My Guiltiest Pleasure

30 08 2011

It might just be what you expected, you creep, hoarding innumerable dusky italo gems yourself inside the hidden niches of your deep, dark, depraved mind. Yes, you have stolen my thoughts. These melodic, minimalist dance anthems were made for us to relish in unparalleled ecstasy, you knowing whore. The embarrassing relic of which I speak is the impeccable 1983 italo-disco classic “Hypnotic Tango”, by the band My Mine, from Perugia, Italy. (I was playing with my Barbie Dolls and watching Cyndi Lauper dance barefoot on MTV at the time.) Is it just me, or is the chorus absolutely infectious? I will not apologise for adorning each Youtube video of the song I can find with tokens of my adoration. Neither should you. It seems as though everybody who likes this stuff is either Latin American or Eastern European. Sigh. The trials of being cosmopolitan.

Please enjoy the comical version first, if simply to quench your thirst for the mockery of that which you yourself secretly desire:


And now you can unfetter that old, faggish heart of yours, crushed as it is into a hard, pressure-cooked stone by aeons of ugly homophobia, to savour the original version as it was meant to be savoured: with a nice lemon liqueur and a lonely, neglected turntable:

Now that you are smeared in a thick coat of shame, let us continue. What we will now do is re-create the same horrific and beautiful effect, bangs, mousse, and shoulder-pads intact, in a live video featuring strange clowns and not-so-naïve New Romantic hooligans cavorting in a sea of crazed faces. It’s so Almodovar it’s silly:

Ah. Exactly. You are mesmerized. Now that you have slavered over the gorgeous gem that is “Hypnotic Tango”, let me assault you with a live version of the song in which you can bury your teeth, eyes, and ears. Yum, yum. This is pure, unabashed space-disco, ladies, and he’s dancing for you and the gents:

Ah. Yes. All that messy tomfoolery. How did we lose it? How did we abandon eccentricity? Perhaps it was a backlash against Thatcher and Reagan, who were in power at the time. Perhaps conservatives antagonised the already-flourishing music and fashion movement of the late ’70s and early ’80s, causing it to blossom into something more carnivalesque than we could ever imagine in our wildest acid trip. O, the ebb and flow of weirdness. For some reason, while conservatives held power in both Britain and America, there was a strict counter-culture that said the exact opposite in fashion, make-up, hair, and dance beat. Eventually these may have blurred together through commercialism, but I think it originated in the norm versus punk and new wave culture.

And now hipsters are reinventing italo-disco like it’s the shit—and they should, because it is. That is why we have bad-ass record labels like Italians Do It Better and fly bands like Glass Candy, Desire, Chromatics, and Cosmetics—to pick up where seminal artists like Giorgio Moroder left off and to carry on the legacy of elegant cosmic disco tunes, but with a fresh, modern, psychedelic twist. Just listen to how forward-sounding the synthesised bassline of “Hypnotic Tango” is; it totally presages the frenetic trance sound of the late 1990s—and now it takes on a loping, somewhat lustier shape in the early 2010s indie disco scene, ready to leap in leopard skin on to the dancefloor.

The genius of the nu disco artists is that they re-marry dance beats with melody, meaningful lyrics, and live band performance while creating a fresh new sonic texture using innovative technology. The result is that you can dance to a cool, modern song on the dancefloor and sing to it at the same time without having to be on drugs. Thank goodness we have little gems like “Hypnotic Tango” to inspire a generation bred on lacklustre brain-garbage.





8 Reasons Why Homophobia Makes No Sense

26 08 2011

I’m usually pretty hard on gay men, because I think they tend to be a little bit vain and self-conceited. It’s one of those cases where minority members exploit their position by bemoaning their fate and eliciting pity through loud, obnoxious mirror-gazing antics. I even get a wee bit Ann Coulter-ish towards the gays sometimes, and that’s very hard for me to do. So you like dick? So what? The world doesn’t revolve around you and your crying penis. For these gays (for certainly not all gays are like this), everything is reducible to their own problems, which they constantly brood over in a desperate attempt at self-validation.

