bring the noyz

Recent Neilsen ratings placed FOX News firmly on top in the cable news networks ratings wars. More cable news channel viewers watch FOX News than watch all the other cable news outlets combined.

Spooky. Just plain fucking spooky.

Oh, and speaking of fucking, here is a penetrating look at how FOX News has become the dominant voice in the cable television news.

(Now, go and give the wonkette some loving.)
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For the past few days I have been driving around head banging fist in the air rocking out to "Stand Up And Shout: The Dio Anthology". As it's Dio, I'm sure you can understand why, and I suspect that a great many of you, my dear readers, have done the same thing on more than one occassion.

It's much more than a little something to take my mind of the tedium of the daily commute. It is a bone crushing yet still life refreshing and soul cleansing dose of metal!

It's got me wondering.

Given that Ozzy is the Elvis of Heavy Metal, and Rob Halford is the Little Richard of Heavy Metal; who is Dio?
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Talkin'bout a grand old party. . .
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wear the latest in presidential ear jewelry.
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The other day, whilst meandering down the information superhighway in search of news about the political demise of Jack Ryan, I visited The Smoking Gun.

Please, my dear readers, if you have not already done so, take a few moments and read Here Comes The Judge. I'll wait.

Hmm. . . hum hum hum. . . hmmm. . .

Good, your back. I trust that like me, your sides literally ache from laughter.

Maybe ol' Judge Thompson believes that sort of behavior causes you to go blind and he was trying to live up to the judicial ideal of "blind justice."

I wonder who was more likely to get off in that courtroom, the defendant or the judge?
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My dear readers, The Good Doctor Noyz is distressed.

This whole "War on Terror / Destroy The Great Satan America" business has really gotten out of hand. First the terrorists use our commercial planes as weapons and kill thousands.

"That's a cold shot, baby. Yeah, that's a drag", as the dearly departed Stevie Ray used to sing.

Then there's a beheading or two.

Dude, that is so not cool.

But now, "booby-trapped beer coolers"!

Imagine, I'm hanging at the lake, chillin' wit' my homies, kicking out the dope jams and scoping all the super fly thong-clad honeys, fixin' to score a girlie for my jammy.

I reach for cold one. . . BOOM!

Oh, the inhumanity!

You can fuck with my country, it will piss me off, but I'm still willing to try to have an open and honest discussion of our differences.

You can jack with my countrymen, leaving them in pieces outside suburban Bagdhad, and I'm still open to the possibility of finding a mutually beneficial peaceful solution to resolve the whole issue.

But DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT fuck with my beer.

Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.
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Like many of you, my dear readers, last week I greatly enjoyed the media spectacle that was the drama surrounding Jack Ryan. He supports legislation that defines marriage as a union between one man and one woman and protects the "traditional family unit."

Yeah. Right. The pompous lying arrogant sack of hypocritical shit with a capital fucking "H" fucking bastard.

For an account of good old fashioned real Republican American Family values in action, the court documents are right here.

As much as it troubles me to do so, I must make a comment in defense of Jack Ryan.

What decent hard-working red-blooded (and blue-balled?) American male wouldn't want Jeri Ryan to "have sex with him there, with another couple watching." or to have her "perform a sexual activity upon him"?

Asking "other people to watch"? Take a look at the prime time network television line-up: "The Bachelor", "For Love or Money", "The Bachelorette", "Who Wants to Marry My Dad", "Big Brother", "Temptation Island". Having people watch has become as American as baseball.

"Seven of Nine"? Yeah, sure babe, I got the six, gimme your nine.
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The Weekly World News is reporting that Dick Cheney is a robot.

Like all good people, I've accepted that as fact and believed it to be true for quite some time.

Either the programming is going horribly awry or the Cheney-bot is desperately trying to demonstrate his humanity by attempting to show human emotion.

Either way, I trust that you, my dear reader, share my feeling that it is a wee bit frightening that this individual is a heartbeat (or lack thereof) away from the Presidency.
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well, not yet, but it's only 8:00 am and I am always an optimist.

