Sunday, April 09, 2006

Looney, lunatic turned sick. Psycho, crazy in the head, I go, Can't keep my head straight from the laws I break. You too, y'all twistin' up my mind state!
- Cypress Hill feat. Psycho Realm
I'm sure that some of you noticed the long delay between the post titled "POOR BELL" and the subsequent post titled "PULL YOUR HEADS OUTTA YOUR ASSES" Six days with no writing, no ranting, no cursing or general outrage. Well the reason for the six day lapse is horrific. Something terrible happend to me during those six days and at first I decided against doing a post about "the event." I was afraid the "event" would occur again if I dared post about it. Like a bad acid trip, I was terrified to relive those six days. After a great deal of thought and soul searching, I have changed my mind and decided to tell you the story if for no other reason than to warn all of YOU of what could happen if you're not careful. As a precaution I have asked one of my friends to stand behind me as I type this, armed with a Lousiville Slugger and instructed to "swing for the fence" (aka hit me as hard as possible in the back of the head and send my brains flying out of my forehead to land on my keyboard. In other words....beat me to death) if anything "happens." So here it goes. If the typing suddenly stops midsentence or'll know what happened.
On the day that I wrote the post "POOR BELL" I left the house shortly after uploading that short rant to Blogger. I took my dogs to the National Park by my home and on the way back, I turned on the radio to hear what nonsense Sean Hannity was discussing. At first there were nothing but commercials so I switched over to my Nas "Illmatic" CD (the greatest rap album in history, in MY humble oppinion.) After listening to about 2 songs, I flipped back to Hannity. He was back on and talking about immigration. Then it happened. Something so horrible, so DREADFUL, so nauseating and repugnant that I completely blacked out. I.......AGREED.....with......SEAN......HANNITY.
After that horrifying moment I don't remember another thing until, SIX DAYS LATER, I awoke with my head submerged in cold water. Suddenly my head was yanked out of the water by someone pulling me by my hair. I saw, through the water that was streaming down my face, that I was in my own bathroom at the bunker. But this view lasted only a split second as I gasped for air and was again shoved back under water. As my head was being held under, I could feel someone beating me on the back with what seemed like a book or maybe ever a box. It wasn't bad enough that I couldn't breath but they were also knocking the air out of lungs with the repeated smashes of the book/box to my upper back. Suddenly my head was again ripped out of the water and this time I was able to scream. Between gasps of air and trying to keep the toilet water out of my mouth by spitting every few seconds, I was able to scream "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING!!!!!???"
I saw there were two people in the small confines of the bunkers bathroom with me. Both were my friends. One was armed with what appeared to be a brand new copy of (M)Ann Coulters "How To Talk To A Liberal (If You Must)" and a shotgun, the other had a large upside down American flag afixed to a pole that was about 4 feet long. The kind of flag one would bring to a march or a protest that could easily be waved around in the air. "WY ARE YOU HITTING ME WITH THAT RIDICULOUS BOOK???!!!" I half gasped half cried. "It's YOURS" he nastily replied. "I figured I'd beat the zombie out of you with their own book." He tossed the worthless book into the puddle that was spreading out before me on the floor.
My friend who was gripping the flag/pole shoved the tip hard into my chest and this sent me sprawling backwards onto my butt, my back coming to rest against the outside of the bathtub. Still wiping water off my face and using both hands to flatten my soaking, dripping wet (with TOILET WATER!) hair back out of my eyes and off my face, I screamed (spitting the toilet water) "OOUCH!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU TWO???!! HAVE YOU BOTH GONE MAD, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!??? SHIT!!! THAT FUCKING POLE HURT!!!"
I struggled to get my wet ass up off the bathroom floor, still panting for breath, when the pole was rammed into my chest once more, again sending me sprawling to the ground. That shot bruised for sure, and I rubbed the spot on my breastbone where the pole had struck. "WHAT THE FUCK, YOU TWO ASSHOLES!!!??? SHIT!!! YOU HAVE GONE MAD!! MADDER THAN AN I DON'T KNOW WHAT!!" Returning to rub my chest, my friend with the flag/pole spoke. "No, X. It's YOU that's gone mad. You've completely lost it. You've gone zombie republican or something. You should see yourself." As I struggled again to get up, I was this time met with the double barrels of a sawed off shotgun. Staring down the business end of these dark holes, I looked up to see my other friend holding the pistol grip and looking VERY serious. "Sit back down, freeper" he snarled at me. I collapsed back onto the linoleum.
