So I’ve been missing in action. Yeah. Gone. Mentally. Out to brunch. Living under a frock. Head buried in the flan. And other things. Sorry about that. But there was good reason. Well, there were reasons.

I’ve been depressed, dejected, and generally horrified. What can I say? I’m weak. And ashamed about it, too. Paralyzed by nihilism. Probably a little lazy. And the drugs don’t help. They may not hurt, but they do not help. I don’t know, exactly, but I’ve been in an existential funk, haunted by imminent futility—mine, yours, political, journalistic, comedic, artistic, humanistic. Is that a word? I don’t care. That’s a good sign. I think.

But…cat!

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Harris, seen here, working on his next book

Dear Torture Apologist Sam Harris,

You rarely cease to amaze. For a man who coldly advocates the brutal physical and psychological torture of others, you demonstrate a remarkable level of cowardice when confronted with the slightest written criticism. As if fully incapable of sensing irony, you describe my critique of your pro-torture stance as “poisonous,” and ramble on for over 2,200 words, hiding behind this disingenuous excuse and that, about why you don’t have the time to effectively respond to such “attacks.” Impressive.

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Stalin: a great atheist, but a crap skeptic

Last week, I wrote a piece for AlterNet/Salon in which I railed against five prominent atheists (Penn Jillette, Sam Harris, Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Bill Maher, and S.E. Cupp), for their respective irrational beliefs in matters nonreligious. Criticism of my article ranged from absurd AlterNet comments like:

This article is nothing but B.S. spouted by a Christian zealot. It looks like we’re the l;ast nation on earth with missionaries

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Homosexual Oreos Make Me Puke

It’s happened again. Another trusted American brand has threatened the sanctity of marriage. How dare you, Oreo cookies? And to think that I used to put you in my mouth!

The Supreme Court just upheld Citizens United and smacked down labor fundraising, and they’re likely to end the tyranny of health care on Thursday. It’s bad enough the Obamerment is forcing me to go on man-dates…et tu, Oreos?

This is truly disturbing. No, really. It represents the casual worst of corporate America and its liberal media cheerleaders. Slap a pandering rainbow on your product, or hire a lesbian comedienne as a spokesperson, and the American consuming public collectively agrees that you, like, really give a shit.

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The Yes Men are an American institution. Mike Bonanno & Andy Bichlbaum (fake names which somehow seem realer than their real names), have been righteously punking corporate fools and the media for over a decade. They rule.

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Personal Democracy and Our Brutally Stupid Meatspace

So Nick Judd, The One & True President of Technology Whom I’ve Never Heard of Before (PBUH), posted a response to my article about the Personal Democracy Forum last week called “Fake David Koch, #PDF12 and the New Gullibility“. I wasn’t going to respond to his response, but I heard you like critiques of your critiques, so here you go:

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Evil, Kittehs Abound at #PDF12

Evil shaves its head because it’s balding “gracefully.” Evil lacks principles. Evil tweets with a Mac. Evil is competent. Evil is well paid. Evil has a complexion like Edward James Olmos. Evil might even believe some of its own bullshit. Evil sat next to me during a panel on Wisconsin at the Personal Democracy Forum. Evil’s the online media strategist for the Republican Governors Association. Evil is named Matthew Gagnon.

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Unlimited money buys unlimited dumb in Wisconsin and elsewhere

“Dateline NBC” once offered a group of children a breakfast choice: a banana or a rock with a Scooby-Doo sticker on it. Almost all of them chose the rock. Last Tuesday, Wisconsin chose the rock.

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The Verdict

We bump into four of the six jurors in the lobby of the courthouse. “So why’d you do it?” asks Fallon.

“We just couldn’t get over how that one guy was ‘disgusted,’” says the young UB cog sci major.¹ They never considered the NOM rally a “religious service.” They didn’t believe Donna Donovan. They didn’t believe Roland Cercone. They didn’t believe the Mount Olive security guard. And they didn’t believe Swanson. But they did believe Josh Bunting.

“But you don’t know what that guy thought!” Fallon marbled. “Maybe he liked it — he wasn’t here!”

They shrug.

“You know,” I say. “They originally charged me with filming the police — and they changed it, three months later, to obscenity after they found the dildo-phone pic online.”

They shrug.

“And they erased my camera.”

A glimmer of understanding comes over the foreman — a Born Again Skeletor look-a-like — and then he says, “So, you work at CFI, huh? I work near there.” He scowls. Or smiles. There’s literally no way to know.

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Closing Arguments, Conspiracy Theories, Hot Dogs & Heart Burn

1:00 PM — Fallon and I are sitting on a bench in downtown Buffalo. It’s an incestuous ghost town. There’s not many people on the streets, but they all seem to know each other. Most of them are wearing some bureaucratic lanyard or another. They’re all stakeholders in this repugnant perversion of justice. I eat a hot dog.

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