World Domination Update
“Cheese Us Christ, Super Tzar”
vol. IV, iss. iii

The voice of one crying in the wilderness
                                            -Matthew 3:3

Secret Word of the Day:  The Whip
Site of the Week:  Welcome to my Trailer Park Page
Barbecue Sauce of the Week:  Cactus Jack’s Eye Waterin’ Hot
Now Playing:  Captain Beefheart & his Magic Band,  Safe As Milk


in this issue:

· Catching the Cobcat
· Coffee Conspiracy
· Scooby Doo & Batman too
· Ask Evil Matt
· Hedgehog Humor

Y’know how right before a hurricane it gets all eerily calm and quiet, but you can feel some major juju just over the horizon ready to break all nasty on you?  No???  Huh... must be a Florida thing; anyway, take my word on this and work with it.  The past month or so has had that feel.  On the surface of it, things seem pretty passive and uneventful, and maybe that’s the problem.  It’s a little too mellow out there, which makes me think we’re about due for some major mojo to break loose.  And the longer it takes to get here, the stronger it’ll be when it does.

Okay, granted: I’m such a pessimist that not only do I think the glass is half empty, but it’s half empty because some commie rat bastard drank my half of it and is secretly conspiring to steal the rest of it when I’m not looking—so consider your source on that “calm before the storm” sermon above.  But still, you gotta admit, there’re a lot of subtle signs that something strange is afoot and it’s building up to a diarrhea deluge in the near future.  Still don’t believe me?  Fine, ye of little faith, let’s start at the top.

What the phuq’s up with saint?!?  I leave him alone for one week, and when I get back, he’s quit smoking!  He’s still got his lighter handy and is burning a mountain of incense for Branch Floridian form, but he’s forsworn the cancer candy.  It’s kind of creepy, actually, and means I’ve gotta take up the slack by smoking twice as much to make up for his sorry, smokeless ass.  Granted, the nicotine withdrawal has really put him on edge—where I think he functions best—plus it gives him something new to bitch about, but without the nicotine appetite suppressant he complains that he’s always hungry now.  Said he was even thinking of getting a nic patch just for that: spend $50 on a patch to save eating $75 in food.  That certainly sounds like saint, but whatever the case, I am concerned for him, and being the scribe that I am have started a collection of ‘saint sayings’ in an effort to preserve a memory of vintage ventings and rants in case something happens to him.  Therefore I have set up a ‘saint says’ generator in The Athenæum (html code courtesy Burning Bush, which I just lifted off his site) for those that need an inspirational quick fix.  If any of you know of a saint saying (authentic or apocryphal) that is not in there, please .

Perhaps the best indication that something is wrong with saint comes from a recent confrontation with a street preacher on Mill Avenue.  It took ten minutes for the preacher to become fed up with saint and leave to go home.  Ten minutes...  saint’s losing his touch.

similar sub-current signs of strangeness:

I keep having these strange run-ins with cars painted tic-tac orange.  Normally I’d just chalk this up to Brain Police activity, but the blatantly tasty color scheme makes me pause to reconsider.  Would the Brain Police pick such a noxiously obvious color for their surveillance vehicles—I think not—or are these 4 wheel eyesores from another group keeping tabs on me?  I asked Evil Matt, and for once he wasn’t sure, though his magic 8 ball hinted that the color scheme was sort of analogous to a deciphered fnard.  Out of curiosity, is anyone else running into an automotive armada of tic-tac orange surveillance squad cars?

Speaking of weird run-ins, Susie Q lost her timing and slapped a vato-mobile in the parking lot of McDonalds.  Manuel Labor, the owner of the car, was pissed, and yeah I can see his point, but there was a lot of room for improvement in how Ol’ Hombre handled the whole situation.  I’m also a bit curious how he could have taken our order one minute and then suddenly lose the ability to speak English the next.  Fortunately he didn’t have any of his Barrio buddies with him, while I on the other hand had Vytor, who is equally skilled at hacking into computers as body parts.  When McTaco tried to get nasty and threaten to call the cops, Vytor pulled out his cell phone and called his bluff.  In theory everything’s all good now, but I still gotta wonder if Suzie has invoked a vato vendetta, and late at night Beaner and the Jets are cruising the streets of Tempe looking for us, intent on working us over with hair nets and McHappy Meals.

