A necessary evil, an evil necessity.

Too Many Pandas

This entry has nothing to do with pandas in any quantity. In fact they will not be mentioned again in any form. I was just too lazy to come up with creative title and slacked and hacked on it instead of coming up with one. To be honest, I was more concerned that my entry here be advertised via my social network connections than I was about a title. So, I should not be shocked if people stop reading or feel disappointed. But that is how life goes. We get disappointed. So, I broke the rule of basic writing and skimped on the title. Do not be angry, think of it as not having enough money for an appetizer at Applebee’s.

I missed a bunch of holidays. An election. And who even knows what else. Basically, I have spent the last few months in a spiritual/emotional Hell hole. That, and immersing myself in science studies in preparation for medical school. Yes, medical school. Your dear Xavier has decided to become a medical professional. I am thinking genetic research. At this time you need not know more. Balancing my new forage into academia and my daily Foundation duties has caused me to be horribly neglectful of this here blog. The stories of my having to deal with some legal issues regarding an alleged incident involving escaped alligators and maimed children have been greatly exaggerated. All of the families allegedly involved have been compensated, and no children were eaten, or even killed.

Sadly, however, a tragic end did come to a dear, beloved friend of mine. A friend whom was almost a lover. A friend that I will always have a fond memory of and will never forget how much that dear friend meant to me. A couple of months ago, Darkside Radio went off the air. If I am not mistaken, my broadcast was the last for the show. I will miss the Darkside. It was one Hell of a ride and if I could do it all over again, I would be tormenting the airwaves with gothic sounds, inappropriate humor.

What brought me roaring back out of slumber was a discussion that I had the other day at my local gunsmith’s:

Proprietor: “You’ll love this one, Mr. Rothechilde. I have never seen a weapon fit a person so well.”

Me: “Ray, you say that every time, you flatterer. I could just kiss you. But, I am just not a rifle sort of guy, you know that.”

Proprietor: “Hey, I had to show it to you.”

Dude: “Hey guy, you should reconsider that. Pretty soon, the Government is going to make them illegal and you won’t be able to have them. What’s so funny? They’re going to take all of our guns! First these, then the rest!”

Me: “Silly man. I help pay for government. Those laws are not for me, I can and will do as I please, and they will allow it.”

Dude: “What’re you sayin’? I pay taxes, asshole!”

Me: “I do not. Well, very little, anyway. But I do pay to get lawmakers elected. Just not in taxes. Congress works for you; the politicians work for me. It is the best government that money can buy.”

This would be vanity were I not behind a tombstone.

This would be vanity were I not behind a tombstone.

And that brings me out to say my piece on the gun debate. Apparently, I missed a lot since I was in cyber-exile. Apparently, the country is afraid that the stern hand of Uncle Sam is going to reach into homes and take the firearms out, leaving a population at the mercy of thugs and murderous brigands. The government is not going to take guns from you because the government has more bullets than you. They also have bigger guns. And bombs. And robots that can kill a bunch of you from a distance. The guns you should be saying that you have rights to are already denied to you. I hate to say such things. I really do. But it is the horrible truth. And the reason why I am bringing this up is because the population is engaged in a torrid and sexy debate over what is to become of our cherished Second Amendment right.

This happens all of the time. Some lunatic goes lunatic-y and rudely kills a bunch of people with guns. Afterwards, everyone wants to start “doing something.” That doing something usually involves a statement on firearms. That statement starts the riffraff going on and on and fighting and fighting and eventually something is done, and no one is really happy.

Secretary: “Wow. That was insulting. Who are you talking about this time?”

Me: “Me? Insulting? Never. I am just keeping it real.”

Secretary: “That’s just a way to say ‘Nobody likes me because I tell the truth. People can’t handle my honesty. No. You’re a prick, sometimes. A big one. Not even a hard on, just a dick. And a bitch.”

Me: “You object to ‘riffraff?’I am glad I held back my actual opinion. By ‘riffraff’ I mean that ninety-nine percent that those crazy liberals claim are being selfish and greedy and not paying their share. And that was a little harsh, I am a very nice person when people are doing what I want and need them to be doing.”

Secretary: “Right, right. So, obviously you are not talking about yourself…”

Me: “Sarcasm does not become you, my dear. Okay, I lied, it is actually pretty sexy. But not I am not talking about myself. Those laws do not pertain to me.”

What I mean here is that I can do things that most cannot. Like, I pay to go to dinners that cost thousands per plate to listen to what my candidate has to say? Do you, the general public, do the same? No, you do not. You sit at home and listen to what we tell the media to tell you and then you argue about it. You argue about that and other petty things so that we can have the politicians do what they are elected to do, keep us wealthy and safe. I can have as many guns as I want. As many kinds as I want. Look, you know that guy who is going to start selling passenger rides into space? He has a bunch of dough. A whole lot more than you. Now suppose you are a genius. A Wile E. Coyote level genius. And you build a rocket. And you go out into the middle of the desert and test your rocket in the name of science. Where do you think you will wind up? Yes. Guantanamo. Or some hole similar since that one is closing (cough, cough).  Probably without a trial because your ballistic launch could be construed as a terrorist act, and thereby have you indefinitely detained.

However, I have gone to many dinners and can call up a Washington friend and invite them over to a dinner in their honor that will also raise funds for their re-election. Of course they will be safe because I have plenty of guns, and armed security to protect me from that ninety-nine percent. At this dinner I can secure a permit to launch people into to space, and not be a terrorist. I wonder if that other cat took that approach…

All Goth things must come to an end. Embrace the Darkside.

All Goth things must come to an end. Embrace the Darkside.

Am I being unfair? Really? Think of all of the people in prison right now. How many thieves? How many thieves? Loan sharks? People who founded that legalized institution of Check into Cash, or whatever they call it. There is a standard of law here and it is a stratified as our economic statuses. The less you have the less you can do…and get away with.

But I have gotten off track. I was simply trying to illustrate how myself and those like myself can have guns, why we can have guns, and why we do not need them because we can hire people from beneath us to use guns to protect us. However, the fear is that they are going to take away the firearms from those of you who are not of my ilk. The truth is the government has a vested interest in the general populace be armed. If for some reason those wiley Chinese actually invade, or whatever Jong  Il happens to be in North Korea really grows balls and marches troops in, the US government is counting on the armed citizenry to be fodder before the encroachment. Having some illegal alien take your job is one thing, but some angry Easterner stepping up to you with a rifle saying you are about to be forced to speak another language? Naah…most United States citizens will not have such a thing. The will take to the streets and show the invader what a good ass kicking is all about.

See? That is a necessity. A nation that defends itself costs very little for the government; the extra money can be used to fortify the hiding places of the elite (ahem), build more drones to provide air support for the civvies fighting off the invaders, and shuffle the politicians into Canada or somewhere. Hell, it is very possible that a good month of holding the East at bay in Alaska and California could go by before any dude in a military uniform shows up and says: “Good job, citizen! We’ll take it from here.” Subsequently ending the war and being lauded as heroes. While you, the rest of the nation, waits for Congress to stop bickering over how much relief money should be sent to aid those lives ruined by the war.

So, that is why the government will never take your guns. Nations with an unarmed populace will never enjoy that level of security. However, the problem then arises that the Gubmint may need to lay the smack down on the citizenry. You may cry for health care and equal pay and a sandwich one too many goddamn times and then something will have to be done. But wait? They left you with guns. Damn. That complicates things. To fix that, there are always those drones. They have all sorts of cool ways of seeing you and finding you and killing you from a mile away. So your rifle really does not help much. But, there always has to be a “but”. A big butt. To fill that but you limit ammo. Yes! Limit the ammo. Those rebels have guns, but they sure as Hell will not have as many bullets. Or drones.


An Apology, Mr. Limbaugh? And Tonight on Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier

The Octopus waves, beckons you to enjoy the show.

Octopus says: "Dance with the Green Faery!"

Greetings and Salutations! Last week, I am sure that you noticed that I was not on the air. Truth be told, I was feeling a bit under the weather after the night out at the strip club. But that is not what kept me from the airwaves. What kept me off was the stress from the drama of earlier that day with that horrid interview from last week that was all about making the Rothechilde Foundation look like a group of insensitive thugs due to a minor incident involving a few upset elephants. Although, I have weathered that storm, I am facing a similar, earth-shattering, internet radio stealing mental dilemma this evening as well.

What is this dilemma? Well, it is simple and two-fold. First, there was the clothing anxiety issue that almost sent me into anxiety overdrive. You see, I was asked to teach a jujitsu class as a substitute for my instructor who was off celebrating his birthday. That was not the problem, I can deal with handling that. The problem came as a result of my panicking because of my pants. They did not seem to be my pants.

For one, the color and texture of them felt “off.” The other problem was that they did not feel “right.” I felt like I was traipsing about in someone else’s legs or something. I had a hard time focusing on driving and maintaining my calm because I was focused on the idea that I was, at that time wearing pants that not only felt weird, but felt like they may have belonged to someone else. I mentioned this to my secretary, whom asked me who’s pants I thought they were (I did find them in my room). She asked me what about them made me feel as if they were not my pants and all I could reply was: “everything!” In any case, after teaching the class (for which I had to travel to the most wicked place in Michigan: Frankenmuth), I drove back to my Samurai City digs and quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a black mock turtle neck shirt. Actually, I would have preferred to be wearing slacks of some type, but the jeans worked well enough to stave off a full-fledged anxiety explosion.

