An ad we ran in Issue 39….
….and an ad in the new Alt Press???
Name: Janet Jackson’s Right Breast
Turn-ons: Saline bags, fresh air, media circuses, football, JJ from “Good Times” (he’s still got it!)
Turn-offs: Confining military-style outfits, nature, Paula Abdul, hungry babies, Moveon.org
How I became The BEAST Page 3 Surgically Enhanced Right Breast: Well, it’s kind of silly, really. Janet was rehearsing her big halftime number with Justin Timberlake, and he kept talking about how they should do something to top Britney’s smooch with Madonna. Janet has a basic resentment of “white bitches who sell more records than [her] cause they’re white,” so she went for it. MTV loved it, too. I guess we didn’t plan on everyone freaking out, though—it’s a different crowd than the Video Music Awards, I guess. Now they’re all denying that it was planned, which is about as believable as the Warren commission. C’mon, why was I adorned with that crazy pasty? How come it happened just at the line “bet I’ll have you naked by the end of this song?” Why would Janet be wearing a tear-away bra? What other “shocking moments” could MTV have been referring to in its statement prior to the show? Why did Justin say, “Hey man, we love giving you all something to talk about,” right afterwards? We wanted the hype, and we got it. Why not fess up? Either way, Janet’s next album is gonna sell like heroin, no matter how crappy it is.
Future Plans: I imagine that I and my counterpart will be wrapped up tight for a while, while the backlash dies down, but our popularity will no doubt rise in the wake of this global peepshow. We’re also thinking of having hydraulics installed.
How I want to be remembered: As the most important thing in the world; way more engaging than all of that political election war stuff; even more important than football and high-priced commercials. Also as proof that any girl can be a sex symbol, as long as she doesn’t mind undergoing a Frankenstein-like surgical transformation, and having a clownish smile carved into her face.
by Michael Gildea
The Butterfly Effect
Fucking Ashton Kutcher. He’s got a big part on a reasonably funny show, he’s dated/fucked a famous skank, and then dated the Queen Skank. Hell, he’s even got an unfunny MTV show that the most brain-dead of dingleberries find, for some indefinable reason, amusing. But now the little pretty-boy prick’s got to take over the world, and diversify his talents by actually acting. If the little shitweasel’s secret weapon is his acting ability, our beloved mud-ball can sleep well. You can grasp the concept of The Butterfly Effect by watching the old “Simpson’s Treehouse of Horror,” in which Homer steps on a bug after creating a time machine out of a toaster. Grandpa even warns him not to step on a bug, because the future would forever be altered. If America’s favorite oaf is dumb enough to not heed some old-time advice, what makes you think that Demi Moore’s old ego boost is going to figure it out? This gives us a psychological thriller that relies entirely too much on special effects, and leaves little to the easily baited viewer’s imagination. You won’t have to think too much. So, to ruin this piece of shit for every teenybopper in the theater who thinks Ashton is so dreamy, I stood up and howled “YYYESSSSSSS!” in that true Kelso style whenever the audience seemed especially unnerved by the child molestation themes, or whenever Ethan Suplee (Willem from Mallrats) showed up as the girthy goth kid. The ushers tried to kick me out, and I faked spasms and overacted when I sobbed, “W-w-what-t-t-t-t’s hhhhhhappppppennnning to m-m-m-m-me?” They shut me up with free nacho bites and extra liquid cheese. I definitely gave the best acting performance in the theater that day…
Win a Date with Tad Hamilton
A big-time movie star (Josh Duhamel) has a contest to (you guessed it) win a date as a publicity stunt after he winds up on the front page of a tabloid. What Mr. Hot Shit doesn’t count on is that he falls in love with the so-sweet-her-smile-could-send-you-into-sugar-shock hometown girl (Kate Bosworth), while one of her best friends (Topher Grace) secretly pines for her. Will Miss Sweetcakes pick the safe bet or be whisked away to Hollywood for a life of red carpets and regular pictorials in US magazine? How the fuck should I know? Do you actually think I pissed away an hour and a half of my life to sit through this shit? Do you think I’m that much of a movie fanatic that I’d go and see every little piece of fluff that finds its way to a gigantic screen? You want the truth? YOU WANT THE DAMN TRUTH? I cried, all right? I cried myself to sleep, and I woke up to an usher jabbing me in the ribs with a broom, thinking me a homeless person. He called me crazy, I called him cold, and he called the cops. Then I called BEAST publisher Paul Fallon to come and bail me out of jail. Guerrilla journalism brought to you as only THE BEAST can…
