all the time. Some girl severed her finger on Tom Sawyer Island and they didn't even take her to the hospital. She had to pay for her ambulance ride with Mickey Mouse Dollars.

Bi-Partisanship Means Two Instead of One

The War on Fire

Yesterday some stupid fuck driving a tanker full of bombs crashed into the Bay Bridge and made Arnold Swarzhenehagenenrger declare a State of Emergency in Caleefornya.

Today the Eastern Market, some historical grocery store in D.C. burned down. The library at Georgetown University caught fire.

I burned my tongue on hot coffee and I might have athlete's foot, too (they're close, fuck you).

IS IT A COINCIDENCE THAT THE NAZI'S USED FIRE TO DESTROY BOOKS TOO?

Since the dawn of modern man we have used fire to fuel society. Haven't we had enough? Can't you see that radical combustionism is destroying western culture? We spend so much money trying to fight fire, trying to prevent it and plan for it. Our flame-enabling culture has even given way to this abomination:


look at his soulless eyes!

It's time to lead the charge. We must eliminate fire completely. It is the only way we will truly be safe.

I'll start you on the first source in the axis of evil: oxygen

ok go!

The Agitator

When I'm cleaning my bong, I like to use isopropyl alcohol and rock salt. See, the salt breaks up all the shit on the inside that's hard to reach. But between cleanings, it's probably not a good idea to put rock salt in the water when you're using the bong.

Former Senator Gravel is the salt.



This man called out the military industrial complex, the other candidates on their hollow i'm-tough-too rhetoric, the democrats for their spineless faggotry on withdrawing from Iraq, and he told us that maybe it's time America started treating the rest of the world as equals instead of pions.

It's like grandpa Simpson, Al Sharpton, and Ross Perot rolled into one salty bastard who's decided it's better to burn out than fade away.


I'm in love.

The Attorney General NUCLEAR MELTDOWN

I think this marks the day I was most inspired to believe in my government's ability to function. Attorney General Alberto Gonzales, or AGAG, is an insipid smug little bitch. And you know what? Chuck Shumer was having NONE OF THAT today. Case in point:



Oh yea, how's that feel? Let's ask one of the most conservative Republicans in the Senate, Mr. Coburn, what he thinks:



You know how the Bush admin loves to use the word "bipartisan" when something they want done has Lieberman's name on it? This is true bipartisanship. This is universal hatred and disgust from both parties about this guys smirky piece of shit testimony. With the exception, of course, of Orrin Hatch who's entire line of questioning consisted of "You're awesome right? Will you present to me your cock so that I may vigorously suck you off? No further questions"

I don't have video for that last one though.

PS: AGAG said "I do not recall" 77 times. He repeatedly stated, "I have searched my mind" approximately 3 times. What.

My Romp with Dennis Kucinich

10 minutes ago I was walking to work.

Lo, in the distance ahead, Dennis Kucinich approached. He was talking on his blackberry and obviously had no time for me. So as we passed, I plucked the headphones from my ears and uttered, "I'm looking forward to those articles of impeachment you're filing."
You see, next week Kucinich plans on filing articles of impeachment against Dick Cheney for High Crimes and Misdemeanors.

Kucinich stopped, an expression of surprise streaking across his face. "Thank you, sir," he said. It was in this moment that our eyes met. I had a feeling that we were both imagining what our lives together could be like. We could traipse hand-in-hand down Pennsylvania Avenue while he told me about his Department of Peace idea and I could nod in exuberant admiration of his vision for America. I'd tell him about my hopes and dreams and he would pat me on the shoulder and tell me, "all in due time, young one."

Instead, he kept walking and apologized to his caller for being interrupted. I resumed listening to The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and walked on. Other than that fat bastard Tester, that was my first D.C. celebrity sighting.

I scoop no one.

Looks like the DoJ thing isn't panning out. Here's a picture of Senator Arlen Spector's new magazine then.

I Scoop the Mainstream Media

Heard around D.C. yesterday:

The Justice Department is going on strike. That's right. The DoJ is, as an entity, going on strike and leaving Gonzo to fend for himself.