The next issue that has my mind in a tizzy is this whole deal regarding Rush Limbaugh and Sandra Fluke. The story is, Rush called her a slut and a prostitute because she advocated health insurance plans covering health insurance. Her words to encourage state-sponsored baby anti-proliferation even had old Rushy boy calling for sex tapes so he could post them online. Surely, any whore who is seeking health insurance coverage for birth control must have a host of sex tapes from her numerous dalliances with shady men that are available for mass dissemination via some “porno tube” website.

This has me most concerned because Rush turned tail and apologized. Apologized! This surely is a different corpulent, angry bird of a politico that we have grown to love over the years. What happened, man? I was all for supporting the Republican idea that no one should ever use birth control. In fact, if you do not want children (and cannot afford a nanny or au pere to raise them, nor can you afford to travel to some other nation where abortions and contraceptives flow like milk and honey), then you probably should not have sex. Fucking is for people who can afford the luxury of preventing a potential pregnancy, or eliminating the accidental creation of little monster clones of yourself. If you cannot afford the traditional remedies offered by the wealthy (Brazilian abortions, French morning after pills, or European boarding schools), then either go celibate, or take your chances with a shady, back alley abortion specialist on the streets of Mexico or Seattle.

However, I was betrayed. Betrayal most foul! His Most Majestic Obesity back-pedaled and apologized to Ms. Fluke. He took back his venom and took the wuss way out all because a few sponsors decided to pull their ads from his show. Really? What the fuck, Limbaugh?! These sponsors knew what you were all about, and they probably support you in your medieval attitude towards women and civilization in general. But they know the score, Rush. They know that most people are afraid of the right-wing agenda. They know that people fear the wealthy and our insidious urge to keep the poor as destitute as possible, and as numerous; we need that population to subject and get cheap labor from. The problem is that you spoke the truth that we do not want spoken too often. Here is how it works:

  1. Have horrid right-wing, preferrably a near-racist and sexist attitude.
  2. Wait for some mouthy schmuck to voice this reprehensible concern.
  3. Silently agree, then pull sponsorship from the jerk to keep our customers content and unaware that your corporation fully intends to reward the jerk with perks, back slaps, and tickets to Nazis on Ice at the local ice arena.

Rush, you added an undesired step, and apologized! Now the liberal will know that we are cowards who only want a silent, subtle manipulation of the people. That is, unless they are trying to get a piece of our one-percent pie. If that is the case beat those bastards down and trample them with elephants. So, way to go Limbaugh: you made a girl cry, and then took it back like a wuss. What are you going to do next, put on your girly shorts and listen to Selena Gomez albums with your widdle, gurlfriends?

But enough of that satirical sarcasm, on with the show. Below is the list of artists appearing on tonight’s broadcast. To have a listen, tune your Internet browser to http://darksideradio.com. If that gives your trouble, try opening the link in your media player. But really, clicking the link should take you to the station. If it does not, keep trying. You want to listen, you know you do.

Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)

Type O Negative


Joy Division

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Oingo Boingo

The B-52’s

Sonic Youth

Dead Kennedys


Depeche Mode

The Cure


The Police

Switchblade Symphony

Butthole Surfers.

Wednesday 13

Mindless Self Indulgence



Ministry & Co-Conspirators

Nine Inch Nails

Rob Zombie

Lacuna Coil

Bigod 20



The Smiths

Snake River Conspiracy

So, tune in tonight and enjoy the program. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates during the show.

Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”

Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax

Friday Night with Charlotte

Last week was quite a week. It started with scandal and ended with an ugly attempt to discredit The Foundation. The scandal was a bit of ugliness involving The Foundation’s war elephants. While it seems that the issue should have been over quickly and with a few payouts here and there, that was not to be. Fortunately, I had a fun night out with Charlotte the Friday before the treacherous attempt to ruin your beloved charitable organization.

I could go on and detail the incidents that led to the horrors of the weekend, but instead, I have decided to go the honest route and provide the transcript of a local news programs morning interview of yours truly.

Bert Berterson: “Good morning. I’m Bert Berterson appearing on this special edition of ‘Samurai City Saturday Morning’ with local mogul, Xavier Rothe…”

Me: “Mogul?! What the fuck did you call me? I am not a snowy lump on a ski slope! Nor am I some brandy sipping curmudgeon sitting by some fireplace in some cavernous, drafty, Victorian mansion. I am a humble orchard operator and general all around nice guy. I am really tired of your slander and libel. You really need to get over that camera incident with Manthony.”

B.B: “No, that is not the issue. True, there have been ‘incidents,” but they aren’t what this interview is about. We are here to discuss the elephant rampage that you and your associates with The Rothechilde Foundation are responsible for causing, avoiding, and admitting no responsibility.

Me: “Berty darling, that is exactly what I am talking about! Okay, so unfortunate things may have happened. People may or may not have been allegedly had the misfortune of standing where an elephant may have been walking. Whatever the case, there is no need to start throwing around faulty, unproven allegations that could result in a hefty lawsuit or potential burying in a shallow grave in Nevada or somewhere.”

B.B: “Did, did you just threaten to kill me and bury me in Nevada?”

Me: “I have done no such thing! I was merely stating things that could happen to a person. I have never gone to Nevada. The sand would destroy my wardrode, I believe. Speaking of which, I have been experimenting with adding color to my wardrobe…”

B.B: “Let’s not get off topic, Mr. Rothechilde, Xavier, may I call you Xavier?

Me: “I would not if I did not want to get ‘punished’ severely.”

B.B.  “Ahem. Before we begin, let’s refresh your memory. Ronald, roll the footage please.”

At this moment, a clip was played that showed a large group of people hanging about Downtown Samurai City. In the background, the Foundation Thunderdome stood majestically in the background. In the foreground, more people. Then the clip cut over to the ass-biscuit that I was currently being tormented by in this interview. Mr. Berterson was interviewing people who were “Occupying Samurai City.” Yes, the wave of civil unrest and general unhappiness of the populist poor had spread to Samurai City and the occupiers were occupying various areas of the city. This was exactly why we at the Foundation came up with the idea to have the war elephants. The occupiers had not come as far as the Thunderdome, but a group of counter-occupiers had begun to head in our direction. These counter occupiers were those who supported the one percent or something like that. Berterson interviewed a few of them as well. Approximately two minutes into the clip, a wave of people could be seen coming toward the camera. In the background, the image and sounds of a herd of elephants rapidly approached the news crew. Fleeing to a safe area (who knew there was a safe place from a herd of stampeding elephants?), the camera still recorded, Berty-baby’s panicked reporting in the background:

Bert: “This is Bert Berterson! A herd of elephants is now rampaging in downtown Samurai City! People are running everywhere as complete and total pandemonium has erupted! Oh my God! An elephant just tossed a police car into the side of the bank! This, this is terrible! Absolutely terrible! Hey! Someone grab that little girl! What the hell are you talking about? You do it! I’m Bert Berterson! I’m not getting stepped on by a freaking elephant! What the hell?! Is that elephant wearing a monocle and a tophat? My God the police have shot the elephant in the tophat! Tophat elephant is down! Holy shit! That elephant has that old lady by the neck! Wait, wait…the elephant has gently set her down. People we have a miracle, the elephant just set her…Shit! He kicked her! The elephant kicked her! Oh my…oh my…she’s, she’s barely moving. Paramedics are trying to help her. Okay, she’s giving the thumbs up. What? Headed where? Oh shit! Run! Ruuunnn!!!

And the clip ended there. To be honest, I was very upset by that footage. There was not one mention or shot of Sister Constance and the nun-wranglers coming in, taking down the rest of the pachyderms with tranquilizers and getting them safely back to the Thunderdome. Two elephants were slaughtered by the man on that tragic day. The monocle and top hat have been turned into monuments in the arboretum.

B.B: “Now, Mr. Rothechilde, clearly you could see what a tragic series of…hey! Are you texting?”

Me: “Yes, you were boring me with that biased video footage. There was no mention of the nuns and their success at bringing this unpleasantness to an end. Not to mention you subjected me to having to witness the brutal slaying of the vainglorious Lord Phant, a pachyderm of distinguished character and with obviously superior fashion sense. I was consulting our legal team to be sure that my comments will not be taken out of context and that the video delay is sufficient for Foundation security personnel to edit out any sensitive information before this hits the airwaves.”

B.B: “What?!”

Blue Boy?