The Big Bounce
The best thing about nabbing one of those free sneak passes from any given shop on Elmwood is that you can’t lose, or so I always thought. I haven’t been to one of these previews in a while, and when I stepped into the flourescently-lit theater, I forgot that the lowest common denominator of the movie-going public always shows up to these things. And they always smell like Hickory Farms gift-boxes of meat. Plus, they always run into some other Cosby sweater-clad shitgoose they know and yell across the theater about what movies they’ve recently seen (“BIG FISH WAS GOOD! DIFFERENT, BUT GOOD!”). To spite the masses, I took it upon myself to win every promotional item that 97 Rock was offering that night, much to the dismay of the fat bastard a few rows back who pointed this out to the rest of the theater’s occupants, who wanted my blood when there wasn’t one more Big Bounce t-shirt up for grabs. As for the movie, it just kind of plopped. I normally get excited as a fruit fly at Marcella’s whenever an Elmore Leonard novel finds its way onto the big screen, but The Big Bounce was not Out of Sight, Jackie Brown, or Get Shorty. It had a few fun moments, and Owen Wilson did a great job of playing the same character he usually plays. The twists were even more anticlimactic than the third Matrix movie. Aside from my usual screw-over on the film-going public, there was a great scene with Willie Nelson and Harry Dean Stanton, and the preview for Starsky and Hutch was hilarious.
The Perfect Score
A bunch of high-schoolers, worried about their futures, decide to steal the answers to the SAT tests. Which is pretty damn convenient, seeing how they all live in the town that serves as home base to the SATs. The Perfect Score comes off like a cross between The Breakfast Club and the remake of Ocean’s 11, except it’s nowhere near as good as either of them. It’s directed by Brian Robbins, who you may remember as the Fonzie wannabe on that shitty ‘80s show “Head of the Class.” He also directed such classics as Hardball, Good Burger, and Varsity Blues; movies that are the equivalent to throwing a fight, as far as career moves are concerned. Rumor has it that Scarlett Johansson (this month’s up and coming It girl, star of Lost in Translation and Girl with a Pearl Earring) skipped the wrap party, and cried herself to sleep after finishing the filming on this one. And to anyone who may be sweating the SATs: I never took my SATs in high school and look where I ended up! The world is your oyster…
You Got Served
This movie epitomizes one of the many reasons why I hate this time of year. All the good movies have come out, and now there’s nothing left. It’s like working retail as your only source of income. Right up through New Year’s, you’re getting around forty hours a week, but a week after Christmas you’re getting eight hours, and syphilis, because you have to suck dick for gas money. It’s a nasty, nasty cycle, and I thank God every day for DVD players. As for You Got Served, it’s about respect and money, crews breakdancing and dancing otherwise, competition and territoriality, not backing down from a motherfucker and keeping your rep, backstabbing and getting shit done. But Jesus thought about them, because he thought about all things. If all he said and did was written, there would be no volume large enough to contain the detail. So they ponder in dialect. And the dawn creeps up on them, reminding them to go to sleep for a few hours. Hopefully, the feeling they had upon shutting their eyes is the feeling that will persist until nine. For it is then that their youthful ideals will be put to the test. When they come up against the commercial world and the awakening activity of everyday life. That’s the kind of shit that happens when you watch this movie. Your mind wanders under every stone and into every crevasse. You know all and mystery no longer exists to you. And word has it that the sequel, Electric Boogaloo, will hit theaters early next year.
