Why do old people care about 9/11 so much?

LOL

The other day a motorcycle gang rode down main street, waving American flags. In the middle of the parade was a piece of the World Trade Center, covered with signs identifying it. I don’t know why all these old people care about 9/11 so much. It’s not like they were there or it even affected anyone they know. I mean, everyone knows it was an inside job, anyway, right?

All these old people are so afraid of Al-Qaeda, and it just doesn’t make sense. Al-Qaeda is probably made up, and most of my friends agree: Osama Bin Laden is an actor, and they never really killed him.

Old Tea Party members are the only ones who care

I mean, it’s not like I really care that much one way or the other, but it just seems a little ridiculous that 9/11 even means anything at all to these old people. So what, over a thousand people died, or whatever. So many more people have died just from cancer in the past day and you don’t see any people giving a fuck.

At any rate, I think Osama Bin Laden’s pretty cool. He was originally paid by the United States to fight Soviets, and he’s just workin’ for the man, doing his job like everyone else. I think old people just hate him because they’re afraid of Muslims, because he never really did anything that bad. Did he fly the airplanes into the World Trade Center? No, of course not!

All praise the holy relic!

AN IN-DEPTH ANALYSIS FROM CESS POOL:

9/11 is a touchy subject, and it’s clear why. For my generation it was the first time the USA showed any vulnerability. For the older generations, it was another attack by some crazy terrorist group jealous of our freedom.

First I feel I should state why other countries hate America, and freedom is not on the list, folks.

People hate America for the same reasons I do. The USA rules the world, they know it, and they have no problem abusing their power. The consequence for attacking the US is invasion, and I don’t need to tell you what a US invasion means, but I will anyway. The United States has active military personel in more than 150 countries, and they are likely to remain there until the end of time, or the end of the US itself. People also hate the United States for our fat, lazy, ignorant citizenship. Our people are stupid, yet have no problem going on tv or youtube to state outrageous claims, such as “god hates fags” or “god killed the troops.” Shouts to Westboro.

One important thing to recognize about the 9/11 conspiracy is it isn’t the first, only the latest.

Some 9/11 conspiracy theorists ARE crazy, so because one person says “George Bush flew the plane into the building” doesn’t mean you should automatically write off all theories. The 9/11 puzzle is a strange and complex one, but I will try my best to peice it together, for you, the reader.

George Bush was the president of a company called the Carlyle Group before he was elected president of the states. Since one can’t run a company while in the presidency, he gave up that position, but mainained the controlling interest nonetheless. The Carlyle Group is an investment firm. On their website they list their priorities by amounts invested, and number one on the list is Defense. Don’t worry if you don’t see where this is going, it’ll all make sense oh so soon. When we as a nation delcare war, what follows is a massive mobilization of troops. Now we’re not going to send our troops to war on a fishing boat, our war-mongering technology is a bit pricier. According to some people, war makes money. According to me, a realist, war cost money, a LOT of money. “But where does that money come from?” So glad you asked. Our econmic system is so purposefully fucked, our military has to BORROW money to go to war. As I said, war isn’t cheap. Some money is borrowed from the federal reserve, yes BORROWED from the FEDERAL reserve. The federal reserve is a deceiving name, more on that later though. The military can’t borrow 100′s of billions of dollars from one source, that is where they turn to privatized companies (which the federal reserve is…again, more on that later.) such as the Carlyle group. It isn’t a friendly loan either, it is one with interest. So whatever money is made by the war-mongering doesn’t go to the people fighting it, it goes to companies funding it. I.e. the Carlyle Group.

So, lets do a quick recap, shall we? George Bush had controlling interest of a company that funds war for profit. 9/11 occured less than a year into his presidency. And people ask, “why would Bush want to do that to his own country?” Well, you tell me. Is your soul worth a few million? A few hundred million? Personally I don’t believe in souls so if someone offered me millions for mine, I’d say they were crazy, then accept.

We’re going slow, but bear with me, it gets better.

On 9/11, just hours before the twin towers were hit, four non-arabs were arrested for planting bombs on the George Washington bridge. Yes, you aren’t hallucinating from all that LSD you just took, four NON-Arabs, however, that story disappeared from the news, permanently. Speaking of disappearing, that brings me to my next point, the pentagon. The pentagon is the most watched, most secure building IN THE WORLD. There were more than 80 cameras that had a view of where the plane (supposedly) hit, yet all tapes, even from the surrounding buildings, were seized by the FBI and presumebly destroyed. It’s amazing, you can see the videos of the towers being hit and people jumping to their death from them, but the pentagon is hit, nobody is killed, and yet there is NO evidence a plane ever crashed there. “Then what happened to the plane?” Well, sir, you’re asking the wrong person. I only know what isn’t true.

The evidence is mounting slowly, but stay tuned, this gets interesting.