Me: “You know, like they do on awards programs to filter out the potty mouths. Anyway, about fashion. As I believe we were discussing briefly earlier I have been experimenting with making changes to my wardrobe. I have been adding color. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of me in the lavender and purple, or gold-brown-black, but I do have a picture of me in blue. Ronald, show the clip, please. As you can see, instead of my trademark black and white two-piece combination, I am sporting a stylish three-piece suit. I even have on a blue tie. Blue! And took a picture that I did not insist be made black and white or some sort of old-timey sepia look. Eventually, I will have some photos of me in the other color schemes soon, and I may come back to your program to discuss them again at that time. However, thank you for the interview, it has been a pleasant…”

B.B: “Excuse me, sir! I tell Ronald what to do around here, and we weren’t discussing fashion. We’re here to talk about your reckless unleashing of elephants on our fair city and what exactly you plan on doing about it! You have some things to answer for sir!”

Me: “I do no appreciate your tone, little man. Now see here, if it were not for those stupid one percenters parading about in their diamonds and smelly perfumes, the elephants would not have gotten upset and that misfortune would never have occurred. The elephants were simply a part of a parade that The Foundation was sponsoring in support of the “Occupy Samurai City if You Want, But Stay the Fuck Away from the Thunderdome” rally. As you can see the rally was a success, the Thunderdome is untouched and still stands as a glorious symbol of compassion and beauty. And we are not even going to sue the city over our beloved Lord Phant. Although it has caused Sister Constance a great deal of sorrow. We had to give her an extended vacation, pay raise, and purchase a new elephant, monocle, and top hat to alleviate her lust for revenge.”

B.B: “Are you saying that the life of that elephant is worth more than the hundreds of people that were injured in carnage laid out by your elephant horde? Are you seriously equating humanity with lower animals?!”

Me: “Well, hypothetically, my statement would appear to be putting elephants above the rest of humanity, but then who needs to be splitting hairs here? Besides, no people were killed, and only a few were maimed or otherwise seriously injured. Further, the occupation business was horribly bad for the already weakened economy. Those people should have been out working and those one percent counter-protesters should have been out subjugating masses or otherwise managing some means of economic oppression. The fact is, those protesters were in all likelihood unemployed; do we need to show the world on the national news that we are a nation of corpulent, unemployed people? No sir! No, I say! If our impoverished looked like those pot-bellied Ethiopians, then maybe we would have something to bitch about. However, we are a corpulent nation that sits on couches and and gets to watch seventy-seven different versions of ‘Law & Order.”

B.B: “Mr. Rothechilde! That is completely reprehensible! Do you even hear yourself? Listen, the Vice President of The Rothechilde Foundation has even come out and said that mistakes were made…”

Me: “Yes! Mistakes were made. Many mistakes! Chief among them was letting that bastard out of the dunge…er, basement during the protests. Had he remained sedated and properly confined, our efforts to fix this bit of unpleasantness could have come to an end much sooner, and I would already be enjoying the adulation of the citizenry of this fair city instead of sitting here and subjecting myself to this horrid interview from a man with the fashion sense of a Mogwai.”

B.B: “What are you talking about?!”

Me: “Your suit is terrible. I know a guy, let me help you, baby.”

B.B: “You’re obviously out of touch. With me and the citizens of Samurai City. They don’t love you, no one loves…”

You are very welcome

Me: “Oh my! I ought to shoot you right in your ugly face! You smug son of a…excuse, what is it? Yes, I understand. Excuse me, that gentleman was one of our attorneys, he suggested, and smartly I should add, that by ‘shoot you right in your ugly face’ that I actually meant “write you a sternly worded note of disapproval, perhaps an email cc’d to your station’s management. As for the love thing, surely you are mistaken For example, take a look at this lovely bit of art; Ronald, show the picture please.”

B.B: “Now see here! Ronald is not one of your lackeys…”

Me: “Obviously, the artist appreciates me and felt that I was worthy of being immortalized in one of her brilliant creations. And then there is Sister Constance. For a nun, she really does go out of her way to accommodate my eccentricities (I am ignoring your lackey comment, by the way. Manthony with surely discuss that with you.) Then, and not the least, there is my personal secretary, whom does me an innumerable amount of service in great variety, and makes sure that I can function on a daily basis. And Charlotte! Dear Charlotte! Why just last night, we went out to a local titty bar…”

B.B: “You can’t say that on public television and this has nothing to do with the elephant incident.”

Me: “I believe I did just say that, and this has everything to do with the elephants. There is nothing better to ease the pain of a deceased elephant friend and huge publicity hit like going out to see some boobs. And this was a great night. There was s lady there named Suzie Malone. She did some classy burlesque dance, magic tricks, and she swallowed a sword. Man, that gave me ideas, I tell you! She even danced around with fire. Fire! Strapped around her waist and in the shape of hand fans she danced with fire. I even had my picture taken with her. It is a topless picture. I am not topless, she is, or else I would have brought it to show. I am not opposed to showing the boobs on television; I just do not want to share them with you.”

B.B: “That is all well and good, sir. But what does any of this have to do with the damage you have brought and the poor people that are suffering because of your mistake?”

Me: “You just really want to beat a dead elephant. Man. Fine. While it is unfortunate that a few people may have received a bump or two because of a few rambunctious elephants, we are not a bank, mortgage company, or publicly traded corporation with stockholders to rape and pillage. The government will not bail us out like they did the people who the occupiers are bitching about (is that what they are bitching about? or is it Obamacare, Afghanistan, gay marriage, or Rick Santorum’s tranny porn stash?). No, as always in these trying time The Rothechilde Foundation will rebuild the damaged property. We have already purchased some of the more severely damaged property and found locations for business owners to rebuild and relocate. We have even offered to allow these business to use the Foundation’s contractors for repair and construction and infrastructure at prices that are much lower than the local business clowns. We are hiring many of the disgruntled occupiers for this Samurai City Reconstruction, and all of this will benefit the local economy. Lord Phant did not perish in vain.”

B.B: “It sounds like all you are doing is making a selfishly greedy cash grab and attempt to increase your personal stake and interest here!”

Me: “And is that not the American Way? Thank you, Samurai City and good day. This is Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, signing out.”

B.B: “Hey!”

And the screen goes black…

Note: Mr. Rothechilde has always reveled in, and proudly proclaimed his status as being a hack writer. If you disapprove of the ending, then you were not paying attention to the original disclaimer. No refunds or apologies should be expected and none will be made.


Rothechilde Foundation and Trust Legal

Hooray for WordPress!!!

When I awoke this morning, I turned the television on and as usual, watched reruns of “Married With Children” while enjoying a cigarette and some coffee. After a few episodes, I turned to “Good Morning America” in order to avoid the torture of enduring Tim Allen on “Home Improvement.” But, I digress…

On “GMA,” a story came on discussing various websites that have “blacked out part of their site in order to protest the US Congress’ promotion of SOPA. Apparently, the bill is designed to protect people like Disney, and others, from having their wares illegally shared/downloaded from sites that encourage such piratical behavior. So, to protest such activities some sites blacked out parts of their sites.

Which brings me to my kudos for WordPress. As a staunch supporter of anti-censorship, I was happy to see that WordPress had blacked out sections and took a stand against censorship…and against some of the horrid images that happen to come up and frighten me from time-to-time. Good job, WordPress, you have stricken a blow for the right of a free and uncensored internet, and saved many from overdosing on too many cutesy images of clouds, lakes, and sappy little cute sayings.

Granted, this is a half-assed hack job, but I am not fully focused on writing at this time and ask for your indulgence and patience. I assure you that something more full-assed is on the horizon, stay tuned.

Betty White is turning ninety. Or has turned ninety. Either way, it is hard to believe. President Obama has trouble believing this as well. See for yourself.

Well, that will do for now. A short entry, to get myself back on task.

“…Cry ‘Havoc!’ and Let Slip the Elephants of War…” (Part II: The Discussion)

If you recall from part one, The Foundation was in the process of introducing war elephants to our holdings. If you do not recall this, or if you did not read the last post: Shame on You! I am not going to spend more time delivering back story elements; nary a clever flashback or past montage to set the mood.

Anyway…I had come to the decision that The Rothechilde Foundation was in danger of usurpation of some sort due to the successful assault on social programs by the State of Michigan. Governor Snyder and his minions are on the verge of stamping out the last vestiges of dedicated labor in the state, forcing them into poverty, stealing their homes, and probably sending them in our direction for relief since they were now jobless and only had the memories of state relief to keep them warm and their hunger sated. This could not be allowed to happen; our coiffures have been clever managed to provide us with maximum tax relief while allowing for minimum of fund spent on actual programs. We are a right and proper charity.

And now we were faced with a potential menace to rival the Ten Plagues of Egypt: if the newly impoverished all started to come to us for aid, the Foundation would have to spend more to provide such aid. Whether this is our purpose or not, this is not how the wealthy are supposed to behave. When we band together to get our wishes through media manipulation of the uniformed electorate of the United States, we do so as a unit. If they are making a massive cash grab in this State, then they are supposed to be making we Board members party to the grabbing. However, they have become traitors to the cause and we now understand that we stand alone! It was time for the Foundation to take action and this action was to be discussed at the emergency meeting that I was about to attend. I walked into The Foundation Thunderdome and headed for my office. It was early, but I was not surprised to see that my secretary had already made it there before me:

Secretary: Good morning, Mr. Rothechilde. I wasn’t expecting you to bring your ass into the office until the last week of August.