In other news...

        The Latest from Waco

Back in March, the government did a simulation of the final day of Waco to see what those suspicious flashes of light caught on FLIR film during the fire were.

Not surprisingly, the judgment on the reenactment was that the government agents “probably” did NOT fire any shots.

The reasoning behind this conclusion boiled down to two points:  

1)    In the “real” film, no agents were visible around the flashes (ie: no shooters equals no shooting)

2)    The flashes in the simulation lasted longer than the flashes in the actual “fire film”  

Let’s deconstruct these for a second...  

1)    If a person is wearing bullet-proof body armor (or better yet, fire-resistant clothing) like the agents most likely did that fateful day, their body heat would be masked and they would not show up.

2)    A weapon firing a prolonged burst will have a longer “fire flash” than a weapon popping off a single shot.  

Now let’s also take a look at the “impartial” company that did the testing, Vector Data Systems.  The British branch of this firm was used to do the testing, and if you visit their home page at right under the masthead is a listing, “An Anteon Company.”    Doing a search State-side, we find a very interesting link to Anteon, VDS’s parent company.  If you go to and click on “corporate members” you will find both Anteon and the American extension of VDS listed.    The NMIA site is the National Military Intelligence Association, and its own propaganda on the page announces it “...has been, for many years, the sole professional association of all the US armed services.”

In other words, the Waco test was “graded” by a group with direct ties to our own military complex.  Does this sound “impartial”?

Obviously, the Vector “test” was far from conclusive—even the Judge Walter Smith (who is presiding over the wrongful death trial) said so—but not all of the experts studying the situation agree with the results anyway.  One important example of this was Carlos Ghigliotti, a key investigator into the whole affair.  You may notice that I use the term “was” when referring to Ghigliotti.  Did he change his mind?   No, he changed his lifestyle, or quite possibly it was changed for him.

You see, Carlos Ghigliotti was found dead in late April.

The circumstances are a bit fishy (like Sea World in the Summer fishy.)  Ghigliotti was missing for about two weeks before people started wondering where he was.  Finally police found his badly decomposed body in his office at Infrared Technology in Laurel, Maryland.  The autopsy showed that Ghigliotti, 42, had died of a heart attack.   Somehow that does not surprise me, given the vast number of hard-to-trace toxins out there, such as Digitalis and Digoxin, that can cause a heart attack and don’t show up on post-mortem screens unless specifically looked for.   And of course, I found no indication that anything like those were looked for.

Just before his death, Ghigliotti was working on his own report of the final day of the Davidian siege, and his take on the matter was very harsh on the Government indeed.  He believed that Federal agents did fire on the compound during the final conflagration; he also believed the Davidians were firing back.  Puts a whole new spin on the term “fire fight.”   Unfortunately he died before his final draft of evidence was completed, and—why doesn’t this surprise me—many of his notes and roughs have not been recovered.

A lot of Waco evidence seems to be disappearing as both the Danforth investigation and the Davidian’s own trial get underway.   Among the missing is a roll of film shot by Texas Rangers that (allegedly) shows dead Davidians who had been shot and fallen in such a way that suggests the origin of the bullets was external (ie: from government positions.)  Other film missing are about 30 pictures taken by an FBI photographer circling 1000 feet overhead in a Cesna.  Equally disturbing, some evidence also shows signs of tampering, such as the infamous “spread the fuel” audio tape, which now appears to be a composite copy spliced from multiple microphones.  But perhaps most suspicious is an audio tape made by the government which has numerous gaps and edits in it, as well as someone giving specific instructions to “turn it [the microphone] off.”

One final note of FBI shenanigans.   On April 9th, when the FBI had already decided to attack the compound with tear gas and were beginning preparations for that assault ten days later, a note was written by the two on-scene commanders deciding “...there would be no plan to fight a fire should one develop in the Davidian compound.”