Yesterday, the Wife and I left The Boy in the loving care of The Nurse for a five day trip to New Orleans. Officially, I'm here on business. I won a kind of bet or dare with my school principal, "If you submit a proposal and it gets accepted, I'll find a way to send you."

Well, what else could I do? I was challenged. My honor was at stake.

My proposal was one of a couple hundred selected out of around 1800 entries for a presentation at a national conference on education and technology.

Yes, my dear reader, you are correct, I do in fact, kick ass. At least as an educator of kids with significant disabilities.

And we get an almost all expenses paid six months belated honeymoon in New Orleans.

This is my first trip to New Orleans. I think it best that I did not come here earlier in life. I would not have left. As a younger man, the lure of the hedonistic excesses would have easily overwhelmed my tenuosu grasp of reality and my fragile sense of responsibility.

Now I have thoughts of The Boy and The Wife to help keep me a little more grounded in reality.

Bourbon street. One block from our hotel. I've never seen such a concentrated area of strip clubs, blues clubs and cheezy daquiri bars in one place before. I've never imagined such places existed. I only half-way imagined such places, as a devout and pious pilgrim imagines Heaven.

The conference is about to begin, I'm nursing a slight hangover with a three fucking dollar cup of coffee. I got go do some professional schmoozing and see how much free crap I can collect from the giant exhibit hall full of vendors peddling their wares.

And damnit, I'm in freaking New Orleans! I've been up for about an hour and a half and I haven't had a drink yet. (And that's exactly the reason why I should not have come here earlier in life.)

more as time permits. . .
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And for the love of God, don't be afraid to make a wish that goes horribly awry!

I urge each and everyone of you to check out the crazy knowledge and wisdom my long time friend and for a brief time housemate is throwing down on your sorry lazy asses. It is not an option. So do it now! I'll wait. . .

Good, now welcome back.

We should all pray to The Lord and to The Lucky Stars each morning that we have a dedicated individual surfing the web for the information we need. Without Harley, most, if not all, of us would have missed this very important news story:

A nude model, five bodies and the Mormon assassination plot attempt

I need not write any more because I know by now you have all clicked on the above link and are no longer reading this.
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Okay, so I've spent literally the past decade or so of my life dreaming of and imagining the perfect radio station:

KGNR -- Guns and Roses Radio!
All Guns and Roses, All The Time.

I mean, waking up every morning to "Welcome to the Jungle" and going to sleep each night to the soothing piano sounds of "November Rain" would just like totally rock my world! And when I dance with Mr. Brownstone on the Nightrain to see the Sweet Child o' Mine. . . two words. . . awe some.

Can't you just imagine that way cool black and chrome with glittery red for the roses bumper sticker 15 years ago on the back of your Trans-Am (with it's I-E-A-T Z28 personalized license plate), or possibly last week on your 'vette? (C'mon C.F., I know you can, just admit it.)

Two words: Awe Some

As in "awesome, fucking awesome!"

Or Kick Ass! As in "Dude, that totally kicks ass!"
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Well slap me silly and call me Sally, half of my dream is about to come true.

I've got the gun, still waiting on the roses.

(That sounds a little like a line from an old white trash broken-hearted drunken country love song, like something Loretta Lynn sang. But I digress. . . )

The National Rifle Association is about to launch their own radio program.

What? Just how thinly veiled will that three hour political ad be?

I can only hope it's gonna have a Casey Kasem style Top Hits countdown:

10) Concrete Blonde - "God is a Bullet"

9) Aerosmith - "Janie's Got A Gun"

8) AC/DC - "Gimme a Bullet"

7) Lightning Hopkins - "Shotgun Blues"

6) The Cramps - "Bikini Girls with Machine Guns"

5) Lynyrd Skynyrd - "Gimme Back My Bullets"

4) The Violent Femmes - "Country Death Song" (not gun related, but it really seems to fit)

3) The Commodores - "Machine Gun"

2) The Beatles - "Happiness is a Warm Gun"

. . . and the number one song this week and for all time on NRA Radio, "All guns! All the time". . .