Me: I am not sure what you are trying to say. And you had better not swear at me, I will be forced to fire you…

Secretary: Sh! It’s okay, Mr. Cranky Pants; there’s coffee in your office and the rest of the board is on the way here. The Vice President is already here and he wad going to make coffee and take refreshments into the meeting…

Me: Did you just shush me? Why is Smeagol distributing food?! That is highly inappropriate! He could be trying to poison us…

Secretary: It’s okay, your new bodyguard maxed him and replaced the snacks. She’s in the boardroom and the Vice President is somewhere crying and washing his eyes out. Now be a big boy and go get ready to play President-boy.

Me: You are fired.

Secretary: Thank you, I think 10% is an appropriate amount for a raise, and the extra 2 weeks of vacation were unnecessary, but very welcome! I’m going to start planning now!

Me: You are lucky that I cannot run this place without you.

Secretary: Yeah, yeah…now go on. If you would have come in a half hour ago, we could have had a quickie. Now, I have to wait.

With that said, I headed to the board room, greeted M, my bodyguard and got a cup of coffee and a very large pastry that was covered with cheese and a doughnut. M, cleared her throat and eyed me disapprovingly so I added a cup of fruit to my breakfast. Then I told her that I would work it off later, this was not the time for watching calories, I needed to have all of the comfort foods I could grab to deal with the impending crisis. I had just taken a seat when the other members entered the room. The Vice President was the last to arrive, with his red, watery eyes and wearing his workout gear.

Board Secretary: What the fuck, dude? Not only is that not proper attire, but those shorts look like they are made for a toddler!

Charlotte: Ew! Is that your sack peeking out of there? Look, this is not 1974, Kareem, get some longer shorts…or wrap a table cloth around yourself.

Ethermagus: Your chair is too close to the MonitorChair. I can feel your hideous, malformed body through my technology down here in the TechCenter.

Vice President: This is all her fault! She maced me! My suit is covered in mace, and all I had to wear was what was in my gym bag.

Me: Ms. Secretary, could you bring in a Regulation Thunderdome Gym Suit for, Smeagol? His near nakedness is making us ill.

Secretary: I’ll bring it right in.

Manthony: You maced the Vice President?

M: (nods)

Charlotte: With actual Mace?

M: (nods).

VP Smeagol: And if I wouldn’t have fallen, she was going to hit me with that thing!

M: (holds up Medieval Mace, menaces Vice President, smiles)

Manthony: Damn!

Charlotte: That is wonderful! I’m sorry I missed that…

As the Vice President put on the suit, we all settled with our refreshments and were prepared to call the meeting to order. As soon as we were greeted by Sister Constance and Professor Z, the meeting began.

Me: Esteemed board members, please forgive my calling you all back earlier from your summer endeavors, but this is a matter that needs immediate attention. If you have been following the current political developments in our beloved America, you have noticed that a war has been declared on the wealthy. At first, it seemed that President Obama was the aggressor, now it seems that our own wealthy brethren and sistren have turned on us; the neutrality of wealth-shielding charitable organizations is no longer.

Board Secretary: I knew this was coming, we should have made that one percent increase in services to our clients and community…

Smeagol: I was right! Liberal yap-yap smarm, smarm…

Me: Let the record reflect that the Vice President’s comments will often be reduced to onamonapia for ease in transcription of the minutes, as much of what he says will be irrelevant.

Smeagol: I…nevermind.

Charlotte: Precisely.

Manthony: Okay, I hate to ruin the fun, but back to this war.

Me: No, the danger is that we are now attacked from both sides. We were not paying enough attention when the initial salvos from our wealthy former allies came from the banks and that mortgage debacle. However, now our wealthy former compatriots are aiming to hit the poor right where it counts, in addition to raping NPR, the National Endowment for the Arts, and anything else of culture significance to the people. Look, it was already an issue for the poor to have jobs. In our beloved State of Michigan, industry cured that ill and ran away to foreign nations and outsourced to India.

Manthony: You know, if people need jobs that bad, they should consider moving to India…

Me: Ahem! As I was saying, industry fled, and the unemployed came for donations. Now, the rich are complaining that poor still have too much and want to take their appliances and minimal comforts from them. I maintain that we cannot afford to buy refrigerators to keep their damn food fresh as the pundits now believe should be the case! War is on the horizon; horrible war on The Foundation from the poor and the wealthy. The middle class will do nothing and continue to bitch, we are through the looking glass here, people!

Charlotte: I assume that we are going to be needing weapons and more koalas and alligators; I see that the Sister and the Professor have joined the proceedings.

Me: No. This is not about koalas…

Professor Z: No, it’s not. This is about lasers! Multiple lasers, ones that will sear a path through all of our foes and make sure that we are well-defended, as well as provide potential offensive capabilities should need be.

Sister Constance: Then why am I here? My crew has just relocated the koalas; I still don’t see why they have to be put on permanent patrols in the arboretum. Fortunately, they have stopped attacking visitors. If I’m here to discuss the new property acquisitions…

Me: Now hold it, I have been building up to this.

At this point, I pushed a button near my chair and a curtain to the left moved, revealing a model of an elephant habitat. The habit included twenty-fve elephants. It was a wondrous creation! The model plants were actually live, everything was living, except for the model elephants. One thing that was new to me was a model of a Victorian home located in what would be the southwest corner of the habitat. Perhaps, I did not notice it before, but I am sure that it was not there. I would notice this. Since M had not felt the need to remove the object, I assumed it was safe and left it. Eventually, the prankster would get tired of my ignoring the house and speak up. I proceeded with the presentation.

Me: What you see here is a plan for the new War Elephant habitat for the Thunderdome. I have come to the conclusion that a herd of twenty-five war elephants will serve to protect us from our enemies, both old and new. They will also provide an effective means for a preemptive strike if needed.

Manthony: Okay, I think I see where this may be going. But before we get the elephants, shouldn’t we have troops? And, didn’t you say that there are twenty-five elephants?

Charlotte: Yeah, what gives? There are only twenty-three elephants; that’s cool, though. Twenty-three is good.

Board Secretary: Well, which is it? Twenty-three or twenty-five? This is going into the minutes and I really don’t care to edit them later.

I turned and looked at the model; there were indeed only twenty-three elephants. How did I miss that?

Me: Okay, there are supposed to be twenty-five! The plan called for twenty-five elephants! You see, in order to protect ourselves, a herd of rampaging war elephants was to be our secret weapon. The elephants could trample the poor and the wealthy alike! Symbolically, it would have both truth and irony; the truth of the Republican stomp-downs on the poor and the irony of their being crushed by their own icon. Now, now it is not the same…

Charlotte: Sh, it’s okay…

Me: Did you just shush me?

Charlotte: Listen, twenty-three is very good. You can still have as much carnage with twenty-three elephants as you can with twenty-five. Just put twenty-three in the minutes, and we’re all good.

Seagol: What are you talking about?! Carnagae? War elephants?

Professor Z: Laser-guided war elephants? That could be an interesting idea, but how do we get them back once they’ve been launched?

Charlotte: Oh my god! The elephants don’t have lasers. There are no lasers. I see where this is going: a mass trampling. The elephants run amok, tons of property damage, we get them back under control, and all is good.

Manthony: This idea may have some potential. Let’s hear some more.

Board Secretary: As the main public relations contact and creator of propaganda, I have to say that I draw the line at direct, purposeful attacks on anyone. We’d be doomed. I don’t we could pull that off, we’d have to relocate to some third world country with limited or no extradition treaties, like Canada.

Smeagol: Finally! Someone agrees with me!

Charlotte: Hey, shut up! No one agrees with you. Ever. This is your last warning. Look, we can fake an accidental trampling at some public event, say, at a parade or something. Fuck man, they faked that moon landing shit and people are still buying it.

Me: And that is exactly what I mean, well said! We simply wait for a parade, maybe a protest that will attract counter-protesters. The elephants get excited by some strange hippie’s patchouli or right-winger’s Christian recitations, and they run amok!

Professor Z: This is not a practical weapon. The elephants will be too unpredictable. The whole thing sounds too disorganized.

Ethermagus: I have not spoken for a bit. I was taking this all in and believe that the ensuing chaos is what is the best part of the plan.

Sister Constance: Hail Eris!

Manthony and Ethermagus: What did you just say?

Me: Exactly. The elephant’s rampage will cause much damage, maiming, and potential death. However, the collateral damage is acceptable in scope: not too much, not too little.

Professor Z: And how do we regain control of the elephants?

Sister Constance: Now?

Me: Yes.

Sister Constance: The elephants will be controlled similarly to the koalas. Mega-doses of Valium and other assorted treats. And by the way, there are twenty-five elephants in total…

Me: I knew I had twenty-five. You are responsible for that monstrosity in the corner of the habit as well, I presume?

Sister Constance: Oh hush, it’s okay?

Me: Why is everyone shushing me today?!

Charlotte: Technically, that was a “hush.”

Board Secretary: I recorded it as a “hush.”

