Saturday, March 24, 2012

Little Ricky Santorum…

I walk into my office HQ for Anton Saurian, Private Dick, at the usual hour. It’s the crack of noon. I toss my fedora across the room to land, as always, precisely upon the noggin of my prized antique bust of Lady Columbia poised atop the file cabinet to the rear of Ms Gillary’s desk and my petite but ample assistant pours me the customary lunch of chilled gin with hemp garnish from the holy Dewar Flask of the Hell Bent Sacrament. I barely begin to cleanse my sinuses with its rank yet zesty perfume, feel the giddy yet pernicious warmth of its flavor tumble toward my gullet, as she plops the dossier upon my desk. I light a cigarette and regard her with cold dispassion belying the tension in my loins.

I know this is not going to be good news. Gillary glares at me with that concerned mommy look and her pose, like that of a 19th Century Prussian Field Marshall standing for a portrait, demands that I give the work immediate attention. Well, I do love a woman in uniform, but could do without that battle steed in the picture. Whatever. I quaff my treacherous confection, suck hot gas into my lungs, and open the file. Might as well get to it, whatever IT is.

Dag’nam’itt! It’s a pile of hurt for a former associate in a certain business that needs no further discussion. He is now a guest of the Governor, under arrest and in the custody of the Sheriff while awaiting his day in court later this afternoon. Before I even dig into this pile of poop, I can see that things are not looking good for my old acquaintance and apparently new client, Little Ricky Santorum. At the top of this steaming mess of pooty is the mug shot. Little Ricky looks like hell.

Beneath the license plate upon his chest bearing the banner “Inmate: 200114” I can see that his trademark sleeveless sweater vest is in tatters. He was always a snappy, if conservative dresser. He is beat up pretty good, too. The boys downtown must’a had a good time with him. More troubling, though, is the lady’s wig, a sort’a Monroe kind’a job, and the lip stick smeared across his kisser. His mascara is run. He must’a been bawlin’ like a baby under the relentless rain of fists hammerin’ at his mug before they drug his tarted up carcass into the lock-up. He’s also gained a lot’a of weight since I last saw him and sports quite a set of falsies.

None of this makes any sense. Ricky always kept in fine trim. He is a kind’a health nut and I know his Missus cooked healthy. The deal with the make-up, the wig is also odd. Yeah, he’s a pretty boy, alright, but not a flamer. He might get a beer or a few in him and spout off about what he called the “gay menace.” I give it no never mind at the time, but he does seem kind’a preoccupied with what other fellows might be up to behind closed doors. Then again, he has fourteen kids with Mrs. Santorum and likes to mention how big his John Thompson is. So, I figure him for a real man and this thing with his appearance going all to shit and showing up dressed like Jane Mansfield just doesn’t square with my previous impressions.

It gets worse, though, as I dig into the documents. He’s arrested for being involved in a “disturbance” in an alley behind the Cat-Cat club on Market Street. A kitchen worker at the joint is sent out to empty trash in the dumpster. He’s shocked to find a blond, supposed woman in a miniskirt and fishnet stockings apparently asleep or passed out cradling a male corpse who is seemingly scalped in her blood soaked arms. She turns out to be he; my pal Ricky. The deceased man is subsequently identified as one Willard Mitt Romney (born March 12, 1947), reported missing from his campaign for the Republican primary for President of the United States the night prior. DNA testing of the contents of Ricky’s stomach are currently underway to determine if they contain Mr. Romney’s hair cut.

Now, it gets even more worse. Roused from his perhaps inebriated slumber, Ricky assaults the officers summoned to the dumpster by the club’s owner, the well respected Manuel Castro de Garcia. Santorum is seen on police video raving about Cactchoolics, Moomest perspecuctions, Chewish anti-papist plotters and Oberbombers as he takes repeated taser hits and the massive application of mace, seeming to be energized by the experience. Finally, in a frothing fit of what appears to be continued howling in Esperanto, he is brought to his knees although this is not visually recorded as an officer mashes the alleged assailant’s face into the cruiser windshield in front of the camera. There is, however, a sound that indicates that Ricky is being beaten thoroughly with a trash can or trash cans on his head and shoulders.

