A Message From Senator McCain and President Bush

Obama: You ain't got shit on us.

Bush) Bad Boyz... we ain't gon' stop

Verse One: McCain

Now with G-Dubs on the hot seat I'm like the fresh treat

Put it out all the bustahs bet I can get the vote, sheep (that's right)
Leave a po' boy without shit to eat fronting like
Bad Boyz ain't got cheese (wiggas gotta wear sheets)
There's no guy slicker than this old white figga

Nickel nine soulja floss - you die quicker (uh huh)
This presidential time outta senate flipper
Turn Cristal into a five c-note slipper
Everbody want to be fast, see the cash
Fuck around with my Cheney staff, get a heat rash

Anything in Bad Boyz way we smash (Iraq)
Billion G stash, push a bulletproof convoy and mash (uh huh)
I'm through with bein a vet and a brawler
Already got me one rich bad cunt, as I call her
Mac gonna be the one you respect, even when you're vexed

Rock Versace silks over crushed velvet
Got green never seen so the press suck my jewels
Clutch my uz', anything I touch they use
G-Dubs make his own laws, democrats fuck your rules (that's right)

Obama Hussein, you know you can't touch us dudes

[Bush] Don't push us, cause we're close to the, edge
[Bush] We're tryin, not to lose our heads, a-hah hah hah hah

Verse Two: McCain


Broken glass everywhere *glass shatters*
if Iraq ain't about the money, G-Dubs, I just don't care (that's right)
I'm that POW fly guy, sometimes wiseguy
Don't spend time in H-A-W-A-I-I

(Mac can you please stop talking without teleprompters?)
G-Dub why try? I'm a vet, straight talk express- though I'm gonna lie
I be out in D.C., suckin' off the lobby
Middle class ain't worthy to rock my derby

Though I'm never present, I'm the future president, G
Though I know the Barack be wantin to crack me (uh-huh)
Could it be I lie as smoove as Bugsy? (yeah)
Or at the Senate with too many working for a lobby? (c'mon)

Yo I think it must be the right wing want to lust me
Or is it simply the rich rascist pastors just love me
Po' folx wanna: keep their homes, put food on their plates,
Pay off they bills, control they fate, disrespect my life (uhh)

I'm like, "Damn, how these suckaz got these steaks?
Used to be my slaves, how you gonna plot on my wife?"
Do you think you can take me, cause dems hate me?
Or you got your Rh.D; Republican Hater's Degree? (Ahaha!)


Chorus: McCain, Bush

[Mac] Can't nobody take my pride
[Bush] Uh-uh, uh-uh
[Mac] Can't nobody hold me down... ohh no
[Mac] I got to keep on movin

Verse Three: McCain


Quit that! (uh-huh) Obama ain't a big Mac! (yeah)
Where your votes at? (yeah) Where your majority whips at? (where dey at?)
Wherever you get votes, I'm a fix that
Everything that's survivor shit, I did that (that's right)

Don't knock me cause you're not a POW
I'm torture proved with crew (*whistling*) straight talk on you
A lot of simple men be wantin to hear it too
Cause their words just can't offend me (uh-uh, uh-uh)

We spend cheese, bombing some oil countries
Then come home to plenty cream Bentleys (ahehe)
You name it, I could claim it
Old, white, and famous, with money hangin out the anus
And when you need a hit, who you go and get? (who?)

Vote against me? (Not a good bet)
I'll start a war that'll rearrange your whole set (that's right)
and got a home I ain't even lived in yet.

Loyd Dobler Should Have Stayed Home.

So, I finally got around to the second installment of the Loyd Dobler quadrilogy. I think that's a word.

Loyd Dobler, starting with Better Off Dead (high school), then post-high (Say Anything), Reunion Time (Grosse Point Blank) and to date, the final installment, War Inc.

Incidentally, all great movies. I once got an "incident report" or, as the colloquialism was, a "shot" in prison for having two one-dollar bills. For those that have not seen Better Off Dead, this will not be funny. For the rest, understand that in my locker was a picture of the paperboy from that movie. Ironic, and funny. No, the cash wasn't mine. Got dumped in my locker (which I never locked) while I was at work, during a shakedown. I wish the fucker had used the trash instead, but que sera, sera.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, watched Say Anything. Not a bad flick, but probably not the best choice considering my current plight with the fairer sex, and continued mismanagement of those (normally qualified as sordid by our uptight society) relationships.

What can I say? I'm a professional fuck off. I managed to fuck off about eight years of my life in federal prison, and I'm cursed to another five years of fucking off my life in post-sentence supervision. At least I can have some fun with it. Not that law school sounds like fun for me, but if I make Berkeley, I might get a chance at the war criminal John Yoo, which sounds at least entertaining.

Speaking of entertaining, I haven't yet had a chance to talk about the new shoes I got for Chupecabra. Yeah, purple pedals. Installing the pedals led to a discovery: my bike shop is peopled by folx that didn't have my best interest in mind - the crank, which was only partially sealed by my older brother, was rusted through. Despite three tuneups in six months, somehow the crank never got greased, despite in two occasions a specific call by yours truly for them to do something about the fucking crank.

Needless to say, I'm doing my own maintenance from now on. I'm sure my step-pops, the do-it-yourself maintenance guy, would surely approve, but quite honestly, I'll go with an unnamed friend of mine from prison: if you want good drugs, you should just bite the bullet and make them yourself. That's a paraphrase, by the way, since s/he was a little on the minimalist tip, and had compressed the above to, "If you want it, make it."

