The Hooligan Letters

10 Things: Video Games

2006-11-11T01:39:00.000-05:00

I've created 10 video games. If you or someone you know is a rich video game production type person then let's all work towards getting me lots of money, cars and dates. If you don't help me become rich then the terrorists have already won.

- Grand Theft Childhood Innocence: Vatican City

- Future Freedom Force Flag Squad of America Vs. Giant Death Robots With Lazer Eyes And Turbans: The Official Game of The Movie (brought to you by the RNC)

- Kobe Bryant's Pro Rapist

- 50 Cent: How I Can Further Degrade My Own People Or Die Tryin' (Civil Rights Edition featuring Martin Luther King as "The Man")

- Paris Hilton's Pro Look At My Cooch

- Terrorist Flight Simulator 4.0

- The Diary Of Anne Frank: The Official Game Of The Book

- "Wazzzup!": The Official Game Of The Saying

- Che Guevera's T-Shirt Army For Capitalism Vs. Education

- To X-Tremez: Special Edition with a word spelt with an "X", and a "Z" where there should be an "S"!!! Kewl! (Like the text-message, not the temperature)

Old News, But Good News About What God Is Doing Today

2006-11-03T19:41:00.000-05:00

"This is not a war against Islam." - George W. Bush

I don't care much for Islam. That being said I don't care much for Christianity or Judaism either. They are blockades preventing us from traveling down the road of Scientology, paved by our one true prophet and kickass sci-fi novelist, L. Ron Hubbard. Just kidding. Fact is I don't care for organised religion at all. So, needless to say, I'm not entirely pleased to have been thrust smack in the middle of a war of faiths the rational equivalent of which would resemble children fighting over the ethnicity of the tooth fairy. Since the beginning of this war of wizards the US president has reassured the world on several occasions that the conflict is not motivated by religion, but rather a battle for freedom. Well, this morning I was reminded of something I'd heard a couple years past regarding the "news" organisation that had been contracted to support and co-create the muslim world's first American based television and radio news stations in Iraq. The organisation's name is The Grace News Network and it is headed by a man named Thorne G. Auchter. Sounds fair, but the Grace News Network's mission statement, I shit you not, is this: "To change the news to reflect the Kingdom of God and his purposes and to proclaim the good news about what God is doing today." So, these are the cats contracted to give a Muslim nation it's news, by order of the United States government who, as we all know, simply want to "free" the world.

Here's a link to an old Alternet article from May, 2003 in regards to the story above. Though it is old news, I'm sure most of you can agree that it's still entirely relevant given the continuing violence.

In relation to this I'm curious as to how the Grace New Network and Thorne Auchter contact their news source. I've sent a letter to Mr. Auchter, but as per usual I don't expect a response.

Dear Mr. Auchter,

I'd like to thank you for bringing us all the good lord's news. Prior to your network's establishment I was a Chaplain in the First Church of Jew Baby Eaters, New York, 5th district and I'll save you the details, but my practices weren't entirely what I'd now consider morally sound. However, thanks to your acting as a satellite beacon to God and bringing us his news daily, I've been able to find my true calling as an investigative journalist. Though I'm actively pursuing this new carreer, I find that my sources are somewhat limited to, you know, the Bible and my latest story on the unicorns' denial of passage on Noah's Ark finds me stuck at a factual roadblock. I know that journalistic integrity prevents those like you and I from revealing our sources, but I'd figured since you've already widely announced your source as being God you could provide me with his number that I might be able to put the confusion to rest once and for all. My investigation has thus far lead me to believe that the unicorns' phallus shaped horns were a constant reminder to Noah of what he believed to be his failing as a man, driving him nearly to madness and causing him to take vengeance on the fair creatures by denying them their place on the Ark. I've numerous evidence to support this claim, but without a reliable source to confirm it I'm afraid the theory might not be taken seriously. Noah has neglected to return my calls. Your support in this matter would be greatly appreciated.

Thanking you in advance,
Kevin N. Burke

P.S. I've a pretty good long distance plan through Sprint, but it mainly covers calls within North America. Should you decide to take me up on my offer could you perhaps give me an approximate idea of what I'd be looking at in terms of charges for, let's say, a five minute call to Heaven? This job doesn't pay much.

R.I.P. Brad Will

2006-10-30T20:28:00.000-05:00

NYC Indymedia journalist William Bradley was murdered by the Mexican government this past friday while covering the APPO (Peoples Popular Assembly of Oaxaca)take over of Oaxaca City and the ever escalating violent government response resulting from it. He was 36 years old. This story, though wholely relevant to many of the matters facing North America as a continent (i.e. border policies, etc.), has been excluded from the pages of many major newspapers and the teleprompters of bleach-toothed, happiness salesmen on major television news networks, as has the Oaxaca incident as a whole. For further information, you can read about it here, here, and read Brad Will's last written piece on the incident here.

Walk That Parkinson's Disease Off, Michael J. Fox

2006-10-24T21:19:00.000-05:00

Now there are a great number of things I'd rather do than listen to Rush Limbaugh. Castrate myself, for instance, or finger induce the likely explosive cleansing of Carlos Mencia's colon while watching an all musical episode of "According To Jim" with an original score by a Nickleback/Puddle of Mudd side project. However today I found it very difficult to ignore Rush, being that he seems to have swallowed up the American news networks whole. Now, more often than not I'd just be pissed to see networks wasting time with this type of bullshit, non-issue gossip, but this instance really does speak volumes about Rush Limbaugh's character (or lack thereof), so I figured I'd mention it.
You see, actor Michael J. Fox, who most of you no doubt know has Parkinson's Disease, appeared in a television ad endorsing Claire McCaskill who is running in the upcoming U.S. election for Senator of Missouri. In the ad Fox urges voters to cast their ballot for McCaskill stating that her opponent stands against stem cell research, a practice that might very well someday be able to cure a number of diseases like Parkinson's.

Now, Limbaugh, being the ever insensitive, fundamentalist, right-wing, steaming piece of diseased rodent shit that he is, immediately attacked Michael J. Fox claiming;

"Michael J. Fox should be ashamed of himself for using his disease to mislead voters...he was either off his medication or he was acting. He is an actor, after all."

Limbaugh ofcourse, refering to Michael J. Fox's shaking so much in the ad, claiming that it was exaggerated. What a fuckin' douchebag for the ages.

Dear Rush,

Fight on you patriot soldier. There are far too few of those like yourself these days who are willing to stick up for Americans in the face of weak, crippled freedom hating disease victims. I salute you, sir. Michael J. Fox was clearly faking those symptoms (quite poorly in my opinion) in order to garner sympathy from the viewers. Viewers who might believe that Parkinson's Disease is anything other than the magical funhouse of happy thoughts and increased energy that you and I both know it to be. Michael J. Fox pretending that his condition is in some way incapacitating or difficult to bear is an insult to the American public. It should be made widely known that the primary symptom of Parkinson's Disease is a multiple orgasm twice every hour and not some silly fidgeting and Ray Charles like head bobbing. The fact that this incident is being widely reported does bring me some hope however. Should your report act as a journalistic precident then perhaps someday we can break the lid off of the African people's willfull practices of Anorexia and Bulimia which is used to much the same sympathy soliciting purpose in Amnesty International ads. Everyone knows you're faking it, Africa!

Yours,
Kevin N. Burke

P.S. Also, tell those autistic mother fuckers that they aren't fooling anyone either. Punk ass bitches.

Red, White And Whiter!!! (A Message To American Voters)

2006-10-23T13:12:00.000-05:00

Dear US Citizens,

Do you want to die? Do you want your children to be attacked while they sleep by Islamo-facist-terrero-terrorists of terror? Do you want the "free" taken out of your "freedom" making it nothing more than a "dom" and than an "e" added to the end in order to make it a "dome", as in "Dome of No More Freedom"? No? Well neither do your friends in the Republican Party. The Democrats however want to gay-marry Osama Bin Laden at a flag-burning, inter-racial godless ceremony taking place in front of an abortion clinic where they plan on resurrecting Adolf Hitler to act as best man. So please, this November 7th, unless you love Osama Bin Laden and want to have terrorist babies with him that will no doubt grow up to conduct stem cell research, vote Republican.

Thank you and God Bless America,
Kevin N. Burke.

P.S. The Democrats fuel their anti-Americanistismication by drinking blended puppy/baby smoothy shakes...of terror.

The Most Entertaining Entertainment On Television!

2006-10-22T22:07:00.000-05:00

I was watching the news again today for some not yet explained reason that's yet to be self-explained to me by myself, but that's redundant. I was watching the theatrical re-enactment of life unfold right before my eyes. It was like a Michael Bay wetdream of disaster and tragedy and romance and drama and scandal with lazers all the colors of the rainbow (except for the gay colors, those are for fags) hitting a mirrorball spinning at 400,000rpm before it explodes firing bite-sized shrapnel that's fun for the whole family the length of the room. It was exhaustingly exciting. Fortunately the commercial time reminded me that I was thirsty and also that Zap-core, supercharged, caffeine free, ultra caffeinated, speed fueled energy drink would rehydrate me while giving me the super-sonic, funkified, ultra-x-tastic spark I'd need to get through my day with enough energy left over to beat my girlfriend and run 12 marathons to the moon. Sweet, sweet freedom. Then the news is back, kicking my teeth out with celebrity public interest stories. "Will Paris Hilton get into some more wacky trouble?" Holy fuck, man! I don't know! Will she?! We'd better keep a close eye on her. The news is awesome. So I'm writting CNN a letter.

Dear CNN,
I love your show. It's awesome. I was hooked after just one episode and I got some of my friends to check it out too. Every thursday night we get together and watch it. Jeff always brings snacks, but the rest of us kinda feel bad cause we never bring any snacks, you know, and we'd hate for him to spend all his money all time cause he works at Wal-Mart so we're going to pool some cash together next week to pay him back even though he'll probably just keep bringing snacks. Oh well, you know how it is. We're all really digging the episodes you guys have written up this year though. My buddy Bob thinks that you guys are going to have the U.S. invade Iran for the season finale, but I was thinking that you guys already used that story in season 2 for the Iraq thing so you'll probably just cook something new up. I think you should have Paris Hilton do something crazy cause she's my favorite character. Hey, also, we were wondering if you guys got a bigger budget this year cause the pyrotechnics seem to have gotten way better. Shawn says that maybe you guys were able to save a bunch of cash because you no longer have to pay all those actors who played the soldiers you killed off in Iraq. How are you guys able to do that anyway? I mean you'd figure those guys would want 4 season contracts at the least. Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that all the work you put into this show is greatly appreciated. You guys'll never get cancelled.

Kevin N. Burke

P.S. Hey, what's with those wacky Africans? Will they never learn? Awesome characters! Thumbs up!

Of Deja Vu And Manacured Lawns

2006-10-22T01:28:00.000-05:00

Growing up in the suburbs only to fight to become a respectable member of society as you get older is like standing at the end of a cul de sac, bags packed, thumb out, holding a cardboard sign that reads "Here". Chew on that, Socrates. Also, when my revolt against rationality is through you're next, hope. You smug son of a bitch.