Back in the beginning of 1998, I went to see a movie called Mighty Joe Young, at what was at the time the $1.50 movies. I went to see it for three reasons. 1) It was 7:30 and the bars didn’t get hopping until around 11, 2) I love giant computer animated gorillas, 3) Charlize Theron was in it. I went to see Monster for one of those reasons, being the third. With her role in Mighty Joe Young, Theron just had to look good, and be nice to an imaginary character. But in Monster, she’s required to do the opposite, and I think she did great on both counts. If you’re looking for the typical Charlize Theron role where, if nothing else, she’ll be hot, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Theron gained thirty pounds, and sported buckteeth, creepy black contact lenses, and a hideous she-mullet to play Aileen Wournos, America’s first female serial killer. Wournos killed seven men before she was convicted and executed in 2002. While Monster is not Charlize’s most glamorous role, it is definitely her best, and also her best performance. Every single thing she does in this movie proves her capabilities given the right role. The downside is that performances this great usually come from movies that are depressing as all hell. Watching the abuse and pain that Wournos went through just makes you feel profoundly sad and sorry for the woman. Normally, I’d be all over a lesbian scene between Charlize Theron and Christina Ricci, but in this case, I was too depressed and disgusted to appreciate it. While Monster is not exactly the feel good movie of the year, it’s definitely the most heartbreaking, and definitely one of the best.
Aries(March 21-April 19)
Poor Aries, you’ve had a bad run of luck in the dating department lately and it has you a bit depressed. Well, at least it’s not as depressed as the poor bastard sitting across from you at the restaurant. Christ, even the waiter wanted to kill himself and him interaction with you was minimal. Having a conversation with you is like trying to escape a black hole, no matter how hard you try it just keeps sucking. I’ve seen coma patients with more charisma than you. Do us all a favor Aries and become a shut in.
Taurus (April 20-May 20)
Taurus, you’re the kind of person than makes the earth a shitty place to live. The amount of bullshit produced by you in one day could fill the Grand Canyon twice. The only positive thing about your existence is that you will in fact die some day (preferably whilst on fire). If you look up “scum” in the dictionary it says; “Scum n. impurities which rise to the surface of liquid and collect on it,” what it should say is “Taurus.”
Gemini (May 21 –June 20)
A small word of advice Gemini, the next time you decide that you need to move over four lanes of traffic quickly try using a fucking turn signal. Doing that may help to avoid the seven car pile up that you were apparently oblivious of. I’m glad you got to Happy Hour on time. In fact I would join you but it seems a good portion of my lower torso became part of the steering column in my car shortly after some asshole cut me off. Gemini, you’re a self-centered asshole.
Cancer (June 21-July 22)
Sensitive little cancer, I know you are upset at the way that girl at last Saturday’s party rudely shunned your advances, but you did have vomit on your shirt as well as the hand you were using to touch her hair. She may have hurt your feelings but you didn’t have much going on in the self-esteem department to begin with. Look to Venus for consul and try not to drink a quart of grain alcohol before courting a lady. Unless of course that lady happens to be Elizabeth Taylor.
Leo (July 23-Aug. 22)
I told you six weeks ago to have that thing looked at and now look at it. For gods sake you left a wet spot on the couch when you sat down. Picking at it did no good either considering can see it through clothing. Leo, look to Saturn for some antibiotics and several months of skin grafts. Now please leave and don’t worry about the couch, I’m going have it burned.
Virgo (Aug 23-Sept 22)
Virgo, just because you think riding a bike instead of driving a gas guzzling car is the right thing to do doesn’t mean that I want to drive six miles an hour down a main road. That shit might have gotten you laid back in 1963 but today it’s going to get your hippie ass run over. Look to Jupiter for your answers and take the goddamned bus.
