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In Which I Write An Open Letter To Ingrid Schlueter

February 19th, 2013 No comments

Hey girl!

First off, let me apologize for sounding so harsh in that last post.

Ingrid’s xtian Mockery

 On second thought, I take that back. You’re a miserable excuse for a human being. I keep trying to feel something other than disgust for you and every time I get close, I think about the hundreds of hours you spent trashing other people because you enjoy it. Perhaps Vic taught you how to hate. That excuse works for a little while. But you read (or profess to read) this thing called “The Bible aka “the inerrant Word of God”. As some point in your adult life, one would think you’d scratch your head and say, “hm…I don’t think Dad’s reading this thing right. This whole Matthew 25:31-46 seems to run contrary to what we’re doing here and sounds like I’m headed for eternal torment.” Why haven’t you thought that?

Because VCY is a cult and you’ve been brainwashed. Your dad, Vyc…err…Vic, “who has no pastor and has never belonged to a church as a member in his life” created his own version of Christianity that bears no relation at all to what Jesus preached. None. Period. Somehow you seem to cling to the basic tenants of a belief system so easily twisted into the exact opposite of what it means.

“Our Kids Are Being Conditioned To Accept This Lifestyle”

That’s your dad doing what he does best – exposing his own agenda by trashing other people’s agendas. “Interesting”, as Vyc…errr…Vic, might say. We agree on one thing: You’re father is evil. But your reaction is complete Stockholm Syndrome: VYCAmerica can be saved. Think about that. You want to save something built by someone evil. Maybe you’re too far gone to understand that. Do you honestly believe that, even if you could kick Vyc off the board, anything would change? Your dad set himself up as the pope. It’s his vision and that vision has nothing to do with Jesus and everything to do with some fucked up agenda created in his fevered, fear-driven head. Kicking him off the board has no effect on the “world view” of VYCAmerica.

Let’s talk about John 4:18 – perfect love casts out fear. Does that sound like VYCAmerica? Did you actually listen to yourself in your headphones? Almost every word broadcast over the airwaves of VYCAmerica radiates fear. Do you remember that interview you did with Howse?

Brannon Hates Himself And You Should, Too

You fell for this bullshit. That’s why Brannon became such a superstar and the spawn of evil that Papa Vyc always wanted. And, like your daddy, he’s a brilliant liar

Brannon Doesn’t Want You To Fall Into The Cult of Personality

I’ve actually called him (and your daddy) out on the air before. You know how you push the lie about “czars” proving that Obama is a communist? The communists overthrew the czars. They are the polar opposite of the czars. Brannon wouldn’t back down. He was wrong as are all xtian wingnuts about this. Brannon, if you listened to this clip, says he’ll apologize. He didn’t. He won’t. Why? Because he’s training to be take over the cult. This isn’t about God or Jesus. This is about fact and fiction. This is about truth. Truth does not exist in the VYC world. And you want to try to save that world? You want to try to save a world that shatters the 9th Commandment on an hourly if not minute by minute basis?

No, Ingrid. The only way to stop the insanity and free yourself is to get their license taken away. You need to destroy VYCAmerica. You know exactly how to do it.

You also need take a good long look at yourself and apologize for the damage you’ve done to the people you’ve harmed in your complicity. You need the blog post that you’ve avoided writing. Not the blog post trashing your dad but the blog post  apologizing for your role in spreading, not “perfect love” but perfect hate and fear via your dad’s cult.

Take a page from the family of Fred Phelps. Speak out against it. Humble yourself before God.

Or just pretend that it’s a personal matter between you and your dad. Which is probably what you’ll do because, ya know…brainwashing.

Your pal,

Paul

In Which All The Whos Down In Whoville All Cry “Boo Hoo”

February 18th, 2013 No comments

I’ve spent a lot of time and digital space detailing the outright lies and hatred spewed by VCYAmerica. They embody the worst of what xtianity is – personal pettiness, snark and hypocrisy hiding behind a religion that does not promote that. VCY, effectively, started its own religion with Vic Eliason as god and everyone else bowing and scraping before him. Need a quick example? During the height of the Larry Sinclair bullshit, callers would beg VCY to “investigate” it. Vic refused. Frankly, I was shocked. Vic?? Acting morally?? JK! He bought in hook, line and sinker to Kenyan, atheist, socialist, communist, muslim, blah blah blah. I pretty sure that the only reason he didn’t pick up the Sinclair bullshit is because it would involve the word “penis” and since God only  made a penis to procreate or for a homo to fuck a little boy with, well…best to let those things alone. After all – this show is about GOD.