What A Waste Of Good Drugs

2006-10-16T20:42:00.000-05:00

So NATO troops in Afghanistan have decided that their top priority should be the burning of poppy crops throughout the war torn nation. Brilliant idea. Put further Afghan citizens out of their only source of income and send them running to join the Taliban opposition. The reason for this gold medal winning decision in the Military Planing Special Olympics is that much of the harvested poppy crops in Afghanistan go to creating heroin which in turn funds the terrorist activities of the Taliban. This allegation is ridiculous in that the nations comprising NATO could much more cheaply use diplomatic measures to put pressure on the Afghan government to ensure that the poppy crops are monitored and made to only export in the interest of creating a great number of legal drugs used in hospitals the world over such as Morphine and Methadone. The destruction of these crops is nothing more than an extention of the US governments ridiculous war on drugs, as evidence by the latest incident in which NATO soldiers eradicated numerous fields of Marijuana (a drug which is completely legal in Afghanistan). The reason given for the waxing of weed plants was the same given for the poppy crops, "it funds terrorist activities". When's the last fucking time your friend called you up and told you that he just picked up an ounce of some bad ass Afghani chronic?

Man of the Year Sucks! (A Film Review)

2006-10-14T16:26:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I applied for a gig writing film reviews for an on-line magazine. They requested a short description of my interests and whatever, as well as a short review of something recent. So I went out last night and treated myself to Hollywood's latest malignant tumor, Man of the Year. Here's the review I sent to the magazine.

Man of the Year
by Kevin Burke

When the politi-comedy band wagon passed in front of his home drawn by the horses of popular dissent and comical punditry and coached by the likes of Jon Stewart and Bill Maher, renowned filmmaker Barry Levison was quick to hail a ride. Though as evidenced by his latest picture, Man of the Year, it would seem as though he failed to pack for the trip. The film most closely resembled, to me, your radical activist friend who shares your political views but makes them known by burning down an SUV dealership. His heart is in the right place, but his delivery of opinion is so foolishly crafted that it actually works to discredit your cause. Man of the Year is heartbreaking in that it has the opportunity to say so much, based on it's foundation of truth and desire to fix a flawed democracy, but loses any and all credibility when it seems to run into trouble deciding exactly which type of film it would like to be.

The film opens to a needless narrative by Jack Menken (Christopher Walken), manager an mentor of famed comedy news program host Tom Dobbs (Robin Williams), in which he details the steps leading up to Dobbs' becoming President of the United States. This first quarter of the film, though it provides little to no actual character development and seems to only serve as a vehicle with which to allow Robin Williams to stretch his manic muscle, is the most entertaining and includes a fantastic scene in which Dobbs takes part in a televised debate with the incumbent President and the opposition party leader. This scene takes place approximately 25 minutes into Man of the Year and is the last enjoyable scene in the film, which shortly thereafter becomes what can only be described as a Dramatic Political Romantic Comedy Thriller. If it sounds weird that's because it is. You see, Eleanor Green (Laura Linney) works for the company who developed the electronic voting machines used in the election. After she discovers that a flaw in their software has resulted in Dobbs being falsely elected President she becomes the subject of a manhunt headed by her boss Alan Stewart(Jeff Goldblum) who hopes to cover it all up. Eleanor tediously chases down Dobbs to inform him of the glitch while Alan chases down Eleanor to prevent her from doing so. The result is an odd thriller peppered uncomfortably with bits of radical comedy courtesy of Williams' wacky President elect that only seemed to be missing cartoon sound effects and faulty Acme gadgets.

If you can imagine an orgy of film genres in which the insecure plot has difficulty deciding who it wants to get it on with next then you have Man of the Year pretty much pinned down (pun intended). On a scale of Bust to Jive, this film is considerably Less Than Jake. Wait for the network television broadcast on a rainy sunday afternoon when every book in your house is lent out and your DVD player is broken.

I Dabble In Advertising Again

2006-10-04T13:16:00.000-05:00

There's lots of money in advertising. Take the new milk ads for instance. You might ask why milk would need to be advertised in the first place since practicaly everyone drinks it anyhow, but that's why you're not in advertising.
If you were you'd know that;
A) Vegans don't drink milk.
B) 96.4% of vegans are rappers.
So once the niche market is discovered, what better way to tackle it than with rapping farmers. It's really just simple advertisonomics. In light of my new found powers of figure-outability I've decided to leave the lucrative world of grass cutting behind in favour of something that better utilises my talents. Here are a few ideas for ads and products I've been kicking around the office.

-Product: Adult Diapers

Ad: Many youth challenged individuals, though their arteries are slowly deteriorating, like to think of themselves as young at heart. I suggest a television ad featuring a tatooed old man in an adult diaper sky-diving on a skateboard while playing some kick-ass electric guitar. Also, he says "Wazzup!" and is on fire.

-Product: A cellphone with a built in land-line phone and airbag

Ad: Have you ever been at home, heard the phone ring and not know if it's your cell or your home phone? Not anymore. It has an airbag too. Also, this ad features dancing people and cool techno music that sounds like robots having sex...in the future!!!

-Product: A New Hollywood Movie

Pitch: The internet turns into a vampire and joins with a mutant superhero team that travels back in time and wages giant battles in a land of dragons and wizards. Directed by Jesus! (Mel Gibson, second choice)

-Product: Scat Porn for the whole family

Ad: A work in progress, preferably something involving a korean animated mascot.

-Product: Disney merchandise

Ad: Mickey rounds up Chinese kids at DisneyWorld and they all sail away on Captain Hook's magical flying pirate ship to the Disney merch factory. There the kids get to play with sewing machines and soldering equipment all day and night. Hooray! The merchandise is then carried to North America by an all new Disney character; a giant animated smile named Happy Facial Expressiony, and dropped on all the suburban children. Also, Happy Facial Expressiony Vs. The Evil Unions, straight to DVD movie tie-in.

-Product: The Freedom Tickler

Ad: Like the French Tickler sex toy, but more patriotic. The ad features Toby Keith singing "I just American't let you go unsatisfied, my love." Also, apple pie.

Stop Crying Mother Nature, You Fuckin' Pussy!

2006-09-19T21:21:00.000-05:00

"Whaaah, it's global warming. My seas hurt. My mountains ache. My trees are dying, whaaah." Shut up Mother Nature, you fucking baby. "Scientists" and a number of other friendly folks have been paid by Exxon/Mobil to "prove" otherwise. So now we all know without a doubt that you're full of shit and just looking for attention, global warming is a myth started by a bunch of asshole enviromentalists who are just looking to destroy our fantastic capitalist way of life that has done so much good the world over. Why would Exxon/Mobil lie to us? They just want us to be happy. As punishment we're going to pollute ten times the amount we have been. Tough luck bitch, you're getting a sex change.

If you can't note the sarcasm in the above post, don't ever come here again. Thank you. Also, the link above to the list of organizations paid by Exxon to falsely discredit the theory of climate change will be posted in the link bar.

Denial. It's Not Just For Breakfast Anymore. (A Public Service Announcement)

2006-09-19T16:11:00.000-05:00

So there you are one morning enjoying breakfast with your loving, all-American family. Your son Jacob, a straight A student and champion rower who prays every night before bed and always (always) washes his hands, announces that he's decided to go to Princeton, from which you proudly hail, instead of Harvard as he'd previously suggested. Your daughter Sarah then further rewards you with news of her engagement to Todd Skrundelgrundingson, the well bred young chap who's father you sometimes golf with, heir to his family's diamond import business. Hoorah. As you stand to clear your plate the family dog, Reagan, rushes in with your slippers and newspaper. Oh what a glorious day this is turning out to be. Your beautiful wife suddenly whispers to you, as you place your dishes into the industrial Super-Power-Dish-Dirt-Killer-3001 located under your sink, that an angel appeared to her last night and that she will be giving birth to the second coming of Christ. A single tear rolls down your cheek and you quickly turn, excitedly informing your lovely children of the blessing your family is going to recieve. They lead from their seats, awestruck and cheerful. "Hooray!" declares Sarah and "Neato!" follows Jacob. You all hold hands and smile together. "Thank freedom for this wonderful life." you say unto them. "Thank freedom." they reply.

Just then the kitchen begins to darken and you peer through the window to see storm clouds, black as night, eclipsing the sun. Your doorbell rings and you walk to answer it. You're startled to find that it's a brown man, like the ones you've seen on TV but never in person because your office doesn't tend to allow those types to loafe about the premises. "Hel.." you begin to say, but he pushes you aside with load cries of "Allah!" and begins running through your home. "Now wait just one cotton-picking minute, mister." you boldly say to the man's back as he rummages through your belongings. "What's the meaning of this?". He turns to face you and says with an evil grin "Freedom. Where do you keep your freedom?". You begin to feel frightened. "Um, well sir, I'm afraid that is none of your concern and I would kindly ask that you leave my house." He then removes a large knife from his belt and lunges towards you, pulling your head back and putting the blade to your throat. Your wife screams "No, please!!! It's upstairs, under the bed." The man leaves you and runs up the stairs returning shortly with your freedom clutched in his palm. "Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!" says the darkerish skinned man who you are beginning to assume might not love Jesus as much as you. He then violently throws your freedom to the ground where it shatters against the tile kitchen floor. "No! Our freedom!" your family cries in unison. The man flees through the front door and you crawl, shivering to be comforted by your family. "Oh, (insert name here), whatever shall we do?" asks your wife. You glance at her, trying to hide the fear in your eyes, "I don't know" you say, "I just don't know." "Fiddle bumps." says Jacob.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Kevin's Religious Terminology Dictionary.

THE SECOND COMING:
When the Priest takes it out of your ass and unloads what's left in your hair.

I Had A Dream...

2006-09-16T12:08:00.000-05:00

Really, I did. A real dream. Once, in a time and socially conscious place long since exchanged for wants and asthetically exciting doo-dads and trinkets in the name of social competition. Recently, I also had a dream of a much different colour. Green. And Silver. I dreamed that I owned and XBOX360. No shit. My dreams have become full of product placements. My friends and I were gathered around my living room drinking beer and playing what I assume was Halo 3 on my new XBOX game console. Everyone was so happy, just like in tv land. All smiles. During the dream, the feeling was one of absolute exhiliration, much like your first wildly vivid sex dream would have been. Or that dream in which your heart seizes and you wake only to find that you've forgotten the face of the dream girl and are left with an empty space where the feeling of what you could only assume was love used to be (this dream is most often followed by a few days of your walking around aimlessly in reality looking for something that never exsisted in the first place). It might have even felt like "the" dream, the one long since forgotten that you had as a kid. Regardless, that feeling was most certainly in my XBOX360 dream. How fucked up is that? When I woke up I was disgusted with myself. I just imagined a world in which Martin Luther King spoke: "I have a dream. A dream in which the sons of former slaves and sons of former slaves owners might sit at the same table and play the most amazing Halo tournament ever imagined. Buy XBOX!" and then everyone watching his speech cries as Martin takes a handfull of cash from Microsoft execs. I then line up with a great number of like-minded individuals to take a shitload of x-tremely strong perscription painkillers because my soul hurts. Across the way another line is formed for those wanting to buy XBOX360s (sooner or later all roads lead to this line). The worst part of this entire ordeal is that XBOX360 is totally sweet.

Also, KEVIN'S ROCK YOUR ASS MOVIE IDEA #4:

- An evil geneticist, after cloning an army of giant stingray people, takes the crocodile hunter hostage and threatens to destroy the world. Martin Luther King, reincarnated into an XBOX360, teams up with the planet's croc population to fight him.