Smeagol: This is getting way out of…argh!

Charlotte (putting tazer away): I told him that was his last warning.

Sister Constance: As I was saying, the habit is designed to comfortably house the twenty-three war elephants. In the Victorian mansion here to the southwest (as it is the best temperature for the elephants) house Lord and Lady Phant. (She opens the mansion) As you can see, they are clothed in the best of finery, including the Lord’s dashing top hat and clever monocle.

Professor Z:

Sister Constance: Well, the whole thing has a certain classiness, and the Lord and the Lady will present just enough class stress among the elephants that will prove beneficial as a catalyst to fuel a bit of plebeian rage to vent during operations.

Ethermagus: Excellent! I like the mansion idea, it is a smart home.

Me: And that, ladies and gentlemen hopefully I have not only demonstrated need and purpose for our war elephants, but I also hope that you will all see why it is indeed necessary to purchase the old train station, historic or not, to provide adequate land for the elephant habitat. We will also, more than likely, need to purchase all property surrounding it. This will dislocate approximately one thousand residents.

Charlotte: As program director, I recommend moving them to one of our low-rent housing facilities and offer them free rent for two years, after the two years, we charge them for rent. We also allow them to come and see the elephants free of charge for life, provided they come during public visitation times.

Me: With that, let us vote.

And with that vote, all in favor of the war elephants (save one abstention, the Vice President was still “napping”), the Foundation began its latest quest…

“…Cry ‘Havoc!’ and Let Slip the Elephants of War…” (Part I: Historical Background Notes)

The current Governor of Michigan is named Rick Snyder. His campaign was based on him being “one tough nerd.” However, after he began his budget proposals and what have you, it was learned that this man is no friend to labor. However, most surprisingly, he paradoxically began an assault on the education system of our state. One would think that a nerd would be all about education and being the impetus for the creation of a monolithic apparatus of Nerd-dom, but he seems to be just the opposite.  Instead of thinking of the children being educated, the Snydmeister began to “fix” the system by devising ways to rid the State of qualified staff in what he claims are measures designed to fix the economy of the state of Michigan.

For those of you who understand that Michigan is both not in Canada and not comprised only of a large crime bucket called Detroit, Michigan used to be a powerhouse of industry. We really do not care what anyone thinks to the contrary; we invented the car, the assembly line, labor unions, and Rhythm & Blues. On the other hand, we did give Ted Nugent and Gerald Ford to the world, but who is perfect for fuck’s sake? But I digress… For some reason, a few years back, the auto industry, Hell, industry in general, just took off and abandoned us. What was left in the wake was a horde of unemployed people that had been educated to work in the factories and really not possessing many skills beyond that.

To save the state, the medical industry began a subtle takeover. Met by the technology sector, they combined to create a new economic force to save Michigan. However, since most people in the state were not prepared to be employed in this industry, those areas of economic power began to hire foreigners to the state and the rest of Michigan’s residents began engaging in a weird “migrant-laborer” type lifestyle of moving to another state, then moving back to Michigan a bit later. This is known as the “Black Hole of Michigan Syndrome.” All Michiganders attempt to flee the borders, but due to being born in the environment (or living in it for five years), the run-a-ways return. This is not genetic, rather it is a result of microchips installed in every resident at birth by the Michigan Militias in case that resident is needed to fight in the Great Michigan Rebellion or the Canadian Re-Unification (we are all still pissed off about that whole Toledo War business. Sure the Upper Peninsula is cool, but we could have had that real estate and Toledo).

If that was not enough, the unemployment led to other businesses fleeing as where once was a money-hole of middle class laborers to buy all sorts of stuff (mostly guns, flannel, and stuff to go “Up North” with) there was now a frightened, angry mass of armed, unemployed people with a thirst for the blood (and a little hungry, as most had gotten pretty fat from too much fast food, meat, and not exercising save for Deer Hunting Season). The Governor who started this craziness was a fat tyrant by the name of John Engler. Engler was a weird, fat man who once had a Lieutenant whose name is a synonym for “dead penis.” After greedily serving more than two terms destroying the middle class, he pushed term limits for future Governors, got said limits and left office.

He was replaced by a reformed Canadian by the name of Jennifer Granholm. At some time in her life, she crawled through the Windsor Tunnel and pretended to be a Detroiter. Not being able to survive the harsh climate of Detroit (she is no Kwame Kilpatrick or Coleman Young) she moved about the state, befriended the Candian-like Yoopers, and became the leader of the Mitten with the Stag jumping into Wisconsin. However, Granny could not stop the sinking of the USS Bob Seger, and the businesses began to flee with the ex-King (but now more corpulent) of the State. She did what she could, but the economy still began to take a plunge into Hell. Her two terms coming to an end, she left an open seat for the taking.

Enter the World’s Toughest Nerd, Rick Snyder. Keeping in fine tradition of uneducated voting, the residents of Michigan voted for him (probably because his voice is more nasal than any other Michigander, so he is more Michigan than the rest of us) despite the fact that he apparently has a reputation for sending jobs overseas. He quickly began to fix the economy by attempting to dismantle unions and take money from the already impoverished state schools. The rest of Michigan got fed up and started circulating petitions to get rid of this nerd. It has not been working very well, however these angry flannel-clad deer stalkers are still pretty pissed…and tenacious.

And this is where The Foundation and the preparations for this new era of odd began. As a public service non-profit organization, this governor’s assault on the public services provided by the state could be a big problem. With the state making cuts, people would begin to demand more from us. While the Conservative agenda would have you believe that private charities enjoy giving out dough to the needy, the reality is that we are here to provide a pretty face and tax write off for the wealthy. We cannot fulfill our own goals when we are forced to cough up more money to people because the state wants to give tax relief to small businesses and big corporate monoliths. A war is brewing on the horizon: the state is going to begin asking us to do more charity and the needy will begin asking for more help. I for one did not believe that The Foundation is prepared for this potential invasion. An emergency meeting of the Board was called, ending our vacations. We needed a plan of defense.

At that meeting, we introduced a new proposal: The War Elephant.

To be continued…

Soon, Florida. Soon…

The US Government has done it. They have finally declared war on the elderly. Really, it is about time. Our country has waged wars on drugs, poverty, terrorism, and who knows what else. Usually, when the US declares war on a “thing” the nation does not do well. Except for killing people, we do that with great skill. However, the war on drugs brought more drugs. The war on terrorism gave us Homeland Security. The war on poverty successfully brought more people to poverty. At least more voting people to poverty.

According to President Obama, the US may not be able to guarantee many Social Security checks after August third. The majority of articles I have read seem to placing the blame for this squarely on the shoulders of the Barak-meister General. It is a good thing that the US government consists only of one branch. If we had a Legislative Branch, and called it something like, hmmm…how about Congress?, that body could come up with some ideas for laws and then Mr. President could either approve the law or send it back to have it reconsidered. We could call this a Balance of Power or a Share-y Law Thingy! What? You mean that the gubbmint already works like that here? My bad, I thought this whole budget thing was the responsibility of one person.

However, that is of no consequence. Whether this is the President’s, Congress’, or Ali Sheedy’s fault, the end result is the same: War has finally been declared on the the elderly of the United States. This should come of no surprise. After Florida got such a bad rap from the elderly and the confused mental states when voting back during Bush v. Gore, the politcos have set their sites on the elderly. Not all of them, only the ones who are in need of Social Security. Independently wealth old folks and politicians are okay: the former factory workers, soldiers, and people who built this country are the ones who are the problem.

Not only does this segment eat up a lot of dough in government benefits, but they drive horribly, tell the same stories repeatedly, and address everyone as “young” something. Florida was the last straw. After retiring and moving to Florida, a state evolved that has next to no native residents (save the naked hotties in the South), and the current residents being confused, elderly voters. Indeed, the last steps leading to war was Florida. The Republicans wanted those old timers out because they had become election stealing, brandy-snifter-by-the-fire, carpet bagging, thieves, and the Democrats had become the put out victims of the right wing conspiracy, the whiny crybaby now martyred on the cross of political injustice. The Greatest Generation Must Go!

Wild-ish Cracker Cow

After the ascension of The Obam-a-nator, it was time to make the move. Instead of cutting funds on a war that should have started to be over when Osama was whacked, cap spending and cut those social programs to the elderly. If done when Barak is President, the last thing the elderly will do before they die off is vote a Republican in to replace to Mr. O because their suffering is his fault. He cut the programs. The Democrats can hold on if they can convince the suffering oldies that money would be available if the Republicans were insisting on sending their grandkids to fight over in that hot desert. With who is to blame thoroughly confused, the elderly will all finally be done in by the sudden shock and awe of disregard from the once faithful and protective government. The population of Florida will drop by seventy percent and there will be plenty of room for younger people to move, find jobs, and do things that do not involve shuffleboard or pill schedules. The voting irregularities of Florida will be replaced by the apathetic non-voting influx of misguided thirty somethings who spend too much time living in parents’ basements to realize that all of Florida is not beach and that by moving to central Florida, it does not mean that you will see a lot of semi-naked chicas (you will see a lot of wild-like cows and cowmen called “crackers.”

