Public shaming of members of President Trump’s administration has become the latest act of resistance against the government. White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders was asked to leave a restaurant, Environmental Protection Agency Chief Scott Pruitt was lectured and videotaped while dining out, Kellyanne Conway, a consultant to Trump, was mocked in a grocery store, and most recently Stephen Miller, a particularly loathsome advisor to Trump, threw out $80 worth of sushi after the bartender followed him outside of the restaurant and told him to go fuck himself.
Here, in their own words, are other Trump officials relating their stories of being heckled in public:
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Mira Ricardel, Deputy National Security Advisor:
“ I was called a ‘Shit Donkey’ by some tall woman when I went to see Ocean’s 8 at the Cineplex. It completely ruined the movie for me. This is not the America I know.”
Kevin McAleenan, Commissioner of U.S. Customs and Border Protection:
“ I had just finished collecting the quarters from the washer and dryers at one of my rental properties and was walking back to my car when I felt a little sting on the back of my neck. When I turned around I saw that some old man sitting on a stoop had just spit a sunflower shell on my neck. He then fired another, and that one hit me in the leg, and as I reached for my taser he called me “a traitor to my nation and to humanity,” before twitching out.
Wilbur Ross, Secretary of Commerce:
“ The woman working on my feet during my morning sports pedicure was extremely rough, almost violent while exfoliating my heels. And make no mistake, it was intentional. I can tell. And when I admonished her and told her how lucky she was to be living in America, she said something under her breath in a foreign language. I called the manager and had her fired, but it’s getting intolerable, this lack of civility.”
Betsy DeVos, Secretary of Education:
“ I was at the Illuminati sex party in Novgorod and right after the sacrifice, a man wearing a goat’s head refused to have sex with me saying, “Children in cages aren’t my thing, you Trump skank.” I had my mask on so I don’t even know how he knew who I was. Jesus, I don’t even want to think about what they’re saying about me at Martha’s Vineyard!”
Peter O’Rourke, Secretary of Veteran’s Affairs:
“ I was at a Bryan Adams concert with a few of my paintball buddies and while I was out on the floor enjoying the show I saw that they put my picture on the giant screen with the words, EVIL TRUMP FLUNKY across it. Not cool, Bryan, not cool.”
]]>- IN A BAD PLACE
- THE HANGED MAN
- RED DYE #40
- LONE WOLF
- ECXTINTION EVENT
- UNMARKED VAN
- GENETIC MUTATION
- REDRUM
- BELIAL
- THE RAPTURE
- RADIATION SICKNESS
- BLACK GHOST
- FENTANYL PATCH
- NUCLEAR WINTER
- INFERTILITY
- THIS BORROWED WORLD
- DATA CAPTURE
- CONTAGION
- FLAKKA ZOMBIE
- MY SHEEPLE
He may not have been the “best” Bond, but he was my Bond, the one I grew up with.
My parents used to take me to his movies regularly, and it was always a thrill. The iconic, deadly cool theme music, the risque opening in which you could kind-of-and-kind-of-not see naked women, and then the whole camp fantasy of being a handsome and unflappable spy– it was all immensely appealing to a boy on the cusp of puberty.
Kind of like a Wes Anderson film, the Bond movies starring Roger Moore were a child’s vision of the adult world — a comic book fantasia made manifest, but one that promised to be safe, free from the dreary weight of all the unimaginable day-to-day realities that lay ahead.
I was 13 when Moonraker came out. Jaws, a lurching behemoth with steel fangs, was the primary villain, and he was awesome. At the end of the film, after Bond had coasted to victory and Jaws was pulling himself out of the rubble of some foiled plan, a tiny blonde– busty, pigtailed and bespectacled– appeared to help him. Jaws turns and smiles, his metal teeth glinting, and she smiles back. It’s love at first sight, and they then exit into some charming and eccentric future together.
What I remember, and what everybody I have asked remembers about this scene, is that the woman ( Dolly) had braces. This was what connected the two. In spite of their size difference, they were soul mates in braces. It was the sort of thing a 13 year-old kid, the type of kid who might actually have had braces, and that the movie was trying to appeal to, instantly related to. All of us watching, in the midst of our tortured, monstrous throes of puberty, hoped to find a Dolly, too. It was something that resonated deeply and stayed with us.
Anyhow, in returning to the YouTube clip of the scene, I saw that it was clear that Dolly did not have braces.
I mean, I had been fucking positive she had braces.
This braces-less reality seemed utterly impossible to me, like discovering I was a Replicant and not a human at all, but there it was.
No braces.