Make Your Hip Hipper (Of Advertising And The Eternal Struggle For More Cool)

2006-09-14T21:47:00.000-05:00

Dear Advertising Types,

Hey. Guess what's not cool? Yogurt. Ever. I don't care if it's in a fucking tube or an easy to go container, if it has a rainbow swirl of x-treme colours or if it glows in the fucking dark. Yogurt = Not Cool, and I think we can all agree on that. It tastes good, granted. It's also good for you as far as snack food goes. It serves it's purpose and that's about it. Yogurt however, seems to one of the many uncool things that are currently being hippified by you marketing clowns who cry yourselves to sleep at night because you simply aren't creative enough to land the big contracts and get stuck with shitty products like, well, yogurt to sell. What's with this pathetic attempt to make everything newer and cooler and faster and smaller and sexier? Like some kid who spends his days in the skate park and his nights drinking with his friends at bush parties, trying his ass off to get laid before he turns 16 is going to see the new fuckin' go-gurt ad and say "Shit. That's what I'm missing. Yogurt! How could I have been so stupid? I'm sure to get some pussy with that cool, easy to carry tube of wholesomeness." You're insulting young people's intelligence with these ads. Stop it. Sell things for what they are. Never have I or anyone I know sat in admiration of the first kid on the block to get the newest yogurt. Same goes for milk. We like fucking milk OK. We get it, it's good for our bones and Posilac production hormones aren't allowed to be used on Canadian dairy cows, sweet. We drink it. But if I see one more fucking rapping farmer commercial I'm going to boycott the shit just out of spite and take calcium supplements for the rest of my life, which incidentaly may be very short if the ads continue. Who are you selling to? The only people I know of who never buy milk are individuals who are lactose intolerant and I don't think you're gonna hook that niche market anytime soon. Also, it hasn't become cooler. It's the same milk it was when my grandfather was drinking it. Isn't it? Have the cows gotten cooler? Are they throwing barnyard bovine orgies and listening to the newest, kick ass rock music like Good Charlotte (pure sarcasm)? Seriously, it's pathetic. You're making asses out of yourselves. What's next, the newest, coolest, hippest hip replacements for the young at heart geriatrics? You could have some 90 year old in an adult diaper with a mowhawk painted on his bald head playing guitar on a skateboard while sky diving from 30,000 feet in the ad. Fuckin' x-treme hip replacements, man! The wave of the future. They could have a built in iPod with pre-programmed Il Divo tracks and maybe some Rod Stewart just like the young'uns listen to. Fuck off already. Some things aren't meant to be cool. Infact, certain things need to be uncool in order for us to define cool. It doesn't mean we won't buy them, it just means that we aren't going to buy them based on their ability to make us masters of trend setting. Leave cool to the experts. The tobacco companies.

Kevin N. Burke

I Have An Idea (And Appearently I'm Hungry)

2006-09-13T20:04:00.000-05:00

Dear President Bush,

I have an idea for the future of the United States.
I think that stupid people should have their own country, let's call it...the south. The north would continue destroying the planet with zero accoutability capitalism and we'd all become slaves to our industrial masters. In 2047 a very brave man takes it upon himself to try and unionize Burger King, but he is very quickly killed and his murder hushed up by the news media. His twin sons strap bombs to themselves and each blow up a Burger King restaurant as an act of revenge. Burger King blames the attacks on McDonald's who they claim has been secretly creating apple pies of McMass Destruction. Once a bill is passed unanimously through Fast Food Congress allowing the company to use all force necessary to protect themselves from snack-food terror, Burger King attacks several McDonald's locations with the support of Taco Bell and Quizno's. Subway, having suffered severe damage to many locations, accuses the Quizno's soldiers as using the battle to take out their competition by deliberately providing Burger King with intelligence only detailing the McDonald's sites located next to Subway locations. They side with McDonald's, as does Wendy's. Following a bloody 9 year war everyone in the United States North becomes healthier. The South is still dumb. Jesus finally returns as prophecised in the book of Revelations, but there are no more Big Macs so he's pissed. He takes out his crossbow that shoots bullets with lasers in them and takes out Godzilla. He then turns the planet into a bizarro type world where humans are grown and raised on farms where they are slaughtered at the age of 20 to make tasty treats that are served to literal capitalist pigs in fast food restaurants. The irony goes unnoticed. The end.

Kevin N. Burke

Also, WICKED MOVIE IDEA #3:

- Cinderella Man VS. X-Men 2: The Movie

It's Hollywood, Charlie Brown

2006-09-12T21:08:00.000-05:00

Well, it's that beautiful time of year when all the nature starts dying and it gets really cold and the Toronto Film Festival comes to town in order to kill you with celebrity gossip and a shitload of people who chat inceasantly about their chance encounters with Nicole Kidman's pillow mint security taste tester. Since the circus is here and I've noticed a patern emerging among Hollywood movie themes lately, I think I may be able to read the market, so to speak. So each day I'm going to post a couple Hollywood movie ideas that I think might sell to the big execs. Here we go:

KEVIN'S BRILLIANT HOLLYWOOD MOVIE IDEA #1:

- A by-the-book detective who plays by his own rules gets teamed up with two (2) funny black guys who are running from a mob boss who has a crossbow that shoots bullets with lasers in them for an arm. But the detective falls in love with the mob boss' daughter who has a really funny ferrett that serves as the comic relief because he farts all the time and we can hear his thoughts (voiced by Jim Belushi) and he says funny stuff like "wazzzup!".

#2:

- What if cellphones turned into a vampire!

More to come.

How I May Have Caught The Flaming Lips By Having Unprotected Commercial Intercourse With Virgin Entertainment (A Short Story In 3 Deviant Sex Acts)

2006-09-11T14:25:00.000-05:00

This past Saturday, I visited the Virgin Music Festival on Olympic Island in Toronto. For the most part it was a good day. I was able to visit with some friends I hadn't seen in some time, become blissfully inebriated and enjoy some great live music. All of this courtesy of Virgin Entertainment Inc. My adventures in Virginland were not without their price however, as the headlining act most patrons waited patiently all afternoon to see was cut short due to the island's ferry boat schedule. Add to this the constant bombardment of not so subtle, but well placed marketing campaigns all over the island and the experience seemed much more like a synergistic orgy of commerce taking place on a bed of complacent music lovers. From the red carpet welcome of Virgin Mobile flags at the island's ferry docks, through the outrageous beer ticket prices (to be expected), under the Levi's jeans tent, over the Axe deodorant spray reps and around the mini Bacardi dance club our travels through capitalist wonderland lead us finally to the shining emerald city we'd been so longing to reach, the Virgin Stage. All of the performances were fantastic, but the Flaming Lips being allowed only to play four songs before their forced removal from the stage prompted the outrage of many fans, myself included. Was it not enough that we all payed $60 a ticket? That we paid $5.50 for each individual can of Budweiser? That concert goers all night long paid 50cents for 15 nanoseconds of fame, watching as their text messages of 'I Luv Tits' and 'Kevin Smells' (thanks Bob) scrolled across giant screens flanking the stage? Hell, I'm sure a few poor souls even bought a pair of 501's from the Levi's tent at $90 a pop. It was clearly demonstrated to us by Virgin Entertainment Saturday night that the music was not what was important about the event.

I'd like to make mention that the following letter is heavily inspired by Alan Moore's latest graphic novel endeavour, Lost Girls and it's full of extremely graphic sexual innuendos in the interest of mocking the commercialism of Virgin Fest, so if you have children:

a) Don't let them read it.
b) What's wrong with you?

Dear Virgin Entertainment,

My body still quakes spuratically with enthralling tremors as the memory of your hedonistic, pleasure palace of capitalist fantasy rests clearly in the most uninhibited and exotic parts of my psyche. I'll admit that I was no stranger to commercial intercourse upon my arrival to your "party", but my experiences had been limited to private encounters behind closed doors, a purchase here, a purchase there I would indulge in, though I was always fearful of letting my passions get the better of me. All that changed under the canopy of starlight this past Saturday at Virgin Festival. I was at first taken aback by it all, wary of societal reprecussions should I partake in the activities, but my aprehension quickly dissolved into a curious desire as I observed the transactions of others. Aroused by my own voyeurism, I watched intently as Levi's spread her legs for numerous patrons. Taking advantage of her presentation they caressed her rough, denim skin, shortly thereafter thrusting their bills into her and removing their change, in and out, in and out in full view of the adoring public. It was at that moment, when my arousal had reached a feverish peak, that I laid my eyes on Budweiser, the young American tent dressed in little more than a small, tight tarp and a see-through chain-linked fence. I approached her cautiously, not wanting to seem forward, but she had been through this routine before as I could tell by her eagerness to allow me entry. The conversation was brief and she seemed to care about little more than my age, she then, in a contrast of grace and filthy intent, opened the gates to her fertile grounds begging me to enter her, and I did. Slowly at first. Gently. Carefully exploring every inch of her. It was then that she unshealthed her northern quarters and presented me with her cans, cold from exposure to the night's cool breeze. I firmly pressed my lips on them, tasting her, becoming high on her juices. Perhaps it was my eagerness that caused me to become spent as quickly as I did, perhaps it was boredom and desire for variety, but it wasn't long before I pulled out of Budweiser and moved on. On to more exotic fare. A beautiful Cuban tent by the name of Bacardi who I'd been eyeing maliciously all night. Much like my previous conquest, she was not to be impeded by idle chat and immediately opened herself to not only me, but my friends as well. Others still, strangers, were simultaneously making use of her rear entrance. It felt so wrong, our abuse of her, but it felt so right. My friends and I took turns digitaly photographing each other inside of her in all different kinds of positions. We pumped our money into her with little to no regard for chivalrous behaviour. Her taste and smell would linger on us well into the morning as our senses became drunk on her nature. We left Bacardi not knowing whether we had had our way with her or she with us. The night continued in this fashion as we defiled Axe deodorant spray, molested Pizza Pizza and did things to XBOX 360 that no gentleman could mention even in type.

It is you though, Virgin Entertainment, that I have to thank most for my newfound love of taboo capitalism. Your soft synergy, your supple marketing, your relentless quest to be filled in every orafice with our currency while we orgasmically bliss into bankruptcy. I hear there was also music.

Can I call you sometime,
Kevin Burke

Check Out Found Magazine

2006-09-07T16:56:00.000-05:00

Came across this brilliant site today which you can visit here. Essentialy, it's just dumpsite for anything people come across at any given time (i.e. notes, shopping lists, photos, journals), but if you want to get all poetic about it, it's a mosaic of human emotion realized through the widespread exposure of their random leavings creating, by the voyeuristic appeal to net surfers, celebrities in brief for many an unknowing citizen. Also, CNN reported today on the ABC/Scholastic deal I mentioned and my city's newspaper called today to say they're printing my editorial letter tomorrow, so...sweet for me.