One thing that made VCY particularly frightening is/was the family aspect of it. Vic’s daughter, Ingrid Schleuter, was on staff, sending people who disagreed with her to Hell with the same vehemence and hatred as her Daddy. More, sometimes. He raised her well. Mormons = evil. Harry Potter = evil. Yoga = evil. Everyone who deviated from her proscribed ethical circle = evil. SHE knew good Jesus from bad Jesus and she would NOT be silenced on the subject. Rick Warren, you miserable bastard! That you would even consider allowing Obama in the front door of your “church” meant you worked for the devil. End. Of. Story.

Awhile ago, Vic turned on the spawn he created with his p-p-penis and fired her. Yeah, who coulda seen that coming? Then, because Jesus would have, they started trashing each other. Even better, Vic started sock puppetting on various blogs, trashing his daughter. And now, Ingrid shouts to the world that “Vic Eliason is evil“.
Well, boo-fucking-hoo.
Listen up, Ingrid – you built this. The shit and bile that spewed out over the airwaves finally backed up. Where’s Jesus? You don’t know because you lost him decades ago choosing, instead to follow a path of hatred and politics that had nothing to do with him. Nothing. I have so much audio of you ripping apart your enemies like a feral dog, going for the throat and showing no mercy. What the fuck did you expect? Did you honestly think that Jesus (real or fictional) would put up with that? Did honestly think that bilking hicks out of their money for your radio Nuremberg rallies wouldn’t come back to bite you?
Year after year, you allowed the most ignorant statements to pass over the airwaves without one single syllable of protest.
Caller: After John Lennon said he was bigger than Jesus, he was shot six times
You: Well, you’ve got that right.
No. No, she doesn’t. She has that wrong. And you, you pathetic cunt, chose not the path of honesty but took a deep breath and consciously made a decision not to correct her facts. You knew that was a lie. You knew there was a loooooong period of time between bang-bang and bigger than Jesus. You also knew that correcting her negated your message of GOD KILLS EVERYONE YOU THINK SHOULD BE KILLED.
So, fuck you, Ingrid. I’d really like to have sympathy for you, but I can find none. Not one shred. I can’t even find empathy. I hate using this analogy, but it fits – it doesn’t matter how many Jews you killed or how badly you feel about it now. What matters is how happily and self-righteously you killed them. Your regret means nothing.
If I believed in Hell, I’d say you’ll end up there. But I don’t. Instead, your Hell is here on Earth and, honestly, I hope it never ends.
You worked hard for this moment, Ingrid. Sadly, I doubt you even have the self-awareness to understand that.

Fuck you, Quentin Tarentino

February 17th, 2013 No comments

You might notice that this is probably the only post on this blog that doesn’t start with “In Which…”

THAT’S how pissed off I am after watching Django Unchained. I’ve seriously considered writing this in 36pt, ALL CAP, red, italic , bold, underlined font. THAT’S HOW PISSED OFF I AM.

Let me cut to the chase so you don’t get too bored…LIKE WATCHING THE LAST HALF HOUR OF DJANGO UNCHAINED.

Two hours and fifteen minutes into this  slightly more politically correct version of  Mandingo, there’s a pretty satisfying blood bath. Any other movie maker, after two hours and fifteen minutes,  would have the grace and good sense to wrap up the movie – kill the last bad guy and get the girl so that we can deposit the remnants of our soda, popcorn and cookie that cost more than one ticket to the movie did and go home. Not Tarantino.

Here’s how I think the script meeting played out.