That said, gay people are still discriminated against in the United States and are bumping up against a particularly scary group of right-wing Christian dominionists campaigning for the presidency. Even though some gays act like whiney little bitches, none of them deserves to be denied their deceased partner’s Social Security benefits, equal treatment under the IRS tax code, or equal spousal immigration rights, among the many other federal protections they do not receive because they are attracted to members of the same sex.

For this reason, I would like to provide a comprehensive refutation of eight common arguments launched against homosexuality. These arguments, which I shall attempt to destroy one-by-one, can be summarized as follows: homosexual marriage goes against tradition; homosexuality is a choice; homosexuality is condemned in the Bible; homosexuality is unnatural; homosexuals cannot procreate; all men can marry women, and all women can marry men; if gays can marry, what’s next?; and what shall I tell my children?

1) “Marriage should be between a man and a woman, because it has always been this way.”

This fallacy is called an argumentum ad antiquitatem, or an appeal to tradition. It states that a thing is good because it is traditional, and bad because it is novel. But a thing is not necessarily good because it is traditional; it is good because it makes sense. At one time black people couldn’t marry white people in the United States, but this wasn’t right just because it was traditional. The law didn’t make sense, so we changed it to allow interracial couples (such as the current U.S. president’s parents) to marry and be happy together. Similarly, homosexuals cannot marry each other in most places, but this isn’t right just because it is traditional. The law does not work for homosexuals, so we should change it to allow same-sex couples to marry and be happy together. So, no, just because marriage has traditionally been a union of one man and one woman does not mean that it should be.

2) “Homosexuality is a choice.”

Usually you’ll argue, “The gay rights activists say that there’s a gay gene”. This is a big, fat straw man argument. Nobody with the faintest understanding of biology is arguing that there is a gay gene. What they are arguing is that there is no single gene for any sexual orientation. Rather, all sexual orientations are determined by a complex interaction of polygenic traits, with no single gene acting as the “signal” for whether you like fannies, pee-pees, or both. At the same time, I will concede that sexual orientation might have some environmental cause, because I am not a biological determinist, but, then, this would apply to heterosexuality too, right? So, no, you can’t say that homosexuality is a choice any more than you can say that heterosexuality is a choice.

3) “Homosexuality is condemned in the Bible.”

So what? The Bible is full of horribly offensive things. The Bible says you can sell your daughter into slavery to pay off a debt (Exodus 21:7). It also says you can execute people who cheat on their partners (Leviticus 20:10). But you wouldn’t do these things, would you? No, you wouldn’t, because these things are barbaric, tyrannical, and entirely incommensurate with the “crime” committed. Why, then, should you believe that homosexuals should be executed (Leviticus 18:22, 20:13)? “That was the old covenant”, you will say, but the new covenant required a human sacrifice in the form of Jesus Christ the avatar, so some form of blood-sacrifice and recompense is required to propitiate God. That’s just ruthless and bloodthirsty. And, besides, it still implies that dues need to be paid for the sin of homosexuality. And in the meantime, two adult women or men could be having the most loving, fulfilling consensual sex imaginable. Why, then, should we abide by such sanguinary, blood-soaked scriptures?

4) “Homosexuality is unnatural.”

This fallacy is an appeal to nature. It states that a thing is right just because it is natural, and a thing is wrong just because it is unnatural. But a thing is not right just because it is natural, and a thing is not wrong just because it is unnatural. Clearly, rape and murder are a part of human nature, but we don’t say that these things are right, because they harm people; similarly, aeroplanes are unnatural, but nobody goes around protesting against aeroplanes, because they are helpful to us. Besides, a great deal of evidence suggests that, in large part, homosexuality is natural. We see it everywhere in nature. Penguins do it in the zoo, lions do it on the savanna, and Ellen Degeneres does it with Portia de Rossi in the bedroom of their Beverly Hills flat while their dogs and cats watch. Oh, and bonobos practice lesbianism as a way to cement social bonds. Human beings have practised homosexuality all throughout history, all around the world, in almost every culture. On top of that, do you know how many species of animals are hermaphroditic or transsexual? The permutations are mindboggling. Just watch one of Isabella Rossellini’s strangely droll and artistic Green Porno or Seduce Me short documentaries about mating habits in nature. How can it all be heterosexual?

