Showing posts with label MSNBC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MSNBC. Show all posts

Sunday, June 22, 2025

Headline News

VERSE 1

Geek in a suit comes on the news at five

He’s probably wondering how we’re all alive

Read the teleprompter while on beta blockers

Lifeless interview gives you nothing new

Turn that shit off, what’re we watching for?

We should get overtime for staying informed

This is a movie that we’ve all seen before

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

 

VERSE 2

Roundtable at six sucking Israel’s dicks

Got a dose of depression, come get your fix

Gather over here while we fight fascism

But only with permission from upper management

Bomb this, bomb that, school shooter with a gat

Every one of them fuckers got a red MAGA hat

TV-MA for gratuitous gore

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

 

VERSE 3

It’s seven o’clock, get on your knees and pray

‘Cause we just made it through another long day

Go fight with your family, have a master debate

You don’t need verbal skills, you need mosquito spray

Dehumanized by the people you’re supposed to love

It’s love with conditions from the heavens above

Just another case of the poor fighting the poor

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

 

OUTRO

‘Cause all they ever talk about is murder and war

Fuck the positivity, they find it such a bore

Brain chemical addiction is your newfound chore

Like those Camels you smoke from the convenience store

A bottle of Jack to go with your pack

If you’re pissed off long enough, you can move on to crack

Healthy coping mechanisms are what you all lack

But when you need your rage bait, we’ll take your greenbacks

Monday, January 14, 2019

No Filter


***NO FILTER***

You wouldn’t know this from some of the politically liberal short stories and poems I post on a regular basis…but I fucking hate debating. I told you all before about the woes of my opponent having more talking points than me. I might have even mentioned something about scrambling for an answer and getting nothing. But here’s something you probably didn’t know about me until now: I have no filter for the bullshit that enters my mind. It could be an autistic thing. It could be a schizophrenic thing. Maybe I’m just really fucking sensitive. But whenever an opposing talking point enters my mind, the most important organ in my body doesn’t seem to want to do its job of filtering out the horseshit. It stays with me just like any other stimulus, because my mind takes in everything all at once and doesn’t quiet the fuck down for just one minute.

It’s because of this that I purposefully go out of my way to avoid watching conservative or religious videos on You Tube. I also skip over conservative memes on Face Book by averting my eyes and scrolling down as fast as I can. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the titles of the You Tube videos by now:

“Ben Shapiro DESTROYS transgender teenager with just one Tweet!”

“Ronda Rousey SHUTS DOWN feminist in just one minute!”

“Jordan Peterson DESTROYS this and that! He DESTROYS Mickey Mouse! He DESTROYS Hulk Hogan! He DESTROYS EVERYTHING!”

You’d think with all of this destruction going on that there’d be more settled debates in this world. Nope. They just keep talking…and talking…and talking…and talking. They keep talking because they have stronger filters than I do. Me? I have to constantly be on my toes when it comes to brainwashing and loss of individuality, so I scroll by the DESTROY videos as quickly as possible.

“But, Garrison! You have to challenge yourself! You can’t live in an echo chamber!”

For all intents and purposes, both of those phrases are correct. However, when you consider the source of that compound quote, you begin to realize that whoever said it probably lives in an echo chamber of his own. Open-mindedness is supposed to be a two way street. If I have to be open to the other side’s ideas, they have to be open to mine too. But being open-minded doesn’t mean agreeing with everything the other side says with one-hundred percent submission. Open-mindedness simply means giving the debater a chance. What he does with that chance is beyond your control, but if he blows his chance, that’s it.

I’ve given a thousand chances to a thousand debaters. Any stubbornness I showed towards them had to be worked for, because my filter for BS is weak as shit. Some talking points are easier to resist than others, but the lazy-ass filter is the common denominator. It’s amazing that I didn’t become a cultist right away. Actually, I probably would have resisted joining a cult, but I wouldn’t have the debating skills or quick answers necessary to strike down their talking points. That’s the thing with debates: if you don’t answer in, let’s say, five seconds or less, you automatically lose. You don’t get to think about it. You don’t get to mull it over and come back with a completed homework assignment. It’s now or never.