Anyhow, if like me, you remember Hannibal Lecter saying, “Hello, Clarice,” or Darth Vader intoning, “Luke, I am your father,” or Sally Field shouting, “You like me, you really like me!” while accepting an Oscar, then you have apparently experienced what I have just discovered is known as the Mandela Effect.
Now what the Mandela Effect is, is complicated, Internet complicated, and it’s layered in the sort of conspiratorial proofs that only online culture can provide.
Dive deep, if you wish:
Without tunnelling into the rabbit holes surrounding this phenomena, I will simply say that what clearly emerges from all this is that our memory, be it individual or collective, is incredibly unreliable. Sometimes, what we believe to be true, what we know in our bones to be true, what even our tribe agrees is true, is not true. Memory is mysterious, a product of our consciousness that is constantly being constructed and revised, existing as a work in progress rather than some immutable photograph we can reference at will. Everything is in flux, and the truth, as unpalatable as it is, is that we know nothing for sure, and are very, very easily manipulated. In the furious age of Trump, it’s wise to keep this in mind before launching a scorched earth assault on anything that might contradict our world view. We would all benefit from a little less certainty and a little more kindness, I think.
]]>In an effort to combat this, my wife Rachelle has developed a side hustle in which she combs through various stores for used children’s clothing and then sells what she finds online. I have recently become a part of her purchasing team.
What follows are the texts she sent to me while I was on a shopping mission:
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Rachelle: So, did you get those pink Sorel boots at the Value Village that you promised to pick up for me?
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: I’d have thought you’d be there by now.
Rachelle: What problem?
Rachelle: Oh, I didn’t realize that taking the Queen streetcar to a destination on Queen street was “counter-intuitive,” especially considering that we used to live on that street.
Rachelle: Yes, I guess that was a lifetime ago.
Rachelle: We were very different people then, it’s true.
Rachelle: That’s right, there was no Netflix back in those days!
Rachelle: Yes, those were much more innocent times.
Rachelle: Those were the days before you fell down the conspiracy theory rabbit hole!
Rachelle: I’m sorry dear, of course I meant “Got Woke.”
Rachelle: Yes, you really are just as woke as fuck, and you’re right, the Lame-stream media can’t be trusted– it’s just too bad you still have such trouble with ordinary challenges is all.
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: That’s what you want people to think.
Rachelle: I see.
Rachelle: Conceal the truth within a fog of misdirection! Just like a magician!
Rachelle: It’s amazing how successful you’ve been at making everybody believe you’re not very hygienic and unable to hold a job!
Rachelle: Oh, don’t be like that!
Rachelle: You’re still my favourite flavour of ice cream!
Rachelle: What? Something’s happening on the streetcar?
Rachelle: Bullying? Well that is serious!
Rachelle: What’s he saying to you, Pickle?
Rachelle: Well sure, it could be somebody else getting bullied, but I just figured it was part of your plan. You know, to draw fire from the weak to the strong!
Rachelle: I do know you well, Pickle!
Rachelle: So what did the guy say to you?
Rachelle: She called you a “weak-chinned twerp” because you got the last seat?
Rachelle: You’re right, it’s not your fault she’s slow.
Rachelle: You know what I think? I think she underestimated your quickness! Just like you planned!
Rachelle: But still, it’s amazing how bullies know exactly where to attack!
Rachelle: How did she know that you’re so sensitive about your weak chin?
Rachelle: Oh, good one, telling her you just had hernia surgery and needed to sit is sure to shut her up!
Rachelle: Oh, I’m sorry that it didn’t work.
Rachelle: And now she’s making fun of your “Solidarity Pin?”
Rachelle: What is a “Solidarity Pin.”
Rachelle: Oh, it’s a safety pin that signals to others that you’re a safe zone? And any persecuted group or person can take comfort under the umbrella of your entitlement, is that it?
Rachelle: So you’re kind of like an X-Man?
Rachelle: Got it.
Rachelle: Are other people wearing safety pins rushing to your aid?
Rachelle: No?
Rachelle: Well, maybe it’s your responsibility to find them?
Rachelle: Do you have your Ativan with you?
Rachelle: You better take one, honey. Maybe two.
Rachelle: Remember your breathing exercises.
Rachelle: In through the nose and then slowly out the mouth like you’re blowing out a candle.
Rachelle: Oh, Pierre, my power skating coach is trying to get through right now, so I have to go.
Remember to pick up the boots, my brave, little cloud of disinformation, and don’t let that bully scare you off your mission!