I watched a video in government class this past year about patriotism. In the beginning the September 11th attacks were premiered. They showed the footage of the tower being hit, the people jumping, and the towers collapsing. They showed interviews as well though, and these peaked my interest. In more than one interview, the person that had escaped the tower reported an explosion. Now, I’m no demolition expert, but those towers didn’t fall like my game of Jenga. Instead, they fell straight down, imploding on themselves sparing the surrounding buildings. Also, I’m not a building falling expert, but I use logic sometimes, and logic tells me if I flew a plane into a 110 story building right now, it probably wouldn’t fall, and if it did, it probably would fall in a direction depending on where it was struck. The towers fell in TEN seconds from the time collapse began, and each tower fell at the exact same speed. Also, because I don’t like getting all my information from zeitgeist or the official 9/11 report (which I read), I did some research on the construction of the twin towers. I’m not clear on the numbers, so you’ll have to find them for yourself, but in the center of each tower there was a box of steel poles, very thick, tall steel poles. On the outside of the building there were more very thick, tall steel poles, not as thick as the centered ones, but still quite thick. I’ve seen an interview with one gentleman who actually was involved in designing the building, and he is quoted saying, “those buildings were designed to withstand anything, including a plane.”

America Finally Closes Its Borders

Close Borders NowCasa Grande, Ariz.– The predominantly white inhabitants of suburban Casa Grande paraded through the streets Friday celebrating the announcement of the closing of all the Borders in the country.

Shortly before the announcement, leader of the White Brotherhood Southern Arizona Chapter Harold Smith heard rumors of Borders closing. Harold gathered his people together in a Border’s bookstore parking lot at the mall – because it is a good place to meet, he said, and they have plenty of parking today for some reason.

Harold stood on the tailgate of his pickup truck in front of a jubilant crowd at their Patriot Rally and declared, “We will finally be free from the sub-human scum a the earth – who push our health care costs higher. I mean, shit. I might not go to the dentist, but bitch, these cheeseburgers ain’t doin’ my heart no favors!” The crowd laughed and applauded.

“He’s too much!” guffawed Stevie Hargrove, 40, a toothless overalls-clad spot-welder from Tucson. Stevie clapped at every opportunity, beaming a gummy smile up to his leader, squinting through matted, sweaty hair into Harold’s silhouette against the sun.

America finally closes its Borders

Harold continued. “And I ain’t got no insurance because Obama wanted to force me to get it and how d’you think he’s gonna pay for that? Nigger was gon’ tax the wealthy to pay for it, that’s how; so I don’t even fucken want it!” The crowd again erupted into a frenzy of whistles and cheers just as a vein burst in Harold’s forehead, spraying crimson hate into the yawning mouths and down the throats of onlooking slack-jawed hillbillies whose thirst for identity only grew drier under the bottomless black ocean of beer-soaked convictions swirling unseen in Harold’s cold, beady eyes. A rainbow formed under the blood mist spewing forth from the man’s skull, and at the end of it sat a Confederate flag, perched in the grass, with a little sticker on its miniature flagpole that read, “Made in China.”

“And that brown uncivilized scum who keeps minimum wages artificially high by taking low pay for jobs that was originally intended for everyday Americans like me and Bo! Jobs like mopping up coffee shops, unloadin’ book trucks and washing the walls inside a the killhouses.”

At that, Smith’s crowd of white nationalists almost did not hear the news update over the ruckus of their own hate-filled fervor, as some frothed at the mouth and fell to their knees, speaking in tongues. But for those who could read, the closed captioning on the JumboTron News Report said everything [if it said anything].

A fictitious TV news program that actually broadcasts real news reported:

Because of mismanagement and glaring lack of foresight, Borders Bookstores all across America are shutting down permanently. Infamous for carrying only mainstream authors, and notorious for grossly overestimating the number of orange people willing to read Snooki’s biography – Border’s Inc. lowered literary standards faster than anyone could possibly write a book about it. Yet, here you are celebrating your racism underneath a giant flat-screen TV. Don’t act like you’re upset. Nothing changed. You don’t even read.

Dumbfounded mouth-breathers all across America stood solemnly, Budweiser in hand, making not a sound. For two minutes they stood, reflecting on their own hatred; but hatred of what, exactly, became unclear. A small child clutching a teddy bear to her chest tugged at her mother’s dress. “Mummy? You mean they ain’t relocatin’ dem filtty wetbacks?” But her mother was too grief-stricken to answer.

Good Old Fashioned Hate Rally

The only thing these rednecks hate more than non-whites is reading books.

Quietly they to stood until local pig farmer Jerry Pritchard, 48, broke the silence.

“Well,” Jerry started. “I hate books, too. I mean, shit. I like the Bible! Hell, who doesn’t. But you guys know what I mean. I mean, fucken … books, man.” Jerry’s detestation was met with groans of agreement, though many people were still visibly confused by the notion of a store specializing in the sale of bound paper.

Jerry licked his lips, picked up his courage and spoke again. “You guys still wanna…” Jerry clasped his hands together behind his back and toed a boot in a wide arc in the sand. “…Still wanna drag somebody behind my truck?”

The crowd again frothed and wriggled through the congregation of pickup trucks toward Jerry’s truck, chanting U-S-A and someone came up with “George Snorwell” which was repeated several times from within the group. Only the intellectual rednecks who got the reference laughed. The others just went along with it.

“But before we go,” Jerry continued, “I want to stop by Borders’ clearance sale. Larry th’Cable Guy’s thing is 40% off!”

G’HYUK!!

Chronicle.SU is WRONG

Adrian Chen hates satire

Adrian Chen attempts to block the view of Tlingit masks he said are "also wrong."