Libra (Sept 23 –Oct 22)
Libra, still having trouble figuring out what could have gone wrong at your recent job interview? Well, for starters the majority of job candidates do not wear sweatpants (let alone ripped ones) to their interview and there is the mater of excusing yourself to take a “dump” halfway through the meeting. Think about that before slapping your wife around for “holding you back.” Losers aren’t made, they’re born, and you Libra are a thoroughbred.
Scorpio (Oct 23-Nov 21)
So you got caught masturbating at work and your boss has it on the security tape, worse things have happened. The fact that he made you watch the tape before saying, “I guess I don’t have to tell you that you’re fired,” was a bit painful. Actually the worst part was that you were using the children’s section of the Sears catalog for jerk off material. Yes, I’d have to say that your days in the Big Brother organization are over. Now do us all a favor and jump off a bridge.
Sagittarius (Nov 22 – Dec 21)
Please stop calling her Sagittarius; if she wanted to talk to you she would have called back after the thirty-fifth call you made. The fact that you have been driving down her street slowly several times a night is not one of your shining points. Mars called to you Sagittarius and is telling you to leave that poor woman be. There are plenty of lonely women down at the Tim Horton’s for you to pick up.
Capricorn (Dec 22 – Jan 19)
Capricorn, look to Neptune this month because I don’t have to much for you this time around and you’re just going to have to accept it. Basically, life has diarrhea and is going to use you for toilet paper. I’m sorry but that’s the way the cookie crumbles. Now stop that crying and go drink some bourbon, because bourbon is your friend and we all need friends. Just deal with it Capricorn and have a shot for me.
Aquarius (Jan 20-Feb 18)
Little Aquarius, you desperately want to know the key to happiness and I just want to tell you and I am here to tell you that so does everyone else. If happiness and truth could be found in a damned horoscope then we would have a ticker-tape parade down Main Street USA and I’d be in charge of confetti. Either quit your bitching and accept that life is not perfect or just start main lining heroin into your veins. The choice as always is up to you Aquarius.
Pisces (Feb 19-March 20)
If you want the attention of the girl across the street there are better ways than to press your genitals up against your living room window every time she is waiting to pick up her little brother from the school bus. The truth is that most people buy cards or some flowers rather than leave disgusting smears on the window glass. Please Pisces, stop that before someone calls the police again and you have to lie about the smell coming from the basement. Look to Saturn Pisces and put some pants on.
This issue’s BEAST Real Evil Interoffice Document comes to us from Ken Lay, former Chairman and CEO of the Enron Corporation. Lay, who George Bush calls “Kenny-boy,” has been buds with the Commander-in-Chief for some time now, as is shown by this thank you letter he sent Bush back when he was Governor of Texas. A polite message of gratitude is warranted, after all, when someone perverts the nature, and subverts the mission, of government for your personal ends. Also, a few hefty campaign contributions can’t hurt.
By Jimmy Garbanti
When I think back to the dark, dreary days of marijuana prohibition, I can’t help but wonder, “What the hell were we thinking?” After all, hemp legalization has brought us many, many benefits, with no significant drawbacks. If I had to say what one change we’ve made in our society that has been the best, I would have to say it was hemp legalization.
Certainly, there have been other big changes. The invention of the Integrity Detector, and the institution of the Presidential Aptitude Test, forever barring unscrupulous dimwits from leading us astray, was certainly helpful. Rising salaries and educational requirements for police officers was a good idea. The conversion of the Pentagon into a Montessori school has, no doubt, been a great boon. And the freak catastrophic event that hurled the deep Southern states into the Atlantic Ocean was, while tragic, indisputably instrumental in our nation’s progressive transformation.
But pot has brought us home. Our trees can rest easy, now that we have a renewable source of paper. Our hemp clothes are better quality than the old fabrics, and our hovercars run on clean-burning Grassoline. Struggling tobacco farmers have found far greater fortune in our number one cash crop, Marlboro Red-Hair having become the single best-selling brand in history. And let’s not forget the blossoming hash brownie industry. The sick can alleviate their nausea symptoms, and I can get really, really high, with no paranoia.
