To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Locker Room Talk

John:

I think it is very humorous that your first name is slang for a person who consorts with prostitutes.

Emoticon!

HRC

______________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Re: Friends

John:

That’s a really hard question!

I hope they don’t ask that at one of the debates! But of course if they were going to do that we’d know in advance because we’re colluding with the media in order to fix this election!

Anyway, I think out of all of the characters on Friends I’m most like Monica. She’s very organized and competent, and I think I possess those qualities, too.

Bill is a complete Joey.

You’re Chandler.

HRC

_________________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Manufacturing Jobs

John:

As I was reading about human mannerisms last night I began to drift off on account of my alcoholism and debilitating Parkinson’s Disease. It’s getting harder and harder to hide all my afflictions from the voting public! All I can say is thank God they’re so gullible, stupid and deplorable—they’ll believe anything!! LOL! Imagine if my country actually needed me to help them? I’d probably have just dozed off after taking my meds, and even if I were somehow awake, I bet my hand would be too shaky to even push the button!

The truth is I wish I were as vital and powerful as Vladimir Putin! Just saying his name sends a surge of blood to my old genital regions! Isn’t that ironic? I’m about to become President of the United States of Deploria and all I want to do is pleasure Vladimir Putin!

And kill him.

I want to kill him and pleasure him.

John, did you know that Bill and I had a “safe” phrase?

We did.

“Manufacturing Jobs.”

Bill shouted it out more than once.

I can’t wait to rule the world.

HRC

___________________________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Re: Favorite foods

John:

Thanks for the gnocchi recipe!

By the way, I tried the Trump brand steak, and I have to say—amazing! I had no idea a steak could be so delicious, so luxurious!

Really, everything that man touches turns to platinum!

HRC

PS: Hey, I was just thinking, imagine if the public knew that I killed a hooker with Bill back in 92! Boy, that would be a PR disaster! We really dodged a bullet there! And let me tell you, the crossbow, more than just being a truly excellent weapon, is also a real turn-on!

**************************

Me: Hi! I really want to thank you for taking the time to talk with us, and add what a personal honour it is for me to be speaking to a woman with with such a dizzying literary capacity. You are truly one of the greatest writers in the entire world.

Atwood: That’s very sweet of you, thank you.

Me: I think an awful lot of people would be surprised to learn that you played Fantasy Baseball.

Can you tell us here at The Knuckler how you got into it?

Atwood: As people may or may not know, I’ve always been very interested in speculative fiction, and when I heard about Fantasy Baseball, I thought it was in the same vein. You know, like Fantasy Literature, so I looked in to it. Alas, it was not, but I became fascinated by it and all the marginalized, impotent men that play it so obsessively. It’s role playing, really, where all these limited, in many cases arrested men, bond together and pretend that they’re something much more powerful than they are in the ordinary dirt of their relentlessly disappointing lives.

It’s like a religion for them, I think, a little treehouse they can retreat to and act as supreme ruler of a secular male kingdom. I have always thought that without Fantasy Baseball there would probably be an awful lot more mass shootings. Anyway, I got involved in order to research a character for one of my books and have been playing ever since.

Me: Oh.

Atwood: And I have to say, I’ve done very, very well.

Me: Good for you.

Atwood: I’m sorry, are you being sarcastic?

Me: Oh no, a marginalized, impotent shooter-type such as myself wouldn’t have a clue how to do that!

Atwood: I see.

Me: I guess you’ve just been a very lucky player!

Atwood: Lucky?

Me: Plucky. A very plucky player.

Atwood: Really?

Me: Well, let’s not get side-tracked with semantics here. So, I’m sure all of The Knuckler’s readers would love to hear what your Fantasy Baseball team is called!

Atwood: The Blind Assassins.

Me: Oh.

Atwood: Mister Murray, I have to say, you sound disappointed.

Me: Well, coming from a “literary genius” you’d expect something a little more imaginative and eloquent. It seems lazy and nakedly self-promotional to name your team after one of your own books, especially if it wasn’t good enough to be an Oprah Pick or made into a movie.

Atwood: What is your team called?

Me: Mike’s Mashers.

Atwood: That’s very clever. How are they doing this year?

Me: They’ve been savaged by injuries I’m afraid, so it looks like I’ll be rebuilding again.

