Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Swearing On The Internet

I've been doing this blog thing for about two and a half years and sixty-some posts now and my results have been rather mixed. While I'm proud of the work that I've done and I genuinely believe that I have one of the best goddamn blogs on the internet, I still can't manage to get more than a handful of dearest motherfuckers to give a shit. I don't mean to come across as unappreciative but with my long history of depression there are some weeks where I feel like goddamn Lenin giving mass to my nine confirmed apostles at Finland Station and then there are other weeks where it feels like I'm doing little more than swearing on the internet. This last month has felt mostly like the latter.

While I've put out what I feel is some of my best work, I've watched in despair as my daily page views have gone down faster than Jody Foster at WNBA meet and greet. Even after publishing my first piece for the Libertarian Institute in February I still can't manage to get anyone to so much as return my goddamn emails and my two biggest patrons, through zero fault of their own, also happen to be the two hardest working libertarians in show business (you know who you are). Just add a defunct serotonin level and WA-LA! You have one seriously blue anarchist.

As if this isn't depressing enough to lay my weary head on the railroad tracks and pray for traffic, I also have to contend with an increasingly cantankerous gender identity. Being gender-fluid, I have days where I feel male, days where I feel female and days where I feel somewhere in between. It is the female days that hurt the worst and lately I've been blessed with a shitload of fucking female days. Days where my Tony Soprano physique and my Robin Williams body hair make me feel more like a fucking mess than a genderfuck superstar. It's an ugly, lonely, gnawing feeling of physical and spiritual disconnection that no one without gender dysphoria can ever truly understand. There are days when I desperately want to be the girl with the most cake as my radical faerie godmother Courtney Love might put it. On those days I can only describe my depression as a form of emotional starvation. White people problems, right?

Believe it or not, I didn't write this dreary little piece in search of pity, honestly I didn't. Well, OK, maybe a little. I'm a drama queen, drown me. But mostly I wrote this exercise in emo self-flagellation for the same reason I write anything, whether a thousand people read it or no one does. I write shit like this because writing is who I am. Writing is how I deal with this shit. Writing is my heroin and I couldn't give up my fix even if I wanted to. I also write this because I made a promise to myself when I started this blog as a lowly shut-in. A promise to always tell the truth, the whole truth, the brutal truth and nothing but. It's what I believe separates my blog from many others. Pure unadulterated honesty, no matter how teeth-grindingly uncomfortable it might get. It's naked self-portraits like this one that help me understand who I really am and if I'm lucky, maybe just maybe, they can help you to do the same.

So whoever is out there, whoever you are, thank you for listening. I can't promise you much from this blog beyond total sincerity of spirit. But I can promise you that I'll always keep it fucking interesting. It's the only way I know how to live. Now spread the word, goddammit, Mama want's to be famous!



P.S. I'm sure you've all already heard the tragic news from Manchester. Part of me considered scrapping this self-indulgent piece for something a little more appropriate but I figured a tranny bitch-fest might actually piss off those cockless ISIS fag-bashers even more. After all the best revenge against the hate-fucks of this world is to live life loudly. But if your religious pray for Madchester, that fantastically dirty old town with it's great music, amazing drugs and wonderful, wonderful people. And if your not religious then, I guess, light a candle, listen to some Joy Division and fuck the one your with. Far too many people aren't blessed enough to do any of the above today.



Peace, Love and Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

* Hate My Way By Throwing Muses
* Slip Away By Perfume Genius
* Doll Parts By Hole
* I Found A Reason By The Velvet Underground
* There Is A Light That Never Goes Out By The Smiths
* She's Like Heroin To Me By The Gun Club
* I Blame Myself By Sky Ferreira
* Love Will Tare Us Apart By Joy Division

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

The JFO Doctrine

Once upon a time, every successive White House administration had its one big war. Sometimes these wars were traded down from regime to regime and, of coarse, there was always a plethora of bloody little side projects, you know, coup d'tats and the like, but each administration had their defining war to justify their shallow existence, their Korea, their Vietnam, their Persian Gulf.

But lately, over the last couple of decades or so, America has been hoarding wars like a geriatric shut-in who can't seem to adopt enough hissing feral cats. Administrations start wars and nobody ever finishes them. The next administration just adds more wars as if an ever elusive successful conflict will somehow cancel out the shitty ones they refuse to end. But inevitably each new conflict just becomes yet another shitty conflict stuffed inside another shitty conflict stuffed inside another shitty conflict like some kind of imperial turducken baked in white phosphorous.