A friend of mine was in Borders today and saw a Washington Post reporter talking frantically on his phone about this.

Let's see if it plays out. You heard it here first!

The Office of Management and Budget, aka The Office of Go Fuck Yourself

Today I was handed a fun assignment. Actually, it’s been my first fun assignment. Things are looking up. I sat around the office today for 2 hours with virtually nothing to do. Just as I was about to dose off, I was approached by a guy I’d never seen before.

He introduced himself as Alex. He was a short guy, with red hair and a thin beard that traced his jaw line. He had the kind of voice you’d expect from a disgruntled jew working in the non-profit sector. I immediately took a liking to him due to his propensity to pepper his conversations with expletives.

His task was simple: our organization is opposed to the Bush Administration’s appointing Michael Baroody to a post in a regulatory committee for consumer goods. The reasoning is pretty spot on. Why would you appoint a guy to regulate anything when he has gone on record numerous times to say that regulation is a waste of resources and everyone should be allowed to regulate themselves. He’s the definition of a libertarian cunt. Alex wanted me to go to the Office of Management and Budget and find a report that Mr. Baroody had contributed to in 2001. I would need to gain access to their public reading room, and find the report, and then find the source material. Sounds easy, right? Hell no.

I got to OMB and put my backpack through the x-ray machine. As I approached the turnstile some secret service guy stopped me and asked if I had a pass. Well, no, I don’t. See, when something is given the title of “public” you typically don’t need security clearance to enter it. Capt. Shitbag sent me to the front desk.

“Do you have an appointment?”
“Uhh…yeah!”
“With whom?”
“The public reading room?”
“What? No. With whom do you have an appointment?”
“No one. Do I need to know someone on the inside to get in? Is this like a speakeasy?”
“You can use the lobby phone to call the operator and arrange an appointment with whoever it is you intend to visit.”

Progress! I waltzed over to the phone and dialed the operator.

“Can I be connected with the public reading room please?”
“The what?
“The… public reading room?”
“I’ve never heard of that in my life.”
“Huh. Because on your website it very clearly says ‘our public reading room is located on 725 17th avenue,’ which, I believe, is this building.”
“Sorry. I don't know what your talking about. Toodles.”

Cool. So now I don’t know what the fuck, and everyone is looking at me like I’m deranged and ready to blow up the building. I decide to go across the street to the coffee shop with free internet. Finally after 20 minutes of searching I find out that the public reading room has been renamed to “library”. Well no shit. It even has a room number! G-102.

I get back to OMB and call the operator back, and ask for G-102. Success! I’m connected with a pleasant woman and explain to her what I’m looking for, and ask if I can schedule an appointment with her so that Capt. Fuckstick will let me through the door.

“Well, due to the security situation we are not a public library. So I can’t let you in.”
“You can’t let me in to the public library. Wait, security situation? You mean like 9/11?”
“No. The Easter egg hunt.”
“Jesus Christ.“

So after much effort on my part I FINALLY figure out who I’m supposed to be in contact with. I call her and again explain what I’m looking for. She listens kindly and then asks, “Well do you have a reference number?”

At this point, I would just like to point out that it was absolutely impossible to resist the urge to formulate conspiracy theories. I felt like every person I said the words “Michael Baroody” to pushed a red button under their desk, and made a hurried phonecall consisting of a hushed “he’s onto us” once we hung up. For every level of bureaucracy that I pierced through, these swine erected two more.

But I am a fucking lion. My claws are tenacious, and my hunger is vast. For the last two weeks I’ve been dreaming of doing shit like this only to rot in a fucking cubicle. There is absolutely no way I’m taking no for an answer.

“Hrmph. Ok, reference number. Let me call you back.”

A quick phonecall to Alex explaining the situation.

“Well that’s not surprising. These fucking guys are such tools, of course they’d do something like this. I’ll do what I can to find you a godamn reference number, but I’m pretty sure this report doesn’t have one. How convenient. These people are such shit. They're worse than shit. I hope they die in a fire. FUCK. BLARAHGHAHGHRHAGH. Keep at it, I’ll call you back”

He was never able to find a number. I was on my own.