            Cobcat update

On a recent outing to Billy the Mountain, saint slipped, and while sliding down the rocks heard a distinctly feline growl and saw a paw flash out at him.  It nicked his leg, and to this day saint still bears the mark of where the vicious, man-eating cobcat almost claimed another victim.

Having barely escaped with his life, saint came home and grabbed me, and we returned to Billy the Mountain on an expedition to capture the cobcat.  We set up catnip pits and tuna traps at strategic places around Billy, but so far have yet to nab our elusive prey.

saint, shade, and the cobcat at Billy the Mountain

At the base of Billy: saint, shade, and the cobcat (top right, behind rock.)  Photo courtesy MariLewanna.

        Back to Ice Station Zappa

Last month I made a brief pilgrimage back to Chicago.  Saw Sue the Dinosaur and the Dead Sea Scrolls, which was truly inspirational, but I also saw the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse—in a goddamn McDonalds!—which still disturbs me.  If FireSkunk ever gets the film developed, I’ll show you what I mean.  It’s creepy, man.


Last issue we erroneously claimed to be on our fourth Anniversary.  It was our third.  Sorry; I got excited.  Smoke must’ve been in my eyes, causing me to miscount.

A Coffee Conspiracy???

Here now with a heart-wrenching tale of just how hard it is to get a cup of coffee in California is our resident Kennedy expert, Smoking Gun.

I was recently in Long Beach to teach a training seminar for my company.  Technically a waste of time but since my company paid for everything I'm not complaining about a mini paid-vacation.

That night after the seminar I got together with a good bud of mine, Pretzel.  His real name's Luke, but he did a tour in the Marines in both Desert Storm and Somalia where he picked up the nickname Pretzel.  Know him and you know why- Luke is TWISTED.  Hence Pretzel.  He's not Branch Floridians, but he would fit right in.  Anyway we went out for dinner- sushi and saki bombers.  More of the latter then the former of course.  We're outside, near the beach, and despite being in California it's cold out.  I decided I needed some coffee to warm and wake me up.  Pretzel agreed.

Maybe I should explain real quick.  I LOVE coffee.  If Folgers had frequent flier miles, I'd make it to the Moon.   I average 5 cups a day.  Coffee is to me what barbecue sauce is to Shade.  If I don't get my coffee, I get PISSED, but that's jumping ahead of the story.

We start walking along the strip, looking for a place to get a cup.  It was just after 9 on a Saturday night, and although lots of people were hanging out, most places were closed.  This included the one coffee shop we found.  A couple hole in the wall diners were open, but to my surprise neither of them had any coffee made.  At this point, I'm starting to get pissed.  I just want a cup of coffee, and having been turned down at three places now it became as much the principle of the thing as the caffeine.

Right on the corner across the beach was an IHOP.  Pretzel says we could just get a cup in there.  I start laughing.  I don't know about you, but I cannot look at an IHOP any more without thinking of Shade's theory of them being a CIA front.  I let him in on the story, and he agrees that Shade's probably right, and we both agree that IHOP is fucking nasty anyway, so we pass it and keep looking for GOOD coffee.

After another block, we spot a large coffee house that's just hopping with activity.  Finally!  We get up to the door, and there is this squeaky-clean guy guarding the door and checking IDs.  Short, prissy; white shirt with a string bean tie. 

I tell him "What, is there a cover to get in?    All I want's a cup of coffee!  If I don't get a cup soon, I'm gonna freak out!"

He laughs at this and points inside.  "Good luck- that's the line for coffee."   Through the doors on the other side of the room, all I can see is a long line of people, at least 20.  Through the door I couldn't see where the line began or ended, either, so I didn't know how many more were waiting.

        At this point, maybe because I had just brought up IHOP a few minutes ago, I am possessed by the spirit of Shade.  Or maybe Chris Rock.  Either way, the situation was just too much.  I scream "Jesus Christ, what's a MAN gotta DO to fucking get a cup of COFFEE in this town?!?!"

The guy hops off his stool and gets right in my face.  "Woah, no need to be such a COMMUNIST about it!  Let's just STEP OUTSIDE."