We Don't Need No Education, We Don't Need No Thought Control (And, Shut the fuck up Suri Cruise)

2006-09-06T20:07:00.000-05:00

Remember Scholastic books? I do. I remember how excited I was in grade school to bring the new month's Scholastic catalogue home to beg my parents for all the cool books that I just had to get to read. Scholastic has changed it would seem. In conjunction with the release of an ABC television docudrama based on the 9/11 Commission Report entitled "Pathway to 9/11", Scholastic has issued notices to 100,000 teachers in U.S. highschools asking the teachers to instruct their students to watch the program and then discuss it in class with the help of an ABC/Scholastic provided "Discussion Guide". Not only is this flagrant, bullshit advertising for ABC at the expense of students (similar, in my opinion, to jean, etc. ads in highschool washrooms), but appearently the docudrama and discussion guide are both full of propagating misinformation (just in time for the U.S. congressional election, I might add) such as suggesting that there were ties between 9/11 and the invasion of Iraq. You can read more about this here at mediamaters.org. You would figure that the "free" press in the United States, considering that many of the networks are in direct competition with ABC, would at the very least make mention of this story. Nope. Would you like to know why? More fucking celebrity baby news!!! Hooray! Pictures of Suri Cruise! And we can only judge by the frenzy of media surrounding this child that she is infact going to be the savior of the world. Why else would they avoid every other relevant piece of news the world over? The continuing genocide in Darfur, the increase in violence in Iraq, ChoicePoint working to rig democratic elections the world over, the real reasons for the increase in oil prices? Suri Cruise will take care of it all. Thank your lucky stars that we finally have a picture of her. I don't know about you, but I'm ordering a few 8x5's and a shitload of wallet sized prints to hand out to all of my friends. That poor, poor kid.

Dear Suri,

Hey there cutie, you sure are a little bundle of joy aren't you? You are the most famous baby in the world and I'm willing to bet that you might have had a really good chance of becoming a wonderful person someday. Unfortunately, the environment that you are going to grow up in is bound to fuck you up beyond belief. It's not just your psycotic parents, but the expectations that our news media has knowingly dumped on you. Also, it's us. Humans. If we weren't such ass backwards, fucked up gossip pigs not only might we have been able to set up a better world for you to be born into, but we wouldn't be watching your every move from birth. Rent the Truman Show when you turn 16 and you'll understand what Uncle Kevin meant from this letter someday. Sorry kiddo, we've failed you and the rest of the world. Hope your thetan levels are high.

Kevin Burke

P.S. Rebel your fuckin' ass off.

Great News In The Fight Against AIDS

2006-08-27T17:33:00.000-05:00

The first phase of testing on 49 Chinese volunteers of an AIDS vaccine seem to have proved safe and effective. The paid volunteers have shown no signs of serious negative side effects after 180 days and seem to now be immune to the AIDS virus. The second and third phases of testing are slated to begin soon. This is excellent news and we can only hope that the patent will remain nationaly owned by the Chinese government and not sold of to an independant commercial organization. If that were the case we would risk seeing a repeat of the AZT debacle, courtesy of Glaxo-Wellcome in 2000. Keep your fingers crossed for this one.

Here's the link to the article.

Tragedy Ltd.

2006-08-27T13:36:00.000-05:00

Tired of the same old tragic events? Does the banal, monotonous way in which the latest war is reported bore you to death? Has the blah, blah, blah of famine or plane crash victims got you ready to change the channel? If so, get ready for X-Treme Tragedy! The nation's most radical 24 hour news network. Everyone knows that Africans are starving, so who wants to see them interviewed in the same old depressing village? Not us. How about interviewing a malnurished African...while sky diving! To the Max! Children with their limbs blown off? Boring! But not while shreding down Bella Coola on a rocket-powered snowboard! Wicked! Our crack team of X-treme reporters crank up the arenaline factor to bring you the most amped, tricked out tragedies you've ever seen. Soundtracked to the latest new rock, alternative music you'll see AIDS victims bungee jumping for medication, homeless Iraqis tearing it up on a 16' vertical half-pipe for their chance to win canned goods for their family, and much more. So join Trip Slickerton, Trey Zapowitz, Trace Slam, Blackey Rap McStereotype and The Female One as they pimp out the news so that you don't have to think about it. X-Treme Tragedy! Where we put the X in Global Eventsx!

Gooder Vs. Goodest: The Movie (On Page)

2006-08-24T03:08:00.000-05:00

It's 4am and I've to work in 3 hours, but the clock beats steadily like a pretentious metaphor you've just discovered the pleasure of reading. I'm a good guy. The opposite of which would be an evil guy. The eternal struggle between my goodness and my enemy's badness is inherent in my being. My goodness causes me to understand that those with differing opinions naturaly represent badness, sadness, madness. This causes them to become spiteful and be overcome with hate. I hate them for that. I hate them so deeply. The bad guys. For their hate. I'm color blind and my enemy is simply the black to my white. Hell to my Heaven. Heresy to my Holiness. I will proudly die for my ignorance.

Woe are we, the good, the bad, the relative, the perspective, the dead.

Oh, man.

The above post, I should mention, is an example of the way I can most closely interpret the attitude about war by those fighting. The attitudes of those driving war are much more based in their pocketbooks. So the serfs, duped by their kings, continue to kill and die for a flag made in a sweatshop in another nation.

Nostalgia #2 (Flag Waving Infants In The Pursuit Of Segregation)

2006-08-24T02:55:00.000-05:00

O.K., here's the thing. Your flag does not ward off evil spirits. It doesn't protect you from having to defend a naive, ignorant, willfully blinded point of view in the face of a valid argument. Your flag does not define who you are and what you represent any more than your t-shirt does. You've a right and, in my opinion, an outright obligation to define yourself as "you" see fit. Your flag is a reminder to others of who's ownership you are under. Who your sponsor is. Your flag is a Nike Swoosh reminding those wearing a Volcom logo that you are different from them. That you belong to another team and that your team is better than their team for reasons that have yet to be explained to you, but look here's a flag, wave it. Die for it. Kill for it. Why? What do you mean "why"? Fuckin', look at all the pretty colours and shit. Look, there's a symbol on it, c'mon isn't that sweet. O.K. now go eat a bullet in the name of segregation. Oops, did I say segregation, I meant unification. You see cause once we kill everyone with different flags or get them to buy our flags we'll all be unified. There'll be no more war or disagreement of any kind because we'll all have the same flag, you see. Except for Blacks, Queers, Hippies, Women and the rest of those crybabies right, because they're always complaining. Like our team's not good enough or something. What do they want from us? Rights!? Yeah right, here, have a flag. You can design your own flags if you'd like, different from our now globally "adopted" symbol. Sweet, we've got someone to fight again. Everybody on our side grab a gun and a flag. Good, now everybody's dead except for us five. The white, identical quintuplets who all look the same and come from the same place. Woo-Hoo, just me and my brothers.

What do you mean you always hated "Everybody Loves Raymond" bro? It's so funny.

O.K. Anyone who enjoyed "Everybody Loves Raymond" for it's wholesome gags and comical family banter before we killed everyone on the planet, make a flag. Now, anyone who didn't like it, make a different flag. O.K. everyone grab a gun. *BANG*... Wow, thank God that's over. Finally, it's just me and my flag and nobody to dispute it. Think I'll go jerk-off for the rest of eternity.

Aren't we stupid.

Nostalgia #1 (Let Freedom Ring)

2006-08-24T02:53:00.000-05:00

Fuck this. The recently erased prologue paragraph to this post has just been deleted on account of the fact that I have a sixth sense for losing my train of thought. Though, I assure you, it was great, you would have loved it and it very well could have changed the world for the better. Sorry. My bad. I got caught up in a phone call from my rich, male, white, hetero, christian friend, Freedom®. He needs our help. He says he now comes in an easy to open container that can be purchased for the low, low price of $5.95 (plus all applicable taxes and souls) at your local Wal-Mart. All he asks is that we spread him all over the Earth. That doesn't sound too hard. He said that the 14 year old in Malaysia who works in the plant that manufactures the new container assured him that they were failsafe. He and his friends appearently work 16 hours a day and are under very strict regulations to ensure that each jar of Freedom® can be opened by our most frail and unused of hands. Freedom® assures me that our little malaysian pal wants nothing more than for our hands to be healthy, clean and cosmetically sound so that he and his friends can watch us sail our pretty boats, fall in love with our pretty women and drive our pretty cars. You see, he's heard so much about us and plans to buy his family a television in 9 years (he has a dream). I smiled when I heard this. I mean, imagine, all we have to do is spread Freedom®, the all-natural, all-chemical, all-encompasing seed of happiness and this young man could do anything with his future. Amazing.

Now this being only my second encounter with Freedom®, verbaly or otherwise, I asked him a little about himself. "America" he said, "is where I am from." I asked him how he would describe himself, to which he replied; "As being American." I mentioned that in order for any ideal, thesis or definition to exist a counter-part or opposite must exist as well. He said; "I am Freedom®, my opposite must be Oppression." I asked him how he could ever expect to extinguish an idea that must remain in order for him to exist. He hung up.

Freedom® is a word. It's an idea. It's not a sense of pride and is individual to everyone. No flag, colour, race, creed, anthem, class, sexual orientation or gender will ever define it. It cannot be spread. It cannot even be realised by many because it is, by nature, something to which we are in constant pursuit.

Wake the fuck up.

* The word Freedom® and the capital letter F are trademarks of the United States of America and may only be used with their expressed consent. Any unauthorised use of said trademarks will result in the imidiate decapitation of the offender.

The Book Of Revolution: Part 1 (For Bob Cole, by request)

2006-08-14T18:04:00.000-05:00

This is the revelation God gave to Jesus Christ, that he might show his servants what must happen very soon. He made it known by sending his angle (not a typo) to his servant Kevin, who in reporting all he saw bears witness to the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ.

To the seven churches in the province of America: Kevin wishes you war and oil - from him who is and who was and is to one day decide on a particular point in time at which to be, I suppose. And from Jesus, his homeboy, the first-born from schizophrenia and ruler with which the kings of men shall forever slap fear and guilt into the palms of innocent school children.

On the Lord's day I was doing ecstasy, and I heard behind me a piercing voice like the sound of Axel Rose ripping it up, which said, "Write on a blog what you now see and send it to the seven churches: to News Media, Big Business, War, Racism, Government, Organised Religion, and Mel Gibson." I turned around to see whose voice it was that spoke to me. In his right hand he held seven stars. A sharp, two-edged sword came out of his mouth, and the elephants did tricks for him, and he blew fire and juggled the crushed spirits of misguided Africans who prayed, gave all the little money they had to the church, but still died of AIDS or starvation. "There is nothing to fear. This is the secret of the seven stars, write of what you see in these visions, for the stars are the seven churches."

"To the presiding spirit of the church of News Media, write this:

"I know your deeds, your labors. I know you can not tolerate facts or relevant news. I know that one time FOX and CNN got all fucked up on blow in Vegas and had sexual mediacourse, an affair which gave birth to the twins, Gossip and Propaganda. I hold this against you: You have turned aside from your early love. A love of patience, of whistle blowing. A love of trying to educate and inform citizens in an attempt to cure the evils of this world. This love traded for flashy graphics and ridiculous names such as Wolf Blitzer, Trace Gallagher and Zap McSlicerton. But you have this much in your favor: Soledad O'Brien is mad hot, son. I'd hit it."