"Now I'm gonna move this baby away from your face, but if you so much as make one false move, I'll plaster the walls with your zombified brains. Got that?" Wow, I thought, this guy's serious. "I got it" I answered, sounding more like a little kid who's mad he got caught instead of one seriously pissed off individual. My friend with the double barrel lowered his aim, slightly, and stepped away from me. "Ok, get up" he ordered. Using the side of the bathtub as a brace, I struggled to my feet. Still dripping wet, I was quickly shoved in front of the large bathroom mirror that was to the left of the toilet. "HOLY SHIT!" I screamed. "What the HELL???!"
What I saw in the mirror was utterly terrifying. Around my neck dangled a fairly large gold crucifix with the phrase "I'm Not Perfect, Just FORGIVEN" inscribed across the base at the bottom. My cool haircut was gone, replaced by a typical prudish mormon type haircut. I wore a long, plain single color jumper dress that came down to my ankles (GAG!!!!) The shirt worn under the jumper part of the dress was plain white and had printed on it, in large, bold letters "HE WON. GET OVER IT. W" My shoes were plain brown flats. My head started to spin. I felt a sudden wave of nausea flood over me. Lurching forward, I vomited in the sink. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I turned around to face my friend who had been standing behind me as I had stared, dumbstruck, in the mirror. Again I was met with the double barrels. "What the hell happened to me?" I pleaded. "That's only the beginning of it" my friend stated, still pointing the shotgun in my face. "They got you. You turned zombie. Let's just hope there's still enough liberal in there to fight this virus off. Come see this."
I started to move past my well armed friend when he stopped me cold by placing the shotgun right against my temple. "Not ONE false move. I'll be directly behind you. Pipa, you walk in front of her, backwards." We started our slow procession. I felt like I should put my hands up in the air. Afraid such a move would cause my friends trigger finger to twitch, I decided against it and shoved both hands deeply into the pockets of the horrid dress/tent I had on. I felt something around one of my wrists and looked down. Dangling losely from my right wrist was a plastic "WWJD" bracelet. Holy shit. "When we found you," Pipa said "you were posting on under the screen name 'bushizlord.' I thought we should kill you right then and there, but JC over here thought we'd give you one chance." FREEREPUBLIC??? Wow. I had completely lost my damn mind. I wouldn't even go there to read any of that pure crap, let alone sign up to POST! That website is nothing but a rascist, neo-con self mastubatory site. I felt suddenly dirty.
"What made you decide to come find me?" I asked Pipa. "Remember when you had Home Depot help with the building of the bunker? They did all the wiring and heavy lifting? Remember? They drilled that tripod on the roof of your apartment building for that .50 caliber RepubBuster we bought? Remember all that?" I thought about it for a second then answered "Sure, how could I forget that?." "Well" she continued, "while they were up there we had them add the searchlight that would send a signal into the sky if you ever turned your television to Faux News. A bat signal, just like the one in Batman, to signify that you had turned 'MoonBat.' We all had them installed in our bunkers. A way of alerting the other members of our group that one of us had slipped over to the dark side and needed help IMMEDIATELY." Sure, now I remembered. "Yeah, but I don't HAVE Faux News on my cable, Pipa. I only have the most basic cable ever. So why did it tell you I had turned on Faux News?" She laughed. Then, leaning real close to my face, she said "You ordered it." AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!(The picture below is an exact replication of our 'MoonBat' emergency indicator. Good idea, huh?)
After I picked my self back up off the floor from the shock of discovering I had actually ordered Faux News, I sat down on my sofa and they brought me a cold glass of Kool-Aid, two Tylenol w/Codeine tablets (for the beating I just took) and an all day sucker (strawberry.) "So what other crazy shit have I done?" I asked, wanting to just get it all out of the way now. No more surprises. "Well" started JC, sitting next to me with the shotgun resting on his lap, ready to grab it and aim in case I made any wrong moves "You renamed your dogs Dobson and Fallwell" (I cringed, felt vomit again rise in my throat then subside) he went on "you flipped your upside down American flag right side up, you tore up your poster of George Bu$h's face superimposed on Hitler" (GODDAMNIT!!!!) "you have every radio station in the house tuned to the station that carries Hannity, Limbaugh, Medved, and all those other fucking assholes, you canceled your subscriptions to The Nation magazine and to Air America and you sent emails to the makers of South Park telling them their show corrupts the minds of good christian children."