Washington's mouthy prostitutes in the so-called mainstream media seem to be perplexed by this scenario. These gnashing heads, often veteran war-hoarders themselves, seem to have no clue as to how we got here. Oh, but they're just bursting with bright ideas on how to get out. Bomb this. Bomb that. Arm them. Arm him. No not him! His brother, we hate 'him' now. Everything but the most obvious fucking solution, Comrade's Razor. I can sum it up in six simple words- ....Or we could JUST FUCK OFF. Some folks call this Isolationism. Some folks call it anti-interventionism. I call it the Just Fuck Off Doctrine or the JFO if your busy. It's pretty damn simple. Let me show you how it works with a few current examples.

First up: North Korea! You can't seem to turn on the Clinton News Network or Grope News without hearing the latest about this plucky little problem child. Somehow the Kim Dynasty has developed the strange notion that ditching their nukes might put them at greater risk for another American intervention. Perhaps the past fate of post-WMD regimes like Iraq and Libya may have something to do with this. But our news "experts" don't know anything about that. Their living in the here and now, not the past, dig it? And the here and now is just chock full of exciting executive options. Should we bomb them? Should we hack them? Should we muscle China into doing our dirty work for us? Should we make Seoul pay for the privilege of being our human shield? Hey guys, I got an idea! Maybe we should just fuck off?

North Korea has been willing to work with us since 1994 when former President Jimmy Carter hammered out a peace agreement to avoid a Second Korean War. The agreement was that North Korea would hand over their nukes if we would help them out with their heating bills vis-a-vis cheap gas and a couple of light water reactors, along with a pledge of non-aggression. The only problem is WE didn't hold up our end of the bargain. Then we made things even worse by putting North Korea on our Axis of Evil hit-list. Not to mention staging yearly dress rehearsals for a Third World War right on the DMZ or as we cutely call them, war games (Oh, what fun!). The solution should be pretty fucking simple- Hold up our end of the goddamn bargain, pull our troops off the goddamn peninsula and just fuck off.

Next stop: Syria and Iraq. This dustland cluster-fuck has become so colossal and convoluted that it's beginning to feel like one big bloody parody of the follies of hyper-interventionism. Several foreign armies, both invited and NATO, at least twice as many foreign "investors", dozens of proxies and militias, false flags, double crosses, triple crosses, alliances, back stabbings and more conspiracies than you can shake a fucking stick at. I, quite frankly, give up on trying to make sense of it all if that's even possible anymore. There are just too goddamn many narratives to keep up with but our Washington warlords are still convinced that they can fix this mess with more guns, more bombs, more drones and more war. We could keep this dumpster fire burning or we could make like a Comrade and just fuck off.

We've been bombing the shit out of this fucking region since the nineties and what the fuck has it achieved? We've replaced Saddam with Al-Qaeda and Al-Qaeda with ISIS and now we wanna spread the party to Syria and god knows where else? The best thing we can do for these poor people is to just fucking leave and let their neighbors in Russia and Iran carry the weight. My heart fucking bleeds for the Kurds in particular but only they can earn their independence. Our involvement, even if it were as benevolent as we claim, only serves to water down and delegitimize their revolution.

And last but certainly not least: Afghanistan. That tried and true black hole that sucks in empires and spits out ghosts. Russia, Britain, Russia again, every empire goes to this isolated mountain range to die and die hard. This is America's longest running war and there appears to be no end in site. Likely it will only come with the fall of our own hulking empire and as much as I'd love to see that empire crash and burn for the sake of us all, I don't want to see it fall like that, drowning in an ocean of blood that can only be supplied by the poor of both of our nations. Unlike Korea, Syria and Iraq, our "experts" seem to be shit out of ideas on how to solve Afghanistan. When asked, they tend to stammer about like tongue tied teenagers caught jerking off and usually just end up shrugging their shoulders and saying "What are ya gonna do?". Well I'll tell you ghoulish pricks what you should fucking do. You should pick up your shit and just fuck off.

Those mountains are ungovernable. The people gnarly enough to live there have been living the same way for a millennia and they show no sign that their willing to change any time soon and why should they? It's their damn country. If they wanna shag sheep and smoke opium, let em (somebody should be getting laid and lifted, right?). Leave em be. It's no skin off our ass or at least it shouldn't be. And if the Taliban comes back then the Taliban comes back. I have know love lost for those sexist cunts but they didn't launch 9/11, our good buddies in Saudi Arabia did and the Taliban would have been more than willing to give Osama up if we had showed any interest in respecting their pride with a deal that didn't make them swallow it and belly crawl to Uncle Sam's steel-toed boot.

