It’s Christmas time, so lets talk about torture. It comes in two forms. Direct torture, i.e. water boarding, (which apparently needs to be video taped and then erased.) And then there is the mental kind. A good example is being assaulted by cheesy 1950’s Christmas music, every year, year in- year out, until your Clockwork Orange brain sautes at the sound of Rudolph that fucking reindeer.
Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer
– a television special – created by General Electric in 1964.
Some call it the television show that will never die. I pray they’re wrong. We need to break the cycle of abuse before we infect another generation with this cartoon madness. If the CIA kept a master copy of this at least we could hope it might be accidently erased. As it stands now, our grandchildren may be forced to watch this sick twisted tale; scaring them forever.
For those uninitiated, Rudolph is the story about a reindeer forced into exile by a psychotic toy maker who considers any physical abnormality as evil. Living in a frozen wasteland Santa keeps a slave army of little people toiling away building crappy wooden toys from the 1950’s. Rudolph is befriended by another outcast, Hermey the Misfit Elf – who was shunned for preforming the evil art of dentistry. Apparently, Santa Claus, a/k/a Saint Nick, derives pleasure from denying his slaves proper dental care. Acceptance only comes for Rudolph when his abnormality becomes useful to the crazy old man. At the end of this ghoulishly animated television show, Santa and his slaves don’t deliver the toys. Instead, they just throw them out of the sleigh into the foggy night. It’s a lot like Christmas in Dick Cheney’s home.
Rudolph is about the torture of spirit; a perfect allegory for Christmas itself. Thus, my jihad on Christmas. Bah-humbug.
Be assured, I don’t blame Christmas music on the recent rampage shootings across the country, but, like coal and global warming, it can’t possibly help.
For those of you that have not been indoctrinated into this twisted American Christmas, the song, The Little Drummer Boy illustrates what happens when you introduce a snare drum to a new born infant. Apparently, they love it. I know this sounds counter intuitive, but freshly born infants of all sorts coo love sounds when a snare drum snaps down a quick time beat next to their new born ears. It’s a lot like Christmas in Dick Cheney’s home.
I have to confess that The Little Drummer Boy does hold a special place in my heart. But not for the song. Every Christmas I hug the memory of Bing Crosby singing it in a duet with David Bowie.
Looking at those two in the same room I am somehow reminded of when Elvis met Nixon. Or, maybe it’s more like the infamous kiss between Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley. Either way, it leaves me with a weird creepy feeling like soiling yourself at your own birthday party.
I’m not sayin’ that Bing is a right wing nut, but knowing what we now know about the man, I can only assume he didn’t know who Bowie was before taping this. I like to imagine Bing’s reaction after learning that he sang a Christmas classic with one of those ‘god-damn hedonistic faggots.’ After Bing got home I can see him throwing a Citizen Kane type tantrum where he stamps around the room in a rage, knocking everything off the walls, pushing over all the furniture. His wife walks in on it all and he ends up beating her down while yelling, “Why didn’t you tell me he was a fruit?!?” Ah, Christmas memories. It does have a certain nostalgia.
Christmas Peer Pressure
My jihad finds legs when you consider the alternative to not believing in the Spirit of Christmas. In case you didn’t know, Christmas peer pressure inspired George Orwell to write 1984. It speaks to the bondage of the spirit and the body. Much in the same way free range breasts are forced to lives of solitude confined behind heavy wire support bras. A tragedy to their body, and my spirit. So, BELIEVE IN SANTA!!! BELIEVE IN SANTA!!!!
As a bazaar flavor to the mix this Christmas, Hallmark is marketing their newest line of singing Christmas cards by showing small families of Christmas carolers who opt for just giving the card instead of singing themselves. What makes the commercials ungodly weird is the laugh-out-loud reaction from the recipient of the card. Watching the card recipient cackle like they’ve never seen anything so funny, leaves me feeling like I was just raped by a Mentos ad.
Operation Midnight Climax
For me, Christmas renders billions of blinking colored lites which illuminate the psychotic tapestry of our culture and I can’t talk about the American Christmas tapestry without mentioning George Hunter White. In the 1950’s and 60’s old George worked for the Federal Narcotics Bureau which loaned him out to
the CIA for Operation Midnight Climax – part of MK-ULTRA – where he ran the first national security whorehouse. Over the years our government bought him several whorehouses. He started in New York, but then moved to San Francisco. For ten years he would slip LSD into the drinks of Johns and whores alike while taking notes on it’s effects while they had sex. He sat on a toilet behind two way glass to watch his handywork while drinking heavily. He died in 1975 and his diaries and personal papers were bequeathed to Stanford University. I imagine they read like Hunter S. Thompson and Ann Coulter’s love child tried to write an translation of Mein Kampf without knowing German.
George Hunter White was well known for throwing lavish orgies over Christmas when he was in San Francisco. From what I’ve read, those were some impressive Christmas parties, but I never got a clear indication of wether he worked on that day also.
But that’s just a small part of his story. If you have the time, check it out.. . .It gets much weirder.
http://www.levity.com/aciddreams/samples/xrated.html
“I was a very minor missionary, actually a heretic, but I toiled wholeheartedly in the vineyards because it was fun, fun, fun. Where else could a red-blooded American boy lie, kill, cheat, steal, rape, and pillage with the sanction and blessing of the All-Highest?” – George Hunter White.
http://www.historyhouse.com/in_history/lsd/
My point in relaying the heartwarming Christmas story of George Hunter White, is that you can justify anything in the name of patriotism. It comes from a “them vs. us” paranoid mentality. This month, sponsored by the CIA.
I don’t think anyone will disagree with the fact that the CIA is excellent at blacking out documents and editing videos. You could say the CIA has a Phd in redaction, but recently they claimed unable to black out people’s faces on video and had to destroy torture tapes to protect the torturers identities.
Listening to their spokesman I’m reminded of the words of Navin Johnson, “He hates those cans!” I don’t care if the CIA destroyed evidence in a congressional inquiry. I care about the maniac firing the gun at me. Torture should never be used. The U.S. is powerful enough to survive without it.
The more I thought about the CIA’s position on this the more I wondered if that was the best lie they could come up with. I mean, if you’re going to lie, and you know everyone knows you are lying, why not swing for the fence?
Top ten torture tape lies if I was the CIA’s public relations officer:
We destroyed the torture tapes because. . .
10. Jesus told us to.
9. We felt it unprofessional for a torturer to make a pass at his victim.
8. Hello. My Name Is Inigo Montoya. You Killed My Father. Prepare to Die.
7. Your puny Congress has no real power. We can do whatever we want. Oh, wait. Is this microphone hot?
6. We believe, somehow, Jack Bower is involved.
5. I’ve been advised that these torture tapes were actually from the last war and scheduled for destruction five years ago. We’ve been a little busy since 9/11!!!!!!!
4. The tapes themselves were cursed. Anyone reading them would instantly turn into a Democrat. We couldn’t allow that kind of unchecked evil to spread.
3. VHS tapes are inherently unsafe. Taken apart from the cartridge, the tape can be used to bind victims into all sorts of stress positions and . .. uh. . .I’ve said too much.
2. We did it for the children.
1. You can’t handle the truth!!
Basket of Puppies 