Atwood: Again, eh? So, how long have you been playing Fantasy Baseball?

Me: I don’t know, 25 years?

Atwood: Have you ever won?

Me: Ha, ha, ha! Have I ever won? What a funny question! Let me tell you, I’ve more than held my own.

Atwood: But have you ever won? Have you ever finished in first place? Have you tasted the sort of victory that for a moment erases all those memories of being the last pick, of being mocked for throwing like a girl, of all those many, many times of being over-looked by the more talented and beautiful?

Have you ever had your revenge, Mister Murray?

Unfortunately, I suffered an asthma attack at this point during the interview and we had to suspend our chat.

***********************************************************

Hello America!!

I am Melania, the luckiest woman in the world, and I am so happy to be here before you!

Why, you might ask, am I the luckiest woman in the world?

Is it because I am beautiful?

Is it because of my gorgeous dress and luxurious jewelry?

Is it because I am like champagne?

Is it because I am so very rich and famous I never have to wait in line?

Is it because I speak five languages?

Is it because I am white?

(Wait for enthusiastic screaming to subside)

NO!

It is because I am married to the greatest man in the entire world, Donald Trump.

Donald is the perfect husband. He has bought me so many wonderful things! He is so smart and such a great negotiator, and he loves America so much! He wants America to be the best, like him. He wants America to be #1 again!

(Wait for applause)

Thank you for your applause, you are such a classy audience, so very classy!

(Wait for applause)

Some people, some very bad people, say that I copied my last speech from a black woman. This is monkeyshines! I would never do such a thing. I am innocent and I will sue!

(Wait for cheering and celebratory gunshots to cease)

Thank you America, thank you!

Donald Trump, the next President of the United States and author of the hit bestseller The Art of the Deal, is not just my husband, but also my lover.

Yes, and let me tell you, he is as good at making love as he is at making deals!

(Crowd goes wild)

My lover is also tough on terror!

He will not tolerate it!

He will fire it like a bad apprentice!

With Donald you will always feel secure because you know that if any terrorists, or some loser country, were to try any monkeyshines, he would destroy them.

(Pretend to be a sexy cowboy/stripper shooting a gun)

He would. It would be no joke.

(Wag finger)

Let me ask you beautiful Americans, who does Hillary Clinton reminds you of?

Ha, yes, she does remind me very much of an old Jew!

Who else does she remind you of?

Yes, a lesbian for sure! She has no fashion sense, no class. She dresses like a box.

A hag robot! Yes!

And of course, yes, a serial killer. It is in her eyes, the killing.

So many horrible things she reminds us of, so, so many horrible things!

In closing I want to say that Donald Trump is a beautiful, beautiful man. So rich and so successful and so sexy. Not only does he live the American dream, he is the American Dream, and he will restore the American dream for all of you beautiful patriots.

I love you, America, open carry for all, and remember to follow the next President of the United States @realDonaldTrump!

Once upon a time, as an American Patriot set off for market, he asked each of his three daughters what she would like as a present on his return. The first daughter wanted a brocade dress, the second a pearl necklace, but the third, whose name was Beauty, the youngest, prettiest and sweetest of them all, said to her father:

“All I’d like is a gun for self-defense!”

When the Patriot had finished exploiting the free market, he set off for home. However, a sudden storm blew up and progress was slow. Cold and weary, the Patriot lost all hope of reaching an inn when he suddenly noticed a bright light shining in the middle of a wood. As he drew near, he saw that it was a castle. He drew his gun.

His weapon, an AMT Automag II, made him feel safe and powerful.

When the Patriot reached the door, he saw it was open, but though he shouted, nobody came to greet him. Taking the safety off his weapon, he went inside. Wary of an ambush while calibrating his optimal kill zone and putting on his night-vision goggles,

he called out, hoping to flush his target from hiding.

Nothing.

As he continued his room-to-room search, he came upon a great hall where a splendid dinner lay served. The Patriot shouted for the owner of the castle, but no one came, so he sat down to a hearty meal.

Exploring his new surroundings, the Patriot ventured upstairs where the corridor led into magnificent rooms and halls. A fire crackled in the first room and a soft bed looked very inviting, so the Patriot lay down, carefully put the safety on his weapon, placed it beneath his pillow, and fell asleep. When he woke next morning, a mug of steaming coffee and some fruit were by his bedside.