If you’re reading this and you think I’m ripe for the picking for your zealous cause, do me a favor: don’t even try. Just give up. Because my filter sucks ass, I’m more prone to shut you out despite not giving you a chance. You won’t get philosophical talking points from me, just curse words and waves goodbye. I know this seems close-minded and that’s generally considered a bad thing. I know my responsibility as a pundit is to research my arguments and use my knowledge to shut down opposing talking points. But I don’t have it in me to DESTROY anybody, at least not within the five-second timeframe required to respond in a debate. The natural answer for me would be to just stop writing poems and stories about politics, but…that’s just not going to happen. I care too much.

If I refuse to engage in a debate with you, it’s nothing personal and it’s not an indication of surrender. It’s because my filter for BS can’t be bothered to work overtime for the Ben Shapiros, Charlie Kirks, and Milo Yiannopouloses of the world. Even if I promised my filter a private jet, healthcare benefits, and a vacation in Hawaii, I wouldn’t be able to convince it to work for me the way it does for the Cenk Uygurs and Rachel Maddows of the world. In other words, you won’t see You Tube videos with any of these titles…

“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS the establishment!”

“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS the corporations!”

“Garrison Kelly DESTROYS EVERYTHING IN SIGHT! RAAAAAAAAAWR!!”

What is this, a fucking Godzilla movie? Does everything have to be destroyed?


***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

My next assignment for this ongoing rewrite is chapter nine, where Windham and Tarja walk through the forest together for more thought-provoking conversations (they won’t need their weak-ass filters, though). The day’s topic of choice: dreams and ambitions. Windham wants to be an artist of all genres while Tarja wants to care for fuzzy animal babies. There’s even going to be a scene where Tarja feeds walnuts to the squirrels and she offers Windham a carrot to give to a rabbit. If you’re wondering where the hell all the action is, keep in mind that Beautiful Monster is a drama first and a historical fantasy second. But if it’s action you want…you’ll have to wait until the end of the chapter! No, not that kind of action, you perv! They’re just friends! Jesus Christ, man!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’m just a-wandering on the face of this earth meeting so many people who are trying to be free. And while I’m traveling, I hear so many words. Language barriers broken, now we’ve found the key. And if you want the winds of change to blow around you and you’re the only other person to know, please tell me. I’m just a singer in a rock n’ roll band. A thousand pictures can be drawn from one word, only who is the artist? We’ve got to agree. A thousand miles can lead so many ways. Just to know who is driving, what a help it would be. And if you want this world of yours to turn around you and you can see exactly what to do, don’t tell me. I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band. Why can’t we understand? Riots by the people for the people who are only destroying themselves. And if you see a frightened person who was frightened by the people who are scorching this earth. Music is the traveler crossing our world, meeting so many people, bridging the seas. I’m just a singer in a rock n’ roll band. We’re all just singers in a rock n’ roll band.”

-The Moody Blues singing “I’m Just a Singer in a Rock n’ Roll Band”-

Friday, March 2, 2018

Silent Warrior, Chapter 16


Linda Williams sat comfortably on her couch enjoying a bowl of wheat cereal while watching her daily dose of MSNBC. While her “pet project” Scott George no doubt spent his Saturday in misery, Linda felt guilty about being able to enjoy hers, so much so that she could barely concentrate on the world news. “I sure hope Tom is enjoying his little triumph,” she said softly to herself before taking another bite of cereal.

The rampant pounding on her front door jolted her so much that she spilled her food on the hardwood floors. Her spine tingled at the sounds of a familiar voice screaming, “Linda! Open the damn door! We need to talk!” The pounding grew progressively louder with every second Tom Simpson was forced to wait. “I know you’re in there! No sense in hiding from me!”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” belted Linda as she marched over to the front door in bare feet and a nightgown. Sure enough, Tom stood there with his fists balled up and his teeth gnashed together like a venomous snake waiting to pounce. “This better not be what I think it’s about.”

Taking labored breaths, Tom let himself in the house much to Linda’s confused dismay. He said, “You need to have a little chat with Scott George. Oh, he showed up to detention like he said he would. It’s what he did after that made me so...UGH!”