5) “Homosexuals  do not procreate.”

True. Homosexuals do not procreate. Neither do sterile couples. Or post-menopausal women. Or hysterectomised women. Or couples who simply choose not to have children. Seriously? You don’t think that any of these people should have sex just because they don’t make babies? That’s just ridiculous. You may as well pass a law which states that couples must procreate within a certain number of years following their marriage or else their marriage will be annulled—and they will be banned from having any kind of sex afterward. Sounds fascist to me. Obviously people don’t just have sex to make babies; they also have sex for pleasure. Having sex for pleasure can help forge vital social bonds and nurture social stability. It also creates personal happiness, which has a positive trickle-down effect on the larger community. In a world verging on 7 billion in population, homosexuals have sex for love and pleasure, not to make more people, thus they play a vital role in creating social and demographic stability. So, no, homosexuality is not wrong just because it does not result in babies.

6) “All men can marry women, and all women can marry men. Therefore there is no inequality.”

This argument is a sophistry—it deliberately misses the point by setting up a straw man. The point is not whether all people are allowed to marry members of the opposite sex; the point is whether all people are allowed to marry members of the sex that they are attracted to. The injustice is in the fact that women cannot marry other women and men cannot marry other men, while women can marry men, and men can marry women. This means that gay people cannot marry the people they are attracted to, but straight people can marry the people they are attracted to. Thus, all people cannot marry the person they are attracted to. That is where the inequality lies. Obviously, the whole point of marriage equality is the right to marry a member of the sex you are attracted to, not a member of the sex you are not attracted to. So, no, it isn’t clever or valid to say that all men can marry women, and all women can marry men.

7) “If we legalise gay marriage, what’s next?”

This is the classic slippery slope argument. It makes me want to ask, well, if we legalise miscegenation, what’s next? Mulatto offspring? Sex with donkeys? Barack Obama? They were singing the same tune, I’m sure, in the United States back in 1967 with the ruling Loving v. Virginia, which legalised interracial marriage. Back then, too, I could have asked, what’s next? child molestation? Seriously, if you think that letting gays marry will lead to people having sex with children and donkeys, you haven’t heard of a little thing called adult consent. And if you compare sex between consenting adults with sexual abuse, there is seriously something broken inside your head. The requirement for morally sound sex is adult human consent. Period. Therefore gay sex between consenting adults is morally sound, while sex with children and donkeys is not. (Animals can’t really consent, can they?)  So, no, none of that nasty, scary donkey sex stuff will happen, dears, because it isn’t between consenting human adults. So just relax.

8 ) “What will I tell my children?”

Tell your children that Pam and Sally, the two ladies who have lived in the mysterious house across the street since before your own family existed, live together because they love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together, in peace and happiness. That is what they want. And that is what you should tell your children. I know—isn’t it so simple?

And those are the eight reasons why homophobia doesn’t make any sense, and why the U.S. federal ban on gay marriage should be repealed. I hope I expressed my points in the most trenchant prose possible. The federal ban on gay marriage destabilises loving unions, families, and children. If one truly cared about marriage and family, one would want to maximise the potential for lovingly committed adults to raise children in healthy, loving environments which nurture dignity, cooperation, and social cohesion. The current U.S. federal law falls short of this goal, but for some reason I have an inkling that this will change very soon, and when it does, it will be as a much-welcome torrent bursting forth over a dam on to a long-parched field, tended naively by the very people who built the dam in the first place.





Drag Queens and Christian Divas

13 08 2011

I just realized something the other day, and it strikes me as more uncanny the more it sinks in. Jan Crouch looks like Divine. Seriously. Scarily like Divine. The wigs, the crazy make-up, the charismatic, larger-than-life diva persona, the whole cosmetic case. But Jan Crouch is a televangelist who co-hosts the Christian program Praise the Lord on the Trinity Broadcasting Network, and Divine (who died in 1988) was a drag queen, singer, and actor who starred in John Waters films like Pink Flamingoes, Female Trouble, Polyester, and Hairspray and released a series of Hi-NRG dance hits like I’m So Beautiful, Walk Like a Man, and Native Love which have become cult classics in the gay and electronic music communities. How can a televangelist look so much like a drag queen? What in the world is the common denominator?