War doesn't work. It doesn't get any simpler than that. Violence begets more violence. Terror begets more terrorism. No substantial peace has ever been achieved through American intervention. Even our so called Great War only set the stage for the Third Reich and the Second one only set the stage for the Cold War. How many people have to fucking die before this country finally learns to keep its hands to itself and just fuck off. It really is just that simple. So I'll say it one more time. You motherfuckers can keep it up with your bombs and your plunder until we all go broke and die beneath a mushroom cloud or you could do us all a big fucking favor including your own greedy selves and JUST FUCK OFF.



Peace, Love and Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

* Hey Joe By Jimmi Hendrix
* The National Anthem By Radiohead
* Lexicon Devil By The Germs
* I'm Afraid Of Americans By David Bowie and Trent Reznor
* Stigmata By Ministry
* Old College Try By The Mountain Goats
* Search And Destroy By The Stooges
* Peace, Love And Understanding By Elvis Costello

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Fuck Political Correctness

Y'all know me or at least you better at this point. I'm a pretty socially progressive motherfucker. Aside from my roll as the Internets foremost (if criminally ignored) genderfuck evangelist, fighting on the front lines for a post-gender society, I have been fairly outspoken in my support for the rights of the socially underfoot, be they racial minorities, undocumented workers, Muslims, polygamists, sex workers, drug users, born again heathens, sadomasochists, little people, shell-shocked veterans, necrophiles, Amerindians, outlaw bikers, the disabled, cholos, the obese (morbidly or otherwise) and every single shade of the queer rainbow. You know, all the fun folks who get fucked for not fitting into the heterosexist Aryan jigsaw puzzle known as the American Dream.

But unlike most so called social justice warriors, if there is one thing I can't stand, one thing that pisses me off nearly as much as bigotry itself, it's that loathsome post-modern illness known as political correctness. Oh, I'm sure it all started with the very best of intentions but its infected the once buoyant civil rights movement with a nasty strain of stage three fascism which is threatening to suffocate us all with its noxious fumes.

We live in a country that's very existence is sadly defined by racism, sexism, slavery and genocide. A so called democracy with a prison population larger than some small countries. Black, brown and queer folks are forced to live there lives with a target on their backs and we're seriously sitting here splitting hairs over trigger words and micro-aggressions? Dearest motherfuckers, we can do better than this.

This word police bullshit has to stop. It's alright to inform people on how you prefer to identify or what pronouns you use but don't jump down peoples fucking throats just because they have trouble catching up. You have to remember that even white, male, cis-breeders are victims of the tyranny of the straight world too. Ignorance should be fought with love and information. It shouldn't be confused with intolerance and even intolerance is deserving of some degree of basic respect. With my bearded butch-ness, odds are that large swathes of the outside world will never see me for who I really am, even members of my own family probably wont. And that's OK. That doesn't make them bad people, close minded perhaps, but as long as they don't crucify me for being a genderqueer dyke with a dick then I won't crucify them for being vanilla milquetoast cissys. After all isn't it punishment enough that they were born boring? That doesn't mean that the very worst bigots should be tolerated though. Not by a long shot. But we must choose our battles wisely.

There's no such thing as a bad word, just a misused one. I come from the Eazy-E school of free speech. If somebody calls me a tranny or a faggot, I don't go running for a 'safe space' or some straight authority figure to hide behind. I fucking own it. I tell the bigots, "You're goddamn right I'm a tranny faggot. I'm the baddest motherfucking tranny faggot you'll ever meet. Swing on me and I'll kick your fucking ass into next week and eat out your fucking girlfriend for breakfast, lunch and dinner!" We need to stop being victims and start getting fucking fierce.