]]>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aki6xZCo0Fw
At first this incident was attributed to overheating and dehydration, but this was later revised, the cause falling on a mild case of pneumonia. Whether the initial concealment of this was a simple matter of obscurant political reflex, or if the pneumonia is actually a symptom of a more sinister, underlying condition as many are speculating, is unknown. What is known is that illness, be it mild or grave, is not at all uncommon amidst people around 70 who are subject to inconceivable stress and an insane work schedule. Legions of Presidents have suffered aliments, and this is a short list of some of them:
Lyndon B Johnson had the Dropsy.
Martin Van Buren, after being prescribed laudanum for the pain associated with his gout, became an opium addict. This is an excerpt from Van Buren’s diary:
“ …Men of genius move in orbits of their own; and seem deprived of that free will which permits the mere man of talent steadily to pursue the beaten path. Van Buren was made to soar and not to creep. I should much wish, like the Indian Vishna, to float about along an infinite ocean cradled in the flower of the Lotos, & wake once in a million years for a few minutes – just to know that I was going to sleep a million years more.”
George H W Bush suffered from Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, which is characterized by episodes of severe vomiting that have no apparent cause. Episodes can last for hours or days and alternate with relatively symptom-free periods of time.
Whenever Bush visited Japan, he threw-up almost constantly.
Zachary Taylor suffered from Crop Sickness, a condition that made him unusually cruel to his slaves and eventually killed him.
FDR had Polio and was confined to a wheelchair. The press even colluded with him in attempts to portray him in ways that did not directly associate him with a wheelchair.
Josiah Bartlett suffered from Multiple Sclerosis, but in spite of that is still considered the greatest orator of all the American Presidents.
George W Bush, while on a bombing mission over Hanoi in October 1967, was shot down, seriously injured, and captured by the North Vietnamese. Although Bush was able to charm his way to freedom, his injuries caused him lifelong physical limitations. Art therapy has been a large part of Bush’s continued recovery.
Jimmy Carter was abducted by an alien spacecraft in 1973, thoroughly examined, and then released. He has suffered Night Terrors ever since, and is now obsessed with creating crop circles.
]]>
His silence during this time had fueled all sorts of speculation, with some people believing he’d been in Switzerland to attend his girlfriend giving birth, while others thought he was ill, had power seized from him or that he might even have been assassinated.
Well, he appeared hale and hearty on Monday morning, and it turns out that Putin, utilizing the survivalist training he learned as a KGB operative, had spent the last week camping on his own. These are his private journals from that trip:
Day 1:
As spring approaches, the burning comes hard and fast.
I shudder with the unnatural urges and I know that I must, once again, remove myself to the Bialowieza Forest and make peace with the natural world.
My mind, as if fevered, returns again and again to that Sikh cab driver as he stared out his car window on Shkolnaya.
For a moment, our eyes, like magnets, found one another, and we were two beautiful, masculine animals locked to one another, our breathing becoming so urgent and alive, and in such perfect and furious unison as to be inseparable. We would to be just one, all flesh, muscle and luxuriant and mysterious beard. Ah, but this moment lived only in our hearts and minds, for we never met or spoke, just two rugged ships passing in the fading light of a tired Moscow day.
In the Bialowieza Forest there are no seductive cab drivers with strong, Indian features. No, here there are berries. Here there are cold streams in which to cleanse impurities from one’s naked body! Here there are animals to kill! Here there are so many places to unleash the rage and to let the echoes of pain take flight!!!
Day 2.
I am heterosexual.
I am heterosexual.
I am heterosexual.
I am Dear Shirtless Leader.
I am a powerful, heterosexual leader.
I am ruthless and without pity.
I am heterosexual.
Day 4
I use rocks to pound my hands. The pain reminds me of how much I love women and not men. Rocks are my friends. I will incite my people to throw them at the homosexuals when I return from my purification!
Day 5.
I spent the day in penetrating, decontaminating meditation.
The cold of the March forest felt good on my naked body. It was like being caressed and then handled roughly by the indifferent hands of an anonymous man looking to satisfy his own primal needs. I was an empty and willing vessel, a village waiting for to be led by its mayor.
I then ate two birds that I knocked out of the air using my belt. They are part of Father Russia now.
Day 6.
Today a young stag approached my camp while I made weapons from the beaks and talons of the birds I ate. This buck looked at me with both certainty and curiosity, and as a confident as a bear, walked right up to me and licked my bare chest.