"To the presiding spirit of the church of Big Business, write this:

"I know of your tribulation and your poverty, even though you are rich. I know the slander you endure from self-styled Jews who are nothing other than members of Satan's assembly. (The last two sentences are straight from the Bible in the letter to Smyrna. I thought I'd leave them intact to give you an example of the kind of hate spewing shit that's in here) Have no fear of what is to come. Ken Lay and I play poker for the souls of the poor every other Friday. Tell Ted Turner and Michael Eisner to request that they be buried with weed. It's dry up here, man. Tell Bill Gates he should have stayed on our team instead of donating $50,000,000 dollars to AIDS research. Way to go, dumbass. You know it costs Billions of dollars and white skin to get up here. Now you're short."

"To the presiding spirit of the church of War, write this:

"I know you live in the very place where Satan's throne is erected...hehe...: and I know you hold fast to my name and have not denied the faith you have in me, not even when you couldn't find Osama Bin Laden, not even when you couldn't find WMDs, not even when people died, not even when history told you that you were a bad idea, not even when the entire world was saying no to you. You have always served me well, War, and you will be rewarded upon your entry into Heaven with the gift of wisdom, at which point you'll be like 'shit, why did I kill all those fucking people? It doesn't make any sense', then you'll suffer for eternity from flashbacks and post service dementia. Admittedly, I should have thought to give you wisdom sooner, but if War held Wisdom then it wouldn't exist. Booom! How's that for a paradox, bitch."

"To the presiding spirit of the church of Racism, write this:

"I know of the t-shirt you wear to clan meetings that says "God don't make no trash", I also know of your cross burnings, lynchings, hatred and ignorance. I know the meaning of irony. Amen"

TO BE CONTINUED...

Innocents, In A Sense

2006-08-14T15:44:00.000-05:00

Not sure if you're all up to date on the latest news pertaining to the enemies of whiteism, but I was fortunate enough today to recieve a crash course on "the dark races" from a dentaly challenged co-worker who has a PHD in Jus' Givin' Er', so I'll fill you in. First, black people smell different and like to steal, smoke crack and eat chicken and watermelon. Second, Chinese people (anyone East of Russia) can't drive because their eyes are shaped differently, talk funny and they smell different. Arabic people are all, it would seem, from Pakistan, making them what are refered to as "Pakis". They all drive taxis and own corner stores and are terrorists. They smell different too. Last, but not least, the Jews have all the money, love all the money they have, smell different. There you have it. That's all there is. Cut and dry, clear as day, black and white (and yellow and brown and jewish).

Where the fuck do these assholes come from? I just imagine some redneck telling his young child a story about Jewy Jewbowitz, who came up from the depths of hell, beat up Jesus and stole his wallet setting a precident for all Jews to create a bleak future for the poor, poor, Christian white man. Or a bunch of toothless, sister fucking, tobacco chewing NASCAR junkies in t-shirts that say something clever like "My wife said it was either her or my truck. I'm sure gonna miss her." discussing how it was naturaly a white guy who first discovered fire and that it all evolved from there, failing to realise the tragic irony in the fact that their next stunning contribution to the wisdom pool is going to be a chat about how God created the world 6000 years ago and evolution is a bunch of hippie hoo-ha, hog-wash and jibber jabber. Adam killed all the dinosaurs with his penis, aged their bones by a few million years and buried them just to fuck with us, didn't you know? God rewarded him by creating woman to be his servant, it's in the book of Gittin' Er' Done, look it up. The racists beget more racists which is a pain in the ass because they breed like rabbits on ecstacy. Then they repeat stupid cliches that you know they either read off of the side of a cereal box or heard some football announcer say, like "there's a time and a place for everything." I guess the best time to have a baby must be when the big hand on the clock hits 14 years old and the little hand hits highschool dropout.

It's not just the parents either. When I was seven, growing up in the sticks outside of Windsor, my priest told me that if Africans just prayed harder then God wouldn't have given them AIDS. Good man. Then he put his finger inside me. I was always told that the sign of the cross was like God's phone number and that you could simply dial it and pray your heart out, so naturaly I assumed that the anal rape was just Father Slippy-Fist checking his voicemail for a divine message. Still, I felt it was best to go see the hayseed cops down there in Tecumseh. They told me that I was asking for it because I was dressed like a whore, then they fed the men they had arrested for "walking while black" KFC and malt liquor, went home and beat some cooking skills into their wives. I wonder if they learned from the same priest.

I'll never excuse racism, but I've been fortunate enough to have an open-minded up bringing and the above story about the racist priest is made up (or am I just saying that because he threatened that I would go to hell for telling anyone? Hmmm) I can easily see where racism stems from though. That it's passed down from one generation to the next. Almost making the racists innocents, in a sense. Fuck that, who am I kidding? They're assholes.

2006-08-12T13:40:00.000-05:00

Plastic Surgeons Without Borders

Another brilliant clip from Wonder Showzen.

2006-08-12T13:39:00.000-05:00

Slaves!

This is a clip from a show called Wonder Showzen. It's hysterical.

Is It The End Of The World Or Are We Just Idiots?

2006-08-03T05:10:00.000-05:00

Say your prayers and give all your money to the nearest Church (Do not pass GO), it's the end of the world.

Now, I consider myself a progressive and though I hate the political party association automatically attributed by some, I'd call myself a "Liberal" person. As a liberal, when I'm not trying to steal Christmas from Jesus, I naturaly spend my time supporting the evil homosexual conspiracy to corrupt your youth as well as the interracial marriage epidemic that threatens to rid the world of white people forever. Fortunately it's the end of the world and you'll soon not have to deal with me ever again. Haven't you been watching the news? Lordy, lordy, the time is upon us when Jesus will descend from Heaven, pull a flaming sword from his mouth (this is straight from the Bible) and exact his wrath on the wicked. It's in the book of Revelations or Horton Hears a Who or something. The good news is that your 24 hour news networks have taken the time out of their busy days spent bringing you the latest investigative reports on Mel Gibson's bowel movements to inform you of your impending doom. This is a serious problem for me as it absolves humanity of any and all responsibility for the state of the world and the violence taking place. "Really, God's gonna take care of it? Sweet, well I'm just gonna do some blow and fuck this hooker then. Later."

Dear Paula Zahn,

It's not the end of the world. You're an idiot.

Kevin N. Burke

Half French, Leo Vampires Do It In The Kitchen (and Other Cool T-Shirt Ideas)

2006-07-30T19:25:00.000-05:00

A little rant today followed by a short letter that's sure to prove my insensitivity in the eyes of those who aren't yet praying for my hethen soul. Whatever. If you don't get it, you're in the wrong place. I've just returned home by train from Toronto following a night of drunken belligerance, a good portion of which was spent half-assing basic instincts on my friend's kitchen floor with a lovely half-french woman who bore a striking resemblance to Bettie Paige, shared my astrological sign and had an affinity for bitting. All of this was pretty sexy after twelve beers and a mickey of Jameson's Irish Whiskey, but painful when I awoke to bruises, scratches, bite marks and my worst hangover in recent memory. Aggressiveness is acceptable, as a matter of fact in many cases it's more than welcome, but my body's constellatory pattern of scars would suggest outright violence. Which brings me to the subject of today's letter; Violence in the Middle East. I don't take sides. That is to say that I take the side of rationality, which in this case disallows me from standing with either Israel or Hezbollah/Lebanon as both have cast rational thought aside in favor of 500lb. laser guided missles, some of which are innacurate enough to "accidentaly" level a well marked U.N. post containing four observers it would seem. The violence is violence as far as I'm concerned. I'm uninterested in who started it, less so in who's commiting more of it than the other. One thing that strikes me as completely odd, however, has always been our seeming inability to learn empathy from our past sufferings. For example, I won't be hardcore bitting anyone in a drunken stupor anytime in the forseeable future because I now know that it hurts like a bitch. Wouldn't it be nice if much of the world could learn from their past pains enough to not want to wish it onto others?;

Dear Prime Minister Olmert,

In light of your people's escalating discomfort and continuing conflict with the Muslims, we at the newly formed Department of Foreign Land Security have been working around the clock in an attempt to find a solution to what we see as a possible, short term economic inconvenience to America. The thing is, missles aren't cheap to produce and, let's face it, thus far we've been cutting you a pretty good deal. The serfs, or "general public" if you want to get all P.C. about it, are becoming all antsy in the pantsy about us supplying you with arms. Though we're not accustomed to paying attention to their feeble cries, there is, as you know, a mid-term election coming up this November. After evaluating our situation it seemed as though we were going to have to increase the price of arms sold to your nation, fortunatly one of our interns came up with an alternative which we've dubbed "The bleached camel project". Based on our Guantanamo Bay research facility and Black Prisons in Iraq, we've developed a way for you to subdue your enemies with fewer arms. After studying FOX News, our primary source of intelligence, Chucky (our intern) was able to determine that the source of the Muslim people's fury is not years of mistreatment, nor religious in nature, nor territorial. It is infact derrived from frustration caused by their inability to concentrate on peace. It seems as though all Middle-Eastern Muslims simply suffer from CDD, or Concentration Deficit Disorder. As such, we've taken the liberty of drawing up blueprints for a number of compounds that can be cheaply operated by your military within the Middle-East. Once rounded up and placed into these compounds, the Muslims will be treated to a variety of fun activities that will help them learn to concentrate. Think of it as a kind of summer camp for concentration. What you decide to call these compounds is up to you.

Dr. Kevin N. Strangelove
Department of Foreign Land Security

Yeah, that's right, I fucking went there. If you want happy laughs I'm sure Carrot Top has a blog you can visit somewhere.

Kill Bill: An Embryo Kissing Presidential Photo-Op

2006-07-20T18:39:00.000-05:00

It's been an interesting week in the news. Still no word about ChoicePoint, but lots of World War III fear mongering from the shit shoveling business suit and hair transplant models that strut the terror catwalk at network news stations. "It's the beginning of World War III", "Could Hezbollah attack America? Your family may be at risk.", "Are there terrorist training camps on the moon?", "Does your significant other, under secret orders from Osama Bin Laden, cover their genitals in antrax before sex in an attempt to kill you? Tune in to Anderson Cooper 360 at 8pm when he interviews fundamentalist Islamic porn stars about the potential threat." So, needless to say, like any other sane human I'm hiding in a bunker underneath my house eating cheetos and waiting for Jesus to descend on a chariot made of oil and money and start the judgement. Suddenly, between assurances of armaggedon, I'm treated to the latest little piece of foolishness in the War on Rationality. It seems that Mr. Bush, in an attempt to further make his religious insanity a concrete part of American life, has used his presidential veto for the first time to kill a bill allowing federal spending on embryotic stem cell research. He was quoted as saying;

"It's the taking of innocent human life in the hope of finding medical benefits for others. It crosses a real moral boundary that our society needs to respect."

and following the taking of a couple cute photos kissing babies and hanging out with children he finished with;

"These boys and girls are not spare parts."

Embryos are human life? According to this hardcore Christian dude that I work with, "a living thing" is considered by some to be anything that might someday be able to live autonomously without the aide of a host (parasites like viruses and such don't count). I'm going to assume that this is what Bush believes as well and that this is what leads him to consider an embryo "human life". He just seems to prefer kissing babies I guess since I didn't see any photos of him laying a wet one on an embryo (it seems to me that it would have been more appropriate).

Anyhow, I began thinking about my semen (that's a lot harder to type when it's the truth) and came to the conclusion that by Bush and Craig's (the kid at work) definition, my scrotal swim team, since they could potentialy, one day, go on to live without a host, are all individualy to be considered human life forms. I'm a fucking mass murderer and it's time to confess my sins.

