Tupac’s Revenge

A report was recently released giving the names of 25 artist’s whose music was used to torture gitmo detainees. Metal, folk, rock, and rap were favored genres. Tupac was one of the artist whose music was used for the purpose of torture.

Tupac is back for revenge in a new hollywood blockbuster, Return of Tupac. Join us as we follow Tupac on his journey from the streets, to the grave, and back.

For more about the artists who are furious at being used to torture people: http://www.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Music/10/22/musicians.guantanamo/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

Aliens in my Alphabet

I am in contact with beings from another world. They speak to me through my alphabet soup and alphabet cereal. Currently they are teaching me how to build fully functional magnetic propulsion system. So far it sounds surprisingly simple. I have to be careful though. The neighbor across the street is ex-CIA, I think. If I’m not careful he might report me to the government. I’m sure the government would confiscate everything. They might even interrogate and/or experiment on me. I’m really not cut out for that sort of thing. I would freak out and try to appeal to my persecutor’s humanity but it wouldn’t work because he will be a hardened professional.

My room has padded walls… This is because I like to be free to move around all crazy when I get excited. It is not because I am crazy and live in an asylum. If you tell anyone that I’m crazy my alien friends will prank you. They do some really good pranks. They once did this thing to a guy where they had all of his best friends go to his house and throw him a surprise party in bed and they were all giving him awesome presents like wii games and ice cream, but then they pulled off their faces and it turned out that they weren’t his best friends they were my best friends (the aliens) and the guy wasn’t in a bed, he was on a lab table. So needless to say they totally freaked him out. The worst part is they didn’t even let him keep any of the awesome presents. They just dropped him off naked somewhere and told him to enjoy being told that he is crazy.

So anyway, I can talk to aliens who are badass and I’m going to win the nobel prize just like Obama and Gore and everyone will love me. And, I’m completely sane and not at all crazy.

The Jovial

There is a great city far far away. The people there are very happy and very prosperous. The city is filled with large beautiful structures and parks. Elegant works of art and long dancing arcs look down upon the streets below. All of the carriages float above the ground as if by magic. There are fine restaurants and magnificent plays. Performers gather around the city market places. Little children eat ice cream scream with delight and the amorous play indoors under fine silks.

But there is a price. Deep underground, far from the sunlight and the sounds of sex and laughter, there is a child who wiggles and screams all through the day and all through the night. These are no fits of delight.

It is the great machine, that fine invention which so many years ago saved an entire civilization from certain doom. It is indeed the engine of utopia. It comes at a price, this is true, but a small price to pay to allow countless lives to thrive. What is the chronic torture of a single soul when weighed against the infinite prosperity in complete health and thorough satisfaction of entire people. When any people are faced with such a choice, the great machine is the sole solution, the universal panacea. 

Is it worth it, you ask? The suffering of one for the benefit of all. Is not the answer an obvious one?