Be it Republican-led treachery or Democrat-fed do-nothing-ness, it works for me. At least it did work for me. All will be working fine as soon as the Foundation’s legal team has settled a small issue between the County and a ourselves. The problem all started when I was pulled over last week because I braked a little suddenly to avoid killing a squirrel. Apparently, the cop riding the ass of my Alpha Romeo hearse was not of a mind to save a squirrel from being squished by a hearse and he pulled me over.

People react funny to hearses, and even funnier to one that has been crafted out of an Alpha Romeo. When the officer came to the window of my vehicle, he asked for my information and walked back to his car. At that time, I noticed a little light on the dashboard. The light was indicating that there was a problem with the air circulation system in the coffin (read on, this will make sense). Swearing to myself, I got out of the car, walked around to the back and open the rear door. Of course, this made the officer nervous, ever more nervous when he noticed the coffin in the back. He was out of his car before I could reconnect the air flow tube that must have come disconnected during the squirrel evasion. I would need to address the faulty connections to my technical people.

Officer: Stop! Let me see your hands and step away from the vehicle.

Me: Here are my hands, but I need to reconnect this tube or else Ms. Gargula may suffocate.

Officer: What?!

Me: There! All connected. What can I do for you officer? My apologies if my coffin check made you anxious, but I wanted to make sure that my resident was comfortable and safe.

Officer: You funeral types are so weird. Do you know why I stopped you?

Me: I assume that my sudden braking almost caused you to sodomize my hearse with your cruiser, and you were able to stop suddenly because you are a bottom and I am a top and the wreck would not make sense.

Officer: Well, yes. I mean, no! I mean, you did brake suddenly. Have you had anything to drink this afternoon?

Me: Not yet. But I will be having some absinthe soon.

The conversation was then interrupted by a knock from inside the coffin in the hearse. In my haste to attend to the policeman, I did not attach the air connection properly and Ms. G. was signalling that she needed to breathe. I needed to securely attach that tube or else Ms. Gargula would be meeting her maker sooner than she expected.

Officer: Was that a knock?! Is there someone alive in there?

Me: Not for long if you do not let me re-attach that tube. By now, the indicator light informing Ms. Gargula that her oxygen is being depleted and will be exhausted in one hour has come on. Fortunately, the power systems are fine, at least she has light and some entertainment.

Officer: You open that and let her out of there! You can’t keep live people in coffins.

Me: There is only one person in the coffin and this is completely legal, consensual, and really none of your business. Now, if you would let me re-attach…

Officer: You stay right there. You say this is consensual?

Me: I have “Power of Inter-y” for Ms. Gargula.

Officer: You mean “Power of Attorney, correct? And what does that have to do with having a live human being trapped in a coffin?!

Me: No, I meant “Power of Inter-y.” I have a binding legal document stating that she is to be buried in that very coffin immediately after death. I have a clever team of lawyers. Man, this is the new Gold Rush. We can thank Washington for this situation, their holding Social Security ransom has unleashed a new commercial enterprise. That is exactly what is the destiny of this, poor thing: she is terrified and took solace in premature burial. That is the case with the elderly these days with the panic generated by the recent Social Security woes and all. The old folks are freaking out about not having any money, health care, or a place to live!

So, they have come to the Foundation and requested that they be able to live in a coffin as a part of our “Coffins and Burials for Homes Program.” It is a great deal, actually. The coffins are fully tricked out with telephones, cable television, feeding ports, and IV drips for their meds. The more technologically savvy have opted for WiFi so they can communicate with family over the Internet. As for that unpleasant bathroom issue, well a system of catheters and various “-ostomies” have under management. In exhange, they deed their properties and possessions over to The Foundation. Upon the death of the client/resident, we embalm, arrange the funeral, and provide the preferred means of internment.

Officer: This is outrageous! I have never heard of such a thing. Either you let that woman out of there, or I’ll do it myself under the pretense of investigating a crime in progress.

Me: I am sorry, but opening that coffin would be a violation of the residents contractual rights. I cannot violate that Client Privilege without just cause. What we need to do now, officer, is reconnect this air connection…

Officer: Step away from the vehicle.

Me: Okay, but I must inform you that I object to this illegal search.

Officer: You just keep quiet and stand there where I can see you, don’t make me handcuff you.

Saying that, the Officer began searching for a means to open the coffin. He tried the lid, but Ms. Gargula had locked it shut, fearing that someone would come and try to steal the items from her Precious Moments collection that she wanted to have buried with her.

Me: Please do not pull on those tubes, some of them are intravenous and you may cause the resident serious pain.

Officer: I told you to shut up! This is your last warning.

Then he noticed a series of buttons on the side. The drawings next to the button gave him an idea of what the buttons were for; there was one for food, one for waste retrieval, etc. He decided that since the red button isolated from all of the others must be the mechanism to open the coffin.

Me: Please, do not push that red button!

The officer sneered at me and pushed the button. He fell away from the car as he heard a pump start, one loud scream from the coffin, and a couple of knocks. He immediately noticed the sudden silence, except for the nearly perceptible humming of pumps and fluid. He looked at me and was about to draw his weapon, and noticed that I had not moved from my spot. Rather I looked from the coffin, to him, and to from him to the coffin again.

Me: Now, you have done it. You started the auto-embalming sequence.

Officer: Well, shut it down! We can save her?!

Me: No, not now. Ms. Gargula was deathly afraid of zombies. Moreso afraid of becoming a zombie. She requested that we install Anti-Zombie precautions in her coffin. As soon as that button was tripped, metal spikes were driven through the base of her skull and her pre-frontal cortex. That scream was more than likely caused by the entrance of orifice plugs immediately before the spiking. If it matters to you, I doubt she suffered…much.

Hearing that was enough for the copper and he decided to call the matter in and have my vehicle impounded, which my attorneys were able to prevent as the Habeas Corpus of the corpse was not at the leisure of the County…or some shit my lawyers were saying. So, while I was able to leave with my car, and my former resident, our rental program has been put on hiatus pending a review of the legality or ethics of the issue. The Foundation lawyers believe that we shall be successful in our case: the government has already declared war on the elderly, at least we are helping them find peace until the end…

Who Cares About Organizations? We Have Pissy Pants Plants to Cultivate!

This particular board meeting was particularly boring. Smeagol, our not-esteemed Vice President was in the middle of discussing the status of our maintenance staff. It seems that all of them, from custodians to handyfolk to groundskeepers had decided to organize and threatened to strike if we did not recognize their union and a few other demands. Personally, I had stopped listening to his blathering; a few states in the union have already illustrated the uselessness of organized labor and decided that eliminating them would be the next best attack on the middle class.

Why should the Foundation be any different? I understand they are not civil employees like those the states have started to assault (while smartly avoiding any reductions to those that govern), but the Rothechilde Foundation should be innovative. It is only a matter of time before corporate America follows the lead of state governments and I intend to set precedent rather than use them as defense.

I was ready to call for a lunch recess when the meeting was blessed with a frantic interruption from Sister Constance:

Sister Constance: “We have been violated!”

Vice President: “Excuse me, but we are trying to dis…”

Sister Constance: “Shut it! Or I will…”

Me: “Okay, everyone relax. What seems to be the problem? As this seems to be most pertinent, I will allow the breech of protocol. I assume this is agreed without needing a vote as the only objection is sure to come from the boring Vice President.”

Smeagol: “Hey..!”

Everyone Else: “Agreed.”

Me: “Now, Sister Constance, what seems to be the issue?”

Sister Constance: “Yesterday, all was well in the arboretum, it smell lovely and the koalas and alligators were content. Today, it smells like pee pants! The koalas are distressed and the ‘gators are cranky. We can’t have an arboretum that smells of pee pants!”

Charlotte: “Manthony, didn’t you just have some new plants delivered to the Thunderdome?”

Manthony: “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Madame Secretary: “Wait, I seem to recall receiving an appointment confirmation from some landsc…”

Manthony: “Shh! Maybe she is smelling mossy hobos?”

Vice-President: “Mossy hobos?”

Manthony: “Yeah, dey unwashed asses grew some moss cuz dey so dirty. Dat moss is camouflage and shit, so you think they plants and not people.”

Vice-President: “Outrageous! How can you be so insensitive?!”

Me: “Indeed! These mossy, malodorous cretins should have never gotten into the Thunderdome, particularly the arboretum! Why did the alligators not eat them or koalas maim them!” This, this is potentially serious. I knew I should have carried a larger pistol today…”

Charlotte, Sister Constance, Smeagol: “What?! That’s terrible!”

I was obviously surprised by the strangeness of that chorus. I was not alone in noticing this, and the equally observant, still outraged and now angry Charlotte spoke up:

Charlotte: “You bastard!!! I ought to taze you to death for making me have an outraged outburst with the Vice President! That’s low. Anyway, we’ll deal with that later; this anti-hobo propaganda of yours is rather disturbing to me. Personally, I like hobos and object to any mistreatment of them be they mossy or not.”