The Black Power and Queer Liberation movements didn't go around asking the state or the campus for their fucking rights. They stood tall, demanded them and took them if need be. Somewhere along the way we got hoodwinked by the very establishment that we were raging against into believing that we needed their protection from freedom of speech and I don't believe that this was a coincidence either. Those fucking bastards have us exactly where they want us, helpless and victimized rather than mighty and empowered. They've taken all the danger out of our movements by reducing us to assimilated whiny cowards that can be easily corralled into the reservations we call safe spaces. I say no more. Enough with this fucking bullshit. The only thing that political correctness has achieved is strengthening coercive institutions and making it easier for the bigots inside them to hide behind the beige wall of good manners and proper decorum. We need to take back our movements, return to the streets loud and proud and make our communities so ferociously radical in our convictions that any ground we stand on will become a safe space, Safe from everything but revolution that is.

Fuck political correctness, dearest motherfuckers, fuck it to death. And that comes to you straight from the bottom of my bleeding tranny faggot heart.



Peace, Love and Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

* Express Yourself By N.W.A.
* Big Beautiful Day By PWR BTTM
* Attitude By The Misfits
* Rock And Roll N*gger By Patti Smith
* Last Caress By The Misfits
* Hip Hop By Dead Prez
* My Way By Sid Vicious

Monday, April 24, 2017

Courtney Didn't Do It!

In case you haven't noticed, I've kind of got a thing for conspiracy theories. Good ones. Bad ones. Real ones. Fake ones. That's not to say that I consider myself to be a conspiracy theorist, though I'm certain more than a few of my regular dearest motherfuckers probably disagree. I'm more of a conspiracy enthusiast or, as my late hero Gore Vidal once described himself, a conspiracy analyst. I have my doubts about the "official" story on a number of historical events. I don't buy that FDR was caught off guard by Pearl Harbor. I have trouble believing that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I'm pretty sure those Branch Davidians were murdered in Waco. And don't even get me started on the Middle East. But unlike most "theorists" I recognize that these beliefs are hypothesizes at best. We'll probably never have all the answers and, like a good little agnostic, I'm more or less cool with this.

On the other hand there are some conspiracy theories that I find downright infuriating. Big Foot is bullshit, the Holocaust fucking happened and Obama was born in America. But if there's one conspiracy theory that really gets under my skin and drives me up the fucking wall it's the asinine farce that Kurt Cobain was murdered by Courtney Love. I'm fully aware that this is far from the most repulsive falsehood, the Holocaust one probably gets that tainted honor, but it's the one that really burns my ass. Mostly because I adore both Kurt and Courtney and I can't seem to manage to have a single fucking conversation about either one of them without having to debunk that stupid fucking theory for the umpteenth time. So this year, which would have been Kurt's 50th, I've decided to finally put this shit to rest once and for all. But first things first, some personal explanations are due.

I've been a Nirvana fan forever but I didn't become a fanatic until their music helped me through the darkest chapter of my lifelong struggle with depression. There's only one band that I might love more (with a capital MIGHT) and that's Courtney Love's band Hole. Kurt's lyrics made me feel less alone and gave me the courage to survive the mess I made of my early twenties. Courtney's lyrics however made me feel empowered and gave me the courage to do more than just survive, with her candid tales of feminine empowerment and irreverent freak-show pride, Courtney Love's lyrics gave me the courage to persevere on my own damn terms. And Courtney, perhaps more than any other single person, gave me the metaphoric ovaries to kick down my closet door and taste the light of day as the queer, genderfuck, queen bitch you all know and fear. So, yeah, long story short, this is kind of fucking personal to me.

With that being said, lets go over what we know about the tragic death of Kurt Cobain. Kurt's final downward spiral began on the mourning of March 3, 1994. After taking a red-eye to Rome to join Kurt for the night while on tour with Nirvana, Courtney crashed in her husbands hotel room with some Valium only to wake up to find Kurt's lifeless body. He had downed a fist full of Rohypnol with a bottle of champagne in an apparent suicide attempt. He came back to life after twenty hours in a coma but in many ways Kurt was already gone. Over the next few weeks Kurt OD'd at least two more times. Courtney, who had long tolerated Kurt's addiction, finally put her foot down on March 25 with an intervention. Kurt was livid. In an attempt to strong arm her stubborn husband into recovery Courtney left Seattle alone for Los Angeles where she began an outpatient detox program at the Peninsula Hotel for her own lifelong addiction to prescription sedatives. The move seemed to work when Kurt joined Courtney in L.A. and checked into the nearby Exodus Recovery Center on the 30th. But unbeknownst to Courtney, that very day Kurt had his friend Dylan Carlson buy him a 20 gauge shotgun which he stashed at his Seattle mansion before hopping on the next flight out of town.