Let’s face it, folks—we must have been nuts! All those silly ads about people drowning their kids, running over kids, eating their kids, whatever—it all seems so silly now, doesn’t it? In fact, violent crimes, political unrest, speeding—all are on the decline. The only known drawbacks so far charted—rises in chronic lateness and forgetfulness, are more than alleviated by the marked improvement in the quality of popular music, and the common fits of laughing that seem to be afflicting everyone these days. TV shows seem better, too, but I’m not sure if that’s just because I’m messed up or what. Whatever it is, I’m totally grooving on it, cool?
Some people say that the pot revolution is a bad, thing, that potheads can’t be trusted to follow through or handle their responsibilities. Well, to them I say
In another sign that things are getting better every day, Coked-up drunk dickhead Anthony Camparro hasn’t been able to successfully score with a woman in seven months now, despite nightly attempts. Speaking from the bathroom stall at a local nightspot, Camparro told us all about it. “It’s fucked up, man, you know,” said Camparro, “I mean I got the cash, I got the blow, you know, plus I got the pecs and the abs, right? Snnnfff! But these fuckin’ bitches won’t fucking go for it, man! It’s pissing me off! I mean, like, check out my ride, right?” Camparro’s monstrous SUV was still idling outside the bar he’d been boozing at for four and a half hours, blasting P Diddy’s new album repeatedly to the visible annoyance of neighbors and passersby. “I like that Puffy,” said Camparro. “He’s one talented moolie.”
“I don’t understand what’s wrong,” the dickhead continued. “I keep wearing more and more cologne, right? I work out like, all the fucking time. I even kicked the shit out of this poor sap the other night, just to get the attention of this bitch I wanted to bone, but it was no good. Sssnnnnffff! What the fuck, right? I mean, I got the blow! Hellooo? My clothes are always like, real expensive and shit, you know? I got the gold. Plus, I got the coke, right? What the fuck?”
Asked about his former girlfriends, Camparro rolled his eyes. “That’s the worst part, bitch! I used to get some really fine tail, you know, on account of their low self-esteem and hopeless addictions. They were so stuck on me I could even slap ‘em around if I felt like it. But now they don’t even, like want to talk to me or shit. They’re all like, in stable relationships with nice guys now, and they’re not even into cheating and shit. Can you imagine? I guess I’ll just have to get a whore tonight or something. Wanna bump?”
And Camparro’s plight is not an isolated case. In fact, violent cokeheads all over Buffalo are making no headway with even the ditziest members of the opposite sex, while mild-mannered, four-eyed geeks are finally getting the quality ass they deserve. Scientists who have been studying the unexplained trend have so far offered no results, possibly due to the fact that they are also getting some serious action. “Yeah, we’re getting around to doing a study and everything,” said Dr. Snodgrass Plonker, Professor of Difficult Math at Buffalo State College, “but that’s sort of on the back burner right now. These incredibly fine chicks are coming over to my place for the weekend, and my chess club buddies are coming over to party. It is my foremost duty, of course, to please the booty. Besides, who cares why this is happening? It’s happening! Whoo-hoo!”
In another wise and popular decision today, the Supreme Court ordered AOL/Time-Warner to take back all of the unsolicited promotional America Online CD-ROMs that they’ve flooded the postal service with over the past few years. How the giant media conglomerate will deal with the storage and recycling of an estimated three billion CDs and cases in the US alone “is their problem,” according to Chief Justice Ralph Nader.
AOL’s CDs are a familiar sight to all, falling out of mailboxes and lame publications everywhere one looks. In a vulgar display of total disregard for social responsibility, the company produces and distributes an estimated 30 million instant-garbage discs a month. To put this in perspective, a million CDs stacked, without their cases, is over three times taller than the Empire State Building.
In a prepared statement, President Zinn commended the Court’s “prudent decision,” admonishing the popular Internet service provider for “wasting valuable resources on an annoying marketing ploy.”