Maybe it's just me, but when someone asks me to "step outside" I usually take that as a gauntlet across the face.  Fortunately I've got Pretzel with me, and he used to kill people for a living.  Good guy to have at your back in such cases.

Mr. Prissy leads me out onto the sidewalk, where I preempt him.

"Look, all I want is a cup of coffee, and I'll be happy.  Is there a Starbucks or something around here?"

He hikes his thumb over his shoulder.  "Go right a block, and hang another right.  There's a coffee place right there.  It's very COMMUNIST.  You'll fit RIGHT IN."

I look at the guy blankly, too stunned by his stupidity to reply.  Pretzel just grabs my arm and leads me away.  Which is probably for the best, because I'm about to unload on the guy.  Instead I get to spend the next 5 minutes fuming about that dickless little motherfucker.  Guy doesn't even know me, but he's telling me where I'll fit in?!?  And of course he's clearly not up on his "ism's".  I asked for a Starbucks, which is one of the biggest bastions of Capitalism in the past 10 years, but he thinks it's Communist and sends me there.

Bad enough it wasn't even a Starbucks, but what pissed me off the most was the place he sent us to was CLOSED when we got there!

By now I'm ready to go back and kick that guy's ass , but Pretzel says he's not worth it.  Especially not right then, which is what I think his key point was.  While many believe that 'revenge is a dish best served cold' Pretzel disagrees, believing it is best served with much preperation.  Fine by me, since I was heading back home the next day I needed an alibi if Pretzel was planning of doing some shit on Mr. Squeeky.  We got back in Pretzel's pick-up and drove around looking for any place that looked like it might have coffee.  After 10 minutes we're almost ready to even try IHOP, but then we spot a Dunkin Donuts.

We're thinking "Caffeine at last!" but NO!  They only had DECAF!  At that point we insisted they brew up a fresh batch of regular.  Took 10 minutes, but it seemed like it was the best cup of coffee I ever had and I think we slammed half the pot over the next half hour.

Although that coffee was good, the whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth.  I mean, how fucking hard is it to get a cup of coffee?  At first I was thinking this was just a California thing, because Cali apparently has a law prohibiting smoking indoors as well.  But put the two of them together: no smoking and no coffee, and I begin to suspect the Brain Police behind all this.  Actually, I don't remember seeing any barbecue sauce out there, either, which pretty much proves my point.

Thanks for letting me vent.  I thought you'd sympathize.

            If anyone knows what that point is, or can suggest some good places to get a hassle-free cup of coffee in California, feel free to email  .

            saint’s peshar

shade was always the one who thought coffee was The Whip, not I, so I have trouble seeing what the big fuss is.  However, I did a bit of research, and learned this about the drink:

Coffee is originally an Arabic confection, and was a favorite among Islamic radicals.  Now you know why those people are so nuts: they’re not wired on Allah, they’re wired on Caffeine!  Anyway, this led to a “guilt by association” mentality in Christian Europe, where coffee was looked down upon as an “atheist concoction.”  At least, it was until Pope Clement VIII had a cup, and had this to say:

“This Satan’s drink is so delicious that we shall cheat Satan by baptizing it.”

On a similar note, most of you know the strongest coffee out there is espresso.  Add milk and you have espresso latté, but steam that milk and you have Cappuccino.    That method of preparation was developed by the (Catholic) Cappuccin monks, who dye their robes the same light brown color as their steamed swill.  Makes ya wonder: is coffee a Catholic conspiracy?!?

Solving Scooby Doo

It should go without saying that the Brain Police had infiltrated television from the start, and that one of their strongest areas of activity (after the nightly news, of course) is in children’s programming.

Obvious examples are Barney the Dinosaur, the TeleTubbies, and Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.  Coyote/Roadrunner cartoons are clearly subversively subliminal metaphors for the futility of achieving your ambitions and dreams (there’s also a lot of anti-capitalist propaganda in there, too: for the amount that Wile E. spends on Acme products he could get dinner at Four Seasons or just plain buy a roadrunner on the black market.)

However, one of the most sinister cartoons out there are The Adventures of Scooby Doo.