“Two things,” said Linda with her arms crossed. “One, you don’t come barging into my house without me letting you in first. And two, once you’re in my home, you don’t demand things from me like you own the damn place. Both of those things could have gotten you arrested today and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a cage, quite frankly.”

With a sickening smile, Tom said, “Arrested?  You’re going to have me arrested? Well, you better bring the entire police force and the SWAT team, because you’re going to fucking need them!”

“Well, look at you, tough guy. The same Tom Simpson who’s so anal retentive about swearing is suddenly unleashing some nasty words at me. If hypocrisy was against the law, your ass would have been gone a long time ago.” Linda pointed at her front door and barked, “Seriously, you’d better get out of my home before things go south. Get a massage. Sit in a hot tub. Meditate. Do something relaxing for the first time in your life and quit acting like a small child!”

“Speaking of small children, guess what your teacher’s pet did to my daughter,” said Tom while grabbing his boss’s arms. “They had sex behind my back. Lots and lots of sex! Can you imagine that slimy little creature Scott putting his lips and other body parts on someone else?” Tom shivered for extra dramatic effect.

Linda ripped her arms away from Tom and said, “That’s not my problem, Tom, so quit trying to make it mine. While I don’t condone underage sex, there’s not really much we can do about it. If Scott and Adrienne are in love, so be it. Don’t forget: you were in love at one point in your life. And then you threw it all away in a disgraceful divorce. Is that where you’re getting this attitude from?”

Tom pulled his glasses off and shouted, “You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage!”

Linda remained stone-faced as she stood up to her employee. “So why don’t you educate me about why you’re so upset. You are an educator, after all. That’s part of your job description. Tell me why you suddenly care about your daughter’s life now that she’s completely out of yours.” Tom’s haunted face stared off into the distance as he refused to respond. “Tom! Tom! Ground control to Major Tom! Hello?!”

“How old is Scott?” asked Tom.

“Eighteen. Why?”

Tom’s insane smile widened and was accompanied by clownish chuckles. “I got him! I got him by the balls!” He grabbed Linda’s arms once again and excitedly explained his viewpoint to her. “Think about this for a minute: Scott George is eighteen years old and Adrienne is only fifteen. The two of them openly confessed to having sex. That means…Scott just broke the law! Oh, this is too good! This is too fucking good!”

Once again shoving Tom away, Linda said, “Give me a break, you sick freak. Scott’s no more of a pedophile than you are a good history teacher. Three years difference between them doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world.” Shoving a finger in his face, Linda said in a low, angry tone, “I’m warning you, Tom, don’t you go through with this so-called case of yours. This is beyond vindictiveness. You’re talking about ruining a young man’s life before it even has the chance to begin, all because of a stupid technicality that shouldn’t be there!”

“Oh, Linda, you’re just as naïve as Scott. For better or worse, the justice system in this country doesn’t care about circumstances. It doesn’t matter when young people are applying for a job. It doesn’t matter when they get suspended from school. It won’t matter when they’re sitting in the defendant’s chair with all eyes of the world judging them. The law is the law and it will be enforced. If you don’t believe me, ask any war protestor who’s sitting in jail over causing a traffic jam.”

Arms folded and death stare locked on her target, Linda sneered, “I’m warning you, Tom, if you press charges against Scott and turn his life upside down, I will fire you. I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to give you a pink slip. I think I may have just found it.”

“Well, look at you, Miss Social Justice Warrior,” said Tom with his hands on his hips. “You’re all about getting justice for women on college campuses who get gang raped at frat parties. You’re all about sending Alan Young to jail for trying to get away with less. But the minute statutory rape takes place and it involves one of your favorite students, you’re so quick to cover it up. Who’s the hypocrite now?”

“There are degrees, Tom!” shouted Linda. “There are circumstances! I don’t give a damn what the law says! Everybody is different! Every case is different! You can’t just paint them all with the same brush! Lord knows what else you’re applying that twisted logic to! Is that how you teach slavery in your history class?! By painting all black slaves with the same brush?!”