I called Pamela in Records back and in my nicest most polite demeanor asked,

“Hi Pamela. I'm having quite the time trying to get into this building so I can see these documents. I was wondering if you could make an appointment for me before I BURN THIS GODAMNED PLACE TO THE GROUND. Anything you could do to help would be swell. Also, I can find out where you live.”

Somehow this spoke to Pamela on some sort of primal level she had never been confronted with. From there everything changed. She began asking for all of my information in order to clear me into the building. Success. Someone back at the office was going to be very proud of me. I called Alex to let him know of my triumph.

"Bob Woodward would be very proud of you."

I overtook the crosswalk like an oiled gazelle. The documents are mine!

To be continued…

Chance of a Lifetime: SQUANDERED!

"I just thought, 'Oh my goodness!' So, I started walking faster, and the President walked faster and he got to the cord before I did. I violated all the protocols. I touched the President. I grabbed his arm and I moved him up to the front," Mulally said. "I wanted the president to make sure he plugged into the electricity, not into the hydrogen This is all off the record, right?"

The Decider was this close to resigning his post, and this sonofabitch couldn't just let it happen and deal with the minor PR nightmare that would have followed? I mean, sure, the Ford hydro-electric car would never take off after this incident... but let's face it: everyone hates Ford anyways.

Wherein I fellate Grandmaster Flash

Well, something I can scratch off my list of things to do before I die: see Grandmaster Flash spin some fucking records.

Sure, the doors opened at 11 and I had to listen to some white guy spin shitty house music for TWO HOURS until Flash decided we were worthy enough to warrant his attention... but it was worth the wait.

Stating, "To me, all music is powerful, no matter who or where it comes from," Flash spun all sorts of shit: The White Stripes, gobs of old school hip hop, Nirvana... it was epic.

He completely outlasted my ability to dance. I don't think I stopped moving for 2 hours straight. Finally, drenched in sweat, I succumbed to the aching in my limbs and took a breather. Unfortunately mid-break he decided to lay down The Message and I was forced to resume.



At the end of the show, Flash demanded a circle be made in which DC's finest B-Boys and B-Girls would show their skills. I only got a picture of this guy (damn you cameraphone!), but I would like to call your attention to the Coolest Kid in the Universe: He's standing to the left in this picture and - oh yes - he did break dance. He couldn't have been more than 12.

Finally the show ended and I left dripping with sweat only to walk outside to be greeted with snow. I haven't seen snow in years.

Thanks, D.C.

Dick Cheney, Professional Boogie Man

When Cheney retires as VP, do you think he'll go back to being a Board Member for Haliburton? Perhaps a lobbyist?

I think he should start his own business. You could hire him to stand on the lawns of your enemies and slowly drive them to insanity.

Re-united and it feels so good

The other day Ben, Nader, and Dan came into town after months of estrangement. Their beards are GLORIOUS! We toured the typical places you would go if you were a tourist in Washington. 

But before we could get on our way, we were momentarily distracted by the most HOMOEROTIC BOYSCOUT MEMORIAL EVER. Seriously, since when is it a shock that boyscout leaders are creepy pederasts? This statue is over 50 years old.


Here's me displaying more excitement in one expression than I've experienced in the last 5 years:



We mosey'd on over to the cherry blossom festival and surprised Dan. Adorable. Why isn't Dan in any of these pictures?? We need more Dan.




World War II: Serious Business



And that was our day. There was plenty more, but I for some reason can't find all the pictures. I'll update with more.

The Hill Drop

Thursday was my first day of work. When I got there, all of the staff was giddy with excitement. They were ecstatic not because I had finally arrived, but because some major document that they put together had finally come in the mail. Basically, they published a booklet that makes the case for why the United States should have publically funded elections.

That’s really not the point though. The point is that for my first day, my task was to complete a ‘Hill Drop’ in which I ‘drop’ these things off on the ‘hill’ where the Senators work. Capitol Hill, woohoo! My first day and I’m going to somewhere important! And I get to do it with…. No one else! Because…. Fuck it I’m not excited anymore. I had to drop 100 of these things off to 100 different offices.