Scooby Doo is frustrating for kids who actually wanted to solve the mysteries themselves, because invariably one of two things would happen.  Usually they would find some critical clue but not share it with the audience until the end—when found it was either too dark in the room to read it, or it was on the other side of the page and not examined at the time.  Otherwise, the villain is someone not introduced during the course of the show but is some “notorious” thief wanted in five states.  Either way, there’s no chance of figuring these out.

So putting aside any (lack of) cerebral stimulation in terms of getting kids to THINK FOR THEMSELVES (ie: figuring out the mysteries) let’s now pick apart the show for its moral value.  Remember, the show is designed so that the kids watching it are supposed to sympathize/empathize with its main characters.  So let’s take a look at those characters.

First of all, there’s Shaggy.  It should go without saying that Shaggy is a stoner extraordinaire.   He’s always paranoid, he’s always got the munchies, and he thinks his dog is talking to him, fer chris’sake!  And just what are in these so-called “scooby snacks” anyway?!?

The rest of the Scooby crew may not be degenerately dressed dug addicts, but instead are depraved sex maniacs.  First of all, Fred and Daphne—COME ON!!!  Those two were absurd.  They always get to the haunted house, and what does Fred suggest to the rest of them?  “Um, let’s split up!  Daphne and I will go upstairs and look for clues in the bedroom; you guys go down to the basement.”  And you wouldn’t see the two of them again until the next commercial break.   Daphne always did wear that easy-access purple skirt; I’m surprised they didn’t draw her with mussed hair.

Thelma was a bit more ambiguous.  Sometimes she’d disappear upstairs with the Love Hamsters, sometimes not.  Then again, look at her; she always struck me as being so Butch that the Sundance Kid was her best friend.  But since she’d occasionally join in the search for KY in the master bedroom, apparently she swung both ways.

So to recap, the Brain Police are offering up as childrens’ role models a pot head, a bi-dyke, and two preppy nymphomaniacs.

But you already knew that, didn’t you...

Here’s something you may not have known: just what were they doing cruising around the country in the first place?

I used to think that they were following the Dead around.  (as in Grateful Dead, not the ghosts and ghouls they keep running into.)  After all, they do fit the Dead profile of drug abuse and free love.  But then I got to thinking: Fred and Daphne are just too clean cut for it.  So something else must be afoot.  Then it hit me.

They were dodging the draft.

Think about it: they’re always on the move, out in the middle of nowhere.  And whenever they get to the haunted house and the million dollar diamond has been stolen, when someone suggests the obvious thing of “let’s call the police!” they quickly jump in “NO! let’s not bring in Law enforcement, let’s, um, solve this one ourselves!

Makes ya think, don’t it...

    saint’s second peshar: Batman


Hey, while we’re on the subject of childrens’ cartoons with subversive subliminal messages, what’s up with Batman?  Maybe it’s me, but didn’t it ever strike anyone else as odd that there was something amiss about Batman’s “real life” alias?  Bruce Wayne, an eccentric millionaire, lives in a gigantic house that is always immaculately clean and is fabulously furnished and decorated.  Granted, Alfred the Butler helps take care of the former part, but Bruce was responsible for the marvelous interior decoration and layout.  More to the point, he never married, so you’d think Stately Wayne Manor would be the ultimate bachelor party pad, but no: Bruce Wayne never dated, either.  Instead, he spent all his time with a young androgynous (and underage?) boy who he had dress up in green hot pants and a mask.  Bruce himself, when he went “out on the town” as Batman, would wear revealingly tight leotards, a flowing cape, and a “utility belt” that had all sorts of “gadgets” in it. 

 There’s something fishy here, but I just can’t put my finger on it...


Ask Evil Matt

Evil Matt fields your queries.
As channeled by Sister Ob’dewlla ‘X’.

Q:  So is sex a wrong thing before marrege? and are you married? Just wondering. What kind of things do you do and who would you Kill?