Kurt spent two days in rehab before jumping the fence and returning to Seattle. Courtney hired Hollywood P.I. Tom Grant to track her husband down. A decision only she would live to regret. After less than a week of bouncing around local flophouses and shooting galleries Kurt returned to his mansion where his body was discovered on April 8th by an electrician in the greenhouse above his garage. Dead from what the Seattle Police determined to be a self-inflicted shotgun wound.

But according to the conspiracy theorists, lets call them Kurt Truthers, they know better than the Seattle P.D.. They also know better than Kurt's own band mates, friends and family, many of whom had no love lost for Courtney but still had no trouble excepting the fact that the long troubled troubadour had taken his own life. In fact, pretty much the only person close to Kurt who couldn't except this fact was Courtney herself who asked Tom Grant to investigate the possibility of foul play. Once Courtney finally came to terms with what Kurt had done to himself and their family she stopped sending Grant checks for the biggest break of his pathetic existence and Grant got his petty revenge by spending the next two decades building a career out of blaming his former client for her own husbands tragic death. And it's this washed-up, fat-fuck, ex-pig with an ax to grind who has been largely responsible for generating the lion share of the Kurt Truther's so called evidence. Creating a veritable cottage industry out of telling tall-tales to dip-shit twats, Tom had finally found his calling in life, ruining Courtney's.

According to Grant and his little clan of Truthers, Courtney decided to have her husband killed before he could divorce her and cut her out of his will. Rather than taking the easiest route to achieving these means by simply hooking Kurt up with a hot-dose or just letting her husband OD on his own stash without reviving him with Narcan as she often did, Courtney sent Kurt to rehab then hired a hitman to hunt him down like a dog when he escaped, shot him full of dope, propped him upright in his greenhouse, jammed his own shotgun in his mouth and somehow blew his brains out without leaving so much as a trace of evidence. Oh yeah and Courtney managed to pay off the entire Seattle P.D. and she would have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for that meddling dirt-bag dick and his internet fan-club.

If this sounds like bush league horse-shit to you then congratulations you're officially an adult. But for all the children in the room, please allow me to pull the rug from under you so I can beat your monkey-asses with it until they leak blood. Kurt had struggled with crippling depression and chronic stomach pain his whole life. The latter of which was so severe that it had nearly caused him to starve to death. Heroin was the only thing that made his stomach pain tolerable and in spite of their tumultuous and at times downright unhealthy relationship Courtney and their daughter Frances Bean were the only people that gave Kurt any joy during his final days. Virtually everyone else had abandoned him over his use of narcotics. Kurt was terrified that Courtney would leave him. He had associated divorce with death ever since his parents split when he was nine. His suicide attempt in Rome was inspired by the fact that Courtney had merely contemplated cheating on him. And when Courtney threatened to leave Kurt at his intervention if he wouldn't give up the one thing that made his excruciating life livable, Kurt decided he had officially had enough. It was time to go.

Kurt killed himself. And he pulled that trigger for a lot of reasons but, as politically incorrect as this may be to say, Courtney Love and Heroin were the only things that kept him alive as long as he was. Kurt never found the source of his stomach pain but the last doctor he saw believed it was the product of a nerve pinched between his vertebrae due to untreated scoliosis. With its proximity to both the spine and the vagus nerve this likely made Kurt's problem virtually inoperable. This also would have made Kurt a prime candidate for Oxycontin or even Dr. Kevorkian if he had only stuck around for a couple more years. As Courtney had said during her public reading of her late husbands suicide note- "That Eighties tough love bullshit- it doesn't work. We all should have let him have his numbness. We should have let him have the thing that made him feel better, that made his stomach feel better, we should have let him have it instead of trying to strip away his skin." To this day Courtney seems to be the only one who gets this and it's precisely this kind of unabashed empathy that made Kurt along with Courtney's own devoted tribe of fans like myself fall in love with her and I just know from the bottom of my own burning nauseous stomach that Kurt would be disgusted if he knew that the same people who continue to senselessly crucify this person he loved for simply being a convenient scapegoat call themselves his fans. They're not. Just like the assholes he lampooned in "In Bloom" they like all his pretty songs and they like to sing along and they like to shoot their guns but they don't know what it means and they probably never will. So fuck them. And that's all I have left to say about that.

This ones for Kurt and Courtney. The best friends a freak like me could ever hope for.

And remember dearest motherfuckers, always remember, It's better to rise than fade away.