Well, I got’ta go. Little Ricky is down at the station and I’ll give the punk a look-see for myself. I suppose that then I’ll then head over to the mansion and see how the Missus is fairing. The coppers likely have been in touch with her, and if they haven’t she may have noticed her missing underwear or the VISA bills for those high heels she never bought. I know her brood of shitty brats, and I’ll wager they don’t even notice that dad hasn’t called home or are grateful for the circumstance. As for that Romney clan, they’re on their own, I reckon.  That mob knows what to do in these tight spots. The patient execution of wrath by the courts may satisfy them to balance the account with the loss of their beautiful prince and his high priced scalp. Maybe not. Yes, they do know what to do…

Hic Finis Est,


Thursday, March 15, 2012


Dear Friends,

What is going on in my nation? Have we lost our minds? In the states of Ohio and Virginia, it has been resolved that women who wish for or require abortions must now submit to vaginal probes for ultrasound against their will. By federal law, this procedure is deemed to be rape. The conservatives reckon that’s okay ‘cuz the woman forced to be probed has already had her vagina probed by some other fellah and it don’t much matter that a doctor is sworn to first do no harm, such as poking a lady with a vibrating thing-a-ma-jig in a medically unnecessary procedure to provide her with “information” that she already knows, that she is pregnant, and may cause harm to her uterus.

Oh, then there is the movement to deny women of contraceptives under any circumstances, whether they be used for hormonal treatment of cancer or birth control. Rape is okay. Incest is just dandy. But, we must not let women take progesterone

Well, of course, the folks promoting this legislation don’t know how to spell progesterone and are not women. In fact, they barely even have testicles. They do have a series of wives in many cases, some abandoned as they lie in a hospital bed dying of cancer (hello, Newt), yet they are not permitted the medication that would prevent the birth of a half dozen kids who would not be cared for by the creep that left his wife (the first of two, so far, Newt) to die from a terminal illness.

Okay, okay… let me slow down here. I don’t want to lose you. Arizona’s legislature is now proposing to outlaw the word gay in public schools. Good idea. Our kids will no longer have to listen to that miserable song by that Jew bastard Bernstein as sung by the whore Natalie Wood in “West Side Story.” Even better, we can throw out all the books with the word “gay”. Less books is good, ain’t it Bubba! I suppose this will also eliminate the dictionary, or at least page 164 of the OED, if you idiots know what that is.

Then there’s the thing with no contraception, again. Wait a minute. More extra marital and unwanted pregnancies? More babies with no food nor safe home? So, they’s supposed to git knocked up by Dad or the boy down the alley in the trailer park, have a baby and go on the dole. Yeah. That’ll work. Serves them girls right for having vaginas. Otherwise G-d would not have made vaginas to splurt out babies for rich white guys to support with their hard earned dollars garnered from dispossessing poor folk of their homes and jobs whilst getting us into yet another war paid for by the future taxes of their newly born children who can’t find jobs.

Oh, did I mention the proposal in the Oregon State Legislature allowing teenagers to carry concealed weapons into their public schools? Yes, this great idea is seen as a deterrent to the now too frequent shoot-em-ups by the young’uns blasting away at their teachers and class mates. Just brilliant! Let’s make everybody safe by having the least socialized and least mature beasts of our kind armed when they go into their civics class. What sort of person would want the job of being a teacher knowing that if he hands out a D- grade on that essay about Ben Franklin, that he and a number of his students would end up in the morgue? I know! It would be Mr. Eldinkoomph, the weird guy that plays the organ at church on Sunday and treats his favorite students to soda and cake at his trailer after school.

Well, finally, we come to Rush Limbo. Poor guy. His best explanation of why he is not anti-women is that he was a judge at the Miss America Pageant. He got paid to watch a bunch of busty ladies in skimpy swim suits play the violin and testify that they were in favor of equality for all Humankind. Who is the whore? Of course, not he. He skidded off the dais to go on a sex tourism mission to find the embrace of a young transexual in an impoverished South American nation relentlessly seeking hard cash and exporting cocaine.

Now, let’s imagine an alternative world, not one full of punks bent on ruining the lives of their spouses, their less well off friends (if they have any friends), and having secret thrills with boys with boobs while smashed on Oxys and coke. A guy that looks and talks like Morgan Freeman is President of the Galactic Federation. A fellow with a weird name from a place in what used to be called the Bronx in a nation that once prospered and was called The United States of America; his name is Neil deGrasse Tyson, and he is The Minister of Science and Universal Understanding. Women are respected in all meaningful ways. They are not on pedestals nor subjugated. Men know their place and their obligations as the ones that can open jars and can change the kid’s diapers. They might even learn to cook something more than salami and scrambled eggs.