A:    I’m a bit puzzled by this set of questions, because the subject line on the inquiry said “Mormons.”    Are you looking for the Mormon line or the Evil Matt line?    I will presume the latter; especially since I do not feel qualified to give answers from the former viewpoint.    If you are looking for that stance, I suggest checking out

Q: So is sex a wrong thing before marrege?

A: Whether anything is “Right” or “Wrong” is highly subjective.   In this case especially; it depends on the couple engaging in the activity.    For instance, if they are emotionally immature and unstable, then I think sex is wrong because it can cause a lot of head problems for one or both.    Then again, the same statement can be made about a married couple, too.    But in general, if two consenting ADULTS are cool with it and willing to accept any consequences (physical or mental) then go for it.  Besides, it’s not premarital sex if you two don’t plan on getting married.

Q: and are you married?

A: I’ve had many wives, but none of them were mine.

Q: What kind of things do you do?

A: Decompose, mostly.

Q: and who would you kill?

A: I’m not answering that without the presence of my attorney.    But basically, I wouldn’t kill anyone.  I might, however, have an airtight alibi while someone had a nasty accident

Q:    Dear Evil

Request your FREE and PERSONAL HOROSCOPE, done by a professional ASTROLOGER

Thanks and have a nice day


Even if this is a one-time only message, you can also request
removal by sending a blank e-mail to :


This is not spam. You are receiving this email because 1) We are members of the same opt-in list, 2) We have exchanged emails in the past, or 3) I have received an email with your address on it. This is a one-time mailing, so there is no need to ask to be removed - it is automatic. Thank you.

A:    Ummm, what was your question, exactly???  If it was ‘would you like your horoscope done?’ then the answer is ‘no!’  Then again, if you were so hot at astrology, you should have known that already.   However, since you felt the need to send me this e-mail SIX PHUQING TIMES you must really think I need my horoscope done.   But clearly there is some confusion here, because you tell me how to remove myself form your mailing list but then later tell me I don’t need to.    I’m also extremely perplexed by the “this is not spam” disclaimer at the end.   1) We are not members of the same opt-in list (what the phuq is an ‘opt-in list’ anyway?!?    Maybe I should ask myself & find out...)    2) we have not exchanged mails in the past, and 3) any Branch Floridian who put me on a Spam list like this will get his or her ass kicked.

Q:  Note to self:  what is an “opt-in list”?

A:  It’s a mailing list you have voluntarily joined, as opposed to spam where you don’t have a choice.

Qhey i have a question!!why are there the numbers 172 on the back of the us 5$ bill? (in the bushes at the base of the Lincoln Memorial.)

A:  Although there have been a number of theories and urban legends about this, the “official” answer from the Treasury Department actually seems the most plausible: the “numbers” are an optical illusion of shadowing in the bushes.  The “7” is not connected at the cross, and the “2” is very ambiguously formed.  Most likely this is a coincidence.  Then again, many people see the word “sex” in the graining of Lincoln’s beard on the other side, so it depends how much and how deeply you want to look into things.

Q:  Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's law. I have learned a great deal from you, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind him that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the specific laws and how to best follow them.

[questions moved below]

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

A:  Boy, make me work for my paycheck on this one!  Anyway, I applaud your astuteness and use of a concordance.  You clearly have too much time on your hands, which is good because you're not wasting it on Brain Police activities.  I had to check with saint on some of these, to make sure that my answers didn’t conflict with official Branch Floridian policy.    saint's reply was “THINK FOR YOURSELF, and while you’re up get me a Pepsi.” Now, to the issues...

Q:  When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev. 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. How should I deal with this?

A:  1:7 says the burnt offering base is wood, but does not specify what type.  I suspect that is your problem; try hickory, or mesquite.  Reverend 451 had had great success with Jack Daniel’s seasoned wood chips.  Also, are you using a good barbecue sauce marinade?  And would it kill you to invite your neighbors over for some?  They’re probably just hungry and want a haunch.

Q:  I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as it suggests in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

A:  50 sheckles is the standard; that’s what I unloaded the twins for a few years back.  Unfortunately, I’ve seen that tubby, trout-lipped little piglet of yours, so don’t expect more than 30, unless you got to the Philippines.   They like ’em large down there.