Above is a picture of Jan Crouch, and below, a picture of Divine.

I don’t know about you, but I sense a . . . ahem . . . celestial theme going on with both of these scrumptious, fragrant, poodle-like ladies. Maybe Jan Crouch and Divine were friends at some point and exchanged fashion tips. Maybe they read the little red words of Jesus in the same NIV Bible together, or went to drag shows together. Maybe they performed together, singing contemporary Christian hits or inspirational hymns, or maybe Hi-NRG disco tracks produced by Stock, Aitken, and Waterman (SAW). Or maybe they shared husbands in a polyamorous relationship. I like to think that maybe they became bosom buddies getting a boob job at the same boob job clinic. But I don’t know about that. I think Divine’s boobies were fake. Actually, come to think of it, I think Jan Crouch’s boobies are fake too. I guess that’s another thing they have in common.

To get an idea of what I’m talking about, watch this video clip of Jan Crouch (I couldn’t find a serious video of her; it’s not my fault they’re all parodies):

…and now, children, feast your eyes upon this hot, throbbing, strangely ethereal-sounding homage to Snow White (a song and video I salivate over constantly, handkerchief in hand) by the inimitable queen of early Hi-NRG herself, Divine:

Why do Jan Crouch and Divine want to share mascara wands so much? Maybe that last song sums it up in a nutshell. They’re both unabashedly, flagrantly beautiful. As goes the cliché: the higher the hair, the closer to heaven. Maybe they used to go to clubs in, like, Chelsea or the Castro and sing Christian hymns to a 4/4 dance beat backing track or something. Gay men *get* crazy, big-haired, hymn-clutching, oratorical Christian women—maybe because a lot of gay men were raised by these big ol’ Christian divas and found out, hey, they actually love me and don’t think I’m going to hell!

I think sometimes we take the Christian versus homo thing a bit too seriously, especially when it comes to drag queens and Christian divas and their unexpectedly beautiful, synchronistic relationships with one another. Often, I think, Christian divas are just being mouthpieces for their stodgy husbands while deep down inside they actually like homos. A lot. And for them this is a matter of sloughing off the old, putrid sludge of Biblical patriarchy, becoming their own woman, and honouring what they truly think and feel inside. Think of Tammy Faye Messner, who before she died actually had a talk show with a gay co-host and said in an interview she supported the gay community. I mean, Tammy Faye even appeared in gay pride marches with Lady Bunny and Bruce Vilanch. Yeah! I know! The old PTL televangelist became a fag-hag! She certainly didn’t do so because her husband or the Bible told her to do so; more likely, she did so because she identified with the community as a human with similar thoughts, needs, and emotions. (Wait. Tammy Fay Messner looks just like Divine too. Holy shit. It’s a movement.)

Christian divas and homos both love performance and caricature, over-the-top imagery, bombastic music, and blowing people’s minds out of the water with their big, overly–made–up, screaming, crying faces. It’s cathartic, just like praying to God, or the Madonna (in multiple senses—the mother of Christ, the singer, and the Goddess), so it’s inevitable that the one should identify with the other. Sadly, a lot of Christian divas and drag queens put on their look because they don’t like the way they look without it. In both we see a bittersweet mixture of sorrow and ecstasy, the tragedy which secretly haunts the clown.

Well, I think I may have just answered my own question.

All of that aside though, I’ll tell you what—both of these girls have amazing taste! I wish I had the balls—and tits—to go on T.V. and do movies looking like that. I wouldn’t want either of them to change a thing. Not a thing. Seriously. And not simply because I think I would be turned to stone if I saw one of them rising from their tomb, waking  up in the morning, getting off the toilet, or hopping out of the shower to go to Bible class or drag rehearsal. Religion and Bible crap aside, and looking just at their purely human essence, I think both drag queens and Christian divas offer a vivid, Technicolor glimpse at what sort of magical, otherworldly creatures we all secretly want to embody, and can if we’ll just undo the straps, put the foot to the pedal, and say, “What the fuck?”