“Wow, your naivety really does astound me, Linda,” chuckled Tom while shaking his head. “Don’t you get it by now? This country has gone through the ugliest history imaginable and not a goddamn thing has changed. The ugliness never went away, Linda. It just showed itself in a different way. The same applies to the law, for better or worse. Unless Scott has the debating skills to back it up, he’s not going to make it with the wolves in that courtroom. I’ve tried to toughen him up to the world around him, but he’d rather be sheltered. Well, they don’t shelter people in the darkest parts of prison, I’ll tell you that right now!”

“Just know this, Tom…” said Linda with a trembling voice. “You will not have the support of this school or any of its officials. And just like your classes, you won’t have the support of your own pupils. You want to win this war? You’re going to win it on your own. Clean your belongings out of your office first thing Monday morning. You’re fired, Tom. Get out of my house!”

Tom’s maniacal chuckling caused him to double over before he said, “That’s okay, Linda. I don’t need anybody’s help to win this case. The law is on my side and that’s the only ally I’ll ever need. I don’t need you. I don’t need my ex-wife. I sure as hell don’t need my daughter’s help. Scott George is going to crash and burn because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants like our sex ed program says to do.”

Before Tom could cross the threshold to the outside world, Linda stopped him with one last thing to say. “No matter how this court case turns out, whether you’re triumphant or defeated, just know that you’ll have nothing you want by the time it’s all over. Once Scott George is behind bars, there will be another rebellious and open-minded student to take his place. And another. And another. You’re not going to send a good message to your students by going through with this petty trial. One of these days, Tom, the hate alone will be enough to give you a stress-induced heart attack.”

Fiddling with the door knob, Tom looked down at his feet and said, “You know, Linda, some people prefer to die while having the best sex of their lives or doing some kind of extreme sports activity. Me? I think you just gave me an idea of how I’d like to die someday. See you soon!” Tom closed the door behind him and walked back to his car, leaving Linda Williams in a cataclysm of her own tears.

Saturday, August 30, 2014

"Mr. Jack" by System of a Down



It could be because I’ve been watching a lot of MSNBC and I’m following Cop Block on Face Book, but it seems to me there are a lot more instances of police brutality than there were before. Some commentators are even calling it the “militarization” of America’s police. Why shouldn’t they call it that? Innocent people are being shot, choked, and beaten to death for minor reasons and the police officers who are committing these heinous crimes are getting paid vacations instead of jail time. The US Department of Justice is truly an oxymoron these days.

With the police getting more brutal these days, is it any surprise in 2002 System of a Down released a song called “Mr. Jack”? You know the one I’m talking about. “Put your hands up, get out of the car! Fuck you, pig!” That’s the one. You can always count on System of a Down to satisfy your musical needs whenever you’re pissed off at those in power. They may be on an indefinite hiatus as of 2005, but their legacies as hardcore liberals aren’t going anywhere.

It’s a good thing that I have “Mr. Jack” on my computer, because police corruption happens to be one of my berserk buttons. In other words, it makes my brain explode with raw anger. My distrust of corrupt cops came at an early stage in my life. Don’t worry, they didn’t beat me or jail me or anything like that. It was the little things that annoyed me the most.

In 2001, a cop called my house wanting to know my father’s phone number or at least some way to get a hold of him. My dad blew some steam off at one of my mom’s friends and was being investigated for it. Of course, I didn’t know my father’s number off the top of my head, so the cop at the other end said, “Not being very helpful, are you?” No, I wasn’t, because I refuse to testify against my own family.

In 2002 on two different occasions, I was walking the streets at night as a way to clear my head of all the drama of living with schizophrenia (though I didn’t know the diagnosis at the time). Both times I got stopped by the police despite never having committed a crime. Apparently, walking the streets at night made me look very suspicious. Oooo!! Street walking! The cops in both scenarios asked me a bunch of questions and patted me down for weapons or drugs, neither of which I had because I’m not a sociopath.

Yes, these are stupid things to be angry at. I’d even dare say they’re small potatoes. But I was a teenager, so blowing things out of proportion wasn’t anything new to me. This is Mr. Anti-Conformist here, I knew everything in those days. Maybe I wasn’t mad at the actions of the cops so much as I was mad at the fact they thought I was a criminal and didn’t trust me. That’s part of why I hate reading news stories about police brutality. It could have happened to me at any time, but it didn’t, and I’m grateful for that.