I’m Adrian Chen, and I know many things. I mean, there are a lot of things I know. I know stuff about politics, the Internet and hacktivism because I myself am a troll hacktivist. I try really hard to know as much as possible about what Anonymous tweets, and especially LulzSec, Sabu and reddit.com. But what I know most of all to be most factual and more true than any other fact on the Internet, is that the Chronicle.SU is wrong.

They are wrong about many things, especially the stuff I know more about than they do. I write for a website called Gawker, which is never wrong, and always right. In fact, since I can’t seem to find any satire websites with balls enough to tackle hacktivism on the internet, I am thinking about starting my own satire site, in which I replace the word “write” with “right” – because I am always right! (I’m a righter! Get it?)

One of the things Chronicle.SU is wrong about is Sabu of LulzSec and #AntiSec being a brown guy named Hugo. They are especially wrong about that because they wrongly Photoshopped an image of Hugo’s face as the leader of #ANTISEC, the group competing against Anonymous for most lulz. WRONG! He’s not the leader, fucking idiots! Sabu is! And Sabu isn’t Hugo! Jesus.

Adrian Trolls

Chen: "Chronicle.SU was also wrong when they said I was wrong about who invented Anonymous porn. I knew Chronicle.SU already invented Anon porn. I wasn't wrong. I was just trolling them behind their backs because that's how Adrian rolls."

You know, if the Chronicle.SU was a satire website, this would almost be forgivable, even though LulzSec is no laughing matter, but this is an egregious error on the part of Chronicle.SU Editors, right on up to the executives and I’m speaking out!

If I were the owner of that newspaper, and it wasn’t some socialist experiment of a defunct military state like the Soviet Union, I’d call a company-wide meeting to talk about fact-checking and making sure we never run anything wrong, ever again. Because like I said earlier, Gawker has never run a single wrong thing – not with MY name attached to it, they haven’t. The Chronicle.SU is the most inaccurate, least factual source of information I’ve ever read. And yet, I keep coming back for more! It’s sickening.

I have a message for you Chronicle.SU readers out there who fall consistently for their lies and disinformation. You ready for it? Here it is, BIG NEWS BABY HERE WE GO:

The Chronicle.SU is a propaganda tool of the disinformation arm of the United States Government.

During Psy-Operative campaigns by the CIA, the Chronicle.SU was imbedded in IRC chats distributing pro-wikileaks articles and information so biased toward truth we jokingly called it truth-propaganda around the Gawker office. And they released DDoS instructions, toolkits and PHP-based starter kits to help lies spread faster, no matter what they were; they even helped build the Louise Boat. Simply disgusting.

Get a clue. Avoid Chronicle.SU

OUTED: Sabu of #AntiSec

Sabu

Old Brutus once told Sabu over IRC, “You’d better have a good-looking face because you’re about to be associated with a movement.” To which Sabu responded, “Indeed. I’m handsome methinks don’t worry about that.”

Sabu, outed this morning, faces the worst, or worse. He said he doesn’t fear extradition, but in 1908, Portugal signed the Portugal International Extradition Treaty with the United States, giving the FBI the ability to extradite a person.

Folks on Twitter have already compared Sabu to MLK, saying if he is taken out or extradited, there will be outcry. But because of extremely narrow avenues of information made possible by Twitter, Twitter users have a tendency to overestimate the education of the general public. That is to say, they think people give a damn about important issues like the freedom of information. Sadly, they don’t. And neither do we, but these stories SELL.

It was fun and games and Sabu did a great job covering his tracks, but he gave up some identifying information back in 2009 that have led people to what Sabu admits is his real fake name.

Sabu said he wanted to go out in style, wearing only a Chronicle.SU t-shirt, top hat and boxers before the media as he is pulled from his home and forced into a little prison on wheels before being carted away to a dark, isolated place from which he will never re-emerge, at least not before he turns a whole bunch of you in.

Even if Sabu is not the true leader of LulzSec & AntiSec, which has been the subject of heavy speculation here at the Chronicle.SU, we believe Sabu is a leader you can follow directly into the hands of the FBI. Because the undeniable truth is the combination of his actions and words has sparked a widespread movement toward hacking government and corporate websites, by idiots like you – the likes of which we haven’t seen since 1989, when DOE, HEPNET and SPAN (NASA) connected VMS machines world wide were penetrated by the anti-nuclear WANK worm.WANK-penetrated machines had their login screens altered to:

     W O R M S    A G A I N S T    N U C L E A R    K I L L E R S
   _______________________________________________________________
   \__  ____________  _____    ________    ____  ____   __  _____/
    \ \ \    /\    / /    / /\ \       | \ \  | |    | | / /    /
     \ \ \  /  \  / /    / /__\ \      | |\ \ | |    | |/ /    /
      \ \ \/ /\ \/ /    / ______ \     | | \ \| |    | |\ \   /
       \_\  /__\  /____/ /______\ \____| |__\ | |____| |_\ \_/
        \___________________________________________________/
         \                                                 /
          \    Your System Has Been Officially WANKed     /
           \_____________________________________________/
You talk of times of peace for all, and then prepare for war.

This just in: Monsanto hacked, 2,500 employees’ info released to the public.