My entire day was a metaphor for how frivolous D.C. is. There’s no rhyme or reason to the way they number the offices, so every floor was a crapshoot. Go right at the elevator, and you might find 201. Or maybe they’ll just start you off at 275 for the hell of it. I think that’s why everyone in the building seems busy. They’re walking around, but its not because they’ve got things to do, it’s because no one can fucking figure out where anything is.

If you’ve ever wondered why people are disillusioned with politics, come to a senator’s office sometime. Here’s how it goes: First, you walk in brimming with hope. You’re going to present your case about this issue or that and the secretary is going to drop everything, grab the phone and growl, “GET HILLARY UP HERE NOW. WE’VE GOT AN ISSUE ON OUR HANDS.” Ms. Clinton will come rushing into the front office where she will quickly size you up, determine that you are a mountain of a man, and she has no choice but to drop this whole presidential campaign bullshit and fight for your cause. Then you’ll say, “Ms. Clinton, I’m sorry, but there’s 99 more of you and I have a fucking revolution to attend to. Get to work and I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

What actually happens is you walk in brimming with hope. You walk up to the front desk for the secretary gives you a forced smile while internally reflecting on how much she hates non-profits. You’ll say, “Hi! I’m from , and this is for your Elections Legislative Assistant.” Typically, you won’t be able to finish this sentence before he or she will roll their eyes, and point to the overflowing inbox next to them filled with shit that looks just like yours. And none of them have been read. Or, they’ll be a little more polite and say, “Oh, thank you! I’ll get that to them.” Then you will leave, and they’ll use it to wipe their ass next time they hit the restrooms which typically take about an hour to find because – even though this particular assistant has worked on the hill for six years – they can’t find the bathroom because no one knows what the fuck.

There’s no way to describe how much pain my feet were in. There comes a point when you are in so much pain, that words simply cannot do it justice. I’ll give it a shot though: Imagine a thousand orgasms localized in your feet while beautiful naked women gently massage them with cocaine. Now imagine the exact opposite of that. My feet are somewhere in that region of pain.

All in all, I spent four hours walking around the hill delivering mail. At the end of the day, I definitely felt part of something bigger than myself. Some vast organization of power where mankind determines it’s path into the future. It was at this moment, that I realized my role in this machine was utterly pointless. Oh well, climb the ladder! Can one lowly intern make a difference? I don’t know. But I do know one thing: he can deliver a shitload of junkmail.

Motorcade

D.C. is like Hollywood for people who don't give a fuck about pop culture.

Whereas LA has Mann's Chinese Theater, that stupid Hollywood sign, and countless handprints in its sidewalks (who are those people anyways?), DC has the White House, that stupid phallic Washington Memorial, and countless people in suits doing important things.

I saw a motorcade today. Six black SUVS with tinted bulletproof windows, led by two police motorcycles. If I had been in LA, I would have thought, "huh. Paris Hilton is going back to rehab. What a stupid whore."

But I am in Washington D.C. That means motorcades typically transport important people. Just before the motorcade came around the corner I felt the wind stop. The sky became dark but not because of gathering clouds. Oh no, dear readers, it was because the sun literally lost some of its ability to shine. A police horse shate itself, bucked its rider, and galloped down the street nashing its teeth and screeching like a banshee. Infants began to wail, and I'm pretty sure I saw a squirrel willingly leap off a high branch, plumetting to its death. Men that looked important suddenly realized an urge to call their wives and desperately confess their transgressions with their mistresses. It was incredible.

The motorcade passed by, and then around the corner again out of view. Only then did I feel breeze on my face. It was as if God himself was gently cooing in a soothing voice, "It's ok baby. He's gone now, no one's going to hurt you. I'm here. I'm here," as he gave me a shoulder massage. Tears I didn't even realize I had been shedding were drying thanks to the sun's newly triumphant and restored brilliance. All was again right in the world.

It's just a guess, but I think that was Cheney.