Merry Christmas from Satan Claus

Drunken Bums, or Merry Christmas from Satan Claus, or Christmas in the Ghetto

Ghetto sidewalks, dirty sidewalks dressed in vomit and bile,

In the air there's a feeling like dry rot

Children brawling, people passing, picking fight after fight

And on every street corner you hear — drunken bums

(Drunken bums, drunken bums)

Drunken bums

(Drunken bums)

It's Christmas time in the ghetto

Ring-a-ling

(Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling)

Hear them sing

Soon it will be judgment day

Broken street lights although cop lights blink a bright red and blue

As the pigs rush by to commit murder

Hear the shots speed, see the kids bleed

This is Satan's big scene

And above all this carnage you hear

Drunken bums

(Drunken bums, drunken bums)

Drunken bums

(Drunken bums)

It's Christmas time in the ghetto

Ring-a-ling

(Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling)

Hear them sing

Soon it will be judgment day

Drunken bums

(Drunken bums, drunken bums)

Drunken bums

(Drunken bums)

It's Christmas time in the ghetto

Ring-a-ling

(Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling)

Hear them sing

Soon it will be — judgment day

Wave in an Ice Bucket

An open letter to all the collectivist morons that participated in the notorious "ALS ice bucket challenge."

Rarely have I encountered on this planet full of morons a horror as revolting as this ice bucket nonsense. First off, the obvious.

Making donations based not on data where a donation might do good, but on stupid pranks and videos predictably leads to a massive misallocation of resources.

Then, this stupid stunt can quite easily kill the very people trying to save lives the armchair activist way. Getting doused with cold water on a hot day can easily give you a heart attack, and at least one person died jumping into a particularly large "bucket."

But far worse than any misallocated money or death from freak accident is the sheer primeval mob spirit in which these pranks are performed.

When do you soaked, shivering rocket surgeons exactly plan to use your brains, to the extent that you have any, and start thinking for yourselves? When someone nominates you for a "light a firecracker in your mouth" challenge? When Al Qaida collects $100 million because they have a cool video? Before you vote for the next fuehrer because he has a cool party trick?

If you cheer mob spirit and irrationality, if "nominating," shaming, guilting, peer pressure, and blind following is the coin of your realm, this is what you are cheering on:

Don't ask who is destroying the world. You are.

If the world goes down your path, you are going to solve the ALS issue ironically, because people will once again be slaughtering each other before they ever get a chance to develop ALS, just like in the Dark Ages, just like in World War II. That is the nature of barbarity.

As ironically, if you would quit wasting time on collectivist blackmail and use it instead for teaching people to think for themselves, people would become more productive, GDP would increase, and more money would be available for all research even without pressuring people to give. That is the nature of progress.

You and your methods are disgusting, no matter how noble you claim the ends you advocate to be. Plus, wet, you look ridiculous. Now go away and be ashamed of yourselves.

Surfin' NSA

(With apologies to the Bitch Boys Beach Boys.)

If everybody was like Snowden

Across the USA

Then everybody'd be surfin'

Phreakin' the CIA

You'd see 'em breakin' out netbooks

Anarchic vandals, too,

With tablets, smart phones, and dumb Nooks

Surfin' NSA

You'd catch 'em surfin' at Langley (inside, outside USA),

Anne Arundel County line (inside, outside USA),

At the ports and bases (inside, outside USA)

Mediterranean (inside, outside USA),

All over Manhattan (inside, outside USA),

And on Doheny Drive (inside, outside USA)

Everybody's gone surfin'

Surfin' NSA

We'll all be crackin' us a router

We're gonna take real soon

We're bringin' down their networks

We can't wait for June

We'll all be gone for the summer

We're on safari to stay

Tell Obama we're surfin'

Surfin' NSA

At Feinstein's and Schumer's (inside, outside USA),

Pacific carriers base (inside, outside USA),

Foggy Bottom and Georgetown (inside, outside USA),

Outside the Pentagon (inside, outside USA),

All over the Beltway (inside, outside USA),

At Waimea Bay (inside, outside USA)

Everybody's gone surfin'

Surfin' NSA

Everybody's gone surfin'

Surfin' NSA

Everybody's gone surfin'

Surfin' NSA

Everybody's gone surfin'

Surfin' NSA

Yeah, everybody's gone surfin'

Surfin' NSA

Yeah, everybody's gone surfin'

Surfin' NSA

Why Men and Women Never Get Along

She just said, "Do you want to marry me?"