The Great Seattle Prayer War: Part One – The Summoning

10 08 2011

In a recent blog entry I discussed another, professional, blog entry in which I described how Texas governor Rick Perry is collaborating with radical Christian youth minister Lou Engles to organize a prayer rally in Houston. Lou Engles participated in a music album with the youth ministry Elijah Revolution which inspired another radical minister, Cindy Jacobs, to issue a prayer alert for Seattle and Washington state through her own network of prayer groups called Root 52. I mentioned that I would re-write that professional blog entry to convey the evil thoughts that dwell within my dark, unsaved mind. You will find these unruly, uncouth fancies distilled in the blog entry below. So unpeel your innocent eyelids and read on, warrior!

A hot, dry, satanic dust-storm swept over the lair of Mike and Cindy Jacobs in Weatherford, Texas, a righteous and sacred exurban Christian outpost of the depraved Dallas metroplex. It was no longer safe in Texas’s large cities, despite the fact that they all look like Tehran compared with San Francisco (except for Austin). No, even the Metroplex was succumbing to the sins of religious and sexual “tolerance”. It was increasingly necessary to move out of cosmopolitan city centres, where ideas were being exchanged and intellectuals bred thoughts like spores on the wind, and move to a more secluded, holy place—with plenty of free parking and only the barest modicum of blacks—a place pure with the blood of the lamb, where God’s moral code, as outlined in the Bible, could be enshrined and protected from the ravages of reason.

“By God’s holy grace”, cried Cindy to her husband, “we can’t hold up in here much longer. If this sandstorm is the Lord’s message that He is coming—and the Bible says it is so—we must by his grace save the heathens of the northern and coastal regions.”

“Honey, I understand”, said Mike, “because, as your husband, I must love you, but as your husband, I cannot suffer you to usurp my authority with your unwarranted speech.” And with this, he gave his wife a brief lesson on 1 Timothy 2:12, followed by a lesson on Ephesians 5:22.

“Aye”, said the submissive wife diffidently, showing signs of disappointment, “so it is, for the Bible—the inerrant word of God—tells us so.” She clung to him, laying her head on his chest, and the little ones crowded round them to hear these sage words, for they were captivated by the sight of a woman leeching wisdom from a man, the source of all divine knowledge. A new breed of prayer warriors was born. Except for one little bastard named Susie. She flat-out refused.

“Why should wives submit to their husbands?” asked Susie inquisitively.

“Wives should submit to their husbands because the Lord in Heaven tells them so through His gospel”, spake the wise and humble father, bestowing his magnanimity like crumbs upon the females who clustered at his feet like starved hens clucking for more from the great cock.

“But the Bible also justifies the enslavement of daughters”, countered the precocious little Jezebel, quoting Exodus 21:7. “How, then, can you say that the Bible is the word of God without saying that God hates women and supports slavery?”

“That was the old covenant, Susie”, grunted the father impatiently. “Jesus gave us a new covenant.”

“Oh, so there was still a time when selling daughters into slavery was necessary, then”, she said. “If God hadn’t become Jesus and killed himself to pay for human imperfection, which he himself created, we would still have reason to slaughter goats, stone adulteresses to death, and execute gay people.”

“Susie”, said her father impatiently. Here he was at a momentary loss for words. His daughter took advantage of the pause.

“Well”, she continued, “thank God we’ve upgraded the sacrificial victim from a goat to a human. What an improvement. This time, instead of slaughtering goats to propitiate God, we get to nail a human being to a cross and let him take days to die. But he’ll magically rise from the dead—but, in the end, he’ll still have been tortured to death. And even more, Jesus is God, so that means God is killing himself for us to accept his suicide so that he can pay himself his own dues. That’s not schizophrenic at all.”

The father evaded these uncomfortable observations and stonewalled his daughter by re-asserting, “God wants men to protect women because women need the wisdom of men—”

“—Dad, you’re not acknowledging any of my points. I’ve just countered the one that you are re-stating. Don’t re-state. Refute.”

“Susie—”

“—Stop calling me Susie. My birthname is Mei Ping. Yeah. I dug into your and Mom’s files and found out I was picked up at a Shanghai adoption agency in 1999. So cut the crap.”