Tonight: Radio host Vince in the Bay to discuss Sabu

Final Shuttle Launch Signifies Total Apathy Toward Human Progress

Two young girls disregard the final space shuttle launch at Cape Canaveral, Fla.CAPE CANAVERAL, Fla.–The United States of America celebrated her total commitment to all-out, Earth-only war Friday following the final launch of the NASA Space Shuttle.

The launch, regarded as “obligatory, ceremonial hoo-ha” by U.S. Army General and designate Director of the CIA General Patreus, went off without a hitch.

Over 1 million spectators uninterestedly watched the final launch of America’s space shuttle program.

“Finally, I can stop pretending to give a shit about space,” said Gunther Reed, 43, who witnessed the final lift-off a few hundred yards away. Reed rolled his eyes as he casually threw up his hands when his children screamed maniacally during lift-off.

Analysts predict Americans will soon be forced to disregard entirely new facets of reality, lest they appear over-informed, and thus, un-American.

“I think now that space is out of the picture, I can safely stop caring about more pressing matters such as global economics,” said Dean Shelton, 48, a plant worker in one of America’s last operating factories, located in Canton, N.C.

Thousands of workers will be laid off after the shuttle returns to earth, and will not return to work because an American space program is “just pointless,” as American President Barack Obama had this to say:

“What are we going to do in space, anyway? Discover new worlds – ancient planets with more fossil fuels and rare-earth minerals than we know what to do with? Possibly make contact with multi-celled organisms in nearby star-systems? This, I feel, is no longer America’s role. That’s China’s problem now. A new more glorious dawn awaits. Not a sunrise, like a nuclear blast, but a galaxy-rise. A morning filled with 400 billion guns – the rising of enlisted gays. Iran, we’re comin’ for you. We gon’ find you. We gon’ find you.”

As the President’s speech descended into an auto-tuned mockery of tree-hugging Nature lovers, astronomy enthusiasts and Iranian nationalists, he referenced YouTube cat videos he favorited in the past, as well as the Rebecca Black cover-up – and even prank-called Sabu, supposed leader of LulzSec, connecting him to a three-way conference call with incumbent Leader and Guide of the Revolution of Libya Muammar Gaddafi.

Obama reportedly facilitated the purchase of five Farmhouse Bread sandwiches from the mysterious hacker and arranged an exchange in the order of millions of bitcoins for rare access to Interpol’s collection of bomb recipes and child pornography to Gaddafi in a move political analysts described as “gut-wrenching, tactless and having absolutely nothing at all to do with the space launch.”

A man waits impatiently for the space shuttle to launch

Gunther Reed, 43, waits impatiently for the final space shuttle to launch so he can get back to his buddy's place and smoke pot.

The Associated Press reported it will be at least three years – possibly five or more – before astronauts are launched again from U.S. soil. But only on the technicality that NASA’s funding is to be concentrated on turning people into projectile explosives which can be fired inconspicuously as fleshy missiles, undetectable by radar with the potential to inflict unprecedented destruction on important military targets in mainland China.

Former NASA Administrator Michael Griffin lamented the loss of America’s leadership in space. “For us to abandon that in favor of nothing is a mistake of strategic proportions,” he said.

But war is more important, which is why it has become USA’s number one export – because what impetus for space travel is there when we haven’t even poisoned Earth yet with global thermonuclear war?

“Space is for the elite,” said President Obama. “The American elite. And one fine day, we’ll take off again. The richest and the wealthiest people on Earth will someday board a glorious Generation Ship to Proxima Centauri, soon after we destroy this beautifully marbled rarity perched in the vast dark ocean of infinity. And we’ll leave your asses in the dust, conquering and destroying new worlds while you rot here, in this Hell we are creating for you each and every day, one war at a time.”

“I’m a little bit sad about it and a little bit wistful,” said Jennifer Cardwell, 38, who came with her husband, John, and two young sons from Fairhope, Ala. “I’ve grown up ignoring the space program, and now I have to find something new to stop giving a fuck about.”

The outlook is bleak, but with only war, low wages and receding global influence to think about, a random survey of Americans indicates citizens may feel obligated to double up on their reality TV shows and high fructose corn syrup products to remain as apathetic as they once were before the decline of NASA’s space shuttle program.

The next five years will see an influx of orange people with gelled hair and inferiority complexes, as well as phenomenons in the 24-hour news cycle in which viewership will become inversely proportional to the usefulness of CNN, Headline News and MSNBC.

Murderous Syrian Leader Just Wants Citizens To See Things His Way

Bashar al-Assad wishes people could afford shoes in order to know what it's like to walk a mile in his.Syria–President Bashar al-Assad told reporters Friday he feels that in spite of the crushing oppression of his dictatorial regime, the Syrian people are just not as empathetic as he would like them to be during this tumultuous time.

“I just wish those peasants could see what it’s like to be me before I order them to be mercilessly slaughtered at the hands of my death squads,” President al-Assad said.

Thousands of people have jumped on the Bashar al-Assad Hatewagon and now flow through the city streets like enraged water. “That is why it is so important that I must kill them all,” the leader said.

“How many rounds must I fire into vocalized women and dissenting children before they learn I am their best, if not only, option?” asked al-Assad.

How many rounds must I fire into vocalized women and dissenting children before they learn I am their best, if not only, option?”