As always,

Peace, Love and Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

* Negative Creep By Nirvana
* Pretty On The Inside By Hole
* Wave Of Mutilation By The Pixies
* On A Plain By Nirvana
* Violet By Hole
* Ever By Flipper
* In Bloom By Nirvana
* Reasons To Be Beautiful By Hole
* You're One By Imperial Teen





Saturday, April 8, 2017

Trump Is The New Hillary

Well it's official dearest motherfuckers, Donald Trump has become Hillary Clinton. With Thursday night's reckless and illegal assault on a Russian populated Syrian military base with 59 Tomahawk missiles, there is now officially zero sunlight between the two most repulsive candidates in the putrid history of this vile empire of sin and conquest. And to think just days ago the Donald was being crucified in a congressional witch hunt for passing on the one flavor of poisoned Kool-Aid that made him slightly less toxic than his opponent in the 2016 election, not to mention, persona non grata with the status quo. That is Russophobic Regime-Change Punch (TM). So what the fuck happened this week?

The simple answer is false flag. This Tuesday a village in Idlib Province called Khan Sheikhoun appears to have fallen victim to a deadly chemical attack claiming hundreds of writhing civilian casualties many of whom were young children. The American Government (TM) and their loyal cadres' in the mainstream media didn't even wait for the bodies to stop froffing before blaming the whole nasty atrocity on the government of Bashar Assad without so much as a lick of truth, not that that's ever stopped them before. But why would Assad launch such a foolishly senseless and polarizing crime against humanity when, after years on the brink of destruction, he has finally all but won his war against ISIS and Al-Qaeda. He had even managed to get the tacit support of the Trump Administration, who had stated their intention to drop regime change from their agenda in Syria just days before the attack. There is absolutely zero logical sense in such an attack, that is unless Assad isn't guilty.

We've seen this story before, after the August 2013 sarin gas attacks outside of Damascus. These attacks, originally blamed on Assad, were ultimately proven to be the work of Turkish backed Islamist rebels by veteran investigative journalist Seymour Hersh and members of the UN. The very same rebels currently occupying Idlib Provence. The common narrative about these attacks and then President Obama's response goes something like this. Obama foolishly drew a red line stating that the US would only launch a direct attack against the Syrian government if chemical weapons were used. Chemical weapons were used, but Obama pulled out of the attack at the last minute with some unexpected help from Vladimir Putin. I never fucking bought this.

My theory has always been that Obama very consciously and very loudly drew his red line at a time when, like today, the rebels were getting their fucking asses kicked. I believe Obama did this with the full expectation and possible knowledge that one of the desperate rebel groups, who the CIA was fully aware possessed such chemical weapons capabilities, would cross said red line, frame the Syrian Military and give Obama the excuse he needed to sack Assad without the risk of being labeled Bush 2.0 by a war weary public. Obama showed every intention of acting unilaterally before Putin sabotaged his war plans by brokering a UN peace deal that would and did destroy Assad's obsolete chemical weapons stash. The deal proved popular with the international community leaving Obama with no other choice but to sign onto this deal too in order to save face. But Putin's crafty monkey-wrenching did irreparable damage to Obama's image and ego and I believe this convinced him to sign off on the equally reckless anti-Russian coup in Ukraine as a kind of petty revenge but that's another story for another post.

The situation with Trump is very different. While always a passionate supporter of killing Muslims, Trump made his willingness to collaborate with Putin in Syria the backbone of his foreign policy stance in 2016. While Trump may be a pathological liar, I believe these intentions were genuine. They were too dangerously unpopular with the system not to be. However members of his own team didn't share this view. I believe some of these characters were pushed on Trump by some of his more powerful and neocon-ish sponsors with the hope of convincing the Donald to change his Kremlin ways. When efforts to do this by leaking embarrassing and misleading intelligence on Donald's practically non-existent relationship with Putin's Russia failed, the deep state settled on sabotage.

Just days before the chemical attacks, Islamist rebel leaders indicated that the CIA had reopened their arms supply lines. Around the same time US Ambassador to the UN and raging Russophobe Nikki Haley also made statements that contradicted those made by Secretary of State Rex Tillerson days earlier, reassuring America's flunkee states that the US remained committed to overthrowing Assad. This was clearly an administration divided. This was made all the more clear by the sacking of Trump's realist Rasputin Steve Bannon. The only thing left to do was appeal to Trump's grotesque ego by providing him with the perfect opportunity to prove he's a bigger bad-ass than his arch nemesis Obama who had just recently been revealed to have been spying on Trump's people for at least a year through his amoral National Security Adviser Susan Rice (coincidence?).