Shocked at her discovery and drawing on his last reserves of patience, the stonily patronizing father resumed. “Mei Ping, God wants men to protect women because women need the wisdom of men—”

“—but that’s paternalism”, interrupted Mei Ping.

“It’s what?”

“It’s paternalism. It’s saying that men know better than women. It is the manner of providing an individual protection while, at the same time, denying that individual her rights as an autonomous human being. It is protecting her while depriving her. This sort of domestic arrangement effectively constitutes totalitarianism within the household, and it is unreasonable and egotistical.”

“Susie!”

“I’m Mei Ping.”

“Susie!”

“Okay, fine, I’m Susie. But—”

“—Susie, go to the basement. I have no further need of your oratories.”

“But, Dad, you give plenty of them yourself. Why, then, shouldn’t I return the same trenchant lecturing? Oh, right. Because I have a vagina.”

“Susie! You never say that ugly word in this household. Do you hear me?! That language is vile! Now go to the basement!”

“Ugh, yes, Father.” And with that, 12 year-old Susie trod downstairs to her cabbage-patch-doll-studded dungeon beneath the windswept intellectual desert of Weatherford, Texas, with nothing to do but watch Christian puppet videos amid a menagerie of stuffed animals. There she mulled and languished, her indignation stewing under a single, pale lightbulb, a stuffed pink unicorn at her side.

“Honey”, said Cindy, “You handled that brilliantly! I remember when I was a petulant little girl with thoughts of my own and didn’t know when to submit to my elders. I had to be taught by example how misguided my thoughts were.”

“Thank you, wife. I will always honour and love you for the kind support you show me.”

“Now that that’s taken care of, husband, I’ve had this thought on my mind for a while now. I think it is time to attack Seattle.”

“I accept your opinion, wife. That evil northwestern coastal city of Baal is full of faggots, feminists, fornicators, witches, mixed marriages, and single-parent households. More than anywhere, it needs to be bathed in the sweet blood of the lamb”.

“Amen”, said the wife, “the blood of our sacrificial victim, Lord Jesus Christ.”

“I accept your opinion”, said the husband humbly, “for the Lord said I should love you.”

“Then let us gather our forces and attack!”

“I concur.”

“Let’s use children from the exurbs!”

“Agreed ten thousand times over. In fact, I already thought of that. But don’t speak too much.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“First we must make our plan known to our covert operatives in the Root 52 network. We must publish a prayer alert for this Washington state and this city of Seattle!”

“Yaaaay!” screeched Cindy hysterically, clinging to the man’s thick arm as an ivy wraps round a giant oak.

With the plan in place, the Jacobses summoned their Root 52 prayer troops—mostly children they had culled from nearby church playgrounds, their own children in tow—and marched forth with their guns, American flags, and Christian country music albums toward the Great White North. Seattle! Somewhere up there. Canada or the Cascades or something. Canada-Seattle-Albertaville. It all gets confusing past Denver, and when you have to work with a map, and in two dimensions, it is especially gruelling.

Mike and Cindy stomped through friendly prayer-warrior territory at first—northern Texas, far northern Texas, and then far, far northern Texas, recruiting more young children from their apprehensive, stupidly confused families along the way—and then, after crossing a number of friendly super-malls dominated by parking lots, Wal-Marts, and Neiman Marcus outlets, they had to cross a state boundary. God bless us. Thank goodness it was the Oklahoma state boundary. Thank goodness they were still white, Christian, and American. Mostly. Who knew which states the Mexicans had stolen back from America since that time America stole them from Mexico?

Mike and Cindy soon met the lone prairie. A prairie they had never met before. Back home in Texas the prairie was covered in cows, daisies, and church spires—all the trappings of our glorious Lord, Jesus Christ—and it was the same when they were crossing the Oklahoma panhandle, but as they made their way across Kansas, and then Nebraska, gazing upon those long, lonely grasses, they realised they were in limbo. Evangelical Christian limbo. These souls needed to be saved! But not as badly as those up north and west. Or somewhere up theres-ville.