-Bashar al-Assad

The troubled Syrian President said he is starting to think his people believe he has grown weak because he sends other people to do his dirty work for him.

“I even ordered my troops to shoot the troops who protested the shooting of the protesters. Is this not a sign of strength? Do I need to shoot them myself?”

Syrian state spokesperson Ahmed al-Kahardi said a new commercial paid for by The Al-Assad Campaign For Unending Control will broadcast amid damning footage of unsympathetic Syrian protesters being gunned down on the Al Jazeera news network.

The commercial is said to feature footage of the Syrian President killing dissenters with his own two gloved hands so as not to appear spineless. Assad is also reportedly seen choking a young man and crushing his windpipe on camera before he can even squeak out “Death to tyranny!”

Such strength.

What's on Bashar's playlist?

Al-Assad said he hopes to kill enough protesters to “flip the ratio of haters,” until there are so few people left in his mean, dispirited state that all who remain in existence will represent none other than a majority of pure Syrian nationalists – good-natured folks who are willing to gladly accept all the abuses and indignity his oppressive regime has to offer, and who are so sympathetic to their ruler’s cause they are willing to starve to death and pay with their lives so their non-dissenting children may eat another day.

“If only they knew what I have to go through,” said al-Assad. The leader reported back pains that develop in the sixth hour of his sometimes day-long rape sessions upon women picked up by Syrian security forces.

“Sometimes I just want to lay down after that, but I can’t,” al-Assad complained. Occasionally the beleaguered President is even required to pick up the phone to order hot meals or tell reporters and UN diplomats to “fuck off” while he continues to ravage his unforgiving, unsympathetic nation.

Stay tuned as more details unfold around the President’s delicate emotional condition.

Shaemarie Skaggs

Revival

By James K. Galloway

Shaemarie Skaggs

Tennessee artist Shaemarie Skaggs, cancer survivor, bites the filter off a Marlboro cigarette during a photo shoot at an industrial park in Clarksville.

Hoses dropped from a chemotherapy bag stretch around a rosary and into the blood-soaked needle-fed arm of Shaemarie Skaggs, whose hand clutches the withering flower of life.

It is just after sunset when I pull into the front yard of the budding Clarksville artist’s home. Clarksville, Tennessee is the worst town I’ve ever been to. The chance to interview an artist is a relief from the brown solitude that comes with living in a dry, burned-out military town. I wonder how creativity can flourish in a place like this. How can she?

As instructed, I call to inform Shaemarie that I have arrived and I approach her front door. It’s a beautiful McMansion nestled within a sloping subdivision. If I hadn’t seen the other homes driving in, I’d be inclined to believe it’s a real original piece of modern architecture. It is the same as the others if not slightly different. It is a floor plan. From up high, I can see the lights from Wal-Mart, Kroger and whatever else every town keeps along Commercial Avenue.

She says we can’t do the interview here – this is where she lives and takes care of her mother who recently suffered a stroke.

We drive around the neighborhood as I look for an exit out of Skaggs’ labyrinthine subdivision. Right away, she unfolds a picture of her arm with a rosary and chemotherapy supplies, and jumps right into explaining it to me.

“The bitch nurse fuckin' put a needle in my hand for painkillers – for morphine,” Shaemarie says, “And she didn't put it in my vein, so the morphine soaked in my hand and it would sting every time it pumped through. So I didn't have painkillers or I didn't feel right at all, and it hurt like a bitch.”

Pointing to her artwork, Skaggs tells the story as she’s told it countless times before. She says flatly during her chemotherapy treatments, this picture hung on her wall as an expression of her own humanity – but that she took joy from others’ reactions to it.

“The doctors would come in and freak out, and I thought it was really funny when they’d freak out and shit,” she says. “I like how I wrapped it around the cross because I just hate religion.”

Skaggs was diagnosed December 2009 with Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a cancer originating from white blood cells. Shortly thereafter she drew a relatively simplistic self-portrait featuring peeled-back skin and decay of a long-haired vixen – a living corpse aware of her own mortality.

Shaemarie Skaggs

The lips, rotted away into a grimace of a smile, represent Skaggs' morbid imagination of herself as chemotherapy took hold.

“It was really bothersome, but that was the point,” she says, looking out the window of my truck as we sit at a stop light. Then came a long silence.

We are headed toward a spot with free wi-fi where Shaemarie says we’ll access more of her artwork. She changes the subject to me and my work. I oblige but keep it ground-level, explaining that I’m a writer and editor. While booming down Clarksville’s main drag to the finer cuts of Led Zeppelin II, the sexy young artist asks more specifically what else I do besides interviewing her.

I explain how I write politics and local government articles for the newspaper, which gets her onto the subject of President Barack Obama and the superficial similarities between his efforts and those of Franklin D. Roosevelt. FDR’s New Deal may have gotten us out of the Great Depression, but Skaggs believes Obama is an actor.

He’s trying to make it look good and doing this whole cover on it, like, ‘Oh, everything’s going to be fine,’ but really it’s starting to suck. It’s a fake aspect that he’s making everything look good but it’s not.

-Skaggs, on President Barack Obama

“He’s trying to make it look good and doing this whole cover on it, like, ‘Oh, everything’s going to be fine,’ but really it’s starting to suck. It’s a fake aspect that he’s making everything look good but it’s not.”