1) KISS - "Love Gun"
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The mortar probably has not yet dried on Reagan's tomb and already the selfish egotistical materialistic money grubbing bastards, er, the conservatives, are wrapping themselves in his memory like it was an American flag all for the betterment of dubya and his corporate masters.

The stench that emanates from the exploitation of a body that has been dead for scarcely a week is quite nauseating.
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"Dad was also a deeply, unabashedly religious man. But he never made the fatal mistake of so many politicians - wearing his faith on his sleeve to gain political advantage. True, after he was shot and nearly killed early in his presidency he came to believe that God had spared him in order that he might do good. But he accepted that as a responsibility, not a mandate. And there is a profound difference." - Ron Reagan, eulogizing his father, June 11, 2004
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She's gone. . .

Yes, she is gone from our lives and most importantly gone from the life of The Boy. If she ever so much as has the opportunity to lay her cold eyes upon him again it will be from the defendant's chair in a courtroom.

Although she's gone she is far from forgotten and has yet to be brought to justice. For that reason she remains a spectre that sometimes haunts my dreams.

She's still the worst kind of Evil with a capital "E". I haven't written about her in a long time because I have no real new news to report. Which is not to say that we haven't learned a whole freakin' lot in the past few months about her dark heart and her methods of evil.

However, at present The Wife and I are slowly losing faith in the multiple government agencies whose job it is to hold Ms. von Munchausen accountable for her actions. It seems as though most are in a heavy C.Y.A. mode. Yet we will patiently wait for all of them to finish their various and multiple "investigations", because at present we have no other choice.

But someday, after the Judge puts the final gavel down on The Boy's adoption procedings, we will have another choice and a case to be made. And we have the documents to prove it. So we smile and nod and hold our tongues and wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

And wait. And wait. And wait.

The Boy continues to astound and amaze. He is remarkable beyond our wildest dreams. The progress he has made in the now three months since he has been placed with us is amazing.

It's really not all that surprising that a child's level of ability and awareness will improve almost exponentially if they go from receiving a total of 38 doses of a dozen or so medications in a twenty four hour period to three meds four times a day.

What is surprising is the magnitude of his progress.

Such as. . .

Last week on his third day of school ever because he just turned three a week ago, The Boy whom Ms. von Munchausen said was completely blind because of "optic nerve atrophy" chose the color he wanted the flowers to be on the artwork that now adorns our 'fridge by looking at his choice.

This morning, The Boy whom Ms. von Munchausen wrote required around the clock nutrition via a gastrostomy tube because he "doesn't have a brain" and therefore lacked the cognitive ability to eat (causing both aspiration and projectile vomiting) had gingerbread pancakes and fresh strawberries for breakfast.

With each new amazing thing he does I find myself angry once again at a woman who did all that she could to hold him back.

My contempt, disgust, and hatred for Ms. von Munchausen continues to grow.

Elvis Costello says it quite well:

A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously in pain
She spills with compassion, as that young child's
Face in her hands she grips
Can you imagine all that greed and avarice coming down on that child's lips

Well I hope I don't die too soon
I pray the Lord my soul to save
Oh I'll be a good boy, I'm trying so hard to behave
Because there's one thing I know, I'd like to live long enough to savour
That's when they finally put you in the ground
I'll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down

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After putting The Boy to bed last night, The Wife and I finally had a chance to sit down and pay our respects to the Dead President.

Yes, that's right, we played a drinking game.

We watched the "private family service at the the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library in Simi Valley" and we drank vodka tonics (with diet tonic water, as like the rest of the country we are trying to cut down on our carbs).

Sweet merciful crap. What a helluva way to get a good buzz on in a hurry.

"Private family service"??? With The Terminator, his wife Skeletor, and Chachi? Yes, Chachi. Scott Baio was at the damn funeral. I read this morning that Wayne Newton was even there. Wow! The oft shown shot of Schwarzenegger next to Margaret Thatcher was politically and pop culturally priceless and a little surreal.