The Patriot had breakfast and went downstairs to have a look around when he saw a beautiful, unlocked gun collection. Remembering his promise to Beauty, he reached in to the display case to pick out a great semi-automatic he thought would be appropriate for his favourite daughter. Instantly, a horrible beast wearing splendid clothes appeared from out of nowhere. Two bloodshot eyes, gleaming angrily, glared at him and a deep and a terrifying voice growled: “Ungrateful man! I gave you shelter, you ate at my table and slept in my own bed, but now all the thanks I get is the theft of my favourite semi-autmatic! I shall put you to death for this slight!”

These were the last words the beast ever uttered.

Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!

The Patriot, shooting in a controlled manner and ever conscious of maintaining a tight kill circle on the beast’s chest, emptied his entire clip into it, killing him on the spot. Any man or beast careless enough to leave a gun collection unlocked deserved whatever he got! The Patriot, knowing that 9/10th’s of the law is possession, moved his family into the grand castle and enjoying the high ground and excellent site lines from the turrets, lived happily ever after, sparing his daughter, through savvy gun ownership, of ever having a relationship with the beast.

Why are writers all so ugly?

Simon

Simon:

It’s true, most writers are pretty ugly.

They were just born that way, and no matter how their parents dressed them, they remained ugly.

A consequence of this ugliness is that they were almost always excluded as children, forced to watch from the sidelines as their more attractive peers lived their happy, little lives. It’s unlikely that any of their glittering peers were mocked, called “Grosslord” and then turned away from the Manor Park Mayfair Kissing Booth, amidst a cacophony of kids pretending to barf, even though the Grosslord in question, who yes, needed dental work at the time, had the money, just like everybody else, that it cost to get a peck from grade eight goddess Mary Appelton. Injustice makes a writer, and ugliness is a great injustice. So the writer, by circumstance rather than by instinct, becomes an observer, hovering darkly on the periphery, always plotting, plotting, plotting, always devising schemes of seduction, conquest and personal elevation, all of which, of course, are doomed to fail.

It’s why so many writers are alcoholic as well as being ugly.

Eventually, the writer will become destitute and bitter, unable to do much beyond engage in Twitter wars about Canadian poetry.

However, I would be remiss if I were to say that all writers are ugly, for this is not true. Tyra Banks, the author of Modelland, is world-renowned beauty.

And of course, Samuel Beckett: 

Dear Bitter Writer:

Like most people, I was disgusted and heartbroken when I heard about the mass murder in Orlando. I wrote down some of my feelings on the matter, and I was wondering if you could tell me where the best place might be to publish my Think Piece? I was considering Medium, any advice?

Brad

Brad:

The best advice I can give you is to never, ever publish anything that is referred to as a Think Piece. Think Pieces are the equivalent of drunken phone messages left for an Ex. Lost, wandering and self-absorbed, they exist only to make the author look enlightened rather than to actually share some sort of enlightenment. Truth be told, I can’t read the words Think Piece without wanting to punch whomever coined the phrase in the face. It sounds remdial, like something you’d do in kindergarten.

“And what’s this a drawing of, Bobby?”

“It Think Piece.”

“Well, it’s lovely, I like what you’ve done with the raging green!”

So no, Brad, just no.

Don’t do it.

And Brad, if you’re straight, that cry of no becomes even louder. I don’t care if you’d fuck Tom Hardy

and are a true ally of the LGBT community, the world still doesn’t need another straight voice added to the storm of voices attempting to deconstruct the shooting. Whether you think people from the LGBT community were specifically targeted or not doesn’t matter. The LGBT community is one that has always been subject to violence, hatred and bigotry, and this, the largest mass shooting in America’s rich history, conducted at a specifically gay venue, suggests that those directly within the community might have a deeper understanding of what the shooting “means,” so I suggest that all straight voices just park it for a little, and listen rather than tell. Just switch your profile pic to rainbow and call it a day, okay?

I’ve only met him once, and that was over twenty years ago when he was just six, but I always felt like I made a pretty strong impression on him. As such, I’ve tried to stay in contact with him over the years, hoping to provide the leadership, guidance and confidence, that a young, ambitious and talented member of my family might benefit from.