Where was I? Oh yeah, Loyd Dobler. Depressing in some respects. I had to ignore 16 candles, of course, as an anomaly. I don't recall his sister being in that film, and at this point, I'm quite sure that if Joan Cusack isn't in the fucking film, it's not a Loyd Dobler film, no matter what the protagonist's name is. Conversely, if she's there, it's one of the series.

Speaking of series, I still have yet to watch the Twin Peaks series I picked up for free from Craigslist. Which reminds me, I haven't gone over my theory of the internet taking us back to classical Greece. To summarize:

Google is the Oracle. Craigslist is the bazaar. I haven't figured out the colisseum just yet, but give me time, this theory is rather new. None of this has anything to do with my title, so I'm getting back to the point now.

If Loyd Dobler had stayed home, we wouldn't have had a crazed assassin on the loose, we wouldn't have an opportunist in some Middle Eastern country, and just for once, he might have had the same girl from one flick to the next - hell, at his high school reunion, he hooked up with someone that was no where in his initial high school experience.

Maybe I'm just a little on the optimistic side - I suppose things could be worse than being a highly paid hitman with a conscience. I wouldn't know.

Next week, I can't figure out if it is polemic time, or another ramble with no particular point except to comment upon something I've seen recently. Until then, my three fans, fare well, and know that somewhere, someone is watching some seriously sappy ish, and getting a good cry out of it. That someone, however, is not me.

Tomorrow, Chupecabra and I ride to meet our destiny in the streets of Manhattan, those sordid streets that have already soaked so much of my blood.

To Those That Waited...

Prisoner Within, the Release Papers, is on its way.

What does on its way mean? It means that we, meaning my brother Gabriel and I, have conceptualized the next issue, which will be widely distributed at the next Critical Resistance Conference, coming at the end of September in the Bay (Yay).

Prisoner Within, for you of the three that actually read this blog and don't know, is a collaborative project that I have with my brother Gabriel. We discuss prisons, and the effect they have upon people both in individual terms (Gabriel, as a supporter of a prisoner, myself, as a prisoner) as well as societal trends (how we approach the world, conceptualize the world, the function of state, etc).

Naturally, at this point you're as excited as someone about to attend a life insurance seminar. In all reality, however, Prisoner Within is a serious work, and so isn't in the same mien as this blog, which is both a personal polemic, rant space, but also a comedic testing ground. That being said, Prisoner Within has some insights and stories that are funny, that are sad, that are outrageous, and an underlying mission that no amount of playing the jester can ever truly fulfill... so this is exciting news for me. And maybe one of you.

So, with all of those qualifications out of the way, let me introduce Prisoner Within, the Next Edition:

We shall be exploring themes in the next edition, themes of how people both think and relate to each other, and how the function of tradition and culture, nominally passed onto the State, have made us prisoners in terms of what modes of interacting with each other is considered acceptable or "right."

Pieces already contemplated for inclusion are a piece on the definitions commonly associated with "drug dealer," "brother," and "crack dealing gangster."

What? You accuse me of leading off? Of trying to "hook" you in the most base of fashions - confusing and blurring the lines between work and play? Certainly! I'm gui... er... I take the fifth, goddamnit.

So, my fine readership, next month, I shall be directing you all to Critical Resistance, and the release of the new edition of Prisoner Within!

In the meantime, stay tuned for your regularly-scheduled buffoonery from yours' truly.

Fucking Fuck Fuck Fuck!

So, I signed up to take the LSATs in December.

Yeah, I know. Big fucking deal. Yet another asshole ambulance chaser. Or rather, a facsimile of a human with only two organs: identical assholes. Right.

I'm not trying to become a lawyer. I'm trying to get a law degree for something even more stupid: credibility. I'm trying to become a public policy expert, and that fucking law degree confers automatic expertise, even though half a million dipshits (i.e. prosecutors) already have gotten one in the past, making the entire exercise some kind of questionable waste of money.

Not that I have money, I'm going to borrow it. I'm still questioning the logistics of why I'm bothering to save money, when I'm going to go into such a ginormous debt that anything I put away to later pay off my debt will be like spitting on a forest fire to put it out.

To top it off, if I manage to mismanage one more relationship with the more enchanting sex, I think I'm going to chemically casturate myself as a service to humanity. Either that or become a whore. There's something about the extremes I find at least entertaining, if not productive or beneficial to the world. I would go for porn, but I just don't have the courage, the penis size, or the physique to make me an in-demand porn star, and I'm just not willing to do the amateur circuit - it's all or nothing with me.

Do you think there's a demand for chemically-casturated pornstars? Manboobs and semi-soft genitalia?

Okay, Okay, goddamnit, I'm sorry! I'm not trying to scare you three off!

So, outside of law school and fucking off relationships, I've also realized I can eat just about anything. My dinner tonight consisted of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream, as the appetizer for some collard greens with rice, brown rice vinegar, canola oil, buffalo meat, eggs, candied ginger, mango salsa and chili pepper sauce. I can't quite describe what it tastes like, but I can say my roommate made a definite "no thanks" after he smelled the concoction.

And if I look at any more porn after this weekend, I'm seriously going blind.

Which makes me think that my bike is starting to wear into my fucking brain: I'm acting like a damn goat in rut. I swear if a cantelope shows up, the fucker's in trouble.

Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you! Seriously, I wouldn't do that to a cantelope - too tasty to ruin the soft, supple, sweet flesh....

...ohhhh....

Nevermind. I probably would. Fucking Fuck Fuck Fuck!