I felt the air being sucked out of my lungs and I felt my body start to slump forward. But JC went on..."Oh, you logged onto Democratic Underground, created a new post declaring that you had been a troll all along and that everybody could go fuck themselves. And I think you mentioned in there somewhere how everyone on DU is going to hell and that Jesus is going to come back and save only the true Christians." I started to sway back and forth. "They ripped you for a good 20 minutes before the post got locked. I believe, but I may be wrong, that they opened a new thread and CONTINUED to rip you." He shrugged and fiddled with the stock of his shotgun. Maybe he should just kill me now. There may be no coming back from this. I'd rather be DEAD than to be thought of as a republican. "Kill me" I whispered. Nothing happened. "Kill me" a little louder this time. "What did you say?" JC responded. I flinched and chickened out. "Nothing" I replied.
I sat there a few more minutes to fully absorb what they had just told me. I felt myself getting weak. The room started to spin and a tremendous buzzing filled my head. I slid off the couch like in the cartoons and slithered onto the floor in front of the coffee table. There I lay, contemplating what I had done. Had I really told everyone at DU to fuck off? WOW. I'd never be able to post there ever again, no matter HOW hard I tried to explain it. You piss THEM off and you've had it (just look what they did to old Howard Kaloogian!) That's like having a hornets nest come after you. SHIT.
From my position on the floor I was able to see some sort of writing on the ceiling. I sat up, resting on my elbows. "Are those......are those BIBLE VERSES on the ceiling?? Are those actual pages from a BIBLE taped to my ceiling???!" Neither Pipa NOR JC said anything. They just stared at me. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!!" I sobbed. Where in the hell had I obtained a BIBLE?? As if they were reading my mind both answered in unsion..."Fred Phelps sent it to you. You joined his 'church.'" I stared in disbelief. No. No I hadn't. They were joking. They had to be. This was simply impossible. JC stood up and disappeard into my bedroom. He emerged a few seconds later carrying these giant wooden signs that were very brightly colored. Yellow, red orange. But extremely bright. Almost blinding. He handed one to Pipa and they stood next to each other facing me. They stood up the signs and turned them towrads me. "GOD HATES FAGS!" "FAGS DIE, GOD LAUGHS!" "THANK GOD FOR IED's" "GOD LOVES DEAD SOLDIERS" No, nonononononononononono! NO.....WAY!
As if this wasn't bad enough, JC uncrinkles a piece of folded up newpaper from his backpocket and holds it out for me to take. Both drop the signs and run to my side and grab my arms as if to support me in case I fall. I slowly unfold the newspaper and suddenly I'm staring at a black and white photo of many people holding up the exact same signs I was just looking at. The headline says "Phelp's Group Protests Local Soldiers Funeral." And standing in the middle of the group, waving a sign that said "GOD BLEW UP THE TROOPS" THUD.
The next day when I finally came too, JC and Pipa where still there. Friends to the end (except Pipa was kinda quick to want to kill me, don't you think? Bitch.) Booming in the backround was Air America. My DisObey poster was back up as was my upside down American flag. All the religious symbols I had hung up had been discarded. I called my credit card company and told them a crazy person had stolen my credit card and had bought a GOLD 8 inch crucifix necklace, had subscribed to the 'Limbaugh Letter,' the 'O'Reilly Factor'and to the Washington Times (shudder in disbelief.) I couldn't get back the money I had "donated" to the Abramoff defense fund and the I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby defense fund and numerous pro-life groups. I erased all the pro war posts I intended to put on this blog and the "In defense of our President, George W. Bush" post (THANK.....GOD.) all republican neo-con christo-fascists, not once during my six day stint did I EVER consider joining the military and going to fight in the war in which I so strongly and vociferously supported. Strange, huh? I wonder why that is?
I continue to find stuff from those six fateful days. Every once in a while I'll open a drawer or reach in a pocket and there will be a little reminder. Something shocking that will momentarily cause me to freeze. Then I'll quickly put the item back and call one of my group. They'll come over with the proper Neo-deCON-tamintation equipment (a box of matches) and set it afire in my sink. All the while I cower under my sheets, thinking "what if they hadn't gotten to me in time...."
So I'll end this story by thanking JC for standing behind me this whole time with that baseball bat. Ready to deliver that final death blow than to see a friend turn zombie again. I loath republicans. I really do, I loath them. What? No, I didn't say LOVE, I said LOATH, JC. No, you didnt hear me say LOVE. I swear I DIDN'T SAY LOVE!!! I said LOATH. I'm even spell it. L-O-A-T-H. Look, right there, on the screen, it says loath. No you dope, to the right, to the right. HEY!!!! PUT THAT DAMN BAT DOWN!! Yo, I'm not fuckin playin with you!! I DIDN'T SAY LOVE. PUT THAT BAT DOWN!! NO, DON'T H