She thinks she said, "Do you want to be the father of my children and live with me happily ever after?"

He heard, "Do you want to give me half your stuff and pay me a pension once I leave you?"

Scottish Objectivist Explains Benefits of Smoking

In this enlightening video, a Scottish objectivist explains the benefits of smoking: Smoking is where all the great ideas come from.

"My life was terrible without cigarettes. I did nothing with my time. I was like, 'Oh, where am I going? What am I doing?' Now my life is rich and true and good and strong."

It even is good for your lungs:

"It makes your lungs bigger 'cause you're sucking."



Here it is with subtitles:


SCROOGIN ON A GREG by willanderson0

A Simple Way to Control the Fundies

Here's a simple way to get the fundies and conservatives under control: Everything that is illegal for some group of people automatically becomes illegal for Christians.

Gays can't marry? Fine, Christians can't marry, either.

Teenagers can't have sex? Fine, Christians can't have sex, either.

Weed is illegal? Fine, so is altar wine.

Let's see how long they can stand their own medicine. 

Happy Birthday, America!

Happy Birthday, America! Here's the present:

The Case of the Kidnapped O'Connors, free to download for your Kindle today, July 4, 2013, midnight to midnight Pacific Time. The Case of the Kidnapped O'Connors, the new Kevin Traynor mystery. A locked room mystery about art, anarchy, objectivity, and madness.

When his girlfriend's prized paintings are stolen from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Kevin Traynor has to find them fast, lest she slip from her usual objectivity and rationality into madness, mayhem, and murder. There is no lack of suspects — and no way how any human being can have smuggled the paintings out of that proverbial locked room. There simply is no explanation that is both rational and plausible. The hunt for the thief leads the couple into one dead end after another. It dawns on Traynor that the only way to find the thief is to find the paintings... But is he up against a mere mortal thief, or against The Phantom of the Met?

Kevin Traynor. With the right to be politically incorrect.

US Doesn't Understand the Concept "Ally"

What do the Mongol Empire, the objectivists, and the US government have in common?

They have no concept of "ally."

The Mongols knew only three conditions of foreign relations: "enemies", "conquered," or "in rebellion." The concept of "ally" was foreign to them.

In 1245, Pope Innocent IV wrote a letter to the Mongols, expressing a desire for "peace." But in the Mongol language, "peace" is a synonym for "subjection."

Khan Güyük understood it the only way he could and replied with a demand for submission:

You must say with a sincere heart: "We will be your subjects; we will give you our strength." You must in person come with your kings, all together, without exception, to render us service and pay us homage. Only then will we acknowledge your submission.

As for the objectivists:

As advocates of laissez-faire capitalism, avowedly committed to the supremacy of reason, it seemed as if the Randians would be valuable allies.

But the Randians did not understand the concept of "allies": in their universe, you either agreed with all of their positions, or else you were consigned to the Outer Darkness.

As the Edward Snowden affair has shown, the imperial federal government is no different. It expects to get everything in return for nothing. It expects unconditional and absolute submission to the evil empire.

The US government believes it can spy on the citizens of its allies, without bothering to obey its allies' privacy laws or applying for search warrants from its allies' courts. But then it expects those same courts it contemned to extradite its fugitives.

It's either or. Either Hong Kong and Russia are the United States' allies, or they are not.

If they are allies, how can the US government dare to bypass their laws and their courts and to violate the rights or their citizens? If they are not allies, why should they comply with US requests?

It appears that for the US government, too, there are no allies, but only conquered provinces, which have a duty to pay tribute to the US, no matter what outrage the US has perpetrated against their citizens the day before.