In a dissenting opinion, Justice Chuck D argued that AOL’s Board, CEO, and Marketing Directors should be forced to store the offending CDs “in they ass.” The motion, backed by Justice Rock, was rejected by the majority as “good-hearted, but impractical.” Justice Einstein’s Brain in a Jar explained, “it is physically impossible to get that much mass into that amount of ass, especially when the asses in question are so tight.” The Court also ruled that the defendants perform 100 hours each of community service, consisting of carrying mailpersons around on their backs while they made their daily rounds.
AOL’s lawyers were not surprised by the Supreme Court’s ruling. A spokesman called the decision “predictable,” citing a string of recent decisions against large corporations, and a general “anti-business mood in the government.” When the Court ruled corporate campaign contributions to be illegal several years ago, most of the friends that businesses like AOL had in congress promptly retired, leaving behind a new, more hostile legal environment for big companies.
Microsoft CEO Bill Gates, his own business empire recently dismantled for anti-competitive practices, said it was “only fair that AOL gets nailed too.” Gates spoke from his prison cell, where, as part of his sentence, he now works as a low-level programmer for Apple Computers. As for the Court’s handling of his own Anti-trust suit, Gates was philosophical. “Actually, I was wondering how long I could go on before someone finally took me down,” he said.
In a related story, Holly “Sunshine” Cantner, of Buffalo, was ordered to “deal with” a massive amount of plastic bags and coffee cans, which she had collected “for recycling” at a string of apartments. Cantner, who has never actually recycled a single object, would apparently stuff every available cupboard and drawer with such recyclable items, before moving out and leaving them to her housemates to dispose of. “What a bitch,” said former housemate Sarah Packenheimer. “She just couldn’t face up to the fact that she was too lazy to go down to the recycling place or anything. Meanwhile, the whole kitchen is bursting with fucking garbage, and there’s plastic bottles all over the place. Plus she fucked my boyfriend, slut.” In her defense, Cantner’s lawyers said that Packenheimer’s boyfriend had “totally been all over her for weeks” before she gave him a ride, and that Sarah “should lay off the Ben & Jerry’s if she doesn’t want her man to stray, ‘cause he’s a total dog.” The boyfriend had no comment.
You’re all a bunch of pussies. All of you people who sit there watching C-SPAN at night thinking to yourselves, “I fucking hate George Bush! I want that rat bastard tied naked to a cactus in the Mojave Desert with his balls dipped in maple syrup upwind from an anthill!” I know there are lots of you just throwing shit at the television when he comes on the local news at 11 o’clock. You’re the same sniveling, self-loathing, pathetically impotent fuckheads who watched the State of the Union address and cried, “If Bush gets reelected, I’m moving to Canada!” Well, you pieces of shit, start packing and good riddance.
I make this sweeping indictment because I know you all are scared. For real, it’s a scary time out here. Fear and anger are wasted emotions. That’s the shit that’s gonna get Bush reelected. Misdirected anger is a waste because: 1) you only end up breaking shit you wish you hadn’t after you threw it up against the wall and 2) you know you’re not gonna do shit but complain about Dubya to your co-workers or friends who are just as disillusioned as your are or just don’t fucking care. Fear is only slightly better because at least you don’t annoy the shit out of everyone you know talking that shit, because you’re too afraid that opening your mouth won’t change anything. Thank you for keeping quiet, but fuck you all the same.
I say this to the collective lot of “you” out there because you’re more important and influential than you think. I can see a lot of you getting really excited about some of the things left-of-center candidates are saying. I can see, in my Romper Room-like wand, Jimmy and Sally talking about how deep in their hearts they’d love to elect someone who understands the urgency of need for progressive politics in the White House. But (and this is a big but) they moan and gnash their teeth wailing, “WE NEED SOMEONE WHO CAN BEAT GEORGE BUSH!!” I just so happen to have a loaded shotgun for both of them to end their miserable lives with, before they experience electoral sodomy.