Dear President Bush,

I understand that you are a very busy man and that you probably recieve enormous amounts of fan mail. It would be impossible, I imagine, to answer every letter and there are many that you must surely cast aside for lack of time. Regardless of this fact I've decided to write you and, though it may prove to be an exercise in futility, I hope that you'll be able to help.

Being a good Christian is not an easy task, as you well know. Temptation is everywhere and it seems as though new threats to our moral way of life present themselves constantly. Whether they be in the form of muslims, arabs, middle-easterners, islamists, muslims, arabs, or tan skinned people from sand-land, they are all over, plotting our extermination with weapons of mass destruction every second of every minute of every hour of every day of the year. In this time of great conflict, with the battle of good versus evil raging, it becomes easy to accidentaly overlook some of God's lesser rules.

Following the church's doctrine closely I've always understood that condoms are not to be used as they are opposed by God. Now, my girlfriend Christine Barrett, who shall remain nameless, was also of this understanding when we first met at Sunday school. The problem was that we certainly didn't want to have children out of wedlock, so what were we to do? I immediately came up with a solution and moral compromise to our conundrum: "I can't get her face pregnant" I thought to myself, and so it went.

All was well until yesterday when you stated that embryos were innocent human lives. If it is true of embryos then it must also be true of semen. It donned on me soon after this revelation that this would mean their extermination to be an act of murder. Oh, Mr. President, I'm terrified that I may be going to hell and I'm almost positive that my girlfriend is. I mean, if extinguishing the life of seed is murder then her hair is a mass grave. Seriously, you have no idea what we've done. I'm freaking out. I love her so much, but she must've swallowed entire nations. Over lonely nights I, myself am sure to have flushed and drowned generations after suffocating them with kleenex. We've commited genocide President Bush. Genocide. I can hear their screams in my sleep. Well, not so much screams, but like the squishy sounding equivalent of what screams would be to sperm. It's horrible. Do you know what that feels like? To know that a wealth of innocent human lives have been terminated because of your actions? Ofcourse you don't. Look who I'm asking.

Please President Bush, I beg of you. As Earth's ambassador to Heaven could you forgive mine and Christine's sins? Could you ask God to pardon us. We make the promise in return of no more heinous 69's after Sunday masses, no more murderous pearl necklaces, not one criminal fithly Sanchez more (not sure if this applies, but better safe than sorry) for the rest of eternity. Please save our souls President Bush.

The Butcher Bad-Dad,
Kevin Burke

I've Met Your Makers and I Think They're Assholes...

2006-07-19T20:47:00.000-05:00

Dear Fundamentalist Jews and Muslims (other Sunday Morning Sing-a-Long Clubs take note),

You people are bat-shit insane. Fucking, off-the wall, out of touch, over the hill, round the bend, rubber room, straight jacket escapees deserving of lobotomies. Give me the scalpel, I'll perform the surgery myself, because you aren't deserving of the mental ability which would allow you to throw your own feces at each other, let alone use fucking weapons. The niceties are over. We're taking your missles and the parts of your brains that allow you to function on what's conventionaly considered a normal, healthy level and in exchange you're getting easy to open pudding cups with plastic spoons and some rubber balls to bounce that we hope will keep you occupied and out of our faces for the rest of eternity. Enjoy the remainder of the show from the cheap seats and when your Gods show up we'll tell them that we turned your holy land into a titty bar because the alternative was dealing with you assholes for another thousand or so years (also, because we love tits). Do you even remember what you're fighting about? Not at this exact moment. I mean the fucking tootsie roll center of your asinine, decades long destruction pop. How many licks does it take before it starts to taste like heaven, assholes? Want the answer? It never fucking will! Here's another whopper of a revelation for you: Your "god" doesn't exist, neither does your creepy, red pitchfork guy who's waiting, appearently to bail hay with you in hell if you have sex before marriage. Earth is not the center of the universe and you are not the center of earth. Your holy land is fucking useless. Can you even grow crops on that shit? Is it going to help your economy? What are you protecting? Is there a Marilyn Monroe, John F. Kennedy sex tape buried under that earth? Better yet, is it Optimus Prime? Help me out here. Because it's got to be worth it. Surely you can't expect us to believe that this is all really about land depicted in holy texts translated a million times over and written almost two thousand years ago by people who, believe it or not, were even fucking stupider than you are today. Is it like one of those vehicles from the Power Rangers that changes from a robot into a dinosaur? The one ring to rule them all? It's not, is it? You really believe that it's "holy" don't you? God Damn It! What's worse is that we let you go on with this shit because we've learned that belittling someone's religion is wrong. So we appease you with our silence. Then on the rare occasions when you aren't fighting over "magic" we act real proud and pat you on the backs like you've done something extraordinary. Guess what, idiots, you aren't supposed to fucking blow each other up over pixie dust, statues that posses the souls of great prophets, mythical crystals, goblets, tablets or any other Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons role playing type shit that your forebears imaginations could conjure up. So I won't be rewarding your mediocrity with sudden numbness of opinion. I don't blow my load on the guy at Tim Hortons when he gives me the right coffee, why would I congratulate you for not being illogical, half-wits with personality tumors? You created your world as I've created mine, not god, not allah, not the invisble man, not superman, not Chuck Norris. Take some responsibility for the state of the world and stop trying to pass the buck to nowhere man. You created it and it's construction is ongoing (unless you continue and decide to make it finite). So fuck you, because I've met your makers and I think they're assholes.

2006-07-18T21:38:00.000-05:00

The Aristocrats

Quite possibly the funniest thing you'll ever see

The Good Guise Vs. The Bad Guise

2006-07-15T08:46:00.000-05:00

Hey Israel, dude,

I don't know if this is a big deal to you or not, but seriously I was sitting at lunch with Lebanon and Palestine and they were totally talking shit, dude. Lebanon was all like; "God's a little bitch." and Palestine put it's finger up it's nose and was like; "Duh, look at me, I'm Moses." I don't know if you want to do anything about this after class, but if I were you I would. You wouldn't want to look like a pussy. Don't worry, I've got your back.

Kevin

Hey Lebanon,

What's up bro? Listen, I don't know if I should be telling you this, but I thought you should know. I was having lunch with Israel and America and they were talking some serious shit, dude. Israel was all like; "Allah's a fag." and shit. Then America dropped his pants and started making it look like his ass was talking and he was like; "Blah, blah, look at me, I'm the prophet Muhammed." Everybody was laughing dude. I wouldn't take that shit if I were you. If you want to run up on em' after class I've got your back, bro.

Kevin

ChoicePoint: The Private Cost of Security is Security of Privacy

2006-07-09T12:35:00.000-05:00

Allow me to be a mite hyperbolic in saying that you are being watched. Especialy if you happen to be a reader (and registered voter) who resides in the United States. Most recently, if you're a Mexican resident who voted in the recent federal election. You're minute celebrity status, however, is unfortunately limited to ChoicePoint International's database and anyone with enough scratch and desire to purchase your tax, voting, insurance claims, consumer, employment, police or credit records. ChoicePoint, out of Alpharetta, Georgia operates as a data-collection service, a kind of Wal-Mart of private investigator firms. They collect data on anyone and everyone while putting forth the assumption that it will be used to help large businesses protect themselves from fraudulent, potential employees who might be trying to infiltrate their ranks. But when ChoicePoint isn't protecting us from the big, bad 007 corporate spy network that seeks to steal the secret formula to Vanilla Coke they're busy selling your personal information to the highest bidder. Usualy to the government during election time, but sometimes to identity thieves, as evidenced by their most recent major fuck-up. You see, legaly your government can't collect information on you without warrant, but there is nothing stopping them from setting up multi-million dollar contracts with ChoicePoint and buying your voting records so that they know who to purge. Recently, for instance, several ChoicePoint data collection experts were arrested in Mexico collecting voting records for the FBI. Why would the FBI want Mexican voting records? Pay close attention to the accusations put forth by "should be" Mexican President Obrador in the coming weeks and the answer should materialise clear as day. Hundreds of thousands of votes, mainly in the South of Mexico, primarily cast by Liberal leaning, impoverished voters mysteriously dissapeared into "flawed" vote casting machines, never to be recovered. Sound reminiscent of an incident in Florida in 2000? That's because it is. Furthermore, the U.S. government, under the guise of "terrorism protection" is currently contracting ChoicePoint to collect data not from countries such as Saudi Arabia and Pakistan (known for creating terrorists), but from Argentina, Venezuela and other South American countries. Logic would suggest that this has a lot more to do with the recent controversy surrounding the FTAA agreement and Hugo Chavez' attempt at uniting Latin nations against the threat of unfair trade regulations that favor the U.S. than it does with preventing terrorism.

For more information on ChoicePoint you can visit http://www.epic.org/privacy/choicepoint/ or ChoicePoint's official website at http://www.choicepoint.com

For more on the theft of the Mexican election you can visit BBC journalist, Greg Palast's site at http://www.gregpalast.com

Deathanol Gets Hummers From the Women of Baghdad (War's never been so sexy)

2006-07-08T12:17:00.000-05:00

How many dead Iraqis does it take to fill a Baghdad morgue? I don't know. Lots I would imagine. And they're all full. According to a report out of Baghdad by the associated press, the capital city's morgues are having a very difficult time keeping up with the bodies being dumped on their doorsteps. As a result hundreds of dead men, women and children are being forced to spend their nights in economy class, room temperature, single bedroom cadaver keepers because all of the luxury freezer suites are taken. I suppose the Baghdad morgues have a first come, first served policy. Either that or the invading forces are simply killing too many people at too quick a pace. Meanwhile, the Rencor group, creator of the Hummer and chief supplier to the U.S. military machine (not to mention one of the planet's foremost war profiteers)is planning to renew their contract. So I've devised a way for Baghdad and Rencor to work together and kill 12,000 Iraqis or two birds (the avian equivalent by war hawk mentality) with one stone. Hummers for everyone.

Dear Rencor Inc.,

On the eve of your contract renewal with the U.S. military we felt it necessary to contact you regarding an exciting, new, all-natural fuel source just recently developed here at Muerte Labs in Mexico City. Last week we were succesfully able to create and patent the very first motor vehicle engine that runs solely on dead bodies. Tested on our sport utility model, the El Cadavra, we discovered that our engine can power a vehicle the size and weight of your military class Humvee for up to twenty-four hours on a single, adult human body. The fuel source, codenamed Deathanol, is a cheap, easy alternative to conventional gasoline and diesel fuel. What's more is that vehicles running on Deathanol emit little more than a foul odour (enviromentalists will love it). With Deathanol fuel your military vehicles will be able to run efficiently at an astounding 50 miles to the pound. Meaning that an average adult leg from hip to toe, or a six year old child, could power a trek across Baghdad four times over. It's cheap, clean, easy to use and best of all, it's infinite. Unlike oil-based fuel sources, finite in nature, Deathanol will never run out, especially during war time. No more having to stop at those pesky gas pumps to fill up when you're cruising in style with a Deathanol powered Humvee. Simply pull over, execute a family and then...roadtrip, baby (no pun intended)! We're very excited to offer these engines to you at Rencor for use in your military vehicles for a reasonable price and we'll be looking forward to hearing from you.

Kevin N. Burke
Senior Sales Manager,
Muerte Labratories Incorporated

Bombs Over Pyongyang (Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!!!!!!!)