Open Letter to Bill Nelson re Ed Snowden

In reply to "NSA Surveillance Efforts Are Effective, Limited, and Legal" by one Senator Bill Nelson:

General warrants for all the phone numbers there are are highly unconstitutional, no matter if they're "only" for the metadata.

If you believe it makes any difference if you're spying "only" on foreigners, you should not be surprised if your allies thus spied on stop being your allies and stop caring whether or not you get hit by another terrorist attack — and stop extraditing "criminals" to you, as well.

As for the alleged terrorist attacks your spying stopped: Pics, or it didn't happen.

Ed Snowden is an American hero. Your actions and thoughts, sir, are un-American.

It is you that betrayed the principles of your founding fathers, and it is you that is to blame that liberty is once more homeless on earth, as Lafayette would have put it. Shame on you.

The Case of the Kidnapped O'Connors, Chapter One, Part Two

Begin with the beginning.

To save himself from exploding with laughter and from his girlfriend's ensuing ire, Traynor sauntered over to the column wall, where his best friend, Nick Parker, stood staring at Diminishing Returns, going, "For some reason, I like that mannequin…"

Short but muscular, with dark eyes and wavy black hair, Parker looked like a bull ready to charge a red rag. Apparently, he was giving the redhead he had been flirting with some time to miss him before he reeled her in. Traynor followed his friend's stare. The painting featured a painter's wooden mannequin sitting on a turquoise drum in turn sitting on a reddish cliff. Below, a blue ocean, or at least a reservoir, like Lake Powell on the Colorado River, stretched beyond a reddish headland. Above, a cloud in several shades of blue with a silver lining covered most of a blue sky. The mannequin was juggling what looked like colorful Christmas balls, with a red one already shattered on the ground.

To Traynor, it looked like surrealism, and not very good surrealism at that. The most he could make of it was a caricature of Howard Roark gone crazy on his cliff. According to Jennifer, the official Objectivist line was that the playful lay figure represented gaiety. If it made her happy…

As far as Traynor was concerned, the exact opposite might be just as true. The inescapably surreal nature of the painting might symbolize statism. The wooden, faceless, soulless stick figure might be a government bureaucrat playing with and casually breaking the baubles produced by capitalism.

Others said that the mannequin, having hooters, the drummer on her turquoise drum, was Ayn Rand, and that the balls she was juggling bore self-portraits of her husband Frank O'Connor. You take it from there. To Traynor, any interpretation was as good as any other in this case, as any the other flavor of intellectuals offered for the nonobjective art in the other galleries.

Parker stirred. "Gotta go now, look after another lay figure."

Traynor looked languidly on as his friend left the gallery. As languidly, the muddy river of the mayor's speech emptied into an ocean of applause. Now the crowd grew restless, some milling to the paintings, some out of the gallery to one of the impromptu bars. Traynor headed back to his girlfriend.

Whoosh!

Suddenly, clouds of smoke billowed from the air conditioning vents. The fire alarm sounded.

"Fire!" Panicky cries rang out, interspersed with coughs.

People rushed to the exits, but that moment something or somebody triggered the burglar alarm, and the massive steel doors clanked shut, locking everybody in. Traynor ducked under the thickening smoke screen. Where was Jennifer?

He dashed toward the place he had seen her last, rooted through a forest of legs, homed in on a fair pair under a black miniskirt, ran into her, and grabbed her by the wrist. "Gotcha!"

"You play with Nick for five seconds, and bang, there's a fire."

"I try to do my best. But I'm not sure that there's fire where there's smoke."

However, the gallery kept filling with dark-gray smoke. Some people tried to filter the smoke by breathing through tissues or handkerchiefs. It did not seem to help much. Others dropped to the floor for clearer air. Panicky people cursed, screamed, raged, ranted, and banged their fists against the steel doors.

"Fuck!"

Cough!

"Fire!"

Cough!

"Terrorists!"

Cough!

"Anarchy!"

Cough!

"The end of the world!"

Wheeze!