Also in attendence was the media with their cameras. Lots of freaking cameras. It harldy seemed "private".

Maybe it's because the disgusting wave of so-called "reality" television that currently is crashing through the public airwaves has so blurred the boundries of private and public. . .

Maybe it's because at heart Nancy Reagan is an actress who dreamed she was The Queen of America and this was her final triumpant dramatic role. . .

Whatever the reason, why was Reagan's "private family funeral" on television for all the world to see?

Why was Chris Matthews there like he was doing the color commentary at a damn football game? I never imagined in a milllion years I'd be writing this, but I gained some respect for FOX News because their talking heads had the decency to shut the fuck up during the service and let the images and attendees speak for themselves.

Which they did. In great detail. More detail than was necessary.

Does the world need to know that President Reagan had an earlobe fetish?

The Wife kept saying, "I feel so dirty, we shouldn't be watching this, this should be private."

I kept replying, "Yes, I agree, this should be private, we shouldn't be watching this. . . There's Nancy, drink. There she is again. Drink."

So we sat and we drank and we watched the "private family service" with a 21-gun cannon salute and a military jet flyover.

I'm sure the vodka helped soften our emotions, but we both got teary-eyed when Nancy Reagan leaned over the casket, embraced it, kissed it, and began to cry. Think what you will about the man and his legacy, this was an image of a wife saying her last goodbye to her husband of fifty plus years. It was an intensely personal and private moment. And we were watching and listening along with the rest of the world.

We should not have seen that moment. The world should not have been part of that moment. It felt nauseatingly voyeuristic and wrong. But it was compelling television, and we could not change the channel (not that that would have mattered since it was on so many different channels).

"Look, she's crying. Drink twice."

And none of it would be on television if Nancy Reagan had not agreed to it in the first place.

When it was all said and done, The Wife and I had a brief discussion about politics, which I generally enjoy because it is the only game that truly matters, and she generally finds disgusting because it is a game in which lots of people are typically hurt while a handful of people make bank based on the decisions of a few pompous typically self-serving bastards.

She quite astutely summed up the entire American political scene:

"Republicans are idiots. Democrats are pussies. The world is going to Hell and that's the bottom line. So let's drink up."
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. . . instead of a public school teacher, the neglected and abused bastard stepchild of government workers, I would have had today off and thus could have stayed at home and properly mourned the passing of a "great leader".

(Thanks to the wonderful wonkette for bringing this to my attention.)
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The week of cable news channel's "All Reagan, All The Time" winds slowly onward.

The other day I was sitting at home watching the spectacle that was the moving of the official presidential box (which I know to some of you will forever be Monica Lewinsky, this is a different type of box entirely) onto the caisson (hooray! a dead president has increased the average American's vocabulary by one word!) and then the cortege (okay, maybe two words) to the Capitol. Like the rest of you, I has watching for the same reason we all watch NASCAR: just hoping to see a crash. I had this image of some stumbling young marine causing Reagan's casket to go bouncing down the Capitol steps, hitting the street and flying open, with the wrinkled gray embalmed body of Reagan just spilling out all over the street.

That would have been really cool.

And as I was watching, I found myself wondering (just wondering you DARPA TIA types, not conspiring, wishing, scheming or otherwise plotting, just wondering, and as far as I know thoughts have not yet become crimes, not quite yet) if maybe America would be a better place today if Hinkley had been a better shot and this whole spectacle could have been over twenty years ago.
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musical or otherwise. . .

"West Wing staffers call Bush and Ashcroft “the Blues Brothers” because “they’re on a mission from God.”

I guess we can only hope that one of them quickly goes all Belushi.

Thanks to Cardinal Fang and Jake for turning me on to the article.
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This morning I returned to work following a week off playing with The Boy and enjoying a bloodbath of virtual violence.

Do you wanna stick it The Man but feel frustrated by your limitations and have the common sense to realize The Man would crush you like the bug you are if you actually rose up against Him? Spend a few hours decapitating virtual law enforcement officers and throwing their heads at them. It helps. Really. . . a little bit anyway.