Sister Constance: “The critters are meant to add beauty to the Thunderdome while punishing violators (punishing the evil would probably eliminate most of this board, Mr. Rothechilde…) of its splendor, not to attack hobos. They are allowed free passage. Besides, they could be managed cheaply with cigarettes, sandwiches, and vodka.”

Vice-President: “You two are sick! That is NOT what I meant. I find your attitude toward the homeless disgusting.”

Charlotte: “Well, if they are living in the arboretum, they are technically not homeless.”

Manthony: “…and there ain’t no boxcars up in there, so they ain’t hobos either.”

Me: “They still can be hobos, trains are not a requirement. I check the Alpha Hearse for hobos all of the time.”

Madame Secretary: “No matter what they may be, they should not inhabit the arboretum unsanctioned, at least not without contributing to the expense of their inhabitation.”

Me: “Well, we could arm the hobos, provided they did not turn on us, employees, or ‘legal’ visitors. That would allow them to pay for their upkeep.”

Charlotte: “Upkeep?! Upkeep?! These are humans we are talking about, they deserve respect! Asshole, they are not pets to be kept.”

Me: “My bad. They could pay for their room and board.”

Madame Secretary: “Much better. And that is acceptable. I’ll draft a labor agreement immediately.”

Sister Constance: “This is ridiculous! There is a disgusting piss-plant stinking up the fucking arboretum and I want it out! Why in the Hell are we discussing imaginary hobos?”

Me: “Damn, swearing nuns are hot!”

Charlotte: ” Hell yeah…”

Manthony: “Look, da new flowers make a good toxin. It will paralyze a fool, then make him wet hisself like a baby.”

Us: “Eww!”

Madame Sectetary: “How is that beneficial?”

Manthony: “Hell, I jus’ thought it was cool. An’ I needed space to cultivate my plants, so I stashed ’em next to the marigolds. Rabbits even hate dat shit, so I figured it was kosher.”

Me: “Well it is certainly not a cheeseburger or pork, but not necessarily kosher. What if the board authorizes the construction of a green house for ‘research horticulture and botany?'”

Manthony: “Dat’ll work!”

Sister Constance: “I don’t care, just get the pissy pants plants out of the arboretum main.”

Charlotte: ” You’ve been watching too much Harry Potter, nunsy; you’re starting to sound British. Does that count as a motion and second?”

Madame Secretary: “I would say it does…”

Smeagol: “Wait! We need to discuss this! Besides, we were supposed to be discussing whether to accept the terms of the maintenance staff and their desire to unionize. We have abandoned the who point of what we were discussing and moved on to nonesense.”

Manthony: “Point of Order! A motion has been made and seconded; the Vice-President is out of line! Besides, protecting our shizzle is always on topic, boyee.”

Me: “Mr. Treasurer is correct, the Vice President will shut the fuck up! Besides, if we fire them all before they unionize, we can fire them. If they come near the Thunderdome we can sue them, have them arrested, or shoot them in self-defense. Now, all in favor of building a new greenhouse for research purposes, say ‘Aye.'”

And with that, the Foundation Thunderdome began the process of building a new research facility to explore the joys of potentially toxic, stinky plants. It seems that the workers would have to wait once again to have their day. They should be fortunate our distraction allowed us to avoid firing them for one more day. That is exactly how the lower classes need to live their days…waiting and happy for any crumb they can get; this is the home of the American Dream, no?

Reading the News: A Few Items That Caught My Eye

If you are a person whom happens to be familiar with my typical blog entries, you would also now be a person whom has noticed that my posts have not been particularly “Xavier-y.” For the unitiated, or newy initiated, this means that my writings are hardly deserving of the dark, pseudo-gothic satire that it is supposed to present for your reading enjoyment. To be completely honest (which may imply that typically I may not be completely honest…but that is neither here nor there for the time being), I have been off of my game a bit as this is a new blog, and I am still figuring out the basics of formatting and establishing a group of readers; my previoys MySpace audience is non-existant and the Facebookers just avoid the blogscene methinks.

As a result, there have been few new tales of the adventures of the Foundation Board of Directors, my brushes with those who are victims of the establishment, my wonderful, black Alpha Romeo that has been tricked out to look like a coffin, etc have all been brushed aside as things slowly progress here in this new style and format. While the new tales have been few, the news has been much…and alarming.

The CNN story that first caught my eye was that of Christian Choate. Actually, the very first thing that caught my eye was a story about the tornado that decimated Joplin, MO, but I had already watched that on the news as I prepared to head to the Thunderdome and was not a part of my online news fiesta. Anyway, Christian apparently was killed by his father and step-mother and no one knew about this for two years. No one asked or searched for the kid. The siblings in the house kept quiet as their parents kept this boy caged and beat him regularly and eventually to death. The main question is the title of the article: “why did no one know the boy was missing?”

That is what gets me the most. Here in the State of Michigan, we have been banned from smoking in bars and such, it is extremely difficult for teenagers to driver’s licenses, and we get charged an extra fee for being an irresponsible driver added to any driving infraction. Basically, the government here is always in our faces. Having an economic edge keeps The Man out of my face for a minute or two, but there he is nonetheless; all up in my grill for little shit. And the Feds are not much better – The Big Brother (also The Man), is so occupied with sexual reproductive rights of individuals, regulating the private lives of homosexuals, and protecting big banks that foreclose on homeowners like crabs on a hobo-whore that important things like a little boy who suddenly disappears goes unnoticed. I understand the family claimed he was homeschooled, but if we have sat and allowed the State of Arizona to pass Nazi legislation that can demand that any person of color “show them their papers,” then at least someone could have politely asked: “what happened to that one boy who used to live here?” They claimed he ran away; I had always assumed that parents looked for their children. I guess you would not if he was supposed to be caged…

Yesterday, I wrote about the lack of the Apocalypse, and how said non-event disappointed my plans to hunt zombies. While denied the living dead skeet shoot bonanza, I was able to find out just what those who were expecting the End are now thinking since the day has come and gone and it seems that everyone is still here. Apparently, while they are disappointed )and some are probably wondering what they are to do since they quit their jobs and made plans for the hereafter), they are taking solace in the fact that the dude who predicted the Rapture was a victim of his age old foes: arithmetic and science. You see, it appears that our non-Doomsday prophet has made this assertion of the End of Days before and was thwarted by forces of reason and education:

“Camping, a degreed engineer (not a pastor) who claims to have made the Bible his “university” for more than 50 years, has experience with failed prophecies. He once claimed the world would end in September 1994, later chalking that snafu up to biblical miscalculations and the need for further study. This time around, he said earlier this year, he had no doubts.”

After re-reading that, he miscalculated something Biblical; I was mistaken in my sarcastic snarkfest a couple of paragraphs ago. However, I do feel vindicated: a man who has studied a the University of the Bible for fifty years should be above such mathematical error when making biblical calculations. And he should know enough to know that assuming he was going to be taken and not left should the world have gotten all Rapture-y is a bit arrogant, and he should have made preparations for those of his followers who gave up everything so that they could join him in going to Jesus’ crib. In the end (which, I guess it is not), Harold Camper predicted the End and left to meet that end. However, I have to ask myself if he gave up what his followers gave up in order to move on from this world. I mean, he has a job still, correct? And I am certain that he still has his cash to keep him comfortable until he dies. For those who gave up everything only to discover that you are now not getting everything in the afterlife and are staying in the here and now, take solace in knowing that throughout history, people have been predicting the Apocalypse. I am sure that you are not the first to now find themselves broke, jobless, and homeless, but still faithful nonetheless. Besides, as the article points out, there is still hope for the end to come…keep your head up.

Now, for the most exciting part of this post! So exciting to me that I just had to use an exclamation point at the end of that sentence. It just so happens that while I was getting all excited about the prospect, I may not have been accurate prepared for the plague of zombies that would have been ripe for the hunting as I was predicting/hoping for this past Sunday. I should have seen what the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had to say about being properly prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse. After reading the article, I quickly made sure that the Thunderdome was adequate prepared for an assault from the living dead and then drove back to my Estate to see if I did have the items needed should I be at home when the zombies strike. As it turns out, the only thing that I was missing were the extra gallons of water. As a precaution, there are now very many gallon containers stored in the Thunderdome basement, and the facility is fully prepared for a zombie invasion. Kudos to the CDC for raising awareness in the coolest of ways. I think that has been the most interesting thing that I have encountered online in a long time.

Foundation Anger Management Fiesta

I have been writing this for some time, I have just been playing around with ways to place this entry into a blog with minimal editing in the transfer from Microsoft Word to MySpace to WordPress. My “Lego Star Wars III: The Clone Wars” (Playstation 3) addiction has not been helping either.

Truthfully, that above is not quite true. The truth is that I chose to delight you with a blast from the past. This post was indeed written using Microsoft Word. Further it has been transferred from MySpace to this WordPress blog. However, I have not really put too much time into this “edition,” other than add this foreword after the original introduction. I felt this was a good reprint to use for an introduction to The Rothechilde Foundation.