Q:  I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev. 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

A:  Actually, you are only “unclean until the evening” so after sundown you should be safe.  During daylight, though, it’s best just to avoid all women—when risking your soul, it’s better safe than sorry.

Q:  Lev. 25:44 states that I may buy slaves from the nations that are around us. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans but not Canadians. Can you clarify?

A:  What your friend is referring to is desirability.  In theory, you can buy a Canadian slave, but in practice, why would you want to?  Canadians are worthless.  Unless it’s French Canadian, in which case they make good punching bags and paperweights.

Q:  I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

A:  No; since he is pissing off God, let God handle it.  “Vengeance is mine, sayeth The Lord.” (Romans 12:19)  But if you get bored & need a weekend activity, go for it.  Just make sure you do it properly (stone to death.)

Q:  A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination (Lev. 10:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree.  Can you settle this?

A:  It’s Lev 11:10, actually, but this is the toughest question of the lot.  Strictly speaking, James 2:10 says that if you break one law you’ve broken the entire corpus, so all are equally important.    Granted, shellfish and homosexuality are both nasty (from my heterosexually vegetarian point of view) but given the choice of putting a lobster or a penis in my mouth I’d take the lobster.    (Up the ass is another matter—those antennae!!!)    However, I think that both you and your friend are wrong in this case, because eating shellfish strikes me as a worse offense than sucking a little cock here & there.    I mean... lobster: what the phuq’s up with that shit?!?    Who decided we should eat these things?    How did they know which parts to put butter on?    These people were either starving to death or amazingly bored, and I don’t want to know what else they tried...    Did you know that in Colonial New England, lobster was considered scrap food for pets and servants?  There used to be laws saying you could not feed a servant lobster more than three times a week, because they thought it was unhealthy!  But I digress.  The main problem is the shellfish not having fins and scales (11:9) so if you crazy glue or duct tape some to your next crab louie or shrimp salad, it should solve the problem altogether.   But if you do that to someone’s dick, it doesn’t remove the homosexual stigma.  But it will get you into parties in San Francisco.

Q:  Lev. 20:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here? 

A:  Actually, Lev 20:20 is about having sex with your uncle's wife; you mean 21:20, which also prohibits one with “ itching disease or scabs or crushed testicles.” saint’s opinion was that this is a reference to your “third” eye, and that even if you have eyesight worse than his you’re good to go as long as you have a properly functioning pineal chip implant.  I disagree, as the ancient Israelites did not have access to this technology at the time of Moses (the “beta” PCI’s were introduced by Spanish Kabbalists in the 12th century.) Sorry, but I find no “wiggle room” here; if God wanted you to approach His altar, he would have given you perfect sight.    And uncrushed testicles.

Got a question?  .


    And finally,

The Hedgehog Corner

By Harriet the Hedgehog


Hedgehog Humor


A bear walks into a bar in Billings, Montana.

“By God, I need a beer!” orders the bear.

The bartender replies, “We don’t serve beer to bears in Billings.”

“Bullshit,” bellows the bear boisterously, “gimme a beer!”

“We don’t serve beer to belligerent bears in Billings.”

The bear leans across the bar.  “If you don’t give me a beer, I will eat that woman.”  The bear points a claw to a blonde barfly perched on a stool by the bathroom.

The bartender just shrugs.  “We don’t serve beer to belligerent, bully bears in Billings.”

So, as threatened, the bear goes over and eats the poor woman.  He then goes back to the bartender.  “Now gimme a beer or you’re next!”

“Sorry,” replies the bartender, “but we don’t serve beer to belligerent, bully bears in Billings, especially when they are on drugs.”

The bear blinks, bewildered.  “But...  I’m not on drugs!”

“Yes you are,” says the bartender, pointing to the bloody stool.  “That was a barbitchyouate.”

If anyone knows how many hedgehogs it takes to screw in a light bulb, please let Harriet know.    Her burrow is very dark!  


    That’s all for now, folk, so remember:


      Trust no one

      Deny Everything

      and Always keep your lighter handy!



© 2000 (IV,iii)