I have to say, he has proven a very disappointing correspondent.

No matter, the fact that he’s never bothered to respond to any of my email hasn’t stopped me from writing, and when I heard that there were very serious allegations of match fixing at the highest levels of professional tennis, I wrote my young protege these supportive emails.

Andy:

Hey!

It’s your cool cousin, Michael here!

You know, the one who taught you how to serve and properly identify a crop circle back in the summer of ’94! I got a bad bloody nose for some reason that day. No idea why. So weird. Might have had something do with magnetic resonance from the crop circles.

Anyway, I know that you’re involved in the match fixing that’s now being investigated by the authorities.

You’re a Murray.

We come from a long line of sheep thieves and have a known a history of committing cowardly acts in the face of pressure. It’s in the blood. Hell, in grade seven I threw a spelling bee because another kid promised me a sexy photograph of Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci.

I pretended I didn’t know how to spell “Psychotic” during the competition. Acted like I thought it started with an “S!”

As if.

I was born knowing how to spell psychotic.

I just want you to know that I think fixing matches is cool. It’s easy money. And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me!

Confidentially,

Michael Murray

PS: I know your character even if the public doesn’t.
Andy:

I owe my bookie Goran in excess of $7,000, due in large part to betting (unsuccessfully!!) on you.

You gotta back family, man!

Michael Murray

Andy:

As you might have heard, I now have a baby boy. Jones.

He’s the apple of our eye. Sure is expensive, though. Hungry, little money machine. Clothes horse, too. And as I am now the respected head of a family I really need to boost my earning potential. Not sure what to do. I have a real gift for predicting the outcome of sporting events. Do you have any suggestions of what I might do?

Michael Murray

Andy:

Was looking at some pictures of your wife the other day.

A real beauty. Guess money buys a lot of nice things. Has anybody started a fake Twitter account for her where she says you’re a domestic abuser and have all sorts of terrible and embarrassing sexual kinks? For an angry and desperate person with lots of time on his hands, that sort of account would sure be easy to create.

It would be a real shame if anything happened to her pretty face or hot body.

Michael Murray

Andy:

I am going to take your silence as agreement with everything I have written. If this is the case and you are onboard with fixing a match on behalf of your family and saving yourself from Twitter humiliation, please wear white during your next tennis match.

Michael Murray

Andy:

Excellent.

In the second round of the Australian Open, just pretend, as you typically do, to have lost your temper and concentration,

or perhaps twisted an ankle, and then limp off the court in furious defeat. You know the drill. With this one meaningless loss, which will give you a glorious two week vacation in beautiful Australia with your stunning and as yet undamaged wife, I will have been able to clear my debt with Goran, make a nice profit so I can take that nude life drawing class

I have always dreamed about, and you will have given Jones, the latest Murray, a great start in life.

As our family crest says: “Furth fortune and fill the fetters!”

Michael Murray

PS: We make a great team!

It’s been well over a week now since Ammon Bundy and his militia men took over the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge headquarters in Oregon.

As the harsh winter falls like ash around them, neither the Federal Government nor The Citizens for Constitutional Freedom have shown even a hint of quit.

****************************

The Citizens for Constitutional Freedom Press Conference, January 14th, 2016

Ammon Bundy: Once again, our intelligence gathering services have had to bring us some very bad news.

On the heels of the death of our great teacher and brother, David Bowie, another true patriot and giant amongst men has been taken from us. Our comrade, Alan Rickman, star of stage and screen, has fallen.

Ryan Bundy: This is bullcrap, man!! Bullcrap!!

Ammon Bundy: Easy brother, easy.

Ryan Bundy: By the hammer of Grabthar, we shall be avenged!!

Ammon Bundy: Rickman died as he lived, with his boots on.

While carrying out an assault on a government facility in Northern California, Rickman was struck down by a hail of gunfire from CIA operatives posing as paramedics. It was a cowardly and treacherous act and….What? Well, where did you hear that? Really? Really? Did TMZ report that, too? Well, geez. Cancer, hunh? Do they think it was planted in his body by the government. Inconclusive, eh? Okay. Okay. Give me a moment. Just bear with me! This is a very stressful time, okay? Don’t forget, I’m fighting tyranny here, for you and your children, so just cut me some slack! I’m doing God’s will, not yours, okay!?