Starting this voyage somewhere near the middle of the trip, I will bounce back to the beginning after a time. The end of the story is an uneventful and quick ending that suddenly comes and goes after a bunch of writing and yammering. I just wanted to let you have a taste of my ADHD so that you feel like you are a part of my cognitive experience. Now, folks, somewhere in the middle…

Reporter: “Well, honky, cracker, white trash, etc. Those are funny. You know, when George Jefferson or Redd Foxx say any of those words, they are funny. Remember Richard Pryor? That ‘n’ word that you used is not funny; it represents years of subjugation and racist institution!”

Me: “Well, that is a bit redundant, are you of Manthony’s people? I shall speak with him about sending morons to interview me…”

Manthony: What is the fuck, my friend? Why are you tripping? He does not work for me!”

(Manthony:: “Look! I kno yo’ bitch ass gon’ read dis shit; yo’ OCD ass has to. Any fuckin’ way, don’ be messin’ wit mah words no moe! I talk like I wants to be talkin’. A nigga can’t deal wit it? He can talk to ma girlfriend ‘oops!’ I just got ma ass capped by Manthony! Believe dat shit! An’ ho’ I just said ‘nigga,’ wha’ tha’ fuck yo’ about-to-be-beat-down-interview ass gots to say about dat?”)

Very well…

Manthony: “Wha’ tha fuck, dawg? You kno’ he ain’t one o’ mah peeps!”

Me: “I know that, but I was making a pun based on your Department. Yes, I know you know that, also. However, this man is being a bit redundant, and unnecessarily so; racism is an institution by definition. He is suggesting some sort of uber-racism: an institutional institution founded in bigotry. Not to mention that he is being just plain stupid, why should someone be allowed to use some of those words and not the other? Oh yeah, because of slavery. Maybe it was that Jim Crow thing. Whatever. You know, I cannot go and punch a fellow everyday because he really kicked my ass for a bit. If something is over, then it is over. Stop punishing whitey! How about you, hypocrite? I am willing to bet that you thought Don Rickles was hilarious before Disney turned him into a talking potato”

Interviewer: “You are a horrible, horrible man.”

Me: “Thank you, my balls would look great in your mouth.”

And that is how I ended the conversation. This all started with a visit to a program that the Foundation is sponsoring at a local community center. The lovely people who secured the grant from us asked that we come to visit on this day in particular. Why? The local television station was going to do a story and they felt it would be good to have us there to speak on behalf of the Foundation.

My first thought was to send our illustrious Vice-President. I hate the idea of being on television. I hate the idea of being surrounded by children and on television even more. Most of all, I hate both of those things when they also include having some fake attitude from some self aggrandizing money grubber, eager to pat themselves on the back on the city stage.

As I thought of myriad ways to avoid this deal, Charlotte reminded me that Smeagol has a face that is not even suitable for radio. She was painfully correct; he cannot be put on television, particularly not as a representative our lovely Foundation. However, we do have Manthony. He likes television and the idea of being on it. I figured, I would go and do the dreaded spot with Manthony accompanying me. That way, I could avoid trying to connive away my presidential duty.

Most importantly, we have Charlotte. If you tell her that you want the whole deal to last no more than five minutes, then she will have you to your car in three of them flat. Everyone knows that. However, we need to be reminded of that from time-to-time:

Me: “Manthony, my secretary just informed me that one of our sponsored programs is being visited by a local television station. They would like a representative of the Foundation present. As President, I have to go as the Executive Secretary reminded me that our Veep does not have suitable appearance for television.”

Manthony: “Oh HELL yeah, le’s do dis shit up!”

(Manthony if you are reading this again, I just want you to know that your insistence that I write in your “dialect” is driving my spellchecker crazy).

Madame Secretary: “Whoa, that is not an option! The two of you are not going to be left to your own devices and allowed to go to that interview alone. What the fuck are you thinking? Smeagol is too ugly, besides should treat him…”appropriately,” we could have image issues later since the general public does not appreciate the extreme measures that have to be taken to contain him.”

Me: “Well, thank you for volunteering to chaperone…”

Madame Secretary: “That’s pretty funny. I am not dealing with that train wreck on my own. Charlotte has agreed to come also.”

There, it was decided and settled, we would all go to this interview.

We arrived about two minutes before the camera crew and the reporter. However, we decided to go on a tour of their facility and were not at the interview designation until after set up. When we made our way to the interview site, we were greeted by the site supervisor, a reporter, and a child. About forty yards away from us, a producer sat in the back of one of the station’s vans; he was going to be broadcasting this event I assumed due to the long antenna with the satellite dish jutting from the top of the vehicle.

The reporter was none other than Bert Berterson. I really hate this fellow; he seems to have some latent hatred of the Foundation and seeks at all times to “expose” what he considers inappropriate conduct perpetrated by our esteemed Board of Directors. His camera man was a bearded fellow who looked as if he had just spent two days sleeping in the very clothes he wore to this interview. His tee shirt, boldly emblazoned with the words: “White Trash Superstar” on the front, and “Cracker and His Technicolor Jean Jacket” on the back, was covered with stains from coffee and who knows what that color comes from?

The SS advised us that this child was one they thought would be a good representative of the children in the program and had been selected to join the interview. I recognized this child as the son of the SS herself. I mentioned this quietly to Manthony. I did not mention it quietly enough, because Charlotte happened to overhear it.

Charlotte: “What?! Sorry, this child is unacceptable! He is not even a participant in this damn program. Go find one who is, or I will do it for you. You have until I count to five to begin walking, lady.”

SS: “This is highly irregular. You have no authority to make demands of my program!”

Reporter: “This ought to be interesting; roll camera. Hello, I am Bert Berterson from TFTV Channel 11. I am on site at the Fun Summer Program site…”

Charlotte: “…two…”

Madame Secretary: “Actually, she does. If our Board decides that you are out of compliance with the grant specifications, it will be withdrawn; you will have to return any remaining funds. From there, a hearing will determine just how long you have been out of compliance and decide whether you have to repay the Foundation ANY funds that you have received.”

Charlotte: “You should have read the fine print, bitch. Four…”

Manthony: “Turn that camera, off…”

Charlotte: “…five. I’m going to get another child for this interview.”

Manthony: “Get dat boy over there; tha’s mah nigga’s Jo-Jo’s boy. He’ll do jus’ fine.”

Reporter: “Did you just call that boy the ‘n-word?'”

Me: “No, he called that boy’s father one of his ‘nigga’s. I believe they are familiar.”

Charlotte: “Hey, little man, come over here. We’d like you to appear on TV with us.”

Little Boy: “Hey, there unca Manny!”

Manthony: “W’sup, foo? Hey, I said turn dat shit off, man.”

SS: “Now, wait just a minute!”

Madame Secretary: “One more word out of you and you owe us money. Shut up!”

Reporter: “That large fellow should not be using those horrible words; not only is he perpetuating stereotypes, he is being a racist. Look at him! He is as white as they come and he is calling little black boys the ‘n-word!'”

Me: “Well, for someone so sanctimonious and politically correct, it would seem that you would not allow your camera man to wear that shirt of his out and about…”

And this is where we started. As I said earlier, this is where I grew tired of this interview and opted to leave. Mr. Berterson disagreed and chose to follow me to our Foundation limousine. His cameraman, still taping, followed him. Behind him followed the rest of the Foundation Board. The SS stayed back, wondering if she were now out of a job and/or program most likely.

Manthony: “I said turn dat shit off! I meant turn dat shit off. Now, dat I am turnin’ dat shit off!”

Manthony seized the camera, yanking it from the now-frightened man’s hands; pulling the man off of his feet and to the ground in the process. Then, he took a few steps back. You know, Manthony is a rather large fellow. Seeing him, you would assume that he is pretty strong. You would only be half correct; he is freakishly strong; freakishly strong and as graceful as a Peterbilt in toe shoes. He began to spin in a circle, like one of those Olympic hammer tossing guys. After he had built up enough speed, he released the camera. The video soul-stealing device sailed through the air in a nice, high arc. Near the end of the arc, it collided with the satellite dish on the top of the station’s van, crashed to the ground and skidded about ten yards to a stop on the other side of the parking lot.

The Secretary immediately got on her cell. We all knew that she was about to contact the Channel 11 in order to find a quick and news-free solution to this issue. The reporter and his camera man ran to the station van, leaving the remnants of their equipment behind and sped off. We got into our car and headed back to the Foundation:

Madame Secretary: “I was able to negotiate with TFTV (they should change their name to TSTV…heh heh, get it?), they will forget this happened if we replace the camera, satellite dish and antenna. Manthony, you will also have to attend the Foundation’s Anger Management Fiesta.”

Charlotte: “Well, that is a new one. Since he usually leads FAMF, does that mean I get to lead it since he has to attend?”

Manthony: “Hell no! You can’t be left wit Smeag by yo’ self wit dem tazers an’ shit…”

Me: “Sorry Manthony, but she is correct. You cannot teach the class. I would, but I am always in the class myself. Besides, Charlotte is great at this sort of thing. If I were leading, we would all be sitting around trying to figure out ways to subtly make a person’s life miserable. At least with Charlotte, you get my tactics and her need for more ‘pro-active’ approach.”