Producer: Quentin, you’ve done it again!
Quentin: Yes. I know. I’M QUENTIN FUCKING TARANTINO, YOU ASSHOLE.
Producer: Ok. We’ll get this costed out and…
Quentin: FUCK!
Producer: What’s wrong?
Quentin: I DIDN’T WRITE A PART FOR MYSELF!!
Producer: Well…um…maybe you could do on of the…
Quentin: NO! I NEED A SUBSTANTIAL PART THAT’S INTEGRAL TO THE STORY!!
Producer: Um…you’re not re-writing this, Quentin.
Quentin: I’M NOT PLANNING ON RE-WRITING IT. I’M GOING TO TACK IT ONTO THE END.
Producer: Um…it’s two hours and fifteen minutes already and…
Quentin: I’M QUENTIN FUCKING TARANTINO, YOU ASSHOLE!! ARE YOU QUESTIONING ME? I USED TO WORK IN A VIDEO STORE!!!

And so, for no other reason than to extend the running time of a movie that should have run 90 mins, he wrote himself a part. Not just any part. But a part with an AUSTRALIAN FUCKING ACCENT. That he does poorly. Because he’s a LOUSY FUCKING ACTOR…EVEN USING AN AUSTRALIAN ACCENT.

Ok. I feel a little better now. I’ll try to leave the caps lock alone…for a bit.

This movie is a PIECE OF SHIT. Oops. Sorry!

Let’s start at the beginning…and the end. Do you remember the opening and closing credits? Do you remember the song? Right – It was some kind of Sergio Leone homage tune. Ya know – westerns. Now – did you notice where the movie took place? If you said “the West” you’d be wrong. It took place in the South. The Western is a very specific genre with its own rules. What Fuckwad Tarantino (hereby referred to as FT) did was re-make Mandingo which is NOT a western. Why did he do that? Who the fuck knows. Seriously. I don’t think he could explain it. Why didn’t his producer say something? Again – who the fuck knows. I don’t know about you, but when I get set up to see a western and wind up watching Mandingo – Ima be a little pissed of. And guess what – I AM!

Before we leave the opening – we get some very nice fast-close up shots ripping off…errrrrrrr…paying homage to Sergio Leone. That’s called “setting the tone.” Did we ever see that kind of camera work again? No. No, we did not. It went into the same genre void as the music and the credits.

Ok – onto the next cinematic war crime. JIM CROCE?? (DARN, those caps lock.) Why. Ask yourself why. Did it add anything? No. Was it cleverly anachronistic? No. Can you think of any compelling reason to break up a very nice soundtrack with Jim Croce? Don’t get me wrong. I grew up listening to Jim Croce but, FT, I hate to break it to you – your 70’s film was called Reservoir Dogs. Either 1.FT’s ego has become so dangerous that he’s referencing himself in his movies (which he explicitly did at the end of this POS as the family  walked from the funeral) or 2….ok….there’s no other reason than the first one.

Let’s keep on music while we’re here. This movie, as I will continue to insist, is a remake of Mandingo and the “noble savage” blaxploiaton pictures. I don’t have a problem with that, really, but Tarantino wants to be thought of as a post-racial filmmaker. Really? Am I the only one that noticed that far too often with the bullets started flying…the soundtrack switched over to hip-hop? Cuz…ya know..black people…guns…hip hop. That jungle beat just drives those neg…oops, black people crazy. And that’s not a racist thing to say. It just does.

“But”, FT protests, “I’m not racist! I loves me them motherfuckers! Didn’t you see how I wasted five minutes showing what ignorant rednecks the KKK were? Wasn’t that FUNNEE?? How dare you say I’m racist?!”

Guess what, FT. The KKK didn’t exist until AFTER the Civil War. Your movie takes place two years before it starts. The KKK started as a social group and it went very, very, very wrong. Wanna read the original source material? It’s right here in KLAN: Killing America (and, yes, the caps are in the title…I’m trying, Ringo. I’m trying reeeeeal hard). And if you need to spend five fucking minutes on hood jokes, then you are trying way too hard and sounding just a little more than defensive.

Oh, and, how old are you, FT? Brunhilda von SHAFT? Is this high school?

The worst cinematic war crime? I enjoyed the hell out Dr. King Shultz and Django. Crisp, clean, fun writing that kept you off balance. Christopher Waltz nailed the part from the first (non-Western) frame. Seriously. I’m in awe of this guy. But FT couldn’t step out of the way and just allow him to gracefully and playfully entertain us. Nope. just as you settled in and got comfortable with the movie, FT “bum rushes the show” (that’s a black term) and upstages everyone on the screen and (as I think I may have mentioned) torpedoing the rest of the movie with his FUCKING AUSTRALIAN ACCENT.