I could have torn him apart with my horrible weapons, but I did not. He continued to lick– he must have been starved for nutrients and minerals—and I took his beautiful head in my powerful hands– and then he began to lick me in an intimate spot. The forest was a beautiful canopy above us and the sunlight was falling like gold coins all around, and for a moment there were no other living creatures in all of the universe, and then I twisted his neck and killed him, and there was but one living creature left, and it was then that I knew I had won and was ready to return to society.
]]>For the vast majority of my life I believed in the general sincerity of our governance. I mean, I didn’t accept everything that they said, I knew that they’d obfuscate to suit their own political agendas, but on the big stuff, when push came to shove, I trusted that we were led by people who would not directly lie while looking you in the eyes.
Now, I don’t want to suggest that I believed in a rigid, black and white Cold War dichotomy.
I understood that there were nuances and that the truth was round, rather than two-sided, but I did think that Western Democracies abided by some immutable principles and were to the best of their ability, “good.”
Well, when the US government cynically lied to it’s own people about Iraq having Weapons of Mass Destruction, and then went ahead and invaded the nation, resulting in the death of perhaps one million Iraqis, all the while knowing that Saudi Arabia was actually the country that nurtured the 9/11 terrorists, my child-like faith was forever shattered.
It was simply astounding to me that something so calculated, something so evil, could take place, and take place without a revolution of protest erupting in our streets.
I now view authority with a level of skepticism that I did not before, understanding that those in power always have more to protect and gain by lying than those outside of power. And so it was that I went to see the documentary Citizenfour last week.
It’s actually more of a living historical document than it is a movie, I think, as it’s a real time presentation of Edward Snowden, over an eight-day period, as he leaked NSA documents to some journalists and the film-maker in a hotel room.
It’s a startlingly media-savvy and perhaps unprecedented way to conduct a leak, and that alone gave the movie a surreal, kind of theatrical feeling. Snowden was very consciously “presenting” himself and his motives to the world. He was, in a sense, acting and this struck me as odd.
Snowden always seemed to be suppressing a small, self-satisfied smile, as if trying to conceal his delight in being a gravitational figure that was setting a great narrative into motion, and I was astounded by how articulate he was, speaking in unbroken, virtually literary paragraphs when describing his intent and circumstances.
Isolated, without legal counsel and unsure of what was to happen to him and everybody he loved, he did not betray any anxiety, but seemed, calm, confident and even rehearsed in his manner.
Now when I see such a thing, I don’t suspect Snowden of fabricating the leaks, which essentially reveal to the public that the NSA is an omnipotent entity that has access to absolutely all our communications and actions, I suspect the NSA of fabricating Snowden. He was a CIA agent, after all, and what’s the use of a grand surveillance apparatus unless the people beneath it are conscious of it and feel its weight pressing down upon them daily?
I don’t have an opinion on the matter at this point, and there’s no way I can gather enough information to make a lucid and truly informed judgment, but my faith in our institutions is at such a low, that like a mad man in an alley, I find myself given to question everything that they prepare for my consumption, and you know, it doesn’t feel very good.
]]>Now, in the 21st century, forward thinking Klan members are looking at ways to financially exploit this successful brand, giving the organization a more corporate sheen and putting the defining racist principles that govern the organization on the backburner. In an effort to accomplish this goal, they’ve put out a broad call to agencies and individuals across the globe to help in a rebrand, and I was one of the people lucky enough to be contacted.
1. KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack
A fast food franchise throughout the rural south would serve as an excellent transition business, moving the KKK from violent hate group to an affordable, family-friendly eatery in no time. Competing with KFC, but with a more authentic, regional flavour, a Klansman with smiling face exposed–but still wearing the distinctive white hood– would be the corporate logo, much like Colonel Sanders for KFC. KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack would be racially inclusive, thus combating any negative connotations that might linger about the past of this emerging corporate titan.
The signature dish would be fried chicken skin crisps, and like MacDonald’s Happy Meal, KKK’s would serve The Hooded Order, which would be two pieces of chicken, an order of fries and a bottomless Coke, as well as a KKK action figure for the kids.
2. KKKSN Klu Klux Klan Sport’s Network
There’s nothing, excluding beauty pageants and guns, that’s’ more American than sports, and the marriage between the KKK and sports entertainment is a no-brainer. The network should focus on competitive eating (cross-marketing with KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack), crossbow hunting, street fighting and various rural soldier type programming. Over time, the network could expand to include more conventional sports, but to start it must specialize in that which it’s core audience loves best.
3. KKK: Guardians of the Earth
In the era of Global Warming, nothing could be more important to the public than the appearance of trying to save the environment. The KKK, showcasing their defining uniforms, could roam the land as a kind of cross between Forest Rangers and Guardian Angels, policing the public and making sure that people are not polluting, using too much hot water or otherwise disrespecting the land. One of the bonuses of this is that the KKK could still position itself as anti-government.