(Conference is interrupted for five minutes)

Ammon Bundy: Okay, thanks for your patience. Sometimes constitutional freedom take a little bit of time.

Our intelligence department has just confirmed that Alan Rickman died under very mysterious circumstances late last night. Naturally, many of my men– myself included–have been shaken to the core by this devastating news. I’m not going to lie to you, it’s not my style, but there were more than a few tears shed last night. Three more of our men, devastated by grief, just like when Ziggy Stardust took his final bow, left the encampment and returned home this morning, and as always we wish them Godspeed.

Ryan Bundy: May our comrades ride as swiftly and surely to their families as Alan Rickman to Kate Winslet, in his portrayal of noble Colonel Brandon in Sense and Sensibility!

Ammon Bundy: As always, we will continue the battle, to be the tip of the spear, just as Professor Severus Snape would have wanted. If he were here right now, he would cast a spell on the government and we would all be enjoying the land that is rightfully ours to profit from.

It is hard to imagine, but it was only a few short weeks ago that my family and I sat around enjoying Rickman’s brilliant work in that modern Christmas classic, Love Actually. Yeah, I can see more than a few smiles in the press gallery, there. Rickman spoke to us all, even godless, liberal media, and he had the truly unique ability to tap into the soul of the white, middle-aged man and speak directly to us.

Ryan Bundy: Lord, I related, I related so hard, for who amongst our clan hasn’t made the mistake of giving our wives a Joni Mitchell CD for Christmas!?

Ammon Bundy: Hallelujah, brother, don’t I know it!

Alan Rickman told the difficult truths. His portrayal of complex antagonists is what made me want to get into the business of fighting for the Constitution and taking over government buildings. I had always hoped to find an adversary as strong and charismatic as Rickman– a Hans Gruber to my John McClane.

We will miss him truly, madly and deeply. May a flight of angels carry you home, brave soldier.

]]> http://michaelmurray.ca/militia-men-on-alan-rickman/feed 0 http://michaelmurray.ca/rocky-iv-and-american-violence http://michaelmurray.ca/rocky-iv-and-american-violence#comments Thu, 03 Dec 2015 18:05:30 +0000
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http://michaelmurray.ca/?p=5572 The other day I watched the movie Rocky IV.

It’s a bad movie, a very bad movie, and bad in a way that only a movie made in 1985 can be bad. If you’ll recall, Rocky ends up in Russia to fight Ivan Drago, the invincible Soviet super villain played by Dolph Lundgren.

Various dramatic things happen and Rocky wins, as he does pretty much every second movie. What’s striking about it, beyond how awful, cliched and child-like it is, is how vivid and oppressive the American propaganda is.

America has never been particularly subtle about propaganda, and this movie is no exception. It’s an Us Vs. Them proposition, the Soviets are all passionless robots and functionaries living under a cruel and despotic regime, and the Americans, well, they have heart, man, they’re real!

About five years after this movie was made the Soviet Union collapsed beneath it’s own rotting weight. This meant that The Cold War was over, and once again all that was good and free and just and true had won. However Operation Desert Storm, in which the US invaded Iraq, immediately commenced, and ever since, the Middle East (in one form or another) has been the enemy of the West.

After seeing Rocky IV, it struck me that America was always at war, it was as if they HAD to be at war, as if it was a necessary and functioning part of the system. “The Military Industrial Complex,” as it is conspiratorially called, is a huge business in the US, accounting for hundreds of billions dollars. It is a primary economic driver, one from which so much else flows, and it surely looks like it now exists as an essential part of the economy than some subordinate wing of government used to defend abstract principles like justice.

Recently, on December the 2nd there was another mass shooting in the United States, this time in San Bernardino. It was the 355th of the year.

As the news broke, politicians assigned some assistant take to their Twitter accounts and Tweet out their feelings. The event, immediately politicized, had one flavour of politician crying out for gun control, while the other flavour of politician offered “thoughts and prayers.” It turns out that the “thoughts and prayer” crowd had all accepted donations from the NRA.

https://twitter.com/igorvolsky

Granted, this is no scientific study, but it seems to confirm something that we already knew.