Remember how you felt the first time you saw Pulp Fiction and they wind up in Zed’s basement? I do. I felt totally disoriented and spent a couple of days trying work out how anyone on earth could have set up such an incredible transfer of power in such a short time. It was genius.

When was the last time this happened in an FT movie? It didn’t happen in Django Unchained. Even without FT constantly sabotaging his own film, it had the emotional impact of a limp hand shake. Any, and I mean ANY, impact this film had came from people shrinking from the graphic violence and not from personal relationships.

This movie is a cheat and a fraud. Fuck you, FT. I will never watch another of your movies again. I think you may have even tainted Pulp Fiction for me.

Categories: Navel (Gazing At) Tags:

In Which I Find A Pinky Lee Song That Embodies The 21st Century GOP

February 14th, 2013 No comments

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“Yoo hoo, it’s me,My name is Pinky Lee.” – Pinky Lee
“Everybody love as clown, so why don’t I?” – From “Shakes The Clown”

This post isn’t about Pinky Lee. I’m a little too young to have watched him, but oddly know the theme song. Probably because I haunt places like Kiddie Records. Kids’ record contain more clues to our culture than almost any other source. They represent inculcation at 45 or 33 1/3 rpm. I remember learning to tell time listening to a record. I remember some freakish morality plays, too, including bible stories “adapted” so that kids could understand them.

All written or performed material come with a bias. That’s the nature of creation. From Homer to pornography, the transmission of ideas from one person to another, by nature of the exchange, comes with an ideological and/or personal slant.

I don’t want to get too far off topic (or maybe I do – see what I did there?) but the reason for scripting in telemarketing or tech support calls springs from that paradigm. Some very well paid people sit in a room coming up with the magic word combinations that shorten call times by keeping the phone operator in control. Example – “How can I help you?” gives the power to the caller, allowing them to take off on a free form flight of fancy. Having the operator run through a list of yes or no questions right off the bat, signals the caller to STFU. Of course, those writing the script rarely take into account that such rigidity might piss off the caller.

Back to Pinky Lee.

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“The Silly Song” works as a brilliantly evil example of  NewSpeak inculcation put to music.

This is a silly song
A silly song
A silly song
It makes no sense at all

You can wait for the silly part of the song for as long as you want. It’s not coming. Not in the next verse. Not ever.

This is a happy song
A snappy song
Hand-clappy song
This is a silly song
It make no sense at all

Silly yet? Nope. We’re still treading water in the Sea of Yawns. What can we take from this so far? The listener is told to consider this silly song for the simple fact that the songwriter says it is. You might make the case that some sort of sly, subversive  meta-ness of writing a song that’s not silly and calling it silly exists. It doesn’t. Because then we get to the bridge or “the middle”.

It has no start
It has no end
It even has no middle
And if you should forget the words
You simply sing “hi deede diddle”

That’s kind of self-referentially  puckish you might think. But the tune is so dull and uninspired it couldn’t have been written that way on purpose. You can almost hear the songwriters yawning, “yeah – i guess that works. Oh, we’re out of scotch.”

Let’s stop for a moment for some compare and contrast. This kind of whacked-out meta song does exist and existed well before “The Silly Song”. The Hoosier Hot Shots’ This Is The Chorus” proves that.

The man who wrote this song was deaf, he couldn’t hear a note; this is the verse,
But he knew all the rules, he did, and that is why he wrote the first verse first.
The man who wrote the the lyrics was as crazy as a loon, so there’s nothing to this song but the tune.

This is the chorus of the song, this is the chorus you’re hearing now.
You make up the word as you go along, ’cause no one listens to the lyrics anyway.
Tralala, dumdeedum, if you want to, you can whistle or hum.
When you’re singing this song to your friends, just remember this is where the chorus ends.

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So the decision to write and record The Silly Song as something devoid of silliness was a choice.

Back to the boredom. A half-hearted attempt to inject some silliness via call and response falls flat on its face when one of the instruments chosen (and I put the emphasis on chosen because records don’t just happen) to do the response…is a bowed stand up bass. HILARIOUS! Of the myriad of instruments available to them they chose possibly the least funny one. Don’t feel badly if you can’t hear it. I had to listen a few times, too.