4. KKK Dog Walking and Pet Care
This would essentially be a corporate shell, existing primarily to keep members of the KKK in the public eye and achieving the positive association of being caretakers of the pets that American’s so love.
*****************************************************
M: There is a power outage!!! All is dark!!!
M: It’s another World Class power failure!
M: I think it’s the third this month.
M: Yes, I did call Rob Ford.
M: Couldn’t get through.
M: Got a message that said my problem was important to him.
M: My feet are cold.
M: We should get a heating pad that works without electricity if we’re going to live in Toronto.
M: Oh, right! A hot water bottle!
M: Yeah, I bet hipsters make them to look like owls. We should get one for our emergency kit.
M: What am I doing?
M: I’m lying in bed wishing I had a hot water bottle.
M: Yes, I guess I am draining my phone battery.
M: Yes, I am in complete darkness.
M: Except for the little glow of my iPhone.
M: When I turn off my iPhone, it must be exactly what it’s like to be a ghost.
M: Well no, I can’t float about or pass through walls.
M: Look, I don’t know why you have to be so difficult about this.
M: We really don’t know if ghosts can see or not. Maybe that’s why they pass through walls– they can’t see them but instead of bumping into them, they just pass right through!
M: Well, I don’t know how they know where the people are if they can’t see. Maybe they have super hearing?
M: Look, I just figured ghosts live in darkness is all, okay?
M: Whatever.
M: Okay.
M: Fine, maybe it’s more what it’s like for a dead person than for a ghost.
M: You people with power sure are arrogant.
M: I’m going to light a candle and see if I become all stuck up.
M: Oh my God.
M: The apocalypse blood-red moon was today!
M: I forgot that!
M: I just heard a wolf howl!
M: This could be the end of the world, and we’re fighting about what it’s like to be a ghost!
M: So petty.
M: Look, I’ve done a lot of research on ghosts, you know.
M: Have to.
M: No.
M: No, I’ve never talked to one so I don’t know what their lives are really like.
M: Fine. Rachelle 1, Michael 0.
M: You just don’t care about the apocalypse, do you?
M: It’s a pretty big deal.
M: Fuck, my battery is nearly dead and there are three weird looking people with shopping carts on the street.
M: It’s like they’re plotting.
M: Yes, plotting to take our bottles, but something worse, too.
M: I can feel it.
M: I’m scared.
M: And I don’t know where my inhaler is!!
M: Fuck!!
M: When are you getting home?!
M: Where’s the Ativan???
M: Oh.
M: Light just came back on.
M: Bottle collecting murders are still staring though.
]]>
Third and Long:
This body spray and cologne would be attached to dynamic Toronto politician Rob Ford. The body spray would be dispensed through a Rob Ford bobble-head and the more expensive cologne would be sold in a bottle shaped like a football. The TV ad campaign would feature a variety of improvised, black and white spots of Rob Ford free-associating, set against a stark, simple background.
Third and Long: It’s all gravy when you’re a man.
Penance:
Endorsed by actor Sean Penn, this cologne would be propelled by an ad campaign featuring the Academy Award winner posing shirtless. Also, I think he should have a small moustache. Penn would be holding some rosary beads draped over his back while casting a look of complex defiance at the camera.
Penance: When an apology isn’t going to happen.
Blog:
This is a scent that will be targeting conspiracy theorists. The ad campaign will be bombastic and concussive, pummeling the audience with image after image of conspiracy tropes—JFK getting shot in the head, the Twin Towers coming down, the Knights Templar—and then dissolve into a moderately attractive young man typing away at his computer. He’s purposeful, confident. When he finishes what he’s writing a knock comes at the door, he sprays some Blog on his pulse points and then exits through his window and down his fire escape.*1
Blog: Can you afford not to?
Pioneer:
This unisex fragrance will be tailored to appeal to the hipster demographic. All ingredients in it should sound completely organic and ethically sourced, and ideally it would smell kind of like a combination of kimchi and hay. The ad campaign will feature various hipsters– men in beards and overalls, women wearing sweaters with owls on them—posing happily with their cool looking bikes while cool sounding music plays.
Pioneer: Be the first to smell like the past.
La Beouf:
Actor Shia LeBeouf will be the spokesperson for this scent and it will have a meaty aroma.
La Beouf: When you’re not afraid to be wrong.
*1 Later we will roll out a body spray and soap-on-a-rope for men called Occupy.
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