When I arrived, Ms. Tooran was not there.

She's gone. I learned that yesterday morning, Ms. Tooran gave up her fight to remain in this country. She packed up her two teenage children with significant disabilities along with as many of her belongings as she could fit in her old pick-up truck, and left. She is making her way to Buffalo, New York and to Vive La Casa, Inc. They are expecting her, and are helping her get asylum into Canada.

She considered her options and decided not to spend her remaining resources on a fight that most likely could not be won. Instead of spending all her money and time gambling with their lives, she opted for a more hopeful but still uncertain future. She packed up everything she could and is moving thousands of miles away to start over and once again attempt to build a life for herself and her children.

I hope the irony that this is why she left Iran for America in the first place is not lost on anyone.

"Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"

Yeah, right. Dubya, Asscroft and company have made a mockery of one of America's greatest symbols of freedom an opportunity.

Our nation demonstrates once again the racism and bigotry it hypocritically decries.

I thank you, my dear reader. And please accept my thanks on behalf of Ms. Tooran. We thank you for your phone calls, conversations and correspondence on her behalf. Your willingness to help a complete stranger who is in need and the victim of a cruel injustice is quite commendable.

I hope the irony that your actions to help Ms. Tooran are an American ideal and yet she still had to leave is not lost on anyone.

Once again, my dear reader, I thank you.

And like me, I trust you will neither forgive nor forget the arrogant fearmongering self-felching fascist phallic faced fucks who are responsible.
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Former United States President Ronald Reagan is still dead.
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Our top story tonight. . . former United States President Ronald Reagan is still valiantly holding on in his effort to remain dead.
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Now wake the fuck up!
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Okay, so like it's Friday night and The Boy and I are jus' chillin' on the couch because one of The Wife's Sisters is in town and they wanna go out because The Sister has been out of The Country (literally, not like I was in the 90's) for the past six months and they need to spend some quality sibling time catching up and hanging out.

Which is just fine, because then I can work with The Boy can on some basic life skills. Like sitting on the couch in your boxers or diaper (I was wearing the boxers. Don't be an asshole.) and channel surfing.

So we stumble across what has the potential to be the most bad-ass television program of all time.

I'm a bit of an affectionado of the metal genre, and I certainly desire to raise The Boy up right, so I figure we'll give it a shot.

It's pretty cool. It's got the Led Zeppelin Shark Story, It's got a piece about Gene Simmons, which depending upon your moral proclivities, makes him either the greatest or most repugnant man that ever lived.

All fairly standard rock-n-roll stuff. No real surprises, like when Rob Halford officially announced he was gay and forever and most disturbingly changed the images in my head when I listen to this song.

So they get to number one. Hear N' Aid? The greatest metal moment of all time!?! Sweet merciful crap! I lack the vocabulary to adequately convey my true feelings and describe just how fucking lame that is.

Wow, the corporate masters really do suck ass.

(But I was reminded of just exactly how much DIO rocks your ass off. Long live rock!)
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It's depressing enough that Music Television now seldom plays music videos. Everyone's known it for years. I'm over it. I've accepted that they are no longer a music station but a lifestyle station for the young, the fashionable, the fabulous looking, and the ultra hip. Basically the antithesis of me. And you needn't remind me that I am no longer a member of their main demographic so therefore their corporate masters don't give a rat's ass what I think.

And I haven't bought a Clearasil product in about 15 years.

My partners in decadence at the time and I had no idea that "Remote Control" was probably the beginning of the end of the "music" part of Music Television. We were to busy doing bong hits and drooling lustily over Kari Wuhrer.

Ah. . . memories. . .

But that was then and this is now and last night The Wife and I were up late chillin' on the couch watching country music videos because it was the only channel that was playing music videos and after you've had a drink or two sometimes you just wanna watch a music video. And thankfully, although it was a little hot in here because the air conditioner was repaired late in the day yesterday and hadn't quite caught up yet, we knew there was absolutely zero chance of seeing Nelly. Count your blessings where you find them.