“Lord”, whimpered Cindy, staring zombie-like through the windscreen, her hands clenched together, “we are in a dark country now. We walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and we ask for your guidance.” Here she closed her eyes intently; her husband continued driving with one limp hand dangling over the steering wheel, a pair of eyes staring stonily at the road. “We cannot fight this battle alone. We need your power, your wisdom, your might—your fury—to guide us forth, vanquish our enemy, and take back America for you.” Her voice took on a strangely primal, quavering cadence. “Lord, we ask you to sweep your mighty hand across this once-great land and wash it clean with your blood. We ask you to take your mighty fingers, pick up the dust of the earth, and throw it in the face of your adversary, Satan. We ask you to take that same dust and mould it into a mighty host of beasts filled with the vicious wrath of your righteous goodness! We ask, God, that you plague the land with your fury and bring the people of America back to the ways of their Saviour and Creator. Satan, we rebuke you in the name of the Lord, Jesus Christ!”

The wife said these words with such absolute intensity and conviction that neither she nor her husband heard the thudding noise until it began to rattle the windows and the console, causing the children in the back of the caravan to giggle with excitement. At that, they looked out their windows behind them and witnessed a vast storm pregnant with brown-grey clouds looming overhead. From these stretched downward a vast number of dust-devils; on the land below these were what looked like a giant herd of rabid, ferocious hyaena-like beasts with matted hair, watery red eyes, and bared sharp teeth covering the plain as far as the eye could see. Beast and dust-devil consumed the land and sky in a cloud of shifting shapes and forms, darting over rocks, streams, and escarpments, moving in the same direction as the caravan. One of the land-creatures latched a claw on to the right rearview mirror of the caravan, where Cindy sat. She screamed.

Keep reading to find out what happens to the Mike and Cindy Jacobs caravan as the swarm of beasts descends. You will discover many new characters, including the tree-people, the frost giants, Lilith, and Susie. But be forewarned: never misjudge a girlish laugh or a pretty-sounding name.





Fun with Foxgloves!

2 08 2011

What are foxgloves good for? They’re not good for foxes—they’re good for fingers!

First there was nail lacquer, then there were French manicures, but, honestly, I find both of these trends boring and passé. They have fingerless gloves, so why not love-gloves for the fingers? Ha ha. I know. Silly idea, you say. But guess what? It works! Let me show you how—it’s very easy.

With foxgloves, you can fondle a climbing clematis…

…or explore the hidden beauty of a rose.

You can pet kitty “Hello!” wearing foxgloves (she may wonder what you’re doing)…

…and bid her goodnight with the flick of a switch 🙂

Wearing foxgloves, you can take up genealogy and tell your guests about the history of your ukulele-playing Canadian family from Madoc, Ontario. Soon, you’ll be the talk of Belleville—you may even get an offer for a speaking engagement at the Quinte Mall. And after that, who knows? Maybe Oshawa, or even Toronto!

With their delicate texture, foxgloves are perfect for cleaning house. You can easily vacuum-clean your nice hardwood floors wearing foxgloves, even with a hand-to-floor module…

…just as you can give a good scrub-down to that old toilet bowl wearing foxgloves (I call this one Fleur de Toilette).

Wearing foxgloves is ideal for crushing little girls’ heads—I mean creating fine art (this one I call Fleur au-dessus de Vanité)…

…or pointing at paintings with particular panache while curating second-rate art exhibitions.

Smurf hats. Ha ha.

With foxgloves adorning your dainty fingers, you will be able to transcend the sublunary world by drumming in meditation rituals…

…or conquer the world with them, bahahahaha…

…or, instead, you can lend a magnanimous  helping hand to the poor and needy.

See? There’s really nothing you can’t do wearing foxgloves. You can knit, bake brownies, change a baby’s diaper, or show your lover that you really care. With foxgloves, you do whatever you want and stem the spread of disease. They’re that effective! In fact, they’re pretty foxy. Ha ha! So, practice safe fingering, folks, and wear foxgloves!

You can donate to the Somalia famine relief effort at the CARE Web site. CARE is a secular, non-governmental, non-political humanitarian relief organisation dedicated to fighting poverty in the poorest countries in the world by helping them become stable and self-sufficient.