You can’t and won’t win anything but a nicely lubricated park & ride up your poop shoot from John Kerry or Arsenio Hall a.k.a. Howard Dean with that political strategy. And let me tell you, having something stuck up your ass when you had something totally different in mind isn’t just deceitful; it’s down right immoral, man!
The point is that if you want Kucinich to win, who cares if he looks like a Martin Short and Howdy Doody love child?! The reason he won’t win is because you won’t vote for him, you pussy! If you want to paint the White House black, go vote for Al Sharpton! Forget about his no lye relaxed hair and the fact that he always seems to be yelling for no apparent reason. If you want Joe Lieberman to win, well, he won’t win, and you can burn in Hell with the likes of Satan’s henchmen. But if somebody votes, someone’s gonna win and someone’s gonna lose. And that’s where you come in.
I know what you’re thinking too, you whiny dipshit. You’re saying, “What about the Electoral College? They [state electors] don’t really have to acknowledge my vote and could, if they wanted to, elect whoever the hell they want. Look at what happened in 2000!” This is absolutely right. So try and get one of your one of your so-called electable candidates to say they want to get rid of the Electoral College, and see how fast they disappear from the spotlight. Now ask some peripheral candidate to do it, and their reaction will be a whole lot different. Why? Because they have nothing to lose but airtime. No fear. Why won’t it happen? Because we’re (including myself) lazy bitches. Unless we think about how tired we are of the ‘same old shit different day’ mentality many people live their lives in, we will continue to wallow in it.
It’s like in that movie Office Space, where the loser with the red stapler who doesn’t even really work there, after years of humiliation and mumbling under his breath, goes and burns the building down. And seeing, realistically, that no one is stockpiling weapons (of mass destruction or otherwise) for a guerilla-style coup, you may as well make a push for popular democracy.
So you watch one of the seven major candidates on pick-your-skewed-news channel and say to yourself, “That guy is really saying some shit I like,” or “This is such bullshit,” and come to a conclusion on who you are going to vote for. But don’t tell me your not going to vote because it’s all a scam, or that you’re gonna vote out of desperation to be rid of Bush, or it doesn’t matter who wins because they’re all the same; That shit is weak. Pressure works – just not always as fast as the American ADHD mind can handle. Black people don’t get hung, castrated, or burned alive nearly as much as they did a century ago, and now gay people can hold hands in most coastal cities in the U.S. without getting the shit kicked out of them or shot, and look how long that shit took!
How did that happen? A whole lot of resistance, and knowing that politicians are pussies too. They’re like the customer service reps you talk to when you try to dispute charges on your cell phone service. They give you a long song and dance about how they understand your problem, and they’d love to, but can’t help you because they’re too busy reading a magazine while they’re talking to you instead of actually trying to solve your problem (they call it company policy, politicians give shitty government practices legal justification).
And you hang up out of frustration. Then, seconds later, in defeat and defiance, you call back mad as all hell, determined to get consolation and compensation. This time, they’ve hit the button that feeds the recording “We’re sorry, your call is very important to us…” and you wait, and wait and damn near wait until you almost forgot why you called in the first place. Then, while you’re daydreaming, thinking about food, sex, or television, you hear, “Thank you for calling, this is So-and-So, may I help you?” You argue for what seems like two hours, and talk to seven different managers (people in adjacent cubicles trained to reinforce what you’ve already heard). Finally, after lying to them about how you’re a small business owner who lost this amount of money because of their inefficiencies, they give you what you want.
Politics is the same way. It’s about who’s got more will (which, unfortunately, often translates into money) and who’s in it for the long haul. I won’t lie, the story is more complex than the ‘one man, one vote’ smoke and rhetoric that’s been blown up our asses since I don’t know when, but you gotta do something. And if after November, you still don’t think your action, your voice, or your vote is somehow meaningful, do us all a favor, and fucking kill yourself.