This was done by reenacting the scene of Obama's greatest fumble, the red line crossing gas attacks, with a little help from our head-chopping rebel friends. Trump, ever the reactionary, couldn't help himself. Without thinking twice he wiped his ass with his own foreign policy doctrine, stripped buck-naked and dove headfirst into Clintonian nation building. Exposing himself for the dumb-fuck, hypocritical, pig-fucker that he's always been.

So here we are now. Once again on the brink of World War fucking 3. And for the first time since November, the system is in perfect fucking harmony. With Trump's former enemies gathering around their prodigal son to sing Kumbaya over the fuming wreckage of America's latest war crime. It turns out the election really didn't fucking matter after all. The war state always gets it's way. One way or another.

Enjoy your apocalypse dearest motherfuckers. This weary antiwarrior is once again hunting for apartments in Reykjavik.




Peace, Love and Empathy- CH



Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

* You've Got Time By Regina Spektor
* Wardance By Killing Joke
* Waiting Room By Fugazi
* Let's Have A War By Fear
* Ex Lion Tamer By Wire
* My War By Black Flag
* Motorcrash By The Sugarcubes

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Who Really Killed The Truth?

Is truth dead? That was the question in bold red script against a stark black backdrop on the cover of last weeks Time Magazine. A reference to an iconic story that graced the rag back when it was still relevant enough to do anything iconic, over half a century ago. The article inside was pretty standard boilerplate for partisan liberal Trump-bashing. The kind of clueless, class-def, hatchet job that's become so routine over the last couple months that its downright boring. Not that it was altogether untrue. Their basic argument, that the Donald has ushered in a new era of unprecedented dishonesty, carries a grain of truth to it.

While America has had its share of dishonest presidents, from LBJ shooting at goddamn whales in the Gulf of Tonkin to Slick Willy redefining what the definition of is is, perhaps none have been as shamelessly brazen with their bullshit as Mr. Trump who's whoppers sound almost intentionally absurd. Like they were written for some long forgotten Monty Python skit deemed too ridiculous even for British consumption. Roaming packs of Hillary voting illegals. Small town massacres covered up by the same tabloid vultures who spin every mass shooting into prime time gold. Toaster ovens wired for sound by retired Indo-Kenyan usurpers (that's what Susan Rice is for). It all sounds like the rantings of a madman and I suppose it is.

I wont argue for a second that our current president doesn't give pathological liars a bad name. Somewhere in a dusty Nevada prison cell Donald's old golfing buddy O.J. Simpson is smacking his shiny forehead and yelping at a tiny see-through TV set "You cant fucking say that!" No, where Time and the rest of their ilk in the mainstream media fly off the rails and deep up their own assholes is when they throw their hands in the air and ask "Who killed the truth?" Like they don't already know. It makes me want to grab them by their starched white collars and scream at the top off my lungs- YOU DID YOU FUCKING CUNTS! Not Trump. Not Breitbart. Not Putin. But YOU! The self-fellating liberal lions of that sinking ship known as the Fourth Estate! You birthed this bastard child known as 'Fake News' when you traded in your objectivity for access during the Persian Gulf War and its all been one great big slide into the Trumpy abyss ever sense.

These, these hollowed crusaders for truth, the heirs of Woodward and Bernstein now battling the ferocious Kraken called Trumpizmo, these are the same god forsaken bastards who told us that Iraqi troops were gleefully pulling the plug on Kuwaiti newborns just for kicks and giggles. These are the bastards who warned us about a genocide in Kosovo that didn't actually begin until after the NATO bombing they promised would stop it. These are the bastards who told us that Saddam Hussein was armed to the teeth with weapons of mass destruction and was ready to sell them to the next Mohammed Atta. These are the bastards who told us tall tales of Libyan rape squads who had to be stopped even if we had to use Al-Qaeda to do it. These are the bastards who continue to insist that Ukraine is in the throws of a Russian invasion which, like Santa Claus, can only be seen with the eyes of those children who truly and blindly believe. And these are the fucking bastards who have devoted every resource at their disposal and every fucking second of every fucking day since November to a desperate crusade to prove that Trump's victory over their precious darling Killary was the product of an insanely Byzantine-esque Kremlin conspiracy that would leave David Icke tongue tied and perplexed. All without providing so much as a fucking speck of verifiable proof. These are the bastards who killed the truth.