There are plenty of songs out there that give the middle finger to the police, isn’t that right, NWA? “Mr. Jack” is one that attacks corrupt police instead of the levelheaded ones. Bill Maher said it best: if we had no police, real life would be a lot like “The Purge”. So let’s keep the good ones around and throw the shitty ones in jail. If prisons are supposed to be for-profit these days, then let’s grant the drug users their freedom and replace them with the corrupt cops. Serj Tankian and Daron Malakian are onboard with this. Are you?

What does all of this “Mr. Jack” sentiment mean for my writing? It’s simple: if I want to indulge in a fantasy of getting revenge on the corrupt cops, I have to make it as realistic as possible without sounding psychotic. I’ve made psychotic remarks about the police before and basically made an ass out of myself. My Drama 101 teacher said it best: peaceful intervention is more effectively historically than violent intervention. Isn’t that right, Gandhi? Isn’t that right, Martin Luther King? How about you, John Lennon, do you agree? I definitely have plans to do a revenge against authority novel sometime in the future. In the meantime, I’ve got plenty of short stories in this genre to go in “American Darkness 2: Live In Fear”.

To close off this blog entry, when I say “Put your hands up, get out of the car!”, you say, “Fuck you, pig!”

Put your hands up, get out of the car!

Put your hands up, get out of the car!

Put your hands up, get out of the car!

Put your hands up, get out of the car!

Fuck you, pig!

Fuck you, pig!

Fuck you, pig!

Fuck you, pig!

Put your hands up, get out of the car!

 

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Legally drunk. If it’s legal, what’s the fucking problem? Leave my friend alone, Officer, he’s legally drunk!”

-George Carlin-

Friday, June 14, 2013

Fantasy and Reality

I’m a peace-loving liberal who loves action movies and violent literature. Like the Scottish Koreans in the Starburst commercials, I’m a walking contradiction and I don’t make a wee bit of sense. How exactly is this possible? It’s because I know how to do something that I wish everybody would learn to do: distinguish fantasy from reality. In the fantasy world, violence is dazzling and fun to watch, as evidenced in movies like First Blood and TV shows like the WWE. Even the UFC has a level of fantasy in it, probably because it’s heavily regulated. In the real world, violence is a disgusting thing to watch. There’s a huge difference between watching First Blood and watching a war documentary on MSNBC. That’s why I wish everybody could distinguish fantasy from reality, because people play videogames like Halo and Gears of War and automatically assume that they too can become ass-kicking soldiers who go undefeated throughout their military careers. Bzzt! Wrong! If you join the military and somehow make it back to civilian life with your body intact, no matter what the outcome of the war you’re fighting, you will never be the same again. You might return home missing a few limbs. You might wake up in the middle of the night and not know where you are. You might burst into tears when you hear someone popping balloons because it sounds like gunfire. In the world of mixed-martial arts, the same thing is true. Just because you went undefeated in a game of Tekken Tag Tournament or Super Street Fighter II, doesn’t mean you’re going to excel in the UFC. The fighters who work for that company? They’re super athletes who spend anywhere from eight to twelve hours a day training in the gym and even then they get injured from time to time. If you have the body of a god and that god happens to be Buddha, stay away from the cage (unless of course your name is Roy Nelson, in which case, you’ll do just fine). Do you know why they call it a fantasy? Because it exists in the mind and nowhere else except for in artistic expression. If The Hobbit was a documentary instead of an action-adventure movie, we would be seriously fucked as human beings. Or elves. Or dwarves. Or even fire-breathing dragons and walking rock people. Just to be on the safe side, whenever I self-publish one of my books, I put a disclaimer at the beginning that reminds my readers never to copy anything they read. They will die a miserable, slow death if they do. I don’t just do it to get a laugh out of people. I do it for their own good. That and I don’t want to get sued. Are you paying attention, Stephanie Meyer? Maybe you should tell your own audience to stop biting each other’s necks. I’ve bitten people when I got into fights at school. It’s not fun. So please, Twilight fans, stop biting each other’s necks! Got that? Good! I don’t think there’s anything more that needs to be said, except…

 

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Pro-wrestling is real. People are fake.”

-Mr. Anderson-