Yeah. Maybe, someday pigs will fly, and we won’t have to put up with annoyances like Limbaugh. Someday, perhaps, people will be free to love who they love. We might no longer fight stupid wars over oil and water. Our civilization, so called, might be nourished by the rain of photons pouring over us from our Mother Sun. We can all get fed. We shall look to the stars as destinations, not mere glimmers in the arch of heaven. Let’s go. Let’s go. Get on with it!

Res Ipsa Loquitor,


Sunday, March 4, 2012

The Continuing Crisis in America Politics…

Dear Friends,

It was with sadness that today the Republican National Committee announced an unprecedented shake up in the race toward the nomination of their Presidential candidate. This comes with the demise of the leader of the PAC and the astonishing disappearance of one fellow contender and the apparently self-inflicted seclusion of another.

The body of former Governor Mitt Romney was discovered in a trench roadside of Interstate Highway 580, just outside of Reno, Nevada nearby the popular Mustang Ranch & Bordello. His 2011 Chevy Suburban was upended and aflame, and the corpse was found some few yards away from the wreck. Nevada State Troopers reporting to the scene discovered the candidate apparently deceased, and his abdomen torn open. Subsequent examination by the Coroner’s Office revealed that his liver had gone missing. However, his hair was perfect.

At the time of the tragic wreck, neighbors in a trailer park adjacent to the scene of the suspicious incident made several and repeated calls to 911 reporting the sound of a collision and reported seeing a Cadillac Escalade or similar vehicle piloted by an unknown driver fleeing the scene. It appeared to have contained, in addition to the male driver, as many as a dozen occupants including a woman and perhaps ten or more children. The vehicle bore no license plates but did sport a Santorum for President in 2012 bumper sticker.

Meanwhile, a Mrs. Petunia Philomathia of Lot 114 Dusty Meadows Park independently made several calls pleading for help from the Washoe County Regional Animal Control Unit. She reported seeing a very large, black, bat-like creature with a human-like head crested in white as it was hovering over the horizon at what would have been the scene of the fatality involving candidate Romney. In her account, the flying beast was carrying in its jaws what appeared to be the entrails of prey. Following repeatedly being told by authorities to sleep it off, the calls ended with one final sobbing plea. We have sought Mrs. Philomathia out for comment, but found her trailer home abandoned. Police are now investigating her disappearance.

Today, we learn that Romney is dead, large pieces of his viscera gone missing, Rick Santorum and his family of twelve have disappeared, although they have been reportedly spotted by security cameras at the Laogog International Airport Ice Cream Bar. Newt Gingrich is refusing to take calls from the press. He is said by his aides to be recuperating from an intestinal disorder arising from the over-consumption of fatty organ meats, but is expected back on the campaign trail on Halloween Night for a vampire-theme gala fundraiser.

So, where does this leave the Republican Party? Ron Paul is sidelined with loose dentures, Irritable Bowel Syndrome and latent, blithering craziness. Donald Trump threatens to throw his hat into the ring, but is said to be demanding a better hair cut, all the atom bombs up front, and seventy-six virgins, all blonde, upon sealing the deal. The Republicans are having a tough time finding even one virgin in the party above majority age. The Donald has responded that he is willing to accept anything they got in terms of virgins. Thus negotiations continue in the face of a possible brokered convention. The front runner, according to Carl Rove, is an unnamed, corpulent, misogynist, homophobic racist with an expected lifespan of about three months after a supposed election before he succumbs to exploding heart disease or a near fatal stroke that sends him into dementia and possibly launching nukes at Grand Luxembourg.

In a related story, Rush Limbaugh is now facing arrest in Papua, New Guinea, having been apprehended for the abduction of a fourteen year old transexual and subsequent hostage taking at the famed House of Fun By The Beach. He is said to be barricaded with the boy, or girl, whatever, inside his bungalow and heavily armed, massively stoned on Oxycodone®, and threatening to fire his sponsors if they don’t agree with him about every rancid, nutty thought that crosses his fevered mind. Local police continue to negotiate with him, offering more and stronger drugs if he’ll just get off the radio and shut up.

We will bring you further developments as the come in.

Res Ipsa Loquitor,