She says her grandfather was a lawyer for a Philippine president while his daughter spied against him, causing controversy within her family and within the nation. She says her pursuit of liberal arts made her a black sheep when everyone else went into politics or has an “amazing job” as educators and government employees.

“It’s because we [Skaggs and her sister] are liberal and – ‘Fuck the government’,” says Skaggs, “And because we grew up in a stern family and we’re just like anti-everything.”

By now, we’ve reached our Internet source where Shaemarie discovers she can find specific Tumblr compositions through a simple Google search. She exclaims, “Google is a fucking creeper!”

Skaggs is exceptionally proud of one of her pieces of writing, which was reblogged by a website called The Whiskey Monologues and subsequently reviewed by its followers. The piece is about a drunken night of indiscriminate sex with an unnamed lover, notable for its sensual, emotive language and highly-revealing self-analysis midway through the exposé on passion itself.

Shaemarie Skaggs enjoys a cigarette

While shooting at an abandoned industrial site, Skaggs informs me that she is in remission and healthy, in spite of a nasty cough acquired as a result of her smoking habit.

Shaemarie is forever affected by cancer, emotionally if not physically. Skaggs’ friend, Cara Roman, who she called “a fiesty little thing,” died July 2010 after a four-year battle with leukemia.

“She was my friend before I got cancer, I used to visit her all the time. And then one day I showed up to her hospital room and told her I have cancer. We both cried. I was the only one who spoke at her funeral. She was the closest person I had. She was so alive.”

Shaemarie says she will seek a liberal arts degree from Austin Peay State University but for the time being cares for her ailing mother at their shared home in suburban Clarksville.

Like a flash in a pan, the blinking of an eye, a star’s lifespan and all the time in the sky – Shaemarie Skaggs taught me that expression is only as beautiful as the time we have to appreciate it. That memories last as long as we can remember them, lest we mark them down.

On a long enough timeline, all things are finite, no matter what efforts we as human beings make to archive, categorize and chisel them into stone. On a short-enough timeline, all things last forever.

So do we.

HEY GUESS WHAT? MORE WAR!

Here’s the shit CNN won’t report

It’s not Kim Kardashian. It’s not Casey Anthony’s dead little baby. It’s not even Weiner’s dick. Nope. It’s another fucking WAR!

In April, the lying United States President Barack Obama said there are “no boots on the ground” in Libya but we reported there certainly are “shoes on the ground.” And boots. America continues its oil campaign through the desert as Obama prepares to declare war on Libya, who is currently already at war with itself.

Obama wants in on dat

Obama submitted a 34-page document to House Speaker John Boehner in support of all-out war on Libya. Lawsuits are being prepared against the administration which is currently engaged in illegal acts of war inside the oil-controlled nation of Libya, and Obama was required to justify his weird acts of war.

Many Americans will not even ask the question “Why not Syria?” where cold-blooded slayings of innocent, unarmed protesters take place as you read this – because Americans smart enough to ask that question are smart enough to know America’s role is not to spread Democracy, but to keep its own oil prices low.

The rest of the American public allow warmongering to continue because 98% of them are kept ignorant by corporate media and their own lazy, noninquisitive lifestyles; they probably just assume it’s all good in the ‘hood as long as their reality TV shows don’t exhibit signs of political polarization.

The U.S. State Department is considering lifting its ban on women in combat roles. This is likely less in the interest of women’s rights, and more because they don’t have enough meat in the field to sustain four simultaneous wars. Libya can expect a flood of women’s rights, where women will soon be found legally behind the gun pointed at your terrorist sand-nigger children.

Germany couldn’t warmonger on half the fronts we do but we’ll pull it off, because America’s number 1.

Chronicle.SU reporter Old Brutus called the CNN tipline to let them know Obama submitted to Congress what he said is a “legal basis for war” on Libya. Brutus assumed they had not yet learned of the development since they were broadcasting stories about Angelina Jolie and people having a hard time playing golf.

Old Brutus called the New York City CNN tip-line to make them aware of the news but could only speak to a machine. He left the following message:

:http://www.chronicle.SU/wp-content/uploads/message-from-old-brutus-to-cnn.mp3|titles=Old

Then, dissatisfied and wishing to speak with a human being, Old Brutus called the Atlanta, Ga. headquarters where computers have not yet assumed oppressive control over the flow of information. In Ga. it recently became legal for women to work, so a girl answered the phone.

She said she was not aware of the President’s justification for war on Libya to Congress, and forwarded him to the same tip-line he called to reach her. While holding, Brutus quickly plugged his voice recorder back into his hyper-encrypted landline handset and recorded the following conversation:

:http://www.chronicle.SU/wp-content/uploads/tip-line.mp3|titles=Old

Elf Wax Media Ethics Analyst Billiam Falshe, who is glued constantly to CNN and supports their every move, was available for comment. Shortly before increasing the volume on his television, Falshe had this to say:

We like pretty dead babys with pretty mothers. We don’t like ugly sand-niggers blown to pieces by our political hate machine.