On the face of it, the NRA and the on-going weapon crisis is utterly mysterious. Why only in America? Why haven’t they done anything to try to solve this problem? I mean, from 2004 to 2013, there were 316,000 firearm deaths in the US set against 313 deaths from terrorism, but the resources are where?

In the US, politicians and thus policy, are bought.

That’s the way the system works.

War, be it with the Communists or the Terrorists, is very profitable, as is the production and sale of guns. It’s the sort of thing that should actually be put in the Constitution, just so everybody is clear about profit, rather than freedom, being the guiding light of the nation.

Until the anti-gun lobby starts to give representatives money commiserate with what the NRA does, then we are going to have to expect these trends, and all these deaths, to continue.

All day the radio had been warning of this windstorm and the perils it was bringing to civilization, so amidst the sirens in the distance and falling hydro wires, it was easy enough to think that a new and apocalyptic age was being ushered in. Encouraging these feelings of dread was the fact that the grand jury announcement on the Michael Brown shooting in Ferguson, Missouri, was to be announced in just a few hours.

(Paul McCulloch, father of Robert)

In a defensive, almost combative tone, St. Louis County prosecuting attorney Robert McCulloch (His father was a police officer who was alleged to have been killed by a black suspect when McCulloch was 12-years-old) spoke for nearly 45 minutes, casting aspersions on social media, journalists and Ferguson residents in announcing that officer Darren Wilson would not be charged in the death of Michael Brown.

Nobody was surprised.

This hotly anticipated announcement took place at 9 pm, as if engineered to encourage riots and rebellious protests throughout the night, rather than minimize them. The state was well prepared, of course, and the predictable happened.

It seems that the laws are set-up very specifically to protect police officers from being charged with a crime while in the process of discharging their constabulary duties. This doesn’t feel right. If anything, those wielding power must be held accountable to a higher standard, not freed from one. It is obvious that it’s easier for somebody in power, especially institutional power, to lie and protect that lie, than it is for somebody without power to do so, and if a police officer, with the entire might and authority of his department behind him, kills a teen who does not have a gun,  firing 12 shots that hit him 7 times, then an indictment is essential, if only for the general good of a grieving and shocked community.

It’s widely believed that in America individual rights trump all, that Darren Wilson’s right to protect himself was more important than a community’s right to have the way in which he protected himself tried.

But it often feels like individual rights, the right to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” are merely symbolic, if not smoke and mirrors. It’s the mask America wears, and not the heart beating in the chest.  America seems more interested in protecting private property and capital than it does in the individual rights of people, and nobody lives this reality more painfully and vividly than the African-American community. White fear, a terror that things will be taken from them, has made blacks– who were once property on this soil–an implicit threat, a deadly, almost mystical weapon in and of themselves, that must be dehumanized and controlled, but never truly accepted.

This is the battle that ensued:

Greasy, loner neighbour: U DON’T KNOW HOW TO LOOK AFTER A DOG

Me: YOUR MAN BUN IS VERY BRAVE.

Greasy, loner neighbour: AT LEAST I HAVE HAIR

Me: YOU’RE SHAPED LIKE A PEAR & WE CALL YOU CINNABON

Greasy, loner neighbour: YOU LOOK LIKE MR. BURNS

Me: HAVE GONE OFF MY MEDS. FEEL UNPREDICTABLE

Greasy, loner neighbour: ADVANCED TRAINING IN NGUNI STICK FIGHTING. NOT SCARED

Me: VIDEO GAMES DON’T COUNT

Greasy, loner neighbour: YOU’RE ON DISABILITY, RIGHT?

Me: YOU LOOK SHARP IN YOUR BEST BUY T-SHIRT, CINNABON.

Greasy, loner neighbour: U LOOK WEAK & ALWAYS SEE YOU IN HOUSECOAT. CREEPY

Me: ALLERGIC TO GRAINS AND HAVE ASTHMA. WHY I KEEP GUNS

Greasy, loner neighbour: JUST KEEP YOUR DOG QUIET, OK?

Me: NO

Greasy, loner neighbour: WILL CALL ANIMAL SERVICES

Me: THEN WE WILL STICK FIGHT, BUT I WILL HAVE GUNS