The song goes on but nothing changes. There’s no clever twist or surprise ending, Just a mom or dad sitting next to the child saying, “wasn’t that so SILLY!”

And that’s the modern GOP. A party that expects you to believe something just because they say it. Supply-side economics demonstrably fail. Giving the rich tax breaks do not increase jobs. Taxing the top 1% is not the same thing as taxing the other 99%. Climate change actually exists. The vast majority of spending isn’t in social welfare programs. You don’t shrink the size of government by outlawing abortion and creating agencies to insure pregnancies get carried to term.

The Silly Song is NOT a silly song. It doesn’t matter who says it is or how often they say it. In fact, it’s possibly the dullest fucking song ever written. Anyone who thinks it’s silly should report to their job at the Ministry of Truth. The GOP agenda is NOT good for America. It doesn’t matter who says it is or how often they say it.

The choice is yours: Pinky Lee or The Hoosier Hot Shots.

In Which Marco Rubio Heartily Deserves The Mockery He’s Getting

February 13th, 2013 No comments

rubiohitler

It’s being called the “sip heard round the world”, which is kind of a stupid moniker, but apt. No one thought that anyone could outdo Michelle Bachmann for Worst Performance During a GOP State of the Union response, but Rubio pulled off the upset.

But all of this mockery, the wingnuts whine – HE WAS JUST THIRSTY! Why can’t you leave Marco ALONE?? That’s a great question!

There are a few answers:

– Lying comes with physiological side effects such as sweating and dry mouth. If you’re choosing someone who still has the trace of a soul, they might experience some of those. Liberals simply want to point this out.

– If wingnuts want to jump on every single mistake Obama makes and hold it up as proof of his incompetence, that’s a two-way street. Obama said “57 states” so he’s not qualified to be president? Perfect. Take you lumps and move on, lil wingnut. Better yet, STFU and go pay attention to your kids. They’re not going to beat themselves, ya know.

– It’s just really fucking funny.

The most important answer, though, is less obvious. Water-Bottle-Gate acts as a great metaphor for the GOP. They have no plan. They are not prepared. In short, they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. The GOP response to the SOTU provides a perfect opportunity to for the GOP to come out swinging – to bash that Kenyan, Socialist, Commie, Marxist, Islamo-Atheist where it hurts. Even among Democrats, there’s a lot to criticize. If you’re the opposition, this should be like T-Ball. What Rubio showed is that the GOP can’t even hit a ball that’s resting on a pedestal. Rather, they swing, hit the pedestal, the bat bounces back, the batter loses control of the bat and it smacks a five-year old right between the eyes leaving the kid brain damaged. Yes, it was an accident. Yes, it probably won’t happen again. No, you don’t get to walk away blameless.

And you certainly don’t make that kid the manager of the team.

Understand this – it’s not about the lies that Rubio spewed. It’s not about leading off with some bizarre pro-life message as the first point out of your mouth. It’s about the fact that the GOP could not properly stage manage possibly the biggest opportunity to talk to the American people. Wingnuts say it’s just a glass of water, a minor detail overlooked. That’s true. Guess what? Minor details are important. Kinda like having an exit strategy for wars you plunge the country into. Or thinking through the various attacks that might rise up if you choose to run ruthless, rudderless businessman for president.

There should be a protocol in place to deal with, say, the speaker needing a drink. Or going all flop-sweaty. There wasn’t. “Meh, Why should he need a sip of water when he’s addressing 10’s of millions of people?”

For his part, Rubio handled himself with the confidence of…a really bad confidence man. Rather than say, “excuse me, America”, take his sip of water, say “thank you” and continue, Rubio looked like a little boy trying to get away with shooting a spitball at the teacher…while the teacher was looking directly at him.

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And if it couldn’t have gotten any worse, the camera follows him down like some puppy dog saying, “OOOH! What’s he DOING, huh? What’s he DOING?! Is he gonna get a ball?? What’s he DOING??!”

With the advent of the teabaggers, the GOP, once reliable for its staid dullness and ploddingly deliberate actions, turned into some bizarre freshman high school reality show.

So, why don’t we leave Marco alone? Three words: You Built That.

(Here’s my own contribution to Rubio Tuesday)

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