In the news today:

  • Someone injured during an angelina jolie visit to bumfuck nowhere
  • John Boehner plays golf “under pressure” [editor's note: Boehner is scheduled to play golf with the President, who Boehner asked to submit a proposal for his thus-far-illegal war on Libya. *Gasp!* I wonder what they will they talk about?]
  • A new battlefront! [oh, between republicans and democrats]
  • For at least 30 minutes, Casey Anthony’s trial dominated BOTH CNN channels
  • Sarah Palin, for some reason

Hunter S Thompson: Still Alive!

HST

Not dead!

Stoned, drunk and with both hands on the grips of a full-throttled hog, Thompson leaned into the long wind of a Pacific Ocean straightaway doing 100 miles per hour. Knowing the next invisible divot in the asphalt could be his last, he held on tighter, accelerating to speeds he would never know, too careful to take his eyes off the road.

He was determined to live, or die trying.

Somewhere in the backwoods of America, Hunter S. Thompson is riding with the Hell’s Angels, wearing a gigantic .50 caliber revolver openly, and making smart-ass remarks to simple-minded townspeople. I know this because I have seen it with my own eyes. I talked to him. He told me he wanted to be the first celebrity to actually fake his own death.

“The news’ll write anything,” he said, shifting a cigarette around in his teeth. “Those fucking savages ran the story before anybody had a chance to call the cops. YOU DIRTY ANIMALS.”

I can’t say for sure if HST was the first famous person to fake his own death, but he’s definitely the last.

In 1965, members of the Hell’s Angels beat Hunter savagely for material found in his book Hell’s Angels. After all these years, he has finally decided to pay them back for their share of his writing. Thompson says each year, he and his motorcycle gang, of which he has become the “zombie” leader, drive by the Aspen Sheriff’s headquarters and take several rides around the block.

I know this because I met him. He had the shooting glasses and the cigarette, and was entirely out of his mind on Amyls. There was no way it couldn’t have been him.

This message is brought to you by Datura™
And Lebal Drocer Pharmaceuticals.
"Cut off the head, and the body will die!"

A Social Experiment

Some bitch using the myspace angles

Something like that

I was 18 years old when I agreed to meet up with a fat girl I met on the Internet. I think I met her on myspace. Up until that point, I’d never even hung out with fat girls, because I didn’t have many fat friends.

She was from my hometown, just three hours away, and apparently she’d seen my band play live while I was still in high school. Also, she read my website and followed the controversy behind how it went down. So she claimed to know me and, after a few phone calls, was very interested in seeing me.

‘What could it hurt?’ I thought. I said okay. She seemed nice, and her voice was cute. Besides, why be down on someone just because she’s heavy, right?

She arrived in town shortly after I gave her the okay to come out and John – my roommate and best friend at the time – offered to help us out by meeting her at her car and driving us back to the dorm together.

We parked and walked casually down the sidewalk toward the street where she was parked. Then, he spotted her about a second before I did and asked, “That’s her, isn’t it?”

I fought the urge to grimace and forced myself to continue smiling. “Yep, that’s her,” I replied through gnashing teeth.

John laughed.

And on that fateful February evening, as the girl lumbered toward me, wearing flip-flops and a light hoodie, I braced myself for what would turn out to be twelve laborious hours of tolerance. It was then I knew nothing about this night could be romantic.

On the car ride home, she told us how difficult it was to navigate through Richmond, because of all the one-way streets. John and I stared silently forward, but I knew it was important to keep the mood light so I pulled out a pipe, and some marijuana.

“Oh muh Gawd!” the fat girl exclaimed. “I only done this like once before, so don’t y’all laugh at me.”

‘She didn’t sound this southern on the phone,’ I remember thinking. ‘Why is it coming out now?’ And that is how I learned that some people – when put in unfamiliar situations – will revert to a simpler version of themselves, as a sort of defense mechanism.

And it works, because I realized even though she can talk like a regular person when she wants to, she is a bumpkin at heart and no matter what happens, I’d better just go easy on her – as in, no intense debates, no really deep conversations. She’s already in the “big city” and I wouldn’t want to rattle her cages.

We all got stoned and talked about our favorite bands. LSD came up during the conversation, too.

For security reasons, my dormitory required visitors to be signed in, and in order to do that you have to fill out a few lines in their binder and leave your identification at the desk. This gave the security guards plenty of time to look us up and down and make assumptions.

As I handed ID cards over to the security guard, I detected an air of superiority from him. I could feel him judging me. But I was also very stoned – and as John and I had only very recently discovered LSD, I had become overtly aware of every little vibration – or so it would seem. Or maybe I was.

The three of us got up to the dorm and listened to Kyuss, smoked some more weed and discussed our ambitions. Mine include fame; John wants money; the RA wants to know what that smell is; and the girl was so stoned she didn’t know her name.

On that note, I wish I could remember her name so I don’t keep referring to her as ‘the girl.’ It was something like Lynn, and Laura Lynn makes bread, which is food, which fat people love to eat, so from now on I’ll call her ‘Lynn.’

John left to meet our friends – and not wanting to be seen in public with my adoring bumbling behemoth, I offered to stay back at the dorm and just hang out for a while. Quickly shutting down was my naive open-mindedness I had going into the night.