And now these deluded and discredited primadonnas have the fucking nerve to wag their bony fingers at the American people for not knowing who to fucking believe. The testicles on these motherless creeps must be the size of goddamn exercise balls. Where do you sperm guzzling cock holsters think Trump learned his fucking tricks from. He is one of you after all. A "media personality" who you shamelessly egged on for ratings until it became horrifically clear that you created a fucking monster. And now you wanna play fucking Van Helsing by slaying your own Frankenstein beast with even more goddamn lies. Well I say, with all disrespect, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Trump may be a sickening, double-dealing, serial-groping, race-baiting, war-mongering and, yes, lying pile of human excrement but your worse, You made him possible and Karma is gunning for you in the form of unemployment. See you in the well-fare lines cocksuckers. I'll be the one shouting I told you so with a big fucking grin on my fat face.

Goddamn the Fourth Estate, dearest motherfuckers, and long live the Fifth. You wont find any fake news here. Not while this tranny bitch has two fists to swing.



Peace, Love and Fury- CH



Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

* Lawyers, Guns and Money By Warren Zevon
* Liar By Rollins Band
* I Think I Would Die By Hole
* Pretty Vacant By The Sex Pistols
* Candy Sam By Ty Segall
* 100% By Sonic Youth
* Panic By The Smiths
* Radio Radio By Elvis Costello
* See No Evil By Television

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Why I Love Guns (& You Should Too!)

I like guns. I probably shouldn't like guns. I don't own guns. No one in my immediate family owns guns. And I'm just slightly to the left of Mao Zedong (just slightly). But I love guns. I love everything about guns. How they look. How they sound. I assume how they feel. I'd like to own one someday when I have the money. A revolver I think. Something in walnut and blue steel that really brings out my eyes. Maybe I've just seen too many movies. Call me a Tarantino leftist.

But I love guns. I love guns the way the Black Panthers, Hunter S. Thompson and Alex Cockburn loved guns. I love guns because they empower the poor. They empower the poor to defend themselves without having to rely on the state. More importantly, they empower the poor to defend themselves from the state, be they racist cops, Border Patrol Gestapo or compound torching feds. The Second Amendment is the one civil right that makes all the others possible. Guns insure that poor people can hold their government accountable when they choose to step on the Constitution.

I also love guns because I'm queer. I love guns because I don't look forward to being curb-stomped by a bunch of fucking skinheads for wearing a dress with a beard only to have some hate-fuck pig tell me in traction that I was asking for it. I love guns because I look forward to the opportunity to show such fag-bashing scum that I have a second cock beneath my skirt. One that blows holes in their skulls deeper than any Filipino surgeon could ever dig in my crotch. I love guns because assimilation is a joke queerer than I am and queer rights looks like a drag queen with a loaded Kalashnikov.

But guns are bad, right? Guns hurt people. People hurt people. People with guns hurt people. People with guns and no earthly idea how to use them hurt people. And people with guns hurt people without guns. An armed populace is a free populace and the more armed a populace is the freer a populace is. Guns are an integral part of any working democracy but a democracy only works when its people are engaged and informed. I see know reason why gun safety shouldn't be taught in public schools. I also see know reason why an inherently undemocratic premise like a standing army shouldn't be phased out and replaced by an inherently democratic premise like an organized civilian militia. It works for Switzerland. One of the safest and most democratic nations on earth. Oh and did I mention that they're also socialists. Just blew your mind, didn't I?

So this is a call to arms. To all my comrades on the left, be they anarchist, communist, socialist or libertarian. Black, brown and queer. Arm yourselves. Arm yourselves to the fucking teeth. What's left of our democracy depends on it. And love your guns. Respect your guns. Learn how to use your guns. Keep them holstered until you need them. Keep the peace and shoot any cunt in the ass who tries to take your piece away.

All power to the people, dearest motherfuckers, all power to the people.



Peace, Love and Empathy- CH


Soundtrack; Songs that influenced this post.

* Ten Dollar Bill By Cop Shoot Cop
* I Shot The Sheriff By Bob Marley
* Fuck The Police By N.W.A.
* Kick Out The Jams By The MC5
* Fight The Power By Public Enemy
* That's When I Reach For My Revolver By Mission Of Burma
* Power To The People By John Lennon