"I knew we shouldn't have come here!"

Gasp!

"Give me that tissue!"

"Get your own tissue, bitch!"

Cough!

"Call 911!"

"Where's my phone?"

Cough! Gasp!

"Where are the firefighters?"

"Where are the police if you need them?"

"Stand back!" ordered one of the mayor's bodyguards.

"Freeze!" ordered another.

"Stand back!"

"Freeze!"

Wheeze!

"Stand back and freeze!"

Cough! Wheeze!

"Everybody, stay clear of his honor, or we'll fire!"

"The building has already been fired!"

Wheeze! Cough!

"I'm not even close to his honor!"

"Where does he have any honor?"

Gasp! Cough!

"Shut up! I bought his honor last week! A clean million into his Swiss bank account! Now it's strictly for the birds! What an irony, to die like this, together, like two rats!"

"Birds? Rats? Keep your imaginary zoo to yourself, or his honor will sue you! His honor doesn't have any bank account in Switzerland. He can't even find Switzerland on a map. He doesn't even know how to spell it."

"Who cares? He can't sue, 'cause we're all gonna die in here!"

"Gasp!"

"I never voted for that rat anyway."

"Who cares what you voted for? We're gonna die!"

Cough! Wheeze! Gasp!

"There ought to be a law against this shoddy construction!"

"There ought to be a law against these steel doors!"

"There ought to be a law against fires!"

Cough! Cough! Cough!

"Jesus, we're all gonna die!"

"Oh my god, the end is nigh!"

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god…"

"Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, yet will I fear no ill. For thou art with me, and thy rod and staff me comfort still…"

Cough! Cough! Wheeze! Wheeze! Gasp! Gasp!

"Sam, I have a confession to make. I've been lying about my age for years. I'm not going to turn thirty next week. I'm turning forty."

"I know. I know. The divorce papers are in the mail."

Cough out loud!

"My poor hair! Oh, that damn smoke. It's going to ruin my hair!"

Rolling on the floor wheezing!

"Take the phone, Ferris, and say goodbye to the children!"

"Oh, come on. I know they're not my kids."

Cough-o-copter!

"Oh, those fucking terrorists!"

Cough! Cough! Wheeze! Wheeze! Gasp! Gasp!

In people's minds, the smoke grew into everybody's personal nightmare, be it fire, bombs, or poison gas. It became impossible to see anyone or anything more than a couple feet away.

Jennifer shook off her boyfriend's hand. "Where are the fire extinguishers?"

"There are some over there, but where's the fire? Maybe not such a great idea, blindly emptying the fire extinguishers into the ventilation ducts."

That moment, a busty brunette standing and coughing nearby, lacking a handkerchief, ripped off her blouse, sending buttons flying every which way, one hitting Traynor in the chest, and used it as a makeshift gas mask.

Through the smoke, Traynor watched her hooters strain against her bra and wobble with every cough. "Maybe coming here was not such a bad idea, after all. Too bad Nick isn't in here. He'd love that."

Coughing herself, Jennifer shot her boyfriend an icy glance. "You want me to compete on these terms?"

Traynor grinned. "Well, you'd be one step ahead of her, oh my braless wonder. Besides, she can't compete with you anyway."

"Thank you."

" 'Cause she isn't even blond."

"Thanks. I think."

Traynor drew his .45 Colt M1911 pistol and chambered a round. "Better 1911 than 911."

"Doesn't help much against the fire, though," cautioned his girlfriend.

Traynor coughed. "What fire? What about the burglar alarm and the steel doors? Looks more like a heist to me."

With the doors shut and the smoke, there seemed to be nothing they could do, except to be ready to defend themselves and to wait for the smoke exhaust system to cope and firefighters to fight the alleged fire and to open the doors. Through the smoke and the noises of the alarms and the charging mob, Jennifer and Traynor thought they heard a swishing sound from the center of the gallery. A shadowy figure clad all in black brushed past them. Jennifer gasped involuntarily. He or she — or it — had no face! There was nothing there but a dark blob of slime!

Buy the full story.