We report with an even

We report with an even blend of pride and horror that Chris’s special friend Elizabeth is on the cover of The New York Post today. She wasn’t caught beating up homeless people again, though; this time a Post photographer accosted Chris, Elizabeth and their friend Anne at a breakfast joint in the east village and requested that one of them buy a lottery ticket so she could photograph him/her doing so for today’s Post. E and C urged Anne to take the photog up on her offer; Anne being an aspiring actress, a shot in the Post could have been just the ticket to landing that hot broadway role (that one she wanted). But now Elizabeth will be on broadway.
Anyway, kudos to the Post — what other newspaper would have the guts to run this fine lotto piece above a story announcing the highest terror alerts in NYC since 9/11?

WAS Gives the U.S. Military Several Pointers

An Attempt by We Are Scientists to Get Themselves Put Onto Some Kind of Dept. of Homeland Security Watchlist or Something

Hello dissident friends, and welcome. Do you have NEGATIVE FEELINGS ABOUT OUR GOVERNMENT? Feelings that have been particularly acute ever since that MUD-ASS GEORGE BUSH got elected? Feelings that you would like to purge through VIOLENT TERRORISTICAL ACTION AGAINST OUR GOVERNMENT AND THAT MUD-ASS? You’ve come to the right place. Here is HOW TO BUILD A BOMB:

(1) Get a pipe and some tape.
(2) Tape up the pipe, starting at one end and proceeding toward the center, past the center, all the way to the other end. Do this until you have what is essentially a ‘tape pipe’.
(3) Roll this over to the wall and stand it up against the wall.
(4) Push it up the wall and hold it against the wall with your left hand. Hold it up their against the wall.

A word to the wise: don’t USE THIS BOMB unless you are seriously committed to a COURSE OF ACTION with grave, irreversible repercussions. We aren’t offering the information on this website to sadistic thrill-seekers; we’re offering it to thoughtful, politically-minded rebels with a cause. Here’s HOW TO NEUTRALIZE A POLICEMAN WEARING RIOT GEAR:

(1) Get a decoy, such as a very fast cat or rabbit, and release it.
(2) Scrub the sink, toilet and bathtub.

We can not emphasize enough that THIS INFORMATION IS FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE COME TO THE END OF THEIR ROPES, who have HAD IT WITH GOVERNMENT TYRANNY and SEX-ED PROGRAMS. Here is how to watch a solar eclipse:

(1) This is not safe.
(2) Anyone who tells you otherwise is not your friend. Black cardboard with a pinhole punched through it? Come on. You think the sun’s killing force can’t get through a pinhole? It’s LIGHT, for chrissakes, the killing force is LIGHT — it can get through a thick sweater.

EXTREME ACTION and EXTREME SOLUTIONS are the only appropriate reactions to the oppression of a people by a tyrranical power. This we all know. But did you know how to ATTACK a math problem:

(1) Determine whether the problem is plus, minus, or times.
(2) In the case of a plussing problem, find the two numbers.
(3) Using the two numbers, get that many oranges. (So, if the numbers are 1027 and 325, get a pile of 1027 oranges and a pile of 325 oranges.)
(4) Take the two quantities of oranges and make one big quantity (pile).
(5) Count how many oranges are in this big pile. That is the answer.
(6) In the case of a times problem, find the two numbers.
(7) Let’s say the numbers are once again 1027 and 325. Get one thousand twenty-seven piles of oranges, with three hundred twenty-five oranges in each pile.
(8) Put all of the piles into one big pile.
(9) Count how many oranges are in this mega-pile.
(10) That is your answer to the times problem.
(11) In the case of a minus problem, let’s say the two numbers are again 1027 and 325.
(12) Begin the same way you did with the plus problem, by making one pile of 325 oranges and one pile of 1027 oranges.
(13) Pick up one orange from each pile and roll them both across the room.
(14) Do it again.
(15) Do it until one of the piles is gone.
(16) Count how many oranges are now in the remaining pile. That is the anwer. We’re going to bring down the U.S. Government.

Crack Cocaine

There’s been a lot of talk in recent years by pseudo-scientific persons and their chosen news outlets about the supposed negative effects of crack cocaine on the general health of its users. Let me tell you right now, the people who have been making these claims are — so to speak — on crack.
Let me relate what I feel is a rather revealing anecdote. I was sixteen and friendless, my self-esteem at an all-time low. My chances of getting a girl to look twice at me — much less get into a bed with me and let me put my penis into her, as was my goal at that time — were slim to none. And: my vision was poor, requiring me to wear corrective lenses. All in all, I felt that, like Job, I had been singled out by the Lord for some especially sadistic breed of test. Then I discovered crack cocaine, and I didn’t care about those things anymore. Were it not for criznack (or ‘crizzle-snack’, as I sometimes call it, affectionately), I seriously might not be here today, doing all this stuff, working these miracles with la gente.
What I love about doing crack, though, is that it almost gives me special powers. This one time, high as a goddamn space shuttle, and better armed, I was talking to this guy at a party. And he was like, “Man, I’ve been watching South Park since it first came on.” And, my eyes all bugged out like a goddamn preacher possessed by the Holy Spirit, I just looked at him for what was probably an uncomfortably long time. I was reading his mind. “Bullshit!” I whispered. He cocked his head to the side. “Bullshit, you, you…,” my third eye wandered like a divining rod across his very MIND, “you have never seen South Park. Isn’t that right.” I had looked into his very mind and perceived his entire consciousness, the whole damn thing, and there was no South Park there. “No, I’ve seen every episode,” he tried to tell me, but I was through with him, so I shot him right in his face, something I would never have thought to do had I not been so high that my brain was skipping across sanity like a flat stone side-armed over a whisper-still lake, like a small ejected passenger against the rubber-black tarmac, like chalk pushed at the wrong angle across a blackboard.

Beatific Musings

Sometimes a squirrel and a hummingbird will go out and make a day of it. The hummingbird scouts for acorns in hard-to-reach places, then knocks them down to the squirrel, who clicks his desperate gratitude. If the hummingbird gets tired, he can perch on the squirrel’s back and the squirrel will carry him for a while. If the squirrel dies, the hummingbird hovers over his body mournfully, his gaze darting this way and that in confusion.

Do you suppose that puppies love everything — running through flower patches, tumbling in the grass, howling at the moon — but that what they love most of all, because it tickles, is pooping? Dropping little puppy dumps in the vegetable garden?

When an elf bakes bread in the morning dawn at his little elf bakery in the tree-trunk, well I would bet that’s an extra cozy, scrumptious, feel-good affair.

When rabbits and cats get together, and have sex, there’s nothing strange or perverted about it; they are free spirits piloted by their feelings and revelling in the wonderful madness of love.

It’s cold and snowing outside, and dark; it’s very late in the year; the cocoa has just come off the stove and an amiable fire licks the back of the fireplace; you ease onto the couch with your mug and hardback — a hundred and seven pages of The Hours to go. Perfection? Almost. You may be sitting too close to the fire, because it’s getting uncomfortably warm. But you’ve just tucked your legs up on the cushion and positioned yourself just so against the pillows, so you hesitate to walk across the room and open a window. And just then, as if you had willed it, a fist-sized lump of cement comes crashing through the glass; a refreshing draft drifts in on its heels, and your eyes return to the page.

Hey! Hey, hey: what is better: skipping barefoot through a field of heather, cockscomb, and clematis as an evening sun melts on the horizon? Or finding out that an evening of fun with Heather, your slutty sister-in-law, whom you treated to the old cock’n’moan, didn’t catch you chlamydia?