Finally alone, I was afraid her eyes might fall hungrily upon me and I would have to fight off the bear. But I’d clearly suffocated Lynn’s ego with weed, an effect I had not foreseen but was eternally grateful for. Recognizing the benefits of intoxication, I offered her a beer; however, it was not beer that she wanted. Nay. What does the beast require? She squealed out in ecstasy when I offered her a Little Debbie cake from behind the mini-fridge.

“Ooooh eeeee! AHHH! OH my GOD!” Lynn shrieked, tearing into the packaging. I felt almost as sorry for the little snack treat as I did for her.

She gorged herself on junk food and flopped onto my bed, grinding her filthy black feet into the pillow, where I lay my face at night. I watched in disgust as she wallowed around on my bed like a dry manatee. The situation was worrisome but I still found it hard to hate someone willing to go in on a ten-strip of acid with me even though she’d never tried it. For that I figured there must be something to her, some insightful spirit that needs nurturing, as we all do, and at the very least I could be friends with someone like that.

I had a paper due the following morning so I told her I needed to get to work, and she passed out quickly. Over the course of the next three or four hours, I finished her beer, wrote my paper and smoked more dank marijuana.

Then she woke up again, hungrier than a hell-hound and quite vocal about it.

I had no real food, and I was hungry too, so we decided to walk down to the 7-eleven. I knew Lynn’s visit to Richmond was the most walking she’d done up until this point in her teenage life. Her flip-flops made an aggravating “suck-pop!” noise as she followed behind me and we strutted boldly down a frigid, windy Main Street. I felt bad for her. I would’ve offered her my jacket but it was too small to fit her.

And then all at once, within 18 minutes and 45 seconds, my sympathy for this person disappeared rapidly.

We walked in the front door of the convenience store and I headed straight for the back of the line, which is very long the closer you wait until midnight. Suddenly my hairs stood on end as I heard her squealing like an injured beast behind me. “Sweet Jesus,” I said aloud, and turned to look at her.

“Oh my gawd!” she screamed. “These Cheetohs turn your mouth blue!”

I got hot in the face, turning bright red and I tried to pretend like I didn’t know her.

After ravaging the Cheetohs display, Lynn cut ahead of a guy standing in line with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon, to stand beside me. He politely said nothing but I could sense his annoyance. We awaited our turn to order Taquitos from the bar and, seeing as how I am a gentlemen and the bitch had already cut in line, I let the lady order first.

She demanded cream cheese Taquitos. He said they weren’t ready, but all the others were. She rose her voice and used my name, saying, “James! Can you believe they don’t have my favorite Taquitos? What kind of fucking 7-eleven is this? Arright, gimme the taco kind.” My asshole tightened, forming diamonds.

“Would you like three Taquitos for $3.33?” the man asked her.

She shook her head irritably. “Oh yeah, I want that. James, tell ‘im what you want sugar. Maybe they got what you like.” She bent over, placing one hand on the counter and the other on her equator, “‘Cause they sure as shit ain’t got what I like.” As if crippled by grief, she stared over her little bags of chemically-enhanced Cheetohs strewn across the counter.

I looked to my right, where at least ten people stood watching and waiting. The man holding PBR was now amused. I looked back at the clerk as I gripped the counter with both hands, afraid that I might lose control at any moment. Suddenly the idea of even ordering Taquitos was embarrassing. ‘What’s in this shit?’ I thought. ‘It’s probably giving me cancer. Diabetes. I am a disgusting human being. What the fuck.’ I mumbled my order to the clerk, swiped my credit card and almost left before he gave me my food.

On the way back, Lynn ignored a homeless person. He asked her for change and she pretended not to hear him.

“Hey wassup man? Your girl can’t talk?” He demanded an answer while approaching me with haste.

“I guess she didn’t hear you,” I said, and gave him a dollar.

“You could’ve said something to that guy,” I prodded.

“Yeah I know, but I never had bums ask me for money,” she explained. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“You just say ‘I don’t have it.’” I was nearly in disbelief at this point.

“But I do have money, silly!”

I said nothing.

I suffered through the excruciating pain of signing her in once again, making fat jokes in my head.

‘Will I need to sign her in as more than one guest? Maybe there’s a weight limit since I’m on the top floor.’

While writing her name in the book, I heard her wolf down at least one whole Taquito. By this point, I didn’t even care anymore. I just wanted the night to end.

As I typed away on my paper, Lynn sprawled out on the bed, dirty feet on my pillow once again, eating Cheetohs and yawning her mouth at me. From her open maw slid an indigo-blue tongue, flecked with orange pieces of Cheetoh.

“Blaeegh! Is my tongue blue?” she asked gleefully.

“Yeah, it’s like you ate dye.”

“Nuh-uh!” She ran into the bathroom to see for herself. “It is! Oh m’god, it’s so blue!”

 

 

Historical evidence that fat girls like gimmicky Cheetohs

We smoked some more marijuana, had a few beers and I blew her away with some very basic political discussion. I took this opportunity to transition into the social revolution of the 1960s, and then got her talking about acid.

I told her $20 would get her two hits of acid, and I’d just mail it to her after I bought the ten-strip. She said alright and eventually fell asleep.

I kept her money and took all the acid myself.

Apart from the occasional, “Where are my drugs or money?” emails, which came in for a few weeks and then stopped, I never saw or heard from Lynn, ever again.