2006-07-05T21:08:00.000-05:00

No letter tonight, just a little info that I felt was important to post in the wake of N. Korea's missile tests today. I wasn't at all surprised by the immediate outrage the world over at Kim Jong Il's defiant act. Outrage led, of course, by our always straight-forward, truthful friends to the north, the U.S. of A. North Korea, I'm sure, is frightened by the U.S. (as I believe many countries are), but I doubt that anyone, save the North Koreans, feel any safer with them having WMDs, Nukes, the Last Mushrooms, Body Dusters, Texas Boom-Booms, or whatever we're calling them now. Do they have the right? Fuckin' A they do, but as much as I'd love to be part of the generation that gets to see the planet's last days (seriously, you have to admit it would be pretty sweet) I don't really want to rush it. So Pyongyang's got the bomb, they're testing the range of their delivery systems (way faster than UPS by the way. The only way to send a package is by Scud-mail.) and pissing everyone off in the process. Here's the catch; Where'd they get the plans? The materials? Who funded it? Why weren't they stopped?

The answer starts with Dr. A.Q. Khan of Pakistan. Khan is the cat who figured the bomb out for the Pakistanis with a fresh pile of cash for research and construction filling his pockets every week. After cooking up some fine, working human extinguishers for his home country to hold India at bay with, Khan held a yard sale, selling blueprints, materials, the works to North Korea and Libya. Cheap. This was supposedly found out in 2004 when Libya's Muammar Gaddafi let it slip and the U.S. government acted astonished at the discovery. In actuality it was reported in 2001 by the U.K.'s Guardian Press, but was quickly dismissed by U.S. and British officials as being a ludicrous accusation. Why? Two reasons. The first of which was the threat of bad press, because FBI agents in November, 2001 were asked to back off of their investigation into Khan's dealings. If people were to have found out that the bomb had gotten to Kim Jong Il because intelligence lines were cut by the Whitehouse, heads would have rolled. The second reason was the money trail from Khan's research and development and where it led to (also why the investigations were halted). Can you guess? If you guessed the Bush administration you weren't far off. If you guessed the Saudi Royal Family, disco, baby! You win an all expenses paid trip to oblivion for you and 80 billion of your fellow humans. The investigation was called off because you don't fuck with the strongest nation in OPEC until you've seized control of Iraq (the second strongest), sold off all of it's oil reserves thanks to foreign instated privitization laws, and brought OPEC to it's knees. Oil control. Simple as that. That's how North Korea was successfully able to obtain fully functional nuclear weapons under everyone's nose.

So Earth, honey, it's been a fun ride but it looks like we're going down. Get some sleep and warm up your containment suit, dear, cause tomorrow's going to be a radiated, blustery day.

Rest in Peace, Lisa

2006-06-25T01:17:00.000-05:00

This past week my family suffered a terrible loss when my cousin's fiancee unexpectedly passed away. This letter is for her.

Dear Lisa,

Family is not defined by ceremonies. I've always maintained that love, like time and space, is a dimension. In which bonds are forged but remain unaffected by things such as distance or minutes, hours, days, months or years. Love exists outside of all laws, histories, borders. Bonds created on the plane of love can only be undone on the plane of love. It's those bonds you have with all of us that will forever make you an integral part of our family. Though in space and time you've left us, in love you'll be there always, your soulshine lighting that which the sun can't reach. Our hearts. We love you.

Kevin

Give the People AIDS (a letter to Anderson Cooper)

2006-06-21T16:22:00.000-05:00

This is unlikely to come as a news flash to anyone, but AIDS is killing people. Lots of people. People here, people there. People on a train in the rain, in a box with a fox. People everywhere. But nowhere more than in Africa where 1 in 6 will die real soon if more isn't done to help. Common knowledge for the most part. What you might not have heard is that a few years back the WTO (World Trade Organisation), responding to outcries by large U.S., British and Swiss pharmaceutical companies, halted the free cross-border trade of AIDS drugs from Argentina to South Africa. This was due to what the WTO calls Trips (Trade-related intellectual property rights). Someone else owned the patent to the AIDS drug that could be produced cheaply in Argentina and sold cheaply by them. In response to public outcry (not made all that public by the media) the U.S. agreed to lend $1 Billion a year to South Africa providing that they buy all the drugs from America (more expensive) and pay back all the cash at commercial interest rate levels (ludicrously expensive when you consider how much interest will pile up by the time S.A. is able to pay it back). This is just one example of news. Real news. Real news that's 6 years old and that shouldn't have taken me forever to dig up, especialy considering that the deal is still in place. But guess what? Angelina Jolie had a fucking baby. It's name is Shiloh. Who gives a shit? I know who. CNN's Anderson Cooper, I'm sure under orders from Ted Turner or one of his clowns, decided that a celebrity, post-natal baby shower is deserving of an hour-long, prime-time segment on the most watched 24 hour news network on the planet. Corporate criminals? International extortion rackets? AIDS? Don't worry, here, look at the bunny. Look, look at da wittle buwny.

Before I present you with the Anderson Cooper letter I'd like to point out that I don't blame Angelina Jolie for this. To her credit she has done a lot of charity work to help the sick and the poor. It's not her fault she's being used as an opiate to pacify the masses.

Dear Anderson Cooper,

I'm writing to thank you for your courageous reporting. My name is Tchalla Mubawe and I live in a small village in South Africa. I rarely get the chance to view television because I don't often leave home due to the exhaution caused by AIDS. Yesterday however, while away buying food for this year, I caught your show on the 14", black and white tv in the other town's square. You are a godsend, Anderson Cooper. You see, I am dying of AIDS, as is my daughter. Dying of AIDS, that is. My wife and brother died of AIDS last year along with many others from our poor village. My country simply can not afford to buy enough of the treatment drugs from the United States to help us with the symptoms. The AIDS symptoms.

My poor daughter had not been doing well the past few weeks. As I was leaving home yesterday, she grabbed me frailly by the arm (AIDS makes you very weak) and she said:

- "Father, I fear that I may soon die of AIDS. I have one last wish."

- "What is it, my daughter who has AIDS?" I replied.

- "Before I take my last breath, you know, because of the AIDS and all, I only wish to know how things went with the delivery of Angelina Jolie's baby. Oh, and also how Jennifer Aniston feels about the whole thing."

I was crushed. How was I to find out about such important, classified information for my daughter? Surely I could not tell her that her last wish (before dying of AIDS) could not be granted by her loving father (also, with AIDS). Then along came our gentle, but serious blessing in grey, devilishly handsome hair on the neighboring town's television box. Anderson Cooper. You got to the bottom of the story for the good of the people. Put your reputation and life on the line to bring us every last detail of little Shiloh's birth. Through hell and high water you braved, ready to fight for our right to know about celebrities babies and labour pains and other such globaly relevant stuff. Yours is the type of investigative reporting that makes me stand up and cheer, until I have to sit down again because I have AIDS. Lots and lots of AIDS. Seriously, it's exhausting.

I rushed home to tell my AIDS...I mean daughter of our angel Anderson Cooper and the fantastic news that he had brought us. That he had granted her last wish. That though she and a quarter of our country was dying of AIDS, Angelina Jolie and her newborn baby were O.K. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived, I found that my daughter was dead. Dead from lead poisoning. Because we don't have very clean drinking water either. I...still have AIDS.

Yours,
Tchalla Mubawe

P.S. Please ask Paula Zahn to do a report on dogs that can do backflips and maybe one on what Renee Zellweger wears on dinner dates. The fate of my country may depend on it.

Flesh-Eating Killer Zombie Death Bombs (ATTN: Paul Bremer)

2006-06-16T19:27:00.000-05:00

I'm breaking the rules of the site again, sorry. I definitely plan on writing a letter to Bremer but the background for it, I'm afraid, is in need of it's own entry.

General Jay Garner was initialy the man chosen to be a sort of viceroy in Iraq following the American invasion. He was to act as el presidente extremo of the war torn nation during the time period between Saddam's reign and that of the American appointed bastard king in president's clothing (don't kid yourselves, "free"-elections for the Iraqis only meant that it wasn't going to cost America a dime). The Bush administration quickly learned of their mistake however after Garner began to fight tooth and nail against the neo-conservative "Iraqi Economy Plan" saying such ridiculous things as; "I don't think the Iraqi people need to go by the U.S. plan. I think that what we need to do is set an Iraqi governement that represents the freely elected will of the people. It's their country...their oil." Garner also foolishly suggested that Iraqi elections should be held as soon as possible, within 90 days of Saddam's dethroning, so that the Iraqi people might be able to choose their leader and quickly begin rebuilding their country to their liking. What a fool. Democracy? Freedom? Elections? Obviously these things have nothing to do with Bush's "Operation: Friendly Iraqi Democratic Liberation of Freedom". You see, the plan was to give Iraqis the opportunity to vote, but not before the most important matter was taken care of; The Iraqi Economy and it's ability to allow foreign nations to freely rob from it. General Garner was quickly fired by Donald Rumsfeld (The day after the above quote actualy) and replaced by a man named Paul Bremer. Bremer studied under Kissinger when king Henry was quoted as saying; "The issues are too important to be left to the voters." before greenlighting the assasination of Chile's elected president some 30 years ago. It's too bad for Garner, but hey, you can't make a sub-par commercial goods dumping ground omelette without breaking a few legs. Did I say legs, sorry, I meant eggs. Good ol' whitebred American eggs. And wheat. And a vast number of other products that the Iraqi people have always been able to farm or manufacture themselves. You see, the Iraqis were promised that they would have a vote, not a job. Allow me to explain: Immediately after Bremer replaced Garner he proceeded in pushing back the election date again and again and again. While he did this he also got to work on redefining Iraq's economic and foreign trade regulations. These new regulations, set by an American, were all stamped with the friendly signature of "for 2004 and all subsequent years" meaning that a future government elected by Iraqis couldn't change them. One of the actions taken was to sell off all Iraq's national banks to foreign investors. Another was to remove all trade tariff protection that Iraq had, meaning that imports from foreign nations can not be taxed by the Iraqi government. What this means is that Iraq was easily made a free-for-all for huge multi-national corporations that the local Iraqi manufacturers have no chance of competing with, so Iraqis are shit out of luck and shit out of work. The multi-nationals didn't waste any time either. Iraq was flooded shortly after the tariff removal by tons upon tons of wheat from American manufacturer Cargill. The Iraqi wheat farmers were helpless and are now out of work. That's just one example. The unemployment rate in U.S. occupied Iraq is now at 60%. At what price freedom?

New Site

2006-06-12T20:54:00.000-05:00

Anyone who visited my old site at blogtitlewastaken.blogspot.com recently was sure to have been redirected to this flashy, visualy stunning, new masterwork of internet wickedry. Sorry for the switch, but I felt as though the new URL, hooliganletters.blogspot.com, made more sense in the grand scheme of things as it's easier to remember and compliments the site's purpose. I've also divided the site in two. The Hooligan Letters is now a stand-alone, automomous site soon to be complete with it's own Starbucks. All the personal poetry and other self-serving, pretentious shit has been moved to another site so as not to interupt the flow of the letters but rather work as a sort of weapons cache for my written war on idiocy. I felt the two themes would be better served in blogs independent of one another, though I'll continue to post in both. Also, my apologies to those friends of mine whose comments were deleted in the transfer, but I couldn't find a way to move them with the posts. I assure you that they were greatly appreciated, encouraging, and that the letters wouldn't have been able to continue without them. I'm cooking up a couple of things for later this week and I'll post them as soon as possible.

