Hammer Mill Days

That spot. I dropped acid there over a year ago. No, no - not L.S.D. ... hydrochloric acid, and I wasn't using "dropped" as a euphemism for "ingested," I literally dropped it. Didn't the man-sized tuber clean it up? Strange.... Oh, there you are. Thank you for joining us once again at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill - ground zero for the Big Green experience in all of its glorious cognitive dissonance. So good of you to drop by every week for the latest installment in our little notebook of horrors. Pretty mun dane horrors, I will allow, this being the world we all know it is, but horrors none the less, and very much our own. Last week, as you may recall, we were at the point of being waterboarded into a binding contract regarding the distribution of our upcoming CD release (still in the mixing/mastering stage), the working title of which is WORKING TITLE. Big Green 's current corporate label, Loathsome Prick records, had grown a little impatient wit...

Gonzales is out, or very nearly so. As some wag has probably suggested by now, I'm sure, he's headed back to Texas to spend more time waterboarding and warrantless wiretapping the wife and kids. With his departure and that of Rove, both lobes of Bush's substandard brain will have shuffled down the highway to the land of yellow roses, god help it. The old Texas mafia is disbanded, and Dubya now nearly stands alone amongst assorted replacements and second tier "Bushies", like Condi Rice and Chertoff. (Media child that I am, this reminds me of the final seasons of "The Waltons," with no mother, no grandma, no grandpa, an ersatz "John-Boy", somebody named "Miss Rose", and the guy who played Patty Duke's father.) The only constant is Cheney, and he's very much alive in this embattled White House, at the very center of greatly expanded presidential powers and, paradoxically, greatly diminished presidential influence around the world...