Wow. The blatant manipulative attempt to sell more records through claims of patriotism and amazingly badly poetic tales of valour and soldiery that permeate the country music airwaves makes me wanna hurl.

The newest entry into this already saturated market of pablum and cheese is by John Michael Montgomery. He has a song called Letters from Home.

Calling it stupid, idiotic and just plain awful is a bit of an understatement.

It has apparently become the theme song for some nationwide movement to support the troops. Whoop de fucking hoo.

In the song, the protagonist takes his letter from home and "I fold it up and put it in my shirt, pick up my gun and get back to work"

"Pick up my gun and get back to work"!!!

Hmmm. . . What work do you do with a gun? Oh. . . I see. . . he's singing about shooting and killing people.

Wait a minute! A gun reference in a song! Where's the outrage! You can't sing about gun violence. Have we forgotten Columbine? Who's gonna protect the children! Where are the politicians preening and strutting their moral indignation in front of the cameras. Has Bill O'Reilly ranted about this yet?

Can you imagine the hue and cry that would emanate from the hypocritical self-serving pig-faced bastards that pass for the mainstream media and our nations great leaders if Eminem or 50 Cent were to sing "pick up my gun and go back to work"?

On the upside. . .

Hank Williams Jr. has a new song and video. He raises the very important and particularly pertinent and peaceful question in this time of war of "Why Can't We All Just Get A Longneck?"
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For those of you, my dear readers, who have not yet been motivated to get up off the couch, put down the remote, and fucking do something, anything -- register to vote, march in the streets, write letters to the editor, call your freakin' elected officials. . . whatever, just fucking do something -- after reading the plight of Ms. Tooran perhaps because you thought, "ooooh, that's just too bad. . . but I'm a citizen. I was born and raised right here in the godamned U. S. of fucking A. and gah-dam-nit I know my fucking rights! They can't treat me like that. It's in the Constitution."

Um, yeah. . . right.

That's probably what this guy thought.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not a cheerleader for Jose Padilla. He's hardly a model American and a far cry from Hank Hill, the perfect role model of an ideal civic minded individual. If just half or so of what the American Government alleges is true then the bastard probably deserves to be locked in a dark windowless hole and repeatedly poked with pointed sticks in sensitive places.

If his actions are criminal, then charge him with crimes. It is frightening that the current chief executive has asserted the power to detain American citizens indefinitely and deny them all of the rights guaranteed to them under the Constitution. Fortunately, others people, like the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit, are also concerned about this broad assertion of authority.

I understand that the U.S. Constitution is a complex document, has no pictures, and is quite honestly, a boring read full of verbose sentences such as "The actual Enumeration shall be made within three years after the first meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent term of ten years, in such manner as they shall by law direct." BLAH BLAH BLAH

But I hope that the person who took an oath to "preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States" (from Article II) would have at least read the damn thing first. And maybe asked someone to explain it to him.

I wonder what part of "No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury. . . nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law. . ." (from Amendment 5) our current President doesn't understand.
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As the merciless yellow faced bastard that is the source of all our power finally begins to descend and grants a brief respite from its radiant energy, the temperature outside slowly has dropped to below 90. The temperature inside must be about 95. Oh yeah, and the relative humidity is somewhere between rainforest and sauna.

The fucking air conditioner went out. Yes that's right. The fucking air conditioner went out.

AAAAAGHHH!

Is what I would be screaming it wasn't to hot and humid to breathe.

The Boy is lying on the couch in his white trash best t-shirt and diaper. He's glowing from the heat and pissed off because he doesn't understand why we aren't holding him.

The Wife is well. . . let me just say that I've known for years that she is no fan of the summer months. You will never find her bronzing her beautiful alabaster skin poolside. She is not a happy camper.

I just want a beer.

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and a husband. . .

I just transferred a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. What else is there for me to do at 1:30 in the morning? I know The Boy has a lot of clothes. I just didn't realize he wore them all. Apparently at the same time.

Yet another of a multitude of reasons why The Wife is a great Mom.

May their dreams bring them both peace tonight.
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