Kev

Harry Potter and The Ku Klux Katastrophe

2006-06-12T20:13:00.000-05:00

Another letter. I haven't been able to stop writing lately. Either things just keep popping into my head or the planet is ripe with lunatics. I'm leaning toward the latter theory. My favorite idiocy peddlers though, I have to admit, have always been racists. I love the little bastards. They're so easy. They seem to just toss the gag ball to you, right over the plate, and all you've got to do is bat it out of the park or bunt it (if you want to be a critical dick about it). So today we'll be tackling our friends in the Ku Klux Klan and our own down home, Canadian racists of the Canadian Heritage Alliance with one brief swing. Everyone knows the clowns who call themselves the KKK, but to fill in those unfamiliar with the Heritage Alliance (just brought to my attention last year) they're pretty much the canuck equivalent. A group of inbred, toothless, white folks who believe that inter-racial relationships are an atrocity, minorities are trying to con the oppressed white man, etc. For more info you can visit their site at http://www.canadianheritagealliance.com (sorry, links still aren't working).

Anyway, the head of the KKK is known commonly as the Grand Wizard. I shit you not. The Grand Fucking Wizard is the official title of the man the KKK take most seriously. I find this to be absolutely hilarious as it leads me to believe that the racist world must be one of magic and wonder that all of us rational humans are missing out on, though last time I checked, Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry taught little about white supremacy. As if this isn't funny enough, following a trail through the KKK website, www.kkk.com (I know, I didn't think it'd be that easy either), I found that the official e-mail contact address is Asktheknights@hotmail.com. So between the Knights and the Grand Wizard we have a regular Round Table of racist ignorance. So I figured I'd write a letter appealing to them as a member of the Canadian Heritage Alliance, because there's a problem in Biggotry-Land and only the Wizard can save us.

ATTN: Ku Klux Klan, A Matter of Great Urgency

Salutations White Brothers,

I'm appealing to you from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada in hopes that you may, god willing, be able to aid us in a matter that might very well affect the world as we know it. I'm a proud knight in the Canadian Heritage Alliance, sworn to protect the white brotherhood from the forces of evil that threaten to consume this world, but alas, a recent discovery leads me to believe that our time may be shorter than we had originaly believed. I can only hope that this letter reaches you in time. Some weeks ago one of our squires was dispatched to Calgary where we had recieved information that groups of Negroes were mysteriously congregating there. The news with which he returned chilled us to the bone. It seems, my brothers, that the blacks have found the fourth crystal of Karnaak. The knights charged with protecting the sacred stone fought bravely, but unfortunately their efforts were in vain. My clan and I gathered swiftly upon hearing this ill news and intercepted the convoy of tricked out Cadillacs on the Trans Canada Highway in Saskatchewan and there we fought a great battle on the prairie plains. My sword fighting with the spirit of the great prophet Gremlok himself, I slayed eleven men. It was hardly enough however, as we were outnumbered ten to one. Our leader Sam, The Supreme Almighty Magician, made an attempt to cast the Spell of the Demons Tongue on the enemy hordes, but was struck from behind and, though he fought galantly, was taken prisoner. Hundreds more of our knights perished that day on the battlefield. The negroes escaped with the crystal, but fortunately, all was not lost as we had taken a prisoner of our own. For two weeks we've been squeezing him for information, forcing him to listen to Rod Stewart and watch The O'Reilly Factor, but his will was strong. Today we brought Ann Coulter's new book into his cell and he finaly broke, but the information we recieved, I'll warn you, is hardly comforting. According to our prisoner, not only have the blacks learned the location of the fifth and final Karnaak crystal, but they've made plans to ally themselves with the Jews. This alliance must be prevented. With the Negroes' X-Ray vision and the Jews' powers of levitation their combining factions would spell certain doom for us. The prophecy of the great Gremlok is finaly upon us, though admittedly, sooner than we had all hoped. What remains of our knights will be congregating at our normal meeting place (Jimmy's Waffle Hut on Strumling Rd., make a left off of Highway 35 when you see the giant corn ear thingy with the fading paint) this coming thursday and it is of the utmost importance that the Grand Wizard be present. He is our only hope.

Yours in skin pigment,
Sean Burke,
Ranking Knight of the Canadian Heritage Alliance

P.S. This thursday is also our annual bake sale so feel free to bring whatever sort of goodies you'd like with the exception of rice krispies squares (Tom makes them every year and he gets a little irked when people try to compete with him).

Are You There, Anne? It's Me, Sean

2006-06-12T20:12:00.000-05:00

Ok. First thing's first. It occured to me that the reason I may be unable to post working links in the "Foreword" sections of my posts is that I was posting them in italics. So, from now on, the Foreword portions will be in standard print and the letters themselves in italics. Next, while reading over the Rumsfeld letter, though I still really dig it, I found that it didn't exactly strike the point home as much as I would have liked it too. The purpose was to openly mock his ludicrous action as well to point out what I felt to be his obvious opinion of women as evidenced by his taking said action (though I did take it to a sarcastic extreme because that's what we do here at the Burke Letters). Those goals I believe were accomplished, but there's still something missing. It's too obvious that I'm mocking him. I want my letters to hurt when they're read by the intended recipient, not just be discarded like another piece of hate-mail. So last night while watching the Daily Show I was reminded of one of my favorite recurring segments; Great Moments in Punditry as Read by Children. For any who haven't seen it, the segment showcases children reading transcripts of political pundits' appearences on various television news programs. The result is a very funny, though terribly eerie image of innocent kids spouting hateful soundbites at each other. The kids don't understand what they're reading, but they're still, to use the cliche, bickering like little children. That's when I was reminded that kids aren't born racists. They're not born sexists. Biggotry is learned somewhere along the line. That's what I was missing. Rumsfeld could tell (would he ever have read it) that my letter was written by someone who had already made up his own mind and decided to mock him. So to commemorate the release of Anne Coulter's new book (I believe it's called Godless: The Church of Liberals or some such bullshit) I've decided to write her a letter under the guise of a 8 year old boy. Incase you'd like to learn more about this lunatic you can visit her site at . You have to register on her site in order to e-mail her, but it's worth it to read all the ridiculous shit she has to say on her message boards.

One more thing before I post the letter. A favorite author of mine, Greg Palast, is also releasing a book today entitled "Armed Madhouse: Who's Afraid of Osama Wolf". Palast was one of the first journalists brave enough to tackle the theft of the 2000 American election and is constantly working to expose the underhanded dealings of organisations like the WTO and IMF. If you get a chance, be sure to check out his book and for more info you can visit his website at Ok. Here's the goods:

Dear Mrs. Coulter,

My name is sean and I go to Ste. Anne's school. It's in dayton in ohio. We are almost done forth grade and mrs. kennear wants us to write a letter to our hero. You are my favorite person and my mom and dad like you a lot to. They say one day I can be just like you if i work hard and speak my voice. They say i'm smart like you to. I already jumped one grade because i'm only 8 and in grade four. I don't think the towel heads are very smart do you? and I think libarals are stupid idiots. They dont have pakis in my school and dad says its because its only for people who like white god. I like white god do you? sometimes i think that maybe he put you and me here to help get rid off pakis and towel heads. And dad says that joos have all the money and dont share. I think they should but only with people who like god and not the bad guys. Dad tells everybody to read your books and he says your the best. I got in troublr the other day for saying another boy was a lazy dumb mexican but its because my teacher is a stupid libaral. Do you like the president because i like him a lot because its time somebody bombed thos damed towel heads right? One time if your in dayton you can come to my house for dinner. it would be fun.

From,
Sean Burke

P.S. Do you think the nigars should just get jobs and not well fair cause mom says so.

This is the kind of thing I imagine coming out of a kid's mouth when I think about all the ignorance and intolerance people like Coulter perpetuate when spewing their shit.

To Rev. Phelps and The Westboro Baptist Church with Christ's Love

2006-06-12T20:09:00.000-05:00

I've changed the idea for the first Burke Letter so Wal-Mart will have to come sometime in the future. I saw something on the news that I thought was kind of ridiculous and thought I should comment on it. For those who are unaware, Reverend Phelps is the leader of the Westboro Baptist Church and has pioneered the "God Hates Fags" crusade. Recently they've been in the news for protesting at the funerals of fallen American soldiers claiming that God has killed them to punish the U.S. for accepting homosexuality. So I've decided to mock the shit out of them. This letter was mailed to the Westboro Baptist Church's official website as an "interview request". If you would like to read more about the ridiculousness of the Westboro Baptist Church or would like to comment yourself on their exploits you can reach them at their official webiste: www.godhatesfags.com (no joke, that's really the name)

Dear Rev. Phelps and Co.,

My associates and I would like to commend you on the great work you're doing to rid our world of the terrible plague that is faggotry, praise Jesus. Recently I was treated to a news segment about your noble protests at the grave sites of fallen American troops and was awestruck. I've always thought myself to be a reasonably smart man and the idea that troops were being killed because God was punishing them for accepting gayness had never occured to me. It's so simple, really. I mean, did you know that fags don't even recognise Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) as being a religious holiday? They just party like the filthy, devilish animals they are without bothering to acknowledge the fact that Mardi Gras was originaly the day Peter was dumped by his girlfriend and Jesus, after miraculously turning regular cream into ice cream, insisted that all the disciples pig out and bitch about women all night. Can you believe the ignorance of some people? Thank the Lord that there are strong willed people like Rev. Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church to stand up to dead soldiers. For years, I and others like me have been waiting for someone brave enough to come out and say "Hey! Listen here, fag lover, I don't care if you're dead or not, bring it on bitch! I'll kick your ass". So courageous. Anyhow, my group, the ADFCC have a vested interest in your exploits and your crusade as we all agree that faggotry is a crime against god and, to be honest, if this plague continues we'll all be out of work. Our first annual Gala is this October and we would be delighted if the good Rev. Phelps could attend and be our guest of honor. If there is any interest please contact us.

Praise the Lord,

Dr. Kevin N. Burke,
President/founder of ADFCC,
Abortion Doctors For Christ of Canada

P.S. As a token of our gratitude, we at the ADFCC have mailed
the Westboro Baptist Church 200 coupons to distribute to it's
parishoners good for one free abortion on their birthday.

The Hooligan Letters (transfered post from my former blog)

2006-06-12T20:08:00.000-05:00

This seems to have become pointless lately. Partly due to my painstakingly slow internet connection here in Neverwhere and partly due to my terrible habit of allowing my decisions to be dictated by outside influence. A friend of mine recently commented on the foolishness of blogging and, though his opinion on the matter seemed to be linked to the fact that he'd recieved very few blowjobs since his blog began, I think he has a point. I enjoy writing sarcastic nonsense, but it simply doesn't seem to be going anywhere. So I'm changing the format. From now on, as often as I can post, I'll be writing a letter to an organisation or person that pisses me off. The letters will be posted here with a short foreword and explaination and they will also be e-mailed to the relevant party. I'll also be taking requests or suggestions from anyone who bothers to read. I'm starting with Wal-Mart and the letter will be posted and mailed next week.